Gunsmith #362 : Buffalo Soldiers (9781101554388) (5 page)

Sergeant Lemuel Washington was riding up ahead of his two men, alone with his thoughts—his thoughts being whether or not Edwards and the other two had been successful in trying to kill Bass Reeves, or if he’d managed to kill them instead.

He doubted it. Deputy Marshal Bass Reeves was a formidable man. It would probably take more than three men to kill him.

Private Franklin came riding up alongside him, interrupting his thoughts.

“Where we headed, Sarge?” he asked.

“Not to where anybody thinks we’re headed, Private,” Washington said.

“What’s that mean?”

Washington looked at him.

“We’re gettin’ out of the Territories,” he said. “We’re gonna expand our operation.”

“Expand it?”

“We’re gonna spread out,” Washington said. “Bass Reeves thinks he’s gonna find us in the Territories. Well, he’s gonna find out he’s gonna have to go a lot farther to find us.”

“But where we goin’?” the private asked.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

As Clint and Reeves put some distance between themselves and Muskogee, the tracks they were following separated into two groups.

They reined their mounts in, saw three sets of tracks going off to the north, and the other three continuing to the east.

“Split up?” Clint asked.

“If we’d split up earlier today,” Reeves offered, “one of us would be dead.”

“So what are you thinkin’?”

“I’m thinkin’ maybe they split, but they’re headed to the same place.”

“So if we follow one set of three, they may lead us to the others eventually.”

“Yeah, eventually.”

“But who knows how long it will take,” Clint said. He was still thinking that he had just been through this, and had been on the trail longer than he’d expected.

“Must be another way,” he offered.

“Yeah, there is,” Reeves said. “We catch up to one of these groups and they’ll tell us where the other one is headed.”

They mounted up.

“Okay,” Clint said, “you’re the man with the badge. Pick one.”

“North,” Reeves said.

“Maybe they’re going to Kansas,” Clint suggested. “Moving out of the Territories rather than have to deal with you.”

“Goin’ to Kansas ain’t gonna solve that for ’em,” Reeves said. “They’re gonna have to deal with me—and you, no matter what.”

They rode in silence for a while and then Clint asked, “What do you suppose their aim would be in going to Kansas?”

Reeves seemed to give the question some thought before responding.

“Well, like you said, maybe they don’t think I’d follow them,” he said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “Or maybe they’re just tryin’ to spread out themselves out some. They’re ex-military, their sergeant must have a plan.”

“I’m thinking he’s got a target in mind,” Clint said. “Someplace in Kansas that he’s going to hit. If we knew what and where that was, we could be there waiting for them.”

“There’s no way to figure that one out, is there?” Reeves said. “We’re just gonna have to keep followin’ them.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Franklin rode up to Washington and said, “We’s in Kansas.”

“Yes, we are.”

“You know where we’re goin’, don’t ya?” Franklin asked.

“I heard some things last week, when we ran into those boys,” Washington said.

“The ones we killed and robbed ’cause they had just hit a bank?”

“That’s right,” Washington said. “They told me about a bank in a town called Kilkenny.”

“A big bank?”

“Not a big one,” Washington said, “but a rich one.”

“Can the three of us hit it?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Washington said. “I got that part taken care of, too.”

The man looked at his leader, then looked back at the other rider.

“We’s wonderin’, that’s all.”

“Well,” Washington said, “stop wonderin’ and just follow me. Understand?”

“Yessuh.”

Franklin rode back to explain what he’d learned to Gordon.

They stopped at the border.

“Kansas,” Clint said.

Reeves stood in his stirrups and looked around.

“At least we won’t have to watch out for Indians,” Clint said.

“We ain’t had no trouble with Indians,” Reeves reminded him.

“I know it,” Clint said, “I was just trying to look on the bright side.”

“Ain’t no bright side to this, Clint,” Reeves said. “I get the feelin’ these men ain’t gonna come easy.”

“That won’t make the Judge happy.”

“I ain’t so worried about the Judge,” the black deputy said. “Me and him got a understandin’.”

“And that is?”

“Sometimes,” he said, “folks just don’t wanna come in alive.”

Clint and Reeves were getting ready to make camp for the night when they saw lights up ahead.

“You been up to this corner of the Territories before?” Clint asked.

“A few times, but I ain’t usually crossed in Kansas here,” Reeves explained, “so I don’t know what town that is.”

They hadn’t come across any town signposts. Also, the tracks they were following did not lead directly to those lights. They skirted around them.

“If the Soldiers passed here in daylight, they might not have seen that town,” Clint suggested. “Or they deliberately bypassed it.”

“If it’s a town at all,” Reeves said. “All we see are some lights.”

“Well,” Clint said, “there’s only one way to find out.”

Reeves hesitated.

“If it’s a town, it’s better than camping and having beef jerky again,” Clint pointed out.

“Okay,” Reeves said, “we’ll ride over there and check it out.”

It was a town.

That much they could tell when they rode in. It wasn’t much of a town, and they didn’t see a town name anywhere, but the lights were real lights in real windows and—best of all—they could smell food.

They found a saloon, which looked like it was the place throwing out the most light.

“This is probably the place we saw from a distance,” Reeves said, dismounting.

They stepped up onto the boardwalk and started for the batwings. Clint put his hand on Bass Reeves’s arm to stop him.

“What?”

“How about taking the badge off?”

“What?”

“Put it in your pocket,” Clint said. “It’s just a suggestion. Let’s not look for trouble when we don’t know what we’re walking into.”

Clint could see Reeves was struggling with the suggestion, but finally the black man took the badge off and put it in his shirt pocket.

They stepped through the batwings.

It was a small saloon, brightly lit and noisy, with girls working the floor. It was remarkably lively for a small-town place that apparently had no gambling and no music.

They walked to the bar, watched blatantly by most of the men in the place.

“I guess they don’t get many strangers here,” Clint said.

“You might’ve been right about the badge,” Reeves admitted.

They got to the bar, made room for the both of them, and ordered a cold beer each.

“Did you notice a name on the front of the saloon?” Clint asked Reeves.

“No saloon name, and no town name,” Reeves said.

“They must be trying to keep this place a secret. Either that or there are signs all over the place that we can’t see in the dark.”

Reeves called the bartender over.

“Yeah?” The bartender was a middle-aged white man with a heavy beard. He was giving Bass Reeves a hard look. There were no other black men in the place.

“What town are we in?”

“Poison Springs.”

“What?”

The man looked at Clint.

“You hard of hearin’?”

“Why would anyone name their town Poison…anything?”

“Look, friend, I just work here.”

He walked away.

“Not very friendly,” Clint said.

“That’s because of me,” Reeves said. “I been gettin’ those looks since we walked in.”

“Well, there’s a cure for that.”

“What’s that?”

“Put the badge back on,” Clint said.

“But you said—”

“I know what I said,” Clint replied, cutting him off, “but I’d love to see everyone’s reaction when you put it on.”

Reeves thought about it a moment, then shrugged, took the badge out, and pinned it back on.

The bartender was the first one to see it. He stared at the tin, then looked at Reeves’s face again. Reeves didn’t react.

Then Reeves picked up his beer mug and turned his back to the bar. That gave everyone in the saloon a clear look at the badge. In that moment Clint was almost jealous—almost wished he himself had a badge he could take out and pin on.

There were a lot of big black men in the West, but when you saw a big black man wearing a deputy marshal’s badge, it was Bass Reeves.

“Bass Reeves,” somebody said, and the saloon got quieter.

“Here ya go, Deputy Reeves,” the bartender said. “A nice fresh beer.”

Reeves turned and looked at the man.

“I ain’t finished this one,” he said, “and by the time I do, that one’ll be warm.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry,” the man said, taking the beer back. “Just let me know when yer done and I’ll let ya have another one…on the house.”

“And for my friend,” Reeves said.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure,” the bartender said, “one fer your friend.”

Clint thought Reeves was going to say his name, and
was happy when he didn’t. No point in letting all the cats out of their bags.

“I’m lookin’ for three or six more black men,” Reeves said, “You seen ’em?”

“Three, or six?”

“That’s right. Seen ’em?”

The bartender shook his head.

“If they passed by, they didn’t bother to stop here, Deputy,” the man said. “I swear. You can ask anybody. This ain’t a big town, and that many black men would be noticed.”

Clint knew he was right.

“Yeah,” Reeves said, finishing his beer. He set the empty mug on the bar. “I’m finished.” He looked at Clint. “You finished?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, setting his mug down, “I’m finished.”

“Two more,” the bartender said. “Yes, sir, comin’ up.”

He went off to draw the beers.

“Whataya think?” Reeves asked.

“Seems to me he’s telling the truth,” Clint said.

“Yeah, me, too.”

“We could ask a few of the others, but it probably doesn’t matter.”

“Let’s get somethin’ to eat,” Reeves said, “and then a room.”

“Right.”

“Each,” Reeves said, “a room each.”

“Suits me,” Clint said.

They both liked their privacy. Clint liked to read in the privacy of his own room. He didn’t know what Reeves liked.

* * *

They were finishing their beers when one of the saloon girls came up next to Reeves, looking him up and down. She was pretty enough, looked to be experienced—late twenties, or early thirties—was tall and blond.

She licked her lips and smiled at Reeves.

“Are you really Bass Reeves?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re big.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you big…all over?”

Deputy Reeves frowned, not sure what she was asking him.

“Ma’am…I think so.”

She laughed, ran her hand over his chest, and said, “You’re cute.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true, ma’am,” he said, shaking his head.

“Are you stayin’ in town overnight?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, Mister Reeves,” she said, “I guess I’ll be seein’ you later.”

She moved away from him, back onto the floor to do her job. Reeves turned to Clint, looking confused. Clint didn’t know quite how much experience Bass Reeves had with women—or with saloon girls.

“Don’t worry,” Clint said. “You’ll get it.”

While the blonde had been sizing up Reeves, the brunette saloon girl had been watching Clint from across the room.
She was shorter, younger, more full-bodied than her blond counterpart. Clint returned her look, toasted her with his beer mug. She smiled, ran her finger along the cleft formed by her chubby breasts.

“I guess we better get some rooms,” Reeves said, setting his empty mug down on the bar. “We gotta get an early start in the mornin’.”

Clint nodded, drained his own mug, and placed it on the bar.

“More, Deputy?” the bartender asked.

“No, that’s enough,” Reeves said. “You got a lawman in this town?”

The bartender fidgeted a bit, then said, “Well, sort of.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You gonna talk to him?”

Reeves nodded, said, “In the mornin’.”

“Then you’ll find out for yourself,” the bartender said, “he ain’t much of a lawman.”

“As long as he’s wearin’ a badge,” Reeves said.

“Oh, he wears one,” the barman said. “But he ain’t gonna be much good to you.”

“Like you said,” Reeves replied, “I’ll find out for myself.”

Clint and Reeves left the saloon. As soon as they were gone, the bartender’s expression changed to one of naked hatred. He looked over at a table of three men and beckoned them to come over.

“What’s up?” one asked.

“I got a job for you…”

They left the saloon and took their horses to the livery. They had to wake the man to take the horses in. He gave Reeves a dirty look until he saw that badge. Then his attitude changed.

“Would you be Bass Reeves?” he asked.

“I would.”

“And judging from this horse,” the man went on, “you’re the Gunsmith.”

“You know that from my horse?”

“Fella,” the man said, “I’m eighty years old.” Clint thought he looked abut sixty. “I’ve seen a lot over the course of my life. I can usually make a good guess about who a body is.”

“Then maybe you can guess the location of about half a dozen black men, ex-Buffalo Soldiers,” Clint said. “Been seen in the area?”

“Not here,” the man said, “but they did pass by, on their way…somewhere.”

“Like where?”

“North.”

“That’s it?”

The man shrugged.

“They were headin’ north when they passed here a couple of days ago,” he said. “After that they could’ve went…anywhere. That helpful?”

“Not a lot,” Reeves said.

“But I still get to look after your horse for one night, right?” he asked Clint.

“Right.” Clint handed him Eclipse’s reins. “And he better be here and happy when I come back tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t worry,” the man said. “I wouldn’t do anything to a magnificent beast like this.”

“And mine?” Reeves asked.

“I’ll see to him, too.”

Reeves handed his reins over.

“What can you tell us about the lawman you got in town?” Reeves asked.

“You ain’t gonna get much help out of him,” the old man said.

“Why not?”

“He’s only wearin’ it because nobody else wanted it,” the liveryman said.

“But he does his job, doesn’t he?” Reeves asked.

The man shrugged.

“I guess we will have to find out for ourselves in the morning, like the bartender said.”

“This town might as well not have a lawman at all.
The bartender knows what he’s talkin’ about,” the liveryman said.

“That a fact?” Reeves asked.

The man nodded.

“He learned from me,” he said. “He’s my son.”

“That a fact?”

The liveryman nodded.

“My oldest.”

Considering the way the man had looked at him when they entered the stable, Reeves said, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“You got a hotel in this town?” Clint asked.

“Poison Springs Hotel,” the man said. “Only one in town.”

“Clean?” Clint asked.

“Does that matter?” the man asked. “I said it’s the only one in town.”

“Right.”

“Can you tell us how this town got named Poison Springs?” Reeves asked.

“Oh, that’s simple,” the man said. “At the time, I couldn’t think of anything else to call it.”