The Riflemen

by Tony Masero

  Guardeen raised his hands and walked slowly toward the sound of Swede’s voice. “So the Commander’s not here, eh?”

  “You got it right there. Led you a merry dance, no? He’s gone to take Phoenix city with all his men whilst you’re off chasing his little crew of gold robbers.”

  “Take a look behind you, Swede.”

  “Don’t try that hokum on me…”

  Behind Swede, the streets were filling up with dark shadows. Jacobson must have quietly passed the word and now the mining men had come at his call, their hands wielding gleaming iron bars, six pound hammers and long handled pickaxes. “Drop your weapons,” a rough voice barked.

  “Wait, we’ve got no argument with you,” cried Swede. “It’s just these two here we want.”

  “Drop those guns or die,” came the simple reply.

  “Better do like they say, Swede. I’ve seen these boys in action.”

  There was the sound of a heavy rifle dropping in the dust. “Come on out into the light, Swede,” Guardeen demanded. “You too Billy Ray.”

  Billy Ray’s petulant voice rose in a string of whining aggressive curses. Guardeen strode over to him and cracked a flat palm across the boyish cheek then backhanded him on the other side. “Can’t abide your behavior, boy. You sorely need a lesson in manners.” Guardeen grasped the young man securely by the back of the neck and bent him over his knee. In the middle of the street and in front of the gathered miners, he spanked Billy Ray Laforge soundly on his behind. When he was finished, amidst uproarious laughter, he pushed the weeping Billy Ray to the ground. Even Swede, despite his predicament, found it immensely amusing.

  Guardeen walked back to Jacobson.

  A thin smile played on Jacobson’s lip. “A real tough character, huh?”

  “Who?” asked Guardeen. “Me or him?”

  “Well,” said Jacobson wryly. “Wouldn’t want you putting me across your knee so I’ll pass on that one. Now, what do you want me to do with these two? I’ve telegraphed the Marshall to come pick up the Rebels, you want he should take these two here along as well?”

  “You have a telegraph office here?”

  “Sure we do. We’re supposed to have a single line of track as well but that won’t happen for a year or so. That’s the reason we’re still running the bullion up by road.”

  “Listen, can you get a message off to Colonel Winter at Fort Benson? Tell him that Cave Wyatt and his renegades are on their way up to attack Phoenix city. He has to deploy his troops and stop them before they get there.”

  “That I can do, anything else?”

  “Let us have a couple more ponies each, we have some hard riding to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Christine was the only customer on the dawn stage up to Phoenix. The clothes she purchased at the Tornada store were not particularly attractive, a simple broadcloth creation more suited to a frontier farming wife than a banker’s daughter. Still, she was contented to be on the move. She lifted the leather dust blind to see if she recognized any of the passing countryside and heard the driver and guard talking above the sound of creaking coach springs. The normality of it filled her with a sense of ease; a normal conversation among normal people. Clearly, she’d spent far too long among the insanity of Wyatt’s army of insurgents. Her jangled nerves slowly unwound in the safety of the compartment.

  Her thoughts turned to Guardeen and what he meant to her. A strange realization. This sudden empathy with the man. Mysterious and uncalled-for. Their backgrounds could not have been more different and yet his recognition of her had demanded for some inner reaction she could not yet determine. She’d denied herself of her own rights for so long. First, as a young mistress for Wyatt, his kept plaything. Then, as a bereft mother and deposed lover. Finally, as the abused partner of the soldier Lowell Beckett. Over time, she’d lost all sense of self and sunk to the level of a spitefully vindictive and vengeful woman whose sole goal in life was the extermination of Cave Wyatt. Guardeen meant something important to her now, something more than the physical attraction. In his appreciation of her, she perceived some chance to recall herself as she was. To give herself a sense of value once again.

  With a contented sigh, she parted the blind again. Then she saw them. A single long column of gray riders, keeping pace and holding a line parallel to the coach. She rushed to the other side of the compartment. They were there also, riding in military precision. And at their head waved the unfurled red and blue Confederate banner. Desperately, she leaned from the carriage window and tried to catch the attention of the driver above still engrossed in his conversation. “You there! Driver, you see them! Renegades. Look to your weapons.”

  The driver turned and glanced down at her, then his eye followed her pointing finger. He nudged the shotgun guard in the ribs. “Look here, you see this!”

  “Dammit!” cried the guard. “Confederate troops. Glory! Never thought I’d see this day again.” With a whoop he was up on the roof of the stagecoach hanging onto the luggage bars and waving his hat above his head, loudly shouting, “Stars and bars forever. God bless the Confederacy! Yahoo!”

  Riders left the column and made their way toward the stagecoach as the driver hauled on the traces and slowed the stage by stamping on a brake pedal that shrieked in protest. With a terrible sinking feeling, Christine knew she was lost as Wyatt loomed into view. With a tight grin of victory, he glared at her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Guardeen and Thaddeus rotated their ponies. A half-hour on one at the gallop then a change to the next, with no time spared to stop and dismount; each changeover was completed with a leap across from one saddle to the other. Every two hours they dismount and rested the horses, leading them at the jog. It drove the beasts hard but it was the only way for them to cover the ground and catch up with the Rebel army. They’d ridden throughout the hours of darkness and were now into the daylight.

  “How far, d’you reckon?” called Guardeen as they raced across bare rolling scrub land.

  “Long ways, Mister Nick. We won’t make it today.”

  “We’ll have a damned good try!”

  “It’s the ponies, we have to think of them. They go down, we’re stuck out here and no use to anyone.”

  “You’re right,” snarled Guardeen, spitting dust from his mouth. “My, my, just imagine a day when transport will get you across this country in the wink of an eye. Those will be better days, for sure. Men and their ladies will then travel in real style.”

  “You thinking on that Miss Christine?”

  Guardeen sighed, hating to admit it. “Yes, I am. She’s heading right into the hornet’s nest. And I don’t like to think on what will happen if Wyatt catches up with her.”

  “Don’t you worry, she’ll be fine.”

  “I surely hope so. Come to mean something to me, that lady.”

  They heard it then. Far off, but definitely the sound of heavy gunfire.

  Thaddeus pulled up with Guardeen close beside him. “Lot of weapons,” he observed. “From there,” he indicated a range of hazy hills some six miles north.

  “Too many for a simple fracas. That’s military volley firing. Must be that Colonel Winter and his cavalry holding them. Come on Thaddeus, we need to be a part of this.”

  Mercilessly, they whipped their mounts on, urging the utmost from them as they headed for the hills and the sounds of battle.

  But it was over by the time they reached the battleground.

  Unease churned Guardeen’s stomach. Ahead was the broad sloping valley floor the color of rust with a crippled stagecoach on its side. Bodies littered the ground, most of them dressed in gray and a broken Confederate flag hung limply over the densest area of fallen. Winter’s Negro soldiers moved slowly through the scene, looking for survivors.

  Guardeen and Thaddeus rode over to the Colonel, who stood conferring with his officers.

  “Mr. Guardeen, pleasure to see you,” greeted Winter. “We received your telegraph message in good time.
Well done, sir.”

  “Pity we got here too late,” sniffed Guardeen. “Looks like you made a pretty mess of them.”

  “Wasn’t all our work, you know.”

  “What do you mean, Colonel?”

  “Indians, Mr. Guardeen. For once, the Apache did us a favor. Cave Wyatt must have upset them somehow, because they brought down a whole mess of anguish on his men. We only came along near the end of it, scared off the Apaches and swept up what was left of the Rebels.”

  The few Indian bodies left behind by their fellow tribesmen lay scattered amongst the dead ponies and fallen Confederates on the dried earth.

  “We blew up their ammunition store,” Guardeen explained. “Destroyed all their supplies back at the fort. I guess the Indians were a bit peeved at having a lot of smart new weapons in their hands without any shells to put in them.”

  “Well, you did us a favor there then. Saved a lot of lives among my men.”

  “Have you found Wyatt?”

  “No, I’m afraid he made a break for it. Seems he set off in the lull between the Indians leaving and our arrival on the scene. Took some woman with him, it appears.”

  Guardeen’s heart sank. “A woman?”

  “Yes, one of the prisoners tells how there was a female passenger on the stage. Appears she was once with one of their number down at the fort.”

  “Oh, God!” snapped Guardeen. “So it was her.” He eyed Thaddeus, his tone despairing. “He’s got Christine.”

  “You know the woman, Mr. Guardeen?”

  “She’s Christine Lenoir, the lady informant the Governor’s had bringing out information. We have to save her, Colonel. Wyatt bears her a serious grudge. He means to do her harm, I’m sure.”

  Colonel Winter looked across the valley where his men were spread all over and at the corralled prisoners sitting in a morose circle under heavy guard. “I don’t think I can spare the men just now, Mr. Guardeen. Look at it, we have a mess here and whole host of Confederate runaways on the loose out there in the rocks.”

  “Well, I’ll go myself. How long ago did they leave?”

  “Not long. An hour, maybe a touch more.”

  Guardeen turned to Thaddeus. “Are you with me?”

  Thaddeus shook his head solemnly. “No, sir. I’m afraid not. I have my own little lady to save. She’s been alone too long already.”

  “Your own…? Oh yes, of course.”

  “I have to do it, you understand, Mister Nick?”

  This time there was no resentment from Guardeen. “No, it’s all right, Thaddeus.”

  Colonel Winter turned to Thaddeus. “Are you talking about Emily Longfellow, the rancher’s child?”

  “We are indeed, Colonel. There’s something you should know about that.”

  “Sergeant Bull and two of my men... What happened?”

  Guardeen shook Thaddeus’s hand. “While you explain to the Colonel, I’ll be off, partner.” He swung into his saddle. “We’ll meet up in Phoenix when we’re done. Luck to you, partner.” Then he heeled the pony’s ribs and he was off trailing his reserve steed behind.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Fuming, Wyatt lashed at his filly with his one remaining gauntlet, the other lost somewhere along the way. His fancy stained uniform was stained with dust and sweat and one shoulder had burst from its stitching. Powder burns marked the material and his face and beard were streaked with grime. Christine was lashed by the wrists to the pommel and she followed behind him, bobbing loosely, her pony dragged by its lead rein. Wyatt intended putting as much space as possible between him and the battleground, although each time he scanned the rear he saw no sign of pursuit. Gradually, he began to feel secure.

  The ground was level and open here as they descended into a dusty plain and followed a trail of sorts that led toward a range of distant hills the color of plum against the pale dust.

  Wyatt considered they were at last safe and he pulled his mare to a standstill. Slowly, he dismounted and rubbed his aching thighs.

  “Get down, Christine. We’ll take a break here.” His voice was flat and cold.

  “I cannot. You have me tied.” She indicated her wrists bound to the saddle pommel.

  “Ah, so,” he sighed. “I’d forgotten.” Wyatt loosened her bonds and, taking her elbow, he eased her down from her mount.

  “You and I,” he said, “we seem to be bound together like this in some sort of predestined way.”

  “I don’t think so, Cave.”

  “Yes, my dear. You’re my nemesis. I could not resist you even though I knew you’d destroy me. It was a passion forced on me by the gods of destiny. How else could a man who had so much of the world in the palm of his hand be brought so low?”

  “You’re quite mad, Cave. Anything that happened to you was of your own doing.”

  “I did not bring a spy into my confidence; you did that all on your own, Christine.”

  “Yes, it’s true. I spied on the man who destroyed my father and robbed from his investors. Betrayed my trust and begot on me a son he then stole away,” Her voice broke and she sobbed. “A son he forbade me to see even on that child’s sad deathbed.”

  “Oh, come now, Christine,” Wyatt said with an irritated and dismissive wave of his hand. “You can’t still feel badly about all that. It’s so long ago, girl.”

  “You’re despicable!” she snapped. “It all means nothing to you, does it?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing at all, I fear. What’s done is done. Come now, we can either make amends or remain enemies. Which would you prefer? Although ...” His tone deepened with warning. “I believe you know you wouldn’t like me as an enemy.”

  “I would rather burn in hell than have anything further to do with you.”

  “Very well.”

  Wyatt licked his lips. He drew the saber from its steel scabbard and it made a long scraping sound. “Then perhaps we should see if you like the taste of Confederate steel. I have yet to draw blood with this weapon. I believe I shall christen it with your head, dear girl.”

  He pushed her and Christine sank to her knees in the dust.

  “You coward!” she cried. “You’re nothing but a low and gutless coward.” She swiftly scooped up two handfuls of the powdery alkali dust and threw it full into Wyatt’s face.

  He gasped, backing away, clawing at his eyes as the sword dropped from his fingers, but it still hung loosely, attached to his wrist by a gold-braid rope. “You witch!” he screamed as his eyes watered. “You’ll pay for that.”

  But Christine was back on her feet, swinging her leg, a mighty kick that thudded squarely between the thighs.

  Letting out a squeal like an unoiled gate, Wyatt crumpled to his knees.

  Christine snatched at his wrist, dragging the saber from his grasp. “Let’s see whose head will fall now,” she snarled, swinging back the blade.

  But in the same instant he gripped her ankle and pulled her leg from under her and she tumbled heavily to the ground.

  He crawled across her, covering her with his weight, his hand reaching up and grabbing the hand that held his sword. His steel grasp crushed the fingers until Christine cried out and the blade dropped from her grip. Using both hands now, Wyatt straddled her and held Christine down by the wrists. He leaned over her, one eye covered with acrid dust, closed and weeping, the other intent on her with a fierce gleam. His beard brushed her chin as he leaned nearer. “You’re still a beauty, Christine. Let us renew our acquaintance one last time.” He crushed her unwilling lips under his.

  Christine twisted her head to one side in disgust and Wyatt let her go. He leaped to his feet, snatched up the fallen saber and stamped one booted foot onto her chest, forcing Christine back down. He raises the point of the blade above her throat. “There is no time for this, Christine. I must be on my way, so sadly I must bid you fare thee well.” The sharp point of the blade glittered as he brought it down.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Colonel Winter was appalled by the news of Sergeant B
ull’s cold-blooded murder and despite his earlier denial of troops for Guardeen’s purpose, he overrode his reserve and sent Thaddeus on his way with a patrol of ten men. “Bring them back alive,” was his angry order. “I want to see this vermin hanging by the neck in front of Fort Benson’s parade ground. We must make an example here! No man so callously disregards any soldiers of the U.S. Cavalry and gets away with it.”

  At the head of the column of Negro soldiers, Thaddeus felt a surge of pride as he urged his pony on toward the staging post. It was a journey carried out in silent anger. Word had spread among the men and they were not about to forget their respected Sergeant.

  Unsuspecting, Wooley Cotton stood at the gate. He waved a welcome as they draw up in a cloud of dust. “Howdy, boys. You passing through or stopping over?”

  Thaddeus pushed his pony forward out of the dust cloud and wheeling cavalry. He leaned down, his face close to Cotton’s. “Oh, we’re staying, Mr. Cotton. We’re staying. Now you remember me, don’t you?”

  Cotton’s face changed and paled as recognition set in. “Why, aren’t you that boy who left with Black Band Doolin?”

  “That’s right, Mr. Cotton. Although not from choice, if you recall. I left with a rope around my neck and now I’ve come back to pick up a small child. I hope to find her in excellent health or I’ll want to know the reason why.”

  The troops surged through the gateway behind them. Their rifles were drawn and it was clear from their stern facial expressions that they were not about to stand for any nonsense from the inhabitants. Sergeant Bull was a popular man at the fort and mean vengeance was written all over them.

  “She’s fine,” bleated Cotton, watching the passing cavalry with a worried frown. “Just fine. We’ve got her doing household chores. Lightweight things, nothing more, you understand?”

  “Show me,” said Thaddeus.

  Cotton led him to a row of dilapidated low-roofed outhouses, the wooden framework patched and gray with age. “She’s here. Inside,” said Cotton, pointing guiltily.