Trial at Fort Keogh

by Charles G. West

  Justin unconsciously reached up to touch his swollen jaw. “Yes, we did have quite a tussle of it before we took control of the attack. Nothing serious, though, just a few bumps and scratches. The worst part is I had my horse shot out from under me, and if it hadn’t been for Clint’s quick thinking, I might have been shot myself. But the important thing is we were able to kill one of the outlaws and capture the other one. We brought him in to be tried for attempted murder.”

  “Well, for Pete’s sake,” Grant said. “That was a helluva lot more than you expected when you just went for a Sunday visit with your young lady, wasn’t it? What can we do for Mr. Cooper here?” He frowned as soon as he said it, thinking something about the name was familiar, but he couldn’t remember from where.

  “Well, that’s another thing,” Justin said, giving Clint a quick glance before continuing. “We have a rather unusual situation here that I’d like to handle with consideration for the special circumstances.” Grant looked from Justin to Clint, and back again, clearly curious. “Mr. Cooper has come with me, voluntarily, to turn himself in for trial regarding a charge of murder.”

  “Cooper!” Grant exclaimed then. “I knew I’d heard that name somewhere. He’s wanted for the murder of a deputy sheriff in Miles City.” He paid Clint a closer scrutiny then. “And you captured him!”

  “No,” Justin was quick to correct him. “Mr. Cooper came with me voluntarily, so this false charge of murder could be resolved. And I’ve assured him that he would be treated as a friend of the court and get a special hearing.”

  “I see,” Grant said, although it seemed a strange situation, and certainly one he had no experience in. “So, what are you suggesting we do with him? We would normally lock a prisoner up in the guardhouse who’s awaiting trial.”

  “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to do that,” Justin said. “These are unusual circumstances, and I have Mr. Cooper’s word that he willingly turns himself over to the court.” He glanced at Clint again.

  Clint, who had been silent to that point, confirmed it. “That’s a fact. You have my word on it.”

  “And you have my word that Clint’s word is good,” Justin said. “So I suggest we give him a cot in the cavalry barracks, and he can stay there while awaiting the preparation of trial by court-martial. He’s no criminal, and witnesses in Miles City can attest to his innocence of the charges.”

  Grant shook his head and uttered a little chuckle, still amazed by the situation. “Well, I guess that’ll be all right, since you’re vouching for his word. I notice he’s wearing a sidearm. I assume he knows he’ll have to turn that, and any other weapons, over to the provost. I would suggest he turn them over to me now, and I’ll turn them over to the provost in the morning.”

  Justin looked quickly at Clint, knowing how reluctant he was to surrender his weapons, but Clint, expecting as much, unbuckled his gun belt without protest and handed it to Justin, who in turn placed it on the desk. Justin looked back at Grant.

  “Thanks, Lawrence. I appreciate your cooperation on this. Is General Miles back on post yet?” When Grant said that he wasn’t, Justin turned to Clint and said, “So Major Kinsey will likely head your hearing. I’ll volunteer to act as your counsel.”

  He didn’t tell Clint as much, but Justin had hoped General Miles would be the one to conduct the hearing. The general was a much more compassionate man than Major Kinsey and might be more sympathetic to a man who had served as a scout.

  After leaving Clint’s Winchester with Lieutenant Grant, Justin took him to the stables, where they left their horses and saddles. Then they went to the cavalry barracks and Justin told the barracks sergeant that Clint would be using a cot and would be eating in the mess hall with the men.

  “You should be all right,” Justin said to Clint. “I’ll be by to see you sometime in the morning and let you know what’s going to happen, just as soon as I report to Major Kinsey.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Clint said. “It’ll be just like stayin’ in a hotel.” Noticing Justin studying him rather intensely, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll still be here in the mornin’.”

  “I know you will,” Justin told him, then hesitated for a moment. “Listen, I think maybe I owe you an—”

  “No such a thing,” Clint interrupted. “That’s done and forgotten. Fact of the matter is, I think I owe you one, too.”

  Justin nodded, and they shook on it. He left then while Clint unrolled the mattress on his cot and made his bed.

  * * *

  After the bugler sounded tattoo and final roll call, the soldiers filed into the barracks, and there was a jovial reunion with some of the troopers who had ridden with Clint in the fight with the Sioux on the Yellowstone. Since some of them had been on the detail assigned to take him into custody at the Double-V-Bar, however, they were especially surprised to see him. He was in the midst of explaining his presence there when Private Goldstein walked in. He was startled to see the rangy scout, and stopped in his tracks to gape in disbelief.

  “I’m surprised they ain’t fit you with a pair of spectacles, as bad as your eyes are,” Clint joked when Goldstein appeared to be speechless. Goldstein laughed but made no remarks about the occasion when he had confronted Clint in Rena’s room. Clint understood why the private wouldn’t want the word to get out that he had purposely abetted a wanted man. “I want you to know I appreciate it,” Clint said.

  Goldstein nodded, then asked why Clint was bunking in with the soldiers. “Are you going to do some more scouting for the company? What about that other thing?”

  “Nope, I ain’t gonna do no scoutin’ for you boys. I’m here to try to straighten out that other thing, that little misunderstandin’ about the charges the army posted about me. Lieutenant Landry is gonna help me tell the truth of it.”

  “I thought you’d be long gone from here,” Goldstein said. “You say Lieutenant Landry is gonna help you?” Clint nodded. “Well, I sure hope it all works out for you.”

  * * *

  The sound of reveille woke him the next morning after a sound night’s sleep in the barracks. Goldstein walked by and told him the next call he would hear would be the Stable and Watering Call. Mess Call would not sound until seven. It seemed like a long time to wait, since he had had no supper the night before, so he went out with the soldiers to check on Sam to pass the time. The bay seemed content enough, and was watered and fed with the army horses.

  With no notion what he should do after he went to the mess hall for breakfast, he returned to the barracks to await word from Justin, or someone, about his meeting with Major Kinsey. The word came a short time after the bugle signaled assembly and roll call, but it was not in the form Clint expected.

  On the other side of the diamond-shaped parade ground, Major John Kinsey was informed that the fugitive who had eluded the detail he had sent to capture him was even then sitting in the cavalry barracks.

  “What?” Kinsey demanded. “Are you telling me that Clint Cooper is sitting in one of the barracks right now, after having spent the night there, and having breakfast in the mess hall? Whose brilliant idea was that? The man’s a wanted criminal. He should be in the guardhouse instead of being treated like a visiting dignitary,” he fumed. “How was he captured?”

  “That’s just it, sir,” Justin tried to explain. “He wasn’t captured. He came in voluntarily, requesting a hearing, so he could prove his innocence. He rode in with me last night, and were it not for his presence of mind and quick reflexes, I would not be standing here before you this morning.” He went on to relate the circumstances that led to their encounter with the would-be assassins, James and Blankenship. “One of them is at present in the guardhouse. The other man is dead. Both men are wanted criminals.”

  Still in a state of disbelief, Kinsey bolted to his feet, glaring at Justin. “Damn it, Landry, the man’s wanted for murder! I want him locked up before he decides to run for it agai
n.” He turned to First Sergeant Paul Weaver. “Sergeant, take a couple of men from the guard detail, go over to that barracks, and place Cooper under arrest. Turn him over to Sergeant O’Brien at the guardhouse.”

  “Yes, sir,” Weaver said, drolly, finding the situation amusing. A soldier for more than twenty years, he was not surprised by anything that happened in the army. With a slight shake of his head, and the beginnings of a grin on his face, he left to obey the major’s orders.

  “Sir, I gave him my word,” Justin protested. “He’s here of his own accord.”

  “You gave him your word?” Kinsey replied. “I believe you acted a little beyond your authority, Lieutenant. We don’t negotiate with criminals.” He sat back down hard, his anger draining somewhat. “It doesn’t matter if you give your word to a murdering outlaw, anyway. It’s not the same as giving it to an honest man.”

  “I sincerely believe the charges made against him are false,” Justin insisted. “I think he deserves his day in court.”

  “Oh, he’ll get his trial, all right. I wouldn’t deny even the lowest form of humanity that privilege, and it’ll be right away, so the proper sentence can be pronounced.”

  * * *

  It was later in the morning when Clint saw Justin again. He was accompanied by Randolph Valentine. Clint’s accommodations were decidedly different from those of the previous night.

  “I’m sorry about this,” Justin apologized at once, when he greeted him through the bars of the one large cell room. “I protested your treatment to Major Kinsey, but he insisted that you be held here until your trial is over.”

  Clint was none too happy about the turn of events, having been rudely escorted out of the cavalry barracks by a sergeant and two armed guards. But he maintained a patient disposition, thinking that in the end, everything would land right side up.

  “It kinda sounds to me like they ain’t too interested in my version of what happened to Mace Yeager,” he said to Valentine.

  “We’ve been talking to Major Kinsey this morning,” Valentine said. “That arrogant fool talks like he believes Simon Yeager’s version of the killing. He said it was highly unlikely that the sheriff would seek the army’s help if he was not certain of the charges.” His comment caused Justin to glance nervously at Sergeant O’Brien, but Valentine seemed unconcerned that the sergeant might report his comments to Kinsey. “I told the son of a bitch that there were witnesses to the shooting that would back your side of the story. But he babbled something about army regulations saying you had to be under arrest until they have a hearing.”

  That wasn’t good news to Clint. The few hours he had spent in the guardhouse with seven soldiers, incarcerated mainly for drunk and disorderly charges, were already more than he cared for. He was separated from the other prisoners by a partition of bars across one end of the open cell room, since the charges against him were of a more serious nature.

  “Hell,” he said, “they treated that back-shooter, Curly James, better than me. They carried him over to the hospital.” He looked directly at Justin, but the lieutenant could only shrug apologetically. “What about the hearin’ they’re supposed to give me?” Clint asked. “How soon are they gonna have that?”

  “In three days,” Justin said.

  “I’ve already given Kinsey the names of the two witnesses who saw the fight,” Valentine was quick to assure him. “I told him Homer Lewis and Jim Duffy. Was there anyone else who might have seen it?”

  “They’re the only ones I know of for sure,” Clint said.

  “Well, they ought to be enough,” Valentine said. “And Kinsey assured me that they will be notified to testify. So you just keep cool here for a spell. I’ll be back for the trial. Justin here is going to act as your lawyer. That panel of judges can’t help seeing you’re in the clear.”

  * * *

  Arthur O’Connor, postmaster for Miles City, looked up from the paper he was reading when Simon Yeager walked in the door. “Can I help you, Sheriff?”

  “Yeah,” Yeager replied. He unfolded a piece of paper, put it on the counter, and slid it under O’Connor’s face. “Read this.” Arthur started reading the paper, and couldn’t help recoiling when he saw what it was about. “Read it to me, damn it!” Yeager roared.

  O’Connor realized then that Yeager couldn’t read. “Sorry,” he said, and looked at the message again. “It’s from Major Kinsey, over at the fort.”

  “I know that,” Yeager said impatiently. “A soldier brung it to me this mornin’. What does he want?”

  Arthur looked over the short text again and decided to give Yeager the gist of it without reciting word for word. “He’s telling you that the army is trying Clint Cooper for the murder of your brother, and says you might want to come to the trial, since you’re the one pressin’ the charges.”

  “They caught the son of a bitch!” Yeager exclaimed. “Hell yeah, I wanna go to the trial. When is it?”

  “Day after tomorrow, nine o’clock in the morning, at the post headquarters.” Arthur shook his head slowly.

  They ought to be pinning a medal on him, instead of trying him for shooting that worthless piece of trash, he thought.

  This was sad news, indeed. He knew that Clint killed Mace Yeager in a fair fight. Both Homer and Jim had seen the shooting. This whole mess with the wanted poster and all was ridiculous, all instigated by their self-appointed sheriff, and it chafed Arthur that Yeager was going to get the chance to gloat over his evil work.

  Yeager snatched the paper off the counter and stuffed it in his coat pocket. With no word of thanks or anything else, he turned and left the post office, his mind already churning with what the army might need for a trial. The first thing that came to mind were witnesses, so he decided he’d best make some calls on the merchants in town, especially Jim Duffy and Homer Lewis.

  * * *

  Homer Lewis was in his workroom behind the barbershop when he heard the tiny bell on his front door. Assuming someone wanted a haircut, he took off his shop apron, hung it on the hall tree, and put on his barbering apron in exchange. He was met by Simon Yeager almost before he went through to the front room. Never happy to see the bullying sheriff, he nevertheless tried to be polite, assuming he wanted a free haircut or shave as usual.

  “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

  “Why, nothin’ right now,” Yeager said, attempting a smile. “Just thought I’d pay you a friendly little visit to see how things are goin’ with you. It’s been a little spell since we’ve had us a little talk, and I like to make sure you ain’t had no problems that the law needs to take care of.” He paused to look all around him, as if taking everything in. “Yes, sir, you’ve built yourself a fine little business here, and I’m right proud to know I’m here to keep an eye on it for you. I make it my job to protect merchants like you. When you think about it, if a fire got started in the back part of your building, it could burn this place to the ground before anybody had a chance to spit. That’s why I make it my business to know everything that’s goin’ on in this town. Now, you take that murderin’ dog that shot my brother down—poor Mace never had a chance. I’ll settle with him if the army don’t. Everybody knows he was hidin’ beside a buildin’ when he shot Mace. Ain’t that right?”

  “I suppose,” Homer replied cautiously, afraid to disagree.

  “Sure you do,” Yeager said. “And it’s important that everybody remembers that murderer bushwhacked my brother right on the street of our town. I always say that if everybody don’t stick together, then trouble’s bound to happen. I don’t know if you heard about it, but the army’s fixin’ to try Clint Cooper for what he done to this town, and I’m gonna be there watchin’ every bit of it.” He looked back at the stove in the center of the room. “Well, I’d best be gettin’ along now to keep my eye on the town. You be careful in this cold weather we’re havin’, and don’t get that stove burnin’ too hot. You hear?
”

  “Yeah, I will,” Homer said.

  “I’ll see you at the Trail’s End tonight,” Yeager said.

  Homer stood at the door for several moments after Yeager left. “That son of a bitch knows I was called as a witness,” he muttered, recognizing the none-too-subtle threat.

  * * *

  Homer was standing at the bar in the Trail’s End Saloon, talking to Floyd Kelly, when Jim Duffy walked in for an evening drink. There was a totally different atmosphere in the Trail’s End since Spence Snyder’s death and Simon Yeager’s takeover. Most of the customers frequented the saloon out of fear that Yeager would retaliate. Some stopped in only briefly for just one drink and then went up the street to the Frontier to relax and make small talk over a couple of drinks with friends.

  Orville Johnson summed up the situation the best. “The bastard’s got his hands on one of the only two saloons, and that’s the same as havin’ ’em on the town’s throat. Makes a man think about quittin’ drinkin’, or ridin’ all the way out to the fort to Ernie’s to keep Simon from finding out he’d been to the Frontier. And if he did go to Ernie’s, he’d have to worry about the ride back home in the dark.”

  “You’re just the man I wanna see,” Jim said to Homer when Floyd moved to the other end of the bar to pour a drink.

  “Yeah?” Homer replied. “I’ll bet I know what’s on your mind.” He glanced toward Floyd to make sure he was out of earshot in the noisy saloon. “You get a visit from our noble sheriff?”

  “I did,” Jim said. “You, too?”

  “That’s right. The son of a bitch might as well have told me my place might burn down if I told the truth about that no-account brother of his.”

  “I got pretty much the same threat,” Jim said. “How did he find out we were summoned by the army as witnesses to the shootin’? I didn’t even know for sure that you got one, too, but I figured you likely did. I don’t know how the army knew me and you were the only witnesses to the shootin’. Somebody had to tell ’em, and I don’t know about you, but I’d just as soon they hadn’t.”