by Jake Logan
“Should have killed him,” Jesse complained. “You can do it later, when we get the rifles and all the rest inside.” He pounded his fist against the armory.
“Where are your men, Jesse?” Berglund called. “This all of them?”
“You know it is. We need to get the rifles out of there fast.”
“I ordered the men in the mess hall to finish eating. They won’t bother us.”
“Where’re the keys to these locks? You’d think you had gold stored inside.” Jesse rattled one lock. “Well? Open them.”
“These are all your men, aren’t they, Jesse?”
Slocum pressed himself against the back wall and faded into the shadows. He heard in Berglund’s voice what Jesse James didn’t.
“We got to hurry, dammit. The sooner we replace the guards with our men and have the cannon ready, your colonel can come back anytime he wants.”
“No telling when Colonel Loebe will be back. Now, men, now!”
A ragged volley sounded and half of Jesse’s gang died. Slocum dropped the rifle and started for the far side of the armory. His retreat was cut off by a soldier holding his rifle at port arms. Slocum froze. Movement would draw unwanted attention.
“What’s going on, Berglund?” Jesse was outraged. “Why did you shoot my men? Put down your pistol!”
“You don’t understand, do you? You whipped up a fine plan to set up your own country. I’ve been thinking on it and can’t figure out one thing.”
“What?” Jesse James was beginning to understand what had happened.
“Why do I need you? Why can’t I be the one raking in the gold and ruling over an entire country? Fort Union controls the Santa Fe Trail, and as of right now, I’m in command of the fort!”
There was a meaty thud, and Jesse’s outraged reply was cut off. Slocum pressed harder against the wall, hoping the shadow would cloak him from the soldier.
It didn’t.
The bluecoat half turned, then took a couple steps toward Slocum, lowering his rifle as he prepared to shoot.
18
Slocum held his breath as the guard cautiously advanced. Then the soldier stopped, craned his neck around, and peered up at the armory roof before stepping out a few paces and aiming his rifle aloft.
“Get down or I’ll shoot!” The soldier pulled back the hammer on his carbine. Slocum knew this was the only time he was likely to have a chance to get rid of the soldier and make a break for freedom. He remained stock-still, staring at his potential adversary. From above Slocum heard scraping on the roof.
“Halt! I’ll fire!”
Then the soldier loosed a round that nicked the corner of the roof and brought down one of Jesse’s gang, flailing and fluttering as if he was a bird with a broken wing. He crashed to the ground with a thud and a whoosh as air rushed from his lungs. Slocum finally caught a little luck. The outlaw had fallen away from where he stood, so the soldier pivoted, his back to Slocum, and aimed his rifle at his prisoner.
Again, Slocum could have acted. A quick swing of his pistol and he could connect with the back of the soldier’s head. And again he remained frozen in shadows, heart hammering as the soldier poked the man on the ground.
“Get up. You ain’t hurt. I missed you by a country mile.”
The outlaw moaned and struggled to get his wind back. The soldier poked him again and this brought some life to the fallen man. He stumbled to his feet, still gasping for air, and let the soldier march him away from Slocum.
“Lookee what I got,” the soldier called. Slocum saw two more soldiers come to the far end of the armory but they only had eyes for their prisoner, taking his six-shooter and shoving him back toward the parade ground. Slocum edged along the back of the armory and cautiously peered around the side. The three soldiers had more than a half-dozen men in their sights. Neither Simon Berglund nor Jesse James was anywhere to be seen.
Dropping to his belly, Slocum wiggled along the foundations until he had a clear look around the building to where Berglund held Jesse pinned against the wall with a bayonet shoved hard against his belly. For an instant he thought the sergeant had impaled Jesse, then he settled down when he saw the outlaw leader was still alive.
Alive and furious.
“You can’t do this, Berglund. You can’t switch sides!” Jesse cried.
“Not switching sides,” Berglund said. “That’d mean I was sticking with being a soldier. You promised me gold and delivered a dollop or two, but you weren’t in this for the gold. You wanted to rule over your own country.”
“I want to get a new Confederacy started,” Jesse said. “This time we’ll stop ’em cold.”
“No, you won’t. You wanted power. With the power could come all the money you could spend. Why should I get your pickings? I want what you were after. I’m going to be the ruler of this here new country.”
“I’ve got backers in Washington,” Jesse said.
“Others in the Knights of the Golden Circle,” Berglund said, nodding. “Does it matter two hoots and a holler to them who’s out here? I don’t think so. I agree to go along with them, they’ll back me just like they was backin’ you.” Berglund laughed and it was harsh and ugly. “I can have it all, Jesse. Turn in a notorious outlaw for the reward. What are you worth? Five hundred dollars?”
“More,” Jesse said angrily. “You might kill me but my brother’ll get you, Berglund. And if Frank doesn’t, my cousins will. Your cousin will. Dennison is my man, mine! He knows which side of the bread his butter’s on!”
“I have an entire army post at my command. Letting the soldiers know they have a new commander is going to be fun. I was a major before they busted me. I’ll be a colonel this time. A general. And then a president!” Berglund laughed nastily. “And Charlie? He’s going with whoever has the power. He wouldn’t risk his precious neck to save you, not if it means he can still get whatever you promised him. I’ll let him have it, Jesse. I’ll give it all to him. Which of us do you think he’ll back? You or a blood relative? Me!”
Jesse fell silent. Slocum knew what was going through the outlaw’s head about now. He had plotted and planned, stolen and hoarded the gold to become undisputed ruler of a new country sliced from the edges of the hated U.S.A. Everything had gone well and he had seized not only a small town but Las Vegas and probably Santa Fe by now. He hadn’t counted on a man with even more ambition and less honor coveting what he forged in the name of the Knights of the Golden Circle.
“Bugler, blow assembly!” Simon Berglund stepped back but kept the bayonet point pressed hard into Jesse’s belly. The troops rushed out and formed ranks on the parade ground. Slocum lay still as some soldiers ran past him in the gathering darkness. They were too intent on what was happening, why their sergeant assembled them in the dark, a hundred other questions, and never spotted Slocum. He considered a single shot to take out Berglund, but Slocum couldn’t see how that helped him get the hell off the post alive.
Berglund motioned for three privates behind him to guard Jesse while he strutted into the parade ground, as if he were the commander-in-chief and these were his personal guards. Slocum snorted at the idea that Berglund wasn’t too far wrong.
“We have a great opportunity, men,” Berglund bellowed. “These outlaws have killed our officers, leaving me the highest-ranking soldier at Fort Union. I am assuming command.”
“Where’s the colonel?” a soldier at the rear of the company called out.
“He is out fighting Comanches and won’t return for some time.”
Slocum heard the change in Berglund’s tone and knew then that he wasn’t going to offer these men what Jesse had offered his in return for their support. Too many of these soldiers were battle-hardened veterans of the war and loyal Federalists. Berglund would find himself a small number of soldiers willing to risk everything in a revolt. The rest would go along as dupes. Slocum knew full well how a post commander controlled the flow of news. Gossip abounded but a good officer used it to his own advantage.
&
nbsp; Berglund would keep what was happening outside the fort a secret as he consolidated his power. At first it would be easy enough using the troops against Frank James and those still controlling Las Vegas. After he eliminated his rivals, Berglund had to recruit more of the soldiers to his side. But if he did so, he could spread his influence throughout northern New Mexico and finish the conquest Jesse had begun.
Jesse James’s plan had been good. Control the railroad and prevent immediate troop movement. By the time cavalry was brought in on horseback from nearby forts, he would have complete control of the civilian population and be able to repulse a counterattack. With his allies in Washington and possibly in the War Department, Jesse could have made it work.
Berglund had to find out who those men in power were and ally himself. But if he kept control of Fort Union, he held an ace in the hole. Since Jesse had intended for Berglund to be the one at the head of the Army unit turned against the U.S.A., this was simple enough. Jesse just hadn’t considered power meant more to a former officer than gold. Old habits of command died a slow death in any officer reduced in rank to noncom.
“We will lock up this fort as tight as a drum. We will zealously guard the prisoners we have taken. And then at first light, we will form an attack force and drive out the outlaws still controlling Las Vegas and place the town under martial law.”
A cheer went up, though many of the gathered soldiers weren’t sure what they cheered. Berglund dismissed them and came back to where Jesse was closely guarded.
“You heard that, didn’t you?” Berglund asked. “I’ll rout your brother and the rest of the gang, find those you have installed as your civilian puppets, and then proceed to cast my net even wider.”
“The colonel is still in the field. How are you going to explain all this to him when he returns?”
“He might be killed by the Comanche. They are far better fighters than the men with him. If he isn’t killed, I’ll find a way to deal with him when he returns. He won’t expect a squad of his own men to approach and cut him down, after all. I don’t foresee trouble there. What I want from you is the location of your gold. All of it, not just the picayune amount you pledged to Charlie.”
“Burn in hell,” Jesse said, venom dripping from every word.
“I am sure that I will, but you will be there before me. I’m not going to argue or wheedle. Tell me.” Berglund waited and got no response. “Very well. I need to know your preference.”
“What are you talking about?” Jesse tried to grab Berglund but the guards forced him back against the armory wall.
“It is quite simple. Do you want to be hanged at dawn or face a firing squad?”
Slocum couldn’t hear what Jesse said, but it brought a short, barking laugh to Berglund’s lips.
“Get him to the stockade, him and his other men. Keep a close guard on them or you’ll be the ones standing in front of a firing squad alongside them.”
Berglund did a smart about-face, then marched toward the commander’s office. Slocum pressed himself flat into the ground as Berglund passed him. He could have reached out and tripped the sergeant, but Slocum needed to see how well disciplined the soldiers were. The detail marching Jesse and the remaining members of his gang back to the cells looked precise and were performing their duty with military precision.
On the main gate he saw four soldiers begin walking their posts. Escaping that way wasn’t in the cards. There had to be another gate from the fort since it was so large and acted as a supply center. Slocum knew he could find it and slip through, but he wanted his horse under him when he did.
Before that, he had some scouting to do. Berglund wouldn’t miss him among the prisoners being locked up since he hadn’t identified him when they had been rounded up in Las Vegas for the mock arrest intended to lull the soldiers not going along with the plan into believing all was well. Moving from building to building, Slocum kept under cover until he came to the now deserted mess hall. The smell of food was more than he could resist.
Dangerous as it was, he stepped inside, took a tin plate, and slopped out some of the stew. He added a hunk of hard-tack to sop up the gravy, found himself a spoon, and started to go find a hiding place outside to eat when a sharp command froze him in his tracks.
“Where you goin’? You know you ain’t supposed to eat outside the mess hall.”
“Taking it to Sergeant Berglund,” Slocum said.
“Let the annoying little son of a bitch get his own food.”
“He’s in command of the whole damned post. Watch your tongue, Cookie.”
“Don’t call me that, you flat-footed cracker ass.”
“You want me to tell him to fetch his own food?” Slocum still didn’t turn.
“You ain’t in uniform.”
“That’s because I’m a scout. The colonel didn’t take all of us when he decided to go after that Comanche war party.”
“Get the hell out of my mess hall. And bring back that plate all clean and shiny. I ain’t washin’ it for the likes of you or Sergeant Berglund.”
Slocum stepped outside and let the rapidly cooling air soothe him. He had kept from having to kill the mess sergeant. The fewer bodies he left behind, the less likely he was to be found until he could figure out what had to be done.
He sank down behind the commanding officer’s office, his back to the wall, and ate slowly. The stew tasted terrible, the meat was tough and needed salt. He sopped up all the gravy with the hard biscuit and then licked the plate clean. It was the first food he’d had in since he couldn’t remember when. Belly full and no longer grumbling, he leaned back and closed his eyes, thinking on what was necessary. The jumble slowly straightened itself out and he didn’t much like his conclusions.
For two cents he ought to let Jesse swing in the morning, but he needed the outlaw and the few of his remaining gang to get off the post. From everything he had seen, Berglund ran a well-disciplined force. The men might not like him but there was no reason for them to. The ones who would remain loyal to their rightful superiors weren’t going to put up any kind of a fight—not yet. They might when they realized Berglund’s real plans for them and for the territory they were ordered to defend. By then, it would be too late for Slocum to do more than join Jesse James in a shallow grave out behind the fort walls.
He pushed to his feet and studied the blank wall. He pressed his ear against the wood but heard nothing inside. Prying loose some of the mud used to chink up the holes between planks, he got a look into the office. Twisting around, he thought he saw most of the room. Empty. On the desk were spread maps and to one side a tin cup sent tiny curls of steam into the air. Berglund had been drinking coffee only a few minutes ago while he studied the maps.
Slocum found he had a real yen to study those maps, too.
He made his way along the back wall of several offices pressed together, took a quick peek around, and saw no one. Quick steps brought him to the boardwalk in front of the office doors. Out on the parade ground he saw Berglund waving his arms around and yelling about faulty protection on the fort walls. If Slocum was going to get into the office, he had to move fast.
His boots clacked and creaked on the old wood flooring as he stepped over the bloodstained section and hurried to get a look at the map spread across the desk. At first he couldn’t make heads or tails of it, then he found a few landmarks and saw that Berglund had marked the cave where Jesse had placed the Knights of the Golden Circle symbols. Two other spots carried X’s and then there were tiny dots showing supply lines and a large circle to the southeast, toward the Texas Panhandle. The dates inscribed in the circle told that this had to be the colonel’s destination and times of patrol.
He looked up when he heard Berglund returning. Slocum’s hand flew to his six-shooter and then he realized he was out of luck. Two soldiers came with Berglund, and from what he overheard, they were in cahoots with the sergeant, ready to carve out governorships for themselves in the new country.
He spun, pressed
himself flat against the wall behind the door, and waited. The footsteps halted just outside. Slocum chanced a look between the door and the frame as Berglund stood with his hand on the latch, turned toward the men. Slocum started to poke his pistol through and get a shot off at Berglund when the man cursed, then pulled the door shut, and walked off.
Slocum opened the door a fraction and saw the sergeant with the two soldiers heading toward the main gate. Some problem had arisen that the new post commander needed to examine personally.
Trying to stay in shadows, Slocum left the office and hurried back toward the armory, making his way around the perimeter of the fort to reach the stockade. Berglund had ordered extra guards posted and he had gotten them. The men, usually standing solitary watch, stood in pairs. To get through the four men outside the stockade would require some mighty fancy shooting—and that would alert the rest of the post immediately.
A quick look through a slit window showed him two more soldiers stationed inside. Even if he had the best luck in the world, he couldn’t hope to take out six soldiers with one shot each, get the cell doors open, and escape before every rifle in the fort was pointed at him.
Slocum went directly to the stable and got his horse as well as Jesse’s and four others. He led them out onto the parade ground, bold as brass. If he had tried to sneak around, he would have been noticed. As it was, he was just another soldier hot-walking horses. He took a circuitous route and finally tethered the horses behind the stockade, hoping they didn’t make too much noise and draw the attention of the guards.
He had one last stop to make. He went to the mess hall and found the buckets of grease outside the back door. He kicked them over, spattering the grease all over the wooden walls. Wishing he had more but knowing he didn’t have time to hunt, Slocum took out a lucifer, lit it, and tossed it into the grease. The match sputtered fitfully, then found the grease and wood worth devouring. As the flames began licking up the back wall of the mess hall, he lit out running. He barely reached the stockade by the time the flames jumped higher than the mess hall roof and others took notice.