Moonshine Massacre. William W. Johnstone

two of them sat their saddles and watched the battle for a few minutes. The lawmen, if such they really were, continued working their way closer. They were going to have a hard time rooting out the hombres inside the cabin, though. Those sod walls were thick enough to stop anything short of a cannonball. All the attackers could do was aim for the windows and hope that the slugs would bounce around enough inside to find some targets.

      Then one of the men made a dash that carried him all the way up to the cabin itself. He threw himself prone next to the wall and lay there where the defenders couldn’t get a shot at him.

      Matt suddenly leaned forward in the saddle and asked, “What’s that he’s got there?”

      “I’m not sure,” Sam said with a frown. “He’s lighting a match, though…Good Lord! I think it’s a bomb!”

      Sparks flew from the fuse attached to the round black object as the man held the match flame to it. He came up on his knees, leaned out, and tossed the bomb through a window into the cabin.

      Several years earlier, Pinkerton detectives had thrown a similar bomb into a cabin in Missouri where they believed Frank and Jesse James were hiding out. Actually, the outlaw brothers weren’t there at the time, but other members of their family were. The blast had killed their younger stepbrother and blown off one of their mother’s arms. Most folks in the West knew about bombs because of what had happened that day.

      The men inside this cabin certainly knew a bomb when they saw one. Even up on the hill, Matt and Sam heard their shouts and screams of terror. As the man who had thrown the explosive surged to his feet and dashed away, the cabin door flew open and the men inside started falling all over themselves trying to get out. The attackers held their fire as the men scrambled through the door.

      Matt and Sam stiffened in their saddles as a sheet of fire suddenly filled the doorway and the cabin blew apart in a thunderous explosion that sent echoes rolling over the plains. The force of the blast knocked the fleeing men flat on their faces.

      “Son of a bitch!” Matt exclaimed. “I hope everybody got out.”

      A thick column of black smoke rose into the blue Kansas sky from the place where the cabin had stood. The structure was completely destroyed. The sod blocks that formed the walls had disintegrated in the explosion.

      “If anyone didn’t make it out,” Sam said, “there won’t be enough left of them to bury.”

      The men who had surrounded the cabin moved in now, guns drawn, and swiftly disarmed and took into custody the erstwhile defenders, kicking guns away, jerking arms behind backs, and slapping on handcuffs.

      “They’re star packers, all right,” Matt told Sam. “I can see the sun shining on their badges now, too.” He lifted his reins. “Why don’t we ride down there and see what it’s all about?”

      “It’s none of our business, you know.”

      “I know, but I’m curious.”

      “There’s an old saying about curiosity and a cat.”

      Matt grinned. “Yeah, but it ain’t killed us yet, has it?”

      “I suppose not.” Sam hitched his horse into motion and started down the slope alongside his blood brother.

      Some of the men saw them coming and must have warned the others. Now that the prisoners had been secured and still lay facedown with their hands cuffed behind their backs, their captors straightened and gathered to form a well-armed line that turned toward Matt and Sam.

      “I’m glad we’re just looking for information and not trouble,” Matt said. “Those fellas look a mite proddy.”

      “They sure do,” Sam agreed. “It’s too late for us to turn back now, though. They’ve already seen us coming.”

      Matt and Sam rode to within about twenty feet of the line of men and then reined in. Most of the men were dressed in range clothes, but two of them wore sober dark suits and black derbies.

      Matt nodded to the men and said, “Howdy.”

      One of the black-suited hombres said in a sharp voice, “What do you want here?” He jerked his head toward the prisoners. “Are you friends or relatives of these men?”

      “Never saw them before in our lives, mister,” Sam drawled. “We were just wondering what’s going on here.”

      “Yeah, I reckon they heard that explosion all the way back in Abilene,” Matt added.

      The spokesman snorted contemptuously. He had an angular face with a nose like a hatchet over a thick black mustache.

      “Then this is none of your business, and I suggest you move on,” he said.

      “No need to take that tone,” Matt said. “We were just—”

      “I don’t care,” the man snapped. “I’ll take any tone I like. And if you don’t ride on now, I’ll tell my men to blow you out of your saddles!”

      The rifles in the hands of the other men rose, and suddenly all hell was just one little spark away from breaking loose.

      Chapter 2

      The other man in black suit and derby stepped forward and said, “There’s no need for more violence, Ambrose. I don’t think these young fellas have anything to do with why we’re here.”

      “That’s the truth, mister,” Sam said. “We’re just passing through these parts.”

      Both blood brothers knew they were outgunned. They were fast enough and good enough with their irons that they would get lead in several of the men if it came down to a fight, but at the same time, the rest of the lawmen would fill them full of holes. It was a losing bet.

      But despite knowing that, both of them were itching to slap leather. They didn’t cotton to having guns pointed at them. Not one little bit.

      The less belligerent of the two black-suited gents continued. “Why don’t we just put our guns down and let these boys go on their way?” He was shorter and stockier than his companion, with a broad, sunburned face and sandy hair under the derby.

      “All right,” the man called Ambrose said after a moment. “You heard the man. Git!”

      “You know,” Matt said, “I still don’t like your tone—”

      “Come on, Matt,” Sam interrupted. He started to turn his horse. “We’re leaving.”

      Showing obvious reluctance, Matt came with him. They rode slowly away from the destroyed cabin. Matt was seething with anger.

      “That fella needs a lesson in manners.”

      “I agree,” Sam said, “but not at the cost of both of us getting shot.”

      Matt sighed. “I reckon you’re right about that.”

      They had ridden about fifty yards when they heard hoofbeats behind them. Hipping around in their saddles, they saw the shorter of the two dudes riding after them.

      “Now what?” Matt muttered. “Has he decided he wants trouble after all?”

      “More than likely he just wants to talk to us,” Sam said.

      They slowed their horses and let the man catch up to them. As he rode up beside them, he nodded pleasantly and said, “I thought you fellas deserved an explanation.”

      “Your pard Ambrose ain’t gonna like that,” Matt said.

      The man waved a hand to dismiss that idea. “Ambrose is just a little hotheaded sometimes. He was all caught up in the heat of battle, I guess you could say. He’s calmed down now. He understands that if folks know what’s going on, that’ll make our job out here easier.”

      “What is your job?” Sam asked. “Are you Pinkertons?”

      “No,