by John Legg
“You Marshal Buck Morgan?” one asked.
“I am.” Morgan resisted the impulse to point out that he was the only one in Flat Fork—probably the only man within a thousand square miles—with a badge on his chest.
“Mr. Ashby’s compliments, sir,” the same one said. “He says you’re to come back to the agency directly.”
“What’s the trouble?” He knew something had to be wrong. Ashby would’ve never sent anyone after him in Flat Fork for nothing.
“Beggin’ your leave, sir,” the same one said, “but Mr. Ashby’s not in the habit of takin’ lowly privates in the U.S. Army into his confidence.”
Morgan nodded. He stuck a foot in the stirrup and pulled himself onto his horse. “Let’s go,” he said. “We’ll be stayin’ here, sir.”
Morgan looked at him askance. “What’s your name, boy?” he asked.
“Lee Skousen.” He nodded toward his companion. “That’s Vic Bowen.”
“You have permission to stay here in Flat Fork?”
“Yessir,” Skousen said in sincere tones.
“Then I’m sure you won’t mind any if I check with Lieutenant Pomeroy on that, eh?”
The two soldiers suddenly cast sullen, angry glances at him. Both had figured to grab a couple of drinks of whiskey and maybe a bottle for the ride back, and then to dally with one of the Cyprians. Even with all that, they could make it back to Camp Brown without raising any ruckus. Lieutenant Pomeroy wouldn’t give men he trusted a hard time; that was well known at Camp Brown.
Morgan shrugged and then grinned a little. “You boys’ll be a heap better off stayin’ away from these hellholes,” he said.
“Shit, Marshal,” Skousen said, “we just wanted to wet our whistles and...” He suddenly turned red.
“Wanted to wet something else, too, huh?” Morgan said with a laugh. “Well, go on then, but don’t you dally too much or Pomeroy’ll have your ass.”
“You’re not gonna say nothin’?” Bowen asked. “Not if you boys get back in a reasonable time. I don’t owe any allegiance to Pomeroy. You best watch it, though, boys, while you’re here. There’s some mean folk stalkin’ those saloons. Worse, you might just get yourself a good dose of drippin’ pizzle.”
“We’ve had the clap before, Marshal,” Bowen said with a laugh. “It ain’t much fun, but it goes away after a spell.”
“Suit yourselves, boys. Just remember, you ain’t caught up to me in a reasonable time, I’ll let Pomeroy know.” He turned his horse and trotted out of Flat Fork, not looking forward to the trip.
Two and a half hours later, when Morgan was only a couple of miles from Ashby’s agency, Skousen and Bowen caught up with him. Their horses were sweated and foamy. Morgan looked at the two soldiers with some annoyance. “Took you boys long enough,” he said flatly.
“Well,” Bowen said, beaming, “it took us a little longer’n we thought it would.”
“Yeah, them women couldn’t get enough of us and tried to keep us there as long as they could,” Skousen added with a cocky grin.
“And now you two shit balls’ve run them horses into the ground. Pomeroy’s likely to have your ass for treating animals that way.”
“Goddamn, Marshal, you sure know how to put a damper on things,” Skousen complained.
“Maybe I do. But you damn fools ought to think once in a while. So you went and dipped your wicks. Big goddamn deal. Those women’d screw a snake if the serpent paid them. You ain’t nothin’ special to them women. But you come out of there thinkin’ you’re some bull elk, crowin’ and boastin’. It’d serve you right if you got a dose of the clap—and have Pomeroy assign you to muckin’ out the stalls for a couple of weeks.”
“Why the hell’re you bein’ so hard on us, Marshal?” Bowen asked, seemingly bewildered.
“I could’ve come straight on back and told Pomeroy what you two shits were up to. But, no, I tried to be a decent man, let you boys have your fun a little, and then I get paid back with smart mouths and horses run into the ground.”
Skousen gulped. “I never thought of it that way, Marshal,” he said earnestly. “I really didn’t.”
“Me neither,” Bowen added.
Morgan said nothing.
“Hold on there a minute, Marshal,” Skousen said. When Morgan stopped Skousen said, “I know we’ve traded on your good nature too much already...”
“You sure as hell have.”
“…But I’d like to impose on you just a bit more.”
“What in hell for?”
“Look, let’s stop for a bit. Half hour or so. We could water the horses and rub ’em down. Then if we ride nice and easy back to the Camp, the horses won’t be none the worse for wear—at least no worse than if we had ridden hard to get to Flat Fork and then hard back to the Camp with you.”
“Why in hell would I go and do a thing like that?” Morgan asked evenly.
Skousen shrugged. “There really ain’t a good reason for you to. I know that. But I feel bad about the way we treated you—and the horses.”
“And you’re afraid to get your dumb ass in trouble over this, too, ain’t you?” Morgan said with a laugh.
Bowen gulped and then nodded. “You bet your ass we are…sir.”
“Well, I can understand that.” He sighed. “All right. Half an hour. No more.” He paused. “And, boys, if you mess with me this time, you’ll be very sorry you did.”
Chapter Fifteen
Morgan strode through the door of Ashby’s office. Two men in army officers’ uniforms were there, as were Two Wounds and another Shoshoni, whom Morgan did not know. A Shoshoni boy of about eleven lay on a makeshift cot.
“It’s about time you got back,” one of the army officers said angrily.
“It took us a while to track Marshal Morgan down, sir,” Skousen said.
“Who’s he?” Morgan asked, pointing to the boy. He could see that Ashby was terribly worried.
“He was Yellow Wing,” Ashby said tightly.
“Was?” Morgan asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes, was,” Ashby said, tones cold. “He died half an hour or so ago.”
“He looks familiar,” Morgan commented.
“He and Rabbit Tail took care of your horse, yours and Mr. Ashby’s, the first time you came to Washakie’s village,” Two Wounds said.
“Shit,” Morgan muttered. “How’d he die?”
“Old Belly there,” Ashby said, pointing to the Shoshoni Morgan did not know, “found Yellow Wing, along with his father and mother. The father, Sleeping Bear, was dead and mutilated same as the others. The mother, Dawn Star, was dead and mutilated, too. Quite obscenely, I might add.” Ashby drew in a ragged breath. He was beginning to fear that the whole reservation would explode soon unless these hideous murders stopped.
“Yellow Wing was still alive, but hurt bad. Old Belly left his wife, White Bear, with the two bodies and hurried here with Yellow Wing. Dr. Snyder tried as best he could to save the boy, but it was of no use.” He paused again. “Before he died, he was able to tell us about the killers.”
“Good,” Morgan said. “What did he tell you?”
“You know, Marshal,” Ashby said stiffly, “if you had gotten back here sooner, you could’ve heard it from the boy’s lips yourself.”
“Reckon I could’ve at that,” Morgan said evenly. He glanced at Skousen and Bowen. The former had a smirk on his face; the latter was looking down at the floor. “But like the private said, it took a while to track me down.” He turned his gaze to Ashby. “So, what did the kid say?”
“He said white men had done it. A gang of eight or ten, he wasn’t quite sure. He also said the leader of the group was a tall, burly man, with a maniacal laugh.”
“Maniacal laugh?” Morgan asked, more surprised that the Shoshoni boy would have described it that way than that the outlaw did it.
“He called it a laugh like a man who has been touched by the spirits. The Shoshoni think crazy people are touched by the spirits.”
“Yes,” Ashby said tightly. “Yellow Wing said the son of a bitch leading the group wears a necklace...”
“That’s not so out of place.”
“This one is made of dried human ears and fingers.”
Morgan’s cold gray eyes narrowed. Then he nodded. “Now that I know that, it’ll be easier to find him. I’ll head off soon’s my horse gets a little rest, grain, and water.”
“No you won’t,” one army officer said.
“What’s that?” Morgan asked, turning his harsh glare on the man.
“I said you’re not going anywhere.”
“And just who the hell’re you?”
“Lieutenant Dexter Pomeroy,” the man said proudly. He was in his early twenties, tall and thin. Fine wheat-colored hair covered his head. He had a mustache, too, but it was so fine and so light-colored that it was nearly impossible to see. Morgan could see the light of ambition in his eyes, as Ashby had mentioned.
“Well, then, listen to me, Lt. Dexter Pomeroy,” Morgan said flatly. “You get in my way and I’ll crush you like a bug.”
“Very humorous, Marshal,” Pomeroy said with a hollow laugh. “I’m the commander of Camp Brown and the Wind River Reservation. I’m the law here, Marshal, not you. You’re in no position to make demands or issue orders.”
Morgan’s face was tight with anger, but his voice was calm and measured. “Send the doctor and the two privates outside, Lieutenant,” he said.
“Why?”
“To avoid embarrassment.”
Pomeroy shrugged. “Privates, head back to the Camp proper. Report to First Sergeant Bockman. Dr. Snyder, please wait outside. I’ll be out shortly and we can ride back to the Camp together.”
“Two Wounds,” Morgan said, “I’d be obliged if you’d go see to my horse. He’s been ridden hard and I’ll need him again here very soon.”
Two Wounds nodded. He and Old Belly headed out behind the soldiers.
When the five men had left a sneering Pomeroy turned back to face Morgan. The lawman grabbed the officer by his shirtfront and slammed him back against a stone wall and held him there.
“Now you listen to me, you pustulant little shit ball,” Morgan hissed. “I aim to get the men who did this. And I neither need nor want your help. If you get in my way, I will shoot your ass dead without a second thought.”
“Then you’d hang,” Pomeroy blustered. He could not remember ever having been as scared as he was now. Still, he hoped to keep the others from seeing that fright.
Morgan shrugged. “You wouldn’t be there to see it. That’s all you have to keep in mind.”
“Let him down, Buck,” Ashby said wearily. “I’ll see to it that the lieutenant stays here at the agency, or at the camp.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Pomeroy growled, forgetting his fear for a moment. “I am in charge here and...”
Morgan throttled him with his free hand. “The only thing you’re in charge of here is your own fate. I could guarantee you didn’t do anything to get in my way by killing you here and now. And let me warn you that I would do it without guilt. Now, if you’re willing to listen to a little sense, we might be able to solve this problem.”
Pomeroy, fear renewed and then some, nodded weakly.
Morgan pulled his hands away from Pomeroy. He pointed to a chair in front of Ashby’s desk. “Sit.” Pomeroy did and then croaked, “Water.”
Ashby poured him some from a pitcher and handed it to him. Pomeroy greedily gulped it down.
“Mr. Ashby told you when all this started happening that to send you and your men in would cause nothing but more trouble. The same still applies.”
“Like hell,” Pomeroy growled. Now that he was sitting and did not have his life being squeezed out of him, he felt far braver. “I told Mr. Ashby that if these murders got out of hand, I and my troops would step in. Well, by God, they have gotten out of hand. By a long shot.”
“Says who?” Morgan asked bluntly.
“Me.”
“Yeah, and we all know you’re a goddamn fool, so that means your opinion doesn’t count for shit.” He paused. “But let’s just say you did get involved. What would you do?”
“Head on down to Flat Fork and put the town under martial law,” Pomeroy boasted.
Morgan couldn’t help it. He laughed, though it was devoid of humor. “You got what, fifty, maybe sixty men assigned here?”
“Sixty,” Pomeroy said defensively.
“There’s twice that many gunmen in Flat Fork, all of them hardened killers, and not a goddamn one who’ll worry for an instant at killin’ a soldier—or a whole garrison of soldiers.”
“But we have arms, and cannon.”
“Except for the cannon, they’ve got you outgunned, Lieutenant,” Morgan said. “But their biggest advantage is not giving a shit. They don’t care about each other, you, me, or their own goddamn sainted mothers.”
“But we are a trained, disciplined fighting force.”
“If those two shit balls you sent to get me in Flat Fork are any indication, your discipline and training are mere myth, Lieutenant. By the time you moved into ranks, half your men’d be dead or dyin’. The survivors’d get picked off one by one.” Morgan paused to pour himself a mouthful of whiskey from the bottle on Ashby’s desk.
“Besides, even if you could take over the town, how would you find the killers?”
“The leader should be easy enough to find, what with his necklace. Once we have him, we can find the others.”
“Supposin’ he only wears that necklace when he heads up one of these raids?” Morgan countered.
“Somebody’d talk,” Pomeroy said with determination.
“Jesus, boy, you can’t really be that goddamn stupid, can you?” Morgan snapped. “As soon as the town found out you were on your way, the place’d empty out. Come to think of it, you would be able to take over the town. Trouble is, the only ones left’d be the whores.”
“I’m afraid Marshal Morgan’s right, Dex,” Ashby said in soothing tones. “You better let him handle this.”
“But…”
“Listen, Dex,” Ashby snapped, angry now, too. “You’ll need to keep your men ready in case the Shoshonis decide to go on the warpath. With these new murders, and knowing that the men who did it almost certainly had to come from Flat Fork, even Washakie might not be able to rein in some of the young hotheads.”
“That’s true, Lieutenant,” Morgan offered.
“So you’ll have to be ready in case that happens. If it does, you’ll need to head off the Shoshonis. There’s also the possibility that the Arapahos might hear that the Shoshonis think they did it, and they might plan to make war on Flat Fork or even Bubbling Water to show the Shoshonis that they were not at fault. That isn’t likely, but it is a possibility.”
“Neither of you is very damn convincing.”
Morgan breathed in deeply and slowly blew the air out. “Lieutenant,” he said slowly, “I’ve told you the way it’s going to be. Now I’ve tried to be decent about it and sugar coat it some for you, but I’m tired of the bullshit. So I’ll tell it to you plain just once more. You and your men are to stay out of this business, or die. It’s that simple.”
“Dex,” Ashby interjected, “you’ve always been a reasonable man. You should be in this instance, too.”
“But think how good this’d look on my record,” Pomeroy said, a touch of whining in his voice.
“Think how it’d look on your record if you lost three-quarters of your command on a venture to make you look good,” Morgan said bluntly.
Pomeroy glanced sharply at Morgan, and then nodded sadly.
“If it’ll ease your mind any, Lieutenant,” Morgan said evenly, “you can take credit for the capture or killin’ of these men once it’s over. I don’t really give a damn.”
“You don’t?” Ashby asked, surprised.
Morgan shook his head. “I did before today,”
he admitted. “I wanted to get these men and all, but it was just another job.”
“And now?” Ashby prodded.
“Now it’s personal. I don’t hold with killin’ women and children. And I don’t hold with torturin’ them and mutilatin’ them either. Now I really want those shit balls, and there is nothing in heaven or hell or here on earth—includin’ you and all your goddamn soldiers, Lieutenant—that’ll stop me from findin’ them. Except death. You want to stop me, Lieutenant, you’ll have to put a bullet in me.”
“Probably take more than one,” Ashby said, sotto voce.
Pomeroy stared at Morgan for a few moments, then he nodded. “I’ll stay out of it, Marshal—unless you get killed.”
“I get killed, Lieutenant, you have my permission to hound those bastards to kingdom come.” He paused a moment, thinking, then asked, “Just how the hell did Flat Fork get so far away from the camp here? Most towns like to build right outside a fort or camp.”
“That’s how Flat Fork began,” Pomeroy said. “The first fort the army had in these parts was right next to Flat Fork. Two years later, this place was built here. The people—and it’s a term I use mighty loosely when it comes to the ones down in Flat Fork—were all ready to move up this way and plant themselves here, lock, stock and barrel. But we informed them that if they moved up here, we’d train the cannon on them, and then use it, if necessary. They decided to stay where they were.”
“I think they like it that way,” Ashby interjected. “They can have all the lawlessness they can handle without interference from the army. Yet, being only twelve miles away, they’re close enough so that the soldiers here can go down there and raise hell every payday.”
Morgan nodded. “Convenient.”
Chapter Sixteen
Morgan and Two Wounds rode into Washakie’s village just before dark. Two Wounds carried Yellow Wing’s body. He swung off, heading for Old Belly’s lodge. That Shoshoni had left Camp Brown when Two Wounds had gone to tend Morgan’s horse and had ridden back to where his wife waited with the bodies of Sleeping Bear and Dawn Star. Two Wounds figured Old Belly was back, and he wanted to bring Yellow Wing there to be prepared for the funeral.