by Jake Logan
Taking half a step closer, Slocum stared into Milt’s eyes while keeping the gunman’s hands within the lower periphery of his field of vision. “See, that’s the problem with flapping your gums so much. Sooner or later, someone gets tired of listening and you gotta be ready to back yourself up.”
“I make a move,” Milt grumbled, “and that little fella behind me puts me down.”
“Not before I do,” Slocum said. “I promise you that.”
There was no arguing with the deadly vow etched into Slocum’s hardened features. Milt did his best to keep his chin up, but soon his head became too heavy to hold up and it drooped in silent defeat. His fingers relaxed, allowing the knife to slip from them before he brought his wrists together as if they were once again bound by a length of rope. “Whatever you got in mind, let’s just get it over with.”
Having already made his point, Slocum waited for Milt to walk away before scooping up the knife and pistol. Even as he did so, he half expected Milt to seize the chance to jump on him. If that happened, Slocum was prepared to drive his fist into Milt’s gut and snap his neck like a chicken’s. Once again, to Slocum’s dismay, Milt didn’t give him the opportunity for payback.
Daniel shoved Milt in front of him so they could climb up to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, a door opened into the end of a hallway that looked like a smaller version of the one in the Dodge House Hotel. Then again, it didn’t take much for hotels to start looking alike to Slocum.
“Have a seat,” Daniel said after unlocking a door and shoving Milt toward a chair that had already been set up in the middle of the floor next to a narrow bed and a little dresser with a chipped washbasin on it.
Milt did as he was told, huffing loudly as if the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders.
The room was clean and sparsely furnished. Slocum followed the other two men inside and glanced down the hallway to check the path that led to the stairs as well as the other direction, which led to an open staircase echoing with noise and music from the saloon below. Unlike the finery of the Dodge House, the rooms at the Lady Gay appeared to be either an afterthought or a place for the working girls to ply their trade. Since nobody was poking their noses out to check on them and nobody had been interested enough to follow them from the street, Slocum shut the door and locked it.
Daniel looped the rope around Milt’s chest and quickly knotted it behind the back of the chair to hold the gunman down. “You know who I am?” he asked.
Still feeling the sting from being put in his place downstairs, Milt kept his head hanging low and grumbled, “How the fuck should I know?”
Even Slocum was surprised when Daniel reached out with one hand to slap the side of Milt’s head with enough force to rattle whatever brains were in his skull. “What about Misty Creek?” Daniel asked. “That sound familiar?”
Milt’s eyes snapped open and darted back and forth before he closed them tightly again. The silence that fell over him after that was thicker than the sweat pasting his shirt to his back.
“What’s Misty Creek?” Slocum asked.
Milt kept his head hanging low and Daniel seemed too angry to form a sentence.
“You know the answer to that,” Slocum said as he reached out to grab Milt’s chin so he could stare into the gunman’s eyes. Since this was the second time he’d been cowed into silence, Milt was held upright mainly by the rope tying him to the chair. “You know the answer,” Slocum roared. “Tell me!”
“It’s just some piss hole a few days north of here,” Milt replied.
When he exhaled, Slocum felt the last few nights rush to catch up with him. His head still ached from where he’d been hit. His cheek still ached from where it had been cut. His legs were sore from so much running. His ears jangled with the noise of gunshots and shouting. When he allowed Milt’s head to hang forward, he found himself envying the gunman for being able to sit and not think about much of anything. Looking to Daniel, he asked, “What’s Misty Creek?”
“It’s a trickle of water running from southwest Nebraska to cut through the northern corner of Kansas,” Daniel said. Now that Milt was tied up and uninterested in making another move, Daniel walked over to the window, which was covered by a set of dark red curtains. Holding some of the curtains aside, he gazed down at the street. “It’s not big enough to be considered a trade route, but it provides irrigation to a farm or two. The Pawnee are thick in those parts as well. Least, they used to be.”
“Fucking Injuns ain’t nothing but bugs anyhow,” Milt said.
Shifting his gaze toward Milt as if he’d just discovered a dead skunk under his bed, Daniel continued, “Up until a few weeks ago, I was a scout for a Cavalry Division stationed in Nebraska. We rode the trails through there to look for any ranchers or covered wagons that may have gotten robbed or otherwise accosted along their way. As you probably know, Indians can be a problem in that respect.”
“Yeah,” Slocum said. “I know.”
“If Indians become too much of a problem, it’s the Army’s duty to bring them to justice. That usually gets bloody. Well, somewhere near the end of last winter, a stretch of trails got hit pretty hard and folks were turning up dead. I was with a unit that found one wagon train torn up so bad, it would’ve made the devil’s stomach turn. Men were gutted like fish. Women and children were laying in the dirt with their…well…it was a sight that’d rattle anyone.”
“Just like I said,” Milt grumbled. “Nothin’ but bugs.”
Daniel stared at the gunman with such intensity that Slocum began to wonder if he might be forced to step in to keep Daniel from tearing the other man’s head from his shoulders. Eventually, Daniel let the curtains fall back into place so he could stand behind Milt’s chair. “Them bodies were tacked onto the tally where those Indian attacks were concerned. Some more were found over the next few weeks, all piled up around stages that were looted or wagons containing shipments that had turned up missing.”
“The Indians robbed those folks and killed them?” Slocum asked.
When Milt nodded, the gesture looked as if an invisible hand was waggling his head around. “You got that right. What’s so hard to believe?”
“It isn’t,” Slocum said.
“I’ve seen plenty of Indian attacks,” Daniel said. “So have the other scouts I rode with. Some of those men could track down anything on two legs through a trail that had been washed away by a flood, and even they weren’t convinced we should have gone to Misty Creek after no Pawnee.”
“Incompetence ain’t my concern,” Milt said.
Slocum kicked the gunman’s chair and snapped, “Shut up!” To Daniel, he said, “But you went to Misty Creek anyway. To have a word with the Pawnee?”
Daniel nodded. “These Pawnee we spoke to weren’t known for doing much of anything but farming and dancing. They traded with the local towns and didn’t stir up a ruckus if they were asked to leave. Major Dwight Garrison led my unit to one of them villages along Misty Creek based on an eyewitness account that said those Injuns were the ones that stopped a group of three wagons headed into the Dakotas and sent eleven souls to meet their Maker.” Rage boiled to Daniel’s surface as he lashed out with one boot to kick Milt’s leg hard enough to scoot the chair a few inches across the floor. “This one right here was the witness.”
Gritting his teeth at the knock his leg had taken, Milt said, “Just performing my civic duty.”
“Don’t you know when to keep quiet?” Slocum asked.
Milt gnawed on the inside of his mouth while staring at the floor between his boots.
Looking over to Daniel, Slocum asked, “So what did your witness lead you into? An ambush?”
“More like a slaughterhouse,” the scout replied. “That village didn’t know what was coming or why we were there. The men that didn’t ride out to greet us peacefully were too old to do much more than watch. This son of a bitch in front of me right now pointed a finger at one of the Pawnee hunters, and Major Garrison gave the
order to open fire.”
“Jesus.”
As Daniel continued to speak, his eyes glazed over with the memories his words invoked. “That village was wiped out in a matter of minutes. Me and two other men I’ve known for years barely had a chance to ask what the hell was happening before we were ordered to help set the place to the torch. There wasn’t even enough time to question that order. Pretty soon, I was damn near choking on the smell of all that blood.”
Knowing what type of man Milt was, Slocum watched him carefully until a hint of a smirk appeared on the gunman’s face. A simple shake of his head was all Slocum needed to do to warn the gunman not to press Daniel any further.
“In the week that followed…perhaps it was ten days…two more villages were hit,” Daniel explained. “Each one was burnt down the same as the first. Seemed worse, though, because I knew what was coming.”
“God damn,” Slocum whispered. “Now I recall reading something about that in a newspaper. The Misty Creek Massacre, it was called.”
Daniel nodded. “Major Garrison kept trying to get me to join in on the killing. Most of the rest of the unit was plenty happy to do it themselves. Some of those men had lost friends or loved ones to Indian attacks throughout the years. Some didn’t think to disobey their orders. Others were just plain bloodthirsty. The major didn’t like it that me and Cullen wouldn’t take part. After the third village, talk began circulating about us being cowards or traitors.”
“You don’t think those Pawnee were responsible for those attacks,” Slocum pointed out.
“I couldn’t say that for certain,” Daniel said. “But even if they were, that don’t justify what happened to those three villages. I don’t rightly know how many Indians were killed when those places were put to the torch. Major Garrison was brought up on charges, but they were dropped on account of some bureaucratic nonsense. The major even admitted there may have been a mistake, but he blamed it on bad information given to his men by the eyewitness.” Punctuating his next words by kicking Milt’s chair, Daniel added, “This eyewitness.”
“I saw what I saw,” Milt grunted.
“If the testimony and evidence held up,” Slocum said reluctantly, “there’s not a lot for you to do about it. I’m not going to be a party to a lynching.”
“If that’s what I wanted, I could have gunned him down in the street,” Daniel said. “There was no evidence to back the story about the Pawnee being behind the attack. Not after me and a few other men with experience in Indian attacks took a closer look. And as for the testimony, it came from a handful of men that were all as disreputable as this idiot right here. By the looks of it, there was something else behind those villages being burnt to the ground than what we previously thought.”
“And the case still held up?”
“There wasn’t anyone left to prosecute. Major Garrison turned his back long enough for a gang of three-legged tortoises to get away. When he was asked to pick up the hunt for the fraudulent witnesses and commit troops to tracking them down along with anyone else who might have steered things in the wrong direction where Misty Creek was concerned, he insisted it was a waste of precious manpower and resources. A few more attacks happened in scattered parts of Nebraska and Kansas, so he sank his teeth into those. And since nobody was left alive to speak up for them Pawnee, the Army was happy to let the ugly matter fade away.”
“So that’s it?” Slocum asked.
For the first time since Daniel had introduced himself to Slocum, the scout showed him a genuine smile. “Not hardly. There’s still a case open. Remember that other scout that joined me in thinking something was wrong with all of this slaughter and pillaging?”
“Yeah.”
“He tracked down the other two murderous pieces of shit that swore to stand by anything Major Garrison said. They’re being held in a jail in a town called Culbertson a two-day ride from here. I intend on bringing this one back there to answer for what he did.”
“Isn’t it this Major Garrison who needs to answer for his crimes?” Slocum asked.
Daniel shifted his fiery glare to Milt. “He will. Those villages weren’t burnt just to smoke out a gang of killers, so that means there’s something else going on. I’d stake my life on the fact that this one here and those other outlaws locked up in Culbertson have something to do with it. Once these men are brought to justice and the Misty Creek affair is put under closer scrutiny, Garrison will be next in line for a fall.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna press no charges because there ain’t no real charges to be pressed,” Milt spat. “And even if there was, nobody cares enough to pursue ’em.”
“Just because nobody wants to pursue it don’t mean the case was closed,” Daniel pointed out.
“We’ll see who wants to pursue it once Major Garrison isn’t around to watch over you.”
Milt looked up at Daniel and showed him a crooked, shit-eating grin. “Word’s probably already gotten back to the major about what you and that other renegade soldier has done. All he’s gotta do is have you recalled. Once he tugs on your leash, you’ll go scurrying away with yer tail between yer legs.”
“That won’t happen.”
“You’re still a solider. To men like me, that’s in the same yard as a law dog. Long as I mind my step around you, there ain’t a thing you can do. If you was a true renegade, you would’a done more than tie me to a chair and kick it around.”
Slocum stepped into Milt’s view like a bank of storm clouds blotting out the sun. “I’m not a soldier or a law dog,” he said. “All you have to do is threaten my life and I can gun you down in self-defense. That is, if anyone’s around to notice you’ve been shot. Plenty of dead bodies turn up in Dodge City without causing a fuss and yours wouldn’t be missed. Outside of town limits, you won’t be nothing but food for whatever wild animals happen to dig you up from your shallow grave.”
That closed Milt’s mouth for good, so Slocum looked over to Daniel and asked, “When do we leave?”
8
The rest of the night was spent with Slocum and Daniel sleeping in shifts while the other watched Milt. It was around three in the morning when Slocum swung his legs over the side of the bed to take his turn at watch duty. “Has he still been quiet or did I sleep through something exciting?” he asked.
“Everything’s still quiet,” Daniel replied.
Ever since Milt had dozed off in the chair with his head lolling forward, the only noise in the room was his snoring.
“What did you do with Fitz anyway?” Slocum asked.
Daniel peeked through the window and then walked over to the door so he could listen for noises in the hallway. “We tussled for a bit before I knocked him out. Damn near busted a dresser using the side of his head. He could still be sleeping it off. Didn’t you say Milt was working with more than just that one fella?”
“Cameron is just some local gambler,” Slocum said while standing up and stretching his back. “He didn’t strike me as the sort who would stick his neck out to rescue anyone. More than likely, he’ll just hire new help tomorrow.”
“Well, keep alert anyhow,” Daniel said while setting himself down onto the side of the bed that Slocum had just vacated. “We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”
“Sounds good to me.”
For the rest of the night, Slocum sat in a chair with his arms folded and his senses sharp. The only sounds he heard within the Lady Gay were those that were to be expected inside any saloon. As daylight approached, folks found their way upstairs and Slocum was chomping at the bit to get Milt prepared for the journey. Daniel awoke on his own and immediately set to work.
Their prisoner didn’t put up any more fuss than a petulant child. Mostly, there was a lot of squirming, spitting, and name-calling, but it wasn’t long before Milt’s hands were tied securely behind his back and he was being shoved down the rear stairs. Daniel had a horse being kept near the saloon, and when he was getting Milt loaded onto it, Slocum asked, “You got any money?�
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“What do you need money for?” Daniel replied.
“I need a horse and can’t think of anyone who’s giving them away.”
“Can’t you rent one?”
“I need money for that, too.”
“I’ve got some for expenses, but not much.”
As Daniel dug through his pockets, Slocum looked at Milt. “Did you ever search him?”
“For weapons.”
Approaching the prisoner, Slocum reached for the pockets of Milt’s jacket, which immediately got Milt squirming again.
“Now you wanna rob me?” Milt wailed.
“Oh, stop your bellyaching,” Slocum said as he riffled through Milt’s jacket, shirt, and pants pockets. It didn’t take long before he uncovered a few familiar items as well as a small bundle of cash.
“That’s mine, you son of a bitch!” Milt groused. “Even if I was tossed into jail, my things would be kept for me.”
Holding up the cash so Milt could see it before he closed a fist around it and pocketed it for himself, Slocum replied, “I’m not the law, remember? Besides, this right here,” he added while showing him the familiar item, “is my watch.”
Milt actually looked at the pocket watch as if he thought there was a chance that Slocum was mistaken. “Guess that’s yours to take.”
“What about my gun?”
“What gun?”
Slocum drew the .38 he’d taken from Milt’s holster earlier and stuck its barrel against the other man’s face. “It’s kind of like this one, only it won’t be shoved down your throat in about ten seconds.”
“Cameron’s got it,” Milt told him.
“Why does he want it?”
“Because it belonged to you. Folks’ve heard your name and they’ll know what it took to get your gun out of your hands.”
“They’ll also know I was one of the men to drag you kicking and screaming out of that alley last night and carry you out of Dodge like a prized calf strung to the back of a horse. I’m about to go rent a horse and I imagine folks will know where I got that money, too.”