“Probably stole them after killing their parents,” Hendricks said. “Sergeant!”
Sergeant Lester Muldoon, a career soldier in his fifties, came riding up alongside his young lieutenant.
“Sir?”
“Pass the word,” Hendricks said. “We will be engaging a band of Sioux.”
“Sir?”
“Bob has found a party that’s holding captives,” Hendricks said. “We are going to save them.”
“Beggin’ the lieutenant’s pardon, but shouldn’t we go back to Fort Meade for some more men?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Hendricks said. “Bob says there are about a dozen of them, along with some women and old men. I think we have enough men to handle them.”
Sergeant Muldoon remembered when Custer felt the same way about a band of Sioux.
“I know what you’re thinkin’, Sergeant,” Hendricks said. “This is not the Little Bighorn.”
“Aye, sir, but—”
“No buts, Sergeant,” Hendricks said. “Get the men ready. We’ll approach the camp in two groups. I’ll lead one, you the other.”
“Aye, sir.” The Irishman turned his horse and rode back to inform the men.
* * *
* * *
Lieutenant Hendricks led his group of ten to the top of a hill on one side of the Sioux camp. Across the way, at the top of a hill on the other side, he saw Sergeant Muldoon and his men. Down below, the Sioux had spotted them and were scrambling.
“Corporal,” he called out, “have the bugler sound the charge.”
“Yessir.”
The sound of the bugle call was loud and floated across to the next hill. The sergeant and his men started down.
“Charge!” Lieutenant Hendricks called, and led his men down his hill.
The Sioux were still scrambling around when both groups of soldiers reached their camp. Hendricks was the first one to fire, and then all the soldiers began shooting. The Sioux had rifles, but only half of the braves had gotten to them, and they were firing ineffectually. The soldiers had taken them by surprise, and in moments, half of the young braves were dead. Unfortunately, the soldiers were firing indiscriminately, so some of the older Indians were soon lying dead, along with some of the squaws and children. The battle was over in moments, and silence fell over the camp.
The soldiers, once they had finished firing their guns, looked around with wide eyes, as if they had only just realized what they had done.
Sergeant Muldoon rode up alongside Lieutenant Hendricks.
“Most of them are dead, sir, and we have prisoners.”
“And what about their prisoners?”
“We found some white captives in one of the tepees.”
“Take me to them.”
“Aye, sir.”
Muldoon led Hendricks to a tepee where two privates were standing outside.
“Bring them out, Private,” Muldoon said.
“Yes, sir.”
The two soldiers went inside and came out with the white captives. There were about eight of them, mostly young boys, but also a couple of girls. The boys were bare to the waist, wearing loincloths, and the girls wore buckskin dresses. They all seemed frightened.
“Don’t be scared,” Hendricks said to them. “You’ve been rescued. We’ll have you with your families in no time, but first we’ll take you to Fort Meade. We have a doctor there who will examine you all.” He turned to Muldoon. “Find some horses for these people.”
“We can round up the Indian ponies that were scattered, sir,” Muldoon said. “What about our prisoners?”
“They can walk back to the fort,” Hendricks said.
“The women and children, too?”
“Yes,” Hendricks said. “I want the horses to go to the white captives.”
“Sir, there are some older braves and squaws who might not be able to make the walk.”
“That’s too bad.”
“They might die on the way, sir.”
“That would also be too bad, wouldn’t it, Sergeant?”
“I don’t believe they understand English, sir.”
“Have Bob Eagle explain the situation to them,” Hendricks said. “And let me know when we’re ready to leave. I want to make the fort by nightfall.”
“That might not be possible, sir,” Muldoon said.
“It definitely won’t be possible if we don’t get started, Sergeant.”
“Aye, sir.”
* * *
* * *
They had to camp overnight to keep the women, children, and older men from falling by the wayside. It was Sergeant Muldoon who convinced the lieutenant to stop for the night. By midday the following day they entered Fort Meade.
The prisoners were taken to the stockade, the rescued captives to the doctor, and Lieutenant Hendricks reported to the commanding officer, Colonel Harold Stockton.
“How many rescued?” the colonel asked when Hendricks finished his report.
“Eight,” Hendricks said, “six boys, two girls. They’re all almost teenagers.”
“The Sioux like to take them in young,” Stockton said. “Let’s see if they remember who their parents are.”
“I’ll talk to the doctor,” Hendricks said.
“Ask him to make a list,” Stockton said. “I’d like to get them back to their families.”
“We’ll have to see how long they’ve been with the Sioux,” Hendricks said, “how indoctrinated they’ve become.”
“Work with the doctor on this, Lieutenant,” Stockton said, “and get back to me.”
* * *
* * *
When Lieutenant Hendricks entered the doctor’s quarters, Captain Sam Torrence looked over at him. He stuck both hands into the pockets of his white coat.
“I’m workin’ on them,” he said. “So far they seem healthy enough.”
“How are their memories?” Hendricks asked. “How long have they been with the Sioux?”
“There are a couple who were there since early childhood,” Doctor Torrence said. “I don’t think they remember their families.”
“And the others?”
“I still have to ask them,” Torrence said. “I’m not sure they trust us yet.”
“Maybe I should talk to them.”
“No offense, Lieutenant, but your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired. Leave it to me.”
“All right, but the CO wants the answers fast,” Hendricks said. “He wants to get these kids back to their families.”
“I’ll try to get somethin’ from them today.”
“Keep me informed, will you, Captain?”
“I will, Lieutenant.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
When the cavalry rode down the main street of Integrity, they attracted a lot of attention. It had been a long time since the Army came to town.
The soldiers stopped in front of city hall and dismounted.
“Sergeant,” Lieutenant Hendricks said, “the men can have one drink, and that’s it. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
“And no fights. Is that understood?”
“Aye, sir.”
“I’ll hold you responsible.”
“Yes, sir!”
Hendricks turned and went into city hall.
Sergeant Muldoon went over to Corporal Agarn and said, “One drink per man, Corporal. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And no fights,” Muldoon said. “I’m holdin’ you responsible.”
“Yessir!”
Inside city hall the mayor immediately saw Lieutenant Hendricks in his office.
“What brings the Army to Integrity, Lieutenant?” Mayor O’Connor asked.
“We recently rescued some white captives from a band of
Sioux Indians,” the lieutenant said. “We wiped out their camp and took the rescued captives to Fort Meade.”
“Well, that’s good news. But how does that affect us here?”
“Do you have a marshal named Abraham Cassidy?”
“Yes, we do,” O’Connor said. “He’s been the law here for about six months now.”
“And where did he come from?”
“Back East. He was traveling here with his entire family when they were set upon by a band of Sioux.” O’Connor suddenly became excited. “Oh, my God, they killed his wife and his children. Are you saying—”
“One of the boys we rescued was able to tell us his name was Cassidy. He said his father was on the way here to take the marshal’s job when they were attacked by Sioux. He said they killed his entire family and took him away.”
“My God,” O’Connor said, “so he’s the marshal’s son? He’ll be thrilled, but . . .”
“But what?”
“The marshal also said his entire family was killed and he buried them.”
“Then I suppose we’d better put them together and see what happens, shouldn’t we?” Hendricks suggested.
“I guess we should.”
“Where is he?” the lieutenant asked.
“He’s out of town right now,” O’Connor said, “at the Bar W.”
“The Bar W?”
“Franklin Waverly’s spread,” O’Connor said, “the biggest spread in the county. A couple of his men got out of hand last night. Rather than hold them in a cell, Marshal Cassidy decided to take them back to their boss.”
“When will he be back?”
“Later today. Why don’t you and your men enjoy the hospitality of the town until then?”
“I might just take you up on that, Mr. Mayor,” Hendricks said.
* * *
* * *
Palmer rode up to the Waverly house with the two ranch hands.
“You really gotta tell the boss what we did, Marshal?” one asked.
“I think I do,” Palmer said.
“But . . . we might get fired,” the other man said.
“Would you rather go back to jail?”
The two young men exchanged a glance, then shook their heads.
“Then we should get this over with,” Palmer said.
As they all dismounted, a man came out of the barn and started walking over to them.
“Marshal,” Ben Rogan said, “why are you here?”
“I’m bringing two of your men back to you,” Palmer said.
“Back?” Rogan asked, folding his arms. “Where were they?”
“Jail.”
“What’d they do?” Rogan looked at the two men, saw the bruises on their faces. “Who’d they get into a fight with?”
“Each other,” Palmer said. “In the saloon. They caused quite a bit of damage.”
“And you arrested them?”
“I did,” Palmer said, “but I’m willing to release them if your boss will pay the damages.”
“How much?” Rogan asked.
“A lot.”
Rogan looked at the two men, who looked away.
“He might just wanna fire ’em,” he said.
“Come on, boss,” one of them whined.
“It’ll have to come out of your pay,” Rogan said.
“Sure, boss,” the other man said.
Now Rogan looked at Palmer.
“Marshal, can they go back to work?” he asked.
“Sure,” Palmer said. “I was going to talk to Mr. Waverly. . . .”
“I can do that,” Rogan said. “He usually depends on me to discipline the men.”
“Then they’re all yours, Mr. Rogan.”
“Thanks.” Rogan looked at his men. “Go!”
One of them turned to Palmer and said, “Thanks, Marshal.”
They walked away slowly, their shoulders hunched.
“They’re good hands,” Rogan said, “just a little young.”
“I understand that,” Palmer said. “Make sure they know next time they’ll do jail time.”
“I’ll tell ’em.”
Palmer nodded, mounted up, and headed back to town.
* * *
* * *
He reached town and took his horse right to the livery stable. When he came out, he found Steve Atlee waiting there for him.
“I been watchin’ for you, Marshal.”
“Something wrong, Steve?” he asked.
“I think you’d know better than me,” the deputy said. “The Army’s here lookin’ for you.”
“For me? Why?”
“I don’t know, but the lieutenant who led them into town went right to the mayor’s office.”
“Where are they from?”
“I heard Fort Meade.”
Palmer knew he wasn’t wanted in South Dakota, and he’d never had anything to do with Fort Meade.
“I guess I’d better go and see the mayor,” Palmer said.
“Most of the soldiers are in the Palomino.”
“Good,” Palmer said. “I’ll stay away from there until I know what’s going on.”
“I’ll go to the office, in case they come lookin’ for you there. I’ll tell ’em you’re not back yet.”
“Thanks, Steve.”
They split up and Palmer headed for city hall.
* * *
* * *
He said what?” Palmer asked.
“He thinks they’ve rescued your son,” the mayor said.
Palmer got a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Didn’t you say the Sioux killed your entire family?” O’Connor asked.
“Yes,” Palmer said, “I did say that.”
“Then how could they have your son?”
“I don’t know,” Palmer said. “It may be a case of mistaken identity.”
“But if you buried them all—”
“Mr. Mayor,” Palmer said, “I took a hit on my head that day. I might have been . . . delirious.”
“Well,” O’Connor said, “you can talk to Lieutenant Hendricks. They can put you and the boy together and see if you recognize each other.”
“That makes sense.”
It made perfect sense, but he didn’t know if he was going to be able to deny the truth if the boy said that Palmer wasn’t his father, Abraham Cassidy.
“They said the boy was about eleven or twelve. Does that sound right?”
“Pretty close. Is he all right?”
“The lieutenant said he was confused at first and frightened but that he finally seemed to remember that his father was coming to a town called Integrity to be the town marshal.”
“Well, then,” Palmer said, “I guess I’d better go and find this Lieutenant Hendricks.”
“He’ll probably want to take you back to Fort Meade with him,” the mayor said.
“I’ll find out and let you know, Mr. Mayor.”
“For your sake,” Mayor O’Connor said, “I hope it’s your boy.”
Palmer got out of the office fast before the mayor could ask what the boy’s name was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Palmer found the lieutenant in the Palomino. His men were at the bar and sitting at tables, but the lieutenant was sitting alone.
Palmer went to the bar first.
“These soldiers are lookin’ for you, Marshal,” Wade said, “especially that one sittin’ over there.”
“So I heard,” Palmer said. “Let me have a beer and I’ll take it with me.”
“Bring him a fresh one, too,” Wade said, setting two on the bar.
“Thanks, Wade.”
Palmer picked up both beers and walked over to the lieutenant’s table.
“Lieutenant
Hendricks?”
The man looked up, saw the badge on Palmer’s chest.
“Marshal Cassidy?” he said.
“That’s right,” Palmer said. “The bartender sent this over for you.”
“I actually told my men they were only allowed one drink,” the younger man said, “but what’s the point of being in charge if you can’t bend the rules for yourself? Thank you.” He took the beer from Palmer. “Have a seat, Marshal.”
Palmer sat across from the lieutenant.
“I assume you’ve already talked with your mayor.”
“I have.”
“Then you know why I’m here,” Hendricks said. “We managed to rescue your son from the Sioux.”
“A boy who might be my son,” Palmer corrected.
“Well,” Hendricks said, “that’s something we won’t know until you come to Fort Meade and identify him.”
“That makes sense.”
“We can leave as soon as we finish these beers. Unless you’ve got something more important to do?”
“What could be more important than identifying my son?” Palmer asked, because he thought that was what he’d be expected to say.
“Excellent!” Hendricks said. “We can make it back to Fort Meade before nightfall.”
“Sounds good,” Palmer said. “I’ll have to go saddle my horse.”
“Then we can meet right out front,” Hendricks said.
Palmer drank half his beer down, then said, “I’ll get right to it.”
He left the saloon and headed for the livery, wondering if there was any way out of this.
* * *
* * *
Palmer didn’t come up with anything, so ended up riding back to Fort Meade with Lieutenant Hendricks and his men.
Hendricks rode ahead of the column while Palmer hung back and rode alongside Corporal Agarn.
“Sounds like things got pretty exciting,” he commented.
“Excitin’’’ ain’t the word for it,” Agarn said. He was an old-timer, a career soldier who never would rise above the rank of corporal.
“What do you mean?”
“Hendricks went off his rocker,” Agarn said. “We didn’t hafta ride in there with our guns blazin’. But his orders were to shoot to kill.”
The Wrong Side of the Law Page 15