by J. T. Edson
‘Leave it lie!’ Waco snapped, swinging the barrel of his Winchester towards the kneeling man.
‘God damn it!’ the would-be killer of the paraivo spat out, but halted the movement of his left hand towards the Peacemaker which had commenced when he realized he was not seriously injured. Raising his hate-filled gaze beyond the muzzle of the rifle which was being directed with disconcerting steadiness at the center of his chest, he glared at the blond youngster and went on as if unable to believe such a thing possible, ‘You shot me!’
‘Only your gun,’ Waco corrected, noticing the drunken slur had left the speaker’s voice. ‘And, seeing’s how you was fixing to throw down on Chief Ten Bears, it seemed like a right smart thing to do.’
‘There was a time when killing a Comanche was considered the “right smart thing to do”,’ called the best dressed of the men on the porch.
‘Why sure,’ the blond admitted, glancing at the speaker. Of just over middle height, plump rather than burly, in his early forties, he had a sun reddened and somehow blandly honest cast of features. His attire was in the latest city fashion and he did not wear any discernible weapons. ‘Only that was when they was riding the war trail. Seeing’s how the chief there’s come in to talk peace of his own free will and isn’t toting any weapons, I’ve stopped that jasper doing something’s’d’ve likely seen him stretching hemp should he’ve been let do it.’
‘Mr. Appleby is very drunk,’ the well dressed man asserted, indicating the would-be killer with a wave of his right hand. He had a New England accent and spoke with the carrying timbre of one well versed in addressing public meetings. Raising his voice more than was necessary just to reach the Texans and Magoon, he nevertheless gave no other indication of whether he wished everybody in the fast gathering crowd to know why the attempt upon the life of the paraivo had been made. ‘From what he was saying inside, Ten Rears raped and killed his grandmother—!’
‘Would that have been along the Trinity back in Sixty-One?’ Waco suggested, rather than asked.
‘He didn’t say where it was,’ the New Englander replied, after a brief pause while darting a look redolent of suspicion at the blond youngster. ‘But he was clearly brooding over it and, when he saw the man responsible for the dastardly dead, the liquor must have inflamed his desire for revenge.’
‘There’s some might say such was like’ to happen,’ Waco drawled, almost mildly it seemed. ‘Did you know what he aimed to do?’
‘Of course not!’ the New Englander snorted. ‘If I had, naturally I would have tried to dissuade him from even trying. He isn’t even a member of my par—!’
‘Make way there!’ barked an authoritative voice, before any more could be said. ‘Let me through, you men!’ Turning his gaze from the kneeling man, the blond youngster saw the soldiers who had been attracted by the shot were parting hurriedly in response to what was clearly a command. Striding through the gap was a tall, slimly built figure clad in an immaculate cavalry officer’s uniform. Handsome, but with lines suggestive of a harsh and bitter nature on his clean shaven bronzed features, his dark hair was turning gray at the temples. Looking to be in his mid-forties, the ‘bars’ on his epaulettes indicated his rank was captain. He was approaching with a rigidly square shouldered, foot stamping gait closer to marching in review than merely walking.
‘What’s going on here?’ the officer barked, bringing himself to a heel clicking halt more usually seen in long established ‘crack’ European regiments than the United States’ Cavalry and slapping white gauntlet covered hands on his shining black weapon belt with its high riding, closed top holster at the right side for the twist hand draw favored by his branch of the service.
‘I’m afraid Mr. Appleby there responded to a drunken impulse, Captain Massey,’ the New Englander supplied, although the question had clearly been directed at Magoon as the senior cavalry soldier in sight. ‘He’d been drinking rather more than was wise and—!’
‘He tried to gun down Chief Ten Bears, sir!’ the sergeant major interrupted, having stiffened into a brace and brought up his right hand in an exceptionally smart salute. ‘Waco stopped him afore he could do it, though!’
‘And just who might “Waco” be?’ Captain Barton Massey demanded of the burly non-com, having darted what appeared to be a dismissive glance at the blond youngster.
‘He’s one of the men sent here by General Hardin, sir,’ Magoon explained, in a neutral tone which nevertheless told Waco much about his feelings with regards to the officer he was addressing. ‘They’ve just now got here and, in accordance with orders from General Handiman, I was taking them to see him.’
‘Then, Sergeant Major, I would suggest you take Mister Hardin’s men to see the General in accordance with his orders!’ Massey stated coldly. The emphasis he had laid upon the burly Irishman’s rank suggested it did not meet with his approval any more than did referring to Ole Devil Hardin by a honorific resulting from service with the Army of the Confederate States. ‘I’ll attend to things here.’
‘Yo!’ Magoon assented, darting a warning look at Waco before delivering another smart salute. ‘Would you be coming along with me now, gentlemen?’
‘Who-all’s that bow-necked son-of-a-bitch, Paddy?’ the blond youngster inquired, as he and Doc were accompanying the sergeant major away from the post sutler’s building.
‘Brevet Colonel Barton Massey’s how he’s listed on the records,’ Magoon replied and nodded to where a young second lieutenant who had clearly been running fast was escorting Ten Bears in the opposite direction. ‘I’m thinking Mr. Coolin’s going to have more than a little explaining to do about why he was letting the chief roam about on his lonesome.’
‘Is he usually that loco?’Waco inquired, glancing in the same direction.
‘Well, he’s not the brightest shavetail I’ve ever come across,’ the sergeant major admitted. ‘But I’d’ve thought he was just about smart enough to follow orders, ’specially when they was given by General Handiman his-own self.’
‘What’s this “brevet colonel” brand?’ Doc asked, looking over his shoulder to where Massey was speaking with the well dressed New Englander. ‘I’ve never heard of such and, from what I know about you soldiers, he’s only wearing a captain’s bars.’
‘That’s what he’s wearing now, all right,’ Magoon replied. ‘But he was one of them’s wound up as colonels in the War. Only, with peace cutting down the size of the Army, there wasn’t enough posts for all of them. So the War Department let them’s wanted stay on, calling them “brevet colonels”, even though they only get paid for whatever rank they wound up with.’
‘I’ve heard tell there’s some of ’em don’t take too kind to having that “brevet” brand,’ Waco commented, having heard the matter discussed by the other members of the floating outfit. ‘How does he feel about it?’
‘He’s never told me nothing, but the word is he allows a man’s only entitled to the rank he gets paid for and insists on being called “captain”, not “colonel”,’ the sergeant major replied. ‘’Course, he could’ve got to thinking that way through having come here after serving five years as a military attaché, or some such, over in Europe. Brought back a whole heap of notions of how things are done in regiments over there, some of which make good sense.’
‘He can’t be all bad,’ Doc claimed, concluding that the non-com did not approve of the various ideas acquired in Europe by the captain. ‘Chasing us off the way he did, this’s one time a jasper’s got hurt in a shooting scrape with me around and I didn’t wind up having to ’tend to him.’
‘Under the circumstances, I’m not sorry you handled things the way you did,’ General Philo Handiman declared, nodding with obvious approval as he looked at Waco. ‘If Chief Ten Bears had been shot down in cold blood, that would have ended all hope of having the Kweharehnuh move out of the Palo Duro country peacefully. But it was better, out of consideration of how some members of the white community would react to the news, that the man tryi
ng to do it wasn’t killed.’
‘I fully concur with you on that, General,’ Senator Oswald P. Barran stated. His Southern drawl was somewhat nasal in timbre and seemed to match his invariably solemn demeanor and somber attire. ‘And I’d like to add my congratulations to you for making such a good shot young man.’
‘Why thank you, sir,’ the blond cowhand replied, noticing that Captain Massey did not appear to share the approbation for his actions. Deciding against admitting he had reached a similar conclusion to that of Handiman whilst raising his Winchester to prevent the killing of the paraivo, he went on, ‘Only I wouldn’t want you-all to be thinking’s I was aiming just to knock the gun out of that jasper’s hand when I cut loose. Fact being, I was figuring on hitting him in the leg.’
‘I didn’t for a moment think you were trying to kill him,’ the General asserted with a smile. Tall, well built, gray-haired and distinguished looking, clad in the dark blue double breasted frock coat and trousers which were the ‘undress’ uniform for his rank, he nevertheless looked more like a successful and benevolent businessman than the head of the United States’ Secret Service. ‘If you had, he’d be dead now instead of just being taken into town to have the doctor there fix his broken trigger finger.’
On reaching the regimental offices, Sergeant Major Magoon was unable to inquire after the whereabouts of Handiman immediately. First, he had had to inform his colonel about the reason for the excitement outside the post sutler’s building. Regardless of how Massey might consider the affair, the commanding officer of Fort Sorrel had declared that Waco’s prompt action was correct and praiseworthy. Then, learning why the burly non-com and the Texans had arrived, he told them they would find the General at the treaty cabin—as the structure was already known in the vicinity—with Senator Barran. Going to the adobe cabin, the trio had been admitted in time to hear the Captain concluding his report of the averted murder attempt.
Despite having been erected as the site for a meeting of considerable importance, due to the limited time available, the treaty cabin was neither an elaborate nor luxurious structure. It comprised just one room, admittance being gained through a single door. The windows in the other three walls had no glass panes, but curtains hung over the inside of each to offer a measure of privacy for the occupants. Being otherwise open, as benches were provided to seat at least twenty spectators in addition to those actively participating, this would produce a needed means of ventilation. Facing the door, there was a small platform with a table and half a dozen chairs for use by the dignitaries during the discussions which—it was hoped—would lead to the signing of an agreement to have the Kweharehnuh Comanche leave their present domain voluntarily.
‘Why did you have to send him into town just for that?’ Doc Leroy inquired, his interest in medical matters aroused by the information just received. ‘I thought every fort has its own doctor.’
‘So they do,’ Handiman confirmed. ‘However, the post surgeon has been sent out with a Company on a routine training patrol.’
‘Regulations require that he and his medical staff undergo such training at regular intervals, sir!’ Massey put in, his manner icily polite and suggesting the matter had been already raised. ‘So, as I found out this had not been done recently, I had made the arrangements before this business came up and saw no reason to cancel the order. I couldn’t foresee—!’
‘I know, Col—Captain,’ the General interrupted, but in a placatory fashion. ‘And his absence is in no way a reflection upon you as adjutant of this post. Rather it does you credit. Such details of routine tend to be overlooked by regiments in the field, I’ve heard. You’ll have everything ready for the discussions and, possibly, signing of the treaty tonight?’
‘I will, sir,’ Massey promised, sounding just a trifle mollified.
‘I trust Captain Fog and the rest of the floating outfit will be here shortly?’ Handiman inquired, turning his gaze back to the blond youngster.
‘I wouldn’t know whether they will or not, sir,’ Waco admitted. ‘Doc and me came here from Clinton like the telegraph message I got from Dusty said. We was expecting to find him and the boys waiting for us.’
‘They aren’t,’ the General claimed. ‘Blast it. I particularly wanted the Ysabel Kid on hand to act as interpreter.’
‘Ten Bears speaks reasonable English, sir,’ Massey pointed out. ‘And Civilian Scout Spelman can get by in Comanche, I’ve been told.’
‘I wanted a man present who can more than just get by,’ Handiman growled. ‘All too often in the past, when Indians have gone against the terms of a treaty, the chiefs responsible for it have claimed they didn’t fully understand what they were told concerning the points which had been broken. This time, I wanted a man who is completely fluent in Comanche and the Kid was raised speaking it.’
‘Can’t you hang on until he gets here?’ Waco asked.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Barran declared, before the General could speak, ‘This whole affair has aroused so much speculation and controversy throughout the whole country that the Governor has instructed me to bring it to a conclusion as quickly as possible. Every day we delay increases the chance of something going wrong, so I must insist upon the meeting being held tonight whether Captain Fog and his man arrive or not.’
Then that is how it will have to be,’ the General assented, albeit with reluctance. ‘You can announce that the meeting will commence at eight o’clock this evening, Captain Massey, and I want all spectators seated by seven forty-five.’
‘Yo!’ the adjutant responded.
Concluding the building would require illumination with the meeting taking place after sundown, Waco glanced at the ceiling. He discovered lighting would be supplied by a single lamp. This was suspended in the center from a hook, by a cord which passed over other hooks and was fastened to a peg by the window in the left side wall. Curving above the lamp was a fair-sized and saucer shaped sheet of brightly polished tin.
‘That’s a little notion I picked up in England,’ Massey commented, seeing the blond youngster exchange a quick glance with Doc Leroy who had conducted a similar scrutiny. The sheet of tin catches and reflects the glare, giving as much light as would three ordinary lamps except there are less fumes and heat from it.’
‘Which will be advantageous tonight,’ Barran claimed. The room will be warm enough with so many people in it without having anything to make it warmer.’
‘You know something, Paddy?’ the slender cowhand drawled, as he, Waco and Magoon were walking away from the treaty cabin at the conclusion of their meeting with Handiman. That bow-necked Captain of yours didn’t need to go all the way to England to find such a fancy notion for lighting her up. Sam Snenton up to Dodge had his lamps fixed up that way last time the Wedge was up there.’
‘Only Sam doesn’t have ’em that way no more,’ the blond corrected, remembering the reason that the lamps equipped in such a fashion which had been given to the floating outfit by the owner of the Texas House in Dodge City, Kansas, were no longer used. ‘But don’t you go spoiling it for that nice ole Captain, ’specially after him having the goodness of heart to talk civil to common folks like you ’n’ me.’
Although Dusty Fog, Mark Counter and the Ysabel Kid still had not put in an appearance, Waco and Doc Leroy aided by the connivance of Sergeant Major Magoon, were already in the treaty cabin when the first of the other authorized spectators began to enter at seven forty-five in the evening.
Extending an invitation for the two young cowhands to attend, even if their companions from the OD Connected ranch had not arrived, General Handiman had told the burly non-com to escort them to their temporary accommodation and make them comfortable. Taking them to his quarters, Magoon had left them there while going to make inquiries about a matter which had aroused Waco’s curiosity. He had discovered that, without having consulted the commanding officer or the General, Captain Massey had decided against arresting and holding the would be killer of Chief Ten Bears in the guardhouse of
the Fort. However, as they too had felt it was advisable to try and avoid the news of the incident assuming added importance, his actions had met with the approval of his superiors. Before being sent from the post, Wilfred Appleby had been warned that he would be arrested and tried for attempted murder if he should tell anybody how he had been injured.
Despite having preceded everybody else into the building, the Texans did not appear to be making the most of their opportunity. Instead of taking their pick of the available seats, they were lounging with their backs to the wall at the right side of the door. Having been informed they must do so, they had left their gunbelts with the rest of their belongings at Magoon’s quarters.
The first of the spectators to be officially granted admission were several of the Fort’s officers. In accordance with the orders issued by Massey in his capacity as adjutant, all were wearing full dress uniforms with sashes but no weapon belts. With the Army personnel seated in order of seniority, the civilians invited to attend were allowed to enter. They were a variegated group. The majority were reporters from newspapers in Texas and other parts of the country. Some were native born Texans, interested in developments which could affect the lives of themselves, their families and neighbors. The rest came from outside the State, but were concerned with the possibility of speculation in land should the Palo Duro country be thrown open for white settlement. Among these was the well dressed New Englander who had spoken in Appleby’s defense outside the post sutler’s building. His name, Magoon had learned, was Alexander Bremont and he was an attorney for an Eastern syndicate involved in the cattle business. Studying them all with skilled gaze as they were going by, the Texans felt certain that none of them were carrying firearms concealed on their persons.
Accompanied by Chief Ten Bears, now clad in the full regalia befitting his status as paraivo of the Kweharehnuh Comanche band, Handiman led the negotiating delegation towards the platform facing the door. Like the other officers, he and the colonel in command of Fort Sorrel, were wearing their best uniform. Even the short and grizzled civilian scout at Senator Barran’s side looked unusually neat and tidy, albeit a trifle uneasy over being prohibited from carrying his weapons. Bringing up the rear and closing the door behind him, Massey had on his weapon belt—with a handgun in its closed to holster—to indicate that he was responsible for the meeting taking place in good order. Although he darted a puzzled and scowling glance at the two Texans, he did not address them. Instead, as the delegation took their seats at the table, he started to walk slowly around the side of the cabin scrutinizing the spectators as if wishing to satisfy himself that none of them were armed.
