Gunsmith #362 : Buffalo Soldiers (9781101554388) (3 page)

Clint did the best he could to rest that night, but Rachel was having none of it.

“If you’re leaving tomorrow,” she said when they got back to his room, “you’re gonna make me happy tonight.”

And he did, but she also did her part.

As he left the hotel early the next morning, he walked on shaky legs to the livery. He saddled Eclipse and rode him around to the barracks building where the Judge and his court were.

He waited in front for Bass Reeves to appear. The big black lawman came walking up leading his big steel dust behind him.

“Ready?” Reeves asked.

“I’m ready.”

They went inside, presented themselves to Henry Butler first.

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” the bailiff asked. “Go on in.”

Reeves and Clint entered the Judge’s office.

“Well, Deputy Reeves,” the Judge Parker said, “I’m assuming this was the idea you were talking about yesterday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Adams,” Parker said, “for a man who refuses to wear a badge, you end up assisting my deputies very often. First, Deputy Thomas some time ago, and today, Deputy Reeves.”

“They may be your deputies,” Clint said, “but they’re also my friends.”

“So you’re doing this as a favor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which I assume means you still won’t wear a badge,”

“That’s what it means,” Clint said, nodding, “yes, sir.”

“Well,” Judge Parker said, “at some point I guess I’m just going to have to get that fact firmly implanted in my head.”

Clint didn’t answer.

“When are you leaving, Deputy?” Parker asked, turning his attention to the man in the room who was wearing a badge.

“As soon as we’re finished here, sir.”

“Well,” Parker said, sitting back in his chair, “as far as I’m concerned, we’re finished.”

“Yes, sir.”

Reeves led the way to the door. As he opened it, Parker said, “Alive, Deputy.”

Reeves turned.

“I want those men alive,” Parker said, but then he relented somewhat and added, “If you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

Outside the barracks building they mounted their horses.

“What about supplies?” Clint asked.

“I’ve got some beef jerky and coffee,” Reeves said. “And a pot.”

“That should be enough,” Clint said.

Reeves grinned.

“I learned to travel light from you.”

“I don’t think you need to learn much from me, Bass,” Clint said.

“Then let’s go.”

“Where?” Clint asked.

Reeves waved his arm.

“Out there.”

“Can we be more specific?”

“Well,” Reeves said, “I found the men I killed in the northeastern part of the Territories.”

“So you think that’s where the others are?”

“No,” Reeves said.

“Then where?”

“Let’s ride,” Reeves suggested, “and I’ll tell you along the way.”

Judge Parker walked to his window and looked down at Clint and Reeves, who were riding out. He spent a lot of time at this window. He usually watched his deputies ride
out on their assignments, he surveyed the town quite often from there, and on days when there were hangings—very often four and five men at a time—he watched the proceedings from there.

In turn, seeing the Judge in his window from the street was a common sight. Parker felt this was a good way to let the people of Fort Smith know that he was on the job.

“So you think the two men you killed were…what? Waiting to meet the others?” Clint asked.

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Reeves explained, “that’s what they were doin’ when I found them—just sittin’ and waitin—and drinkin’. Probably lucky for me they was drinkin’, made them a little slower to react. I mean, quick to decide to go for their guns, but slow in actually drawin’.”

“And you want to go back there?”

“Yes.”

“If the others got there after you left, they’ve either moved on, or…”

“Or they’re waitin’ for me there,” Reeves said. “They’ll find out I killed two of them, and they’ll want justice.”

“Justice?” Clint asked. “Not revenge.”

“They’re Buffalo Soldiers.”

“Ex-Buffalo Soldiers,” Clint reminded him.

“Yeah, but they’ll still think of it as justice.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “so if they’re there when we arrive, we take them.”

“Right.”

“And if they’re not there?”

Reeves shrugged.

“Then we do what we always do,” he said. “We track ’em.”

“That’s what you always do, all right,” Clint said, nodding.

“Hey, didn’t you say you tracked somebody all the way from Texas to here?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Clint said. “The man was a crooked lawman who shot a friend of mine. I wasn’t about to let him get away.”

“So then you understand,” Reeves said, “and now you are here to keep me from gettin’ shot by a bunch of crooked lawmen.”

“Ex-lawmen…but I get it. How many days out is Muskogee?”

“It’s almost ninety miles,” Reeves said.

“That far?” Clint said. “Maybe we’ll run into these ex-Buffalo Soldiers between here and there.”

“I doubt it,” Reeves said. “They will be ridin’ away from Fort Smith, not toward it.”

“Right.”

“But we can be ready,” Reeves added, “just in case you’re right.”

 * * *

Sergeant Lemuel Washington surveyed his assembled men. The eight of them looked as if they hadn’t had a wink of sleep among them.

“Corporal!” he shouted.

“Yessuh!” Corporal Adam Jefferson stepped up in front of Washington.

“Tell the men to saddle their horses and get mounted. We’re movin’ out.”

“Yessuh,” Jefferson said. “Uh, sir?”

“Yes, Corporal?”

Do we know what happened to the two men who were waitin’ here for us?”

“Yes, we do, Corporal,” the sergeant said. “They were killed by Deputy Bass Reeves.”

“Sir…how?”

“According to a witness, they were foolish enough to go for their guns when Reeves entered the saloon. He killed ’em both.”

“They were good men, sir.”

“Obviously not good enough,” Washington said. “Bass Reeves is a hard man, and he took them easy.”

“Yessuh.”

“Get them mounted, Corporal.”

“Yessuh.”

The men mounted up and then crowded around Sergeant Washington.

“We split up from here,” he said.

“What?” One man spoke, but he spoke for all.

“There are nine of us,” Washington said. “Two of you will go with Corporal Jefferson. Two of you will go with me. And two of you will go with Private Edwards.”

“Go…where?” Edwards asked.

“I will tell you all where to go, what to do, and where to meet up with us,” Washington said. “We have a dangerous man trackin’ us, and we can’t stay together, or do our next jobs together. We must make it hard for Bass Reeves to track us.”

“Bass Reeves?” one of the soldiers said, his eyes popping.

“Yes,” Washington said. “He killed Rafe and Lou.”

The men exchanged glances and a buzz went through them.

“Then we should kill him,” one of them said.

“And we will,” Washington said. “Believe me, the time will come, but I’ll say when. But right now I wanna talk to Jefferson and Edwards. I’ll explain to them what we’re gonna do, and they’ll explain it to the rest of you.”

He rode off, and Jefferson and Edwards followed him.

Sergeant Lemuel Washington knew his men well—all of them. He knew them well enough to predict what they would do in any situation.

He was talking directly to his corporal, Jefferson, but his words were really intended for Private Luke Edwards.

Although only a private in the Buffalo Soldiers, Edwards had the most experience of any of the men, and was a bit older than Corporal Jefferson, so when Washington needed someone to lead, he chose Luke.

Both men remained silent while their leader spoke, working on Luke’s head. But Washington could tell, by the look in Jefferson’s eyes, that the corporal knew what his boss was doing.

When they were done, they went back to the other men.

“Corporal, choose your two men.”

Since Jefferson knew what Washington was planning, he knew which men to choose.

“Carl and Webster.”

“All right,” Washington said. “Gordon and Franklin, you’re with me.”

That left the two least experienced men, Bush and Davis, with Edwards.

This was the mix Washington wanted. Edwards had a lot of anger in him, and Bush and Davis were always ready to be led.

“Your leaders have your assignments,” Washington said. “Go.”

They rode out of town together, but soon after they split up.

After the others had ridden away, Washington turned to his two men, Gordon and Franklin.

“Do you think it’s gonna work, Sarge?” Franklin asked.

“Is what gonna work?”

“Come on…sir,” Gordon said. “You knew what would happen if you gave Edwards both Davis and Bush. Those boys’ll do anythin’ he tells ’em.”

“Edwards is a leader,” Washington said. “He’ll lead them well.”

“But you know what they’ll do,” Franklin said.

“Yeah,” Washington said, “I know. Now, here’s what we’re gonna do…”

When they had cleared the others, Private Edwards held up his hand to halt their progress.

“What’s wrong?” Bush asked.

“We’re goin’ the other way,” Edwards said.

“Why?” Davis asked. “Is that what the sarge said we should do?”

“No,” Edwards said. He stared at the two younger men. From appearances, he could have been forty or seventy. In truth, he was close to sixty, had spent many years in the saddle, even as a slave. He had a lot of bitterness in him, which was why he was following Sergeant Washington on these raids.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t want that Bass Reeves on my tail,” Edwards said, “so we’re gonna go back and take care of him.”

“The sergeant said he’d tell us when to do that,” Bush said. He shifted nervously in his saddle.

“He did tell me,” Edwards said.

“When?” Bush asked.

“When he pulled you and Jefferson away from the rest of us?” Davis asked.

“That’s right.”

“He told you to kill Bass Reeves.”

“He didn’t say it in them words,” Edwards said, “but that’s what he wants us to do, and that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“How?” Davis asked. “We don’t even know where the lawman is.”

“We know two things,” Edwards said. “He’s gonna be trackin’ us, and he’s gonna go to Muskogee.”

“How do we know that?” Bush asked.

“Experience,” Edwards said.

“But—”

“You boys are gonna have ta stop askin’ silly questions,” Edwards said, “and just do what you’re told. Ya got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Bush said.

“Yeah,” Davis said.

“Okay,” Edwards said. “We’re gonna turn around and go back, and then keep goin’. We’ll run into Bass Reeves, and then we’ll kill ’im.”

“Are you—” Bush started, then remembered he wasn’t supposed to ask any more questions.

“Ready?” Edwards asked.

The two men nodded. They were ready to follow Edwards. They just weren’t sure they were doing the right thing.

Reeves figured that his horse and Clint’s could cover the ninety miles in two days. They camped on the trail the first night, made a fire, and put on a pot of coffee. Then Reeves passed over some beef jerky.

“Sorry there’s no beans,” Reeves said.

“That’s okay,” Clint said. “I’m used to traveling light and keeping a cold camp. At least this way we have hot coffee.”

“And strong,” Reeves said, pouring it out. “I remember you like your trail coffee rough.”

Clint sipped and found that Reeves was right on the money. This was rough coffee. And good.

“Should we set watches?” Clint asked.

“I think so,” Reeves said. “I expect them to be runnin’, but that don’t mean they won’t decide to double back on us.”

“I’ll take the first watch, then,” Clint said. “Keep the fire going, and the coffee.”

“Suits me,” Reeves said, “but I ain’t ready to turn in yet.”

They sat together awhile, catching up and drinking coffee. Clint made another pot and they drank that before Reeves was finally ready to bed down.

“I’ll wake you in four hours,” Clint said.

“Jus’ don’t fall asleep yourself,” Reeves said.

“I’ll try not to.”

In the morning Reeves woke Clint using the tip of his boot and handed him a cup of coffee.

“I already stomped out the fire,” the black man said. “Drink that and we’ll be on our way.”

“Think we’ll make Muskogee today?” Clint asked.

“We’ll make it.”

They broke camp and saddled their horses, mounted up, and started riding.

“It feels like I just did this,” Clint said.

“What?”

“Rode to hell and gone tracking some outlaw,” Clint explained. “I guess I should’ve left Fort Smith when I had the chance.”

“Yeah, but you couldn’t leave without seein’ your friend Bass, could ya?” Reeves asked with a wide, white grin.

“No, damn it,” Clint said, “I couldn’t.”

“So it’s your own damn fault,” Reeves said. “Stop bellyachin’ about it.”

“Stay here,” Edwards told the other two, handing Bush his horse’s reins.

He moved ahead on foot, then got down on his belly. His eyes were as good on that day as they had been when he was a kid. He could see two riders in the distance, could tell one of them was a big black man wearing a badge, while the other was white.

He crawled backward, then got to his feet and ran to Bush and Davis.

“He’s comin’,” he said, remounting his horse, “and he’s got somebody with him.”

“Another lawman?” Bush asked.

“Don’t look like it,” Edwards said, shaking his head. “I saw the sun shinin’ off Reeve’s badge, but not off’n the white man.”

“He’s got a white man with ’im?” Davis asked.

“He does.”

“We gon’ kill him, too?”

“We sure are,” Private Edwards said. “Let’s ride back a couple of miles. There was a likely place there for an ambush.”

“We gonna back-shoot ’em?” Bush asked.

“We are,” Edwards said. “We ain’t takin’ no chances with a hard man like Bass Reeves.”

“Stop,” Clint said.

“What?”

“Just hold up.”

They reined their horses in.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Clint said. “Something is. What’s up ahead?”

“Lots of rocks.”

“Anyplace where somebody could get above us?” Clint asked.

“Oh yeah. You sayin’ somebody’s layin’ for us?” Reeves asked.

“Could be.”

“How would you know that?”

“Come on, Bass,” Clint said. “You’ve been doing this a long time.”

“Instinct?”

Clint nodded, then touched his nose.

“I smell a rat.”

Reeves stood in his stirrups and stared around, and then ahead of them.

“Whataya wanna do?” Reeves asked.

“I’ll tell you…”

Edwards got himself situated up in some rocks. Across from him he saw Bush and Davis getting into position, also in some rocks. From this point they had a clear view of the ground below.

He could also look off into the distance and see one rider.

One
rider.

It was Bass Reeves. The sun was still glinting off his badge.

But where was the white man?

He looked over at Bush and Davis again. From where they were, they could not see that Bass Reeves was riding alone.

Edwards looked around, couldn’t see the white man anywhere.

He decided not to worry. He held his rifle in both hands. If he could get a clear shot at Deputy Bass Reeves, he could kill him, and then worry about where the white man went.

Bass Reeves’s face was clear to Edwards now. He had seen the big black lawman before, and knew him on sight. He also didn’t like him much, so he sighted down the barrel of his rifle, his finger hovering over the trigger, and waited.