“I’m sorry, Sheriff Johnson,” murmured Sadie, “but there just isn’t any doubt about it. I was atop Silver Butte with Milty Ricks and—and we saw the whole thing.”
“There were heavy casualties,” announced Werris, “and—damn those murderous savages—they stole the entire gold shipment!”
“Hell’s bells!” breathed Johnson.
Very soon, a great many interested parties were crowding into the law office. The conductor lay on the couch, stripped to the waist submitting to Doc Nolan’s ministrations and slowly recounting his version of the raid to a grim-faced audience comprising Judge Pyle, the mayor, two members of the town council and three representatives of the Ninth Cavalry.
The cavalrymen traded thoughtful frowns. Two were N.C.O.s. The third was Captain Ralph Kerwin.
“It was my fervent hope,” sighed Pyle, “that the coming of the army would discourage Little Cloud from such wanton acts.”
“Am I to understand,” challenged Werris, “that there are Indians encamped in this area?”
“A large reservation within the confines of the county,” frowned the judge. He stared enquiringly at Werris. “I don’t believe you have introduced yourself.”
“Chadwick Werris, assistant-manager of the Central Utah Mining Company.” Werris grimaced impatiently. “Surely this is no time for formalities. That shipment must be recovered—and the raiders punished for their treachery.”
“It’s all mighty clear to me now,” scowled Mayor McAdams. “Central Utah outfit mines the old Ute burial ground. Little Cloud always was dead against ’em violating the ...”
“We got to get after those damn-blasted Injuns!” boomed Johnson. “Head ’em off before they reach the reservation!”
“Stop roaring at us, Sheriff,” chided Pyle. He shook his head worriedly. “No. That’s quite impossible. Carrizo Bend is a fair distance from Artega Springs, but you may be sure they’ve returned to the reservation by now.”
“On behalf of the company,” frowned Werris, “I must insist that you take action to ...”
“Action will undoubtedly be taken, gentlemen,” interjected Captain Kerwin. “When Colonel Stone hears of this outrage, he will order a counter-action against the Utes—you may be very sure of that.” He nodded to the N.C.O.s. “Order every off-duty man back to camp. All leave is cancelled.”
On her way back to the boardinghouse, Sadie paused to watch the sudden exodus of blue-uniformed men. All along Main, troopers were emerging from the saloons, running to their horses and swinging astride for the ride back to camp. Simultaneously, wagonloads of townsmen rolled out of Doone City, bound for the site of the train-wreck, to offer medical supplies and transportation to the injured and stranded travelers.
Ignoring the curious stares of passers-by, Sadie urged her weary team downtown. And, while unharnessing them in the rear yard, she found herself reliving that fast and furious journey, recalling her brief conversation with the impatient Chad Werris. He had questioned her. Well, that seemed natural, under the circumstances. Her presence at the scene of the wreck—attired only in a buggy-rug—warranted some explanation.
“Don’t worry about the stolen gold,” she had consoled him. “Three good men were with me—and now they’re hot on the trail of that war-party.”
“Just three men—and yourself?” She hadn’t missed the significance of his sidelong glance, the knowing, faintly contemptuous appraisal of her bare shoulders. “Quite a party that must have been.”
From then on, she had withdrawn into the cold silence of bitter humiliation and, had Werris but realized it, he had made a fatal mistake. Sadie would surely have talked on, naming the three men who had ridden off in pursuit of the raiders, but for his thinly veiled innuendo. Confident that his henchmen would detect and ambush their pursuers, Werris said nothing more. Three against twelve? They were already dead, of that he was sure.
Unfortunately for himself, Chad Werris had never heard of the Lone Star Hellions. His confidence was still unshaken when, a short time later, he rode with the posse of towners headed for the camp of the Ninth. Fifteen civilians, including both lawmen, the mayor and a collection of thrill-hungry cowpokes were determined to view, if not participate in, the attack on the Ute reservation. In his capacity as representative of the mining company, Werris had deemed it advisable to accompany them.
They arrived just as the heavy force of mounted troopers was about to move out. At the head of the long column, flanked by his. personal staff, the colonel viewed their arrival with undisguised disapproval.
“Sheriff Johnson,” he scowled, “this is to be an army action. My responsibility.”
“Well, sure,” nodded Johnson, “but ...”
“I see no alternative,” declared Stone, “but to order a full-scale attack on the Artega Springs camp, and deal with the Utes in the only way they seem to understand.”
“War—at last,” growled the mayor. “I knew it’d come to this. Well, lead on, Colonel. We’re with you.”
“Do you seriously imagine ...” Stone eyed him sourly, “that I would permit civilians to ride with the Ninth—in a military action? You will refrain from interfering, Mayor McAdams!”
“Now, see here ...!” began McAdams.
“That’s an order!” barked Stone. He raised an arm, glared over his shoulder. “Forward—ho ...!”
At a brisk pace, the long column swung past the bunched posse. The bright sun of early afternoon glinted off row after row of brass buttons, saber hilts and carbine-stocks. Spick and span, high-polished and ready for action the intrepid Ninth left the sea of canvas behind and pressed on to the northwest.
“Consarn that proddy colonel,” fumed McAdams. “He looked at us like we were nothing but dirt. Who in blazes does he think he is—and who does he think we are?”
“Civilians,” shrugged Werris. He showed the mayor a wry smile. “I get the distinct impression that the colonel has no time for civilians.”
“Makes it plain enough, don’t he?” grinned McGreeley. He eyed his chief expectantly. “What’re we gonna do?”
“Well,” frowned Johnson, “I’ll allow this is gonna be an army operation but, doggone him, the colonel’s operating in Doone County—our territory. If he won’t let us ride with him, he sure as hell can’t stop us from following him. What d’you say, Mr. Mayor?”
“We follow,” declared McAdams. “to make sure justice is done. The gold shipment has to be recovered, like Mr. Werris says. And, by Judas, the Utes are just begging to be punished!”
The posse men spurred their horses and took off in the wake of the Ninth. And Chad Werris was more than pleased with the situation. It would go well, he assured himself, from here on. The reservation tribes would resist, of course, and this would result in a pitched battle between red man and white. Probably, the Utes would get the worst of it. Then—the futile search of many hundreds of Ute lodges, for the gold now safely hidden at the JT spread. What fools they were—all of them!
Later, when the column of cavalry emerged from a narrow canyon giving entrance to a mile-long plain, Stone ordered a temporary halt and listened to the comments of his aides. His scouts had given him accurate information about this all-important area. A short distance to their right, the Lunt cabin was located. Even now, the Indian Agent was running towards them, waving excitedly. And, in the small corral behind the cabin, a woman was lithely mounting a roan pony.
“The agent’s squaw, no doubt.” Stone smiled thinly. “She’ll ride to her own people now.”
“You want her stopped, sir?” asked a heavy-jawed major.
“Hardly necessary,” frowned Stone. “The Utes will learn of our coming soon enough. It makes no difference to the outcome of this operation.” He gestured towards the barren plain. Its far end was marked by a slash of green, the densely-vegetated eastern border of the reservation. “Flat terrain, gentlemen. Perfect conditions for a swift advance.”
“We’ll charge them, Colonel?” asked Kerwin.
“You
disapprove, Captain?” challenged Stone.
“Your decision, Colonel,” shrugged Kerwin.
“When you’ve had more experience in the field, Captain,” drawled Stone, “you’ll acknowledge the obvious advantages of a combined charge at this time. These ignorant savages have to be demoralized, once and for all. What they need ...” his mouth set in a hard line, “is the sight and feel of raw steel.”
“There’ll be stiff opposition, I expect,” said the major. He eyed the open country thoughtfully. “They can fire from cover, once we’re within range.”
“Nevertheless,” said Stone, “I shall order the charge.” He turned in his saddle. The Agent had come to a halt a few yards away and was staring incredulously at the long column of mounted men. “Lunt—I assume you haven’t heard the news.”
“What news?” demanded Lunt. “What in tarnation are you trying to do, Colonel? Do you realize where you are? If you make for the Springs—with your whole outfit ...!”
“That is my intention,” Stone calmly assured him.
“But why—what ...?” gasped Lunt.
“A northbound train was wrecked by a Ute war-party, Mr. Lunt,” frowned Kerwin. “Some passengers were killed, and many injured. The braves looted the baggage-car. I’m sorry, but it seems Little Cloud could no longer restrain them.”
“It has to be a mistake!” insisted Lunt, with the color draining from his face.
“No mistake, Lunt,” said the colonel. “Captain Kerwin was on hand when survivors of the outrage made their report.”
“Well—damn it all ...” Lunt gestured pleadingly. “Don’t go at it bull-headed, Colonel. Wait till I fetch my horse. We’ll go parlay with the chief under a flag of truce and, if those braves are really guilty, I’ll try to persuade him to surrender them into your custody. Anything at all, Colonel. Anything but this.”
“That,” opined the major, “might be a wiser move, Colonel.”
“I doubt it,” growled Stone. “More likely those raiders were following the chief’s own orders.”
“Little Cloud,” declared Lunt, “would never order such a raid!”
Desperately, he argued, stalling for time. All along the line, the men of the Ninth waited impatiently and wondered at the outcome of the heated debate. To the west, well and truly aware of the army’s arrival, the Utes hastily prepared to defend themselves. The green country bordering the plain was heavily-manned. Out of sight, but formidable, the braves lay in wait.
To the south, the Texans had found a trail that led directly to the reservation, cutting onto the plain at a point some three hundred yards west of the agent’s cabin. They were moving steadily, and their prisoners were gradually becoming resigned to their fate—and still Larry Valentine wasn’t completely satisfied.
“This is enough,” he confided to Milty, “to convince Stone that the Utes are in the clear. We’ve nailed the real raiders and, when Stone sees ’em, he’ll know he can’t blame Little Cloud’s people for what happened.”
“Then you should be more than satisfied,” suggested the newspaperman.
“No.” Larry shook his head, grimaced impatiently. “I ain’t half satisfied.”
“Why not?’ demanded Milty.
Larry jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“What are they?” he challenged. “I’ll tell you what they are. Two-bit owlhoots. Gunhawks and sneak-thieves. They wrecked the train and grabbed the gold—sure—but did they plan the whole deal? Was it all their idea? I don’t think so, Milty. This was a big operation, cooked up by a big brain. They had to have inside information, for instance”
“Inside information?” prodded Milty.
“About the gold,” Larry sourly reminded him. “Whoever shipped that gold—do you think they’d advertise? You bet it was supposed to be a secret.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Milty confessed.
“The way I figure it,” drawled Larry, “we haven’t nailed all the owlhoots. The boss-man could still be on the loose.”
“Perhaps the thing was planned by one of the men you killed,” frowned Milty.
“I’d admire to be sure,” grunted Larry.
And, to Milty’s surprise, he hauled back on his reins, halting the team. Quickly, he dropped to the ground and walked back to confer with Stretch. The taller Texan bent an attentive ear, grinned wryly, and said:
“Sure, runt. We shoulda thought of that.”
Larry eyed the mounted prisoners thoughtfully.
“We know plenty about you jaspers,” he reminded them. “Enough to put your necks in a noose.”
“Still braggin’, Texas?” jeered the pain-wracked Grady.
“I hanker to know who gave the orders,” Larry told him. “Who backed this deal, Grady? I want his name—and I want it now.”
Grady spat into the dust, leered defiantly and invited Larry to perform an impossible biological feat.
“No use, runt,” shrugged Stretch. “They ain’t of a mind to answer questions.”
“So,” frowned Larry, “why take ’em in alive? They’re no use to us, unless they talk.”
“You got a point,” Stretch placidly agreed.
“We’ll travel faster,” opined Larry, “if we deliver ’em dead. While ever they’re alive, they only slow us down.” He nodded to the wagon. “Them first, big feller. Climb in and finish ’em off, while I take care of Grady and his no-good pards.”
Milty descended from the wagon seat, so hastily that he lost his footing and sprawled in the dust.
“No!” he gasped, as he scrambled to his feet. “You can’t do that! Butcher wounded prisoners? Never!”
“Shuddup,” scowled Larry.
Grinning, Stretch unholstered his right-hand Colt, nudged his pinto close to the tailgate and swung over. As he disappeared from sight behind the flaps, Grady tensed, licked his lips and stared worriedly at Larry. Smiling crookedly, Larry emptied his holster, hammered back and drew a bead on the first mounted prisoner. From inside the wagon came a chorus of horrified yells mingled with the steady booming of Stretch’s six-gun, and the uproar chilled the blood in Milty’s veins.
“Lousy butchers!” cried Grady.
“Listen to who’s talkin’,” jibed Larry. “You forgettin’ what happened to those northbound travelers?”
He raised his Colt higher, squinted along the barrel. Grady broke. Trembling, struggling against his bonds, he yelled, “All right—all right! I’ll tell you ...!”
“Tell it fast!” snapped Larry.
“Werris!” panted Grady. “His name’s Chad Werris. He—he’s a big shot with the minin’ outfit. We handled the rough stuff, but Werris was the boss. He planned it all ...”
Ten – Fools Rush In
Stretch parted the flaps, frowned out at his partner. “How’re you makin’ out, runt?”
“Fine,” grinned Larry. “Just fine. Fill your saddle again, amigo, we don’t have much farther to travel, and we have to make it fast.”
“You stand there—smiling,” breathed Milty. “You gave Emerson the order to—to deliberately butcher those prisoners ...!”
Chuckling, Larry hammered down and holstered his Colt. To Milty, he drawled an invitation.
“Climb in back and take a look at the dead prisoners.” Still trembling, Milty clambered over the tailgate and stared at Stretch’s ‘victims’. Messrs. Tolin and Britt, of course, were still as dead as ever. The wounded, though badly scared, were still very much alive. He dropped his gaze to the wagon-floor and the six neatly placed bullet-holes—and finally understood.
“Emerson didn’t shoot them at all!” he yelled.
“Takes him quite a spell to catch on, don’t it?” mused Stretch.
“Don’t it though?” agreed Larry. “All right. We can move on now.”
Stretch retrieved the tie-line secured to the horses of the prisoners and the journey to the reservation was resumed.
Larry set a stiffer pace now, urging the team to their utmost speed. The wagon rumbled and bumped
along the seldom-used trail, jolting the occupants, who promptly yelled protests. Several times, when they took corners at speed, Milty was almost flung from the seat. He clung to Larry’s arm, and urgently enquired, “What will you do, if the battle has already begun? How can you hope to stop it?”
“I’ll fret about that,” shrugged Larry, “when we get there.”
A few moments before Stone gave the order to move, the posse appeared on the plain, moving across diagonally. Johnson and his companions hadn’t paused to consider the possibility of the Ninth charging down on them, and were now bound for an ideal vantage point on the north side of the plain, a high, wind-swept rise. They moved unhurriedly, until Mayor McAdams happened to notice the wildly gesticulating rider moving out in front of the milling cavalry horses.
“That’s the colonel,” he observed, “and it looks to me like he’s signaling us.”
“Of course he’s signaling us,” frowned Werris. “We’re in his way, gentlemen. He wants us to move clear.”
“Hell,” scowled the sheriff. “He really is gonna attack.”
“I’d say he’s as ready as he’ll ever be,” drawled his deputy, “’cept us towners are ’tween him and the reservation.”
“Well, damn it all,” mumbled McAdams, “let’s not tarry. Let’s get across to that rise in a hurry.”
They heeled their mounts to speed. East of them, Stone cursed luridly, glowered at the apprehensive Lunt, and asserted, “Civilians are a damn nuisance! That confounded posse might have been caught in my charge!”
“For the last time,” panted Lunt, “don’t charge across the flats! I’m begging you, Colonel! You can’t see Little Cloud’s braves, but they’re there all right—staked out in the brush. You attack—and they’ll defend themselves!”
“I’ve listened to your arguments, Lunt,” muttered Stone, “and I see no reason for reconsidering my decision. Unless these red devils are punished for their treachery, this area will never be safe for the white man.” He nodded to the other officers, drew his saber and raised it. “Tell the bugler to sound the charge!”
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