Casca 46: The Cavalryman

by Tony Roberts

  How many deaths will I suffer here? he wondered. Encased in ice. Slowly he shut down once more, frozen. He regained consciousness once more, wondering when it was. The light was bright, the ice was gone and the water chuckling around his chest. His head was free. He gathered his strength and pulled. His right leg came free from the crack in the rock it had got stuck in and suddenly he could move.

  He coughed and knelt in the stream, emptying all traces of water from his system, then he blearily looked up. It was a huge climb, and the only way out. His muscles were slack, not having been used for so long, and his skin white and wrinkled. He looked at his clothing. Rotting, torn and bloodied. It would do until he got hold of something better.

  There was nothing else for it but to climb. He had no wish to remain at the bottom of the ravine until the end of time, and besides, now he had gotten his feet clear of the rocks that had held him fast before, he wouldn’t be trapped under the water. He gave himself a careful looking over. No hat; that had been knocked off when he’d been shot. His shirt was a mess; holes, rips, dried blood. He’d bled a lot, from the gunshot wound and the injuries sustained during his fall. His body had repaired itself, predictably, but there was some muscle wastage. No matter, a few weeks of exercise and healthy eating would restore that.

  His trousers were still in decent shape, but being soaked for God knows how long wouldn’t have done then any good. They wouldn’t be good for much in the long run. His shoes – well one was gone, no doubt ripped off when he’d freed himself. The other was still there but split and falling apart. It would have to do on his ascent, then he may as well ditch it.

  His muscles complained as he took his first step up. The ravine was smooth at the bottom but became increasingly jagged as he went up. There were ledges at regular intervals which made his climb so much easier, and one of these had broken his fall when he’d fallen down, and when he’d come around the first time he’d clearly rolled off and completed his fall.

  It was punishing and hard, and he had to pause three times on the way up. Dusk was approaching when he finally emerged, panting, shaking, gulping down air. He crawled painfully away from the drop and lay there as night fell. Lying face up he watched as the stars came out, familiar patterns across the heavens. It made him fell comforted; no matter how much changed in the world, all he had to do was to look up at see that here, at least, were the same stars in the same places that had been so when he had been a child, over nineteen and a half centuries ago.

  Finally he rolled over and located the boulder he’d been shot off. It was bare and featureless. No bodies lay around, as he knew there wouldn’t be. He knelt and looked over the countryside. A few lights flickered in the distance and close by he could see lights on in the Duggan house. The Duggan house. Would the Duggans still be there? He needed to know.

  The last thing he recalled was that the man who’d gunned him down had said it was in revenge for killing Duggan, so he’d gotten the main bastard. He now wanted to get the man who’d got him. Personal reasons. That and carrying out his promise to Betty. When he did get this last man, then his promise would be fulfilled. Now it was also a score to settle with whichever one it had been who’d shot him. Carberry or Stoneleigh. No idea which one it was, but he’d find him, and when he did, he’d kill him.

  His remaining shoe he kicked off and it went flying into the dark. Now he was barefoot. The ground was stony and hard, and he’d suffer, he knew. Best to wait until it was light to see where he was walking, so he sat against the boulder and rested. He’d need the rest after his climb, and his body lacked nourishment. Water, too. That wasn’t too bad, since he’d drank before he’d climbed, but he was goddamn starving.

  He’d go to the house on the morrow and see if whoever was there had good or bad intentions. He was sure nobody would connect him to the killing of Duggan – he didn’t know how long he’d been out, but he was certain one year had passed at least, given it had been winter once and now it was late spring.

  He needed food, water, clothes, information and a gun. The latter to kill the last man on his quest.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The night passed. It had been cold but he’d known far worse. His thirst didn’t help though, and as soon as the sun began to peek its head over the horizon he got up and began making his uneven way down to the Eagle’s Rest, apparently untouched since he had been there.

  He knocked on the door and waited, trying not to think of the throbbing pain from his feet. Walking barefoot on that surface was bad for anyone and he had suffered on his way down. They would heal in no time, though. He knocked a second him and a shadow appeared, a gun in its hands. Casey put his hands up. “It’s alright, I’m looking for some food and water. I was beaten up a way back and need help.”

  The gun owner pulled back the door, a shotgun pointed at his chest. He gave Casey a good looking over. “Looks like you wuz lucky to git away with yer life, boy. Come on in.”

  Casey gratefully followed the man in. He was sat down at a table to the left and the man called his wife in. Casey apologized in waking them up, but he couldn’t walk very far in his condition. “Whoever it was thought it would be a joke to take my shoes, too. Lost my horse, belongings, guns. Everything.”

  The man, a black bearded burly type, nodded in gratitude as his wife, a kindly looking middle-aged woman, planted cups of steaming black coffee before each of the two men. “Any idea who did it?”

  “Not really,” Casey said, then had an idea. “Someone called out a name before I passed out – Duggan? Know of anyone by that name?”

  “Duggan?” the couple looked at one another in surprise. “Why, the previous owner of this place was a man by that name. Sold up last year. Apparently his son was killed not too far from here. Some kind of shootout with outlaws. Only one survivor, so the story goes.”

  “Really? Maybe it was someone wanting to get even? One survivor? Maybe it was him.”

  “Stoneleigh, think his name was. Joined the cavalry, I do know that. Guy was one of Duggan’s sidekicks. Went off east towards Bismarck. Don’t think it would be him, unless they were bluebellies. Get a look at them?”

  “It was getting dark, but they certainly weren’t in army uniform. I’ll have to go down south and see if I can get me a horse. Any place I can get to nearby?”

  “Just a farm about thirty miles down the trail. Couple of God-fearing people and their kids. Had a daughter who ran away from home. Think she headed to Fort Laramie. Was told she went bad or sumthin’. All a bid sad, wasn’t it, Claire?”

  Claire nodded, sitting down with her own coffee. “Sure was. Mister, you can have a couple of spare clothes and a set of low quality shoes, but it ain’t much.”

  “I’d be grateful of any help at the moment, ma’am. Can’t see me getting far like this! A belly full of food and I’ll set off walking for the farm. Might be able to trade some manual work for a favour or two.” He was depressed Lisa had gone but he guessed she wouldn’t wait. He had to find out when it was now. “So how long was this shootout?”

  “Oh, two years ago this summer. It was all the talk of the district for a while. Darn near broke old man Duggan’s heart, so I hear. He sold up and went east to St.Louis or something.”

  Casey had all the information he would be getting without raising suspicion. He thanked the two and with a full stomach and a pair of admittedly low quality shoes and a clean and fresh shirt, he set off down the trail. Thirty miles. It would take him until late afternoon the following day but he knew he could do work around the farm and get more. He could hopefully find out a little more, especially about Lisa.

  Nothing happened on his way down, apart from passing a few riders and wagons. He got a hitch on the back of a wagon for a few miles to the farm and arrived there mid-morning. He jumped off, waved his thanks to the waggoneer and then reintroduced himself to the farmer and his wife.

  The two young children were growing up fast. They were all surprised to see him. The farmer, Jack, sat down next to
him and stared at him for a moment. “Heard a story you were killed in a shootout, at least we thought it was you. They found Abe, your friend, and the one who survived, what was his name, my sweet?”

  “Stoneleigh. Horrid man,” his wife answered curtly.

  “Ah, yes, Stoneleigh, he said he’d killed you and you’d fallen down a ravine. Did that really happen?”

  Casey waved at himself. “Do I look as if I’ve been shot? No, Abe Cooper and I had a falling out on the trail and I went north. Cooper hooked up with another guy and went north-west. I went into Montana but there wasn’t much for me. Lost everything I had, and am now going back to Fort Laramie. Hope to get some work there.”

  “Fort Laramie?” Jack echoed. “That’s where Lisa ran off to when she’d heard you’d been killed. Cut her up something bad, it did.”

  “I told her you weren’t the man for her,” Jack’s wife, Constance, snapped, “but she wouldn’t listen! Young girls these days, they just don’t do as their parents say. I don’t know what gets into them.”

  “Did you try to stop her?” Casey asked.

  “We did but she escaped out of the top room and hitched a ride south before we knew what was going on. She’s gone looking for who-knows-what,” Jack said, “and we’d just would like to know if she’s safe and well. Could you go find her and tell her we’re here for her if she ever wants to come back?”

  Jack held hands with Constance and they both looked at Casey with pleading eyes. Casey made a show of weighing up his options before nodding slowly. “I’ll see if I can find her. Don’t know if it’ll be easy, but who knows? Can’t be too many young girls of her age with her name and description in Fort Laramie.”

  After a couple of days getting sorted and fed, and making a few more repairs, he felt strong enough to continue south. He had a few extra items of clothing in a pack, courtesy of Jack, and had a letter from both for Lisa should he find her. He hitched a ride on a couple of wagons, the first to the Idaho turn-off and the second just a short distance further on down to Fort Laramie.

  The fort was built in a loop of the river by the same name, with the military post next to the river as it looped round from north to east. The road ran to a junction before this and turned left and right. Most of the buildings of the settlement ran along this stretch of road, but he could see off to the left and back from this a hospital. There were a number of grand looking buildings to the right, and the road there eventually reached what looked like a rectangular parade ground.

  The turning to the left ran off into the distance past a collection of huts and shacks, clearly where visitors and drifters stayed. Just to the left of the junction stood a trader’s post and Casey decided this would be the perfect place to stop and ask questions. Waving his thanks and farewell to the waggoneer, he jumped off and walked along the road, noting the white painted plank fencing that surrounded the trading post. There was a gate he passed through and looked up at the post building. There was a two-story house to the right and the single story sutler’s building to the left, which was longer than the house with an entry porch in the center.

  He went in, up the two steps that led into it, stepping aside smartly to avoid someone leaving in a hurry. There were three people in the building, one of whom was behind the long and dusty counter. “Good morning, sir,” the man behind the counter greeted him.

  For the moment Casey ignored the two others who appeared to be visitors. “Morning. I’m looking for a girl.”

  The man smothered a knowing grin. “That kind of place ain’t tolerated here, mister, although I hear there’s a drinking saloon down the road.” He tipped Casey a wink.

  Casey grinned back. “Hell, that ain’t what I’m looking for at the moment. I’ll go there if I do, thanks. No, its a young girl, barely eighteen or so, she came down here maybe eighteen months or so ago. Nice looking girl, longish red hair, blue eyes, about so tall,” he held out a hand to his shoulder height, “slim. Called Lisa.”

  The man pulled an expression of doubt. “So many come through here, mister, its hard to recall any individual. Young girl, you say?”

  “Yeah, came down the Bozeman from the north. Her parents are concerned. Want me to give her a letter,” he patted his shirt pocket.

  “I think I know who you mean,” one of the others spoke.

  Casey turned to see a bearded, hard-bitten man, of about forty years or so. “You did? That’s a relief; I was thinking she had gotten herself lost or even worse. Where is she, do you know?”

  “Well, it were a year or two back as you say. Pretty young thing I recall, came in the fall, just before winter set in. Was looking for a man called Grant, but he’d been hung the previous year for murder. She went to the saloon over there,” the man jerked a thumb in the direction of the big shack he’d seen on the way in. “If she ended up there, I doubt you’ll get her back now. Will be working for Slim, the bartender, as a girl of the night. He don’t take kindly to people taking interest in his girls.”

  “Alright, thanks,” Casey said. “Still gotta give her this letter though.”

  “You’ll need a gun; Slim’s got some bad-asses working for him over there.”

  “Has he now? Well let’s see how bad they are. They haven’t come up against me, yet.”

  “Oh?”

  “Nah. They’re still alive.” Casey slapped the grizzled man on the shoulder and walked out into the sunlight. He eyed the big shack in the distance, then at the stables next to the trading post. The stables were a huge long building and behind it the horse training area. He pondered on re-joining the cavalry. Maybe it was the best thing for him. Civilian life wasn’t really for him; he felt loose and without purpose. Lisa seemed to have found some place for herself, but he would have to see first whether she wanted to be there or not. If not, then he’d have to do something about it.

  He ambled over to the shack, the sound of men shouting, fighting and music blaring getting louder as he approached. No wonder it was set away from the road and any other building. Made of wood, it didn’t look robust. The front was of peeling painted wooden supports holding up a large sign depicting it as ‘Slim’s Drinking Emporium’. He grimaced. How to make a bar and brothel sound grand.

  The door opened and a man came staggering out, to fall at his feet. Another stood in the doorway, his fist still clenched. “An’ stay out, ya cheapskate!”

  Casey eyed the prone man for a moment, then stepped up to the one still blocking the door. They stood toe to toe, sizing one another up. “You’re in my way,” Casey said softly.

  “So?”

  A fist into the man’s guts had him doubled over and retching in no time, and Casey stepped past him, already consigning him to the dustbin of history. The place was full of smoke and he looked about. A couple of people were lying on the floor, unconscious. It was still morning. He shrugged and pushed past a couple of people arguing over something or other and stepped over one prone figure. He was at the bar. The bartender came over to him, polishing a glass with a filthy cloth that may or may not once have been clean. “What can I get you?”

  “You Slim?”

  “Do I look like I am?” the barman asked, patting his paunch. “He’s out the back. You want to see him, you gotta have good reason.”

  “Nah, just curious. You got a girl called Lisa here?”

  “Lisa? Oh, the young girl who came last year. Ha, Slim had a thing for her, till she ran away. Never seen Slim so mad. Thought he was going to burn the place down he was that pissed.”

  “I’m looking for her.”

  “Oh? You something special then?”

  “No. Looking for her on behalf of her folks.”

  “Ha. You ain’t got a hope. Slim’s not sayin’ what happened to her. He’s supposed to know but nobody’s got the guts to ask.”

  “Well, might as well be the first. Show me to him.”

  The barkeep looked at Casey oddly, then at his belt. “No gun? You got guts.”

  “I’m not worried about Slim,�
�� Casey said. “Just tell him I want to speak with him, friendly, like.”

  The barkeep gave him the kind of look Casey recalled from ancient days when gladiators were about to go out onto the sands, and some of the soldiers guarding them gave them the same kind of pitying look. Casey waited by the bar as one of the sidekicks lounging about doing nothing was sent to tell Slim.

  A few minutes later the man came back and jerked his thumb at Casey. “Boss wants you in his room. Come on.”

  The room was at the rear, predictably guarded. Casey was searched anyway, at gunpoint, and then let in. He was given odd looks for not carrying a gun. Slim was a tall man and, as the name described, slim. He had stubble on his chin and a cold, hard look to his brown eyes. He was flanked by two nasty looking men, one of whom appeared to think chewing made him look tougher.

  “I’m told you’re looking for Lisa,” Slim said, his hands clasped together on the small round table before him. “Any reason as to why?”

  “Yeah. Her folks want her back.”

  Slim snorted. “They want their little girl back, eh? Well she ain’t innocent and I don’t think she’s keen to go back home, if what she said to me was the truth.”

  “That may be so but she’s still their flesh and blood and I promised to give her their message. I was told she ran away. Any idea where I can find her?”

  “You was told the truth. Thing is, she’s mine. She promised to marry me and we was making plans. Then she gets cold feet and ups and runs out on me one night. So I ain’t going to let some guy go find her and take her back to mummy and daddy. If you’re going after her, you take one of my men with you and bring her back to me. I’ll pay you well.”

  Casey looked at the assembled men, some grinning. Clearly they found the offer a joke. “Sounds a generous offer. So why not go after her yourself?”

  “I got my place here to look after. I did send a couple of men after her to start with but they came back with nothing. Seems she upped and went down to Cheyenne and left on the train east. Had some feller with her too. Went out of my territory. But I can afford to offer the likes of you the job. Take Joe here,” he waved at a Neanderthal stood by the door. “He’ll make sure you’ll do the right thing in finding her and bringing her back, won’t you Joe?”