Drifter 5

by Jake Henry

  So engaged were the Louisiana Brigades that they never noticed the other two regiments from Gibbon’s Iron Brigade as they fell in behind them, some hundred plus yards away. The 7th Wisconsin and the 19th Indiana side by side, the former used a stone ledge as cover.

  Then they opened fire at the backs of the Louisiana Brigades, and the slaughter escalated. Soldiers in Confederate uniforms dropped where they stood, in piles of bloody rags. It took a time at first for them to realize what had happened. But once they had, the Confederate line broke and ran for the West Woods.

  ‘Sergeant!’ Tally barked from behind Savage. ‘Colonel Bragg has been wounded and Major Dawes is now in charge of the regiment. We are to form up again and recommence our march towards the church. The Brooklyn boys will reinforce us and fill the gaps in our lines. Once they have, we’re to move forward.’

  Savage looked about him and saw the other companies starting to reform. From behind them the Brooklyn Regiment emerged from the corn and joined the Wisconsin line. Then they all pushed forward.

  Musket fire rattled across the open field. Savage fired at a fleeing Confederate soldier and then reloaded while still advancing. All across the field lay gray lumps, newly propagated human mushrooms that hadn’t been there the day before. Behind the advancing Union lines, cannon fire still landed, dispersing grapeshot and cutting down yet more of Hooker’s men.

  With methodical efficiency, they killed and were killed, until the battle turned yet again.

  Savage forced the ramrod down into the hot barrel of his musket. The thing was becoming choked, and ramming the bullets down was becoming harder.

  Then he realized that he wasn’t the only one having problems. The rate of fire across their front had slowed which meant the rest of them were having the same issue.

  ‘Christ!’ Savage snarled. ’Lieutenant! Lieutenant Tally!’

  Tally turned to see who’d called his name through the din. He dropped out of the line and moved to his left to where Savage was reloading once more.

  ‘What is it, Sergeant?’

  ‘The muskets are choking up. The rate of fire has dropped. The damned guns will be useless before long.’

  Tally paused, listening, looking. He nodded. ‘You’re right. Damn it! Keep the men moving. We’re almost to the church. The Rebs are on the run. Use bayonets if you have to.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  It was then that Savage saw the movement around the Dunker Church as more Confederate regiments filed out of the trees and moved along the Smoketown Road.

  ‘Shit!’ he cursed loudly. ‘Company move forward!’

  No sooner had they started to move when Savage knew that it wouldn’t be enough. He shouted, ‘Halt! Prepare to fire!’

  ‘Sergeant, what are you doing?’

  He turned to face Tally. ‘Look, Lieutenant. Those Rebs outnumber us by a good margin. They’re fresh troops and they’re all but in position. If we can get a couple of good volleys into them we might stand a chance.’

  But it wasn’t to be. The troops before them were from John Bell Hood’s brigade. Tough men all. Well trained. And the 6th Wisconsin, along with the 2nd Wisconsin and the Brooklyn boys were battered, running low on ammunition, and had just about had enough.

  All it took was the first volley from Hood’s men.

  The Confederate line exploded into life and the Union troops were hammered by invisible blows, killing some and maiming many. Right then and there, the men of Gibbon’s brigade from Hooker’s Corps were stopped in their tracks.

  Right along the front the whole Union line seemed to shudder, then the soldiers from the Texas Brigade charged. That was when the blue line broke.

  ‘Hold the line, men!’ Tally shouted. ‘Hold the line!’

  B Company folded like the rest of the 6th Wisconsin. They’d had enough and turned tail and ran.

  Savage grabbed Tally by the arm. ‘Come on, sir. Time to leave.’

  Tally grew angry at his sergeant. ‘Damn it, Savage. We need to hold the line. We’re almost at our objective.’

  Savage stared at him. ‘Look about you, damn it. There’s no line left to hold. They’re all falling back. Now come on.’

  Not waiting for an answer, Savage started to drag his commanding officer along with him, back across the field strewn with the dead and dying; through the storm of lead which followed them until they reached the cornfield. There along the fence, some of the regiment had gathered to face the approaching Confederates.

  After firing a volley at the pursuing soldiers, they melted back amongst the tall stalks.

  The Texans, their blood up, followed them into the tall green rows. Soon the battle for the cornfield raged. A great pall of smoke hung over it like a thick fog of war. The staccato sound of musket fire seemed to go on forever. Occasionally there’d be a lull which was pierced by a Rebel Yell and then it would start again.

  Savage had become separated in the confusion. He had more tears in his clothing than he could count from where the Confederate lead had barely missed.

  To his left, a large Confederate soldier appeared amid the confusion. The big man sighted down the barrel of his musket and squeezed the trigger.

  Savage braced himself for the impact, the killing blow that would rip his insides apart.

  Misfire.

  A snarl spread across Savage’s face, more from relief than anger. Without a second thought he lunged forward, his own musket at waist level, bayonet aiming for the Confederate soldier’s middle.

  The man panicked and started to back away from the Union sergeant in front of him. He’d gone no more than three steps when his feet got tangled in a cornstalk and he fell.

  Helpless, he could only watch as Savage raised the bayonet for the killing blow. The Confederate soldier held up his right hand as if it would ward off his imminent death.

  Instead there was a blur of movement and a blue-clad figure crashed into Savage from the left, giving the prone man the time he needed to escape.

  ‘I’ll kill you, you damned son of a bitch,’ Foster raged.

  Shit, where did he come from?

  Savage grappled with the crazed man as Foster tried to wrap clawed fingers around his throat. Foster’s eyes blazed with murderous intent and Savage could see the puckered skin around the jagged scab on his face.

  ‘You’re fucking dead!’ Foster hissed. ‘You hear me? You left me in that damned house.’

  Savage ignored him and swung a right fist up into his assailant’s jaw. Once, twice. It took a third blow for any result to show and it came in the form of Foster’s grip loosening a touch.

  Savage heaved his body upward and dislodged the man astride him. He rolled away and scrambled to his feet. Foster did the same and both stood glaring at each other, nostrils flared as they sucked in deep breaths.

  ‘Let it go, Foster. This ain’t the place for it.’

  ‘Screw you,’ he snarled and charged.

  Savage didn’t have time for this. The cornfield was full of Rebs and it was only a matter of time before more appeared. He went low and scooped up his fallen musket by its bayonet. He brought it forward in time for Foster to impale himself upon it.

  The killer’s eyes flew wide with shock and he staggered back with jerky steps. The bayonet came free with a horrible sucking sound and Foster grabbed at the ghastly wound.

  ‘Son of a bitch!’ It was more of a bewildered cry than an accusation.

  Foster fell to his knees and then rolled onto his side. He drew his knees up to his chest as the burning pain took hold.

  A crashing sounded in the corn to Savage’s front and a handful of Confederate soldiers appeared.

  They shouted at him to surrender but instead he ducked his head and ran into the corn behind him.

  The sound of musket fire followed him and the whip-like cracks of the slugs as they blew through cornstalks gave him a few anxious moments. Then he was out of sight.

  Later, after the fighting was finished, Savage would remember vividly how the t
all cornstalks would be mowed down every time the Texan troops fired a heavy volley. Reinforcements came and went. The battle ebbed and flowed with each attack and counterattack.

  When the remains of the 6th Wisconsin finally broke free of the green death, they were directed to form up on the other side of the Hagerstown Pike to support the few guns of Battery B, stationed there. They were soon joined by the 7th Wisconsin.

  As Savage looked around at the battered and bloodied men of his company, he prayed that their battle was done. His boys couldn’t take much more.

  Then he thought of Sergeant Foster, lying dead in the corn. The son of a bitch got what he deserved.

  Who would have thought he could appear alive and well six years later?

  Longhorns and Blood!

  Lizzy Breen choked off a screech of pleasure as her teeth bit into Brit’s shoulder, drawing blood. Her fingernails dug deep furrows in his back as they both reached their shuddering climax together.

  Her head fell back on the pillow and she closed her eyes as the last waves of ecstasy swept over her.

  ‘Oh, God, that was better than the last time,’ she panted. ‘And the time before that.’

  Her legs fell away from his sides and Brit rolled off her. His body, like hers, glistened with sweat in the candlelit room.

  Lizzy swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Brit watched her buttocks sway as she walked across the room and began to dress. She looked up and saw him watching her.

  ‘Will I see you again tomorrow night?’ she asked.

  Brit shrugged. ‘Word has it that the trail herd will arrive tomorrow, so I don’t know.’

  She thought briefly about Savage and what had happened between them, with Josiah. She knew from what happened before that he was a hard man to kill. And she figured that when they tried this time around, they might have the same problem.

  She said, ‘Well … if you have time, you know where I’ll be.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Lizzy completed getting dressed in silence and then left.

  ‘Well, there she is,’ Llano Sam said. ‘We made it.’

  Savage, Bannister, and Mavis all sat on horses atop a low rise and looked over the town before them. To their rear, the herd was strung out for over a mile. Savage had seen no urgency to rush them. That way they would still carry some condition for the buyers to view.

  From where they were, they could see the yards on the east side of town along with the rail spur. It was mid-afternoon, and Savage thought it would be almost dark by the time all the cattle were safely away in the pens.

  ‘Once the beasts are penned up, I’ll stand the boys a drink at the saloon. But that’ll be it until we’re paid. With some luck we’ll have the herd sold tomorrow and I’ll pay everyone off.’

  ‘They ain’t going to like that.’

  ‘They knew it when they were hired, Mike. I was straight up about it.’

  Bannister nodded in agreement. ‘I know. I’ll have a word to them.’

  ‘You do that. In the meantime, let’s get them in.’

  When the last of the cows passed through the gate and into the yards, Savage reached into his pocket and took out a roll of money. He took off a few notes and handed them to Bannister. It was more than he’d figured to spend but they’d earned it. ‘Go and have them drinks. I’m going to see if I can hunt down a buyer.’

  Bannister took the notes and said, ‘Take the kid with you.’

  Savage gave him a puzzled look. ‘You don’t think he’ll want to have a drink with the rest of you?’

  ‘Maybe. But when he drinks, he’s troublesome. And tonight, I just want to relax.’

  ‘I can understand that. I’ll see you at the saloon.’

  ‘You won’t know which one.’

  ‘I’ll follow the noise.’

  After Bannister had gone to break the news to Hanson, Mavis found Savage, and a broad smile crossed her face.

  ‘We made it,’ she said, beaming. ‘Thank you so much for what you’ve done, Jeff. You and Mike, both.’

  Savage patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’m going to find a buyer. Are you coming?’

  ‘Damn straight.’

  ‘Good. I don’t fancy you wandering around here on your own.’

  The door to Breen’s office opened and Brit walked into the room. He sat in a leather chair across from Breen and said, ‘They’re all in the pens.’

  ‘Savage?’

  ‘He went to find a buyer with the woman, along with a feller called Hanson. You neglected to mention that it was Mike Bannister’s crew who was riding with him.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘They’re a tough bunch.’

  ‘So’s Savage. I shot the bastard twice and he still managed to stay alive. Then he hires a crew and they steal my herd.’

  Not your herd, Brit thought.

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘The buyers were warned about buying cattle from anyone except me.’

  ‘Savage ain’t one to take no for an answer.’

  ‘Well then, have our new sheriff go and arrest him for rustling. Then we’ll hang him, make it all official.’

  ‘I’d rather just kill him.’

  ‘No, I want it done legal.’

  ‘What about the girl. Isn’t it her herd?’

  ‘I have a bill of sale from her father. Forged of course, but it should stand up in a court of law. Especially our court.’

  ‘All right, we’ll try it your way. But if it don’t work, we do it my way.’

  Savage found the cattle buyers in the third saloon he tried, aptly named The Longhorn.

  When they pushed in through the saloon doors, the busy room gave them a cursory glance and went back to what they were doing.

  The smell of newness still permeated the dull, smoke-filled room. Like the rest of the town, the scent of new timber was unmistakable.

  The Drifter ran a cautious eye over the space. Most of the tables were filled and only a few openings were left along the hardwood bar.

  A whore spotted them and walked up to where they stood, hips swinging, cleavage showing. She smiled at Savage, a broad, even-tooth smile.

  ‘Hiya handsome, what can Irene get you?’ she thrust her ample chest out as an invitation. ‘Maybe you could by me a drink?’

  ‘Maybe you could tell me where to find the cattle buyers that are supposedly in town?’

  Her eyes flickered to a table across the room. ‘I don’t think they’re in here.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Savage said and pushed past her.

  Mavis and the kid followed him to a table where three well-dressed men sat with a half-empty bottle of whiskey between them.

  ‘Are you gents the cattle buyers?’ Savage asked them.

  They eyed him cautiously, taking note of the Yellow Boy in his hand, and then one of them, a man with blond hair and mustache to match, said, ‘Yes, sir. What can we do for you?’

  ‘I got cows to sell.’

  ‘Sorry, we can’t buy them from you.’

  ‘Are you cattle buyers or not?’ Savage demanded.

  ‘We are,’ said a thin-faced man.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Barnes,’ he indicated the blond man. ‘This is Carson, and our friend here is Simpson.’

  ‘I’m Savage. The lady here is Mavis Porter. It’s her cows you’ll be buying. We did a count when we penned them up this afternoon. There’s almost two-thousand. We’re twenty-five shy. What are you offering?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Savage, Ma’am,’ Barnes said, shaking his head. ‘We daren’t risk it. Normally we’d pay thirty dollars per head. But Breen and his man have this all sewn up. I heard they’re going to offer five dollars per head and then sell the cows to us for top dollar. Your herd is the first here. But we’re expecting another five or six.’

  ‘You said you’re paying thirty?’ Savage asked Barnes.

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Then you just bought yourself a herd.’

  Bar
nes opened his mouth to protest when his gaze drifted to the entrance of the saloon. His face paled and Savage turned to follow the buyer’s concerned stare.

  Three men had entered the room. They were unkempt and rough-looking. The man in front was a solid character with a barrel chest. Pinned to that chest was a star.

  The Drifter turned back to the buyers. ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Burt Hickam,’ Barnes explained. ‘He’s the sheriff. The others are Mal and Webber. Breen’s hired guns that wear badges. They’re killers, although not as bad as Brit.’

  ‘Killers, you say?’

  ‘Yeah, stone-cold.’

  Savage looked at Mavis. ‘You might want to walk away. If they’re as bad as these fellers think, it might get a little dangerous.’

  Mavis understood what he meant and moved over to one side of the room.

  From where Savage stood, he watched as the so-called lawmen walked across to the bar and talked to the round, bald-head barman. He in turn, looked over to where the Drifter and the others were and pointed them out.

  The three lawmen started across the room, picking their way between tables which seemed to vacate every time one was passed.

  They stopped in front of Savage and the kid.

  ‘Are you Savage?’ the sheriff growled.

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘The name’s Burt Hickam. As you can see, I’m the law in Dobson. Now, are you Savage?’

  The Drifter smiled. ‘Yeah, I am Savage.’

  A puzzled expression flitted across the sheriff’s face and then disappeared. ‘Then I got the right man.’

  ‘For what, exactly?’

  Out of the corner of his eye, the Drifter saw the kid’s hand drop to the butt of his gun.

  ‘You’re under arrest for rustling,’ Hickam informed him. ‘That herd of cows you brought in, you stole from Mr. Breen.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’

  All eyes in the room stared at Mavis.

  ‘You stay out of this, little lady,’ Hickam advised her.

  ‘The herd is mine. If anyone deserves to be arrested for stealing, it’s Josiah Breen!’