Gunsmith #362 : Buffalo Soldiers (9781101554388) (7 page)

When the sheriff arrived, they learned firsthand that Julie had been right. The lawman was bleary-eyed and smelled of booze. He looked around at the dead men on the floor of the rooms and the hall and said, “Looks like self-defense to me.”

Clint and Reeves didn’t object. The sheriff got some men to remove the dead bodies, and then he went back to whatever he had been doing—sleeping, drinking, probably both.

The girls left, as well, and when they were alone, Clint and Reeves collected their saddlebags and rifles and walked to the livery.

As they approached the front doors, there were a couple of shots, and two bullets dug into the dirt in front of them. Both men stopped, but didn’t take cover. Clint knew what was happening.

“Shit,” Reeves said.

“What?”

“That bartender and desk clerk. They were his sons.”

“I forgot about that,” Clint said. “I guess he heard the news.”

“Hello, the stable!” Reeves called out.

“Yeah, I’m here!” the man called back. “And I got your horse, Adams. I’m gonna kill it.”

Clint felt a moment of panic, then remembered the look on the man’s face when he handed over the reins. This was a man who loved horses—especially good ones.

“He ain’t gonna kill that horse,” Reeves said. “Not even for revenge.”

“I figured,” Clint said. “He thinks too much of horses.”

“Then what do we do? Wait him out?”

“We’re out in the open,” Clint said. “He could have killed us easily. He chose to fire warning shots. His heart ain’t in it.”

“Then what do we do? Just walk in?”

“No,” Clint said after a moment, “that would tempt him.”

There was another shot, this one landing in the dirt closer to them. It was dark, but there was enough of a moon to light them up as targets.

“Let’s start by getting back into the shadows,” Clint suggested.

They backed up until they reached the building across the way, a feed and grain store. It was two stories high, and threw a long, dark shadow.

“Now what?” Reeves asked,

“You keep him talking,” Clint said. “I’ll work my way around the back.”

“Okay. You gonna kill ’im?”

“Not if I can help it,” Clint said. “I think we’ve killed enough members of his family for one night, don’t you?”

When Clint got around to the back of the stable, he could hear the man inside and Reeves exchanging words, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. That didn’t matter. Once he got inside, he could stop the man from talking, and shooting.

He found the single back door. It was unlocked. He stepped inside, drew his gun. There was a lamp burning, and he could see the man standing by the front door with his rifle. He could also see Eclipse in one of the stalls.

He moved up behind the man and said, “Put the rifle down, friend.”

The man froze. If he turned, Clint would have to shoot him. Instead, he simply stood still.

“You killed my boys.”

“They tried to kill us.”

“Might as well kill me, then.”

“Not unless you turn on me with that rifle,” Clint sad. “Now put it down.”

The man didn’t move.

“There’s no point to this,” Clint sad.

“No point in livin’ without my boys.”

“Look,” Clint said, “we both know you could have shot us outside, and if you were really ready to die, you would have turned on me by now. So put… the rifle…down!”

The man hesitated, then dropped the rifle.

“Bass! It’s okay to come in!” Clint shouted.

The man turned and walked to the side, sat down on a bale of hay. Bass Reeves opened the front doors and walked in.

“Okay?”

“That’s his rifle.”

Reeves picked it up, unloaded it, and tossed it aside.

“Let’s get out of here before somebody else gets it in their heads to kill us,” he said.

“Right.”

They saddled their horses and walked them outside. The liveryman—whose name they never learned—remained where he was, staring at the ground between his feet.

They mounted up, looked back at him.

“I’m sorry,” Clint said.

The man didn’t respond. Clint and Reeves exchanged a look, then rode out of Poison Springs.

A few miles outside of town they stopped to camp and get some sleep. They were both starving. They had gotten to town too late to get something to eat, and had to leave town without having breakfast. Clint put on a pot of coffee and they ate what beef jerky they had left.

“That’s the last time I stop in any town that has the word ‘Poison’ in the name.”

“We better stand watch tonight,” Reeves said. “Those crazies might come after us.”

Clint nodded. They drank coffee and ate while they discussed what they had to do the next day.

“We’re going to have to pick up some supplies in the next town,” Clint said.

“Let’s hope it’s not a town of crazy people, like the last one,” Reeves said.

“When it gets light, I’ll have to find their trail again,” Clint said. “Lucky their horses are wearing those Army horseshoes.”

“Seems like they kept everythin’ from the Buffalo Soldiers except the spirit,” Reeves lamented.

“That disappoints you.”

Reeves looked at Clint.

“I feel odd,” he said, “like somebody close to me died.”

“I understand,” Clint said. “Your time with the Buffalo Soldiers was special. Maybe it was special to these men, too, at one time, but now they’ve got something eating at them inside that you don’t.”

“I ain’t forgot what my people had to go through,” Reeves said. “I get real angry and bitter sometimes, but these men…men I might have called brothers once…they’re givin’ my people a bad name. They’re givin’ folks somethin’ to point to and say, ‘See? They nothin’ but animals.’ ”

“Well, I want to say I understand, Bass,” Clint said, “but I guess there’s no way I could. But I do sympathize with you.”

“I appreciate it,” Reeves said. He picked up the coffeepot, found it empty. “I’ll make another pot and take first watch.”

“Okay.”

Clint wrapped himself in his blanket, put his head on his saddle, and set his holster right next to his head. He didn’t think people from town would be coming after them, but who knew? They had been forced to kill six townsmen, and the law hadn’t done anything about it. All they needed was a bunch of vigilantes with torches and a rope to find them asleep in camp.

Even though Reeves was on watch, Clint didn’t sleep
very well, and was already awake when Reeves nudged him four hours later.

Clint made still another pot of coffee as the sun came up, the last pot they’d be able to make until they bought some supplies in the next town.

He handed Reeves a cup as he woke him. The big black man rolled to his feet readily, appearing to be fully awake.

“I think we should swing east,” Reeves said. “If our men circled the town, maybe we’ll pick up their trail out there.”

“Up to you,” Clint said. “I can usually hold my own as a tracker, but with you, I’ll gladly follow.”

They broke camp, stomped the fire, and saddled their horses.

They came to a signpost that said: kilkenny, kansas.

“We coulda stopped in Coffeyville, got some hot food,” Gordon grumbled.

“And a hot woman,” Franklin added.

“With the money we’re gonna make in Kilkenny,” Washington said from ahead of them, “you can get all the food and women you want, hot or cold.”

They looked at each other, always amazed at what that man could say.

Washington turned in his saddle and looked at them both.

“You boys wanna ride back to Coffeyville, be my guest,” he said.

“Naw,” Gordon said, “that’s okay, Sarge.”

“We’re with you,” Franklin said.

“All right,” Washington said. “No more complaints, then.”

“Yessir,” Franklin said.

“Yeah, right,” Gordon agreed.

Washington turned and looked at the sign again. No population numbers. He didn’t like that. He hoped the information he’d gotten about Kilkenny was right.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Coffeyville?” Reeves asked.

“Independence after that,” Clint said.

“The tracks are still goin’ north,” Reeves said. “I think they’re gonna bypass both towns.”

“And go where?” Clint asked. “What town around here’s got a big enough strike for them— Wichita?”

“Dodge City?”

“There’s nothing in Dodge anymore,” Clint said. “In the old days any of these towns would have a bank with cattle money in it. Wichita, Ellsworth, Dodge…but not now.”

“Then maybe it’s not money,” Reeves said.

“What do you mean?”

“They been killin’ people,” Reeves said.

“You think they’re looking for someplace to kill…who? A dignitary? Or just a lot of people?”

“Or both.”

“All right, then,” Clint said. “We keep going.”

“I never thought anything else,” Bass Reeves said.

Corporal Jefferson accepted a beer from Carl Weatherby, who then handed another to Ben Webster.

“Siddown, Carl,” Jefferson said.

Weatherby sat with his own beer.

“They shoulda been here by now, Corporal,” Weatherby said.

“Don’t worry, Carl,” Jefferson said. “The sarge will be here. He gave us the short way so we’d be here waitin’ for him.”

“Well,” Carl Weatherby said, “I’m getting’ tired of waitin’.”

“Then go back upstairs,” Jefferson said. “I’ll bet you ain’t wore out that whore yet.”

Weatherby brightened and said, “That’s a good idea.” He stood, holding his beer, and looked at Webster. “She got a sister.”

Webster smiled and stood up. “You don’t gotta ask me twice.”

They both looked at their corporal, and Weatherby said, “Sorry, Corporal, she ain’t got a mother.”

“Get outta here before I put you both on sentry duty,” he growled.

The two younger men laughed and carried their beers up the stairs to the second floor.

Jefferson sat alone, not bothering to look around him. He knew what he’d see. Tables of white faces, glaring at him. He didn’t care. He was used to the white man’s
hatred. He had enough black man’s hatred to give right back to them, but he held it in check. If they hated him now, wait until he and Washington and the rest of the men got through with this town.

He finished his beer and decided to walk around town. Although Sergeant Washington had told him their next job was in Kilkenny, Jefferson still didn’t know exactly what the job was. He was going to walk around town and try to guess, maybe stop someplace and get something to eat.

And hope to stay out of trouble.

Washington led the way, with Gordon and Franklin riding behind him. Jefferson was the only one of his men who he really talked to. The corporal was older than he was, and Washington made as much use as possible of the man’s experience.

But the other men had to look to him as the leader, so the only time he spoke to them was to tell them what to do. He never asked for advice, or comments. Their job was to just follow orders.

And not question him.

Gordon and Franklin rode behind Washington, wondering what the man had on his mind. They also wondered where Edwards, Bush, and Davis were, if they were going to meet them in Kilkenny along with Jefferson and the others.

“I still don’t think we been doin’ the right things, Gordo,” Franklin said.

“What you wanna do, then?”

“I think you and me gotta go out on our own,” Franklin said. “Get our own business done.”

“You really think we can do better that way?”

“Don’t nobody ask us what we think,” Franklin said, “ever. I would like to be treated like I was a man, just once.”

“Yeah, but”—he lowered his voice—“Washington is the sergeant, ya’ll…”

“Well, that’s another thing,” Franklin said. “Gordo, man, we ain’t even in the Buffalo Soldiers no more. We just wearin’ the jackets.”

“Keep your voice down,” Gordon said. “He hears us talkin’ about goin’ out on our own and he’ll kill us.”

“And I don’t need to be afraid that no man’s gonna kill me if’n I say somethin’ he don’t like,” Franklin said. “I swear, Gordo, this should be our last job with him.”

Gordon didn’t know what to think, but he was glad when Franklin finally quieted down.

Clint and Reeves stopped to rest the horses. Actually, they stopped to rest Bass Reeves’s horse. Clint’s Darley Arabian could have gone on all day, and Reeves knew it.

“That damn horse of yours don’t never get tired, does he?” the big black man asked.

“I’ve never gotten to the bottom of him,” Clint said. “Not yet. I don’t even know if he has a bottom.”

Reeves stroked his horse’s neck and spoke to him, telling him not to be intimidated by Eclipse.

“You think he understands you?” Clint asked.

“No, he don’t,” Reeves said. “He ain’t like your horse, but I figure I’ll talk to him anyway.”

They drank from their canteens, hung them back on their saddles, and mounted up.

“We’ll ride awhile longer and then camp,” Reeves said. “We’ll make Kilkenny by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Hopefully,” Clint said, “we’ll find what we’re looking for when we get there.”

* * *

Jefferson stood across the street from the bank, watching. It didn’t look like they did much of a business—at least not people walking in. It was a small building, probably had a small safe. This could not be the next job that Washington had been talking about. There had to be something else.

He kept walking.

Washington halted their progress by raising his gloved hand. Gordon and Franklin rode up on either side of him and reined in.

“Where are we?” Gordon asked.

“Kilkenny is over that rise,” Washington said.

“That’s where we’re goin’, ain’t it?” Franklin asked.

“Yeah,” Washington said, “that’s where we’re goin’.”

“What’s the job?” Gordon asked. “What’s there?”

“You’ll see,” Washington said. “You’ll both see when we get there.”

“Are we goin’?” Gordon asked. “Now?”

“In a minute,” Washington said, dismounting. “I want to rest my horse.”

“Now?” Franklin asked.

“Yes, now.”

He walked his horse away from the two men, started checking his saddle, made sure the cinch was tight, let the horse take a breather—and looked behind them. As far as he could see, there was nobody there—but there was. He knew there was.

Bass Reeves was there.

He wondered what Reeves would think when he saw him.

“Bass?”

“Yes?”

“Can you think of anyone who would do this?” Clint asked. “Any Buffalo Soldier you ever knew who might use his training, and his men, to do something like this?”

They were riding along at an easy pace, side by side, probably less than an hour from stopping for the night.

“I been thinkin’ about that,” Reeves said. “Askin’ myself the same question.”

“You come up with an answer?”

“No,” Reeves said. “The Soldiers I knew were honest, decent men.”

“No angry men?”

Reeves smiled tightly.

“We’re black men, Clint,” he said. “We’re all angry.”

“Even you?”

“I said ‘we,’ ” Reeves answered.

Clint let the subject go.

They camped. All they had left was some water in their canteens, and a few pieces of beef jerky. They had not stopped in any town to restock.

“If they’re not in Kilkenny,” Clint said, “we’ll have to do some shopping.”

“Then we will,” Reeves said. “We’ll keep huntin’ until we catch ’em.”

“What about Judge Parker?”

“What about him?”

“Won’t he wonder where you are?”

“No,” Reeves said. “If his deputies are not in town, he assumes they are out doin’ their jobs.”

“You could send him a telegram, tell him where we are, what we’re doing.”

“He would wonder why I am doin’ that,” Reeves said. “No, there’s no need.”

“What if one of his deputies never comes back?” Clint asked.

“He assumes they are dead.”

“Without proof?”

“The fact that they didn’t come back is all the proof he needs.”

“I guess…”

After a few minutes Reeves said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“How many times has the Judge asked you to wear a badge?”

“Too many to count.”

“And you always say no.”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t we talked about this before?” Clint asked.

“About why you don’t wear a badge anymore,” Reeves said. “But why do you keep turning down the Judge?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Clint said. “I don’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not sure,” Clint said. “Maybe it’s because he
doesn’t require proof before assuming one of his men is dead.”

Washington and his men rode into Kilkenny just before dark. They stopped in front of the hotel. Washington gave his horse to Gordon, told them both to take care of the mounts.

“Both of us?” Franklin asked.

“Yeah, both of you.”

They rode off toward the livery.

Washington went into the hotel. Jefferson was sitting in the lobby, waiting.

“Where are the others?” Washington asked.

“In their rooms, or in a whorehouse, one of the two,” Jefferson said.

“Do I have a room?”

Jefferson nodded and handed him a key. Gordon and Franklin would get their own room when they came in.

“Are you sure Reeves will come?” Jefferson asked.

“I’m sure,” Washington said. “Ain’t you?”

“I think so,” Jefferson said, “and I hope so, but—”

“Don’t worry,” Washington said, putting his hand on the other man’s arm, “I’m sure.”