Quinn's War

by Joe B. Slater

  Chapter 10

  Quinn headed north to Nemaha, where he sold his rifle and bought supplies. He rode on to Brownsville and crossed the river at Peru and spent a night at an inn. He rode up to Lewis Landing the next day.

  The limestone blocks of the hotel were covered with ash and the rubble of burned timbers. A hum of voices speaking in unison came from the church across from the ruins. He turned and tied his horse to the rail in front of the church. Three months ago he and Marjorie had spent what he thought to be the best night of his life in America there. What he heard coming from the church were voices speaking in unison. He walked up the steps and through the door.

  The people seated around a table took no notice of him. One of the men led the group, hands joined, in a call and response prayer. A litany, Quinn thought. Like a litany. Except raggedy, not as quick, not as automatic.” The leadership of the prayer changed. Quinn sat in a chair and waited. Finally, everyone in the circle raised their feet off the floor and the prayer stopped. Their feet back on the floor, chairs screeched back from the table and the people stood. A tall man walked over to Quinn. “Welcome friend. Have you come to pray with us?”

  “No,” Quinn said. “I’m just here waiting. A church is always a good place to wait.”

  “Are you a prayerful man?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am,” Quinn nodded. “I followed your prayers and found them comforting.”

  “Then they have met their purpose, friend, and you are welcome here. My name is Peter Watley.” He turned and nodded at the knot of people leaving. “We are a small group of selected saints brought together to bring Light into the wilderness. We are a religious community left behind by other saints. We are, as Jesus said, ‘the corn thrown by the wayside to grow and prosper in the wilderness.’ What brings you here?” The man led Quinn out and down the steps and they joined the group.

  “I came to see my friends, Rafe and Marion Lewis. They took me in and fed me when I was hungry and gave me a bed before sending me on my way. But I see their hotel is burned.”

  “We lost two saints on that day, the day they died. Three men came one morning, a big black man, a big white man, and also there was a small white man. They asked about the owners of the hotel, and they told us they had talked to them. They said there was a reward for the capture of a white nigger girl. That’s what they said. A white runaway nigger girl. They rode out of town and then turned and came back. We didn’t tell them anything or say anything. And we went on our way. We heard shots, and by the time we got back here the hotel was on fire, and a man and a mule was dead in the street. Rafe was dead on the porch and we dragged him down the steps, and in no time another group of horsemen rode up and asked us questions about the first group of men and then told us to go home. So we did.”

  Quinn thanked him and asked where the Lewises were buried. “Only the mister,” one said. “There ain’t no other remains, to speak of. Mr. Lewis, we buried him the next day in our graveyard. There was nobody else, except the mule, and we dragged him off. They must of took the dead man who had the mule. There was nothin’ else. “

  Quinn untied his horse and walked with the man in silence.

  “Do you have a place to stay?” the tall man asked.

  “Not this night. I’m headed south as soon as I can. To look for the men who shot Rafe and burned the hotel. If I can find the other men, I’d like to talk to them. Have you seen or heard anything?”

  The man shook his head. “People take the deaths and burning as bushwackers on the loose and nothing much can be done about it. No.” He stopped and turned to Quinn. “You want to come for supper? We could put you up for the night and you could go on your way with a full stomach. It’d be no trouble.”

  Quinn thanked the man and the two trailed the group from the church to a small two-story farm house a quarter mile down the road. The man went on about the history of their religious group, and Quinn listened and tried to remember the meals he spent at Rafe and Marion’s table ignoring this man and his conversation. The man did not recognize him and Quinn did not care to be known.

  After supper the man and his family spent the evening talking about what they knew of the rebellion, and they all assured Quinn that they took no part in violence of any kind and wanted no part in any of the fighting. They just wanted to live in peace and practice their faith.

  Quinn agreed, that it wasn’t his business, and he told his own story of coming over from Ireland and trying to make a life. “I do want to find those men, though. I doubt that I can start my life again unless I find them.”

  The man nodded. “And you know, that it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.’”

  From deep in his memory came Quinn’s response. “And it is also written, ‘The righteous will rejoice when he sees the vengeance; he will bathe his feet in the blood of the wicked.’”

  The man nodded. “We all have to live according to the word as we hear it. God bless you, sir. And God bless all of us.”

  Quinn rode south after breakfast feeling refreshed and strong. He took the old stagecoach trail across the Nishnabotna and got to St. Joseph well before sundown.

  The next day he crossed into Kansas at Atchison, and then he rode on to Ft. Leavenworth. Lucy had instructed him, “Once you get to the fort, ask for one of the men on the paper.”

  Quinn passed the sentries and was stopped at the gate and told to dismount and wait. Fifteen minutes later an escort ushered him to a cabin. The young man standing guard took Quinn ten steps down the board walk. “I am General Blunt’s Adjutant and his friend, so I’d like to say a few things before you go in there. The General has spent the last six weeks leading the Army of the Frontier in a very successful campaign. Now he’s back here getting ready to go God knows where because the President is putting Schofield in his place. I just thought you should know. Tell me your name, please, and state your business.”

  “James Quinn. I’d like to ask the General about some bushwackers who attacked me and killed my friend.”

  The officer nodded and led Quinn to the office doorway and rapped on the jamb.

  The General was busy piling papers, books, and articles of clothing into crates. He shook hands with Quinn. “State your business, sir. I’m getting ready to move out. If I can help you, I will.” Quinn handed him the folded paper and Blunt opened it and nodded. “This is a pretty good list of people, excluding me, of course.” He handed the paper back to Quinn. “A week ago that paper wouldn’t have got you anywhere but out on your ass. Me and the people on that list were ‘persona non grata.’ That means we were on Schofield’s shit list. You know General Schofield?” Without waiting for an answer he asked, “Where you from? You’re not from a regiment, are you? No, I would say not, not with just one eye. Sit down.” The General removed a pile of papers from a chair and Quinn sat. General Blunt went on with his packing.

  “General, I’m looking for some bushwackers and for a trio of slave chasers. Lucy Deroin gave me that paper and told me the people on the list could help me, and if they couldn’t they might know somebody who could.”

  The General grunted. “I’m afraid I can’t help. I can put out the word among my staff here, but most of these men have been down at Prairie Grove with me up until right before Christmas. They were on the shit list, too. I don’t think they’d know much. We don’t have anything to do with the general population or the home guard. Just our policy. Your best bet is to go south and try and find Hoyt’s men. They are all over the place, but they come back to a tavern on the road between Leavenworth and Quindaro. It’s called the Six Mile House. You go there and wait and some of them’ll show up. I’d go there. Wait. Let me write a note.”

  The General sat and scrawled a note on a piece of paper and folded it in thirds and then twice again. He heated a wax stick in the candle on his desk, dripped wax on the paper, then pressed a seal into it and addressed it. “There. Give this to Hoyt. This’ll convince him you’re serious.” He handed Quinn the paper. “Now if you’l
l excuse me, I’ll get back to packin’ my shit.”

  Quinn thanked the General and turned to leave. “Mister, you can stay here for a day or two, if you like. Eat. Rest a bit. Just tell my man outside there.”

  When Quinn rode up to the inn the next afternoon, he was struck not just by the size of the building, but also by its design and construction. Above the hewn limestone blocks that formed the foundation were half-timbers supporting walls of polished walnut plank. The board and batten sides rose a full two stories with glass windows and shutters and a split shingle roof. The building was laid out in a shallow U with a courtyard of flagstone. A stone fire pit stood in the middle.

  A boy came out and took Quinn’s horse and tied him to the rail, then took his pack and led him into the inn. The greatroom was already lit by lanterns hung from the beams, and men were sitting around tables talking and drinking. The boy put down the pack and walked over to one of the men at the table and said something. The man came over and held out his hand. “I’m Joseph Bloomington Swain.”

  Quinn stepped forward and shook his hand. “James Quinn. Pleased to meet you. I’m here to see if you can help me find some people.”

  “We got word you were comin’. Marion’s in the kitchen. She thought you’d be here days ago. Let’s go see if we can convince her to give up what she’s doin’.”

  Quinn found Marion up to her elbows in dishwater. She turned, and drying her hands on her apron she walked over and wrapped her arms around Quinn. “Oh, Jamie! Jamie!” She burst into tears and buried her face on his shoulder. Quinn put his arms over hers and held her.

  Bloom Swain backed out of the room.

  “Oh, Marion.” He put his chin on her head. They stood together for a minute.

  She took his hand and led him to the table and they sat.

  “I’m sorry, Jamie. I got him killed and then got you shot. It was my idea and then you came...”

  “Marion. No, no. They did it, not you.”

  “It was me. She was comin’ to me. And I got Rafe shot and I lost the girl. There’s nothin’ good came out of it. The hotel’s gone and Rafe’s gone and I can’t go back.”

  “Lucy told me you saved me. They left me for dead.”

  “And they killed Rafe. God Damn! I wish I was a man! I just went and hid. I didn’t want to die. Now I just want to find ‘em and kill ‘em. I do!”

  “We can find them. Lucy said the men here knew who killed Rafe and shot me.”

  “Four of the men from the regiment were chasing bushwackers and they came up when they saw smoke. When I got down here I told them my story and Bloom says he knows who they are. He knows who two of them are. They’re slave chasers from St. Louis and they’ve been through here before. But let’s not go on about that just now. I want to hear about you. Just let me look at you. When I left you at the reservation, I thought you were gonna die. Lucy wrote me that you came out of it and would be fine. And then she sent a letter saying you were comin’ down, although she didn’t think you were well enough to ride. And here you are.”

  “And here I am. Lucy said it was thanks to you and her and Miss Morphine that I’m alive. You saved my life.” He clutched the bag around his neck. “Even now, without her magic powder I still won’t make it through the night. Lucy told me some about how you brought me to the reservation. I was out for four days, and even now what I remember about that morning is just a blur.”

  Marion put her hands flat on the table in front of her. “You remember the three men? How they rode up, and then they came back? I was upstairs and heard the talking and the first shot, and I ran down. I got to the door and heard a second shot and I saw…I saw all of it happen so quick. You were down and Rafe stepping onto the porch with his rifle and the man on the horse shot him, and I ran back into the kitchen. I heard one of them pounding up the steps hollering at me to come out, and I ran to the back porch and lifted the lid to the cistern and slipped in and pulled the cover down. I heard him tromping around and hollering and the stove getting’ kicked over and dishes crashing. I’m guessing he threw the lantern on the stove because the fire started and they talked some and they left. I crawled out when it got quiet and the front room was burning, I just went out the back. I looked to see if they were gone, really gone, and when I was sure they were, I came around and saw Rafe at the bottom of the steps and you and the mule on the ground. I thought you were dead, too. I went to Rafe and he was gone, and then I went to you and you were still breathing and all bloody.”

  “What happened to the girl? Did they get her?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know where she went. Things happened so fast and I was so scared. I stood there just bawlin’. I got Rafe’s horse and tied him next to the steps and dragged you up and hoisted you over the saddle. I led the horse down to the river and pulled the boat over and got you in it. I sent the horse back and then I did what Rafe said he did. I pushed the boat onto the ice and got behind and pushed it down to the point of the island and got in and poled along the ice until I caught a current. I floated to Indian Cave and pulled up. The reservation isn’t far and I went and got help. They took you to Lucy, and I stayed around the reservation for a couple days and couldn’t stand it. Lucy sent me to some people and they took me to Quindaro. I came up here after Christmas and I’ve been helping out. Lots of people comin’ and goin’ around here, I tell you.”

  “What is this place? Somebody put a load of money into it.”

  “Theo Bartles’ father built it as an inn, a roadhouse. Nobody stays here anymore. I mean, travelers don’t. It’s mostly the headquarters for the Seventh Kansas Irregulars. That’s what they call themselves. They were part of the Seventh Kansas Volunteer Cavalry under Col. Jennison. They don’t ride with them now, but they say they are assigned various duties under General Blunt. George Hoyt is their commander now. Bloom says one of their jobs is to search out guerrillas and another is to protect the citizens loyal to the Union. He’s one of the men who came up and saw our hotel burning. They were chasing bushwackers and ended up at Lewis Landing. Just after we left. He said they took out after the ones who did it.”

  “And Bloom said they knew who they were?”

  “Bloom said they did. He said they lost their trail after they crossed the Nishney and couldn’t pick it up, but he was sure they were headed south.”

  “Who is the girl? Lucy said she didn’t know her name.”

  “I don’t know either. We usually get the word that a runaway is comin’ to us. We hear how many, but not who they are or where they come from. They just tell us where they’re goin’. Let me take you in to talk to Bloom. I’m going in to put supper together.” She put a hand on his wrist and patted it.

  Marion led Quinn back into the tavern, and Bloom Swain rose and took him to the two tables where men were talking and drinking. “You won’t remember everybody, Quinn, but you will get to know them if you stay here long enough. The Seventh has a tradition of nicknames and there’s a story behind every one. The men call me a number of different things, and one of ‘em’s Jeff Davis. And we got a General Beauregard who’s not a General. I’ll wait ‘til he gets here and he can tell you the story.”

  Bloom announced Quinn to the men and they acknowledged him as they were named.

  “Here’s Harvey, Tough, Walt, Red, Sore-eye Dan. Over there, Pickles, Pony, Yellow Tom, Buffalo Bill, Pete, Light Horse Harry, Jackson Flood, and Newt Morrison. We got lots more out doin’ different things and you’ll meet them when they get back. We fancy ourselves the Seventh Kansas Volunteer Cavalry Irregulars.”

  “Hear! Hear!” one of the men shouted! A few of the men pounded their cups and drank. All of them gave Bloom their attention.

  Bloom announced to the room, “We been together as a unit since October. We are commissioned by a very important man, and our mission is...” Bloom paused and there was a hush in the room. “We can’t tell you our mission or the name of our leader until we burn you in. Can we boys?” Various forms of assent went round the room. He tur
ned to Quinn. “Once you’re in, you’re in for life. Right boys?” Sounds of agreement went round the room.

  One of the men stood and stepped over to Quinn and offered him his seat. “Sit here, now, and we can do it right here.” He put his hands on Quinn’s shoulders and turned to Bloom. “Or should we wait ‘til mornin’?”

  “Now’s fine. We may be busy in the morning,” said Bloom.

  “Now just sit here quiet, Quinn, and listen.”

  The men sat and looked at Quinn.

  The man standing looked down at Quinn and kicked his chair leg and laughed. “Naaaw! I made that shit up. There ain’t no such thing!”

  The men burst out in laughter and shouted comments and Quinn smiled weakly.

  “That’s it! Looks like you’re in!” More laughter. “You’re gonna hear different, but there’s nothin’ like that with us.” He waved at the men. “We’re just a bunch of horsemen with various uniforms. Friends who fight together. But before we tell you what we’re all about, let’s hear about you. What you got to say?”

  Quinn stood. “You know my name. Some of you know a bit of my story. Somebody shot me and murdered my friend and I lost my eye and I’m out to get the men who did it. I’d like any help I can get to find them, just as long as you leave their killing to me. That’s all I’ve got to say except thanks.”

  He sat down. The men hooted and clapped and slapped the table.

  The man who gave up his seat said, “We can wait on namin’ you. You don’t have any say in it, but you’re lucky we’ve already got a One-Eyed Blunt.” Laughter all around. “We call him that so nobody confuses him with General ‘two-eyed’ Blunt. So you’re safe there.”

  One of the men came and sat down across from Quinn. “I can tell you what we saw when we got up there, and I can promise you that we will help you find the sons a bitches that shot you. Tough, Jackson, Yellow Tom, and Bloom were along with us.

  We was followin’ a bunch a bushwackers out of St. Joe, trailed them to the Nishnabotna--they had no idea we was behind them--and we saw where they crossed a mile northeast of the bridge, and that’s when we saw smoke. We thought it was them. It looked like up in the Hamburgh area--we didn’t know. We crossed the river and hit the stagecoach road and took it fast to the Landing and found the hotel on fire. Pretty much gone. We rode up and found the damnedest thing. We saw this mule. At the foot of the stairs, tied to the hitchin’ rail, was a mule. Dead. Somebody shot him in the head. We talked to some people there who was watchin’ the fire. They described the three that came into town and they wasn’t the ones we was followin’. They was different.”

  Another man interrupted. “When they told us about the three, we knew right away who two of ‘em was. They wasn’t our boys. The people there said they was lookin’ for a runaway nigger girl. They was a big white man and an even bigger black one.”

  Newt Morrison added, “Everybody knows them. Hunter and Hawk. Don’t know their real names, but they’re slave catchers. The white man uses the colored boy kinda like a coon dog. That’s why they call the black one Hunter.”

  Quinn said, “Can you help me find them?”

  “Oh, they’re out there,” said Newt. “That’s a couple that’s pretty hard to miss. Whether or not they’re in our area’s another thing. They go back and forth and pretty much have a free pass. The Hawk just claims Hunter is his nigger and shows some papers and they get past any pickets or sentries or guards. They can get on any boat and go upriver or down.”

  “And from what I hear, they got good horses,” one of them said. “They got a reputation for ridin’ real nice horses. They got to have a pen somewhere.”

  Bloom nodded. “You’re right, Tough.” Bloom spoke to Quinn. “Tough has an eye for horses. He can tell you just by looking where the horse came from.”

  “Bloom doesn’t mean the bloodline, Quinn.” Newt said. “He means who he stole it from.” Laughter all around. “Tough’s our local recognized horse thief.”

  “And proud of it,” another chimed in.

  Tough nodded. “I didn’t see him, but I know the horse the big white man rode. The old man we talked to at the hotel that day described him. I know that horse. He’s an American Saddlebred out of Virginia. Grey Eagle stock. I’d love to get close enough to put my hands on him.”

  “And the black man?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody said anything about his horse.”

  “Tough, I don’t mean the horse. I mean the man.”

  “They don’t keep records of their bloodlines, and I expect they all look alike. Do you know what General Lee paid for his horse? He’s a Saddlebred.”

  Pete shook his head. “When was the last time you ever paid for a horse, Tough?”

  “I do sometimes. In a trade. I throw in a little money to sweeten the deal if I have to. You just don’t know. I have my reputation.”

  Laughter.

  “It don’t matter about the horses.” Tough spoke to Quinn. “We can find the men if we set out to. That’s my point.”

  Quinn said, “And the third man?”

  “They said he was a little white man, ridin’ a kinda nothin’ horse,” said Tough.

  “Not worth noticin’, huh, Tough?” said Bloom.

  “Nobody said nothin’ about him, so, yeah. Maybe he was the one wantin’ the girl.”

  When the conversation turned to the virtues of stealing and trading horses over stealing and trading slaves, Marion came out and brought Quinn into the kitchen while she fixed supper.

  Quinn thanked her again for saving his life and asked what she knew about the girl that brought the three men to the landing. “We didn’t know anything about her. She was just another runaway--a quiet, scared, skinny girl, and we didn’t ask about her circumstance. You don’t. It doesn’t take long to figure out that you don’t want to know about them. It’s such a heartbreak.”

  “Rafe died doin’ a good thing, Marion. Protecting you, helping the girl. He would have killed them if he could have got a shot off. You know, when he came over to the island and thought I was a slave chaser he was a different man. He was ready to kill me right there on the ground.”

  “It was more about protecting me than it was helping them get away. I was the one who brought the trail to Lewis Landing. Rafe didn’t really care much, wanted to stay out of it, but I worked the Freedom Trail over near Topeka before I met him. He was just doin’ it because he loved me.” Marion waved her hand in front of her face. “And now he’s gone.”

  They both were quiet. She continued. “And we’re here now and got to make the best of it. See it through, see this thing to the end. It seems like it’s been goin’ on forever. This side of the river has been at war over slavery for the last ten years. We thought Lewis Landing was far enough away, but it wasn’t. The river brings it, the poison. Slavery. It poisoned the Missouri side and then it leaked over into Kansas when Kansas wanted to come into the Union. Towns like Quindaro were set up and people from the east brought in to populate them. Towns like Wyandotte sprung up right next to them and filled up with people from the Missouri side.

  Not necessarily bad people. But the ones that followed? Feuders, adulterers, thieves of all sorts, land grabbers, preachers, politicians. Twenty years ago when it was just about Indians and whites it was simple. Now look at it. The government took care of the Indians and now what do we have? These poor Indians see the war as part of what has been goin’ on for two hundred years with them, except now they are forced to take sides with the whites. And they know better than to trust any white man. Things are not always what they seem and you don’t know who to trust. On either side of the river.”

  “Are you saying not to trust these men?”

  “I’m not saying that. Just get to know them. They’re all different. The good thing is that they’re on our side. She brought over the plates. Help me set the table.”

  That night Jamie Quinn mixed morphine with his whiskey and when he woke in the morning the men were gone. He dressed and walked
downstairs.

  Marion met him at the foot of the stairs. “Can I fix you breakfast? Everyone’s up early this morning. They said to let you sleep and to take good care of you. They are all nothin’ but teases.” She smiled and led him into the kitchen. “Come on in and have some breakfast.”

  She poured him a cup of coffee and Quinn sat at the table and watched her work. “I like being here. I miss Rafe something terrible, something terrible. These men have given me a place and they respect me and appreciate me, and I feel like I’m doin’ something important. I take care of them. I clean up after them and cook for them. They know I’m here when they come back. When Theo and Rebecca left things got a little out of hand. At least from the mess that was here when I came. Lord! It looked like a den for bears and wolverines!”

  She brought biscuits and a plate of eggs to the table. “It keeps me busy cooking and cleaning. Nine rooms. And then there’s the basement and the wine cellar and the secret passages and the dungeon and the...”

  They heard a commotion in the next room and the youth who took Jamie’s horse the night before rushed into the kitchen. “Marion! Marion! They’re back! They’re comin’ up the road!”

  She turned to Quinn. “Eat your eggs, Jamie. I gotta go see what they got.” She swiped off her apron, grabbed a sweater from the peg, and ran out. Quinn took one more bite and followed her into the courtyard.

  He watched from the fire pit as four men rode up leading six horses. They led the horses into the corral, unclipped them, and tied their mounts to the corral rail. Marion headed back toward the kitchen. The men ignored Quinn as they came by and Quinn trialed them into the saloon.

  “I got biscuits and coffee ready,” Marion said from the kitchen. “Give me a few minutes for the eggs.” The men hung their gun belts on the pegs and piled their hats neatly in the corner and then went in and sat at the table.

  “Tough and his men won’t be here for breakfast,” one of the men announced. “They went south with the horses. They’ll be here for dinner.”

  “Colonel,” Marion said, “this is Jamie Quinn. He came in yesterday. Jamie, this is Col. Hoyt.”

  “Welcome to the Seventh, Mr. Quinn.” Hoyt stuck out his hand and smiled. “You’re just in time to watch a bit of frontier theater unfold in front of your very eyes. But let’s eat, Marion. The Sheriff’ll be here soon.” The men sat and Quinn started his second breakfast.

  Marion poured coffee and the conversation turned to horses, and Jamie had difficulty following it, except to pick up some of the names he had heard the night before.

  As Marion came around for refills, the boy rushed in. “They’re comin’. Just down the road. There’s a bunch of them.” The men pushed back their chairs and walked out and picked out their hats from the corner.

  Hoyt said, “Hang on. Let me go out first and meet ‘em in the courtyard. No guns. If they want to take one of us in, let them.”

  Eight men reined in short of the flagstones. One with a badge pinned to his coat spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “These your men, Hoyt? We got warrants here for the arrest of William S. Tough. Joseph Bloomington Swain, and Walter Sinclair.”

  Hoyt stepped forward. “Bloom’s here, but Tough and Sinclair are out. What you want them for?”

  “Horse thievin’. They rustled six horses last night from pickets across the river and had the stones to put ‘em on the ferry this morning and bring them across the river. Pritchard said he took ‘em over. Those horses there? We followed ‘em from the river. Whatcha got to say, Hoyt? Which of your men stole ‘em?”

  “You said Tough and Bloom and Sinclair. We’ll go with that, since you got warrants for them, but they aren’t your horses. My men just brought them down from Leavenworth. You want to bring in Bloom, fine, and I’ll tell Tough and Sinclair you’re looking for them when they show up.”

  “We don’t care who you send, Hoyt. We got warrants enough for all ‘a you. All we have to do is fill ‘em in.”

  “Do you need help with the horses, Sheriff? Harry. Ralph. Help these men with the horses. Bloom, take what you need and go along with them. I’ll be down later in the day to straighten this out. Sheriff, I’ll bring Tough and Sinclair with me.”

  Hoyt led the men back to the kitchen table and the men sat with their hats on. When sounds of the horses faded, the whole table raised an uproar. Claps on the back and hats tossed haphazardly into the corner.

  Hoyt asked, “Marion, is there any more coffee?”

  Marion made the rounds with the pot. The men talked over each other.

  “Did you see his face?”

  “I was afraid Bloom’d bust out laughin’.”

  “Maybe when Tough and you go down, you can do a little horse tradin’.”

  “Jesus! I’d like to go along.”

  “Colonel, you gonna ask for an apology?”

  “Maybe you can get Anthony to put it in the paper.”

  “We’ll wait and see if we can rub his nose in it a little more,” said Hoyt. “Tough’s good at that. Until he gets back, we can do the chores around the house. Put the horses up. A couple of you can go down to Young America and replenish the grog. And ask Marion what she needs. Then let’s see what we can get to outfit our new recruit here. Pete. Take him up and get his sizes. Let me know what we need to get while we’re in town. I’m going to write up a report.”

  Hoyt stood and the men stood. He snapped a salute and the men each gave an obscene gesture, some of which Jamie had never seen before. They burst out laughing and walked out to, “Good job! Done for the day! We could butcher them nags when we get ‘em back! Hey, how ‘bout it?” And they went on out the door.

  Pete got a pencil and paper from Marion and took Jamie upstairs.

  “What was all that about?” Quinn asked. “Horse stealing’s a hanging offense.”

  “Not down here it ain’t,” Pete said. “Not during the rebellion. Oh, Jesus! The Colonel pulled a fast one, though. Tough and Sinclair and Red went across and confisticated some horses last night and took ‘em north and brought them across. Dan, Pickles, and One-eye met them at the ferry and exchanged horses with them. Ya see, Tough has a pen north a there, and the boys just got six nags before dawn and brought them to the ferry. The sheriff tracked the nags from the ferry up here and Tough took the six blooded horses to his pens south of Leavenworth. Like a swap! Oh, boy, I wish I could go with ‘em to the Sheriff’s. You got a hat? Gimmie your cap. And that buffalo coat. Can I have yer brogans, too? It’s easiest if we just bring these in and then we won’t get the size and the shape wrong.”

  “You can have them if you bring them back, Pete. That’s a good outfit.”

  “It’s a good disguise, I’d say. Nobody’d take you for a cavalry man.” Pete piled the clothes on the floor by the door. “I’ll bring them back with a new outfit and you won’t ever want to wear that buffalo hair again. Gimme your shirt and take off them pants.”

  “Well, shit, you want my long handles? How about my eye-patch?”

  Pete laughed. “Naw, I gotta leave you with somethin’. But can you take yer pants off? I’ll have Marion measure your leg from them, and the waist, and give ‘em back to ya. We’ll getcha a good belt with a fancy buckle and a couple pair a pants and shirts. Socks is universal. What else you need?”

  Quinn removed his pants. “I’d appreciate it if you could let me have a gun. I’m gonna need a gun more than a new pair of pants.”

  “Oh, the Colonel’ll get you fixed up with what you need there. Won’t even have to ask him. When Tough and the boys get back, they’ll all head south this afternoon to see the Sheriff and then go on to the Johnson House. We got a stash down there. He’ll bring some stuff back. Wait’ll you see it. Boy!” He headed for the door and turned. “Now, don’t you go anywhere.” He stuffed the rolled-up pants under his arm and laughed. Quinn heard him repeat the phrase as he went down the stairs.

  Quinn sat on the bed in his socks and union suit. He pulled the big black coat out of the saddlebag and put
it on, then pulled out the pack of letters and undid the string. He read them and put them back in the saddlebag and was pushing it around with his foot when Pete came in.

  “Done!” Pete said as he walked in and tossed the pants on the bed. He picked up the pile by the door. “Let me take these things down and by tomorrow night you’ll have a new outfit.” He wrapped the shoes and the hat in the coat and was off.

  Quinn sat on the bed. His socket ached and his head throbbed. He took the medicine bag from his neck and pulled out the packet of morphine. He sifted a measure of the powder into the glass of water by the bed, swirled it, and drank it down. Then he lay on his back and thought about his eye. With his lid closed he imagined that his good eye saw what the empty hole saw and the eye saw darkness and he sat up quickly and opened his eye in a panic. He moved the eye from side to side and he controlled his breathing. He thought about getting up and reading the letters again, but instead toed the bags as he put on his pants, and then he walked down to an empty kitchen.

  He walked out into the courtyard stocking-footed and saw no one. The ground was cold, but he wanted something to do. Stay busy. Keep moving, he thought. Circling the inn, he found wood stacked against the back wall, and he began to haul it in by the armfuls and stack it outside the front door. He brought logs to the fireplace, then he brought logs and kindling to the kitchen and put them into the bin.

  He sat next to the kitchen stove and pulled down the oven door and peeled off his socks and hung them on the edge. He pulled another chair around and propped his feet up and dozed. He jerked awake, disoriented, and went back up to the dormitory room and brought down the medicine bag to the kitchen. The irrigation would only increase his pain, so he mixed another small measure of morphine powder into a cup of water and drank it. Then he filled the cup again. “Dissolve the salt in warm water,” Lucy had said. “Then add cold. Warm will help the salt dissolve and it will feel better as well.” He poured a bit of hot water from the kettle into the cup and poured a measure of salt into it and swirled it around. When it didn’t dissolve, he got a spoon and stirred it. Then he added cold water and tested it with his finger. He pulled the leather patch off and looked at it and thought it would need cleaning soon, but not today. He put the patch into one pants pocket, stuffed the bag into another, and walked outside.

  He leaned back against the wall and thought, there is no good way to do this. His feet were bare and a wind had come up. He thrust his chin up and held the cup level with his good eye. Then he held his breath and poured.

  The water ran over his face and head and onto his chest. The worst part, he thought, is the mess. I feel like a child, a baby who’s wet himself. First warm, then cold. He tipped his head forward. The cold air and the warm water took him back to the reservation and Lucy Deroin. A blind man being bathed like a baby. Helpless. He pulled the patch out of his pocket and smelled it. Maybe it’s time to put a pad on and put the magic ointment on it.

  “Jamie, what are you doin’? Oh, land sakes! You’re all wet!” Marion walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “You get in the house!”

  “I’m washing out my eye. I don’t think it’s healing.”

  “Oh, Jamie. I didn’t know. Come. Come on in and let me get you a dry shirt. You’ll catch a cold out here.” He followed her into the kitchen. “You brought in firewood. Why, thank you. That’s my job, or if I can get Ralph to do it. Sit there and I’ll be back.”

  He sat and tied the top thongs and slipped the patch onto his forehead. It felt like a cold hand. He pulled it down and reached around and tied the lower thongs.

  She returned and put a shirt and a pair of socks on the table. “Oh, I thought maybe you’d let me see behind your patch. I’m not being gruesome. I’m just interested. Take off that coat and let me dry you first and then get you into this shirt.” He took off the coat and laid it over a chair. “And your long handles--just peel off the top and let it hang. It’ll dry.” He unbuttoned and stripped his arms out of the underwear. “Now sit.” She scrubbed his head and he winced. “I’m sorry! I’m so bad. Here.” She handed him the towel and he blotted his face and wiped his chest.

  She handed him the shirt and then the socks.

  “It’s O.K. I’ll get used to this. It’s been slow in healing.” He put on the shirt.

  “Is it still bad? I know it was awful at first. Are you cold? Go sit by the fire.”

  Quinn sat by the stove and put on the socks. He propped his feet up on the chair. “Are Hoyt and the men gonna be back soon? I’ve been sitting around, and now I’m ready to do something. Anything. If I had my clothes, I’d go out and split some wood or clean out the fire pit.”

  “You can help me in here. I got laundry to do. Do you have any other stuff you want washed? I got to get dinner goin’ and then supper. You want to see the inn? Help me with the potatoes and then let me show you around the place. There’s lotsa stuff to keep you busy.”

  She brought a sack of potatoes and a sack of carrots to the table. “When you’re ready, you can peel these. There’s a knife in the drawer there. The roast’s in the oven and I’m baking bread this morning. You can peel until you’re tired. Your hands’ll be clean enough after that to punch down the bread, and then I’ll have you watch the gravy.”

  Quinn worked quietly while Marion told him stories about her life before she met Rafe, how her mother was afraid that she would not find a man who would marry her, a white man. “She told me, ‘How are you gonna meet a good young swain? Sometimes I think you are too much man for a man to be attracted. You’re not girl enough,’ she said. Well, Rafe liked me. He was older and I didn’t know until after I married him that he was married before and his wife died. In childbirth. And he moved from Pennsylvania to homestead and that’s what he did for a couple years. Then he came into some money and that’s when he met me. We got married and moved to just south of Hamburgh and thought about buying the hotel, beings that the Landing held such promise. We had a good business for a while, and then the stage took another road and the boats stopped.”

  She dried her hands on her apron. “I’m tired of cookin’. Help me pour the water in the boiler and then let’s go take a tour.”

  She pumped the water at the sink and it took Quinn three trips to fill the boiler. “Now, a few more sticks to get the fire goin’ good.” She opened a pothole and stuffed and handful of cobs in and three small pieces of wood. “There.” She slid the lid over the hole. “Follow me.”

  “Five large bedrooms, four on the top,” she said as she led him up the stairs. “The two you’ve seen.” Two more in the south wing, across the catwalk here.” She led him to an open, railed hallway above the saloon. “The fireplace below, see, warms the upstairs. The cookstove warms the kitchen and the chimney heats the two bedrooms over it.” She led him through the bedrooms and pointed to a butler’s staircase. “Down there’s the kitchen and on down’s the basement. The basement has two ways out, the staircase and there’s one to the outside. Let me get a lamp and we can go down. Stay right here.”

  When she came back, they walked down two floors and onto the basement landing. Quinn pointed to the door opposite the foot of the staircase. “The fifth bedroom--that it here?”

  “Yup. That’s it. But we can’t go in there. Only Colonel Hoyt goes in there. It was built by old man Bartles to hide runaways.”

  The main room in the basement held shelves and bins, and crocks lined the walls. The middle room was an armory on one end and a tool shop on the other. “That door there.” She pointed to the end room. “That’s the wine cellar that’s got a false wall and a room about the size of the privy behind it. We can’t go in there, either, but I’ve seen it. The Colonel lets me in to clean.”

  “So there’s no dungeon, then.”

  She laughed. “No, I was just teasin’ about that. But we do spread the rumor whenever we can. This place has a reputation for ghosts, too. Col. Hoyt says that the neighbors delight in telling stories of how people check into the Six Mile
House and never check out. The old man built a basement escape tunnel to the outhouse.”

  “And where are the Bartles now?”

  “Theo and Rebecca went south in November to build a Freedman Village in Mississippi. Col. Hoyt promised to take care of the place.”

  “Col. Hoyt and you, perhaps?”

  “Let’s go up. The water should be ready. We can soak the clothes while we start supper and finish the laundry while it’s cookin’.”

  He followed her up the stairs. “Supper?” Quinn said. “We haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

  “One step ahead, Jamie. You got to stay one step ahead. Most of the men are gone for dinner, so I’m making a big meal for supper.” She took a steel tub from a peg on the wall and set it on the floor. “You pour the water into the washtub. Put it over there under the stairs first.” While he filled the tub from the boiler, she added water from the sink and stirred in the soap. Then she dumped in the clothes. “Now plunge this up and down for a while.” She gave him a stick with a metal dish on the end. “I’ll set the table and ring the bell.”

  Five of the men filed in and Quinn joined them at the table. He learned that two of them had been with Hoyt for years. “I was with him before John Brown,” one said. “Col. Hoyt cut his teeth on the war with ole J.B.. He was the only one Brown trusted not to betray him when he was on trial. I’ll bet you didn’t know the Colonel’s a lawyer. The only lawyer that stuck by John Brown ‘til the end. Col. Hoyt organized a prison break, but it didn’t work out. He says that Brown just wanted to die and Hoyt walked to the gallows with him.”

  “And Bill here was with Little John’s sharpshooters before it was the Seventh Cavalry with Jennison. That’s how Col. Hoyt got to know Col. Jennison, through old man Brown.”

  The conversation wandered off into names of people Quinn had heard of, and the talk ended with an argument over who started the Redlegs. Marion weighed in from the stove. “Oh, I think lots of men want that honor. Jim Lane’s got the best claim to it, in my opinion.”

  “It don’t matter who started it,” one of the men said. “I get naturally riled up when I hear about them bandits that dress up like us and steal the glory just ‘cause they got leggings. It ain’t right.”

  When dinner was over and the men had filed out, Marion gave Quinn a cabbage slicer. “I’m goin’ down to get some ham and cabbage. You can clear the table and slice the cabbage over there and then help me finish up supper.”

  When she came up, Quinn asked about the men who sat with him over dinner.

  “I don’t know all the men. They come and go. They all tell stories and I listen. The important thing is that they are loyal to each other and would give up their lives for each other. They’re all different, of course, but they’re all in love with the idea of some kind of justice. Every one of them has a history to prove it.”

  “But Hoyt then didn’t organize the Redlegs? It was Lane?”

  “The men all came together under Col. Hoyt, but they were, for the most part, sent to him. From a lot of different places. It was a unit waitin’ to happen. Some say it started off as a bunch of cavalry riders who got tired of the way the war was being run in the day, so they rode at night jumping pickets and sentries and stealing horses. I knew about some of that in ‘61. Many of them just went back to doin’ what they were doin’ during the border wars. Some say they are the culls and troublemakers from cavalry units. When the generals wanted to rein them in, they tried organizing them. But they can’t really control them. Col. Hoyt gets orders from the chain of command, but the men won’t ever admit to taking orders. They joke about it. Col. Hoyt will get the men together and sometimes he ‘suggests’ orders. They operate as they like. They talk about it and decide. We got all kinds--spies, sharpshooters, scouts--that’s how the men are paid, as scouts. The men see themselves as irregulars patrolling the Kansas border. They’re all good with a pistol and ride like the wind.”

  The men rode back in groups of threes and fours. Bloom came in waving panels of rust colored buckskin. “Here you are, Quinn! Put these on and you’re one of us.” He held them out. Quinn turned around in his chair. “They’re redlegs, you stupid shit! Leggings to wear like chaps, over your boots.” Bloom looked down at Quinn’s stocking feet. “That is, when you get boots. But here. Let me show you.” Bloom sat in the chair next to him. “Put your foot up here. See.” Bloom propped his foot up on a chair and draped the leather over his knee. “The thongs here wrap around and you tie ‘em top, middle and bottom.” Bloom tied the top. “How high depends on how you like ‘em. In the brush I like ‘em way up, over the knee. Walking around, I slide ‘em down. Here. You try.” Quinn tied one to his knee and stood. “They’ll look better when you get your boots on, and you can trim ‘em if you want.”

  Quinn thanked Bloom.

  “You’ll really appreciate these things when you get out in the brush, Quinn. Jimmy Lane got the idea. He wore hard chaps in the Mexican War, and then he come on the opportunity to liberate a bunch of ‘em one day when he was reconnoitering. The original ones were reddish pink, almost too pretty to wear, and they was softer than a girl’s titty. These are just as good, though.”

  Tough came in and immediately invited Jamie out to the corral. “That one over there--the dapple gray--that’s yours. That’s some horse, Quinn! I picked him out for myself, but Colonel said you needed a horse and, hell, I figured it’d give me an excuse to go out and steal an even better one. Tomorrow maybe we can go out and you can get to know him. I’ll show you a thing or two.”

  When the men rode up, Quinn and Tough followed them in amidst shouts and playful slaps and pushes.

  When Hoyt rode up they hollered and cheered and followed him in.

  “Goddamn! You see that? You did it! He ate crow in front of everybody.”

  “You showed him, Colonel.” One of the men put on a Tennessee drawl and hitched up his belt. “‘Well, Sheriff, since you took our horses to Leavenworth, you can just bring ‘em back. Tomorrow’ll be soon enough, thank you.”

  Hoyt went to the bar and picked up a glass and a bottle. “Now, Flood, I didn’t sound like a stupid hillbilly. When you tell the story again, see if you can get another accent.” He turned to Quinn. “I see you got your leggings. Your boots and hat, along with your armaments, will be here tomorrow. I suggest we all celebrate. Orders will be passed out tomorrow.” Catcalls and jeers. “And we’ll all go back to soldiering.”

  The voices in the room quieted as the men talked and the whiskey bottles set on the tables were only down by half when Quinn and Marion brought in the food.

  “What am I missing? Are they always this quiet?” Quinn asked out in the kitchen.

  “Hardly,” she said. “There’s something in the wind. We’ll see what it is.”

  After supper Hoyt stood at the head of the table. “Some of you know that we got news while we were in town. Yesterday, guerrilla riders and sharpshooters harassed our troops along Linn Creek, and their uniforms over-ran and destroyed Beaver Station. There is word that Marmaduke is marching toward Springfield, so we’re going to have to get on our horses and ride.

  Before I get to that, I want to let you know about the bullshit that’s going on above us. Blunt has officially purged the scouts from his command.” Hoyt raised his hand to quiet the hoots and curses. When the complaints died down he continued. “It wasn’t his idea. He had his orders, and here’s how he’s working it. He’s ordered the Provost Martial to monitor the dispersal as best he can. That takes it out of his hands and the military doesn’t have to acknowledge us. Quinn, for your information, that’s us Irregulars. Blunt has ordered some of us, the ones he acknowledges and pays, to report to Lt. Col. Burris, which, of course we cannot do. I will send Harry with a note giving account of who is officially serving under me--any of you who’s on the payroll--and until each and every one of you is served, I expect you not to report. The Provost has better things to do than to come looking for you.

  Now, Quinn, just to give you
an idea of what you’re dealing with here. These criminals, when they dress up in their Sunday best, are the remnants of Jennison’s Cavalry, and tomorrow morning the Cavalry will ride.”

  The mood in the room changed to one of celebration. Jeers turned to cheers and the curses were positive. “Al, you are to take Newt and Pickles and their boys to provide outrider and advance assistance for Lane’s Colored Infantry Regiment. They will be under the command of Captain James Williams. You’ll have to get a move on. I want intelligence on the Regiment as well, and I have spelled out the particulars in your orders. You will escort the Regiment to Fort Scott, where they will formally be mustered into the Union army as six Federal Companies. That done, bring the men back to Leavenworth, and return here at will.

  Beauregard will be back tomorrow and will ride to Oceola. The rest of us will go to Linn Creek and see what the situation is there and take appropriate action.

  Tough, Pony, Dan, and Walt will be back shortly and have orders to stay here and do what they do best.

  They will be stationed here and will come back to the inn from time to time to see if Marion and the crew here need anything. Red, you are to report to General Ewing.”

  When Red raised an objection, Hoyt said, “I know. He just fired you, but he wants to see you anyway. He will give you further orders. Get back when you can.

  Critical messages will go directly to Fort Scott and Fort Scott will send runners as necessary. We will meet at Fort Scott no later than the 17th. If you cannot make it there by then, you have free reign to return to Leavenworth. Quinn, I want you to stay here. Ralph will be here, as will Marion. Tough and his men will come and go and you can help them out as necessary. You might go along with them to the stables south of Leavenworth and see what we’ve got there.

  Lay out your provisions and gear, men. Let’s all get a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  Hoyt retired to his room to write up orders. Quinn stayed up with the men playing cards and drinking.

  He woke early to the sound of someone banging a steel spoon on the bottom of a cooking pot. He dressed in his pants, shirt, and socks and came down. The men were at the tables loaded with food--pans of baked eggs, platters of biscuits, and bowls of gravy and grits. Marion was pouring coffee into mugs and some of the men were already eating.

  “My compliments to the cook, Marion,” Quinn said. Muffled approval came from the tables. “You must have been up and cooking in the dark.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. Some appreciation.” The tables erupted with hums and burps and kissing noises.

  “Come sit with us, Marion,” said Hoyt. “Grace us with your presence.”

  Marion sat and Hoyt stood and addressed the Company. “We’re all going out again to do what we do best—gather information, raise havoc with the enemy, disrupt their supplies, and protect our troops. Here are your general orders.” He waved a bundle of envelopes.” Beyond what’s here, stay in contact with your unit. We don’t want to go chasing around to get you out of jail or rescue you from some farmer whose daughter you’ve compromised.” Laughter and comments all around.

  “Wait! Now wait! There’s a lady present. Save it for the trail. You are all going to be out for weeks living off the land. Do what you can to ingratiate yourselves with our allies and friends and feel free to irritate everybody else. Steal only Rebel chickens and liberate only southern liquor. In your envelopes are your Christmas bonuses. Spend the Confederate money quickly and save your greenbacks to spend on the way back. If you have any questions about your orders, see me for clarification. I will field no questions now. You are dismissed.” He had two envelopes for Marion. “Would you see the boys get these when they come? Thanks.”

  The men took their time getting up from the table. They sincerely thanked Marion for the food and she was pleased to see that many of them stuffed extra biscuits into their shirts.

  Quinn finished his plate and helped Marion clear the tables. He volunteered to help with the dishes. “Thanks, Jamie, but I can handle it. Stop by before dinner, though. I may need a hand. Go out and help the men.”

  When Quinn saw the last of them ride off, he went in and sat by the fire and read from the piles of newspapers stacked there. His eye fell on a letter attributed to John Brown Jr. in defense of Daniel Read Anthony. The next paper he picked up he carried into the kitchen.

  “Marion, can I read you something? These are from the Leavenworth paper. Last week.” Without waiting for an answer, he sat at the table and read. “Get this one. Here’s what it says. ‘A married woman of Michigan, whose husband is quite wealthy, is now under arrest in New York, for dressing in male apparel and getting married to a pretty girl she met on the cars and whose affections she won. The pair have been living to all outward appearance as man and wife, and spending the money of the rich Michigander as though it didn’t cost anything.’ What do you think of that?”

  When she didn’t reply, he went on.

  “And get this. ‘A soldier, passing under the name of Charles Freeman, being under medical treatment at Louisville, was discovered to be female. She had served with distinction in the Ohio Fifty-Second Infantry but was discharged on Tuesday last. She gives her real name as Mary Francis Scarbury, and says she volunteered at Columbus.’”

  Marion stopped her peeling and turned. “Jamie, of all things!” She wiped her hands on her apron and walked to the table. “Why, what brought those stories to your attention? I’d say you were excited by the vision of a woman dressed up in a man’s clothing.” She crossed her arms, and looked down at him and smiled.

  “Well, no. I am pointing it out because I find it so unusual. Is it right, you think? For a woman to pretend to be a man?”

  She sat next to him. “I think it’s up to the person who is doin’ it. Why they are doin’ it. Don’t you see that the two stories are not at all related?”

  “I see that, but I also see they’re alike. That’s obvious. I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

  “I’m goin’ nowhere with this.” She went back to the sink, then turned. “Just what is it that you see, Jamie? What is it about this that you think you understand?”

  “I didn’t say I understood. I said, ‘I see.’ I see two stories of women pretending to be men.”

  “Oh, Quinn, don’t quibble. It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, in a way. In another way I find it amusing.”

  Marion came back and leaned down with her hands on the table and said quietly, “Jamie Quinn. Don’t patronize. Don’t adopt a superior attitude to anyone.” She got up and walked to the swinging door that connected the kitchen to the saloon and closed it.

  She walked back, sat next to him and leaned in.”You remember the night you came here when I was giving you the rundown of the company? I said there were women--wives, nurses, whores, spies--who work for the Union. I’m sure the Rebs have women working for them too. Women gathering information? Running things, carrying messages. Women are important to the cause.” She put her hand on his arm.” I have worked for freedom. Not for the Union, but for the abolition of slavery. And I will continue to do so until this godforsaken war is over. When it is over, maybe our troubles will have just begun.” She put her hands in her lap, sighed, and looked at him. “Go get the newspapers and bring them in here. Read to me while I cook dinner.” She got up and Quinn went into the other room.

  Quinn was reading the paper to Marion when Tough, Dan, Walt, and Pony rode up. The men were loaded with gear as they walked into the kitchen and began piling packages onto the table and chairs. “Here you go, Quinn. Here’s all it’ll take to make you a Redleg.” Tough pulled out a pair of calf-length boots with a high brown gloss and held them up. “Sit down. Put ‘em on. They’re Duke boots. Feel that leather. No finer made.” When Quinn struggled to get one on, Tough said, “You might need help with them ‘til they get loosened up.” Quinn set them aside.

  “Oh, and yer buffalo outfit’s out by the door. It’s startin
’ to smell bad. And so’s yer old brogans. I was afraid if I didn’t get yer boots to ya soon, we’d end up nicknaming you Socks.” Tough laughed.

  “Course, I got ya socks to go with them boots. And new riding pants--two pair ‘a those.” He laid them out. “Two shirts.” He piled them on top of the pants and pushed them aside. “And.... Here’s some new long handles. We got your jacket here.” He held it up and folded it and placed it on top of the pile of clothes. “And, your hat! Take it out of the box, Pickles.” Tough handed it to Quinn. “It’s a beaut, ain’t it?

  The hat was black felt and high-crowned, with one wing pinned up with a plume floating back. “It looks French, don’t it? But it was made right here. One more thing. And...” He held up a long black coat. “A duster. Sheds rain, too. Finally, what counts the most--Dan, bring them in.” He turned to the men. “I don’t want to hear any ‘a you asking why don’t I get you some.” He laughed. Dan came in and handed Tough a long gun and he held it out to Quinn. “This here’s a new one. A two-row 12 gauge, and yes, smart ass Pony over there didn’t get one. This one is French. What do you think?”

  He handed the weapon to Jamie who hefted it, balanced it, broke it and closed it up. Then he cocked back the hammers. “Don’t! Don’t! “ Tough held up his hands. “Wait! Easy! Ease those hammers down. Don’t dry fire it. This ain’t your typical infantry weapon. The only time you want to cock those triggers is when you want to kill somebody. This is a cavalry weapon, designed for short duty and long. A double-ought load in one barrel for close work. That’s the front trigger. The left barrel’s rifled for a slug. Accurate to a hunnert yards.” He heard a groan from someone behind him. “I know it’ll carry a hunnert yards, though I haven’t kilt anybody from that far. Walt, take that from him. Next!” Tough handed Quinn a matched pair of pistols on a belt. “Army Colt Dragons. Accurate to within five feet. Designed mostly for shooting horses.” The men laughed. “They call ‘em Dragons ‘cuz you wear ‘em long enough walkin’ around an’ yer butt’ll be a dragon.” Tough laughed at his own joke and his men groaned. “Yer saddle has pommel holsters. Keep yer pistols in there unless you want to walk around lookin’ tough.” More groans. Tough threw a pair of saddlebags onto the table. None a this’ll be worth a damn without ammunition. It’s all in here.” He patted a bag. Tough handed him a knife on a belt. “Wear this on your right.” He motioned to Quinn. “Put that stuff on the table. We got more.” He turned to Walt. “Walt. Put the rest ‘a that stuff on the table here.”

  Tough took a sabre from Dan and cradled it in both hands. “Here’s what makes you a member of the Seventh Cavalry. Hang this on your left and you are dressed for battle. For show, you’ll wear one Dragon. On your right hip, backwards. You pull your pistol with your left. Draw your sabre with your right. Hold the reins in your teeth.” Tough laughed and his men applauded. “Now gimme that and go up and put yer britches on and we’ll go out and practice bein’ a soldier.”

  Quinn came down in his stocking feet dressed in riding pants, blouse, knife, and hat. The room applauded and hooted. “Hold it. Hold it! He’s not finished,” Tough said. “Yer not wearin’ yer jacket yet, but go put on yer boots. You come out when yer ready. I’m not helpin’ with yer boots. I’ll be out to the stables.” Tough picked up the saddlebags and threw them over one shoulder and draped the sabre over the other. He picked up the shotgun and pistols and left.

  Quinn came out stomping his boots and found Tough behind the corral hanging a piece of metal in a tree. Tough walked toward the stable and waved Quinn over. “Pretend that plowshare’s Johnny’s head.” He reached into the saddlebags hanging on the rail and grabbed a handful of cartridges and stuffed them into his shirt pockets. Then he pulled a pistol from Quinn’s holster, dropped the cylinder out, and replaced it with one from his shirt. “You ever fire one ‘a these before?”

  When Quinn shook his head, Tough held the pistol at arm’s length. “Easy. Pull back the hammer with yer thumb, point it like it’s yer finger, and pull.” He fired, then dropped his hand to his side. “Missed. He’s still there.” Tough slid the pistol into Quinn’s holster. “And that’s why we have this second weapon here.” Tough picked up the shotgun from the post. “This one you know. I seen you handle it. Here. You want to try it?” He handed him the shotgun and pulled two cartridges from his pocket and gave them to Quinn.

  Quinn broke the gun. “Slug on the left?”

  “Yup! Buckshot in the right--that’s the front trigger. It’s yer panic button, first thing you grab. I guaran-damn-tee you’ll hit ole Johnny with that load.”

  Quinn closed the breech, raised, sighted, and pulled with one smooth motion, and the metal clanged and swung.

  “Jeeeee-zus! Ya got him with the slug!” Tough punched a fist in the air. “Let’s go see what ya did.”

  They walked over to the swaying piece of steel and Tough steadied it. “See what it can do?” He fingered the dent in the piece. “It’ll go through anything.”

  Quinn felt the dent. “What kind of pattern does the buckshot have?”

  “The size of a man’s chest at twenty feet. Figure you ken double that every ten up to fifty. After that’s when you use the slug. It really kicked, didn’t it?”

  Quinn stood cradling the gun and he felt good for the first time in months. “Not bad.” He balanced the gun in both hands. “It feels good.”

  Tough took the shotgun. “You want to try the dragon? Just to give you an idea? Come on, let’s go shoot a tree.”

  Tough lead him back ten feet and said, “OK, Quinn. Jest pull it out, cock it, point and shoot. Right there. That fat Reb tree there.” He pulled a pretend pistol and pointed.

  Quinn fired and missed.

  “Try holdin’ it with both hands. Here.” Tough took the pistol. “Cock it, use your left palm as a platform for the butt. Keep yer elbow in tight. Set it on yer palm and shoot. You ken practice that, one smooth motion.” Touch pulled his imaginary pistol and shot.

  This time Quinn hit the tree. “You kilt him! Another Rebel bites the dust! Come on, now. Let’s go git yer horse.” Tough took the shotgun and led him back to the stable. They talked horses and mules while they saddled the gray.

  “This one’s a beaut! I rode him and he knows exactly what to do. I don’t know how he reacts with guns, though. Something you can work him with. He’s got a soft mouth. I think you could even ride without a bit. Not today, though. Hop on, and I’ll fix yer stirrups.”

  Quinn swung up into the saddle and the gray danced right. With Quinn’s boots in the stirrups, Tough adjusted the straps.

  “Good. Now, git down and we’ll load him up and see how he sets.”

  Tough continued to praise the horse while he showed Quinn how to dress him. “Fer battle, yer hip dragons loop over and fit over the pommel like this.” He threw the rig over the saddle and tied the thongs. “So you cross-draw. Mount them handles ahead.” Quinn handed him the pistols and Tough slid them in.

  “You’ll get two more for the back of the saddle, if ya want. The shotgun boot goes on yer left, behind yer left hip and it swings. It don’t rub on yer horse that way. Jest loop it behind the cantle, tie it with these thongs.” Tough looked at Quinn. “Better yet, maybe you can see it quicker on yer right.” Tough repositioned it and tied it to the flank strap and then to the skirt. “Slide her in, handle facing front and yer loaded! Aaannnnd…” He draped the saddlebags behind. “The sabre,” he said. “That sabre you save fer battle. You wear it over yer shoulder and you only draw it completely from its sheath to kill a man.” He took it from Quinn. “It is the finest French steel.” He drew it half the way out. “With a silver hilt. It’s yers and you won’t ever give it to anyone.” He snapped the blade into its case. If you want to practice, there are swords hanging over the fireplace. Any ‘a them will do. Good luck, Quinn. Yer now a member of the Seventh Irregulars.” He handed back the sword with both hands.

  Quinn took the sword and Tough helped him crawl into the harness and buckle it. Quinn pulled
the sword out and snapped it back in. He smiled and held out his hand. “Tough, thank you. Thank you for all this gear and for gettin’ me the horse.” Tough took his hand and Quinn smiled. “I’m ready to become a killing machine.”

  Tough laughed. “Now is when I give you the sermon telling you to wield your sword in the cause of righteous vengeance, Quinn.” Tough put a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “Welcome to the cause.” He grabbed Quinn’s other shoulder and embraced him.

  Then Tough broke the embrace, dropped his arms, and looked at Quinn’s face and laughed and pulled his shoulders up to his ears and shook his head. “Quinn, old man, relax. It’s all horseshit. There ain’t no cause. There ain’t no ‘burnin’ in’ and there ain’t no passwords. We make it up as we go along. The only flag we chase is our own, and if we chase another man’s it’s because we want to. We are only dressed as soldiers. We do what we want.”

  Tough walked toward the corral and then turned and walked back. “Quinn, I’ll help you wage your war. I’ll chase your flag. For now, at least. A man shoots you once and you live, you find him and shoot him twice.” He looked up to the sky, then nodded. “I think that’s in the Bible.” Tough looked back at Quinn and stomped his foot and laughed. “Jeeze-us! Let’s go have some fun! You wanna go along with us and get some horses? I got a plan. I’ll tell it to ya tonight at supper.”

  Quinn raised his hands from his side and said, “Wait, Tough. Help me out of this.” Quinn laughed. “I feel like a ….”

  “Yep, yep, yep!” Tough held the sword while Quinn unbuckled. “You can sit a horse with one ‘a these on, and other ‘n that, you gotta stand.” Tough held the sword and ran his hand over the horse’s haunch and down. “Before you go in, walk around him and pet him a little. Let him get to know you. When yer better acquainted, put him up. Later, come back and do it again and walk him around the corral.”

  Tough walked back to the saloon and Quinn stayed with the horse. When he finally got to the kitchen for supper, the men were finishing their meal. Marion stood when he came in.

  Quinn paused in the doorway in full dress—pistol at his side, saber over his shoulder, and shotgun at port arms. The men turned and hooted and hollered.

  “How’s it look? Pretty good, huh?”

  “I’m sorry, soldier, no weapons allowed in the kitchen,” Marion said. “You’ll have to check them at the door.”

  “But ma’am!” Quinn said. “Without my sword I feel naked.”

  “You can’t sit at my table with that on.” She pointed out the door. “Git! Come back when you want to eat.” She sat.

  Five minutes later, Quinn swung the door open and entered in his Duke boots, long johns, and his plumed hat. The kitchen broke into total bedlam and Quinn was not allowed to sit down until everyone had taken their turn at ribbing him. Quinn agreed a hat was not appropriate and threw it in the corner, but he refused to go get “at least a pair of pants on,” as Marion requested. She refused to serve him, so Quinn served himself from the stove.

  The men sat and talked about the “horse rescuing” raids while Quinn ate, and Tough calmed them down long enough to lay out his plans for the next one. “Pony and me’ll go scout ‘em out and be back in a couple days. It’ll take us two days over and one to come back. Walt, you go up and relieve Red—watch them horses close and don’t even trust the men from the Fort. We’ll come pick you up when we bring in the fresh horses. Quinn can stay here and guard the ranch with Marion. Tell Ralph he needs to come over and stay here ‘til I git back, and tell his ma we need him to stay for at least a week.”

  Marion brought a bottle in and the men stayed at the table drinking and playing cards and talking about the progress of the war. Quinn announced that he was turning in early, and the teasing began again and followed him out the door and up the stairs and the laughing continued after he closed the door.

  Quinn did not wake up when the men went down to breakfast, and he was still asleep when a large group of cavalry rode up and filed in. Marion fed them what she had. She handed out folded, sealed packets, and when they rode off she spent an hour cleaning up.

  Quinn came down to an empty saloon. He stoked the fire and then went into the kitchen and did the same. He wiped his eye patch with his shirttail before putting it on. The swelling in his face was gone, but the socket still ached and wept.

  When Marion walked in he had the oven open with his feet propped up on the door.

  “I heard you up,” she said. “Can I fix you some coffee? Go over there and sit. I need the stove.”

  “Good morning, Marion. I’m still a little sleepy. I almost slept the morning away. Where is everybody?”

  “Tough and Pony left early. Practically the middle of the night. Walt rode to Quindaro and’ll be back tonight. I fed a bunch of horse thieves at dawn, and then I went back to bed.” She pulled up a chair and sat next to him.

  Quinn said, “I didn’t hear a thing. They slept in the north room. They’ll be back in three days, Tough said?”

  “Or sooner, but he plans on three. How’s the eye?”

  “I think I’d like you to look at it, maybe even ride up to Fort Leavenworth with Walt. I need to get a supply of morphine and maybe have a doc take a look. I don’t know if it’s healing right as it should.”

  “After breakfast. You like flapjacks? God, I hope the sun shines today. I get so weary of the gray, day in and day out—hate it even worse than being cold.” She got up and pulled the coffee pot to the front of the stove and pulled down a crock and smelled the contents. Then she pulled down a large bowl. “Maybe I’ll ride along with you. I don’t like being here alone, everybody gone.”

  “You got Ralph comin’.”

  She poured water from the kettle into the bowl and ladled batter into it and stirred. “Ralph’s just a boy. No, I guess it’s more that I got nothin’ to do and nobody to do it for. It’ll take two days for us, up and back. I might as well. We can stay at the Fort. Tough and Pony won’t be back until Thursday. Then it’s settled. I’ll go up with you. That’s something to look forward to.” She beat the contents of the bowl and put it above the stove. “Tomorrow it’ll be good. Sour dough pancakes with maple syrup and butter. I can’t make enough when the whole gang is here, but I can do it just for us. Today we got eggs and grits.”

  The two sat and ate and Quinn smoked while Marion cleared the table and did the dishes. She dried her hands on her apron and told Quinn to bring his chair over to the window. “I can’t tell anything, Quinn. The socket just looks raw and weepy. I think it’s best to have a doctor look at it. I’ll tell Walt when he gets back tonight that we’re goin’ up with him.”

  Quinn spent the rest of the morning reading newspapers. After dinner he worked with his horse in the corral and then he took him down the road. That evening he sat with Walt and Elizabeth at the kitchen table and played cards.

  After breakfast the next morning, Quinn followed Walt out to the stable and saddled the grey and took him into the corral and led him around. Walt saddled two horses and went back to the inn and brought out the bags.

  “You’d think we were goin’ to stay for a month,” he said as he tied a canvas roll behind her saddle. He slid his two long guns into their boots. “Men fight. Women dance. I’ll fill the canteens, Quinn. You go up and see if she’s ready.”

  When she came down the stairs she was dressed in trousers stuffed into riding boots topped with a long blue double-breasted mackinaw. She carried gloves and a plumed hat. “They’ll feed us and put us up at the fort. What are you starin’ at?”

  “Nothin’. I was just thinking about those women I read about in the newspapers.”

  “I’m dressed to ride, not for show. If you want to talk about it, we can talk about it on the way. We got a long ride, Jamie. Let’s go.”

  On the way north, Walt rode ahead and Quinn rode beside Marion when he could, and when the trail got bad, he dropped back. The horse, he thought, was a cavalier’s dream. As he rode, he thought up names. “What do you cal
l your horse? Does she have a name?”

  “Marron. Tough named her. I asked if she was named after me, and he said, ‘No. It’s French for brown. The color brown.’ Then he put on this bad French accent and said, ‘Eeet ees good, mademoiselle, non?’ Tough just loves the French. Everything he gets he wants to be French. And he is such a tease.” She laughed.

  Quinn nodded. “And he loves horses.”

  “More than people, I think.”

  “How about my horse, though? He needs a name—you got any ideas?”

  “Well, he’s a dapple gray. You’re Irish. Give him an Irish name.”

  “McGough—that sounds good. It means horse. It’s an old Gaelic family name.”

  “It sounds very ‘British’. You could say he’s ‘McGough out of Missouri.’ Doesn’t that sound good?” She spoke through her nose. “Why yes, I ride Mah-Guff out of Misooooree.” She giggled.

  When they got to the fort, Walt led them through the gate and pointed out the hospital. “There’s the regular. You want the small pox, walk a ways out there. “ He pointed. “Don’t go out there, is what I’m sayin’. Stay close to here. I’m off to the hay pen.” He waved and rode south.

  Quinn and Marion walked up the steps and in to a desk, where they were directed outside and around the building. They took a stone staircase that led down to a half basement room on the west side of the hospital. Inside was a woman in a long apron pounding at a pestle. She wiped her hands on her apron, dipped a curtsey to Quinn and held her hands out to Marion. “Welcome to our little hospital room here,” she said. “I am Birget. What is it you see the doctor for today?”

  Quinn pointed to his patch. “My eye socket. It’s not healing right. And I’ve got a note here. The woman who fixed my eye said I could get some morphine for pain if I came here.”

  “Yah, we can do that. The doctor will be back any time now. He is visiting his patients upstairs for a while. You can sit while I make some things.” She went back to working at her pestle, her scales, and her bowls.

  The doctor came in stamping his feet and rubbing his hands. “Well, who do we have here? You come to me and not I come to you! This is good. I am Dr. Schmidt.” He held out his hand and Quinn stood and took it and introduced himself and Marion.

  “My eye doesn’t seem to be healing right, and I thought you could take a look at it and maybe give me something.”

  “Yah, of course. Come into the room here and we will see. Birget, will you come in and light the scopes?”

  The doctor led them all into a cheery room with windows at the ceiling on two walls. “Sit there, Missus.” He pointed to a chair to the side. “And you, Mr. Quinn, will take the seat of honor.” He pointed to an armless chair with a high, padded back. Quinn sat. “Now tell me about your eye.” He pulled up a stool and sat, rolling it up close to Quinn’s side. “And I’ll look a little.” He ran his fingers across Quinn’s nose and around to his temple.

  “I took a shot and the woman who treated me said it chipped my nose and my eye socket.”

  “Let’s take a look. I will remove your patch now. It was she who took the eye I would guess?” He undid the thongs and set the patch on the table next to him and looked at the wound. “Ah, yes. Sit straight.” He pulled and adjusted two levers on the chair and folded the back flat. “You would now recline and I will look closely at your eye.”

  Quinn laid back.

  “Birget, bitte. The lights.”

  While she arranged the mirrored lanterns, the doctor busied himself loading a tray with instruments and arranging them on the small table. When he was satisfied that he had what he needed, he sat at Quinn’s head and peered down into his eye with a magnifying glass. Quinn could feel the warmth of his face and the breath on his cheek.

  “Birget. Stand over. And now we look some more.”

  With her following his orders, the doctor proceeded to retract the eye flap and probe the socket with various instruments. Quinn grabbed the seat of the reclined chair on each side and took slow, deep breaths as they worked.

  “That’s good. Now we sit you up for a while and we talk.” He put his hand on Quinn’s back. “Sit up, please.” He put up the back of the chair and locked it in place.

  “It is good. I can smell no mortification and the external wound is nearly healed. The deeper wound is slower to heal, yes. It is emitting good humor at the root and the emission you see on your patch is good stuff. You are impatient, we can apply one treatment or two treatments or we can do nothing. It has been how long? And you are doing what for it?”

  Quinn told him.

  “Ach, that is nothing. You want to hurry God along, I can do that. I can cauterize it or we can apply desinfecktions bad für schafe.”

  Quinn took a deep breath. “Which is better? Which would help it heal faster?

  The doctor snorted. “We don’t know which is better, just different.”

  “I know what cauterizing is. The other. What is that?”

  “Here it is use for sheeps. A treatment for sheeps, their skin.”

  “Sheep dip?”

  “Yes, maybe. A gentle acid, not much pain.”

  Quinn straddled the chair with his feet on the floor and smiled at Marion. “What do you think, Marion? Fire or a gentle acid?”

  “I like the third choice, Quinn. You said it was healing fine, doctor, and doin’ nothin’ was an option?”

  “Yes, and if you notice it gets worse, we do the other. We can always do the other. Notice if the oozing changes to yellow or it smells bad, come back and we will do the other.”

  “That’s good,” Quinn said. “That’s good.”

  The doctor turned to the nurse. “Birget, we will need a pad with iodine for behind the patch.”

  He turned to Quinn. “I will give you some three things and directions.” He waved at the nurse. “Birget, the eye cup, bitte.” He wheeled over to the counter and pulled out an amber bottle, a clear bottle, a measuring spoon, and a small packet wrapped in parchment. He rolled over and put them on the tray. “For the pain I give you morphine.” He held it up. “If it gets really in pain, then it is time to come back here. This is opium gum.” He held up the packet. “You have a pipe, you put a little in and smoke it, and it will put you to sleep. Only a little, and do not take it with your morphine.” He held up the amber bottle. “This,” he held up the clear bottle, “is boric acid. Not acid like the other. It is like your salt water. Mix one little spoon in a half cup with water and.” He waved to Birget. “Use this.” He took the eye cup and mimed the application. “Do this at night maybe twice and leave your patch off until the morning. It will get better.”

  Quinn and Marion had breakfast at the Fort and took their time on the way back. On the Quindaro Road, a quarter mile from the Inn, Ralph ran out waving and shouting as Quinn and Marion rode up and began telling his story even before they dismounted.

  “I was out haying the horses and a man rode up and asked me if Col. Hoyt was here, and I said no, and then he asked for Bloom and I said, no, he was gone, too. Then he got off his horse, walked over to me and pulled his gun and shot in the air and grabbed me and pulled me around to the corral. Five men rode up fast and they ran the horses out of the corral and down the road. All of them. The one man let go of me, got on his horse, waved his gun, and rode off. He didn’t say nothin’ else. I couldn’t do nothin’.”

  Quinn put his hand on the youth’s shoulder. “You did all right, Ralph. You’re not hurt and we didn’t lose all the horses. Why don’t you come down to the inn in a little bit and maybe we can figure something out. “

  Quinn and Marion walked their horses down the road and Quinn looked back. Ralph was following on foot. “Go ahead, Marion. I’ll pick him up.”

  Quinn rode back and helped the boy get up behind. Quinn turned the horse back toward the inn. “Did you want to walk, Ralph? You didn’t have to come right away. You could have got your horse and come.”

  “Pa took my horse away. I can’t have him no more. He said if I c
an’t take care of somebody else’s horse, I can’t have none.”

  Quinn said nothing. He helped the boy slide off and then gave him the reins. “Would you put him up, Ralph? And Marion’s? Water them and give them some hay? Then come up and I’ll get Marion to fix us some food.”

  Quinn took his bags off the horse and carried them to the inn. “Can you fix us something to eat, Marion? Ralph feels bad and his pa is being real hard on him.”

  Marion busied herself cooking and Quinn sat at the table. “Thanks for going along, Marion. It was lucky you weren’t here when they came.”

  “Maybe if I was here, I coulda done something.”

  “No. They had Ralph and there were six of them. It would have only been worse. You know that.”

  “It’s lucky they didn’t burn the place. When Tough gets back. He is gonna be a devil to contain.”

  “We’ve got a day. Maybe there’s something Ralph can tell us, maybe his Pa. Somebody had to see them. Somebody has to know.”

  “Quinn, no. There are a few people like us around, like Ralph’s folks, and they’d do something if they could, but they’re afraid.”

  Ralph came in and began apologizing again and Marion shushed him and brought sausage and biscuits and jam and sat. Quinn patted him on the shoulder. “You did good, boy. Nothing you coulda done. I’m glad you’re OK. Nobody hurt, nothing’s lost that we can’t get more of. Did you recognize any of them? Any of them part of the posse that came with the sheriff?”

  “Not a one, sir. Nobody.”

  Marion growled. “They knew everybody was gone. They were watchin’. Somebody along the Quindaro road. When Tough gets back, he’ll know what to do.”

  She cleared the plates and wrapped some biscuits in a dishtowel and gave the package to Ralph. “You be OK walking home, Ralph?” He nodded. “You give these to your Maw, and tell your Paw everything’s fine here, but we might want you to come stay with me for a few days when Tough and the men go off. See if that’s OK with them.”

  She pushed him off. “No lollygaggin’, now, Ralph. You get right home, OK?”

  “Yes’um, Miss Marion. And thanks for bein’ so nice.”

  With Ralph gone, Marion and Quinn sat at the table.

  “I don’t know how much longer we’ll have Ralph’s folks to lean on,” she said. “They’ve been talking about picking up and going west. They don’t have a plan. They’re just tired.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Quinn said. “There’s a whole world out west. I rode out to Fort Kearney and saw miles and miles of people. I’m sure they didn’t have a plan, either.”

  “And you, Quinn. Do you have a plan?”

  He nodded. “Find the men who killed Rafe and took my eye, Marion. You know that.”

  “And then kill them.”

  Quinn echoed her words.

  “And then what? Head west?” she said.

  “Go somewhere. West. And you, Marion? Do you have a plan?”

  “ I’m here, and as long as I’m useful I’ll stay.”

  “And after the war?”

  “Nobody talks about after the war. Before the war things were bad enough, and I expect after’ll be bad, too. Whatever happens, the problems we got are not gonna go away. Stay sitting, Jamie. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Marion went downstairs and brought back a bottle of whiskey and a roll of pink leggings and put them both on the table. Then she brought cups and the coffee pot and pulled a plate of biscuits over and sat. “Here’s supper, Jamie. It’s what I have when the men aren’t here. Dig in.” She laughed and poured the coffee and added a shot of whiskey to hers. “You?” she asked holding up the bottle.

  “Sure,” he said.

  She poured a measure into his.

  “Don’t think I’m crazy, Jamie. I don’t sit and hold a conversation with a pair of buckskin leggings when I’m here alone.”

  Quinn looked into his cup and shook his head.

  “I just think some days of putting them on and bunchin’ my hair up and gettin’ on my horse and just goin’ out and kill.”

  “Anybody in particular?”

  She laughed. “No, just people in general. Nobody I know.”

  “And this feeling you get mostly in the evening when you’ve been sitting around drinking whiskey and not holding a conversation with a pair of leggings. Am I right?”

  Marion laughed and shook her head and then began to cry. “Jamie. I miss him so much and I remember the nights we sat around the stove and told stories and laughed. It’s never gonna be that way for me again, and without him I just want to die sometimes.” She put her head in her arms and sobbed.

  “I know, Marion, and whiskey doesn’t help. But if I can get to sleep and wake up in the morning, everything’s new, and I can put off dying for another day. There’s always time for that.”

  They sat up late waiting for Tough and Pony. When the horse thief heard Marion tell the story, he sat quiet. Pony said, “You want to get ‘em back, Tough? Or do we go ahead with what we planned?”

  Tough looked at Pony. “What do you think, Little Horse? If you were callin’ the shots, what would you do?”

  Pony looked down. “Finish what we started. Them horses is gone. We get some new ones.”

  Tough pounded the table. “Right. I don’t like it, but we keep doin’ what we do best. Stealin’ horses. Killin’ folks can wait. For this raid, I need all of us, so Pony, tomorrow morning you ride up and get Dan and Walt and get back fast. We’ll use you, too, Quinn.” He turned to Marion and smiled big, then shook his head. Marion got up and went to the stove.

  Tough was anxious to go over his plan, to spin it out one time and listen for flaws.

  “What we know from our people is these men are not fighters. They’ve got to be recruiters from Clarkson’s Home Front Fucking Rangers, and they are lookin’ to take what’s left of the men up here who have horses. They look good and dress like cavalry, but the only thing they got is what they’re carryin’. We’ll hit the pickets quiet and bring them down if we ken. We clip two or three good horses each to our leads and go. Any noise and we raise hell and get out. Cut all of ‘em loose and run ‘em off. That’ll be yer job, Quinn. You are gonna lay back for this first time and mostly watch and step up when yer needed.”

  Tough pulled a crude map from his belt and spread it on the table. “Here’s the layout.” He pointed. They’re bivvied here in a barn, 20 of ‘em, and the horses are tied up here along the trees on three strings. There are three pickets uphill from the barn, stationed at each end and the middle of the horses. The middle guy’s supposed to pace to each end and relieve, but we didn’t see that. They mostly stand around and smoke or sit, sometimes together, to try and stay awake. If we ken wait and git two of ‘em together quiet we ken grab the horses. We cut the lines and on our way out stampede ‘em all if we need to.

  Should things bust loose, we each take a different route outa there.” He pointed to the map. “Here, here, and here. Quinn, you watch and follow me. Don’t be afraid to cut yer horses loose and go. Johnny’ll be more interested in gettin’ his horses back than anything, so jest git the hell out.

  We meet at the Quindaro Ferry before sunup, we git the horses or not. The ferry’ll be there just for us, compliments of Col. Blunt. Once we’re on it, we’re home free. Anybody who doesn’t make the ferry gits home on his own. We should be back here by dinner. We’ll pen the horses up and after we’ve ate we’ll take them south. The good thing is, we were ridin’ the best of our horses before those six bushwacked Ralph, so we’re OK there.”

  Marion had breakfast ready before sunup. Quinn and Tough saw Pony off. “Tell ‘em up there we had a little setback and are goin’ out to git more horses,” Tough said. “Bring Walt and Dan back with ya. Just have them feed ya and do a turnaround and git back here as soon as you ken.” When Pony had gone, Tough came to the kitchen and told Marion he would be back before dark. “I’m ridin’ down to Ralph’s folks and see if there’s anything they ken tell me. Then
maybe down to America and ask around.”

  Quinn spent the morning splitting wood and mucking out stalls and the afternoon working with his horse. Tough was back before supper. The three ate and waited.

  Dan led Pony and Walt into the Inn and handed Tough an envelope. “I didn’t read it, but I know what’s in it, Tough,” Dan said, “and yer not gonna like it.”

  Tough tore the seal and slid out two sheets and read. “Oh, goddamn showers ‘a shitballs. Now this!” He waved the papers and handed one of them to Dan who passed it to Walt.

  “First we git fired from our job. Then our horses git stole, and now we gotta give up the horses we ain’t even got yet. He knows we’re goin’ on this raid, and he goddamn wants our horses!” Tough said.

  “Horses we ain’t even stole yet,” Dan said.

  “And then, do you know what that pile of horseshit at Leavenworth is asking? Ordering?” He shook the other paper in the air. “They’re ordering that all horses in possession by the Cavalry Irregulars be brought to the camp north of Hartville, Missouri forthwith. I love that forthwith shit. Here he’s sayin’ that the army needs horses. So what do I do? Say, sorry Col. Acting Adjutant, our horses been stole and we ain’t got around to stealin’ any to replace ‘em? Or should I say we don’t exist anymore. We been disbursed! And then,” he sputtered, “then, in the second ‘edict’. Read this.”

  He waved the second sheet. “He is sayin’ that ‘it is reported.’ Now git this-- ‘it is reported that secret organizations carrying out raids, harassing the population, and committing depredations on the civilians are to cease and return any seized materiel forthwith.’ Jesus Christ, who is this man? He is talkin’ outa both sides of his ass! If it wasn’t so goddamned stupid it’d be goddamned funny! You know what? I’m thinkin’ about goin’ fer broke here. Let me think on this. Let me think a while.” He turned to Marion. “Please excuse me. I am goin’ to my quarters.”

  When Tough came back he called the men around the kitchen table. “You, too, Marion. Have a seat. I went up there and sat and you know the voices of reason I heard talkin’ to me? Hoyt and Pony. Pony said to me when we got back and found they bushwacked Ralph, he said, ‘Finish what we started.’ And he’s right. And then I thought, what would Hoyt do? We all know what he’d do--he’d ignore it. Hell, we’re not even here to get our mail! We’re out there somewhere.” He waved his arm. “The party’s still on. We are stickin’ to our plan. Tomorrow we git up an outa here and we’ll be back in three days. Three days, Marion.”

  Before dawn Marion was in the kitchen with coffee when the men came down.

  “Marion,” Tough began, “Everybody’s got a job, and I’m gonna give you one. And this is important. If we are not back in four days, take this envelope to Fort Leavenworth and personally hand it to Blunt or whoever’s in charge. He will either keep you there or send you with an escort down to Kansas City, so grab your unmentionables before you go up.”

  “What about Ralph?”

  “Tell him to go home and stay there and not to worry about anything here. Have him tell his Pa that we might not be comin’ back and he should do whatever he needs to do.”

  The men saddled and loaded their horses by lantern, led them out to the road, and mounted up. By sunrise they were sitting their horses waiting for the ferry to fire up.

  Sheets of ice swirled past as the ferry dropped back into the channel. The men held their horses and were the first ones off when the ramp dropped. They mounted and walked their animals up the slope. Tough rode alongside Quinn.

  “How do you like yer Diablo there?”

  “Beautiful animal. Spirited. I think he’ll make a good horse.”

  “Have ya tried trainin’ him to gunfire?”

  “Nope. Thought it was a little early. But I think I can train him to be a good horse.” They rode a bit. “What happens if the ferry isn’t here when we get back?”

  “We keep ridin’. There’s crossings all along the river. We jus’ keep movin’.”

  Three hours later the men made camp and cooked their food. They broke camp and rode for another hour cross-country, mostly through brush. They stopped, unpacked their horses, and tied them up.

  “We’re downwind of the farm.” Tough waved. “Over that ridge. Their horses can’t smell ours and we’ll be up there. Good position.” He pointed. “Sound won’t carry downhill much. We’ll walk up there and take a look at what we got.”

  They walked to the crest of the ridge. Below lay a farmstead--house, barn, crib, haystack, and a corral churning with horses. Between the barn and the house a bonfire had burnt down and two men in homespun were raking coals out and shoveling them into the oven of a stone fireplace. The hay door was open, and men in uniform were coming and going.

  Tough counted the horses under his breath. “I lost track at 30,” he whispered. “What do ya think, Pony? 40? 50? We can’t count the men, but I think that’s twice the number I had. Shit! Five of us. Pony, stay here and keep an eye on ‘em. I’m goin’ back an’ think.”

  He led the men back to the horses. “They’re not supposed to be here. Somebody joined up with them, and I don’t think they’re recruitin’. It’s cavalry and they’s regulars. We’re bein’ paid as scouts. The horse stealin’s fer fun. Pony and me are gonna stay here and keep an eye on these boys. You three ride back. Leave the food and ammunition. Don’t take the same road over and back, and don’t take the same ferry. Get word to Hoyt about what we saw. Pony an’ me’ll be back when we ken. Maybe steal some horses on the way back.” He laughed. “But you boys be good. I don’t want any attention called.” He took a rifle and canteen from his horse and walked into the bush.

  Quinn, Dan, and Walt rode north for an hour and pulled up by the side of the road and rolled out their blankets and slept. At first light, they continued and got to the inn before dinner.

  “Where’s Hoyt?” Dan asked.

  “Does anybody know where he went?” Walt asked. “Why can’t he tell us where he’s goin’?”

  Marion waited for the noise to quiet. “Each captain had different orders and they never share information. You know that. I can tell you that there’s something big goin’ on down south, not just skirmishes. Marmaduke’s comin’ to Springfield again. Jim Lane’s got colored troops being mustered in and I don’t think they’re gonna be any help. I don’t know any more than that, but I wouldn’t waste my time tryin’ to find Col. Hoyt.”

  Walt settled it. “I’m goin’ up to Leavenworth and file a report. Tough says to find Hoyt and let him know. Best we can do is tell Leavenworth what we got. We can’t let Pony and Tough waitin’ out there. He don’t want us comin’ after him, but somebody’s got to be told about that buncha Butternuts hunkerin’ down in that barn. Like Tough said, they’re not there to recruit. No, they are surely not.”

  Quinn followed Walt out and helped him gear up and the scout rode off.

  They waited supper until Walt got back, then the little group sat at the table and listened to Walt’s story as they ate. “Tough was right. And Marion’s right. Marmaduke came back to Springfield. These boys ain’t on no recruiting trip. Leavenworth thinks these ones is part of Hindman’s regiment.”

  The men got an early start and were waiting for the ferry at the break of day. They rode without stopping and pulled up at the camp east of the ridge. Walt volunteered to find Tough, but Dan had a suggestion. “Be faster if I went with you. One of us goes right over the ridge and one goes left. Pony and Tough might be split. We’ll both go look—come back here by sundown no matter what. Quinn, you stay with the horses.”

  When the four came back, they sat and shared information. Walt led with his news from Leavenworth and Tough and Pony shared what they had seen.

  “They doubled the pickets and brought more horses yesterday.” Tough said. “Hard to get a count, but there must be 80 of ‘em. An’ gittin’ a real count of men is impossible, but I’d guess at least 50. So, what do we do, boys? What do we do?”

  Tough broke the
silence. “There’s five of us. What do we got? Leavenworth knows mostly what we know, but do we know what Leavenworth knows? Walt, did they tell you anything?”

  “She-it, Tough, what do you think?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “What would Hoyt do? What would Hoyt tell us to do?”

  Dan volunteered, “Raise havoc, he’d say. I guess short of gettin’ horses, we raise hell.”

  “OK, you and me agree. Raise hell. Let’s go around. Walt?”

  “We raise hell without gittin’ ourselves killed. We’re not gittin’ any horses. No sense in gittin’ killed.”

  “Pony?”

  “Shoot the horses.”

  “Come on, Pony. Get serious,” said Tough.

  “No! I am! Set fire to the barn and when they come out shoot ‘em. That’d raise hell.”

  “Set fire to the horses,” said Walt.

  Dan shoved Walt. “She-it, Walt!”

  Everybody laughed.

  Quinn spoke up. “We can raise hell easy, but what’s the use of that? We go home and they go back to doin’ whatever it is they are ordered to do and all they lost is some sleep. We get what we came for, and that’s information. Enough, right?”

  The men made sounds of assent.

  Quinn continued. “I don’t have the experience you men do, but I’m for waiting and watching. We know which regiment they’re probably from, but we don’t know what they’re doing here or where they’re going. They’re gathering more men and horses and they’ve been here for a few days. What does that tell us?”

  “They’re not lost,” said Tough.

  Quinn nodded. “They’re either waiting for more men and horses or they’re waiting for orders. Either way, the best move on our part is no move at all. We set a watch and rotate--two at camp and one on the ridge, four hours on and four off. The other two of us split. One goes for supplies and comes back as soon as he can and the other goes to Leavenworth. We give them what we got and if we get new orders, we go from there. We might get some horses out of it after all.”

  “Speaking of,” said Tough, “see if you ken get Leavenworth to give us some fresh horses, some good ones. Quinn, I want you to ride to Leavenworth. We’ll do four hour rotations here.” The men drew straws while Quinn readied his horse.

  Quinn rode to Leavenworth, gave his report, and slept for three hours. Then he got on his horse and rode back.

  When Quinn rode into camp, Walt and Dan were sitting next to a glowing fire cooking meat on a stick. While he gave the highlights of his report, Quinn pulled two loaves of bread from a saddlebag and trailed some links of sausages and set them on a rock. Then he pulled two bottles of whiskey from another and put them between his feet as he sat and listened to their report.

  “Nothin’. Basically nothin’,” Walt said. “A few more boys arrived with some horses. But I think Tough wanted to tell you about that. Whatcha bring us, Quinn?”

  “Who’s got the next watch?”

  Dan looked at Walt and grinned. “I heard Tough say that when you got back, you should relieve him. He’s just where you left him first time.”

  “Well, then I best be goin’. Don’t eat all the vittles, boys. Oh, and would you put up my horse? Water him and make sure he’s got some grass.” He took the bottles from between his feet and stood up. He walked to his horse and pulled out his shotgun. “And Dan. Mind if I trade you long guns for a bit? I know I can hit something with a Henry. I’m not sure about this thing.” He handed Dan the shotgun and pulled Dan’s rifle from the saddle on the ground and headed up the ridge.

  He found Tough sitting against a tree asleep. Quinn walked back down and made sure he made enough noise to alert the horse thief.

  “Quinn! Is ever thing OK down there? Where’s Dan?”

  “He sent me up to give you some whiskey. Said he didn’t need it, but you did.”

  “That crazy sonofabitch! Sit here and we’ll have a snort and then go down. Not much to say about these here boys. Any news from Leavenworth? Anything you think they’d trust us with? She-it!”

  “None except we’re doin’ the right thing. Wait and watch. Leavenworth has two confirmations that they are cavalry and are recruiting and that they are part of Hindman’s regiment. Speculation is that Hindman’s cavalry is short of horses and warm clothes and this bunch is out looking to see what they can gather. Whether or not they are planning something up here or are waiting to go back east and south nobody knows.”

  “I got my opinion, and I don’t think so, but let’s go back down. I got some things to tell you and I need to wave my arms. And maybe give the boys a drink. Here, let me carry one ‘a those.” Quinn handed a bottle over and Tough uncorked it and drank. “I’ll put it up to the boys what to do.”

  The four men who sat around the fire all wanted Tough’s attention, but they quieted when he passed the bottle around. He stood and shared his opinions. “First off, some of these boys is the ones who stole our horses.”

  The men cursed and vowed to get their horses back.

  “That’s right! Eight riders came in with horses they stole from us and a few others. These boys are out recruitin’, all right. They’re out recruitin’ horses! That doesn’t mean Quinn’s wrong. I’m not sayin’ your report’s wrong, Quinn, but I don’t think Leavenworth knows shit. Look at this. These boys have been gatherin’ here over we don’t know how long. They are not sending anyone out. They are horse rich--good horses--and they’re wearin’ uniforms. Which of these two things is most important? Horses! That’s right, horses. Uniforms don’t mean shit!”

  Tough paced. “If we knew somethin’, maybe we could do somethin’ that made sense. I hate sittin’ on my ass watchin’. So what do we do, boys?”

  “We could leave. Go back to Six Mile,” Dan said.

  “You said if we knew something, maybe we could use that information to figure out what to do next. We’re here. We got supplies and horses. The weather’s good,” Quinn said.

  “I’d like to find a warm place to sleep tonight,” Dan said.

  “Maybe you can,” said Quinn. “If we split up and just go places. See if somebody can put us up for the night, maybe we can find out something. If not, nothin’s lost. We meet back here in a couple, three days and go from there.”

  “Yer right, Quinn. Yeah,” said Tough. “We ken reconnoiter and report, but I say we take our time. I don’t want to have to git up from some girl’s bed and hurry back here jes so I ken meet you.” He nodded at Quinn and laughed. “There’s no hurry, is there? We ken all meet back at Six Mile. When we got somethin’.”

  Tough spread his crude map on a rock and discussed the roads that looked promising. “East is where I’m ridin’--Boonslick country. This is where these boys’d get a warm welcome no matter where they lit. But Dan, you head down toward Richmond. Walt, head east toward Brunswick. I’ll take Pony with me. I might get as far as Keytsville. I don’t know.” Quinn volunteered to stay and watch the cavalry and to trail them when they move out.

  The men split up the provisions and went back over the routes to take. “It’s agreed, then,” said Tough, “we wander through the countryside and return to Six Mile at will.” Tough laughed. “How do I sound, boys?” He puffed out his chest. “Men, you are free to return at will.”

  “You don’t want Hoyt’s job, Tough. You stick with stealin’ horses,” said Walt.

  “I’m doin’ what I’m good at, that’s fer sure. Now, let’s go find out what we kin find out.” The men mounted up and rode off.

  Quinn spent the rest of the day in camp and slept. When he woke, he took a canteen, some jerky and some biscuits along with his bedroll, and walked up to the ridge. He found a comfortable spot and watched the camp get rowdy and then settle in.