by Yes Jack
‘I will. What of those in that little town? You’re going to open the gates and let them in?’
‘It’s not to be thought of. The Indians’ll be upon us in a few minutes. It would take fifteen or twenty minutes to gather up all the folk from those buildings and shepherd them in here. I can’t risk having the gates open when the Kiowa arrive.’
The Hilton gang were actually enjoying themselves. It was an amusing novelty to find themselves working for once on the side of law and order and they threw themselves into the role with enthusiasm. Tom Hilton had, almost without anybody in the town noticing the fact, more or less assumed command of the defence. He had been the first one to suggest building a barricade and his natural talents as a leader had come to the fore. He was directing men who had been living next to the fort for years in what they should be doing and where they should position themselves. Apart from the pleasure gained through the strange experience of throwing in their lot with the citizens of a little town, there was of course a very good reason for Hilton and the others to oversee the defence of the huddle of buildings. There could be little doubt that any previous deal with the Indians was now off the table and that any white person would most likely be killed in the event of a victory by the Kiowa forces. Tom Hilton and his men were now fighting for their lives just like everybody else.
The first wave of riders which galloped up to Fort Williams presumably expected the gates to be standing wide open, their brethren pinning down the bluecoats inside the fort and hampering any action to oppose the main body of the attackers. As it was, they were no sooner in range of the men on the walls than the firing began. For the troopers up on the sentry-walk, it was at first like a turkey shoot and they set up a withering fire on the Kiowa, causing the main body of them to turn to the right and head round the side of the fort. This led them towards the town and its hastily erected defences.
The flimsy barricade of boxes and barrels, which had been erected at Tom Hilton’s urging, was swiftly swept aside and the band of marauders galloped along the main street, firing at windows and men as they rode through. Their aim was not to engage too long with the people living alongside Fort Williams, though. They rather wished to pass straight through the line of wooden buildings and emerge at the other end of the single street, which gave out onto the side wall of the fort. Another group of riders had swerved to the left when they encountered the stiff opposition at the wall overlooking the gates of the fort and were now making their way along the other side, heading towards the rear of Fort Williams.
Three of the Hilton gang were killed in that headlong rush as the Kiowa warriors burst through the barricade and raced towards the rear of the fort. Hilton himself was unscathed and, as usual when the action began, was feeling that heady exhilaration which comes only from escaping death by a narrow margin. It was at times like these that he felt truly alive. He shouted to the men who had been taken aback by the sudden onslaught, ‘We must get inside the buildings now! Fire at them from cover.’
Inside the fort, things had taken a turn for the worse. The wooden sentry-walks had only ever been intended to support the weight of one or two men strolling up and down. Once it became apparent that the Indians were sweeping around to the back wall, there was a general rush in that direction. The creosoted wooden tree trunks of which the outer wall of the fort consisted were exceedingly flammable and it was imperative that nobody was given the chance to kindle a fire at the base of the wall, otherwise the whole place was apt to go up like a torch.
It was as two dozen troopers ran from the sentry-walk at the front of the fort, to drive off the riders who were now threatening to encircle the whole fort, that disaster struck. As the soldiers stampeded along the walkways, trying to get to the rear wall, there was a splintering sound and with a screeching of nails being wrenched loose and wood snapping, the walkways on one side of the fort, and also at the rear, collapsed under the unaccustomed weight which they were bearing. Two dozen men were precipitated fifty feet to the ground, many of them breaking arms and legs or fracturing their skulls in the process. In that instant, Fort Williams was deprived of about a quarter of its defenders and the collapse of the sentry-walk on the rear wall of the fort meant that that section was now left completely unguarded.
Captain Philips knew that the situation was critical but that there were still two cards to play. He ordered two men to stand by to open the gates when the order was given and then detailed half a dozen others to make the necessary preparations for what would follow. There was no time to tend to the wounded men who had fallen from the sentry-walks. If the fort fell, then they would all be massacred anyway. Without the ability to direct fire downwards upon the Indians at the foot of the rear wall, there was only one last gamble to be made. Philips knew that as for his other chance, that was quite out of his hands.
Through the cracks between the timber wall at the rear of the fort, flames could now be seen. It hadn’t taken long for the Kiowa to figure out that the best way to deal with the cavalry was to smoke them out. One or two incautious men fired at the wall, hoping to deter the attackers, but their musket balls ricocheted off the hardened wood. Nobody was injured, but the captain ordered them all to hold their fire. The time had come for the last desperate gamble, before the fire took hold. Captain Philips ordered the squad to haul the two field guns into position and aim them directly at the gate. When they were in place, he signalled that the gates of the fort should be thrown open.
Some of the Indians had remained in front of the gates and when they saw them being opened wide, they cried out in triumph. Most likely, they thought that the bluecoats were aiming to parlay or even surrender, as there was no sign of any of the cavalry riding out to confront them. The bulk of the warriors, alerted to this new development, surged around to the front of the fort and prepared to ride in through the open gates. There were over 200 of them, bunched up together, as they trotted forward to occupy Fort Williams.
The two twelve-pounder ‘Napoleons’ had been double charged with canister and as the Kiowa spurred on their horses, convinced that victory was now within their grasp, the captain shouted an order and both field guns discharged their loads at a range of no more than fifty yards. Five hundred lead balls, each considerably larger than a musket ball, ploughed straight into the mass of men and horses. It was sheer carnage and before the echoes had died down, the survivors were being picked off with rifle fire. Without waiting for orders, the men in charge of the guns began reloading them with canister. Then Captain Philips heard the sound for which he had been praying – the clear, metallic note of a bugle in the distance.
Captain Philips was not quite the perfect fool that Talbot Rogers had taken him for. On receipt of the letter warning that the fort was at hazard, Philips had despatched a messenger to the column of troops led by the colonel. Although they had an hour’s start, the captain had figured that a swift enough rider might overtake them and pass on the letter from the Indian Bureau’s man. So it had evidently proved, because by the time that the second charges of canister had been fired, Colonel Russell’s troops had arrived back at the fort and were engaged in fierce combat with the Indians. Faced with such overwhelming force, the Kiowa fled and the threat to Fort Williams was over.
Chapter 12
It was the day after the battle. Talbot Rogers had discovered, to his great relief, that Melanie was not only safe and well, but that she was now united with her own kin and consequently could be decently abandoned, which was a weight off his mind. There was nothing else to detain him at Fort Williams. He had been profusely thanked by the army and received yet another budget of thanks from her grandmother, and was now, with Melanie and her relatives standing nearby, about to set off in the original direction in which he had been travelling when all this foolishness had erupted.
Talbot had bid his final farewell to the girl whom he had safely delivered from danger and was swinging himself into the saddle, when his eyes fell upon a tough-looking fellow with a bright, scarlet b
andana around his neck. This man was strolling past, seemingly without a care in the world.
All prudent considerations urged against pursuing the matter and the wisest course by far was to turn a blind eye and leave others to deal with something which was, when all was said and done, nothing to do with him, but Talbot Rogers was sure in his own mind that this man had had something to do with the death of Melanie’s father and quite possibly the attack on the stage. For a moment, he turned the idea over in his mind of doing nothing, but he knew that it wouldn’t answer. He could not so easily shake off those years spent in the service of the provost guard. Before he was quite in the saddle, Talbot reversed direction and dismounted again. Smiling reassuringly to Melanie, he walked after the man he suspected of murder and tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Yes,’ said Tom Hilton brusquely, ‘what can I do for you?’
‘I think you and me have a crow to pluck, feller,’ replied Talbot. ‘I mind I seen you once or twice before.’
‘Happen so, I get about a bit. What of it?’
Now that he was right up close to the man, Talbot could see that he was indeed the absolute spit-image of the road agent whom he’d shot a few days earlier. He said slowly, ‘First off is where I saw you up on some high ground as when this young lady’s pa was killed.’ He indicated Melanie with a wave of his hand. ‘Then again, I’ve cause to suspicion you for being mixed up in the robbery of a stage.’
Tom Hilton stared at the quietly spoken little man for a space before answering. He noted that although the fellow wasn’t wearing a rig, he had a long-barrelled pistol tucked negligently in his belt. He moved back a step, saying as he did so, ‘Robbery, hey? Where’s your evidence? You the law or what?’
‘Evidence? Well, I killed a man who might have been twin to you. Then, some hours later, you show up and shoot dead one o’ the men who was on that stage that was robbed. What d’you say to that?’
An subtle change came over the man with whom Talbot was bandying words. He stood up straighter and stared with undisguised detestation and loathing at the man who had called him to account. Tom Hilton, like Talbot, had thought himself home and clear, ready to head south with the remaining men of his band. That was all forgotten now. He had one wish in the world and that was to end the life of the man standing before him, a man who was openly boasting of having killed Hilton’s brother.
Unobtrusively and with every appearance of casual indifference, those standing behind Talbot and Tom Hilton moved out of the way. It was not hard to see where this confrontation was heading. Hilton said slowly, ‘It was you as killed my brother?’
‘If that was the fellow in a bright yellow neckerchief that was molesting an innocent child, then yes. He was part of a gang. ’Less I miss my guess, you’re one o’ the same outfit.’
‘You got that right. You think you can take me?’
‘Let’s see. Will you come along now to the fort? I aim to hand you over to the provost guard there and they’ll arrange for a marshal to come and collect you.’
The calm assurance with which these words were spoken infuriated Tom Hilton to the extent that he could barely breathe; his anger at both that and the fact that his brother’s killer stood before him was so great he was almost senseless with rage. Then the man who had taken all this upon himself said in a reasonable and polite tone of voice, ‘Well, will you come along with me now?’
There was, according to Hilton’s code, no other course of action open to him at this point other than to draw his pistol and kill this mad stranger. Whether Talbot Rogers anticipated this move will never be known. Hilton pulled his gun from its holster and fired twice. Talbot had never been a gunfighter and was certainly not quick on the draw as the other. Howsoever, he had been a soldier and was better able than the average man to take a ball and carry on with what he was doing. As Hilton reached down for his gun, Talbot Rogers knew that he most likely would not be fast enough to fire first, but even so, he made to pluck the long barrelled pistol from his belt.
To those standing nearby, the three shots were so close together that they sounded like a single, prolonged roar. Tom Hilton’s first shot took Talbot in the chest, but this didn’t hinder his instinctive reaction which was to fire back at Tom Hilton while the other man was cocking his piece to fire again. It was, Talbot noted with satisfaction, a perfectly wonderful shot, which took the outlaw right between his eyes. In his death agony, Hilton let fall the hammer which he had raised with his thumb, sending a ball flying past Talbot’s head. Then he fell dead where he stood.
For the briefest moment, Talbot Rogers felt a grim satisfaction in having come out on top in the duel while at the same time exacting justice on behalf of Melanie Barker for the murder of her father. Then he glanced down at his chest and saw that the ball had entered just below his ribs on the left-hand side. He muttered softly, ‘Lord, I’ve been killed.’ Then he had the strange impression that the earth beneath his feet was tilting and shifting as though an earthquake was taking place. He lost his balance and crashed into the ground as it rose up to meet him.
For a moment, there was a stunned silence, so rapidly had the drama begun and ended. Then there was a wail of anguish from a young girl standing nearby. She cried out, ‘He brought me safe here. He was the best man I ever knew.’
‘Come along home,’ said the old woman at her side, ‘What’s done is done.’
Reluctantly, looking back over her shoulder at the lifeless body of the former lawman the while, Melanie suffered herself to be led away from the scene and back to her grandmother’s home. She knew that she would never forget the strange journey which she had made with Talbot Rogers, nor how he had saved her life and avenged her father.