Devil's Kin

by Charles G. West

  “Fine, thank you, sir,” Kathleen returned sweetly. She had known Paul McGarity since she was a young girl and he and her father were stationed at Fort Lincoln in Dakota Territory. She had regarded him as an uncle, since he and her father were close friends. In fact, knowing that Paul McGarity was posted at Fort Laramie was the only bright aspect in her father’s recent transfer to Fort Laramie. As for Kathleen, the orders that reassigned her father to the Ninth Infantry at the busy post meant having to say goodbye to friends she had made in Fort Gibson. But having been raised in the army, she was accustomed to periodically being uprooted from one place after another.

  “Are your quarters satisfactory?” Paul inquired.

  “Yes, quite,” Beard replied. “Kathleen and I were on our way to the commissary to pick up a few things, so we thought we’d just stick our heads in to say hello.”

  While the two old friends talked, Kathleen walked over to the window and gazed out across the parade ground—partly out of boredom and partly to escape the openmouth gawking of the corporal. The post was busy at this hour with morning fatigue duties. She watched as a file of soldiers marched by on their way to a cultivated area north of the compound, shovels and hoes over their shoulders instead of rifles. She followed them with her gaze until her eye caught a solitary man at the corner of the parade ground. Riding a scruffy-looking horse and leading another, he passed the end of the infantry barracks and pulled up before the garden detail. Apparently asking for directions, the rider turned his head to follow the direction pointed out to him. Then he pulled his horse aside while the detail filed by. There was something about the man that held her gaze, and she moved closer to the window trying to get a better look. Then it struck her. “Jordan Gray,” she announced, unaware that she had blurted it loud enough to interrupt the two officers’ conversation.

  Not sure he had heard her correctly, her father asked, “What is it, dear?”

  “That man,” she answered without turning from the window. “That man on the horse, it’s Jordan Gray.”

  “Who?” Beard asked, failing to recall his onetime patient immediately. His curiosity aroused, he stepped to the window to have a look for himself. Jordan Gray—the name was familiar, but he didn’t place it at once. Then it came to him. “Oh, Jordan Gray, the young man who got shot in the hotel at Fort Gibson.” He squinted his eyes in an effort to see more clearly. “It could be, I suppose,” he decided.

  “It’s him,” Kathleen stated without hesitation. There was a slight quickening of her heartbeat as she recalled the last time she had seen him. She had excused the emptiness his departure had left inside her by telling herself it was merely a natural feeling of compassion for a wounded patient. Seeing him now, she had to admit that it had been more than that. She was resigned to the fact that it would remain a secret within her heart, for she had never expected to see the young man again. Jordan Gray was a lost cause at any rate, possessed by a vow of vengeance that left him immune to all other emotions.

  Kathleen was not the only person intrigued by the mention of his name. Jordan Gray—the name sparked curiosity in Paul McGarity’s mind as well. He wondered why the name sounded familiar; he didn’t recall knowing anyone by that name. And then it struck him. He had not heard the name; he had read it. Feeling certain that was the case, he went immediately to his desk and picked up a small stack of bulletins received during the last month. He shuffled through them until finding a notice that warranted one, Jordan Gray, in connection with a bank robbery and murder in Fort Smith, Arkansas. Without a word, he returned to the outer office and handed the bulletin to the surgeon.

  “Well, my God,” Beard gasped, upon seeing the notice, “he sure didn’t strike me as being of the sort to do this kind of thing.”

  Alarmed, Kathleen didn’t wait for her father to offer her the bulletin. She took it from his hand and read it. Turning to McGarity, she insisted, “This is all wrong, Uncle Paul,” unconsciously lapsing back to her childhood name for him. “Jordan had nothing to do with this. The men who did this were the same men who shot him.”

  McGarity glanced at Beard, looking for any collaboration of Kathleen’s claims. The doctor shrugged, having no notion if the accusations were true or false. “If that’s the man on this bulletin, I’ve got to take him into custody,” McGarity said.

  Beard gave his daughter an apologetic glance, then shrugged again as he turned back to his friend. “I don’t see that you have much choice,” he said.

  “No, Papa,” Kathleen pleaded. “It’s a mistake. I tell you he didn’t do it!”

  But it was plain to see that her bias was not sufficient to detain the post adjutant from doing his duty. “I’m sorry, Kathleen, but I have to take him into custody. The courts will have to decide whether he’s guilty or innocent.”

  * * *

  For an army post, there were a great number of civilians with business in the various buildings that sprawled around the parade ground. This was the thought passing through Jordan’s mind as he made his way across the open expanse of the parade ground toward the building pointed out to him. Walking Sweet Pea slowly, he carefully took note of each man he saw who was not wearing a uniform, searching for the face still branded upon his memory. When he reached the post trader’s building, he dismounted and took another look around him before looping Sweet Pea’s reins over the rail and entering the store.

  Alton Broom was busy filling a cloth sack with cornmeal from a huge barrel in the back of the store when he heard Jordan come in. Accustomed to seeing many strangers come in and out of the sutler’s store, he found nothing particularly unusual about this one. “Be with you in a minute, friend,” he said as he tied off the string. When he finished, he pulled the sack over to rest against several others, then came to the counter. Smiling cordially, he said, “Don’t believe I’ve seen you in here before.”

  “Never been here before,” Jordan answered matter-of-factly.

  “That might explain it,” Alton shot back with a grin. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m gonna be needin’ some things, but, first, I’m lookin’ for somebody.” He described Leach as best he could. “He shoulda rode in sometime in the last day or two. I figure he woulda come in here for supplies right away.”

  Alton scratched his head, trying to recall. “Last couple of days I don’t recollect no faces I ain’t seen before.” Then he remembered. “One of the soldiers come in here earlier for some tobacco, said some feller rode in last night lookin’ plumb wore-out, askin’ about a place to sleep. I was already closed. Might be the feller you’re lookin’ for.”

  “Might be at that,” Jordan replied. “Did he say where the fellow went?”

  “Della’s,” Alton said. “You know where that is?” Jordan shook his head, so Alton told him how to find the boardinghouse. “You’ll know it by the white gate posts out front. There ain’t no fence around the place, just two white posts by the path.”

  “Much obliged,” Jordan said, preparing to leave. “I’ll be back later to buy what I need.”

  Leaving the darkened interior of the store, Jordan paused on the single step, squinting his eyes to adjust to the bright morning sunlight. A half dozen soldiers had gathered near the door. An officer leaned against the hitching post a few feet from his horse. Feeling he should warn the captain, he said, “Mind you don’t stand too close to that horse. She’ll take a nip outta you if you get too close.”

  The officer shot a quick glance at Sweet Pea before taking a step away just in case. He nodded his head in acknowledgment of Jordan’s warning. Jordan moved toward his horse. He took hold of the saddle horn and prepared to mount. Before he could put a foot in the stirrup, the soldiers closed in around him and grabbed him by the arms. His natural reaction was to try to break free of their grasp, but he was held fast. “What the hell is this?” Jordan demanded.

  Captain McGarity stepped up to confront him then. “Are you Jordan Gray?”

  “Yeah, I’m Jordan Gray. Now what’s this all about
?”

  “Well, Mr. Jordan Gray,” McGarity stated, “I’m placing you under arrest.”

  “For what?” Jordan demanded.

  McGarity looked surprised that his prisoner should have to ask. “Why, that little matter in Fort Smith for openers. They say you left two people dead back there in that bank. Lord knows what other devilry you’ve been up to.”

  “Captain,” Jordan protested desperately, “you’ve got it all backward. I didn’t have anything to do with that business at the bank. I’ve been chasin’ the men who did.”

  “Is that a fact?” McGarity answered sarcastically. “Well, boys, looks like we’ve arrested another innocent man.” His expression sober once again, he informed his prisoner, “No use wasting your breath, Mr. Gray. I’m not the one making the charges. I don’t care whether you’re innocent or not. My job is to detain you until a court decides that.”

  The wave of total frustration that swept over Jordan’s entire body was sufficient to almost paralyze him. He wanted to cry out to the heavens in protest of the cruel twist of fate that crippled him when he was so close to the end of his vengeance. In helpless desperation, he tried to wrench his arms free of his captors, but he could not do so. Two burly soldiers on each arm held him securely. “You might as well behave yourself,” the captain counseled patiently. “You can go peacefully, or I can have the sergeant here lay you out cold, and we’ll carry you.” Knowing he would be useless if unconscious, Jordan quit struggling.

  The incident taking place before the door of the sutler’s store attracted the attention of a few civilians and off-duty soldiers, who stopped to gawk. One who seemed especially interested and amused was a dark-bearded man sitting motionless on his horse near the corner of the cavalry barracks, some fifty yards or more away. Leach could not help but grin as he watched Jordan being marched across the parade ground toward the guardhouse. Looks like the army took care of that little problem for me, he thought, enjoying the irony of it. He was reminded of a favorite saying of his late partner, Ernest Roach, and he chuckled as he recited it: “The devil always takes care of his kin.”

  With a slight prod of his heels, he walked his horse slowly along the road toward the sutler’s store, his eyes still on the prisoner now being escorted toward a plain two-story building. Waiting at the rail until the arresting detail disappeared inside the guardhouse, he dismounted and walked into the store. Alton Broom, who had been standing in the doorway watching Jordan’s arrest, stepped back to allow Leach to enter.

  “Looks like you’ve had a little ruckus,” Leach said, flashing what he considered his warmest smile for Alton’s benefit.

  “Yeah,” Alton replied. “Don’t know exactly what it was about, but I heard Captain McGarity sayin’ somethin’ about a bank robbery and somebody gettin’ killed.” He paused a moment while he looked Leach over. “You just ride in?”

  “Last night,” Leach answered.

  “That feller was just in here askin’ about somebody he was lookin’ for. Said he mighta got here yesterday or the day before. That wasn’t you he was talkin’ about, was it?”

  “Nope. Don’t believe that feller is anybody I know. I don’t associate with many bank robbers.”

  “I didn’t mean to say you did,” Alton quickly replied, properly contrite. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I’m gonna need a whole new outfit,” Leach replied. He went around the store, selecting items as his gaze settled on them, pointing out basic staples as well as rifle cartridges and tobacco.

  As Alton gathered the many things selected, he piled them together at the end of the counter. When the stack of supplies had grown quite large, he began to wonder if Leach had any idea of the bill he was running up. “Mister, I ain’t sure you can put all this stuff on that horse you’re ridin’. Have you got a packhorse?”

  “Matter of fact, I ain’t,” Leach said. “That’s the next thing I was fixin’ to ask you about. Where can I buy me a good packhorse?”

  At this point, Alton began to have suspicions that he was being japed. He paused before picking up the last item Leach had pointed out, a sack of green coffee beans. “Why, there’s a feller not far from here that trades horses. I expect you could get one from him if you’ve got the money.”

  Picking up on Alton’s concern, Leach reached into his inside coat pocket and produced a sizable wad of bills. “Oh, I’ve got the money,” he said.

  Alton’s face brightened at once. “Yes, sir. Is there somethin’ else you might be needin’? A blanket? Some pots and pans maybe?” His customer was a hell of a lot wealthier than he had appeared when he first rode up. And Alton was anxious to help him part with as much of his money as possible. “Are you gonna be in Laramie for a while?”

  Leach grinned, feeling extremely comfortable with the situation as it now stood. “I was gonna head out right away, but I might decide to lay over for a day or two.” The only threat to him was safely locked away in the guardhouse. There was no longer any need to hurry. He might just as well avail himself of Miss Della’s services before pushing off for the mountains. “Yes, sir, I just might rest up a spell before I leave.” He started peeling off greenbacks. “Why don’t we just pile my stuff over in a corner till I see that feller with the horses for sale?”

  Chapter 16

  Jordan stood in the middle of the room, waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the dark interior of the building. Looking around him, he saw fifteen or sixteen prisoners, standing against the walls, or sitting on straw pallets, all watching him. There was a general odor of stale urine and unwashed bodies that pervaded the room, causing his eyes to burn with the irritation. There were two windows in the wall opposite the door, so he went directly to one of them. Grabbing the iron bars, he pulled himself up against them and took a series of deep breaths.

  “You’ll get used to the smell,” a voice behind him said.

  Jordan turned to face a tall, thin man wearing a corporal’s stripes. “I ain’t so sure,” Jordan said.

  “Hell, I’ve been in this hole so many times it feels like home to me. I heard the captain tell one of the guards that you was a bank robber and you killed some folks. Is that a fact?”

  His insides churning with frustration, Jordan thought at first to tell the corporal it was none of his business, but the man seemed guileless in his outright frankness, and he seemed to be trembling for some un-apparent reason. “No, it’s not a fact. I wouldn’t have come ridin’ into an army post if it was a fact.”

  “You mean, you didn’t even know you was wanted?”

  “No. I mean, maybe I did, but I wasn’t sure.” He was becoming more and more anxious by the moment, and the corporal’s questions were not helping his patience. He began to look all around him, at the walls and the floor.

  Guessing what was on his mind, the corporal said, “Might as well settle in. There ain’t no way to get outta here until they open the door for you.”

  Jordan glanced up at the ceiling. “What’s upstairs?”

  “Guards’ quarters,” the corporal answered. “Can’t go up, can’t go down, can’t go out the window. Only way out is through that door yonder.”

  Jordan turned to stare at the door for a moment. Then he turned back to the corporal. “What are you in here for?”

  “Drunk and disorderly,” the corporal replied, as if proud of the fact. “I never have been able to get the best of whiskey. By God, I’ve tried, but it always seems to get the best of me and whips me ever’ time.” He waved his hand around him at the sullen faces. “Most of the rest of us are in here for the same reason: whiskey. Only thing is, I got a cravin’ for it that I can’t lick. I’d give my eyeteeth for a drink right now. Barnes over there was the rankin’ prisoner. He pulled a knife on the first sergeant and carved him up a little. I reckon you’re the rankin’ prisoner now, since you killed somebody.” Jordan didn’t think much of the honor, but he didn’t waste time protesting it.

  Jordan tried to sit down against the wall and relax, but he
found it impossible to do. Most of the other prisoners kept their distance except the tall corporal. Jordan learned that his name was Corbin, and he didn’t know any of the other inmates himself, having just recently been transferred to Fort Laramie. “I was in a cavalry regiment at Lincoln, spent too much time in the guardhouse, I reckon. So the old man transferred me out to the Ninth Infantry to get shed of me. Hell, I’m a drunk, and there ain’t much I can do about it.” He pulled his sleeve around on his arm to show Jordan. “I’ve been a sergeant three times, busted back to corporal ever’ time.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “God, I need a drink! I don’t know if I can stand it till tomorrow mornin’.”

  “You’re gettin’ outta here in the morning?”

  “If I don’t die for want of a drink tonight,” Corbin replied softly.

  * * *

  For such a gentle young girl, Kathleen Beard could sometimes perplex the most patient of men when she believed strongly enough in a cause. And she believed in Jordan Gray so much that Paul McGarity was beginning to wonder if he was going to have to have her escorted back to her quarters so he could get on with his duties. “Kathleen,” he said, trying to maintain his patience, “I can’t just let the man go on your say-so.”

  “But Uncle Paul,” she pleaded, “why would he rob a bank with the men who killed his wife and child? They even tried to kill him at Fort Gibson. I should know. I nursed him back to health.”

  The captain threw up his hands, his patience exhausted. “Kathleen, honey, who knows why outlaws try to kill one another? I expect it was over the money. You don’t even know for sure that this man ever had a wife and child. That may have been just a story he made up to play on the sympathies of a young girl.” Seeing that his last remark ruffled her feathers, he hastened to continue before she could protest. “In my line of work, I’m bound to look at the facts of a situation, facts that are provable. The deputy marshal in Fort Smith had your Mr. Jordan Gray in custody for the bank job, but he escaped. Now, from what I’ve been able to learn, he and other members of his gang met up at Fort Gibson and quarreled over something, resulting in one of them getting killed, and Gray nearly killed. Now over a month later, he shows up here with a sizable sum of money in his saddlebags. Doesn’t that look the least bit suspicious to you?” He rose from his chair and moved around the desk to confront her. Taking her hands in his, he gently pulled her up from her chair. “Kathleen, the man made up a story for your sympathy. Now you go on back to your quarters and forget about him. I’ve got work to do.”