“Were there young warriors in that camp?”
“A few, but he wanted us to shoot anything that moved—anybody who wasn’t white, that is.” Agarn shook his head. “It was a bloodbath. Women, children, old men, it didn’t matter.”
“Is the lieutenant always that . . . bloodthirsty?” Palmer asked.
“He is,” Agarn said. “But I shouldn’t—”
He was cut off when the Irish sergeant came riding to join them.
“Agarn! Take up the rear!”
“Yes, Sergeant!”
Agarn turned his horse and rode away. Muldoon fell into place next to Palmer.
“What was he sayin’?” the soldier asked.
“We were just talking about the rescue,” Palmer said.
“You shouldn’t listen to anythin’ he has to say.”
“He just told me how bloody it got,” Palmer said. “I’m glad the captives weren’t hurt with all that lead flying around.”
“They were all in a tepee, out of the line of fire,” Muldoon said.
“I’ve never known a tepee that could keep a bullet out,” Palmer said.
“We were careful,” Muldoon said.
“Careful to shoot any Indian that moved?”
“Is that what Agarn told you?” Muldoon asked. “Look, we just followed orders.”
“Orders that you agreed with?” Palmer asked.
“It ain’t my job to agree or disagree,” Muldoon said. “It’s my job to follow orders.”
“Even if they come from a young lieutenant who’s not making any sense?”
“Look, I tried to tell ’im—” He stopped short.
“That it wasn’t a good idea?”
“That we didn’t have to go in hard like that,” Muldoon said. “We had them outnumbered and we took ’em by surprise.”
“Did you tell your commanding officer that?” Palmer asked.
“No,” Muldoon said, “it ain’t my way to go behind my lieutenant’s back.”
“So what are you going to do so it doesn’t happen again?”
“I gotta keep tryin’ to teach ’im,” Muldoon said. “I got to get that West Point nonsense out of his head.”
“And hope he doesn’t kill too many more people,” Palmer pointed out.
Muldoon gave Palmer a hard look.
“You think I should turn ’im in?”
“Look,” Palmer said. “I don’t know him. I don’t know you or your CO, so I can’t make a decision like that. You’re the only one who has all the information.”
“I just gotta do my job,” Muldoon said. “The best thing for you to do is not talk to any more of my men.”
“I understand.”
Muldoon nodded and spurred his horse on ahead.
Palmer thought about seeking Agarn out again, but in the end, he decided to ride the rest of the way alone. He still had a lot of thinking to do.
* * *
* * *
When they reached Fort Meade, the corporal took the column of soldiers off one way, while Lieutenant Hendricks and Sergeant Muldoon took Palmer to the commanding officer’s office. They dismounted in front and a private came over to take their horses.
Inside, Lieutenant Hendricks went to the man seated at a desk and said, “Captain, this is Marshal Abe Cassidy from Integrity. The colonel is waiting to see him.”
“Marshal,” the captain said, standing. He was a slender man in his mid-thirties. “I’m Captain Enbrow, the colonel’s adjutant. If you’ll just wait a moment, I’ll tell him you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
Enbrow turned and knocked on his CO’s door, then went in. Moments later he reappeared.
“The colonel will see you now, sir,” he told Palmer.
“Thank you.”
As Palmer started past the captain, the lieutenant tried to follow.
“Not you, Lieutenant,” the captain said. “Just the marshal.”
Hendricks looked shocked, but Muldoon smirked behind his back.
As Palmer entered, the CO stood up and came around the desk to shake his hand. He was about five feet eight or nine, in his sixties, with a head of shocking white hair with eyebrows to match.
“Marshal,” he said, “I’m happy to meet you. I’m Colonel Harold Stockton.”
“Colonel.”
They shook hands and the colonel said, “Please, have a seat.”
The CO went back around behind his desk and the two men sat facing each other.
“I hope we haven’t made you ride out here for nothing,” Stockton said. “It took our doctor a while to get the boy to talk. Apparently, he’d been with the Sioux for six months.”
“Have they mistreated him?” Palmer asked.
“Our doctor said that he and the other captives are healthy,” Stockton said. “It looks like they’ve been fed, but all of the kids we rescued were very frightened when we brought them here. Some of them had been with the Sioux for a few years, and we haven’t found their parents. A couple of the others were there for a couple of months, and we’ve managed to send them back home. Now all that remains is your boy.”
“If he’s my boy,” Palmer said.
“Exactly. And whenever you’re ready, we’ll go over to the infirmary and have a look.”
Palmer knew if this was, indeed, the son of Abraham Cassidy, his time as marshal of Integrity would probably be over. All he had to do was walk over to the infirmary and be exposed. He couldn’t think of anything else to do but get it over with.
“Why don’t we do that?” Palmer asked. “Will your lieutenant and sergeant be coming with us?”
“Hendricks and Muldoon?” the colonel said. “Do you want them to?”
“No.”
“That was quite definitive,” Stockton said. “May I ask why not?”
“I’m afraid they’ll scare the boy,” Palmer said. “I heard it was a real bloodbath out there. I also heard the boy got hit on the head. I’m hoping he’s all right and he’ll recognize me after six months. But I think it would be better with fewer people around, especially soldiers.”
“Very well,” the colonel said, “but I’ll need to come along.”
“That’s okay,” Palmer said. “If you don’t mind me saying so, there’s nothing frightening about you.”
The colonel stood up and straightened his tunic. He grabbed his hat, strapped on his saber, and said, “Let’s take that walk.”
When they left the office, Lieutenant Hendricks started talking right away.
“Colonel, I think I should tell you—”
“Save it, Lieutenant,” Stockton said. “Marshal Cassidy and I are walking over to the infirmary.”
“Good,” Hendricks said, “but I think I should come alon—”
“You and Sergeant Muldoon will wait right here,” Stockton told them.
Sergeant Muldoon gave Palmer a look that said he knew the lawman had said something to the CO.
“Sir,” Hendricks went on, “I think—”
“I think you’d better stand down, Lieutenant,” Captain Enbrow said.
Hendricks looked at the captain, then at the colonel, a helpless expression on his face, and finally glanced at Sergeant Muldoon, who looked away.
“After you, Marshal,” the colonel said.
Palmer and Stockton left the office and started walking across the compound.
“Tell me, Marshal,” the old soldier said, “why do I feel you know something that I don’t know?”
“I can’t imagine, sir,” Palmer said. “Right now I’m just concerned with seeing the boy.”
“Of course,” Stockton said, “but we’re going to talk more.”
When they reached the infirmary, the colonel opened the door and allowed Palmer to precede him. A man wearing a white coat over a un
iform turned to face them. He was in his forties, with steel-gray hair.
“Marshal, this is our doctor, Captain Torrence.”
Palmer shook the man’s hand.
“He’s here to see the boy,” Stockton said.
“Of course,” Torrence said. “I’ll bring him right out.” He went into another room.
This was the moment. Palmer was thinking the best thing for him to do was probably to have left town and not ridden out to Fort Meade. How was he going to brazen this out when the boy looked at him and said he was not his father? His only hope was that the boy might be addled by his experience.
The doctor returned with a small, thin boy who Palmer had been told was eleven or twelve but looked younger. The boy moved stiffly, walking with his hands at his sides and his head down. His hair was chopped short. It probably had been long when they brought him in.
“Jeffrey,” the doctor said, “say hello to your father.”
The boy’s head came up, his eyes locked on Palmer’s face for a moment, then widened.
Palmer was shocked when the boy shouted, “Pa!” and ran to wrap his arms around his waist.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Pa! Oh, Pa!” the boy said, holding on tight.
Palmer was stunned and tried not to show it.
“Easy, boy,” he said. “You’re safe now.”
Palmer looked down at the boy. Then, when he looked up, he saw Colonel Stockton and the doctor watching him.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said.
“So this is your boy?” the colonel said.
“Yes,” Palmer said, “yes, this is Jeff—yes, it’s him.”
Both men stared at him a little longer, then smiled.
“Then you should take your son home, Marshal,” Stockton said. “I’ll just need you to come back to my office and sign some papers.”
Palmer held the boy at arm’s length, saw the anxious look on his face.
“Don’t worry, Jeffrey,” he said. “You’re safe now.”
The doctor came forward and put his hands on the boy’s thin shoulders.
“I’ll get him cleaned up and dressed to travel,” he offered.
Palmer realized the boy was wearing some sort of nightshirt.
“Good idea, Doc,” he said.
“Come on, Jeffrey,” Doc Torrence said.
The boy was afraid to let go of Palmer.
“It’s all right,” Palmer said. “Go with the doctor. I’ll be back here to fetch you in a few minutes.”
Reluctantly, the boy allowed the doctor to tug him away.
“Let’s go back to my office and get this done,” Stockton said.
When they returned, they found the lieutenant and the sergeant still there.
“How did it go, sir?” Captain Enbrow asked.
“It’s his boy, all right,” Stockton said. “He’ll be taking him home. Get me the proper paperwork, Captain.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You two,” Stockton said to the other men, “remain here until I come out.”
“Yes, sir,” Hendricks said.
Stockton and Palmer went into his office. The colonel sat behind his desk and looked up at Palmer.
“Now, Marshal,” Stockton said, “tell me what you heard about this bloodbath.”
* * *
* * *
When the office door opened again, Lieutenant Hendricks looked up impatiently.
Captain Enbrow came out and sat back down at his desk.
“How much longer, Captain?” Hendricks asked.
“I don’t know, Lieutenant,” the captain said. “I don’t ask the colonel those kinds of questions.”
“Easy, lad,” Sergeant Muldoon said.
“Don’t talk to me like that, Sergeant,” Hendricks said.
“I’m just tryin’ to keep you from makin’ a mistake, Lieutenant. It’s my job.”
“To look after me?”
“That’s right.”
“Who says so?”
“The Army,” Muldoon said. “They think you can learn from my experience.”
“I went to West Point, Sergeant,” the lieutenant said.
“I know,” Muldoon said. “That’s too bad.”
Hendricks turned to say something sharp to the sergeant, but the colonel’s door opened and he stopped.
“Captain, would you take the marshal over to the doctor to pick up his son, please.”
“Yes, sir,” the captain said, standing.
“Sergeant,” Stockton said, “come in, please.”
“Colonel,” Lieutenant Hendricks said, “what about me?”
“You’re next, Lieutenant,” the colonel said, “have no doubt.”
Muldoon walked into the colonel’s office. The CO sat behind his desk and looked at him.
“Now tell me what happened,” Stockton said, “and don’t leave anything out.”
* * *
* * *
Palmer followed the captain to the doctor’s office, and then outside, he told the man, “I can take it from here.”
“I’ll have your horse brought over,” the captain said, “and a horse for the boy.”
“Thanks.”
Palmer went into the doctor’s barracks. Torrence and Jeffrey were standing there as if they had been waiting that way the whole time. The boy was wearing clothes that were too large for him, including a coat.
“Here’s your pa, Jeffrey,” the doctor said. “I hope everything will be all right for you now.”
“Thank you, Doc,” Palmer said. “Jeff?”
The boy walked toward him.
“Yes, Pa?”
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, Pa.”
Palmer put his arm around the boy’s thin shoulders and walked him outside. Right at that moment, a soldier was bringing two horses over to them.
“Can you ride?” Palmer asked.
“Yes.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Palmer helped the boy into his saddle, where he sat uncomfortably. Living with the Sioux, he had probably ridden bareback.
Palmer mounted up and together they left Fort Meade.
Colonel Stockton had offered to put them up for the night, but Palmer had said he’d rather get started and camp with the boy under the stars. He said it might make the boy more comfortable, but the real reason was he wanted to get away from the fort before more questions were asked.
He and the boy didn’t talk while they rode. When they made camp, Palmer told the boy to relax while he made a fire and tended to the horses. He had coffee and beef jerky in his saddlebags. He had some jerky with the coffee and gave Jeff some with water.
They sat across the fire from each other, and the boy stared at him. When he finally spoke, he asked, “Who are you?”
“My name’s Marshal Abe Cassidy.”
“No, it ain’t,” Jeffrey said. “You ain’t my pa. My pa’s dead, like my ma, my brothers, and my sisters. I saw them get killed.”
“Why didn’t you tell the Army I wasn’t your pa?” Palmer asked.
“I didn’t wanna stay there no more,” the boy said. “And if I didn’t say you was my pa, they’d have kept me a little longer and then sent me away.”
“Where?”
The boy shrugged.
“Maybe a reservation. That’s where they sent some of the others when they couldn’t find their pa and ma.”
“But you’re not Sioux.”
“That don’t matter,” the boy said. “To them I’m more Sioux than white.”
“So you’d rather say I was your pa and leave with me,” Palmer said.
“You don’t gotta keep me,” Jeffrey said. “I can go my own way in the morning. The Sioux taught me how to live.”
“How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
“You can’t live on your own.”
“You ain’t my pa.”
“I don’t have to be your pa to take care of you,” Palmer said, surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth.
The truth of the matter was, it would cement his position in Integrity even more if he returned with the boy. He could have gone back and simply said that when he got to the fort, he saw the boy wasn’t his son. But the mayor—and the town—would be happier if he returned with a son.
“Why are you usin’ my pa’s name?” Jeffrey asked.
“It’s complicated.”
The boy got a stubborn look on his face.
“I found them,” Palmer said finally, “all dead, and I buried them. I was trying to leave my life behind, and I read your father’s letters. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Leave myself behind and become Abraham Cassidy. There didn’t seem to be any harm.” Palmer leaned forward. “I thought your whole family was dead.”
The boy thought about the story for a while, then looked across the fire at Palmer.
“You buried them all?”
“I did.”
“Thank you.”
“Will you come back to Integrity with me?” he asked. “It’s where you were supposed to live.”
“Where will I live?”
“With me,” Palmer said. “You’ll have to say that you’re my son.”
“And will I be your son?” Jeffrey asked.
“I don’t know much about being a father,” Palmer said, “so you’ll have to teach me.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Jeffrey said, “All right.”
“Did the Sioux give you an Indian name?”
“They called me Sharp Eagle.”
“You’ll have to go back to being Jeffrey Cassidy.”
The boy smiled.
“I can do that . . . Pa.”
* * *
* * *
During the night Palmer became aware of the boy crying, wrapped in his blanket. He was obviously mourning his family, and Palmer decided just to let him have his private time. He probably had to mourn in order to move ahead with their plan to ride into Integrity as father and son. It couldn’t have been an easy decision for the boy, even given what the alternatives were.
The Wrong Side of the Law Page 16