Where the Bullets Fly

by Terrence McCauley

“He was beating a prisoner.”

  “An Apache dog soldier who’d butchered some of our men.”

  “A shackled prisoner nonetheless. I ordered him to stop and he attacked me. He got what was coming to him.”

  “You always contended that I was there that night, but that was never proved. Not by you and not by that goddamned redskin either. That didn’t prevent you from naming me in your court-martial testimony, did it?”

  “They called it a formal hearing of inquiry. I never got court-martialed and neither did you. Unfortunately.”

  “Yes, unfortunately. And now, fate has brought us both to this same place and this same time.” He threw open his hands and laughed. “The ass-end of the army. A place so cold in winter and hot in summer, not even the Indians want to be here. Yet here they stay, so here I stay, babysitting a bunch of heathen savages whose time has already come and gone. I wish they had the good sense to simply die and save everyone the bother.”

  Mackey felt the bones of his fingers pop as he grabbed the armrest tighter. He made himself stop. “None of this has anything to do with why I’m here right now.”

  But Peters kept talking. “Do you know why they promoted me to captain, then to major so quickly? Because they had to stick me somewhere after the scandal and no one else wanted me. They loved you, but couldn’t keep you after what you had done. They despised me based on your testimony but couldn’t do much to me. They were going to shelve me in an office back in Washington, but Willie’s father didn’t want an office boy in uniform in the family. Might disgrace the family name even further. The good senator pulled strings to keep me in the field, so the army, in their own inimitable way, sent me here.”

  Peters looked closely at Mackey and, for the first time, the sheriff saw true madness in the major’s eyes. “I have no choice but to be here. I’m under orders. But you’re here of your own accord, aren’t you? You’re from this wretched part of the world. You had a family and a town that embraced you after your disgrace brought about by my cousin’s actions. And I’m stuck here because of the disgrace to my family’s name brought about to my cousin. You’ve played more of a role in my life than I think you’ve known, Aaron. And now, you need my help. Life’s twists and turns are so funny sometimes, but there’s a certain poetic justice to all of this, I think.”

  Mackey stood up. “You’re an officer in the United States Cavalry. Start acting like one and quit your bellyaching. A command is whatever you make of it. You’ve made a pigsty of yours. You can change that any time you want. Tonight. This instant. And giving me the help I need to run Darabont down is a good place to start.”

  But Peters wasn’t looking at Mackey anymore. He was looking in his general direction, but almost though him, as if he saw something in the near distance of his mind. Something that wasn’t actually there but real enough to him. “I’ll start my investigation in the morning. Yes, I think I’ll do that first thing. With luck, I’ll have a troop in the field within a week. If you want to wait that long, fine. If not?” Peters’s eyes refocused on Mackey. “Well, if not, I’m afraid you’re on your own. In the wilderness. Just as I have been these many years.”

  Mackey had never thought much of Peters, but he’d thought him better than this. He might’ve been disgusted if he didn’t have so much on his mind. “What the hell happened to you, Peters?”

  The major appeared to give it serious thought before saying, “You. You happened to me.” He straightened his filthy tunic. “Now get off my property.”

  Mackey made sure he left the door open when he left. He unhitched Adair from the post and rode away as quickly as possible. The more distance he put between him and the raving lunatic Peters had become, the better he’d feel.

  Chapter 38

  After stowing Adair in the livery with the rest of their mounts, he found Billy waiting for him in front of a saloon called The Belle Union. He could hear the sounds of laughter mixed with a tinny piano from across the street.

  As was his custom, Billy was building a cigarette. “You talk to Pete?”

  “I did. No luck.”

  “He still mad about what you did to his cousin?”

  “He’s just mad, as in out of his mind.” He leaned against the porch post as he felt a sudden wave of weakness come over him. But this time, it wasn’t from the pneumonia, but from the weight of the enormity of the task ahead. He had known all along that getting help from Peters was a long shot, but he hadn’t expected to walk off the fort completely empty handed. He thought he’d have at least a squad to help him track down Darabont. It wasn’t finding the bastard that mattered. It was about being able to kill him and free the hostages when they found him. About freeing Katherine.

  But the army wouldn’t help, so they were going to have to end this the way they’d begun it. On their own.

  Billy licked his cigarette paper and wrapped his smoke tight. “What are we going to do now, Aaron?”

  He wasn’t sure. “Sim back yet?”

  “No sign of him or the Indians with him.”

  Mackey hadn’t expected Wolf Child’s scouts to come into town, but he’d hoped Sim would have come back with a report. There were dozens of reasons why he hadn’t come to Fort Custer, and not many of them were good. But he had enough trouble on his hands now without adding wild speculation to it. Sim had been in scrapes all of his life, both in uniform and out. If he hadn’t come back to report, there was a reason. Mackey figured he’d find out why in due time, one way or the other.

  He decided to think about something he could control. “How are the men holding up?”

  “While you were busy dancing with the major,” Billy said, “I had Brahm and the Boudreaux boys split up and do some polite asking about Darabont in the saloons around town. No one’s admitted to seeing hide nor hair of Darabont’s people yet.”

  “What about the . . .”

  Billy held up a hand to stop him. “I talked to a clerk over at the general store just as they were closing. I got him to tell me that no one has placed any big orders, at least not enough to feed twenty men and ten or so hostages in the field.”

  He wasn’t surprised at Billy’s resourcefulness. He’d always known what Mackey needed, sometimes before Mackey knew it himself. Mackey also didn’t doubt Brahm and the Boudreauxs had done a good job of asking about Darabont.

  But sometimes, it wasn’t about the question, but how you asked it. And who did the asking.

  The germ of an idea began to form in Mackey’s mind. “Have any luck getting us rooms anywhere?”

  “Some hell hole named the Grand Hotel.” Billy spat, then lit his cigarette. “I picked it because it had a lobby and had smaller mice than the ones I saw at the Hotel D ’Luxe on the south end of town.” Billy looked at him closely. “Uh oh. I know that look.”

  The sheriff rapped his deputy on the shoulder and beckoned him to follow him inside the Belle Union Saloon. “Come on. I’ve got an idea.”

  * * *

  The crowd was loud mix of civilians and soldiers in various stages of drunkenness. A scrawny drunk in a bowler was banging out a warbled rendition of “Old Dog Tray” on a tinny piano while whores in bright colored dresses and dark stockings tantalized the men to dream of other things, things that could be had in one of the rooms upstairs. Most of the men just leered at them over their beer or whiskey, but enough would plunk their money down for half an hour of paradise.

  The Belle Union was cheap and tawdry and loud as any saloon found in any army town. And Mackey missed it. All of it.

  He spotted his men at a table near the door against the wall. He was glad to see all of them had obeyed his orders about avoiding whiskey and had chosen beer instead. None of them had female companionship. The Boudreauxs looked longingly at the working girls, who looked just as longingly at them while they tolerated the curious hands of the drovers and the soldiers at the tables. The kid—Sandborne—glanced furtively at the girls, too shy to look at them directly. The vaqueros and Billy drew glares of another kind
from the customers, but Brahm’s presence ensured they’d do little more than look. The hulking German appeared to be more trouble than he was worth and he looked troublesome enough.

  With Billy close behind, Mackey made his way over to his men and spoke to them over the noise of the crowd. “You boys get ready to drink up and pay up. I’m going to make a scene in a minute and we’ll need to get to our rooms after that.”

  “Scene?” Henry Boudreaux asked. “You mean a fight?”

  His brother cracked his knuckles. “I don’t mind. I could do with a good brawl right about now.”

  “Nothing like that. The kind of scene that’ll make us popular with some folks and unpopular with some others. Either way, we’ll need to clear out right after. We’re going to have a long day tomorrow.”

  Mackey ignored Billy’s look of concern as he took one of the few empty chairs and stood on it. He shouted, “Can I have your attention, please?” several times before the room quieted down enough for him to speak in a normal voice.

  “Some of you may know me, but a good number of you don’t. I’m Captain Aaron Mackey, the man who killed all those savages at Adobe Flats.”

  The soldiers cheered and toasted him with their glasses.

  Mackey yelled over them. “Now, I might not be in the army anymore, but I’m here tonight as the sheriff of Dover Station, a town that’s a couple of days ride up the trail from here. We got hit by a group of cowardly sons of bitches who ride with a spineless murderer who goes by the name Darabont. This bastard took a lash to my town and killed a lot of women and children in the process. Those he didn’t kill, he took with him and intends on selling down in Mexico.”

  Cries of “kill ’em” and “string ’em up” rose from the crowd. All of it was just hot air and boozy resolve, but he wasn’t looking for zealots just then. As soon as they quieted down a bit, he continued. “My men and I intend on hunting these cowards to the ends of the earth if we have to. We’re going to find them and string them up by their balls from the nearest tree limb when we do.”

  The drunkards banged tables and shouted support. Mackey talked over them. “We’ve got some damned fine men riding with us already, but we could always use more. I just came out of a meeting with Major Peters and he’s vowed to lend us some soldiers to hunt these murderous bastards to the ends of the earth if necessary. They’ll help, but we could always use more. That’s why I’m asking for volunteers who might want to ride out with us to do what’s right.”

  The men cheered again and thumped their fists against the tables and the bar. He felt Billy looking at him, wondering what the hell he was doing, but Mackey stayed in character. “Now, any of you brave men who want to sign up with me can come over to where I’m staying at the Grand Hotel tonight. I’ll be in the lobby for a while, then upstairs in my room later. This is a paying job, boys. No volunteers, here. Just make sure you’re ready to ride come first light tomorrow morning. We’ll take any man who can shoot, who can ride, and wants to help us send these murderous cowards back to Hell where they belong.”

  More cheers rose up, boozy oaths to be ready filled the air. “Spread the word all over town, boys, and tell them I’ll be at the Grand Hotel to sign you up. Now, since I’ve taken up your good time, next round’s on me!”

  Even Mackey flinched as a thunderous cheer rose up from most of the patrons of the Belle Union. From his place atop the chair, he noticed not all the men cheered. He saw two men standing at the bar, whose clothes were tattered and trail-dirty, whose long rangy hair hadn’t seen a comb or a bar of soap in some time. In many ways, they looked no different than dozens of the rest of the men in the Belle Union that evening save for one important way.

  The way they glared at him.

  He knew they were his true audience. They were Darabont men.

  Mackey stepped down from the chair and motioned for Billy to give him the moneybag. He did, and Mackey gave enough to the bartender to cover a round, with a good tip in the bargain. He reminded him that, if anyone asked, he was in the lobby over at the Grand Hotel.

  He politely ignored requests from the soldiers to buy him a drink. Everyone wanted to be with the hero of Adobe Flats.

  That’s what he was counting on.

  As he led his men out of the saloon, Billy said, “I hope you know what you’re doing, because I sure as hell don’t.”

  Mackey was surprised at how good he felt. “I just rang the dinner bell. Now let’s see if anyone’s hungry.”

  Chapter 39

  Like everything else in Fort Custer, the lobby of the Grand Hotel was as misnamed. Mackey took a seat on the threadbare couch against the wall, next to the window facing the street. This wouldn’t work unless he could be seen.

  Billy had stationed Brahm at the front door of the hotel. He was a menacing presence and would keep the drunks and lightweights away. After all, this wasn’t really a recruitment drive. He was setting himself up as bait.

  Billy had sent the two vaqueros to bed, with the Boudreauxs on the hotel’s second floor balcony, rifles ready. The Mexicans would relieve the brothers if the night lasted that long. Sandborne was supposed to be asleep, but Mackey figured the kid would be too excited to get a wink. He couldn’t blame him.

  Billy positioned himself out of sight at the top of the stairs, his Sharps ready to cover the lobby. Mackey might not have pulled a stunt like this if Billy hadn’t been along to back his play.

  The innkeeper was glad for the attention Mackey’s announcement had given his establishment. He offered him a bottle of whiskey and a free steak dinner with all the trimmings, at a discounted price, of course. Mackey spotted the dead mouse beneath the far end of the couch. He opted for a pot of black coffee instead and hoped it would be strong enough to kill whatever germs were in the pot and cup.

  He was about fifteen minutes into his recruitment drive when he saw the first men began to appear. Drunks, mostly, who’d toddled across the thoroughfare from the Belle Union to enlist in Mackey’s noble cause. Brahm shooed them away.

  The more serious types came later. They were gun hands and drifters, men of few prospects drawn by the promise of easy money and blood. Mackey half listened to them tell him how impressive they were, who they’d ridden with and how many men they’d killed. All the while, he kept an eye on the front door of the Belle Union and for any sign of Darabont’s men.

  Mackey soothed the ego of each man who’d offered to sign up. He stalled for time, telling them they’d be riding out at first light if they were serious. They all shook his hand and told him they’d be ready. And he watched each one of them trail back into the saloon to celebrate their new assignment at the side of the hero of Adobe Flats. He doubted any of them would be ready to ride in time. He doubted he’d still be in town at first light anyway. For if he was, it would mean his plan had failed.

  That’s when he spotted one of the men he’d seen at the bar come out of the saloon. Darabont’s man. Now that he was on eye level, he could see the man better, even from across the street. He was tall and thinner than his clothes. His duster was splattered with layers of mud, and his face had a lean, sunken look. His duster was pulled back over the handle of the pistol on his right hip, but that didn’t mean anything. Lots of men walked around like that, especially in a town like Fort Custer.

  But he was eyeing the hotel the same way Mackey was eyeing the Belle Union. He seemed to notice Mackey was watching him, for he spat in the street and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he moved up the street and out of Mackey’s line of sight.

  I see you, Mackey thought. But where’s your buddy?

  Mackey turned when he heard the back door of the hotel open. His hand moved closer to the handle of the Colt jutting up from beneath the table, but he didn’t pull. No reason to force something before it happened.

  After all, trouble had never had a problem finding Aaron Mackey.

  The other Darabont man he’d seen in the bar ambled into the lobby at his own pace. He was as scraggly as his fri
end on the street, his eyes just as hard.

  The man pawed at his mouth with the back of his hand. His duster wasn’t pulled back over his pistol butt, but Mackey could see he was wearing a gun belt.

  The man stayed by the front desk, where the innkeeper was fussing with the mail in the slots behind the desk.

  “You really Aaron Mackey?” the gunman asked. “That feller who done all them things at Adobe Flats?”

  The innkeeper answered for him. “Of course it is, mister. That’s him right there, in the flesh. Sheriff of Dover Station and the hero of Adobe Flats. As righteous and courageous a man as we’ve ever had in Fort Custer, and we’re damned honored to have him in our hotel.”

  The man pawed at his beard. “That’s what I thought. Well I’ll be damned.”

  “Glad to meet you, friend.” Mackey smiled as he sat back on the couch, but kept his hand on the table only an inch from the handle of his Colt. “You here to sign up for our worthy cause?”

  “Came to ask you about that. You said this here Darabont feller burned injuns and whores like that was a bad thing to do. In my book, that’s what some might call a work of mercy. Whores and injuns ain’t worth nothin’.”

  “Lots of people would agree with you, friend, except for one thing.”

  The man spat a stream of tobacco into the silver spittoon by the front desk. “What’s that?”

  “Back in the saloon, I didn’t say anything about burning Indians. Or whores, neither.”

  Mackey saw Billy’s rifle flash from atop the landing just as the window facing the street shattered. He heard Brahm yell as Billy fired again. He heard a man cry out and a body hit the boardwalk outside.

  But Mackey hadn’t moved.

  And neither had the gunman in the lobby. Not even when the innkeeper came from behind the desk and ran outside.

  “You get him?” Mackey asked Billy without taking his eyes off the stranger.

  “I got him.” He heard Billy lever a fresh round into the Sharps. “Got this one, too, if you need it.”