Fort Larned (2 page)

   "It's nice to meet you ma'am. I need to be on my way."

   . She nervously wiped her hands in her apron. "I enjoyed meeting you, sir," she answered quietly.

   Collier picked up his saddle and rifle, and passed within a foot of Nathan Baker. The muscles in Baker's jaw tightened as he passed.

    
"None of my business,"
Collier thought.
"None of my business. She seems awful nice
to end up with that asshole, but it's none of my business."
He walked past the blockhouse and into the square.

   A short, stocky sergeant was standing in the shade of the commissary building just out of Collier's sight. "You need a bigger horse, Collier. That one's so small, I can't even see it!"

   Collier looked down at the dirt and shook his head in mock consternation. "Roberts, I just knew that you would have to say something."

   Sergeant Chunk Roberts walked to Collier, bent over, and looked under Collier's crotch. "Why you haven't got no horse down there, do ya? Could it be that the great pathfinder has joined the infantry?"

   "I tried," Collier smiled. "They refused me. Said I was too intelligent."

   Roberts roughly slapped Collier on the back. "How'd you find your way back to the post without your horse to lead ya?"

   "I did like you foot soldier. I just started walking in circles until I fell in the river and stumbled over the fort climbing out."

   Roberts laughed and joined Collier. "That's the army way, boy! It sure is!"

   "Cheyenne hit me, Chunk."

   Roberts lowered his voice. "I wondered. Was it young bucks on the prod, or a full-scale raiding party?"

   "Bucks, I reckon. They were wearing paint and I don't know what they were up to other than raising a little hell."

    Roberts shook his head. "I wonder. Things just ain't right. I guess we'll have to hear what Kidd thinks. The major received a report that it isn't just Cheyenne but Arapaho, Kiowa and Comanche as well. We're right in the middle if that's true."

   "Yeah, I know." Collier looked north at the barracks.

   "Hey! McClausky told me that your rifle's in."

   Collier gathered his thoughts. "It's about time. If the money I paid for that gun was in the bank, I'd have gotten rich off the interest."

   The men walked on. There remained an uncomfortable silence between them. Finally Roberts spoke. "The captain found out about the fight. He's pretty hot."

     "Let him be hot. I've had it with that asshole, Holling. He's shot off his mouth for the last time.  "I'd watch out for Holling. He's never without that knife and he's good."

   "He ever pulls that blade on me and he'll eat it."

   They stepped to the frame officers' building and waited for recognition. Collier placed his saddle and rifle on the porch. Within moments, they were summoned.

Captain Joe Davis sat behind writing table. "What happened?"

   "I got caught with my pants down by five Cheyenne at Pawnee Rock. They killed my gelding. I got one, maybe two of them. I walked in last night. Other than that the trail seemed clear."

   "No sign of any other hostiles?"

   "Nothing."

   Davis nodded and leaned back in his chair. "Collier, I don't want any more fights with any enlisted personnel. I've heard about you and Corporal Holling. It must not happen again."

   "Well, sir, I don't hardly know what you might or might not have heard."

    Davis blustered. "You know what happened, mister! You don't need to know what I heard! I want it to end!"

   Collier nodded. " I would suppose that would be up to the corporal, sir."

   "I want it to end." Davis sat for a moment, seemingly trying not to lose his temper. "I want you to scout for those six wagons going to Fort Dodge. Bohanin's not back from patrol and I'm sending Sergeant Roberts and a troop of infantry as escort. If we have a full-scale outbreak, that troop will need plenty of warning."

    "I wouldn't think that six wagons would be worth the effort, Captain. Why don't you wait for a larger group and put them together?"

   "There's some important supplies for Fort Dodge on one of them and because of it, the wagons have priority."

   "Yes, sir. Priority. When do we leave?"

   "First light in the morning. I want your people there and back in six days."

   Collier started out of the room.

   "Bohanin's late," Davis added. "We're undermanned. If this outbreak is as serious as some say it is; we are not nearly strong enough. Don't take any chances."

   Collier nodded but thought to himself that if Davis was so concerned about taking chances, maybe they shouldn't go at all. He joined Roberts waiting on the front porch.

"What do you think?" Roberts asked.

"I think you boys are in for a seventy-mile walk."

"What now?"

    "Lets go see that new rifle. I think I'm going to need it." He turned toward McClausky's store southwest of the fort.

The door was open to McClausky's store. The ramshackle frame building barely twenty feet wide by twenty feet long was crammed with supplies. It was one of the few places that a soldier stationed at Fort Larned could get any kind of break from the daily routine of soldiering. McClausky, a three-hundred pounder with a bushy beard and a thick crop of black coarse hair, was the kind of man who always knew a good story, always had a good deal, and always needed watching. Chewing tobacco, booze, cool beer, clothing, canned food, tack, guns, reading material, and a good place to hide was always available at McClausky's. About the only thing the man didn't supply were female favors and several camp laundresses, who lived in dugouts along the river, filled that bill.

    When Collier and Roberts entered the doorway, McClausky drew the boxed rifle from a cluttered corner and placed it on the counter.

   "Need a couple of beers," Chunk Roberts said without taking his eyes off the rifle. "So this is what you were saving for." He leaned over and read the engraving along the top of the barrel of the rifle. "Remington No. 1 Sporting Rifle, caliber .50-70."

   "Yep, this is my buffalo gun." Collier carefully placed his Plains rifle on the counter just below the Remington. He compared the lines of the cap lock to the center-fire. Both rifles at first glance looked new, but, on closer inspection, one could spot the tiny nicks in the wood of the Plains rifle.

   McClausky placed a new Winchester on the counter above the Remington. "For about the same money I can put you in this fine '66' Winchester .44 rimfire. If you throw in the Plains rifle, I'll call it even."

   Collier picked up the Remington and held it before him. "I want to stay alive out there and kill buffalo. You sell that Winchester to one of those teamsters who don't know any better."

   "I've got the other stuff that you ordered but the cartridge belt cost me ten cents more than I figured. You'll have to make up the difference."

   "No. You made the deal. I paid in advance. I waited six months while you used my money. I'll have the belt and cartridges just as agreed on."

   "Lord, McClausky! You never quit trying, do ya?" Roberts said as he shook his head in disgust.

   McClausky placed the beers on the counter next to the Plains rifle.

   "It's all a man can do to keep this place open, carrying you soldier boys on credit for months at a time, never knowing from one day to the next if I can make ends meet."

   "Oh, Lord spare me this speech again!" Roberts said while taking the beers and placing them on the one table in the center of the building before taking a seat in one of the chairs.

   Collier handed the Remington to Roberts then returned to the counter to pick up his Plains rifle, two boxes of .50-70 cartridges, and a leather cartridge belt. "Where's my free beer?"

   "You got em, Collier. Two on the house. Now, what will you take for the Gemmer?" McClausky said motioning toward the Plains rifle.

   "It isn't for sale. If I never fire it again, I won't part with it. Besides you'd just sell it to some Injun so he could use it on me." Collier smiled at the remark. It told McClausky that he was joking. Under the right circumstances a remark like that could cause serious trouble. Collier would never make it in front of strangers.

McClausky smiled and looked at the floor. "I'll give you twelve dollars for it."

    "No. I won't part with it." Collier touched the Plains rifle and thought of the fight the day before. "Too many memories."

   Roberts was feeling the heft of the Remington and discussing the Venire sights with Collier when Nathan Baker and two other men entered the store. A tall, thin, graying man named John Neill stepped to the counter past Baker and requested that his list of supplies be filled. McClausky took the list and started gathering products from the shelves and placing them on the counter. Baker leaned against the counter staring at Roberts and Collier. Collier was so involved with the rifle that he did not notice.

   "Can I help you, mister?" Roberts asked.

   Baker leaned back against the bar. "I was just wondering if this is what soldiers do."

   "I'm afraid I don't follow."

   Baker smirked. "Oh, you know. Sit on your ass drinking beer, talking big. Making a lot of noise and doing little else."

   Roberts' eyes drifted to Baker's gun. A large, heavy framed LeMat revolver hung in a cross draw holster. There was no hammer loop to restrain the weapon. It didn't look like a gun fighter outfit but it did look handy.

   Baker waited against the bar for a response. The third man, a grizzled teamster named Charley Pitts, spoke. "Nate, this really isn't a good idea. Why don't we wait outside?"

   Baker's dark eyes never left Roberts and Collier. "Oh, I don't think that we have much to worry about."

   "Look, mister, I don't want any trouble."

   "Come on," Pitts said. "We don't need this."

   Baker smiled coldly. "Why not? I don't see anything in here worth much."

   John Neill spoke like a man familiar with giving orders. "That's enough."

Baker smiled. "Enough of what? I was just making an observation about soldier boys."

   Roberts looked at Baker wondering what was happening. Getting dogged for no apparent reason seemed insane. Collier placed the Remington rifle on the table and shifted his weight forward. "I don't think that this business is meant for you, Chunk. Is it, mister?" He unsnapped the flap on his cross draw holster with his left hand.

    "What's that for?" Baker said. "I was just passing the time of day. What's your problem?"

   Collier's eyes grew narrow and mean. "You're my problem, asshole."

   Baker turned to Neill and Pitts. "Look at this! I can't believe this!"

   Baker's tactics disgusted Collier. "Can't believe what? There ain't no woman in here to run."

   Baker whined. "Man, I don't know what you are talking about."

   Chunk Roberts watched nervously.

   "Baker, I told you to wait outside," Neill said. "We don't need any trouble with the army."

   Baker turned his hands palms up as he whined, "You mean a man just walks into a place and gets bulldogged by the army and we have to take it?"

    Roberts spoke softly. "Lane, you're already in deep over Holling. I don't know what is going on but this fellow ain't worth it."

   Collier's eyes never left Baker and Pitts as they left the store. He turned his chair to face the doorway and sat back down.

   "Your order's ready," McClausky said.

   "How much?" Neill asked.

   "Twenty-eight, fifty," McClausky said. Neill paid and left the building with his parcels without comment.

   Roberts waited for a few uncomfortable seconds before he spoke. "What the hell?"

   Collier looked at the floor. "There are assholes in general and assholes by choice." He took his mug to the bar for a refill. "He's one by choice."

   Roberts leaned back in his chair and threw his arms wide. "Well, that explains it all! Thanks, Collier! Your eloquence is overwhelming."

   Collier allowed himself a small smile. "You want another beer?"

   "Sure. Especially if you're buying."

   The two men drank their beers slowly and with only casual remarks about the rifle for another twenty minutes before a green trooper burst through the doorway.

   "Sgt. Roberts! You and Mr. Collier are ordered to Captain Davis' quarters immediately."

   "What now?" Roberts asked.

   "Something about a complaint."

Roberts cut his eyes toward Collier. "You don't think?"

   Collier stood, picked up his rifles and goods and went for the door. "I told you, Chunk. An asshole by choice."

Both of the barracks at the north end of the square were full of activity starting around 4:30 when the kitchen opened. Each barrack had a kitchen attached to the middle running north from the main building. Sunrise was a time of quiet conversation before the routine of the day began. Twenty-two infantrymen of Company C, 3rd US Infantry, were assembling on the porch of the west barrack under "light marching orders." The order meant that the men were not to be burdened with their usual fifty pound backpacks. Each man would carry the minimal gear, that is, blanket, haversack, canteen, tin cup and rifle. The ten pound .58 caliber Model 1863 Springfield muskets were of Civil War vintage and although muzzle loaders, they had an effective killing range of nearly five hundred yards. In open country, Indians rarely took on the infantry unless numbers were greatly in their favor because of the range and killing power of the rifled muskets. The men were wearing new issue felt campaign hats rather than the Kepi caps of Civil War vintage. The hats were much more highly thought of than the caps as being cooler and more comfortable in hot weather. Infantrymen such as these were the backbone of Santa Fe Trail escort duty. The escort run to Fort Dodge, seventy miles to the southwest, was not considered too bad, especially since most of the trip would be made riding in the back of escort wagons that were being assembled in the square.