Crossed Arrows (A Long-Knives Western Book 1)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Hawkins’ pistol went off, sending a .44 slug into the outlaw’s chest. This time, instead of bouncing against the wall, the impact of the bullet knocked him through the room’s window, breaking the glass and frame. A second later, the thud of his body in the alley could be heard.

  The captain looked at the man on the bed. “Well? Are you Dickson or Capman?”

  The train robber looked at the bore of the Smith and Wesson pointing at him, then glanced at the window where his pal had made such a violent exit from the room. Another look at Hawkins convinced him it would be to his advantage to answer. “My name is Arlo Capman.”

  “Make a note, Mr. Dooley,” Hawkins said. “Tim Dickson was killed at this hour on this date.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ludlow said. He stuck his pistol back in his belt and pulled out his notebook and pencil. “But are you sure he’s dead?”

  “If the bullet didn’t kill him, then a broken neck prob’ly did. It’s been my experience that folks getting shot out of second-story windows don’t generally get a chance to talk about the experience.” He motioned to Capman. “I’m glad to see you’re dressed. Get off the bed and let’s go.”

  Capman stood up, still keeping his hands raised. “Who the hell are you fellers?”

  “U.S. Army officers in charge of tracking down the robbers who stole the payroll,” Hawkins replied.

  “I didn’t rob no train,” Capman protested, feigning surprise at hearing such an accusation.

  Ludlow spoke up. “How did you know it was a train?”

  “You said it was,” Capman stated.

  “No we didn’t,” Hawkins countered. “But we know for a fact that you did. We got Jim Pate in custody and he’s talked plenty.”

  “You’re a damn liar!” Capman snapped. “Jim Pate don’t tell the law nothing about his pards.”

  Hawkins grinned. “He does when he’s hanging upside down over a fire. And you will too. Put your hands behind your back.” When Capman complied, Hawkins clamped the cuffs around his wrists. “Now! Move outside.”

  Ludlow led the way out into the hall where several people had stepped from their rooms. A couple held lit lanterns, looking on in curiosity. There were no hostile moves on their part as the two officers took their prisoner down to the lobby.

  The clerk, however, was upset. “Y’all didn’t tell me there was gonna be any gunplay!”

  Ludlow, ignoring what Captain Mack Hawkins had said about his acting skills, once more played the role of a cowboy, saying, “I reckon we didn’t tell you there wasn’t gonna be none either.”

  Hawkins grinned. “Well said, Mr. Dooley.” As he walked past the angry clerk, he said out of the side of his mouth, “You’d better be careful. That’s Dangerous Dooley.”

  “Yeah?” the clerk said, slightly alarmed. “Dangerous Dooley, huh?”

  “The one and only,” Hawkins said, pushing Capman through the door. “Let’s go see how your pard is doing.”

  The three went around to the rear of the hotel and could see Tim Dickson sprawled in the alley. Hawkins made a quick inspection, and even in the dull light, it was obvious the man was dead from a broken neck by the angle of his head, and the front of his shirt was soak in blood where the bullet had struck.

  Ludlow took the lead while Hawkins kept a close eye on Capman as they strode directly to the livery stable, going around to a small shack in the back. Hawkins banged on the door. “We need to get a feller’s horse that’s boarded here,” he called out.

  Some rustling inside was followed by a shouted question. “Where the hell’re you going that’s so damn important you cain’t wait ‘til morning?”

  “Just give me a lantern and you can stay in bed,” Hawkins said.

  “No, sir!” the man said, getting up. “I ain’t letting nobody wander through my livery in the middle of the night. I’m on my way.”

  Within a minute an elderly man appeared wearing nothing but red long johns, a battered old hat, and a pair of worn boots. Looking ridiculous in the light of the lantern he held, the proprietor led them into the stables.

  Hawkins gave Capman a shove ahead of him. “Let’s get to your horse.”

  The old man frowned. “How’s come you’re so dang ornery to him?”

  “He’s under Fed’ral arrest,” Hawkins explained.

  The captain and Capman reached the latter’s animal. The outlaw stood waiting for instructions.

  “Y’all are lawmen?” the old man asked.

  “U.S. Army,” Hawkins said. He turned to Ludlow. “You’ll have to saddle his horse. I’m not taking off the handcuffs.”

  The liveryman now noticed the restraints. “By God! He really is under arrest, ain’t he?”

  Ludlow pulled the gear off the stall partition and began preparing the prisoner’s horse for riding.

  The old liveryman was curious. “What the hell did he do?”

  “He robbed a train,” Hawkins replied.

  “Who’s gonna pay his livery bill?” the old man demanded to know.

  “His partner had a horse and gear in here too,” Hawkins said. “The United States Government doesn’t want ’em. They’re yours to apply to anything that’s owed you.”

  “Is that the one in the stall right there?” the old man asked Capman.

  “Yeah,” the outlaw said. “My pard is laying dead in the dirt back of the Delmonte Hotel.”

  “That’s enough talk,” Hawkins said. “Outside and let’s mount up.”

  As soon as Capman was swung up into his saddle, the two officers climbed aboard their horses and immediately led the prisoner out of town toward the camp where the scouts and Jim Pate waited.

  The liveryman closed the doors to the stables and started back toward his shack. Then he noticed sounds coming from a small crowd in the back of the hotel. He decided to go over and make sure the fellow had been right about his partner being dead.

  Livery bills must be paid.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Arlo Capman’s reunion with his old pal Jim Pate was not a happy occasion for either outlaw. When Capman arrived at the scout detachment’s bivouac, his initial reaction at the sight of five fully-armed Indian warriors wearing army uniforms was one of fearful surprise.

  “Just what the hell’s going on here?” he demanded to know.

  “Maybe you should ask your pard,” Mack Hawkins suggested.

  “You ain’t gonna be happy when you find out,” Pate said.

  Capman momentarily forgot his nervousness. “That big feller over there said you told on me and Tim.”

  “I sure as hell did,” Pate said. “And you woulda told too, if’n you’d been tortured by them Injuns.”

  Capman scoffed, “You don’t look much the worse for it all.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Pete snapped. “I got five wild Injuns waiting to scalp me if I so much as look cross-eyed at ’em.”

  “Well, you ain’t been scalped yet, have you?” Capman remarked with a sneer.

  Pete yelled, “You shoulda seen me when I was buck naked, hanging down over a fire and my dang skull about to pop open. That cap’n was gonna let them Injuns cook me proper ‘less I told ’em where to find you and Tim.” He looked around. “Where the hell is he?”

  “He’s laying dead with a broke neck and a bullet in him behind the hotel unless they toted him off to the undertaker’s by now,” Capman sand. “That big feller shot him. Ol’ Tim fell right through the window on the second floor and hit the ground outside.”

  “I wish I hadn’t joined up for that job,” Pate said in his misery. “I was getting along fine rustling cattle down to Delano ‘til you and Tim come along and talked me into going with you.”

  “You ain’t got any room to complain. Anyhow, the last I knowed of you was when your horse throwed that shoe. It seems things has got worser.”

  “Ever’thing has really gone to hell,” Pate agreed mournfully.

  Hawkins stepped into the conversation. “You two have had enough time to renew your friendship.” He grabbed Ca
pman by the shirt and slapped him hard across the face.

  “Ow!” the outlaw yelled. “You didn’t have no call to do that.”

  “That’s right,” Hawkins said with a smile. “Now how do you think I’m gonna act if I really get riled at you.”

  “You’re crazy!” Capman exclaimed.

  Pate instantly agreed. “He sure as hell is, Arlo! You’d best be careful. He not only ain’t right in the noggin, he’s got a mean streak to go with it!”

  Hawkins interrupted, “Now let me tell you how things are. Ol’ Pate has told me about all he knows. I’m convinced of that. After damn near getting cooked alive, he didn’t want to upset me by carrying on with a pack of lies.”

  “I could prob’ly talk better if’n I wasn’t all cuffed up like this,” Capman said.

  Hawkins hit him so hard that it knocked him over. “Don’t interrupt no more or you’re gonna rile me for sure.”

  Capman rolled over and spat blood. He wisely kept his mouth shut.

  “Here’s what you have to do,” Hawkins said, pulling him up to his feet by the hair. “Take up where Pate left off and you’ll end up in a nice, comfortable cell. If you don’t tell me what I need to now, we’ll just let these five Indians take a long time in killing you.”

  Capman wiggled a loose tooth with his tongue. He glanced from the stoic Indians to Ludlow Dooley, noting they seemed interested in his answer. Another look at his old friend’s expression of warning, convinced him that things would go easier for him if he answered the army captain fully and truthfully.

  “I’ll talk,” Capman said. “You sure as hell got all the aces in this game.”

  “The first thing I want to know is who’s the bossman behind the robbery.”

  Capman hesitated, then glanced at the scouts who sat watching him . “It was Bill Stucker.”

  “Yeah,” Hawkins said. “That’s what Pate said. He was an Indian agent, I believe.”

  Capman shrugged. “I don’t know that much except that he used to run guns and liquor to Indians in the territory. He gener’lly used agents as his salesmen. But, you’re right. He was an agent hisself for a spell.”

  Hawkins gritted his teeth in anger. On more than one occasion he had gone against well-armed Indians who had gotten their firearms through the crooked dealings of a politically-appointed reservation agent. “Go on. Tell me more about this Bill Stucker.”

  “Like I told you, I don’t know a hell of a lot about him,” Capman said. “Nobody does, and Stucker goes to a heap of trouble to keep it that way. He hangs around Bitterwaters, but he ain’t going back there directly. He’ll prob’ly move around, so you’ll have to round up more of his gang to stay on his trail.”

  “How did he know about the army payroll on the train?”

  “Somebody must’ve told him,” Capman replied. “Me and Tim Dickson got into the job on account of Elmer Wright. He’s rode with Stucker before. They wanted some more guns, so we got aholt of Jim here.”

  “It would seem my next step in the logical progression to recover the loot, is to find that fellow Elmer Wright. He might even be in the vicinity of Bill Stucker.”

  Capman shrugged. “I reckon.”

  “Then I’m gonna expect you to help me out some more,” Hawkins said. “Where is this Elmer Wright?”

  Capman hesitated, but another look at the Indians helped him recognize the further benefits of cooperation. “He’ll be at Sawyer.”

  Pate glanced up at Ludlow. “That’s where Jim Miller’s family lives.”

  Ludlow’s face blanched. “His wife and children?”

  Capman asked, “How’s he know Jim Miller?”

  Pate replied, “He kilt him. That feller is Dangerous Dooley.”

  “Dangerous Dooley?” Capman asked incredulously as he eyed the skinny young officer.

  “He shot ol’ Jim in the twinkling of an eye, Arlo,” Pate informed him. “You got to watch that feller as much as these Injuns.”

  “This is the craziest godamned situation I ever been in,” Capman complained.

  “It’ll all end up in the Fed’ral penitentiary for both of you,” Hawkins said. “Meanwhile, I’m gonna stick your butts in the Paso Cruz lockup.” He turned to Sergeant Eagle Heart. “Get these two settled in for the rest of the night. We’re going back to town in the morning to lodge ’em with the local law. Then we’ll head on to Sawyer.”

  Eagle Heart pulled Pate to his feet, then pushed both prisoners over to a corner of the bivouac. “Sit!” the sergeant commanded, pointing to the ground.

  “We ain’t gonna be able to sleep this-a-way!” Pate complained.

  “Let me tell you something,” Hawkins said. “I’ve had a real long day. I won’t put up with being kept awake by your moaning and groaning. You just lay there real still and you’ll see the morning.”

  Capman glared at Pate. “Hush up! Things is bad enough. There’s no telling what he’ll do if’n he really gets mad at us. You told me yourself that he’s loco as a drunk bandido.”

  “Yeah,” Pate said. “All right.” He settled down to make the best of it with his hands shackled. He was glad he was as uncomfortable as Capman. Now he could share his misery with somebody.

  Hawkins set his scout detachment into the guard routine. Once more Ludlow would do the actual posting of the sentries. This time, however, he would not have to force himself to stay awake. The thought of Jim Miller’s wife and family filled his head with melancholy thoughts of guilt and shame. He lay without sleeping the whole night, staring up at the wide expanse of sky between glances at his pocket watch.

  ~*~

  The next morning the small column wasted no time in moving out toward Paso Cruz. It took less than an hour of slow riding until the shimmering vision of the town appeared on the horizon. This time, rather than being in disguise, Mack Hawkins and Ludlow Dooley wore their blue army tunics as they rode into the main street under the gaze of curious citizens.

  The detachment went straight to the local sheriff’s office and halted. Within moments a crowd of the townspeople gathered around the strange scene. Hawkins and Ludlow dismounted and met the surprised lawman who had come out on the boardwalk to see what had attracted so much attention.

  Hawkins offered hand. “I’m Cap’n Hawkins, U.S. Scouts, and this is Lieutenant Dooley my second-in-command.”

  “Howdy,” the sheriff said. “My name is Hornsby. What can I do for you?” He made no effort to hide his curiosity about the Indians.

  Someone in the crowd yelled out, “What’s going on, Sheriff?”

  “Just simmer down,” Hornsby said. He looked back at the army officers. “I reckon ever’one is wondering what this visit is all about, Cap’n.”

  “I got two Fed’ral prisoners to lodge with you,” Hawkins said. “They’ve been charged with train robbery of an army payroll.”

  “Does that have anything to do with that feller that was shot at the hotel?” the sheriff asked. “We found him in the alley.”

  “He’s one of the train robbing gang,” Hawkins replied. He looked around at the crowd, noting the unfriendly glares at his Indian scouts. He raised his voice, saying, “This is official U.S. Army business. We have two outlaws that need holding until the proper authorities can pick ’em up.”

  “You’re gonna stretch my budget,” Sheriff Hornsby said. “I held onto three cattle rustlers for the Texas Rangers this past month. They was only took out of here a coupla days ago. It’s gonna be rough finding enough money to feed these two ’til the state pays me for boarding them other pris’ners.”

  “Do you have a telegraph office in town?” Hawkins asked.

  “Yep. Down to the train depot.”

  “I’ll telegraph Fort Sill and inform them of the situation,” Hawkins said. “They’ll provide funding for the prisoners and see that a marshal comes down to fetch ’em.”

  “That’s good,” the sheriff said. “I’m happy to cooperate, Cap’n. But you know how it is in these small towns. We ain’t got a lot of money to o
perate on.”

  “Sure,” Hawkins said. “I appreciate your help all the more because of it.”

  Hornsby looked past the officers at the Indians. Now that things were on a friendly level, he figured had had the right to pose a question that was vexing not only him, but all the townspeople too. “How’s come them Redskins is in uniform?”

  “We’re a new outfit called the U.S. Scouts,” Hawkins explained as he once more raised his voice for the benefit of the crowd. “We’re the Kiowa-Comanche Detachment out of Fort Lone Wolf, Indian Territory. I understand there’s an Apache Detachment at Fort Huachuca, Arizona Territory and some more being organized up north with the Sioux and Cheyenne.”

  “What the hell’s the Army gonna do with Injuns?” a man wearing a butcher’s apron asked.

  “All sort of things,” Hawkins answered. “They’ll guard government property, deliver messages, patrol military and Indian reservations. But most of all the U.S. Scouts will be used to track down fellers like these two.”

  Pate suddenly yelled out. “Them Redskins tried to roast me alive! And that damn cap’n was gonna let ’em do it. You cain’t leave us be under arrest by Injuns whether they’re in the damn Army or they ain’t!”

  An angry murmuring could be heard building among the onlookers. One of the locals looked straight into Hawkins’ face. “Is that right, soljer? Were you gonna let them Injuns torture that man?”

  “Does he look like he’s been tormented?” Hawkins asked. “He’s a lying, no good, train-robbing son of a bitch who ran off with taxpayer money that him and his pals stole.” He stepped up until he was almost nose-to-nose with the man. “Do you want to argue with that?”

  “I reckon not,” the fellow said. He quickly melted back into the crowd.

  Hornsby laughed. “Things is gonna get real tough for outlaws with them scouts on the loose. I’d hate like hell to have some Injuns coming after me all legal and proper like.”

  The townspeople, now in a better mood, laughed. Someone called out, “They’ll being ’em back dead or alive, scalped or unscalped.”