Riding Shotgun on the Express Stage and Mail + Giveaway

We have a guest at the junction today! Let’s give a warm welcome to Tracy Garrett, author of Clint!

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Riding Shotgun on the Express Stage and Mail

For the safety of passengers and cargo—such as payroll for the Army stationed in remote forts across the Plains—stage coach companies began using hired guns. Referred to as Shotgun Riders, they road up top with the driver and a rifle, watching the land around them for the outlaws that were the scourge of the stage companies.

When I was invited to write a book in the multiple-author series “Gun for Hire,” my hero appeared fully formed in my mind. I had done research for a previous book, “Grace,” and found a shotgun rider hero for her. Only I latched onto Wells Fargo as the stage company.

It wasn’t until I was refreshing my mind on the job of the man with the gun that I discovered Wells Fargo never employed a shotgun rider—they never carried money or payroll, only mail and passengers. So, in spite of the name of the Hollywood TV series “Tales of Wells Fargo,” starring Dale Robertson, the setting was inaccurate.

For “Clint” I chose another stagecoach company, then changed the name a bit to the Express Stage and Mail. You can check out the actual companies that covered the Santa Fe Trail at http://www.legendsofamerica.com/stagecoach/.

These stage lines could travel the 740 miles from Independence, Missouri, to Santa Fe, New Mexico, in fifteen days. The drivers and shotgun riders would have a section of the trail and ride it back and forth, handing off to other drivers and riders. I imagine they got to know the contours of the land they traveled very well: where there was water, where they could take shelter should it become necessary, and where the outlaws had enough cover to prepare an attack.

In “Clint” my shotgun rider was very good at his job—any outlaws crazy enough to attempt to rob a stage he rode never did so again.

“Clint” is the eighth book of ten in the Gun for Hire series and it will hit Kindles on June 30.

 

Clint McGuire has always lived by his gun. Desperate to leave behind a past that haunts him, he becomes a deputy in a small Kansas town and vows to protect its citizens from all dangers—even those he brings with him.

Ophelia Walcott enjoys her job as a schoolteacher, but she wants a family of her own and a man who will love her. She finds herself intrigued by the elusive loner who courageously defends the place she calls home.

Clint knows all he can offer Ophelia is trouble and heartbreak, but he is unable to resist the charms of the beautiful schoolteacher. When his secrets threaten their blossoming love, Clint must choose between continuing to live a lie in order to make Ophelia’s dreams come true or facing the truth about his previous life and risk it destroying them both.

 

Excerpt from CLINT:

Chapter One

March 1876

Vinduska, Kansas

“Charlie Ingraham, what is wrong with you today?” Ophelia Dolores Walcott, Lea to all who knew her, joined the ten-year-old at the door to the schoolhouse and scanned the yard of the schoolhouse. She’d left the door open after the other children departed, opening windows on each side of the large room to air it out and clear out some of the chalk dust from her class’s vigorous cleaning of their slates. “You’re as jumpy as a flea in a pack of puppies.”

“I’m just excited. The Stage and Mail is late, Miss Walcott. The westbound stage is already gone, but the eastbound is late. Ma’s coming home today. She said. Her last letter said Grandma was doing fine and she’d be on the stage today. But it’s late and it’s never late. Maybe something bad happened!”

“I’m sure everything is fine, Charlie. Perhaps they were delayed leaving the last stop.” Although it was unusual for the Express Stage and Mail not to be on time. Well, nothing to be gained by speculation. “Come on, help me lay the fire for tomorrow morning, and close up the schoolhouse.” She patted his shoulder gently. “It’s time for you to be getting home.”

“Yes, Miss Walcott. Maybe Pa will know why the stage is late.”

Charlie’s father, Wilson, ran the mercantile and post office. If anyone had news to share, he would. “I bet he will. Let’s close up and go ask him.”

A crowd was gathering by the time she and the boy reached the mercantile, waiting for the stage to arrive. Though it came through on a regular schedule, it took on the excitement of a new adventure every time. Charlie spotted his friends and ran to them. As if on cue, the rattle of the coach wheels on the hard-packed soil sounded in the distance and approached fast.

As it rolled to a stop in front of the Express office, the doors were flung open on both sides and seven passengers spilled out. “That’s it, I don’t care if it costs more. Next time I’m taking the train.” The speaker stumbled off, obviously overwrought. Wilson reached in to help his wife out. Maybelle looked pale.

“Welcome, home, wife.” Wilson kissed her cheek, bringing a little color back.

“I’m glad to be home, Wilson. That was an experience I don’t care to repeat, I must say.”

Charlie came running up. “What happened, Ma?”

“A gang of riders tried to overtake the stage, apparently to rob us.”

Charlie’s eyes rounded. “Outlaws?”

Wilson tucked her closer to his side. “Are you alright, my dear? You weren’t injured?”

Her chin rose as dignity reasserted itself. “They were unsuccessful.” She turned to the driver. “Thank you, both of you,” she included the man on the roof, “for getting us here safely.”

Lea stayed out of the way as luggage was unloaded and the man the driver called his shotgunner sat down where he was and began cleaning his rifle. He was a tall man and lanky, but strong, as he’d hefted boxes and trunks as if they weighed nothing. His dark chestnut hair was a little long and the ends curled just past his collar. As he glanced at her, she was surprised to see eyes as brown as mahogany.

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“Well, Shotgun, we made it.” The driver slapped Clint on the back as he finally climbed down, and huffed out a relieved breath. “That was some fancy shootin’ back there, McGuire.”

They moved out of the way as fresh horses were put in the traces and the wheels of the coach were greased. Then the new driver and shotgun who would take the stage on east to the next stop climbed aboard. Luggage and freight were secured, passengers got in and with a shout and the crack of a whip, the stages began to move.

When the dust settled, Clint McGuire shoved his hat back with one finger. “Johnny, your driving made it easy as a turkey shoot.”

Johnny cackled. “I’ve seen my share of good shotgunners, but you beat all. Between you and that repeatin’ rifle, you made sure them outlaws couldn’t run us to ground, or the westbound, come to that.”

“They won’t be running anyone to ground anymore.” Clint’s expression was grim. It was his job to see that the stage got through and none of the passengers or cargo lost. And he’d done that job well for nearly seven years. Necessary though it was, he was tired of the killing.

The stationmaster, Howard Mills, hurried to where the driver stood stroking and calming the six lathered horses. “What happened? You’re late. I was getting concerned.”

“Howdy, Mr. Mills.” Clint greeted the stationmaster. “We ran into a bit of trouble a few miles out.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The kind you’ll need the law for.” Johnny joined them. “And the undertaker. If not for Shotgun here, your perfect record of no passengers or cargo lost would have been ruined.”

Mills studied both men. “I’ll send for the sheriff.”

“Before you do, who was the lady standing there a minute ago? Pretty, blue eyes, with a pile of blond hair up on her head.”

“Little thing?” When Clint nodded, he smiled. “That would be our schoolteacher, Ophelia Walcott.”

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Order CLINT today! Available June 30 for Kindle from Amazon.

Haven’t started the series yet? Find our series page HERE.

Tracy is giving away one ebook of Clint to a commenter! The winner will be randomly selected on Sunday, June 22nd.

Would you be excited, afraid, or both to be a passenger on a stage coach in the Old West?

Leave a comment to be entered into the giveaway!