Gunsmith #362 : Buffalo Soldiers (9781101554388) (11 page)

Washington and Jefferson looked up as Gordon and Webster entered the saloon. Against the bar were Weatherby and Franklin. There was no one else in the saloon except for the bartender.

“Get a beer, Private,” Washington said to Webster.

“Yessir.”

Webster went to the bar to join his partners. Gordon walked over to the table where Washington and Jefferson were sitting.

“Where was he?” Washington asked.

“He was, uh, talkin’ to some kids, sir.”

“Kids?”

“Tellin’ them stories.”

“Stories?”

“He was a teacher before he joined the Buffalo Soldiers,” Jefferson said. “He likes kids.”

“That’s what he said, sir,” Gordon said. “He likes kids.”

“All right,” Washington said. “Go and get a beer with the others.”

“Yessir.”

As Gordon walked away, Washington looked at Jefferson and said, “A teacher?”

“And he’s a damned good soldier,” Jefferson added. “They’re all good boys.”

“They better be,” Washington said. He pushed his chair back.

“What now?”

“Now I tell them what we’re up against,” Washington said.

“Are you gonna tell ’em everythin’?”

Washington was in the act of standing. He paused and looked at his corporal.

“What do you mean by everythin’?” he asked.

“You know,” Jefferson said. “You and Bass.”

“I’ll tell them that we know each other,” Washington said, “and that when the time comes, Bass is mine. The rest of you will kill the Gunsmith.”

“But what about—”

“Then you’ll all have the reputation as the men who killed a legend,” Washington said.

Jefferson stared at his commanding officer.

“Don’t worry, Corporal,” Washington said, “it’s all gonna work out. Trust me.”

Bass Reeves and Clint went to see Sheriff Riggs.

“How’s everythin’ goin’?” Riggs asked.

“It looks like we’re gonna have to take these six men by force, Sheriff,” Reeves said.

“And you want my help?”

“Not exactly,” Clint said. “We only need you to know what’s going to happen. We didn’t want you to be surprised when you heard the shooting.”

“Well, that’s good,” Riggs said, “because to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t know which side to take. I mean, Buffalo Soldiers are law officers, right? And you’re a deputy marshal. You gotta admit this is kind of an odd situation.”

“We’re fairly sure they’re not Buffalo Soldiers anymore,” Clint said. “Not after committing the robberies they have, and the killings.”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t know that for sure.”

“That’s why we’re not askin’ you to take sides, Sheriff,” Reeves said. “Just…stay out of the way.”

Riggs sat back in his chair and said, “I can do that.”

Washington told his men that within the next day they would be facing both Bass Reeves and Clint Adams. Of course, they knew that Adams was the Gunsmith.

“We didn’t know we would have to face him,” Franklin said.

“I didn’t either,” Washington said. “I only expected Bass Reeves to track us. And maybe another deputy. The Gunsmith is a surprise.”

“What can we do?” Weatherby asked.

“Kill him.”

“Kill the Gunsmith?” Gordon asked.

“We’ll need more men,” Franklin said. “What about the others?”

“I believe that Reeves and the Gunsmith have already killed Private Edwards and the others.”

“Then we have to run,” Gordon said.

“No,” Washington said. “I can kill Bass Reeves. That leaves the five of you to kill Clint Adams.”

The four men standing at the bar exchanged glances with each other.

“Don’t you think five trained Buffalo Soldiers can kill one man?” Washington asked. “Even if that one man is the Gunsmith?”

When they stepped outside the sheriff’s office, they noticed how desolate the streets were.

“Word got around,” Clint said.

“At least we won’t have to worry about innocent bystanders,” Reeves said.

“You really think those six men are going to face us in the street, fair and square?” Clint asked.

Reeves hesitated a moment, then said, “No. I’d expect that from Buffalo Soldiers, but not from these men. They’ll try something underhanded. And we have to be ready.”

Clint looked at Reeves and raised his eyebrows.

“What are you thinkin’?” Reeves asked.

“I’m thinking why should we be the ones waiting for them to make a move?” Clint said. “Let’s make them think we’re planning something of our own.”

“Good idea,” Reeves said. “If we make them wait, maybe they’ll get impatient and make a mistake.”

“How long?” Clint asked.

“I ain’t in a hurry,” Reeves said, “since we know where they all are.”

“Five of them anyway.”

“I’m sure Washington got ahold of his sixth man,” Reeves said. “Believe me, they’re all in the saloon.”

“I saw a couple of wooden chairs in front of our hotel,” Clint said. “Why don’t we go and put them to good use?”

“Good idea.”

“Where are they?” Jefferson asked.

“Don’t get impatient,” Washington said. “Bass Reeves is a smart man. He wants to keep us waitin’ so we get nervous.”

Jefferson looked over at the four fidgety black men standing at the bar. “I think it’s workin’.”

“Then go and talk to them,” Washington said. “Calm them down.”

“Okay.”

Jefferson started to get up.

“But in the meantime,” Washington added, “send Gordon out to see where they are.”

“Yes sir.”

Gordon griped at always being the one sent out to check on Reeves and Adams. He was sure that at some point they’d get tired of seeing him and just kill him.

He walked around town, finally saw the two men sitting on chairs in front of their hotel. He ducked into a
doorway and just watched them for a few minutes, but they weren’t doing anything but sitting.

He quit the doorway and moved away from the area, feeling safe that he hadn’t been seen.

“See ’im?” Reeves asked.

“I see him.”

“All right,” Reeves said, “so now they know where we are.”

“But Washington’s a smart man, isn’t he?” Clint asked.

“I used to think so.”

“So maybe he’s figurin’ what we’re doin’,” Clint said. “He won’t panic.”

“Probably not,” Reeves said, “but his men might.”

“I’m getting hungry,” Clint said.

“A hot meal sounds good,” Reeves said. “We might as well eat early—we don’t want to put a café full of people in danger.”

They got up and went to find a nice empty restaurant.

Gordon came hurrying into the saloon.

“They’re in front of their hotel,” he told Washington and Jefferson.

“Doin’ what?” Jefferson asked.

“Nothin’,” Gordon said. “Just sittin’ and talkin’.”

“Did they see you?” Jefferson asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” Washington said. “Go back to the bar with the others.”

Gordon did so gladly.

“They saw him,” Washington said.

“Yeah,” Jefferson said. “So what do we do?”

“We do what they’re doin’,” Washington said. “We make them wait.”

“So we’re all just waitin’?” the corporal asked.

“That’s right.”

“What about eatin’?”

“Eat whenever you want,” Washington said, “as long as it’s right here.”

Clint and Reeves found a small café with only about half a dozen tables. And while one was taken when they got there, the man and woman seated there got up and left as soon as it became clear they were going to stay and eat.

“Oh yeah,” Clint said, “word has gotten around there’s going to be trouble.”

The waiter nervously told them to take any table. They sat as far from the window as they could, just in case.

They ordered steaks, and while they were a little tough, they weren’t as tough as the beef jerky they’d been dining on. They each washed the food down with a mug of beer.

They were on to coffee and pie when Sheriff Riggs walked into the place. The café was still empty, so he walked right over to them.

“You found my place,” Riggs said.

“This where you usually eat?” Clint asked. “Pull up a chair, unless you’re afraid of us, like everyone else.”

Riggs pulled out a chair and sat down. The waiter immediately appeared with a steak dinner.

“Looks like they were expecting you,” Clint said.

“I always eat here the same time every day,” Riggs said, “only it ain’t usually this empty.”

“Our fault, I guess,” Clint said.

“I’ll tip big,” Reeves said, “to try to make up for it.”

“Well, the word is around town,” Riggs said. “Nobody’s on the street. They’re all inside, waiting to see who’s gonna make the first move, you or the Buffalo Soldiers.”

“They ain’t Buffalo Soldiers no more,” Reeves said with feeling.

“Well,” Riggs said, “sorry, but that’s how people around here think of them.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Don’t mind him,” Clint said. “He’s been after these men a long time.”

“If you don’t mind me askin’,” Riggs said, “when will you be facin’ them?” Then he added, “I’m askin’ on behalf of the town.”

“Soon,” Reeves said.

“We’re waiting to see if they’ll blink first,” Clint explained. Riggs didn’t look like he understood. “We just want to make them a little nervous.”

“Ah,” Riggs said, “well, the whole town is nervous, that’s for sure.”

“We’re sorry about that,” Reeves said. “We’ll do our best to get this over with as fast as we can so the people in town can feel safe again.”

They finished their pie and coffee while Riggs was still eating his steak.

“We’ll leave you to your meal,” Clint said as he and Reeves stood up.

“I’ll be listenin’ for shots,” Riggs said. “Lots of them.”

“You’ll hear them,” Clint said, “unless all six of those men just surrender.”

Riggs laughed. “What’s the chance of that?” he asked.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Clint said. “What are the chances?”

He and Reeves left the café.

Outside the street was still deserted. They stopped just in front of the café door.

“I have a suggestion,” Clint said.

“What’s that?” Reeves asked.

“Let me call the play.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Clint said, “you and Washington know each other.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you heard of the game called chess?”

“No,” Reeves said, “just poker.”

“Well, this isn’t with cards, it’s on a board…actually, I really don’t know how to play it myself, but I know that it’s about strategy. You and Washington can figure out each other’s strategies.”

“Okay, I think I see what you mean,” Reeves said. “If you call the play, he won’t be able to predict it.”

“Exactly.”

Reeves thought a moment, then said, “Well, yeah, okay. Let’s do that, ’cause right now Washington and me have got us all sittin’ around doin’ nothin’.”

“That’s why,” Clint said, “I think we should do
something
.”

“But what?”

“Come on,” Clint said. “I’ll tell you my plan on the way.”

Clint took a deep breath and walked through the batwing doors. Inside six black men and one white man turned their eyes toward him.

“Can I get a beer in here?” he asked.

“Sure,” Washington said. “Make room at the bar for Mr. Adams, boys.”

There was plenty of room so they didn’t really have to move. The bartender—the only other white man in the place—set a beer on the bar for Clint and implored him with his eyes to give him some help.

Clint picked up the beer left-handed, turned, and looked at Washington and Jefferson.

“Where’s your buddy?” Washington asked. “Where’s Bass Reeves?”

Clint sipped his beer, said, “To tell you the truth, I don’t know where he is right now.”

“Is that a fact?” Washington asked. “Gordon, check the back door of this place.”

“Yessir.”

“Take somebody with you.”

Gordon looked at Weatherby, who nodded. The two men headed for the back of the saloon.

“You think I’m lying?” Clint asked.

“The next thing you’ll tell me is that you and Bass had a fight,” Washington said, “and you ain’t backin’ his play no more.”

“Why would I tell you that?” Clint asked. “Bass is my friend. Of course I’m backing his play.”

“Then what are you doin’ here?”

“Maybe this is his play.”

“And he’s comin’ in the back while you keep us busy? That ain’t much of a plan.”

“I agree,” Clint said. “That wouldn’t be much of a plan.”

Gordon and Weatherby returned.

“Ain’t nothin’ happenin’ back there, Sarge,” he said. “The rear door is locked up tight, and ain’t no broken windows.”

“All right,” Washington said. “Check upstairs. See if Reeves came in through a window up there.”

Both Gordon and Weatherby looked up at the ceiling, then back at Washington.

“All right,” he said, “all four of you go!”

The four black men moved away from the bar and went up the stairs to the second floor.

“Check every room!” Washington shouted.

“We will,” Gordon said.

In a few moments they could hear the footsteps above them as the men went from room to room.

In the saloon there were now only two black men, Jefferson and Washington. Clint stood at the bar, a half-finished beer in his left hand. He was watching the two seated men. The bartender stood behind the bar, watching all three of them.

Washington and Jefferson watched Clint, then seemed to realize that they had gone from a six-to-one advantage to two-to-one.

Which against the Gunsmith was a disadvantage.

“Wait a minute,” Jefferson said. He started to get up and go for his gun.

“Corporal—” Washington said warningly.

Jefferson didn’t listen. He pushed his chair back and put his hand on his gun.

That was when the batwing doors swung open and Bass Reeves entered the saloon.

Washington suddenly realized what the plan had been, to divide him and his men by making him think Clint was there to distract them.

“Easy,” he said to Jefferson, who had not quite drawn his gun.

Reeves looked at Washington.

“This wasn’t your plan,” Washington said.

“No,” Reeves said, “it was Clint’s. Jefferson, take your hand away from your gun.”

Jefferson was frozen in place, his hand on his gun.

Washington was chuckling and shaking his head.

“You let him call the play,” he said. “I didn’t expect that.”

Clint could hear the footsteps above them.

“They’re coming back,” Clint said. “You two drop your guns now.”

Washington was staring at Reeves. Jefferson was watching Clint.

“Put your guns down now!” Reeves said.

Washington knew they needed only minutes for the others to come down.

“Jefferson…” he said.

Washington leaped to his feet as Jefferson went for his gun.

Clint and Bass Reeves drew.

Washington grabbed Jefferson from behind and used him as a shield. The corporal realized what was happening too late. As Washington dragged him back toward the rear of the saloon, Clint and Reeves fired. Washington felt the slugs strike Jefferson’s body. The corporal squeezed off a couple of shots into the ground.

When Washington reached the door in the back wall of the saloon, he shoved the dead corporal away from him.

At that moment the other four soldiers, hearing the shots, came running down the stairs, their guns in their hands. When they saw Clint and Reeves, they started firing.

Clint threw himself over the bar, landed on the bar--tender.

“Stay down,” he told the man.

“Don’t worry, I will.”

Reeves had backed out of the saloon, took cover outside so he could fire over the batwing doors.

The four men scattered, overturned tables to use as cover. But they were cheap tables. Clint rose up and fired three shots into one of them. The bullets went right through and killed Weatherby.

Reeves, seeing what happened, picked out an overturned table and fired four shots into it. They went through and killed Gordon.

“Give it up!” he shouted. “Those tables give you no cover.”

He and Clint waited a few moments, then fired high into the tables to illustrate their point.

“Okay, okay,” Webster shouted. “Stop firing.”

“Toss out your guns.”

Webster threw his over the table. They waited, and then Franklin did the same thing.

Reeves stepped into the saloon. Clint stood up.

“I’ve got them,” he said. “Go after Washington.”

“Thanks,” Reeves said.

He ran out of the saloon.

Washington heard all the shooting in the saloon as he went out the back door. He could have run around to the front of the saloon and tried to get behind Reeves and Clint Adams. Instead, he ran straight for the livery stable.

Reeves came out of the saloon watching for Washington to appear. He would have gone out the back and then run around to the front. That’s what he would have done, and what most Buffalo Soldiers would have done.

Washington would do the opposite.

Washington reached the livery on the run. The stable was empty, so he found his horse’s stall and started saddling it.

“It’s not gonna be that easy, Lem,” Reeves said.

Washington froze, then turned, saw Reeves standing in the doorway.

“You can’t outthink me,” Reeves said. “You wanna see if you can outdraw me?”

“Adams’ll be here any minute,” Washington said.

“He’s takin’ care of the rest of your men,” Reeves said. “What did you promise them to get them to follow you? Money? A big score?”

“I got them money,” Washington said. “The bank here was supposed to be a big score.”

“Now you’ll never know.”

“I will if I kill you, and then Adams.”

“That’s a tall order, even for a Buffalo Soldier.”

Washington turned away from his horse to face Reeves.

“Well,” he said, “I might as well get by you first.”

“I don’t understand you, Lem,” Reeves said. “You were a Buffalo Soldier.”

“We were still puppets, Bass,” Washington said, “with white men pullin’ the strings. Hell, your strings are bein’ pulled by Judge Parker. Another white man.”

“I got no strings.”

“You think you don’t—”

“You won’t convince me,” Reeves said. “Not like you did the rest of your men. Four of them are dead, and you used one of them as a shield.”

“It was his duty to help his CO escape.”

“What you did was the act of a coward, Lem,” Reeves said. “Now drop your gun. I’m takin’ you back.”

“To hang? Not likely. I ain’t lettin’ no white man hang me.”

“Then it ends here.”

Washington nodded.

“We agree on that, Bass. It ends here.”

Clint turned the remaining two men over to Sheriff Riggs and ran out of the saloon. The only place he could think Washington would go was the livery.

As he approached the stable on the run, he heard a shot. He increased his speed, but stopped short of the door. He drew his gun and moved slowly, peering into the stable. He saw one black man standing over another.

Reeves turned his head and looked at him.

“It’s over,” he said. “He wouldn’t go back.”

Clint walked in, holstering his gun. He looked down at the dead Lem Washington.

“Well,” he said to the black deputy, “at least you have two live ones to bring back to the Judge. He can still have himself a hanging party.”

“You think the Judge enjoys hangin’ men?”

“I think he does, yeah,” Clint said. “Why else is he always insisting you bring them back alive?”

Reeves studied Clint for a few moments, then said, “That’s somethin’ we’ll have to talk about another time. I have ta get those last two back to Fort Smith.”

“I’m not coming,” Clint said. “I’ve already spend too much time in the Territories.”

“Where are you gonna go?”

“I don’t know,” Clint said. “Maybe I’ll head back to Texas.”

Reeves stuck his hand out.

“Thanks for everythin’ you did.”

Clint shook his hand.

“Give my best to the Judge,” he said.