by Jake Logan
Slocum turned, his face clouded with anger. He came within a hair of pushing her off the horse and let the devil take the hindmost. She and her brother played some game that he couldn’t figure out the rules to, and he wanted nothing more to do with them. Only his sense of honor and duty allowed her to remain on the horse. He had told her he’d see her safely to Fort Stockton. And he would.
He turned back and got the horse moving as quickly as it could go. Now and then he glanced over to the distant rider, but before Fort Stockton came into view, the rider disappeared.
“Good thing we’re there,” Beatrice said anxiously. “Looks like it’ll be a wet night again.”
Slocum grunted and said nothing. He fixed his eyes on the break in the low fence around the fort and rode straight for it. The sentry saw them coming a couple hundred yards away and had raised the alarm by the time they arrived.
“You’re expected,” Slocum said when he saw Captain Legrange rushing out to meet them—to greet Beatrice. He had no illusions that the post commander cared one whit about a man who couldn’t even deliver the mail without getting into trouble.
“Beatrice!” Legrange pushed past the guard, who stood at port arms. “Are you well?”
“Oh, yes, Captain, I am so glad to see you again!”
She kicked free of the horse and landed hard, running to the officer. She threw herself into his arms, and he spun her around. This was hardly the greeting the captain gave everyone who came to the post, but Slocum knew they had a special relationship.
Just as he and Beatrice had had the night before. The difference lay in the affection being mutual.
“Come along, my dear. I mean, Miz Sampson.” Legrange held out his arm. The woman took it.
“A moment, Captain.” Beatrice came back and stared up at Slocum. “Thank you for escorting me here, sir.”
Slocum touched the brim of his hat. She turned and returned to Legrange’s side.
Slocum thought the storm had arrived and a bolt of lightning had released its thunder. Then he realized Legrange stiffened and sagged into Beatrice’s arms. She wasn’t strong enough to support him. They both collapsed to the ground.
Whirling about in the saddle, Slocum saw the muzzle flash of a second shot and jerked to the side in the same instant, his hand working on its own to draw his Colt. The bullet tore past him as he fell off the horse and landed hard on the ground. When he hit, his six-shooter went off. Then Slocum’s fingers failed to hold on to the ebony butt. Stunned by the fall, he stared up into the cloudy sky and was hit in the face with a light sprinkle that quickly changed into a downpour. As if in a dream, he was aware of men dragging him along and then fighting back weakly.
He heard someone say, “He killed the captain. Throw him in the stockade!”
“Hell, no. Let’s string him up now!”
Still dazed, Slocum was pulled to his feet and shoved toward the post flagpole with a sturdy cross brace that would serve nicely as a gallows. For him.
16
Slocum felt his hands being fastened behind his back as he was shoved along. He crashed into the flagpole, shook his head clear, and looked up. A rope snaked upward and then came down on the other side to swing ominously. Soldiers stepped up to tie a noose as others held Slocum.
“What the hell’s going on?” The roar echoed across the parade ground, bouncing off buildings and seeming to grow in volume.
“You stay out of this, Sarge. This jasper jist kilt the captain!”
“Like hell!” Sergeant Wilson hobbled over, leaning heavily on a cane. When the private working to tie the noose didn’t stop, Wilson whacked him with the cane, driving him back. “Get away. Fall in, damn your eyes! Fall in!”
The soldiers’ strict training saved Slocum. The ranks might be ragged and the men grumbling, but they lined up in a semblance of standing at attention.
“What’s going on?”
Slocum turned so that he could support himself against the flagpole. The world had stopped spinning, and his eyes focused better now. He even noticed how his wrists hurt from being so savagely tied. Blood oozed out of his flesh and across his palms.
“I rode in with Beatrice Sampson and a sniper took a shot. Hit the captain.”
“His gun’s been fired, Sarge,” said the sentry, coming over with Slocum’s six-gun. He sniffed at the barrel, then handed it over to Wilson.
“That true, Slocum?”
“I hit the ground trying to avoid a second shot. Don’t remember firing, but might have.”
“A second shot?” Wilson had knocked out the cylinder and looked hard at the rounds. “You,” he said, pinning the sentry with a hard glare. “You said a second shot was fired?”
“Well, yeah, Sarge.”
“Only one’s been fired. You fire your rifle? You shoot the captain?”
“Never! I was jist standin’ and the lead was flyin’.”
“I heard three shots,” spoke up a soldier in formation.
“That squares with what Slocum said. A shot took down the captain, he drew and fell off his horse trying to avoid a second shot. His weapon discharged when he hit the ground.” Wilson walked up and down the ranks, leaning heavily on his cane as he glared at each man in turn. “You dimwits would have strung up an innocent man.”
“Sergeant, he—”
“Shut up!”
Even Slocum recoiled from the fury of the command. He had been a captain in the CSA and had seen his share of salty noncoms. None had ever singed his eyebrows the way Wilson’s two words did.
“We are troopers in the United States Army. We are here to protect the innocent. We are not here to violate the law. Stringing a man up without a fair trial will never happen long as I’m a sergeant in this man’s Army. Do I make myself clear?”
Slocum recovered and went to stand just behind Wilson.
“Who’s got a knife? Free him now. And who’s looking after the captain? Is he dead?” Wilson looked at the men, startled by the idea that their commander might still be alive. “You didn’t even see if he was dead?”
One man broke formation and ran off.
“You didn’t dismiss him,” Slocum said.
“Let him go. He’s the closest thing we got to a doctor right now.” Wilson braced himself and fumbled out a jackknife to saw through Slocum’s bonds.
Slocum rubbed his bloody wrists, then glanced at the half-tied noose swaying in the growing wind.
“You came by just in the nick of time.”
“No reason I should have had to do anything, but with these chuckle heads . . .” Wilson grunted.
“Sarge, he’s still alive. I need a couple men to carry him to the infirmary.” The corpsman worked to hold Beatrice back. She was covered with blood, but Slocum saw from the smears that it was Legrange’s, not hers.
Wilson gestured for the corpsman and three others to do what was necessary. He looked grim when he turned to Slocum and said, “Can’t hardly believe it, but that makes me in command of Fort Stockton.”
“None of the other officers are back?”
“Got word of another captain being killed. Nothing about either of the lieutenants, though neither had the sense God gave a goose. Wanted to send a wire to Fort Concho and let them know, but the captain, he said there wasn’t any need. Now there is. This is worse than when the Apaches were attacking ’round the clock.”
“And?” Slocum heard something more in the sergeant’s words.
“Storms have knocked down all the telegraph lines. I’ll have to send a courier so a new officer can assume command.”
“Until then, you’re in charge? Nothing like a brevet,” Slocum said.
“I ain’t a goddamn officer. I’m a sergeant, dammit!” Wilson stared hard at Slocum. “You were in the Army?”
“Not yours,” Slocum said
. “There’s no way you can draft me. Doubt many of your soldiers would take orders from a former Johnny Reb.”
Wilson spat.
“Damned right. I wouldn’t.” He heaved a sigh, grabbed at his garrison cap as the wind kicked up, and then said, “Let’s get out of the storm. Comes every evening, it seems.”
“At least there hasn’t been another tornado.”
“That one did enough trouble. None of my patrols have spotted the payroll from your stage either.”
“It’s out there,” Slocum said. He turned and looked into the increasingly stormy distance. “So’s the sniper that shot Legrange.”
“I can’t go after him, not with a gimpy leg and bein’ in charge. I’ll have to send . . .” Wilson looked around, softly groaned, then yelled, “Corporal Folkes! Get your cracker ass over here on the double!”
“Yeah, Sarge?”
“Find a couple men. You’re leading the patrol to find who shot the captain.”
Folkes looked at Slocum, chewed on his lip a second, and finally asked in a low voice, “He goin’ along?”
“I don’t want to,” Slocum said. “I have mail to deliver. Underwood is about ready to throw a conniption fit over none of the letters leaving the mail bags.”
“I could order you to scout for Folkes.”
Slocum locked eyes with the sergeant. A wry smile came to Wilson’s lips, and he shook his head sadly.
“Ordering you to do anything you don’t want is a fool’s errand, ain’t it, Slocum?”
“You might want to see to Mrs. Sampson. And I can’t say for sure, but I’d bet you five to one that her brother’s the one that shot the captain.”
“He got it in for Captain Legrange? Why?” Folkes asked.
“There’s some things I can’t figure out, and that’s one of them,” Slocum said. “The second shot was aimed at me. Might be, he doesn’t cotton much to any man sniffing around his sister.”
“That’s weird,” Folkes said.
“Don’t hurt yourself tryin’ to think too much. Get your patrol formed, Corporal. There’ll be plenty of time to consider who you’re after once you’re on his trail.”
The corporal left in a hurry. Slocum pulled up his collar against the cold rain beginning to fall. Wilson began hobbling toward a barracks set at the end of the row of officers’ quarters.
“Come on along. You can see my missus and talk to the girls. They’re fittin’ right in.”
Slocum and the sergeant walked in silence, reaching the front door just as heavier rain began hammering down hard. Every drop smashing into the roof sounded like a gunshot. Slocum stepped in and made a point of wiping his feet on a throw rug just inside the door.
“Sorry to track in mud, ma’am,” Slocum said, taking off his hat when a worn-looking woman came from the kitchen and wiped her hands on her apron, dribbling flour to mix with the rain on the floor. Slocum bent to mop it up with his bandanna.
“Don’t you bother none on that,” she said. “You’re Mr. Slocum? I recognize you from how he goes on about you.”
“Sergeant Wilson?”
“That’s post commandant to you, Slocum.” Wilson hung up his garrison cap and shook off some of the rain like a wet dog, sending water flying all over. This brought an immediate rebuke from his wife. “Sorry, dear.”
“The girls?” Slocum asked, looking past the woman to the kitchen. Audrey and Claudia pressed close together, whispering between themselves and looking up fearfully now and then. He smiled and then turned away.
“Doing as well as can be expected. But the captain refused to give us additional rations for them, so we’ve been splitting what we have and taking charity from others.”
“He’s been busy. Got too much to do to tend to minor requisition requests,” Wilson said.
Slocum didn’t believe it.
“I’ll see what I can do. I have an in with him.”
“With Legrange? Or his whore?” Wilson bit his lower lip as he said it, then looked guiltily at his wife. Whether she heard or chose to ignore the outburst hardly mattered since she didn’t respond.
“Does it matter as long as you get the proper rations for the girls?”
“It costs so much to raise a family,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I had forgotten how hard it could be.” Then she smiled. “I don’t mind. Are you staying for dinner, Mr. Slocum?”
“Got mail to deliver, ma’am,” he said. Relief flooded her features even as she politely argued about him staying. “Best be on the trail right away, in spite of the weather.”
Wilson held the door for him as he stepped out into the rain, then edged behind him and closed the door.
“The girls are a blessing, Slocum. Don’t go meddling. That’d only rile the captain.”
“Don’t worry,” Slocum said. “You’ll do just fine. That the infirmary?” He pointed across the parade ground.
“You shouldn’t go out in the storm. I’m thinking about recalling Folkes until it lets up. Weather has been a real bear this year. That twister, then all this rain.”
Slocum said his good-byes and ran across the sopping field, finally glad to reach the overhang just outside the infirmary door and the protection it afforded. He ducked inside and took in the scene in a glance. Legrange was sitting up in bed, his chest bandaged. Beatrice sat close at hand. The corpsman looked uneasy even being in the same room with them.
“He’ll be all right?” Slocum asked. The corpsman nodded and backed away even farther.
“Captain Legrange, you taking command of the post again?” Slocum asked.
“Again? I never relinquished it, sir!”
“While you were laid up, Sergeant Wilson took over. A good man. He deserves to be kept happy.”
“What’s this about?” Beatrice looked startled.
“He’s got two more mouths to feed, Captain. Why not call those two little girls his by adoption?”
“We’re short of rations as it is, sir,” Legrange said gruffly. “We must feed our troopers first, then their families. And those two girls are not his legally. You know that.”
“I know their ma and pa got killed, and the Wilsons are likely the only family they’ll know till they’re all growed up,” Slocum said.
“No.”
Slocum turned to Beatrice and said, “Might be Joshua killed their parents. He’s been a real terror all over these parts.” What he said was a patent lie because the girl’s ma and pa had been killed by the Terwilligers, but Slocum wasn’t above stretching the truth—a lot—to get help for the needy orphans. “You might try convincing the captain how it’s the right thing to do, feeding those girls from post supplies.”
“Joshua?” Beatrice put her hand to her mouth.
“I’ve got to go. Might be the patrol Sergeant Wilson ordered out will catch the sniper.”
Beatrice moved her hand just enough to mouth her brother’s name. Slocum couldn’t think of anyone more likely to have gunned down the captain and tried to put a slug in him. With that, he left. He heard the woman arguing with the officer about feeding little children. Slocum allowed himself a small smile as he stepped into the rain. If anyone could change Legrange’s mind, it had to be Beatrice. When she had started stepping out on her husband wasn’t much concern to Slocum, but he didn’t doubt that Beatrice had been seeing Legrange while Fred Sampson traveled about.
He frowned as he began to wonder if the stage robbery and the single shot that had killed Fred Sampson had been done by Joshua. Beatrice seemed sure it had been. For the first time, he was coming around to believing her suspicions had a kernel of truth to them.
Seeing Corporal Folkes and two soldiers riding out, slumped against the storm, made him hurry. He wanted to ride with them. Might be he could put them on the sniper’s—on Joshua’s—trail.
17
“Better think on keeping to the trail,” Slocum suggested. “The shots came from this direction, and he’s likely to ride straight away rather than circle the fort.”
“You in the war?” Folkes asked. “You got the sound of command whenever you say somethin’.”
Slocum wasn’t going into his time spent in the CSA. He had no good memories of combat, of the killing or the way he had almost died toward the end of the war. He certainly had no good memories of the war’s aftermath and carpetbaggers trying to steal his family’s farm.
“I’ve spent a fair amount of time tracking men.”
“Bounty hunter?”
Slocum looked hard at the corporal. He wasn’t inclined toward small talk, and he certainly never spoke of himself. Not to men like Folkes.
“Where’d a man take shelter against the rain?”
Folkes snorted and shook his head again, sending more water flying.
“There were a whole lot of places ’fore the twister hit. We sent out patrols and most haven’t come back, in spite of it bein’ more ’n a week since the countryside got all tore up. Me, I’d hightail it into town.”
“Not if you didn’t want to be seen—or found.” Slocum considered what Joshua might do in Gregory. The man knew his sister wasn’t there. It wasn’t likely anyone had seen him steal the horses from the livery stable, but would Joshua know that? Would he even care? Slocum was past trying to figure out how Joshua thought.
“You figger he tried to kill the captain or that whore of his?” Folkes looked sideways at Slocum, as if worrying he might get punched out for the question.
“Can’t say,” Slocum said. “Might have been me he was aiming at, and he missed and got Legrange instead.”
“A man like you’d have enemies,” Folkes allowed, “but enough to come out in foul weather like this?”