“We are looking for what happened around Thanksgiving in Pleasant Grove. One of our family members was killed and we need to know what happened, so we can go home and tell our ma,” Josh replies, stepping up to the man.
“We don’t have any dealings with Indians, boy. Why do you think our boys would know anything about that?”
“We didn’t say he was an Indian, just that he’s family. Do you know how we can find those troops that were involved?”
“We will be leaving shortly to meet up for a muster, not far from Pleasant Grove.”
“Oh?” Josh looks at Johnny. Wordlessly, they agree to see if they can find a way to join with the soldiers. “What would it take to be able to come along with you? We need to find out what happened to our cousin.”
“Oh, you’re going to come with us, alright. You don’t have a choice. You’re under arrest.”
“Under arrest? For what?” Johnny exclaims.
“I don’t have to have one. If you resist, then it will be resisting arrest.” He points to a couple of soldiers standing behind the boys. “Take their guns and bind them.”
While they are being bound up, Johnny stares at Wilkinson. “I will see you dead before this over.”
Wilkinson motions around the camp in a languid movement. “All these soldiers heard you say that. You are under arrest for threatening an officer in the U.S. Army.” He motions for the two boys to be taken away.
Johnny smiles and turns to look back at the lieutenant. “You will die in a pool of your own blood. I promise you that.”
The boys are taken back to their horses and bound to the saddles. Their horses are held by the reins, preventing their riding off. They are held under guard, with strict instructions not to say anything.
By noon, the troop is ready to move out. Both boys are stiff and sore from not being able to move around. The following three days are some of the most miserable either of them has ever experienced. Since it is close to the beginning of March, the weather is still chilly with the threat of frost every morning. The boys are fed, but eating while one’s hands are tied is difficult even under the best of circumstances.
It is evening on the third day of travel when the troop arrives at the muster point. Surrounding the camp is an air of nervousness. The entire camp is buzzing with an energy that transmits itself to the horses. Johnny feels his horse twitching constantly, like it is being assaulted constantly by mosquitoes.
As the troop rides into the camp, many of the troopers are called out by others already there. The troop rides through the fifty square acres to the northeast corner.
Wilkinson calls a halt in an area roped off, just outside the main camp area. He motions forward the prisoners. As they are brought forward, he waves for the two boys to be pulled from their horses and brought with him as he goes through the camp to the command center.
As the boys are virtually dragged through the acres-spanning camp, Johnny becomes more and more self-conscious of how they are dressed. He feels like everyone in camp is watching their every move. He figures it is due to Josh’s Indian buckskins.
As they approach the center of the camp, Johnny realizes that the tents are larger and have actual camp chairs with camp tables out front of each. They make their way to the direct center of the camp where an officer’s wall tent is set up.
The first thing Johnny sees is that there are dozens of men all in blue uniforms with red gaiters. The next thing he notices is that they all have their backs to him, facing a man pointing to a map. The third thing he sees is that the man commanding all their attention is the monster Jennison.
Johnny’s hands start shaking uncontrollably. His vision begins to narrow and everything is tinged with red. His shoulders tense, his body is primed for a fight. All his muscles now feel as if they are coiled springs that will snap at the slightest movement, and he will once again start slaughtering people with his bare hands.
Colonel Jennison notices their approach, stops and says, “Well, I’m glad we’re all finally here. Who are these two and why did you bring them to me, Wilkinson?”
Chapter 24
John startles awake with a snort. He hates these vivid memory-dreams. If only I could make them stop, I might be able to get a decent night’s sleep.
He looks out past the open tent flap, to the campfire burning low. It is still deep night. It couldn’t be later than three, or earlier than midnight. Hadn’t he closed the tent flap earlier?
John feels the air pressure change of someone moving around outside his tent. His skin crawls in warning. Danger is nearby. Danger enough to wake him up from a deep sleep.
John grabs his revolver and hides it in his blanket. He turns over to lay on his side, then fakes a snoring sound. In the middle of a loud snore, he cocks back the hammer and waits for the attack.
He lays there for several minutes, faking the snore until he hears outside his tent low voices, then the sounds of a scuffle. Finally, he hears a grunt. He silently rolls off his cot and shoves the pillow under the blanket. He moves to the side of the tent, in the back corner, where it is darkest. Several moments later, John sees a hand holding a pistol pass by the fabric of the opening of the tent.
The pistol fires into the cot, into the pillow twice. John immediately fires twice with his own gun, where he expects his assailant to be standing. He quickly rushes out of the now, smoke-filled tent to be greeted by the sight of Sgt. Maj. Wilkinson laying on the ground in a spreading pool of his own blood. John see his shots were clean and went through the man’s heart and lung. If he’s not dead, he has only seconds to live.
John steps over to the dying man and kicks the gun out of his hand. He leans down and asks, “Why?”
“My brother. I . . . I’ll see you in hell,” Wilkinson replies, blood coming from the corner of his mouth. His body is wracked with a convulsion, then settles back to the ground, lifeless.
John is stunned. The fact that someone would try and kill him twenty five years after something he did during the war, is phenomenal. He looks around, seeing the growing ring of cavalry soldiers surrounding him. “Did anyone else hear what he said?”
John hears several replies of, “Yes.” John points to a random trooper and says, “Can you go to town and let the officers know what’s going on here? There will have to be an inquest, I’m afraid; and they will need to know about it as soon as possible.” He motions around to the troops and asks, “Those of you that heard what he said, can you come forward and give me your names? We can get this handled as quickly as possible. Also, I heard what sounded like a scuffle just before he attacked me. Can we make sure no one else is hurt or dead?”
Several troopers step forward at the request.
One of the troopers in the back runs to the commander’s tent and rushes inside it, coming out several moments later with a pencil and a few sheets of paper.
Several troopers start moving around the camp, looking for anyone else that might be injured.
After several moments, John hears a trooper call out, “Found him! It’s Dawkins! Looks like he’s still breathing, just knocked out!”
John takes a deep breath as he takes the paper and pencil from the soldier. At least no one else has to die tonight because of that idiot’s personal grudge.
He spends several minutes taking down all the soldiers’ information, mostly name and rank.
As he is finishing, John looks up to see Lt. Guthrie striding quickly into camp. John is impressed by the soldier’s speed. He stands and meets the lieutenant. About ten feet away from the body.
As he is approaching, the lieutenant says, “We were playing cards and heard the gunfire at the hotel. I came out as fast as I could. What happened?”
John takes a deep breath, then, as succinctly as possible, describes the situation. Lt. Guthrie walks over to the body and gazes down at the man.
“I never knew him. It doesn’t surprise me though, knowing what I do of people in general.” He takes the page with names from John and asks, “You
’re not going anywhere until the inquest, right?”
John looks at him square in the eye and says, “The only place I am going is back to bed.”
“I will relay all this to Capt. Richards. I expect he will be interviewing you come morning-time.”
“I’d figured as much. With everything going on, I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon. Other than to the fire for some coffee, that is. Excuse me.” John moves to the side of the lieutenant, then over to the recently stoked campfire.
He pours himself a cup of coffee and sits in a camp chair. Sipping at his coffee, he sees that the camp is abuzz with energy. The men were scared of the sergeant major. Now they are able to breathe a sigh of relief. Before losing their ramrod, the men were keeping it completely professional. There was little to no in-camp conversation other than the relaying of orders. The men walked around almost like puppets, backs as straight as iron rods. Now that the sergeant major is gone, the men adopt a posture of relaxation. They are able to speak to each other, joke even.
John is enjoying partaking in one of his favorite pastimes: people watching. He noticed earlier that the men appeared starched, unbending. Now, they are troopers much like he has known for decades. Over the time frame of an hour, the camp takes on the rowdy, familiar feeling of a cavalry camp.
John feels the surge and flow of energy coursing through the troops. As most of the troopers go back to their tents, seeking their bedrolls, several breakout dice, cards, and flasks.
After declining several offers from troopers to join in on some of their games, John agrees to tip a flask into his coffee cup. He takes a good sip and sighs out the burn of the whiskey. As the alcohol forces his muscles to relax, John is able to lean back and enjoy staring into the flames, watching their play against the darkness.
Chapter 25
Lt. Wilkinson stepped forward. “These two boys came riding boldly into our camp. They fed me some story about trying to find out about our troops killing some cousin of theirs, and I thought it best you decide what needs be done.”
“Do you boys understand how much trouble you are in right now?” Jennison steps forward. “If you lie to us, we can, and will, kill you without second thought. What stupidity would bring you into an armed camp, knowing you might sacrifice your own lives?”
Josh clears his throat. “If we knew we were giving up all we had, we would have thought twice. We were looking for a group of Red-Legs that wintered in Pleasant Grove a few months ago. We were there several weeks ago and were told that group killed our cousin.” Having forgotten still being bound, Josh tries to spread his hands. “We just need information about what happened, so we can tell our ma about her cousin.”
“I see. Your clothes mark you as a red-skin, but your skin doesn’t. Care to explain that?”
“We just travelled through Indian lands. No one paid any attention to us, as long as it was a brave going through. Two white boys, on the other hand . . .” Josh tries again to spread his hands in the universal gesture of ‘who knows?’, but is stopped by the rope bindings.
“What is the name of this ‘cousin’ you speak of? I will look into the claims you make, and figure out what your punishment will be.”
“Doctor Elizias Bakker, and his granddaughter, Liz Bakker.”
Jennison’s face darkens as he recognizes the names. He nods curtly and motions them to be taken away.
Josh and Johnny share a look, a look of concern and uncertainty. When they are ushered into a tent, both boys sit on the ground facing each other. The boys are left alone in the tent for several hours, with only a guard posted outside to prevent their escape.
Johnny says quietly, “They may as well admit their guilt in killing Liz and her grandfather. Can we get out of here now? I want to make sure these monsters don’t ever get the chance to do this to anyone else’s family.”
“I’m open to any ideas if you have them.” Josh then adds wryly, “That is, any ideas that don’t involve us dying.”
“That’s the rub, isn’t it?” Johnny continues to sits there quietly for several minutes, while the camp bustles around them. He looks down at his bindings and tests the strength of them. After struggling for several moments, the bindings start to work loose.
Josh stares at him this whole time, incredulous that Johnny had the temerity to do something like that. He looks down at his own bindings and starts trying to work them loose as well.
After the boys are able to quietly struggle out of their bindings, they both work them back enough to continue looking bound. Speaking low enough not to be heard by the guard, they make escape plans. They both agree not to try anything until dark, which is still several hours away.
The camp becomes more rowdy as the day moves on. As evening approaches, there is still no word from on high, and the boys’ hopes of escape increase. They both shift uneasily on the hard ground. The wait for nightfall is making both boys edgy, ready for action.
Around dusk, a shadowy figure opens the tent-flap and inserts his head and shoulders into it. They can’t see the man’s face, only that he is an officer. “We are unsure as to what to do with you boys. Colonel Jennison has left your punishment up to us. Your accents mark you as coming from Missoura, but your story is compelling to some of us. Like I said, we debate.” The unnamed-shadowy officer leaves the boys in the growing darkness.
A minute later, a private walks into the tent, bringing two steaming cups of camp stew with him. “Here’s your food. Don’t say nothin, don’t ask any questions. I don’t know anything and am not supposed to talk with you.” He hands the cups to the two prisoners and walks out.
“Nice fellow,” Johnny remarks, sipping at his stew.
“Mmh,” Josh agrees, taking a long drink of his. When he finishes, he says quietly, “Guess what they didn’t take earlier?” He opens his shirt showing Johnny the antler handle of a patch-cutter knife.
Johnny is stunned. He asks quietly with a note of hope in his voice, “Think we can get some weapons on our way out?”
Josh shrugs. “Without bloodshed? Probably not. I’m willing to help try and find some though no matter what. Ready?” He takes the final swig of his stew.
Johnny finishes his as well, nodding. Both boys undo the ropes binding them. Josh efficiently and quietly slits open the rear of the tent. He pulls the open part aside and peers out into the starlit night.
Not seeing anyone coming, he quietly slips from the tent. Johnny leaves a few seconds later, making sure to bring the ropes with him. He stops and pulls up two of the tent pegs that were loose in the ground.
The two boys move in the shadows down several rows of tents, avoiding contact with anyone. Most of the tents are unoccupied. The boys find one with a lit candle and soldier sitting at a wooden table inside.
Johnny takes the tent stakes tying the rope around each one and fashions a crude garrote. Both boys slip into the tent, silent as ghosts. Josh blows out the candle as Johnny slips the garrote over the man’s neck.
Having never done this before, Johnny tightens the garrote a little too hard, and rather than strangling him as intended, both boys hear a loud crack as the man’s neck breaks. Johnny pulls him off his camp chair and allows the death throws of the body to subside. With a final shudder, the man’s body relaxes to the ground.
Quickly, they strip the body of its uniform and Josh puts it over his own clothing. They grab the man’s belt-knife, musket, and revolver, then quickly leave the tent.
The two boys move quickly throughout the camp, again sticking to the shadows. They find another occupied soldier’s tent, amongst a group of unoccupied tents.
This time, instead of using the garrote, Johnny just steps up to the soldier and drives the dirk shaped belt knife of the last soldier into the back of the man’s skull, forcing it up into the base of the man’s brain. He quickly pulls the man over, lowering the body to the ground and allows it to stop in its own convulsions.
Johnny silently takes the soldier’s uniform and places it over
his own clothing.
After more than half an hour of searching, they find Lieutenant Wilkinson’s camp site. They see the lieutenant sitting at a table, furiously scratching on a piece of paper. The two boys split up and approach the tent from outside the firelight. Johnny pulls free the garrote once again and they both silently pad up to the lieutenant. Josh intentionally makes a sound, getting the man’s attention.
When the lieutenant turns to the noise, Johnny slips the garrote over his head and pulls it tight enough to keep the soldier from screaming. Johnny leans in close, keeping the same tension on the rope. He says quietly enough only the lieutenant can hear, “If you want to live, you will not scream. Are you going to scream?”
The lieutenant shakes his head violently.
“I am going to lighten the tension on this thing. You are going to tell us where our gear is. You will tell us where our horses are. If you do anything else or make any move, you will die. Do you understand?”
The officer, face starting to turn a shade of blue, nods quickly.
Johnny lessens the tension on the rope, allowing him a small amount of air. Wilkinson tries to take a deep breath, but succeeds in only choking himself even more. Johnny allows his paroxysm to go on for a few moments, before pulling the man back into his chair.
“Now talk, before I decide you’re not worth allowing to continue to live,” Johnny grates from behind gritted teeth.
The lieutenant sits there, trying to catch his breath for another few seconds, then points to the inside of the tent. He gasps out shortly, “Guns, bag, by table.”
Josh rushes into the tent, seeing the bag that had been referred to on first glance. He yanks it up and glances inside. True enough, their guns, ammo pouches and belt-knives were inside. He nods to Johnny indicating that the equipment was indeed in there. Included, however, appears to be several money pouches as well. Each one is thick and heavy with money contained therein.
Josh reaches inside, pulling two of them out, and holds them up. “Looks like we ain’t his first victims after all.”
The Marshal of Denver Page 12