White smoke hung heavy in the air.
His Colt still leveled, Stanton said, “What the hell? What is wrong with these people?”
Court shook his head. “Sometimes people wake up with really stupid ideas, that’s all.”
Through the open door came the sound of a horse galloping away.
Stanton wheeled around and ran through the door. He stopped on the porch, his Colt cocked and aimed.
A man was just tearing out through the open gate, leaning low over the neck of his horse.
Stanton lowered the hammer on his revolver and stepped back inside. “Somebody just headed out through the gate as hard as he could go.”
Court was looking at his right shoulder. “Figures. Probably whoever was watching the prisoners in the stockade.” The bullet had drawn an angry red line between the top of his bicep and the bottom of his shoulder. He grinned and looked around. “Just a scratch. Everybody else okay?”
Philby had one hand pressed to the base of his neck on the left side. “Could you look at this? Stings a little.” He moved his hand.
Court looked, then laughed. “Man, you an’ me have to be the two luckiest men who ever lived. Looks like he used the same red ink on you that he used on me.” He glanced at Stanton. “You weren’t hit?”
“No sir.”
Court nodded, then looked at Philby. “Well, that makes us the two luckiest men who ever lived. Reckon we ought’a go get the colonel an’ see what’s goin’ on. We get over there, keep your eyes open. The guy who left might just be a decoy.”
Stanton turned and led the way outside.
As they crossed the porch, Philby pointed. “That building over there... that’s the stockade. That smaller building to the right there’s the armory.” The armory was set at an angle to the stockade. He glanced back at Court. “Might want to check that too.”
Court nodded. “Good idea.” He glanced at Stanton. “Stand to one side of the stockade door. Anybody comes out, stop ‘em.”
Stanton nodded and moved away.
As Edwards and Philby neared the armory, Court gestured toward one side of the door.
Philby took his meaning and positioned himself to one side, his Colt pulled and cocked.
Court tried the door and found it locked. He rapped on it. Gruffly, he said, “Hey, open up. It’s me.”
There was no answer, and no sounds came from inside.
Court looked at Philby. “There’s nobody in there. If that’s what they were after, they hadn’t opened it yet. If they had, they’d have been gone before we got here or we’d have caught them in the middle of loading.”
Philby nodded.
They both turned and began to cross the space toward the stockade. When they got there, Philby took up a position on the other side of the door from Stanton, then reached across for the door knob. He looked at Court.
Court drew his Colt and cocked it, then nodded.
Philby turned the door knob.
The door came free and he pushed it open.
Court strode through the opening, ready for anything.
Except for a beat up wooden desk the office was empty. There wasn’t even a chair.
On the back wall next to the door in the center was a large key ring with three keys on it. He grasped the keys hanging at the bottom of the ring to keep them silent, then took the ring from the wall. He crouched and tried the door handle.
It was unlocked.
He pulled it toward him carefully and Philby stepped through, his Colt leveled.
“You a Ranger?” An older man was peering at Philby through the bars. He was wearing uniform trousers and an undershirt. “Man, am I glad to see you!”
Philby nodded, then put one finger to his mouth.
The man said, “It’s all right. I’m Colonel Crutcher. There aren’t any more of ‘em here. I heard the last one taking off a few minutes ago, right after all the shooting started. I guess that was you boys, eh?”
Court came in behind Philby. Stanton remained in the outer office. Court said, “You know why we’re here, Colonel?”
“I assume because of my telegram.”
“Which you sent to who?”
“Captain Flowers down in Amarillo. Sent it a few days ago. What took you so long?”
“It’s a three day ride, Colonel. We got here in a little over two.” Court handed the key ring to Philby, then glanced at the colonel again. “Let him know who to let out. Where is everybody?”
As Philby opened the cell door, the colonel stepped through. “We’re short handed too. Lieutenant’s gone with most of the men on patrol. They left two days ago. Should be back tomorrow, but by then it would’ve been too late.” He glanced at Philby. “Release everyone, please.”
He turned back to Court as he stepped into the outer office. “You the leader of this group?”
Court followed him. “Yes sir. Corporal Edwards. Court Edwards.” He proffered his hand. “Good to meet you.”
The colonel shook hands with him. “Likewise, but I wish the circumstances were different. I assume there’s a mess to clean up in my office?”
“‘Fraid so, Colonel. So what’s goin’ on?”
The colonel turned around. He pointed at a young soldier who had distinguished himself earlier. “You. What’s your name?”
The young soldier snapped to attention. “Ryan, sir. Marly Ryan.” He was the only one who had questioned the sergeant’s orders when they were all being locked up.
“Ryan, you’re a corporal now. We have what, about a dozen men left?”
“Yes sir. Thirteen, countin’ me. Fourteen with you, Colonel.”
“All right.” He reached into the left front pocket of his uniform trousers and pulled out a key. He passed it to the new corporal. “This is the key to the armory. As soon as you’re out of here, send four men to secure the main gate. Then they will report to my office for a burial detail. One of them should bring a wagon. They shouldn’t carry weapons of any kind.
“Meanwhile, take the other eight men to the armory. Temporarily issue each of them a Winchester repeating carbine and two boxes of shells. You’ll have to have them wipe the packing grease off, but they should do that quickly. They can clean them more thoroughly later.
“Have them load the weapons before they leave the armory. The repeater has a side gate loading mechanism and the cartridges go in nose first. These are new. There are no caps and balls, no powder. It’s all in the cartridges.”
“Yes sir. I seen one before, how it worked an’ all.”
“Very well. Once those eight men are armed, post two on either side of the gate on the battlements. I recommend you switch them out every four hours, but that’s up to you. Any questions?”
“No sir. Thank you for the opportunity, sir.”
The colonel nodded and the young corporal turned to his task.
The colonel turned back to Court. “Well, that’ll work if the armory’s still there. I think that’s what those men were after.”
Court said, “We checked it on the way in, Colonel. Door’s locked.”
The colonel nodded. “Good. Very good.” They left the stockade and continued walking toward the colonel’s office.
The colonel said, “Well, I came in a couple months ago. My predecessor was supposedly killed during an attack on the fort. John and I—John Melcolm, my predecessor, and I—attended the academy together. We came from the same home town. I knew him well. Naturally, after I settled in, I started asking for details about the attack and how my friend died.
“The sergeant’s descriptions were sketchy at best, but we officers are trained to know we can count on the sergeant. I assumed if he was withholding anything he thought he had good reason. Still, I was a little wary, so I asked a few of the men, in private of course, about the attack.
“Well, they looked at me as if I’d grown a new head. There had been no attack, they said. I couldn’t be sure they weren’t just trying to put one over on the new commander, but af
ter a few days of that, I sent that telegram to Captain Flowers. In retrospect, I should have canceled the patrol too, until I was sure of what was going on.”
He paused and shook his head. “But I didn’t. I sent them out on schedule. Almost emptied the fort. That was two days ago.
“Then yesterday in the late afternoon, I was about to leave for the day when a question occurred to me. The sergeant had left a bit earlier, so I went by his quarters. He wasn’t there, but the door was ajar so I called out. There was no answer, so I pushed the door open. I thought maybe he was in a back room and hadn’t heard me.
“I walked into his sleeping area. There on the wall, hanging from a peg, was the set of matching engraved, pearl handled Colts John’s parents gave him when he graduated from the academy. I thought it was peculiar that those hadn’t been returned to his father.
“This morning when the sergeant came in, I asked him about them, and he said the colonel had given them to him before he died. Problem was, in his official report he had said the colonel was dead when he found him near the gate. When I asked about that discrepancy, he pulled his gun on me.
“Turned out he knew almost a year ago when this fort would be receiving the new Winchester repeating carbines. He had himself transferred in as part of a scheme. He and his brother, a Comanchero from what I could gather, were going to empty the armory and trade the weapons to their friends, the Comanches. John uncovered their scheme and was killed as a result.
“He and I walked to the stockade together, his gun on me the whole time. He put me in a cell, then left, locking the door behind him. He said it would all be over soon, and if I made any noise he’d kill anyone who responded. The only ones left on the fort other than me and the sergeant were green young kids. He knew I wouldn’t sacrifice them.
“A few hours later, his brother and a couple of others arrived and they rounded up the troops that were still here. Sergeant McGaffey called them all to formation without weapons. Then he and his friends marched them to the stockade and locked them up. They thought it was training until they saw that I was in there too.” He looked at the floor of the porch as they stepped up on it. “And here we are.”
Court nodded as he held the door to the headquarters open. “That’s some story, Colonel.”
The colonel walked through.
When his gaze fell on the sergeant, he shook his head. He looked for a moment at the man sitting with his back in the corner, his chin on his chest, then walked around the desk. He approached the man on the floor, put the toe of his boot under the man’s right shoulder, and rolled him over.
He looked at the man for a moment, then shook his head again. “Well, the one you really wanted apparently is the one who got away.”
Just then three young men in uniform came in. One looked at the colonel. “Burial detail, sir.”
“Yes, yes.” He frowned. “There should be a fourth man.”
“Beggin’ the colonel’s pardon, sir, John—that is, Private Simpson—he’s gettin’ the wagon.”
The colonel nodded. “Of course. All right, drag the sergeant and these other men outside. Do that first. Then take their weapons and ammunition, and check their pockets for anything valuable. Then load them up in the wagon and bury them. You know where the cemetery is off post?”
“Yes sir.”
“All right. Go about your task.”
As he finished, the wagon pulled up out front and Private Simpson came in. It took all four of the young men to move the sergeant outside. Then they came back in and paired off to move the other two.
When the men had exited the office, Court said, “You mentioned the one who got away. Who’s that?”
The colonel looked at him for a moment and frowned. “What? Oh, he was the Comanchero I mentioned, a fellow named Jade Talbot.”
Court nodded and glanced at Philby, then back at the colonel. “We’ve heard of him.”
The colonel said, “From what they were saying, he’s the sergeant’s half-brother. He seemed like a rough sort. I’m pretty sure he would rather have just killed the lot of us.”
“I don’t doubt that. He’s not a Comanchero though. He’s independent, but he’s worked with the Comancheros before. Them and some other bad types.” Court frowned. “So if all they wanted was to clear out the armory, why didn’t they?”
“I don’t know. They kept saying ‘the wagon’ was supposed to be here tonight. I guess they were waiting for a particular wagon. That Talbot guy didn’t seem too pleased. Seemed nervous most of the time they were here.”
Corporal Ryan came in and rapped on the open door with his knuckles. “Colonel?”
The colonel looked up. “Yes?”
“The gate is secured, sir, and the watch is set. I also took the liberty of preparing quarters in the barracks for the Rangers, sir.” He crossed the room, holding up the key the colonel had handed him earlier. “Here’s the colonel’s key for the armory, sir.”
The colonel held up one hand, palm out. “You’re the ranking enlisted man on post right now. You hold onto that for the time being. As for the rest,” and he turned to look at Court, “will you and your men stay overnight, Corporal Edwards?”
“Yes sir, and thanks.” He turned and proffered his hand to the young soldier. “And thank you, Corporal.”
The younger man grinned. “Yes sir, my pleasure, sir.” He glanced at the colonel, then executed a quick about-face and left the room.
Court grinned at the colonel. “Reckon maybe you made a good choice there, Colonel.”
* * *
The captain had promoted Corporal Edwards only a few days earlier, and here stood two brand new would-be recruits before him.
The slim blond one had his hat in his hand, his fingers working nervously around the brim. He was every bit of five feet seven inches, maybe even five feet eight, though the captain was sure the young man would say he was at least five nine. He was maybe a hundred and fifty pounds, with a good frame that looked like he’d spent some time in the saddle.
The other one was tall, a legitimate six feet plus a couple inches, and maybe a little taller than that. His dark brown hair was rough-cut, but it wasn’t overly long. He was stocky, probably weighing in the vicinity of two hundred pounds, but he seemed to carry it well. Of course, he was only seventeen years old.
Captain Flowers got out of his chair and came around the desk. He sat with one hip on the corner of his desk and looked at the smaller of the youngsters standing before him. “Did you say Western Z Crowley? Western is your actual name?”
“Yes sir.”
“And you’re sure you’re every bit of sixteen years old?”
“Yes sir. Be seventeen in a few months. November, sir.”
The captain nodded. “Uh huh. And what does the Z stand for?”
Wes shrugged. “Just Z, sir, far as I know.”
“Well, what do your parents say?”
“‘Bout what, sir?”
“Well, about your middle name? Or about you joinin’ the Rangers for that matter?”
“Nothin’ about my name, sir, an’ I reckon they ain’t got no say about the other. I been on my own since I was seven. So almost ten years.” He locked his gaze on the captain’s eyes and nodded slightly. “I ain’t seen ‘em since then and I guess I done all right.”
A grin tugged at the corner of the captain’s mouth. “Yes... yes, I can see that you have.” He turned to the other youth. “And what’s your story?”
“I’m Otis McFadden, sir. I prefer Mac.” He jerked a thumb toward Wes. “Nickname my partner here gave me awhile back. ‘Course you can call me whatever you like.”
“And you’re wanting to join the Rangers too? Why?”
Mac nodded. “Yes sir. It was my idea. We seen some Rangers come through Watson—that’s up north a couple days’ ride—an’ I was impressed right away. One of ‘em even nodded at me as they rode out after they swapped for some horses. Seven for seven they swapped in about five minutes. Most impre
ssive thing I ever saw. An’ we overheard ‘em talkin’ about that Comanche, Iron Bear. Well, then they were talkin’ about how they were gonna go after him, an’—”
The captain held up his hand. “All right.” He looked at Wes. “What about you? Why do you want to join the Rangers?”
Wes shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, frankly, Captain, I like the way those men sat their horses when they rode by that day. Seems to me that’s somethin’ to aspire to.” He shrugged. “‘Sides, Mac here said he was gonna join, an’ me an’ Mac generally do everything together so....”
“All right, boys. Get your horses taken care of at the livery stable down the street. It’s called Sanchez Livery. Ramón Sanchez is the owner. Takes care of all our horses for us. Tell him I sent you and that you’ll be sworn in as Rangers tomorrow morning.”
Mac grinned. “Yes sir!” He spun on his heel.
The captain said, “Hold on, now, Mr. McFadden. Hold on just a minute. I have some other things to tell you.”
Mac stopped and turned around. “Sorry, Captain.”
“All right. That’s all right. After you get your horses taken care of, go across the street to the Amarillo Inn. Tell the man at the bar I sent you and that you each need a room. One for each of you, not together. All the Rangers in the company live over there. That gonna be a problem?” He looked from Wes to Mac.
Wes said, “No sir.”
Mac shook his head. “No sir.”
“All right. You get your horses taken care of, then get your rooms and get your gear stored. Then you’re off until tomorrow morning. I want you both back in here, with a bath and in clean clothes if you’ve got ‘em, at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. You can meet everybody in the morning and we’ll talk a bit more. Then I’ll swear you in.”
Wes said, “Yes sir.”
Mac nodded. “Yes sir.”
“All right. I’ll see you then.”
The boys turned away.
“Wait. Sorry. Hold on just a minute. I forgot something.”
They stopped and turned back.
“You have any money?”
Wes said, “No sir.”
Mac shook his head.
The captain went to his desk, opened a drawer and pulled out two five dollar gold coins. He handed one to each of them. “Use that to get a couple changes of clothes, a bath and a meal. You don’t have to pay for your room or the livery, all right? And I recommend you stay out of the saloon, but that’s up to you.” He turned away. “See you in the morning.”
The Rise of a Warrior Page 10