Red River Desperadoes

by James Reasoner

  Instinctively, Glidinghawk whirled around, thrusting Sun Woman behind him so as to shield her with his own body. He drew the Colt on his hip, crouching slightly as his reflexes took over.

  The shots were not coming from anywhere close by, though. As Glidinghawk listened, he could tell that the gunfire was originating from the vicinity of the cabin. And from the volume of it, a small war was going on.

  "What the hell . . . ?" he muttered.

  Sun Woman clutched at the sleeve of his buckskin shirt. "We go," she said urgently. "This bad."

  He knew she was probably right, but at the same time, he felt as if he had to know what was happening back in the valley. He had been assigned to locate the source of the whiskey trade and help destroy it, and he couldn't just ride away now.

  "I've got to go back," he said in a low-pitched voice.

  "You not help Moodys," Sun Woman pleaded. "We go now."

  Glidinghawk shook his head. "I can't." He bent over and scooped up the basket of food she had brought to him. As he handed it back to her, he said softly, "I'm sorry."

  Sun Woman took the basket in silence.

  Glidinghawk sighed and picked up the rifle. He started down the trail to the canyon floor, glancing behind him occasionally to make sure that Sun Woman was following him.

  The shooting stopped when they were about halfway down the trail. Glidinghawk paused and listened, and in the silence that followed, he thought he heard something. He frowned, shook his head, and wondered if he had lost his senses.

  The sound of laughter came from the valley.

  "Come on," he hissed to Sun Woman.

  When they reached the floor of the canyon, Glidinghawk caught the reins of the horse Sun Woman had ridden out there. He could still hear a bray of laughter from time to time, coming from the area of the cabin.

  "You stay here," Glidinghawk said to Sun Woman as he mounted the horse. "If there's trouble, you can hide and slip away later. I don't think anybody will find you in these Brakes."

  "Sun Woman go with Glidinghawk," she replied stubbornly. Before he could stop her, she grasped the saddle horn and swung up behind him.

  "Dammit, woman —" he began.

  "You want to see what happen in valley," she snapped. "We ride."

  Muttering under his breath, Glidinghawk heeled the horse into motion. He would let her have her way for the moment, but when they got close enough to the cabin to see what was going on, she would have to let him proceed alone. He wasn't going to risk her life if he could help it.

  They rode out of the canyon at a gallop, the horse carrying its double load effortlessly. Glidinghawk halfway expected to see the cabin ablaze, but no fires lit the night. Everything looked fairly normal, in fact, except for the fact that the cabin door was open, spilling more light than usual from the lanterns inside. Dark figures crossed frequently in front of the light.

  "Something's going on, all right," Glidinghawk murmured to himself, his soft words carried away in the rush of wind around their heads. As they got close to the cabin, he could distinguish a large group of horses near it.

  Slowing their own mount to a halt, Glidinghawk told Sun Woman, "All right, this is as far as you go. Slide off. I'll come back to get you if everything is all right."

  "No," Sun Woman replied sharply. For such a submissive squaw a few hours earlier, she had become increasingly stubborn, Glidinghawk thought.

  The budding argument was abruptly rendered pointless. Several dark forms suddenly appeared from the scrubby brush that covered the valley floor. Glidinghawk stiffened in the saddle as the moonlight illuminated the half-naked bodies and the rifles in their hands —rifles that were pointed at the two riders.

  Glidinghawk heard Sun Woman gasp in surprise, but thankfully she had the presence of mind to remain as motionless as he did. One of the Indian braves called out to them in a guttural tongue. Kiowa, Glidinghawk thought. In English, Glidinghawk said to Sun Woman, "Do you know what he said?"

  "He want to know who we are, what we do here."

  That was what Glidinghawk had thought from what little of the dialect he had understood. Holding the reins in one hand, he raised the other, palm out, in the sign of peace. In his native Omaha, he said, "We are friends." Maybe one of the grim-faced warriors would understand the words, or at least the intent.

  The cabin was about a hundred and fifty yards away. Glidinghawk saw a bulky, familiar figure step out onto the porch. Arlie Moody seemed to be looking out toward them, and a moment later, Glidinghawk heard him call, "Hey, what's goin' on out there?"

  Arlie didn't sound upset or worried. Glidinghawk hesitated, unsure what to do next. The events of the last few minutes had left him completely confused. Finally, he raised his voice and shouted, "It's Glidinghawk, Arlie!"

  A figure in a feathered headdress appeared beside Arlie. Arlie turned to him and spoke quickly, and a moment later, harsh commands in Kiowa came floating out to the sentries who had gotten the drop on Glidinghawk and Sun Woman. One of the braves jerked the barrel of his rifle toward the cabin in an unmistakable gesture of command. It was an order Glidinghawk was glad to obey.

  He kept the horse to a slow walk as the group proceeded toward the cabin. The guards had the animal almost totally surrounded, and Glidinghawk knew he wouldn't have been able to make it ten feet if he tried to break away. They would blast him —and Sun Woman —out of the saddle if he tried anything, even in these shadows.

  As Glidinghawk rode up in front of the porch, he saw Arlie talking animatedly with the Kiowa chief. Both men had jugs of whiskey in their hands and were taking frequent slugs from them. Arlie's face was ruddy in the lantern light.

  Arlie looked up at Glidinghawk with a grin. "You must've wondered what the hell was goin' on when the shootin' started. If I'd've knowed that Brass Hand here was comin', I'd've warned you, Glidinghawk."

  So the Kiowa chief was Brass Hand, Glidinghawk thought. He had heard of the man. Brass Hand was thought to be a renegade, but it had never been proven that he led his men on bloody raids south of the Red River.

  Dryly, Glidinghawk said, "I thought the cabin was being attacked."

  "Nope, just Brass Hand and his boys sayin' hello. They come ridin' in from the north every now and then for a little fandango." Arlie lifted his jug. "They know how to celebrate. Reckon we figgered it was all over when they started circlin' 'round the cabin and lettin' off all them shots."

  Suddenly, the smile on Arlie's face turned into a frown as he gazed past Glidinghawk's shoulder.

  "Who's that with you?" he demanded.

  Before Glidinghawk could reply, Sun Woman slid down from the saddle and faced Arlie with a haughty look on her face. "I take food to sentry post," she said. "Man get hungry out there."

  "Did I tell you to do that?" Arlie demanded. "I wondered where the hell you'd got off to."

  "No, you not tell Sun Woman to go," she answered.

  "Then git inside!" Arlie ordered harshly. "We got company to feed!"

  Sun Woman hesitated, then lowered her head and obeyed Arlie's command. For a moment, Glidinghawk had thought she was going to defy him, but the training of long years had finally won out. Sun Woman was just too accustomed to doing whatever her man told her to do.

  Arlie looked speculatively up at Glidinghawk. "I been takin' your side ever since you joined up with us, mister," he said. "And you pay me back by playin' up to my squaw."

  Glidinghawk met his level glare with one of his own. "Look, Arlie, I didn't ask her to bring any supper out there. It was her idea. And if you don't want me around, I'll ride out right now."

  Arlie shook his head and said, "Don't get your back up. Reckon it ain't your fault Sun Woman keeps forgettin' her place." He waved a hand. "Don't worry about it, Glidinghawk. I'll whomp some respect back into that heathen slut."

  Close at his side, Glidinghawk's hand clenched into a fist. Arlie was completely unsuspecting. It would be so easy to slide out the Colt and put a bullet through the bastard's brain.

 
But then Brass Hand and his braves would riddle him, and that would leave Sun Woman completely defenseless and at the mercy of the Kiowa band.

  Glidinghawk knew what would happen to her then.

  "Well, get down and come on inside," Arlie said. "We don't need no sentry out at the canyon, not with Brass Hand's boys around. They'll watch out for any strangers."

  Glidinghawk hesitated, then swung down from the horse and flipped the reins over the hitch rack. For Sun Woman's sake —as well as for the sake of the mission —he had to play along with Arlie.

  As he went inside the cabin with Arlie and Brass Hand, he glanced around the main room and said, "Where's your mother?"

  Arlie laughed. "I'm afraid Ma's hidin'. She 'bout went out of her mind when Brass Hand's bunch came ridm' up. And Sun Woman weren't here to calm her down. I swear, I don't understand how that squaw is able to get through to her, but she does. You'd think Ma'd be scared of her, too, the way she feels about Injuns."

  Brass Hand lifted his jug and let a healthy swallow of the fiery liquor gurgle down his throat. Wiping his mouth, he said, "Injuns not hurt old woman. Arlie's family friends to Kiowa."

  "Damn right, Chief," Arlie rejoined, slapping Brass Hand on the back. It was obvious that both men were rapidly getting drunk.

  Which could also be said for everyone else in the room with the exception of Glidinghawk. He saw Claude and Dirk passing a jug back and forth. As soon as they finished it, they tossed it aside and reached for another. There were also several Indians sitting around the room, and all of them were drinking.

  One of the braves was sitting beside Claude and Dirk, and he was talking animatedly to them. From the markings on his face, Glidinghawk guessed he was some sort of war chief, important but still subordinate to Brass Hand.

  Arlie held out his jug to Glidinghawk and said, "Join the party."

  Glidinghawk grinned. "Don't mind if I do," he said. He took the jug and tilted it to his lips, working his throat to make it look like he was taking a long swallow. In actuality, though, he kept his lips closed as much as possible and allowed only a little of the whiskey to trickle through. Some of the liquor dribbled down his chin, adding to the illusion.

  Dirk stood up and came over to Arlie, clutching at his older brother's arm. "Arlie, come over here!" he said urgently. "You got to hear what this Injun's sayin'." Dirk's eyes shone with excitement.

  Arlie allowed Dirk to tug him across the room. Glidinghawk came along, too, wanting to know what was being cooked up.

  "Now, what's all this about?" Arlie asked as he joined the small group in the corner.

  The Kiowa war chief looked up at him and declared, "We go white man's town, run 'em out! Kill 'em all!" His words were slurred from the whiskey.

  "You get it, Arlie?" Claude asked. "They're goin' to raid Truscott!"

  Arlie frowned. "Hell, I don't know if that's a good idea or not. We do business with some of the folks there"

  "Yeah, but listen to what Dirk and I come up with. Whilst the Injuns are distractin' ever'body, what say we sneak in and get the money out of that there new bank?"

  Arlie frowned. "Rob the bank?" he exclaimed.

  Glidinghawk held his breath, hoping that Arlie would quickly squash this wild scheme.

  "We can get the Injuns to just cause a ruckus and not do much damage," Dirk said quickly. "Claude and me got it all worked out. We give 'em a couple barrels of whiskey to stir the town up, while we hit the bank."

  Arlie rubbed at the rough beard stubble on his jaw. "Reckon it could work, all right," he mused.

  Glidinghawk leaned forward to get his opinion in.

  "That bank is where Davis is going to put the money for his saloon," he pointed out.

  "Then it'd be better to hold it up now than later, wouldn't it?" Arlie replied. "Davis's money ain't there yet; he said so hisself."

  Glidinghawk suppressed a groan as he saw that his objection had backfired. All he had done was reinforce Arlie's growing opinion that Dirk and Claude had had a good idea.

  "I'm still not sure it'd be a good idea," he said, not willing to give up.

  "I make the decisions around here," Arlie snapped. He nodded emphatically as he went on, "And I say we do it!"

  Glidinghawk shook his head. "I don't want any part of it."

  Arlie swung toward him, his hand dropping to the butt of his gun. "Ifn you think I'm leavin' you out here by yourself with Sun Woman, you got another think comin', Injun. I been stickin' up for you all along, and you must've got a big head from it." With blinding speed, he drew his pistol and jabbed the muzzle roughly under Glidinghawk's chin. "I'm in charge 'round here, mister, and don't you forget it!"

  "All right," Glidinghawk grated. "You made your point, Arlie. You know I'll go along with whatever you say."

  Arlie grunted and carefully let down the hammer of the Colt. "Damn right you will." He glanced over at Brass Hand. "C'mere, Chief. We got plans to make." A broad grin split Arlie's ugly face. "We're goin' to rob us a bank."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Four men rode out of the Brakes and across the plains toward Truscott. Dirk and Claude had not been too happy about Glidinghawk going with them, but Arlie had overruled their objections.

  "But how do you know you can trust this redskin, Arlie?" Claude had protested.

  "He knows I'll put a slug in his red hide if he crosses us, that's why I trust him."

  The two younger brothers had not been able to argue with that.

  Benton Moody had come out of his room and slugged down some of the whiskey along with the others. "I can ride," he had insisted. "I want in on this fun."

  Arlie shook his head. "Nope. You're healin' up all right, Benton, and we ain't goin' to risk that. You stay here and keep an eye on things for us."

  Benton reached down and caressed the Winchester that was lying across his lap. "All right, Arlie. I'll sure do it."

  Now the other three Moody brothers and Gerald Glidinghawk were on their way to Truscott, with Brass Hand and his warriors coming along a few minutes behind them.

  Arlie, Brass Hand, and the war chief called Busted Tree had worked out the details among themselves while polishing off another couple jugs of whiskey. The Moodys and Glidinghawk would ride into town first and get into position in the alley in back of the bank. Then, a few minutes later, the Kiowa would launch their attack. Arlie had emphasized that Brass Hand and his men were only to make a lot of noise and spook the citizens of Truscott without killing too many people or doing too much damage. While that was happening, Arlie and the others would be able to break into the bank unnoticed.

  It was a good plan, Glidinghawk knew, although he thought Arlie was placing too much faith in the Indians' ability to follow orders. Liquored up the way they were, there would probably be a lot more bloodshed than Arlie was counting on.

  The Omaha's mind was casting about frantically for a way to ruin this scheme. He had to alert the town to the raid, and somehow, stop the Moodys from robbing the bank.

  But Arlie was watching him now, alert for any trouble.

  The ride to Truscott seemed to go faster than it should have. When the lights of the town came into view a couple of miles ahead, Glidinghawk still hadn't come up with any way out of this mess. One thing was for sure —before this night was over, his cover identity was going to be useless. Regardless of what happened with the assignment on which Powell's Army had been sent, he had to stop Arlie's plan.

  Landrum and Celia were up there in Truscott, not suspecting that bloody-handed trouble was on the way.

  It was a peaceful evening in O'Leary's Shamrock Saloon. Landrum and Celia were at the bar, enjoying drinks and conversation with old O'Leary. Several cowboys from the local ranches were lined up at the rail as well, and a few more were playing a friendly game of poker with Garrick. Hughie the barber was sitting at a table in the corner, nursing a beer as he talked to Randolph Watts.

  Practically everybody who was anybody in Truscott was in here tonight, Landrum thought as he gla
nced around the room.

  He was feeling pretty good. There had been no problems on his ride back into Truscott from the Moodys' valley. He had arrived just after dark and quickly filled Celia in on what he had discovered. The young redhead had been relieved to find out that Glidinghawk was all right.

  "I wish you hadn't had to leave him out there with those cutthroats, though," she'd said.

  Landrum had shrugged. "Couldn't be helped right now. The nearest telegraph station is in Seymour. That's about half a day's ride southeast of here. I'll start over there first thing in the morning and get in touch with Amos. Another couple of days and it'll all be over, Celia."

  "I hope so." Her own role in this mission had been severely diminished by circumstances, and she didn't like the feeling that things were going along completely out of her control.

  Now, the two of them had come to the Shamrock to continue their usual routine. Their cover identities had to be preserved for a little while longer. Landrum had already mentioned casually to O'Leary that he would be riding over to Seymour on business the next day.

  Landrum finished his drink and turned away from the bar. "Think I'll sit in on that poker game for a few hands," he said.

  "Suit yourself," Celia replied. "I'm a little tired, though. I think I'll walk back home and turn in."

  "Want me to go with you?"

  Celia smiled. "I think I'll be safe enough in a place like Truscott, Landrum."

  He nodded. "You're probably right."

  O'Leary spoke up. " 'Twould be my honor to walk ye home, Miss Celia."

  She smiled at the elderly Irishman. "That's kind of you, Mr. O'Leary, but like I told Landrum, I'm sure I'll be fine."

  "Aye. This is a quiet, peaceable town. 'Tis one reason I chose to settle here."

  Celia picked up her bag from the bar and pulled her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. Despite the hot days, the nights were still chilly in this part of the country. She put a hand on Landrum's arm and squeezed lightly. "Good night," she said.

  "Night," he returned as he started toward the poker game.

  Celia walked out of the saloon, pausing just outside the batwings for a moment to look up at the stars. There was a bright moon tonight, and the stars were brilliant as well. The light they cast bathed the town in a silvery glow.