War on the Cimarron
Page 19
Frank walked wearily over to them, and Major Corning said grimly, “This time you won’t escape, Christian.”
It brought a laugh from the crowd gathered behind the soldiers who ringed the group.
“Escape?” Luvie said indignantly. “Why should he? He’s not guilty of anything.”
Major Corning turned to her. “For a lady who held off my troopers with ten minutes of gunfire, you haven’t exactly the right to speak.”
“Then I have,” a voice said from the crowd. Chet Milabel shouldered his way through the soldiers. “I’m askin’ why he should be arrested.”
“You just saw a murder!” Major Corning said.
“Like hell I did,” Milabel said roughly. “I saw justice. Corb killed this man’s partner. He’s got the proof if you’ll listen to him.”
“I’ll listen,” the major said, turning to Frank. “What proof have you that Corb killed Wheelon?”
Frank warily produced the pair of spurs and the rowel and told his story briefly. Milabel backed him up. Luvie and Red and Otey and Barnes, who had drawn closer now, verified the story Gus had told at the camp. At the storm of talk that poured from them all Major Corning raised his hands to his ears.
“All right, all right!” he said angrily. “Perhaps that’s so. Still, there’s a ‘dead or alive’ reward on Christian’s head for murdering a trail driver of Milabel’s. And you preferred the charges yourself, along with Corb!” he said to Milabel.
Otey said harshly, “Red, take this gun and keep these two jaspers here! Major, keep your mouth shut until I get back!”
The major glared at him, but Otey vanished into the night. In two minutes he led a staggering Beach Freeman out of the compound into the circle of lamplight. Beach’s face was a bloody pulp, and Otey had to hold him upright.
Otey stood him up in front of Major Corning and said, “Beach, who killed that rider of Milabel’s at the stampede? Talk straight, or you’ll get more of what you’ve already got.”
“I did,” Beach whined through puffed lips. “It—it was a mistake,” he said weakly. “I had to.”
“And I fired him for it,” Frank said angrily to the major.
Milabel looked over at Frank. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said softly. “Damned if I ever thought you did it.” He looked at Major Corning. “What else have you got against him, Major?”
Major Corning’s voice was sharp with anger. “What else? I understand from talk around here that Christian killed four of Corb’s riders in a night attack.”
Red raised his foot and savagely kicked the two Corb understrappers before the major. “You gents aim to talk, or will I turn you over to the major as whisky peddlers?” Red drawled. “Gus told me your caches. I know every one of ’em.”
One rider glared at Red, then said sullenly to the major, “I was on that raid. Corb raided Christian, not the other way. We got what we had comin’ to us, I reckon.”
Major Corning’s mouth was agape. He looked at his officers, and they could only look at him mutely.
Frank said calmly, “What else is in the list, Major?”
“Escaping from our soldiers,” Major Corning stammered.
“Stone Bull rescued him,” Edith put in. “Take it up with him. Frank had nothing to do with it.”
A captain spoke up. “There’s a little matter of whisky peddling, Major. That was the cause of the original arrest.”
“And I framed it on Christian,” Milabel countered. “I stole the whisky from Corb’s cache and planted it on Frank’s range.”
Major Corning said furiously, “For a man who has been feuding with Christian ever since he got here, you seem mighty interested in having him set free, Milabel!”
“I am,” Milabel said, his broad face cracking into a grin. “He’s made me eat every word I ever bragged. I want him for a neighbor.”
“Still, he broke jail,” the captain put in.
“But it was a false charge,” Frank countered.
Luvie walked up to Major Corning and faced him. “Major Corning, you’ve had the biggest menace on this reservation wiped out tonight. The biggest whisky peddler, a renegade Indian leader and a cattle rustler. And you want the man jailed who did it. That may sound like the United States Army to some people, but it’s not my army. Is it yours?”
Major Corning looked searchingly at her, and then he said gently, “No, my dear, it’s not. But argument can bring out lots besides tears. Tonight it’s brought out the truth.” He walked over to Frank and put out his hand. “You’re free as air, as far as I’m concerned, son. All I’ll burden you with is my heartfelt thanks.”
Frank took his hand and a slow smile broke over his tired face. Before he had time to thank the major a cavalry officer rode up, and the crowd broke for him. He saluted and said, “All the leaders are in the guardhouse, Major, and Captain Brett has returned safely from the Indian camp.”
“Is it over?” Major Corning asked.
The officer smiled faintly. “I don’t know, sir, but the drums have stopped beating.”
Major Corning looked at Red, then walked over to him. He put out his hand again, and he said, “It’s a pity you aren’t an army man, Shibe. You could use a little discipline—but that’s all you could use. Thanks for what you’ve done. And in case there’s any doubt about it, you have the run of this garrison from now to eternity, with a standing invitation to eat in the officers’ mess as long as I’m in command.”
He saluted Edith and Luvie and inarched off across the parade grounds, and his officers behind him. The troops were ordered to fall in and marched off, and slowly the crowd broke up.
Red found Edith standing beside him. “It kind of pays off for Morg’s murder, don’t it?” he murmured.
Edith nodded, and a shadow crossed her face. But only for a moment, and then she smiled at Red. “Morg was lucky to have the friends he had, Red.”
“Frank will do to ride the river with,” Red said gently.
Edith looked up at him. “He will. But Morg had another friend that will do to ride the river with too.”
Red looked down at her, and his freckled face was suddenly close to the color of his hair. “I ain’t ever been tagged with that,” he stammered.
Edith smiled a little and put her hand through his arm. “Then maybe you’d better get used to it, Red, because I think so.”
Luvie watched Frank put the spurs in his hip pocket and wipe his forehead, and then she turned to her father. “Come on, Dad,” she said miserably.
She put a hand through her father’s arm and then started for the hotel.
She heard footsteps behind her, and Frank swung in alongside them.
“You think you’d trust Luvie to walk around the parade grounds with me, Mr. Barnes?” he asked.
Barnes laughed and said, “Let her answer that, Frank.”
“Good night, Dad,” Luvie murmured.
She and Frank started out across the parade grounds, heading instinctively for a spot where the street lamps were not so bright.
Frank didn’t say anything for a long time, until they were in the shaded street where the married officers’ quarters were.
Suddenly he said, “Major Corning said somethin’ there tonight I didn’t rightly understand.”
“What was that?”
“He said you held off the troopers with a gun.” He looked sideways at her. “Did you?”
“Yes,” Luvie said softly.
“But—why?”
“I owed it to you,” Luvie said, and then her voice was gentle with quiet pride. “You didn’t believe me when I said I was sorry, Frank. I—I had to show you the only way I could.”
Frank didn’t speak for a moment, and then he said, “I reckon I see,” and there was disappointment in his voice.
“No, you don’t, Frank,” Luvie said. They stopped and faced each other. “Frank, are you going to make me say it?”
“Wait a minute, Luvie,” Frank said huskily. “I’m takin’ a chance on what you mean,
and I’m goin’ to say it. You’ve been my woman ever since I saw you, fightin’ or no fightin’, and you can go away and I’ll never see you again and you’ll still be my woman. Mine! Do you understand?”
“Understand?” Luvie echoed. She laughed shakily. “It’s what I’ve known before you knew it, Frank.”
And Frank took her in his arms and held her close to him, knowing they had both been fools and a little glad of it and not caring.
When, hand in hand, they came back to the hotel much later Otey and Milabel were seated on the porch steps under the light.
At their approach Otey said truculently, “Frank, make this damn jughead see sense. We can’t put out no five men on a roundup wagon to separate our herds!”
Milabel laughed and said, “Listen, runt. You can if I loan you the five men, can’t you?”
About the Author
Luke Short is the pen name of Frederick Dilley Glidden (1908–1975), the bestselling, award-winning author of over fifty classic western novels and hundreds of short stories. Renowned for their action-packed story lines, multidimensional characters, and vibrant dialogue, Glidden’s novels sold over thirty million copies. Ten of his novels, including Blood on the Moon, Coroner Creek, and Ramrod, were adapted for the screen. Glidden was the winner of a special Western Heritage Trustees Award and the Levi Strauss Golden Saddleman Award from the Western Writers of America.
Born in Kewanee, Illinois, Glidden graduated in 1930 from the University of Missouri where he studied journalism. After working for several newspapers, he became a trapper in Canada and, later, an archaeologist’s assistant in New Mexico. His first story, “Six-Gun Lawyer,” was published in Cowboy Stories magazine in 1935 under the name F. D. Glidden. At the suggestion of his publisher, he used the pseudonym Luke Short, not realizing it was the name of a real gunman and gambler who was a friend of Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp. In addition to his prolific writing career, Glidden worked for the Office of Strategic Services during World War II. He moved to Aspen, Colorado, in 1946, and became an active member of the Aspen Town Council, where he initiated the zoning laws that helped preserve the town.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1939, 1940, 1960, 1967 by Frederick D. Glidden
Cover design by Andy Ross
ISBN: 978-1-5040-4092-1
This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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