It is several miles from the camp that they are able to find a rock-strewn wash. Without discussion, Josh directs his horse into the wash and across the rocks to obscure their tracks. The wash has several branches, all strewn with rock. Randomly, Josh picks right and left branches.
When they entered the wash, they were headed on a roughly northern course. Now they are headed in a more easterly direction. By the time they exit the wash, the sun is almost on the horizon. They have traveled several miles from the beginning of the gully and are well enough away to not fear pursuit. Wordlessly, they agree to ride through the night, further into Indian lands, increasing the distance between them and their pursuers.
Chapter 22
John is startled out of his reverie by a banging on the door to the marshal’s office. He answers the door and is greeted by the sight of several cavalry officers, a civilian, and Red-Feather, all in a cluster. From the rank odor of horse sweat, it is obvious that the riders rode hard all the way from Norman.
The leader is a tall, lanky, middle-aged captain with short hair and mutton chops. He takes one look at John, and starts laughing. “Well met, Sergeant Major. If I had known you were the one requesting help, I would have brought the mobile artillery detachment with me.” He looks around in a single glance. “Nice place you have here. Can we come in?”
“By all means, Captain Richards. By all means. Please don’t mind not having somewhere to sit.”
“That’s okay. Introductions first.” The captain motions to the lieutenant to his right. “This is Lt. Woodson. This,” he motions to the lieutenant to his left, “is Lt. Guthrie.” He motions to the civilian. “This Woody Lyttle. He is what serves as law enforcement in Norman at the moment. He has been voted in as town marshal already. Of course, I don’t need to introduce Red-Feather.” He turns around, and motions to John. “Gentlemen, this retired Sergeant Major John Cardwell. He is the hardest, meanest, bloodiest fighter you will ever want watching your back in a firefight. So, Sergeant Major, what is this about an emergency situation out here?”
“Did you read the letter I sent with Red-Feather?”
“No. I was just informed by Major Arbuckle that I was to bring a company of troops out here and investigate some claims of corruption and misconduct.”
“Were you gentlemen planning on staying in town or in camp with your troopers?”
“I think our troopers can behave themselves tonight in camp without us. What do you have in mind?”
“We have a hotel here. If you have the money, the hotel owner is an excellent cook. If you are willing to have someone watch the idiot in the cell, we can discuss this over dinner. I have been cooped up here for several days and could use the time away.” He looks over to Red-Feather. “Plus, I need to pay Miss Rebekah for the food she has so graciously given us. Did you bring my horse?” A nod in response. “Would you mind getting me ten dollars from my saddle bags?”
Red-Feather reaches into the haversack at his side, and pulls out two twenty dollar gold pieces. He walks over and hands them to John. “Settle up later.”
Captain Richards motions to Lt. Woodson. “Keep watch over the prisoner while the Sergeant Major makes his report.”
Lt. Woodson nods and seats himself at the desk.
“It shouldn’t be too long.” He points at Woodson. “Oh, and until further notice, this area is to be considered under martial law. If anyone asks, make sure that word is spread about it.”
“Understood, sir.”
John leads the way from the marshal’s office over to the blacksmith building. He knocks on the door, waits a moment, then knocks again.
Sara cracks the door open timidly. “Yes? OH! Missa Cardwell! How’s I help?”
“Hi, Sara, is there a livery here? We have a few guests that need to stable their horses for a few days.”
“We’s gots stables here. We’s able to handle six hohses at once. We’s the only stables in town. You’s okay with dat?”
Captain Richards looks a little dubious, but John says quietly to him, “Trust me, you will want her to look after them.” Captain Richards nods and Sara opens the door wide enough to allow entry of both men and horses.
Sara looks at the officers, their mounts, and then at John. “Missa Cardwell, you’s thinkin’ you’s be needin’ to keep thesa hohses here long? Momma’s needin' my help.”
“Heart-of-Falcon will take care of her awhile. In fact, her husband is right there. If anything comes up, she will send Running-Elk or Gray-Dawn with word. At least this way, you can get some money coming in while your family is recovering.”
She nods. “Pa always say fifty cents a day a hohse. If they need doctorin', then it be more.”
Captain Richards shakes his head. “That’s not needed. We have our own horse doctor. We will pay for four horses for three days. If we are here longer, we will pay in advance for them.” He hands over six silver dollars. “We will be at the hotel or marshal’s office, if something comes up.”
Sara takes the money and shows the different riders to the different stalls. Each rider unsaddles and removes the tack from their horses. John takes Lt. Woodson’s horse to help speed the process. Once they are done, the group gathers by the entrances. As they are leaving, John waves bye to Sara.
The group crosses the street to the hotel and John leads the way in the door. They are greeted by the blonde-haired vision of beauty that is Rebekah, standing behind the desk with the leather-bound hotel register.
“John! How nice to see you! Would you like to introduce me to your friends?” Rebekah asks in her husky yet playful voice.
John introduces the men to her. When he introduces her to them, he says, “This beauty is Rebekah, the owner of this fine establishment. Treat her right, or I’ll hang your guts on the fence, or worse, turn you over to her beau.” He smirks. “Trust me, Doc Bakker can hurt you in ways I can barely even imagine.”
At this statement, the fair-skinned blonde blushes a bright red. “How did you know?” she asks in a gasping tone.
John smiles. “David mentioned it in passing. I would like to thank you for providing such wonderful food. How much do I owe you?”
“For you, I will only charge the cost of the food, which will be three dollars.”
John walks over, hands the gold pieces to Red-Feather, takes the five dollars in silver dollars handed to him, then turns to Rebekah. “I’ll go ahead and give you a little more for your time.” He hands the coins over to the beautiful woman.
“Thank you. You know this is unnecessary, right?”
“No, it really is necessary. I can’t stand the feeling I owe anyone anything, especially money. So! I think these gentlemen will need some rooms to stay in, as well as meals.” He motions around, indicating the officers. “Gentlemen, if you would please.” He motions them forward to the register for their rooms.
Captain Richards looks at Rebekah. “Does the Army have an account here already?”
“No. If you want, you can start one, though,” she replies thoughtfully.
“Go ahead and give us four rooms, plus meals. I will pay it out once we leave.”
“That will be two dollars a room a night and an additional dollar per person per meal.”
“You seem to be quite proud of your food for it to cost that much.”
“Wait until you have some. Do you agree to the cost?”
“Yes.”
She looks around with a look of mild confusion. “Four rooms?”
“We have one more person coming in, so, we will need a total of four rooms.”
“Okay. You will have rooms three through six.” She reaches under the counter and pulls out the four keys. She hands them to the captain, points to the register, and asks, “What are your names and which rooms will be going to who?” As he answers, she writes the information down. Her handwriting, while rather flowery, is quite legible. She finishes writing each one down, then hands the quill to the captain. “Please, each person sign your name, or make your mark. Whe
n your other man gets here, have him sign as well, if you don’t mind. If you want to go seat yourselves at a table, I will have Billy come get your orders, and we will fix you some supper.”
As the men turn towards the dining area, John turns toward the door. “I forgot the reports at the office. I’ll be back shortly.” He goes down the street to the marshal’s office. He knocks on the door briefly and opens it slowly. As he enters the office, he sees Lt. Woodson seated at the desk writing in a book. John says, “Sorry, lieutenant, I forgot some paperwork. I’ll be outta here in a jiffy.” He moves to the desk and retrieves the papers he placed in the drawer.
As he rushes out, he hears Jacobson yelling, “What are you trying to do in here? Starve me?” John smiles. At least someone else is having to deal with that prima-donna.
John enters the hotel and quickly seats himself at the same circular table that the others are seated. They have already been served coffee and there is a cup waiting at the place set aside for him. He looks around and asks, “Everyone already order?”
“Just coffee. We decided to wait for you to return. Speaking of which.” Capt. Richards motions to the waiter. “Now that you’re here.”
When the waiter approaches the table, they all place their orders and he rushes off to the back where the kitchen is. Captain Richards folds his hands on the table and looks John in the eye. “So, I can understand wanting to get somewhere comfortable to make your report, but I think we all have been waiting long enough. We’re here as you request; you’re here, so talk.”
Over the next hour and a half, and while eating their meals, John covers everything that has gone on since the land run. He explains how the Bald-Knobbers have been burning people out and then suddenly Jacobson seems to be able to take over the claim. He explains why he shot Davis and has been acting in an unofficial capacity as the marshal.
As he explains the situation, the expressions of the men grow more incredulous. Finally, as John finishes his report, producing the written accounts, Capt. Richards says, “That is quite likely the most incredible story I have ever heard. Do you have any corroborating evidence?”
John points to Red-Feather. “He can vouch for the beginning of it, Quan can confirm most of the rest. Sara can confirm her family’s part, which I put in as the second report. If you want her part of the story, you know where she is.”
Captain Richards takes the papers off the table and reads them over carefully. As he finishes with each one of the pages, he sets them face down on the table. When he reads the last one, he hands the entire stack to Lyttle, folds his arms, then leans back in his chair. The look on his face is thoughtful.
Lyttle spends several minutes reading through the pages. His face takes on a pensive aspect. As he finishes the reports, he sets them back on the table. Lyttle strokes his handlebar mustache thoughtfully for several minutes.
The mood at the table goes from quiet to completely still as the two men consider the situation, each considering his options. The look John gives Red-Feather speaks volumes. Red-Feather returns the look, then slowly winks. This may get rather interesting.
John looks over at Lt. Guthrie. The army officer is looking at his commander, curious but unconcerned. He directs his look to John and John understands the trust Richards commands from his troops now.
What a change from his time down at Fort Sill. Richards has definitely grown up. That rash, impetuous, callous youth grew into a fine cavalry officer who commands loyalty and respect from not only his command, but that of others as well.
After more than twenty minutes, Lyttle is the first to speak. “I think it best that we get the testimony of the others so we can make the most sensible legal decision.”
Captain Richards’ eyes return back to focus. He pulls the watch out of his vest pocket. “I agree. Given how late it is, I think we need to continue this in the morning. Lt. Guthrie, I want you to go to the camp and bring several troops here to have them keep watch on the marshal’s office.” He looks at John and Red-Feather. “As your homestead is several hours' ride away, I would recommend staying the night either in camp, or if you want to spend the money, here in the hotel.”
John looks at Red-Feather and nods. “I haven’t slept in a real bed since I retired about four months ago. I don’t want to get used to it. I think I will go to the camp, if you’ve the room, and a spare tent that is,” he replies turning back to face the cavalry officer.
Capt. Richards smiles knowingly. “I’m sure something can be arranged. If you will follow Lt. Woodson, he can show you to one of our tents, since we will be staying here.” He looks at Red-Feather questioningly.
Red-Feather nods in agreement. “I think I will stay here. Been just as long for me and I miss it. I will see you tomorrow morning, John.” He stands and goes to the front desk, where Miss Rebekah is standing and speaks quietly to her, registering for a room.
The other men stand and push their chairs back in. At the door to the dining area, the two pairs of men part ways. The captain and lawman move to the stairs, John and Lt. Guthrie to the front door.
“He doesn’t say much, does he?” Lt. Guthrie’s voice is deep. It is so gravelly as to be almost unintelligible.
No wonder he’s stayed silent so far. “Who? Red-Feather? Yeah, unless talking in his native tongue, then you can’t get him to shut up. He generally lets me do all the talking in English. Always been that way, too. We’ve been watching each other’s backs for the better part of twenty years now. We can generally figure out what needs to be done without many, if any, words at all.”
The lieutenant grunts. “I can understand. Was just curious.” As the men enter the camp, Lt. Guthrie is approached by a portly Sergeant Major of middling years.
The sergeant major salutes Lt. Guthrie. “Orders, sir?”
“Capt. Richards has placed this area under martial law. We need two corporals to go to town and relieve Lt. Woodson at the marshal’s office. Capt. Richards has also instructed that this fellow here be allowed to use one of our officer’s tents for as long as is needed. The officers are going to be staying in town. We will expect you to keep the men under control. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir! I will also set up moving patrols throughout town.” The sergeant major salutes smartly and turns on a heel, going back to their camp. Once he reaches the campfire, he speaks quietly to the company bugler. The bugler plays several chords, calling the men from their tents to attention. The sergeant speaks to the men in tones that brook no argument.
John smiles in appreciation. The man knows how to keep his troops in line. John remembers many a meeting under the same conditions.
Several minutes later, once the sergeant finishes speaking, two of the soldiers that were in line with the others turn around and head to their tents. They both emerge a few moments later and head towards town. The sergeant major points to two other troops and then a tent set aside from the rest of the tents. The two soldiers rush over and start removing the officer’s personal effects from it.
As they are bustling about, the sergeant major waves to half the troop, sending them toward the horse lines, assigning them as part of the patrol. The rest he waves back to their tents. He approaches Lt. Guthrie and John once more and salutes smartly. “Orders are being completed, sir.” He turns to face John. “This way, sir.”
“My name is John, or Sergeant Cardwell, if you insist on titles.”
The portly sergeant smiles. “This way if you will, sir.” He motions to the tent being cleared out, turns to face John once again, and says, “Sergeant Major Wilkinson, or Jason, if you would.”
John nods in acknowledgment as they cross the cavalry camp. The camp is organized in the same way that every cavalry camp is. He smells the familiar aromas of wood smoke, horse sweat, unwashed bodies, and cooking chow. The experience is like stepping foot back in a childhood home after a sabbatical. Until now, he didn’t realize how much he truly missed the sensation of being in camp. He can feel the muscles throughout his body begin
to relax as he reaches for the flap of the tent. He turns to Jason, and says, “Thank you for the hospitality.”
“Orders is orders. Breakfast will be just after reveille.”
“Then thank you for following the orders so quickly, Jason.” John walks into the tent, lays down on to the cot that is set up, and falls into a deep, restorative sleep, unlike he has had in months.
Chapter 23
They have continued to search for two weeks before they found a camp of the Red-Legs. This time, when they located the encampment, they watched for several hours before approaching it.
It is a cold morning in the beginning of March when the two teenagers approach the disorganized jumble of cloth, flesh, and metal. The camp appears to be in a state of disarray, as if they are in the process of moving out. They are seen by a sentry who immediately alerts the troops.
As they approach the camp, they are confronted by the sentry, pointing his musket towards them, in a guarded fashion. He asks, “Who are you and what business do you have here?”
Josh steps forward and says, “We need to speak with the commanding officer of this detachment.”
The sentry lowers his gun and motions them forward. As they move through the camp, Johnny notices they are being surrounded by more and more of the red-gaitered soldiers, many of whom are pointing their guns toward the pair. Finally, they approach the command tent, recognizable by the larger size, and the table out front. Once again, Josh steps forward and repeats his request to the seemingly empty tent.
The tent flap moves aside and a man with lieutenant bars steps out. “I am Lt. Wilkinson of the Fourteenth Kansas Infantry. What is the meaning of this?”
“We are looking for the detachment of troops that were wintering in Pleasant Grove about four months ago. Are you they?”
“No. We have been here for nigh on six months. Who are you and why are you looking for our units?”
The Marshal of Denver Page 11