Straw Men

by J. R. Roberts

  “You don’t have to guide me. Simple directions to Fort Winstead would suffice. I could even get those from someone else.”

  “I wasn’t gonna leave. I swear!”

  Clint nodded and turned to walk away. “Come or go as you please. If you’re here in the morning, we can ride together. If not, have a safe trip.”

  As he walked away, Clint heard an aggravated sigh. He left the livery and walked to the hotel where he’d walked in on Abigail’s bath. Even before he approached the front desk, he was being greeted by a prim old lady with a high-collared dress who was now working there.

  “Hello, there,” she said. Suddenly, her face soured as she glared at Clint through thick spectacles. “Oh. It’s you again.”

  “Have we met?” Clint asked in a friendly tone.

  “I meant to bring some more bath salts to the woman upstairs after you went up. I knocked, but you seemed to be…busy in there.”

  Clint shrugged, but he wasn’t about to blush. “Oh, well, did that woman check out already?”

  “I had her removed,” the old lady snapped. “I will not tolerate such lewd behavior in my hotel. And if you see that…woman, tell her she still owes me for the water damage done to my throw rug.”

  While Clint might not be the sort to blush, he did give a little wince when he realized the woman was deadly serious about some rugs getting wet due to some creatively splashed water. Removing some money from his pocket, he slapped it on the desk and asked, “Will that cover the damages?”

  Obviously flustered, the old woman said, “Yes, I suppose, but—”

  “That’s settled, then,” Clint interrupted. “You have a good evening, ma’am.”

  The old woman sputtered a few words and then tried to toss out a few halfhearted thank-yous, but Clint didn’t bother looking back as he headed for the door. In fact, after he heard the disgust in the old woman’s tone when she’d referred to Abigail, Clint wished a bit more damage had been done to the coot’s precious room.

  When he got back to the livery, Clint snuck in and found Abigail in the stall with her horse, situating a bedroll in a pile of hay in one corner. “Come on,” he said while she was still trying to cover up her blanket. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Where to?” she asked.

  “To the most expensive hotel I can find.”

  NINE

  Clint and Abigail woke up fairly early, wrapped in silk sheets. The hotel was actually one town over, but it had been a short ride and was worth every step. They had some sort of fancy omelets for breakfast and washed it down with some ridiculously expensive coffee. Even after taking their time in getting ready, they were in the saddle ahead of schedule. It helped that both of them already had everything stuffed into saddlebags and ready to go.

  “You really shouldn’t have done all that,” Abigail said later that afternoon.

  “You mean the breakfast?”

  “The breakfast, the hotel, all of it. I would’ve been fine where I was.”

  “Sure,” Clint replied, “but it wouldn’t have been as fun.”

  She smirked and said, “No, but still…”

  “Enough,” Clint cut in. “Most of that was winnings from the game. I plan on squeezing more than enough from Colonel Farelli to make up for it anyway.”

  Abigail held her reins easily and glanced over at Clint as she swayed along with every one of her horse’s movements. The way she rode made it seem as if she were more comfortable in the saddle than anywhere else. “I haven’t known you for long and I already know that’s a load of dung.”

  “Maybe. Does it matter?”

  “After sleeping in them sheets and eating that breakfast, it don’t matter one bit.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  They shared a couple seconds of laughter before Abigail snapped her head around to look in the opposite direction. She stared into the distance with more than enough conviction to put Clint on his guard.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  But Abigail swung her hand at him in a motion that quickly shut him up. Soon she eased up a bit and then pointed in the same direction she’d been watching. “Someone’s coming from that way,” she hissed.

  “Are you sure? I didn’t—” And then Clint heard it.

  The sound was faint and he might have missed it if Abigail hadn’t already alerted him, but Clint could most definitely hear hooves pounding against the packed earth from that direction. “Could be anyone,” Clint pointed out.

  Before Abigail said a word, a gunshot crackled through the air. It wasn’t a shot fired at them. The shot wasn’t even close enough for Clint to be threatened by it. But since there were several more shots that followed it, someone not too far away was very threatened indeed.

  Clint and Abigail looked at each other for a moment before both of them snapped their reins. Abigail’s mustang got moving first, but Eclipse was hot on its heels.

  They were headed up a gradual rocky slope that rose easily toward a jagged edge. As Clint got closer to the edge, he could tell it dropped off steeply on the other side to look down upon an open stretch of sand-covered ground. Gunshots were still being fired and seconds before Clint was close enough to look all the way down to what was happening below, shouts could also be heard.

  Clint pulled back hard on his reins to bring Eclipse to a skidding halt at the edge of the rocks. Abigail was right beside him and leaned so far forward in her saddle that it seemed as if she might fall out. “Aw hell,” she said. “Looks like another Injun attack.”

  The scene below was a chaotic mess of several horse men weaving among one another, firing their weapons and shouting. Although it was hard to tell who was fighting who, Clint had no trouble picking out the wagon stuck in the middle of it all. One of the two horses in the wagon’s team had been killed and was crumpled awkwardly in its rig, while the second horse struggled to keep its footing with all those shots being fired back and forth.

  “I can barely tell what’s going on down there,” Clint replied. “But it sure doesn’t look good.”

  “There’s one way to find out!” With that, Abigail pointed her mustang toward a slope that would take her down to the storm that was raging beneath them.

  Clint didn’t like the idea of charging into a fight without knowing what it was about, but he also didn’t know a way to keep Abigail from doing that very thing. “Damn,” he grunted as he pointed Eclipse in the direction Abigail had gone and snapped the reins.

  TEN

  Eclipse’s hooves pounded against a surface that became rockier with every step. Loose gravel covered the path in spots, but Abigail’s mustang did a nice job of clearing it away seconds before Clint came along. The path leading down to the wagon was narrow enough to require all of Clint’s attention to keep from falling off. Once the path leveled out, Clint steered around toward the wagon to find himself immediately thrown into the fray.

  There were at least half a dozen men on horse back circling the wagon while tangling with one another. One of those men caught sight of Clint and Abigail, pointed in their direction, and shouted, “They got reinforcements!”

  “Kill ’em with the rest!” another of the horse men replied.

  Gritting his teeth, Clint drew his Colt and tried to think of any possible way to make things better rather than worse. In the space of a few seconds, he soaked up as much of the scene in front of him as he could. As far as he could tell, the two riders who’d shouted to each other were dressed in similar jackets that were dirty enough to conceal their color and design. Clint was just quick enough to spot a saber hanging from the belt of one rider before the man circled around the wagon.

  The riders that weren’t wearing jackets were Indians. They had fire in their eyes and war paint on their faces, but were making less noise than the men they fought. In fact, those quiet Indians set about their task more methodically than all of the white men combined.

  In the second or two Clint had taken to gather this information, Abigail had charged
in with her gun blazing. She fired at the closest Indian she could find and sent a round hissing through the air over her target’s head. The Indian turned in his saddle and aimed a rifle at her that was decorated with feathers and knotted leather. The rifle barked once and spat a round that clipped off a few of the fringes from Abigail’s jacket.

  Clint took a big risk by digging his heels into Eclipse’s sides and charging in front of Abigail. That put him between her and her intended target before she could fire. He prayed that she was thinking clearly enough to keep from pulling her trigger. Rather than keep a closer eye on her, Clint set his sights on the Indian that had fired at her and then pulled his trigger. The Colt bucked against Clint’s palm and delivered a bullet that sparked against the Indian’s rifle.

  The moment the Indian knew his rifle was damaged, he pulled his reins and steered away from Clint and Abigail. There were at least three more Indians to carry on without him.

  “Hold your fire!” Clint shouted to Abigail.

  She looked at him as if she was about to fire through him rather than around him. “Why?”

  “Just follow my lead!”

  She didn’t look happy about it, but it seemed Abigail would do what Clint asked.

  Without staying still long enough to explain himself, Clint rode toward the wagon and fired another round at two Indians who were riding side by side and coming around to approach the wagon from a better angle. Clint fired two rounds in quick succession that didn’t draw any blood, but came close enough to break the Indians apart before they could do much of anything. Clint fired another shot that knocked the hat from one of the other riders’ heads before he could put a bullet into a retreating Indian’s back.

  “Who the hell are you, mister?” the closest rider in the jacket asked. “Can’t you see there’s a fight goin’ on?”

  “Behind you!” Clint shouted.

  Even though there wasn’t any immediate danger behind the rider, Clint’s warning got the man to duck as Clint fired a round over him. That bullet whipped through the air and sparked against a rock a few feet away from another one of the Indians. The Indian reacted by steering his horse away from the rock and thundering toward the others that were gathering several yards ahead of the wagon.

  The man in the jacket who had been approaching Clint straightened up and took a quick look over his shoulder. “Whoever you are, I appreciate the help.”

  “What’s going on here?” Clint asked.

  “Damn Injuns attacked this wagon, just like they’ve been attacking anything else they can find.”

  A shotgun blast drew everyone’s attention back to the wagon. The man who’d fired it was standing up in the driver’s seat and waving frantically. “They’re gonna make another run at us!” the shotgunner hollered.

  “Let’s beat them to the punch!” Abigail suggested. Without waiting for word from any of the men, she snapped her reins and led the charge.

  The rider who’d been speaking to Clint looked over to notice one of his men slumped in his saddle and struggling to reload his pistol. That left only one other of his riders to contend with the attackers. Looking to Clint, he cursed under his breath and bolted to catch up with Abigail. His remaining partner quickly fell into step alongside him.

  Clint steered Eclipse into the middle of the group that consisted of Abigail and the other two riders. As they raced past the wagon, Clint could see the shotgunner and the driver were both armed and firing at the Indians. Clint couldn’t do much about those two, but neither man on the wagon seemed to be hitting much of anything anyway.

  The first thing Clint noticed once he, Abigail, and the other two men were riding together was that they were the only ones doing any shooting. Ahead, the Indians seemed to be gathering together and waiting for the other men to make their move. They wouldn’t have to wait long, since Abigail and the other riders were stampeding toward the Indians with their guns blazing.

  Clint kept pace with the others and picked his next targets. Having reloaded his Colt, Clint took careful aim and sent a trio of shots over the Indians’ heads. While he made sure none of them were killing shots, one or two of those bullets may have scraped some skin as they went by. He knew they needed to be close if they were to get those Indians to back down.

  Two of the Indians flattened their bodies against their horses in response to Clint’s shots. Another veered away from the group, and a fourth was twisted around in his saddle as bullets from the others caught him in the chest and stomach. More blood sprayed into the air as another round burned a tunnel through the lead Indian’s shoulder. Even though the wound was big enough for Clint to see, the Indian barely even flinched as he sighted down his rifle barrel and returned fire.

  One of the riders next to Clint let out a pained groan and fell from his saddle. Clint looked down to see where the man landed and when he looked up again, he saw the remaining Indians turn away from the wagon and race for the surrounding rocks.

  “After them!” the lead rider shouted.

  Clint pulled back on his reins and said, “You’ve got a wounded man! Looks like there’s two of them!”

  Abigail fired at the Indians, but they were already beyond the range of her pistol. Once she saw the rider that had dropped to the ground, she noticed Clint was slowing down to tend to him. Abigail followed Clint’s lead and pulled back on her reins.

  The lead rider glanced at the wounded man as well. When he looked back again, he saw the Indians had already built up a head of steam and were practically flying away. In the space of another couple of seconds, the Indians were long gone. “Dammit,” he snarled as he gripped his pistol in a hand that trembled with rage. “Dammit all to hell!”

  ELEVEN

  Clint and Abigail stuck close together and apart from the other men who were gathered around the wagon. As much as he’d wanted to dismount and see what he could do to help, Clint was only waved back by the lead rider and warned to stay put.

  “Think we could just get out of here?” Abigail asked.

  Clint nodded slowly and replied, “Perhaps, but then we wouldn’t know what this was all about.”

  “It’s all over.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” As he spoke, Clint fixed his eyes upon the man who was stomping over to him.

  The lead rider had enough fire in his eyes to make it look as if he was ready to pull Clint down from Eclipse’s back. “You’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do, mister! I’ve got one man dead and another wounded.”

  “And your casualties would have been a whole lot worse if we hadn’t come around!” Abigail snapped.

  The rider glared at Abigail for a moment before shifting his eyes to Clint.

  “She’s got a point,” Clint said with a shrug.

  Letting out a frustrated grunt, the man asked, “Who the hell are you two, anyway?”

  “I’m Clint Adams and this is Abigail.”

  Once the man turned his back to Clint and walked over to the rider who’d been recently wounded, Clint climbed down from his saddle and motioned for Abigail to follow him. The other two riders helped the third from his saddle, which was a job that went a lot quicker once Clint rushed forward to help.

  “What brought all of this on?” Clint asked as he helped lower the wounded man to the ground.

  The lead rider straightened his back and dusted himself off. It only took a few slaps on his shoulders to reveal the Army insignias stitched into his jacket. Now that he was closer to the men, Clint could see similar emblems embroidered onto all of the other men’s jackets. The driver and shotgunner tending to the dead horse hitched to the wagon appeared to be civilians.

  “What did it look like?” the lead rider asked. “It was an Indian attack.”

  “So this is an Army shipment?” Clint asked.

  The man looked toward the wagon and took another deep breath. It seemed as if an entire day’s worth of fatigue settled onto him at that very instant. “Nothing official, but with all the trouble that’s bee
n brewing, we’ve tried to escort as many such wagons as possible. Your help’s appreciated, Mister Adams. Both of you did a fine job.”

  “Good to know we won’t be hauled off to a stockade,” Clint said.

  Putting on a tired smile, the man extended his hand. “The name’s Sergeant Davis. If anyone tries to toss either of you into a stockade, you tell them I’ll personally have them drawn and quartered.”

  Clint shook Davis’s hand. “Are you stationed out of Fort Winstead?”

  “Sometimes. We’re part of a special unit that goes where it’s needed.”

  “Just the three of you?”

  “There were twelve of us at the start,” Davis replied. “It was down to four after a hell of a dustup in the mountains, and now we’re down to three.”

  Following Davis’s line of sight, Clint spotted a horse and rider lying in the dirt several paces from the wagon. Both of them were riddled with enough arrows to attach the man to his horse. “Sorry to hear that, Sergeant,” Clint said. “Looks like one of those Indians was killed as well.”

  Davis looked at another body that was stretched out and facedown on the ground. Long, black hair was slick with blood and several bullet wounds were scattered along the Indian’s body. “We got one and wounded another,” Davis said. “Still doesn’t seem like an even trade.”

  “What were they after?” Abigail asked. “Something that wagon’s carrying?”

  “Who the hell knows?” Davis replied. “As soon as we spotted them, they let their arrows fly and killed Aberman on the spot. When they came down to finish us off, we put up more fight than they were probably expecting, and then you two showed up.”

  “He’s hurt bad, sir,” the young rider who was attending to the wounded man said. By the looks of him, he must have been in his teens when he’d first put on his uniform. Although this obviously wasn’t his first fight, he looked more like a boy than a soldier.