The Route to Silver Pines
Short Story for IronAge Media Literature prompt "The Route" for December 6, 2023
The snow crunching from the light trot of the horse was a comforting sound to Cole Chanse. The silence was deafening. After years first in the army, then working security for the railroad, and finally riding shot gun down in Arizona, the snowy winter of Montana was a shock to the system. It reminded Cole of his childhood in Pennsylvania, though this was far more extreme.
He was passing a few homesteads now, and as the sun was going down it shined brightly on his new burgundy long coat.
“Silver Pines” he thought, “a cleaver name for the town. Named after the two biggest employers in the town: the mill and the silver mine. But, not only that, it described the way the trees looked with the fresh snow on them.”
Cole was tired. But it wasn’t a tired from the long journey. No that was easily remedied. A hot bath, a hot meal, and a warm bed would fix that in no time. No Cole was tired from his life. He wanted to start fresh. So when he got a letter some months back from his brother to come work for him at the Trailblazer Saloon as a shotgun lookout he figured it’d be the fresh start he needed.
The homesteads he passed were some miles back now, and he was coming up on a bend in the route to Silver Pines. Beyond the bend he saw a lone covered bridge over a gorge. There were trees and bushes at both ends of the bridge. The hairs on the back of Cole’s neck stood strait up. His brother’s letter warned him about highwaymen in the area, and this was perfect place for an ambush by road agents. Cole knew from maps that this was the only direct route to Silver Pines, and that the next trail would cause him to go several miles out of the way to get to town. There’d be no way to get to town before night fell going any other way. This meant Cole had no other choice but to ride on
Cole hoped that the snow and cold would mean the road agents would be held up somewhere at some saloon drinking rotgut or in a cabin drinking coffee, not out in the cold freezing to death in hopes of getting some weary traveler for his poke.
Never the less Cole was a careful man. He unbuttoned his coat and removed his cartridge converted Remington revolver from his black leather holster and tucked it up under his left arm by his wallet in his patterned blue vest. He then partially rebuttoned his coat to conceal his weapon.
He was now coming up on the bridge. The crunch of snow from his horse’s trot was no longer a comfort anymore. He felt they were there, but he didn’t see them. As he entered the bridge he decided to go for it. He had his horse Bullitt go into a full gallop. He was making quick work of the long covered bridge then suddenly. A man with a bag over his head came across the exit with a Colt in his hand and fired into the air!
BANG!
Cole whipped Bullitt around to try to make a break for it in the other direction but two masked men were already running up on him with guns in their hands. Cole turned his horse around again, but as the first man advanced Cole decided to stop. And spring his own trap.
“HANDS IN THE AIR COCKSUCKER!” one of them yelled.
Cole obliged.
As the two men from the entrance got closer the man from the exit stopped about half way toward him. This pleased Cole.
The two men finally arriving barked “WALLET! WATCH! ANY OTHER VALUABLES! ALL IN THE BAG!”
The one man had holstered his revolver and was holding the reins to Cole’s horse. The second man had his gun pointed at Cole, with the bag in his other hand.
Luck was on Cole’s side. The revolver wasn’t cocked.
“Easy partner! Just take it easy.” Cole said while sliding his right hand into his coat.
BANG!
Cole drew, aimed, and fired the Remington with such speed the highwayman didn’t have time to react. As the first road agent dropped dead, Cole quickly swung to his other side as the second road agent stumbled at drawing his gun only for Cole to blast him right through the neck. Causing the second highwayman to drop his gun, and fall to the ground gurgling on his own blood as he looked on in horror as he saw his confederate lay dead with the back of his head blown off.
The third road agent fired wide missing Cole; he was too far, too cold, and too shaken up to shoot straight. As he cocked his Colt again, Cole aimed real careful with his Remington and got him right in the chest causing the final bandit to drop.
For what seemed an eternity that lasted no more than a few seconds everything was still. And Cole got off his horse. The bandit Cole shot in the neck had since expired. Cole went over to the bandit he shot in the chest to check if he was still alive.
“Please mister, don’t shoot no more,” begged the bandit.
“I won’t, unless you give me reason to,” replied Cole.
Cole kept the Remington aimed at the man as he looked him over. The shot in his chest was fatal. Cole took the bandit’s Colt away from him and pulled off his mask. He had long greasy black hair, and an uneven unkempt beard. It was not a handsome face, but neither was it repulsive. Cole looked him over for any more guns, and then backed up. He pulled out a little note book he kept on him that had a pencil in it, and tucked the Remington under his left arm.
“What’s your name boy,” asked Cole?
“W..what?”
“You’re name. I want your name.”
“Why?”
“So the undertaker in Silver Pines has a name to put on a stone.”
“Jerry. Jerry Donner” replied the bandit, “and the man you shot in the neck is Percy Hale. COUGH! COUGH! COUGH! I don’t know the name of the man whose head you done blowed off. We just called him Blue.”
“You a God fearing man?” Cole asked almost sarcastically, but still sincerely.
Jerry didn’t reply.
Cole went to his horse. His note book and pencil was back in his coat. He was now reloading the three spent shells in his Remington. Cole peered back from under his Slouch hat to see if the bandit had moved: he laid still as he continued to bleed out. As Cole finished reloading he got to his horse and pulled a Bible from the saddle bag. He returned to Jerry, and began to read some scripture over him. The man’s face made no indication of how he felt about this. Cole stopped reading when the man finally passed.
Cole searched their bodies and found a gold watch and a few silver dollars. He took that and their Colt revolvers and put them in the bag that they demanded he put his wallet in. This was the collection for their burial.
He dragged their bodied to the bushes outside the bridge, and then finally resumed the route to Silver Pines. He likely wouldn’t reach town before sun down, but would still get there early enough to report to the sheriff and then get a hot bath, a hot meal, a warm bed, and the thing he now needed most: a stiff drink.
Cole hoped that this would be the end of his troubles in Silver Pines, but unfortunately trouble was only just beginning.
