by Jory Sherman
“Do it, then,” Zak said.
The corporal ran off toward the guard house, legs pumping, arms flying around in all angles. Zak slung his saddlebags over his shoulder, shifted his rifle to his left hand. He crooked his arm and Colleen slipped her arm in it and they walked toward the large building beyond the parade ground. Soldiers walked here and there, not even mildly curious. Flies buzzed around their heads and the hot sun beat down. The flags flapped on the flagpole, but the air was thick and hot and the breeze brought no cool with it.
A pair of mourning doves whistled overhead, twisting and turning in the air like feathered darts. The sound of a blacksmith’s hammer ringing on iron wafted across the compound. The horses hitched to the coach whickered and swatted at flies with their tails. Two soldiers crossed in front of them. Both looked longingly at Colleen, who returned their smiles and gripped Zak’s arm even tighter.
Two men stood guard at the entrance to the headquarters building. Both wore sergeant’s stripes.
“Miss Colleen O’Hara to see Major Willoughby,” Zak said.
“She can go in,” one of the men said. “You’ll have to show me some papers, sir.”
Zak drew out a leather wallet from his pocket, handed it, open, to the sergeant.
“Yes, sir,” the man snapped, with a salute. He handed the wallet back to Zak.
They entered the building, where more men stood guard, and walked to one seated at a desk.
“What was that all about, Mr. Cody?” Colleen whispered.
“My identification.”
“And you rate a salute? A civilian?”
Zak said nothing.
“Major Willoughby,” Colleen said to the clerk. “I’m Colleen O’Hara and this is Mr. Zak Cody.”
“Yes’m,” the corporal said. “Just one minute.”
He left his desk, opened one half of a double door and went inside. A moment later he returned.
“You can go right in,” he said. His gaze lingered on Cody for a long moment. Colleen noticed it and frowned.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“Just who I said I am, Miss O’Hara.”
Major Willoughby was a short, fastidious man, who rose up from behind a desk so neat and polished there was but a single paper atop it. There was a map of the territory on the wall behind the desk and a window that sparkled with sunlight, giving a view of the hills and part of the compound. The desk was flanked by an American flag and one bearing the insignia of the Second Cavalry. A man stood in a far corner, his back turned to the room.
“May I see your papers, Mr. Cody?” Willoughby said. “And good afternoon to you, Miss O’Hara. We’ve been expecting you.”
“Thank you, Major,” she said.
“Please sit down,” Willoughby said to her as he took Zak’s wallet and opened it. Zak stood there, looking at the man whose back was turned to him.
“You’ve got some pay here at the post, Colonel,” Willoughby said. “I think Lieutenant John Welch is the paymaster this month. Check with the quartermaster.”
“I’ve got two of your men outside in the coach,” Zak said. “They were with Miss O’Hara.”
“That would be Sergeant Briggs and Lieutenant Coberly,” the major said. “They were her escorts from Tucson. I wonder why they didn’t report with you, Colonel.”
“Because they’re both dead,” Colleen said. She shot an odd look at Cody. “Mr. Cody killed the driver, a man named Jenkins.”
“What happened?” Willoughby’s face had drained of color. It looked as if he’d swallowed a jar of paste and it had oozed out through his pores.
Colleen looked at Zak, but he said nothing.
“We—We were attacked,” she said. “I think by Apaches. But Mr. Cody doesn’t think they were Apaches.”
“Why did you kill Jenkins?” the major asked.
“Because he was going to kill me,” Zak said “Those soldiers were scalped, sir. I don’t think Apaches take scalps.”
The man in the corner turned around.
“You’re right, Cody. They don’t. Cochise doesn’t anyway, and he’s the main thorn in our sides at the moment.”
“Colonel Cody,” Willoughby said, “shake hands with Tom Jeffords. He’s the authority on Apaches in this neck of the woods.”
The two men shook hands.
“I’ve heard of you, Jeffords,” Zak said. “General Crook thinks very highly of you.”
“I’ve heard of you, too, Cody, and the same holds for what Crook thinks of you.”
“I’d like to see my brother now,” Colleen said.
Willoughby froze. His eyes turned to flint.
Jeffords looked at Colleen, his face softening with an expression of concern. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Miss O’Hara,” Jeffords said. “That’s why I’m here with Major Willoughby. Your brother is missing.”
Zak caught her on the way down as Colleen fell into a deep swoon, her legs collapsing beneath her.
“Damn,” Willoughby said, his voice a raspy whisper. “If it weren’t for the bad news, we wouldn’t have any news at all out here.”
Zak carried Colleen to a chair, looked at Willoughby.
“I’ll get some water,” Jeffords said, and left the room.
“Major,” Zak said. “Don’t call me Colonel. I’m not in the army anymore. You better read those papers in my wallet more carefully.”
“But you carry the rank.”
“Compliments of President Grant and General Crook, sir. But to you, I’m just an ordinary civilian.”
Willoughby gulped and began to read the papers while Zak fanned Colleen’s face. It was the second time she had fainted that day. He wondered that the woman could still go on, and how much more she could take before she’d have to be put in the post infirmary.
Chapter 4
Major Willoughby read the short note attached to the back of Zak’s identity card, which listed him as Colonel Zak Cody, U.S. Army, retired.
To Whom It May Concern:
Colonel Zak Cody is hereby detached from the U.S. Army, insofar as his military duties are concerned. He is hereby attached to my office and is under my direct command and the command of General George Crook. He is to be given every courtesy by the U.S. Military. His connection to the President and to General Crook are considered Top Secret and shall not be revealed to any civilian or military personnel who do not need to know his rank and special assignments. Any breach of confidence regarding Colonel Cody shall be dealt with severely, and any military person who divulges the content of this letter will be subject to court-martial.
The letterhead bore the seal of the President of the United States and was signed by Ulysses S. Grant.
Willoughby walked around his desk and handed the wallet to Zak.
“I understand, sir. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right, Major. You didn’t know. Now you do.”
“There are stories about you, you know.”
“I know. I ignore them. You should do the same.”
“Yes, sir,” Willoughby said.
Jeffords returned with a glass of water and a pitcher. He set the pitcher on the desk and handed Zak the water. Together, he and Zak propped Colleen up in the chair. Zak held the glass to her lips and poured a small amount into her mouth.
She swallowed and her eyelids batted twice. She choked on a few drops, spluttered and opened her eyes wide. Sitting up straight, she reached out for Zak. It was a reflexive motion, much like a drowning person deploys toward a rescuer. Her fingers squeezed Zak’s arms as she gulped in air.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I must have fainted.”
She saw Jeffords kneeling there before her and her gaze locked on his.
“My brother. Ted. You said…”
“He’s missing, Miss O’Hara. I’m sorry. I just found out this morning. I came here to report this to Major Willoughby.”
“How? Why?”
Jeffords stood up and stepped aside. He gestured to Willoughby, wh
o cleared his throat and walked over to stand in front of her.
“Ted rode out with a patrol early yesterday morning,” Willoughby said. “We had reason to believe some Apaches were banding together on the San Simon. The patrol encountered no hostiles, but last night, apparently, your brother turned up missing. Tom ran into the patrol early this morning. They were tracking a small band of Apaches.”
“They think Ted was grabbed during the night,” Jeffords said. “We don’t know why. They took his horse, too, so we know he’s still alive.”
“The patrol is still out?” Zak asked.
Willoughby nodded.
“They must find him,” Colleen said. “Do you think they will, Mr. Jeffords?”
“There’s a chance,” he said.
Colleen opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it.
Just then a young lieutenant knocked on the door.
“Enter,” Willoughby said.
“Sir, you’d better take a look at what we’ve got out there. It’s pretty grim.”
“All right, Neighbors. I’ll be right there.”
“It’s in front of the livery, sir.”
The young man saluted and left the room.
“Can I stay in Ted’s quarters?” Colleen asked.
“No, it’s not private,” Willoughby said. “We have a billet for you, though.”
“I’d at least like to see Ted’s room. And my carpetbag’s still inside the coach. My suitcase is on top.”
“We’ll see that you’re accommodated, Miss O’Hara. Just let me sort all this out.”
“You’re right. You have more important things to worry about right now. I’ll go with you and get my things.”
“I’ll see to it that you’re shown to your quarters and someone carries your luggage for you.” Willoughby swept past her. Jeffords followed. Zak took her arm and led her outside.
A crowd had gathered in front of the livery. All four coach doors stood wide open. Zak was surprised to see several white women in the crowd. The women all turned to look at Colleen, and some of them smiled at her.
Willoughby and Jeffords looked inside the coach. When the major finished his inspection, his complexion had turned ashen. He looked as if he had been kicked in the stomach. Jeffords took longer. When he turned around, he looked at Zak, shook his head.
“You might want to introduce yourself to the women, Colleen,” Zak said. “I’ll get your carpetbag and suitcase for you.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Zak walked over to Jeffords.
“Those men weren’t scalped by Apaches,” Tom said.
“No. I didn’t figure such.”
“Let’s have a talk, Cody. I know you’ve got business with Major Willoughby you haven’t even mentioned yet, but I want to fill you in on some things.”
The two men walked over to the stables, stepped inside where it was cool. Willoughby was issuing orders to the post surgeon and assigning men to burial detail. It was plain to Zak that Willoughby was rattled by what he had seen. Obviously, there was a reason he’d been left in charge of the post. He was probably good at organization, but did not handle himself well under fire. It was something Zak noted when dealing with people, and it often gave him an advantage over men he did not personally know well.
Nox was tied up at the far end of the stables, his bridle replaced by a rope halter. He chomped on corn and oats set before him in a small trough. Other horses stood looking out of stalls, or rubbed up against the walls and posts. There was the sound of switching tails and low whickers as others fed or drank. Flies buzzed in an insistent monotonous drone. The smell of urine and manure, thick and pungent, mixed with the musty scent of straw.
Jeffords slid his hat toward the back of his head, cocking the brim up to show his face, the salt and pepper sideburns. He was a lean, wiry man, with weathered lines in his face, clear blue eyes set wide on either side of his chiseled nose.
“Cody, I’ll be straight with you. I’m probably the only one on this post who will. There’s a whole lot of war going on in this part of Arizona, and it’s not just with the Apaches.”
“What are you driving at, Jeffords?”
“That business with the coach, for one. Those soldiers weren’t scalped by any Apache.”
“I figured that.”
“The whites around here want the Apaches wiped out, shipped out, buried, gone. I think this latest incident proves that the situation is coming to a head.”
“The army know this?”
“It does and it doesn’t. The army is dealing with some marauding Apaches. But the Apaches are being goaded, too, by whites who want the army chasing them clear out of the territory. I’m trying to make peace, but right now it looks pretty hopeless. The Apaches don’t know one white man from another, and right now they think the whole world is against them.”
“You have a line on who attacked the coach?” Zak asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine, but the owner of the line, Ferguson, is in this up to his armpits. And the word is that he and other businessmen have hired some outside help.”
The hackles bristled on the back of Cody’s neck.
“Outside help? Maybe from Taos?”
Jeffords’s eyebrows arched. His eyes widened in surprise.
“There was some talk about Ferguson bringing in a gang of hired guns from Taos. I was trying to get a line on that news when I got word about Ted O’Hara being sent out on patrol. By that damned Willoughby. That was against my recommendation and directly against Captain Bernard’s specific orders.”
“Bernard. Reuben Bernard? Isn’t he the commanding officer of Fort Bowie?”
“Yeah, he is. Then some idiot sent Major Willoughby down here and put him in charge. Reuben is putting out fires all over the territory, chasing Apaches with a vengeance, attacking their villages, burning their homes. It’s an ugly situation. I can’t prove it, but someone leaked information about Ted O’Hara, who never should have left this post with a damned patrol.”
“Why?”
“Ted has been working with me, under orders from high up, Crook, in fact. He has information about Cochise and other Apache leaders I’ve been talking to. It’s not just chance that he was picked out from that night camp and taken hostage. Someone wants the information he has in that Irish head of his.”
“Will O’Hara tell what he knows?”
“Not unless he’s tortured beyond endurance. And even then, I think he’d die before he divulged what he knows. He’s trying as much as I to bring the Apaches to the peace tent.”
“What exactly does O’Hara know?” Zak asked.
“He knows where all the secret camps of the Apache are. He’s been to them. With me.”
“Did Willoughby know this when he sent O’Hara out on patrol?”
“I think so. He had to know.”
“So, do you think Willoughby deliberately sent O’Hara out so that he could be kidnapped?”
There was a silence between the two men. Jeffords squared his hat again. He looked off toward the horseless coach and let out a deep expulsion of breath.
“I hate to think that,” he said. “But Willoughby, on his way out here from Tucson, spent time in Vail and Tucson, meeting with the towns people. They could have gotten to him, persuaded him toward their point of view.”
“And what is that?” Zak asked.
“That the Apaches do not want peace and that they can’t be trusted. That the U.S. Army should wipe them out like they would a bunch of rattlesnakes. Bernard holds to that view as well, I fear.”
“Have you heard talk of a man named Ben Trask?” Zak said.
“Trask. From Taos?”
“Yeah.”
“Wait a minute. There was a man killed in Taos, in ’sixty-nine, I think. His name was Cody. Related?”
“My father. Russell Cody. Trask murdered him. And it was ’sixty-eight. I’ve been tracking him for a good three years.”
“Cochise spoke of this man,” Jef
fords said.
“He did? When?”
“At least a year ago. Cochise’s band was accused of wiping out several families, murdering them, burning down their houses. Cochise said a man named Trask was responsible.”
“So, Trask has been out here for some time.”
“You might learn more in Tucson, or Vail. Cochise tracked him to those two towns after coming across those depredations he was accused of.”
Zak’s mind filled with thoughts of his father and how he had died at the hand of Ben Trask. Russell Cody had come to Taos to live out his remaining years. When the beaver gave out and the fur trade collapsed, he took his money and bought a ranch in South Dakota, raised cattle and wheat. He drove cattle up from Texas, sold them for good prices, saved his profits. He sold his ranch, moved to Taos, and made even more money as a trader, selling silver in the East and hauling back goods to sell in Santa Fe and Taos.
Cody’s father had been trading for gold, as well. He had not trusted the banks, so kept his hoard hidden. Trask had tortured Russell to learn the hiding place, then, after getting the gold, he killed Russell in a most brutal way, mutilating his body, leaving him for the wolves, the coyotes, and the buzzards. Zak envisioned a similar fate for Ted O’Hara if Trask was behind his kidnapping.
“So, I guess I can’t trust Willoughby,” Zak said.
“If I were you, Cody, I wouldn’t trust anybody on this post. Or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“Thanks, Tom. You’ve been a big help to me.”
“What are you going to do, Cody? You can’t go after these men all alone. They’re dead serious and determined to achieve their goals at any cost.”
“Desperate men make mistakes,” Zak said. “I’ll ride to Tucson, see what I can find out. If nothing, I’ll go to Vail.”
“Dangerous places for someone seeking information about the men behind this scheme to wipe out the Apache.”
“Then that’s where I have to go. What about you?”
“Right now I’m the only white man who can talk with the Apaches, try to bring peace to this region. I’ll talk to that patrol when they come in, see what I can find out about Ted’s disappearance.”