Since he was going to hang around for a couple of days, he decided to take advantage of it and give Spades a chance to rest up and feed on some army grain. He was afraid the horse was showing some effects of a lot of hard riding over the past weeks. He decided to rid himself of the two horses the Cheyenne warriors had ridden. They were cavalry mounts, anyway, and Will was just as well rid of them. He hadn’t been at Fort Hays long before he encountered Captain Daniel Forrest of the Tenth Cavalry. The captain insisted that Will join him in the officers’ mess for supper. Will couldn’t help but smile when he thought how Braxton Bradley would disapprove.
Eager to return to Fort Dodge as soon as humanly possible, Braxton was out of his hospital bed and dressed in new issue uniform on the morning of the second day. The doctor shook his head and said, “I think you’d do well to give it another day’s rest, but if you think you’re able to make the trip, hell, I don’t care.”
“I’ve got a wedding to get to,” Braxton replied, affecting as solid a facade as he could for the benefit of the doctor. “And I need to get back to my regiment.” He would have preferred to part company with Will, but he knew he wasn’t really recovered enough to venture forth on his own. It was a three-day ride to Fort Dodge and there were no troops scheduled to make the trip anytime soon. As much as it galled him to admit it, even to himself, he was afraid he might need the rangy scout if he ran into any trouble. Even more difficult to admit was the fact that he wasn’t sure he knew the way. It was a long ride and he wasn’t willing to risk losing even more time if he wandered too far off track. His pride couldn’t stand the possibility that Will might be sent to find him again. So he sent a hospital orderly to find Will with orders that he was to escort him to Fort Dodge.
“I thought you mighta been thinkin’ about goin’ to Fort Dodge by yourself,” Will commented upon joining the lieutenant at the hospital. “You sure didn’t take much time healin’ that wound.”
“We both have to report back to Fort Dodge,” Braxton replied coolly. “It just makes sense to travel together.”
“You mean you have to report back to Fort Dodge. If I’m obliged to report back anywhere, it’d have to be Camp Supply. Ben Clarke, chief scout, that’s who I work for. You just want me to go with you because you’re afraid you’d miss me too much,” Will kidded. He had a pretty good idea that Braxton was reluctant to try the trip on his own. Safe now from the constant threat of death at the hands of hostiles, the lieutenant was rapidly regaining his air of hostility and superiority. Ignoring Will’s attempt at joking, Braxton advised the civilian scout that he wanted him ready to ride after breakfast in the morning. “Yes, sir, Lieutenant,” Will said, taking on an exaggerated tone of respect. “I’ll sure be ready to ride. Any other orders?”
“If there are, I’ll let you know,” Braxton replied icily.
So bright and early the next morning the two unlikely traveling companions left Fort Hays soon after Braxton had breakfast, a late hour to start on a three-day trip according to Will’s way of thinking. He supposed he shouldn’t be judgmental, what with Braxton’s weakened condition. He really didn’t care when he thought about it, however. He just figured they’d go as far as the Smoky Hill and camp. Then, instead of striking out straight for Fort Dodge, they could alter their course a little and ride on in to Fort Larned on the second day. And if it turned out they had started back too soon for Braxton to hold up, he could lay over there until he regained his strength. As far as Will was concerned, he wasn’t in any particular hurry to get back to Dodge or Supply. There was nothing waiting for him at either place that mattered a great deal. His natural inclination was to bid Braxton Bradley good-bye as soon as he had safely delivered him to any army post. But he had kind of promised Sarah that he would see that her husband-to-be was returned safely to Fort Dodge. As soon as I deliver his pompous ass to his lady love, he told himself, I’m heading back to Camp Supply. I might even do what Ben Clarke has been trying to get me to do for a while now—ride with the Seventh Cavalry.
Chapter 12
They made good time after leaving Fort Hays. Braxton, eager to return to Dodge, seemed to be up to the ride, so they didn’t stop to rest the horses until striking the Smoky Hill River directly south of Hays. Without making it obvious, Will watched the lieutenant carefully as he climbed down from the saddle. Braxton moved very deliberately and Will decided his wound was paining him some. “The horses need a good rest,” Will commented, thinking the lieutenant needed it more than the horses. “We’d best wait up here for a while. Hell, long as we’ve got time, we might as well have a little coffee to go with this hardtack we brought with us.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Braxton said. “We’d better rest the horses.” He sat down with his back against a cottonwood trunk while Will rustled up some wood for a small fire. When he thought Will wasn’t watching, he reached over to check the bandage on his shoulder and grimaced with the pain. The Smoky Hill was only about fifteen miles from Fort Hays, but Braxton felt like he had been in the saddle for a full day. Will had suggested that they could try to make Walnut Creek before dark, so Braxton asked, “How much farther is it to Walnut Creek?”
“I expect it’s a good twenty miles,” Will answered. He got his fire going good before suggesting, “We don’t have to make Walnut Creek today, if you think that’s pushin’ it. It’s up to you. I don’t care one way or the other.”
“No,” Braxton immediately insisted. “We’ll go on. I don’t want to waste any more time than we have to.”
“Whatever you say,” Will replied. There was little wonder why Braxton was so eager to continue—the same reason Will would be if he was in his shoes. “As soon as the horses are rested and we’ve had a cup of coffee, we’ll be on our way.”
After resting for an hour, they continued on toward Walnut Creek, Will leading with Braxton following silently behind. The lieutenant was as good as his word. He was still upright in the saddle when Will pointed to the trees in the distance that framed Walnut Creek, but there was a definite slump in his shoulders. Will selected a spot for their camp and pulled the saddles off the horses while Braxton slumped to the ground. There was little effort this time to hide his fatigue. In spite of his dislike for the man, Will couldn’t help but feel empathy for him. “You rest up that shoulder,” Will said. “I’ll take care of everythin’ else.” He busied himself then with setting up their camp.
Feeling spent and in a pitiful condition, Braxton sat there silently while Will broke out his coffeepot and a slab of bacon to cook. Feeling a hint of remorse for his disdain for the rangy scout, he forced himself to remark, “I expect I’ve been somewhat remiss in expressing my appreciation for everything you’ve done for me, Cason. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you had left me on my own after pulling me out of that Cheyenne camp. So I thank you.” He paused after satisfying himself that he had atoned for any actions unbecoming of an officer and a gentleman. “I have to be honest, however,” he continued. “I don’t like you and I don’t think I ever will. So I’ll have to stand by what I told you about staying away from Sarah and Emma. I hope you understand my position on this.”
This was the second time Braxton had forced himself to thank Will for his rescue, and as before, he was amazed by the lieutenant’s capacity to express his appreciation and total disdain almost in the same sentence. Will had to laugh. “You know, Bradley, I’ve run into a lot of stuck-up officers in my time scoutin’ for the army. But damned if you ain’t the biggest horse’s ass I’ve ever seen. I’ve a mind to let you find your own way back to Fort Dodge.” He handed the lieutenant a cup of fresh coffee.
“What makes you think I couldn’t find my way back?” Braxton responded indignantly. “It’s your job to act as a scout. I’m just telling you to do your job. Whether we get along or not has nothing to do with you carrying out your duty.”
Too astounded to reply with anything of a civil nature for a few seconds, Will just shook his head, thinking of what a dictatorial father Braxto
n would likely be for Emma. Controlling his temper, and remembering his silent promise to Sarah to take care of her fiancé, he responded, “I reckon this means you ain’t gonna ask me to be your best man at the weddin’.” When Braxton chose not to dignify the remark with an answer, Will continued. “Just so’s we get things perfectly straight, I’ll cart your worthless ass back to Fort Dodge, although I would be doin’ Sarah a helluva favor if I didn’t. I’ll nurse you along, get you some food, take care of your horse till I get you back. After that, I don’t wanna hear or see you again. So drink your damn coffee and this meat’ll be done in a minute.” No two rivals for a woman’s attention ever had a clearer understanding without physical violence occurring.
In spite of Braxton’s resolve to persevere, the twenty-five mile ride had almost been too much for him. Seeing the lieutenant’s weakened condition, Will decided not to start out again the next morning over Braxton’s protests. “Hell,” he responded, “you wouldn’t make it five miles. We’ll rest you up here for another day; then I’m takin’ you to Fort Larned to let the doctor there take a look at you.” Although he continued to object, Braxton could not honestly disagree.
Will decided that the lieutenant needed some red meat to encourage the healing of his wound, so after a breakfast of coffee and bacon, he left Braxton to rest while he followed the creek downstream on the chance of finding game. Considering himself fortunate if he was to happen upon a varmint of some kind, he was pleasantly surprised to run up on a small group of antelope drinking from a pool in the creek about a mile from his camp. Moving as quietly as possible, he managed to get a little closer, to a point where he had a clear shot. It was only then that he realized there was no cartridge in the chamber, so he readied himself to shoot quickly. As he expected, the antelope bolted upon hearing the metallic clank of the lever when he cocked his rifle and were off through the cottonwoods immediately—all except one that limped noticeably in trying to keep up with its family, giving Will time to take a careful shot.
The antelope was not a big one, so Will decided to carry the whole carcass back to his camp to butcher it. Hefting it up on his shoulders, he walked back upstream. “You’re in luck today, Bradley,” he commented cheerfully when he returned. “This little feller was just waitin’ around for me to come along. He had a broken leg. I reckon if we hadn’t got him, a coyote probably would have.” Then a thought occurred to him that caused him to smile. I reckon a coyote got him after all, he thought, thinking of the name Bloody Hand had called him. He dropped the carcass on the creek bank and started skinning it. Cutting off a piece of haunch, he set it over the fire to roast while he continued with the butchering.
“I heard the rifle shot,” was the only thing Braxton said. But the gleam in his eye told Will that he eagerly awaited the meat.
Ned Spikes inched his way forward a little closer to a small cottonwood on the crown of the bank. Lying on his belly, he took a good long look at the camp by the creek before whispering back to French and Boley, “There’s two of ’em. One of ’em looks like a soldier, and he acts kinda puny, like he’s been shot or somethin’. They got a couple horses we could use. One of ’em’s a fine-lookin’ bay.” He slid back down below the bank then to join his friends. “Don’t look like but one of them fellers could give us any trouble, and he won’t be none if we’re careful not to let him know we’re here.”
“I could use some of that meat they’re cookin’,” French said, and tilted his head back again to sniff the breeze.
“Amen to that, partner,” Boley said. They had not had much luck in finding game during the past few days. Like Braxton, they had heard the rifle shot and had been on their way to investigate when they saw the antelope bolting from the creek and bounding off across the prairie. French had immediately raised his rifle, prepared to take a shot at the fleet animals, but Ned had stayed his aim and stopped him from firing.
“Use your brains, man. We need to see who fired that shot first,” Ned had cautioned. “Might be a Injun war party, or a bunch of soldiers, and we don’t need that comin’ down on our behinds. There was only one shot, so they musta got one. If they didn’t, there’da been more shots. If we’re lucky, it was just one man—might be we can get us an antelope and a horse to boot.”
Now, after finding the camp, their prospects had increased to an antelope and two horses plus whatever weapons, ammunition, and possessions the two men might be carrying. Prone to act upon instinct alone, the half-breed, French, was eager to charge into the camp at once, but Ned, more prone to take precautions, calmed him down. “Just hold your horses,” he said. “That one feller looks familiar. I mighta seen him around Fort Dodge or Hays. If it’s the man I think it is, we gotta be careful how we do our business. He don’t miss with that Henry he carries.”
Boley, a more cautious man by nature, and always so in any situation that wasn’t slanted to his advantage, was content to let Spikes take the initiative. “Whaddaya thinkin’ on doin’, Ned?” he asked.
“There ain’t no sense in takin’ no chances,” Spikes replied, taking a moment to look around him for a vantage point. His gaze lingered on a small hill about fifty yards from the edge of the creek and directly opposite their victims’ camp. “French is a better shot than you, so me and him’ll crawl up behind that little hill where we can get a chance for a clear shot. You stay back and hold the horses till I call you to bring ’em up.”
“Hell, French ain’t no better shot than me,” Boley growled, but protested no further since he was just as happy to remain safely back with the horses. He flipped the black eye patch up to rest on his forehead while he dabbed the empty eye socket with his bandana to dry up the thin seepage that seemed constant to his companions. “Maybe we oughta wait till dark before we go chargin’ into that camp,” he suggested, “ ’specially if that jasper’s as good with a rifle as you say.”
“Nah,” Spikes said. “I’d rather be able to see what I’m shootin’ at. Hell, all we need is one clear shot, and then we can stroll right in.” He cocked his head in French’s direction, looking for the half-breed’s endorsement, and grinned confidently when French responded with a wide grin of his own. Ned was more concerned with reining in the simple-minded French’s inclination to charge blindly in without looking a situation over thoroughly. Lady Luck had turned a cold shoulder to the three outlaws during the past three weeks, limiting their opportunities for victims. Now that they had stumbled upon this chance for a clean bushwhack, he didn’t want to mess it up with a wild Indian charging in to get them all shot. “You keep the horses where we can get ’em if we need ’em in a hurry,” he said to Boley. “Me and French’ll take care of the rest.”
Busy carving up more of the carcass, Will paused for a moment and listened. He felt a need for caution for no particular reason—just a nagging feeling that something was amiss. He glanced at Braxton, who seemed comfortable and unconcerned. Then he looked beyond the lieutenant to the horses grazing beside the creek. Spades was busy pulling up grass, showing no signs of anything out of the ordinary. The other horse was calm as well. There had been no reports of hostile Indian activity in this part of the territory, but still he had an uncomfortable feeling. Had he heeded his instincts and what they were trying to tell him, he might have sought cover and avoided the rifle slug that suddenly tore into his side, spinning him around to fall on the ground. With no idea how badly he was wounded, he rolled over and over to get to his rifle, which he had left propped against a tree, at the same time yelling to Braxton to take cover in the streambed.
With lead zipping through the air all around, spitting up plumes of sand as they struck the bank on either side of him, he searched desperately to see where they were coming from. Spotting a muzzle flash from a low hill about fifty yards away, he cranked out four quick rounds. It was enough to silence the firing from the hill long enough for him to scramble down into the creek bed with Braxton. “You’re hit!” Braxton exclaimed when he saw the blood already soaking Will’s side.
&n
bsp; “Hell, I know it!” Will reported frantically. “Get the horses over here! We don’t wanna lose them.” The shots from the hill resumed almost at once, cutting chunks from the bank and ricocheting off the water behind them. Ignoring Will’s instructions, Braxton hugged the creek bank even closer. Disgusted with the lieutenant’s reluctance to act, Will managed to grab the reins of Braxton’s horse, but Spades came obediently to stand at the top of the bank over his master. “Spades, get down here!” Will shouted. He handed Braxton the reins for his horse and reached up to take Spades’ reins. When he did, he placed himself neatly in Ned Spikes’ sights. Hit in the shoulder, he fell back in the creek bed as two more shots rang out, striking the excited horse, one low in the withers, the other a lethal shot beside the faithful horse’s head. Spades stumbled over the bank, his last conscious thought an effort to avoid trampling his master. “Spades!” Will cried out, but it was too late for the big bay gelding. He took a half dozen drunken steps before collapsing at the water’s edge.
Up on the hill, Ned swore, “Damn the luck. I didn’t go to hit that bay. I got that son of a bitch with the rifle, though. What about the other’n?”
“Don’t know,” French replied, reloading. “He ain’t stuck his head up.”
Ned called back behind him. “Boley, work around to the creek now. See if you can come up behind ’em.” Boley nodded his understanding and left to work his way through the trees downstream from the camp.
Holding his only weapon, a revolver, in one hand—the other desperately clutching his horse’s reins—Braxton crouched under the bank, fearful and completely bewildered. He stared at Will with eyes wide and panic-stricken. The scout was soaked in blood from two wounds and Braxton was certain that he was staring at a dead man, for his stare was met with a vacant gaze that focused somewhere beyond him. Seemingly in great pain, Will raised his rifle and struggling to hold it steady, aimed in Braxton’s direction. At once alarmed, Braxton squeezed tighter to the creek bank in an effort to shield his body from the bullet he anticipated. He cried out involuntarily when the rifle barked, thinking he must surely be hit. Twenty yards behind him, Boley slid down the creek bank, killed instantly by the bullet in his chest.
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