Gunsmith #362 : Buffalo Soldiers (9781101554388)

by Roberts, J. R.

  They turned quickly, crouched, then straightened when they saw he hadn’t drawn his gun.

  “What are your last names?” Reeves asked.

  They looked at each other, and then one of them said, “I’m Franklin, he’s Weatherby.”

  “We already talked to Washington and Jefferson, and their other man, Gordon. There’s a sixth man. What’s his name?”

  Again the men exchanged a look, then Franklin said, “That’s Private Webster.”

  “Webster,” Reeves said. “And where’s he now?”

  “We don’t know,” Franklin said.

  “He was here,” Weatherby said, “but we don’t know where he is now.”

  “Okay,” Reeves said. “Go. We’ll be seeing you later. And by ‘we,’ I mean me and my friend here, Clint Adams.”

  Clint could see that his name registered with them just before they turned and trotted off.

  Reeves looked at Clint and said, “Sorry. I just wanted them to know…”

  “Yeah, I know,” Clint said. “That’s okay.”

  They walked down the steps.

  “So they’re all going to be in that saloon,” Clint said.

  “We hope,” Reeves said. “They have to find their sixth man.”

  “When do you want to take them?” Clint asked. “Five would be better than six. I mean, for us.”

  “We’d still have to hunt down the sixth man,” Reeves said. “It’s better to take them all at once.”

  “And you’re sure we can do that,” Clint said.

  “Hey, you’re the Gunsmith,” Reeves said, “and I’m one of Judge Parker’s deputies.”

  “And they are six well-trained Buffalo Soldiers,” Clint reminded him. “I’m going along with this because it’s your game, Bass, but somehow I think divide and conquer may have been a good idea.”

  “Remember what I said about tricks?”

  “I remember,” Clint said. “I’m just starting to think that maybe you weren’t right.”

  “Now’s not the time to argue,” Reeves said.

  “You’re right,” Clint said. “That time has passed.”

  Gordon found Webster sitting in front of a dress shop, talking to some kids—boys and girls, all white, from ages three to about ten.

  “What are you doin’?” he asked.

  “I’m just tellin’ these kids some stories,” Webster said. “They like my stories.”

  “We gotta go,” Gordon said. “The sarge wants us at the saloon.”

  “But we want more stories,” a ten-year-old boy said.

  “Hey,” Webster said to the boy, “duty calls. You re--member what I tol’ you about duty?”

  “Yessir,” the boy said.

  Webster stood up.

  “I’ll be back,” he said. “You kids be good.”

  He walked with Gordon down the street.

  “Instead of at the whorehouse, I find you with a bunch of kids?” Gordon asked.

  “I like kids,” Webster said. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “It’s time,” Gordon said. “Bass Reeves is here, and he’s got the Gunsmith with him.”

  “What? The white man is the Gunsmith?”

  “Yup,” Gordon said. “I hope you tol’ them kids all the stories you got. You might not get a chance to tell them no more.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Washington and Jefferson looked up as Gordon and Webster entered the saloon. Against the bar were Weatherby and Franklin. There was no one else in the saloon except for the bartender.

  “Get a beer, Private,” Washington said to Webster.

  “Yessir.”

  Webster went to the bar to join his partners. Gordon walked over to the table where Washington and Jefferson were sitting.

  “Where was he?” Washington asked.

  “He was, uh, talkin’ to some kids, sir.”

  “Kids?”

  “Tellin’ them stories.”

  “Stories?”

  “He was a teacher before he joined the Buffalo Soldiers,” Jefferson said. “He likes kids.”

  “That’s what he said, sir,” Gordon said. “He likes kids.”

  “All right,” Washington said. “Go and get a beer with the others.”

  “Yessir.”

  As Gordon walked away, Washington looked at Jefferson and said, “A teacher?”

  “And he’s a damned good soldier,” Jefferson added. “They’re all good boys.”

  “They better be,” Washington said. He pushed his chair back.

  “What now?”

  “Now I tell them what we’re up against,” Washington said.

  “Are you gonna tell ’em everythin’?”

  Washington was in the act of standing. He paused and looked at his corporal.

  “What do you mean by everythin’?” he asked.

  “You know,” Jefferson said. “You and Bass.”

  “I’ll tell them that we know each other,” Washington said, “and that when the time comes, Bass is mine. The rest of you will kill the Gunsmith.”

  “But what about—”

  “Then you’ll all have the reputation as the men who killed a legend,” Washington said.

  Jefferson stared at his commanding officer.

  “Don’t worry, Corporal,” Washington said, “it’s all gonna work out. Trust me.”

  Bass Reeves and Clint went to see Sheriff Riggs.

  “How’s everythin’ goin’?” Riggs asked.

  “It looks like we’re gonna have to take these six men by force, Sheriff,” Reeves said.

  “And you want my help?”

  “Not exactly,” Clint said. “We only need you to know what’s going to happen. We didn’t want you to be surprised when you heard the shooting.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Riggs said, “because to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t know which side to take. I mean, Buffalo Soldiers are law officers, right? And you’re a deputy marshal. You gotta admit this is kind of an odd situation.”

  “We’re fairly sure they’re not Buffalo Soldiers anymore,” Clint said. “Not after committing the robberies they have, and the killings.”

  “Well, yeah, but I don’t know that for sure.”

  “That’s why we’re not askin’ you to take sides, Sheriff,” Reeves said. “Just…stay out of the way.”

  Riggs sat back in his chair and said, “I can do that.”

  Washington told his men that within the next day they would be facing both Bass Reeves and Clint Adams. Of course, they knew that Adams was the Gunsmith.

  “We didn’t know we would have to face him,” Franklin said.

  “I didn’t either,” Washington said. “I only expected Bass Reeves to track us. And maybe another deputy. The Gunsmith is a surprise.”

  “What can we do?” Weatherby asked.

  “Kill him.”

  “Kill the Gunsmith?” Gordon asked.

  “We’ll need more men,” Franklin said. “What about the others?”

  “I believe that Reeves and the Gunsmith have already killed Private Edwards and the others.”

  “Then we have to run,” Gordon said.

  “No,” Washington said. “I can kill Bass Reeves. That leaves the five of you to kill Clint Adams.”

  The four men standing at the bar exchanged glances with each other.

  “Don’t you think five trained Buffalo Soldiers can kill one man?” Washington asked. “Even if that one man is the Gunsmith?”

  THIRTY-NINE

  When they stepped outside the sheriff’s office, they noticed how desolate the streets were.

  “Word got around,” Clint said.

  “At least we won’t have to worry about innocent bystanders,” Reeves said.

  “You really think those six men are going to face us in the street, fair and square?” Clint asked.

  Reeves hesitated a moment, then said, “No. I’d expect that from Buffalo Soldiers, but not from these men. They’ll try something underhanded. And we have to be ready.”

&
nbsp; Clint looked at Reeves and raised his eyebrows.

  “What are you thinkin’?” Reeves asked.

  “I’m thinking why should we be the ones waiting for them to make a move?” Clint said. “Let’s make them think we’re planning something of our own.”

  “Good idea,” Reeves said. “If we make them wait, maybe they’ll get impatient and make a mistake.”

  “How long?” Clint asked.

  “I ain’t in a hurry,” Reeves said, “since we know where they all are.”

  “Five of them anyway.”

  “I’m sure Washington got ahold of his sixth man,” Reeves said. “Believe me, they’re all in the saloon.”

  “I saw a couple of wooden chairs in front of our hotel,” Clint said. “Why don’t we go and put them to good use?”

  “Good idea.”

  “Where are they?” Jefferson asked.

  “Don’t get impatient,” Washington said. “Bass Reeves is a smart man. He wants to keep us waitin’ so we get nervous.”

  Jefferson looked over at the four fidgety black men standing at the bar. “I think it’s workin’.”

  “Then go and talk to them,” Washington said. “Calm them down.”

  “Okay.”

  Jefferson started to get up.

  “But in the meantime,” Washington added, “send Gordon out to see where they are.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Gordon griped at always being the one sent out to check on Reeves and Adams. He was sure that at some point they’d get tired of seeing him and just kill him.

  He walked around town, finally saw the two men sitting on chairs in front of their hotel. He ducked into a doorway and just watched them for a few minutes, but they weren’t doing anything but sitting.

  He quit the doorway and moved away from the area, feeling safe that he hadn’t been seen.

  “See ’im?” Reeves asked.

  “I see him.”

  “All right,” Reeves said, “so now they know where we are.”

  “But Washington’s a smart man, isn’t he?” Clint asked.

  “I used to think so.”

  “So maybe he’s figurin’ what we’re doin’,” Clint said. “He won’t panic.”

  “Probably not,” Reeves said, “but his men might.”

  “I’m getting hungry,” Clint said.

  “A hot meal sounds good,” Reeves said. “We might as well eat early—we don’t want to put a café full of people in danger.”

  They got up and went to find a nice empty restaurant.

  Gordon came hurrying into the saloon.

  “They’re in front of their hotel,” he told Washington and Jefferson.

  “Doin’ what?” Jefferson asked.

  “Nothin’,” Gordon said. “Just sittin’ and talkin’.”

  “Did they see you?” Jefferson asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay,” Washington said. “Go back to the bar with the others.”

  Gordon did so gladly.

  “They saw him,” Washington said.

  “Yeah,” Jefferson said. “So what do we do?”

  “We do what they’re doin’,” Washington said. “We make them wait.”

  “So we’re all just waitin’?” the corporal asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “What about eatin’?”

  “Eat whenever you want,” Washington said, “as long as it’s right here.”

  FORTY

  Clint and Reeves found a small café with only about half a dozen tables. And while one was taken when they got there, the man and woman seated there got up and left as soon as it became clear they were going to stay and eat.

  “Oh yeah,” Clint said, “word has gotten around there’s going to be trouble.”

  The waiter nervously told them to take any table. They sat as far from the window as they could, just in case.

  They ordered steaks, and while they were a little tough, they weren’t as tough as the beef jerky they’d been dining on. They each washed the food down with a mug of beer.

  They were on to coffee and pie when Sheriff Riggs walked into the place. The café was still empty, so he walked right over to them.

  “You found my place,” Riggs said.

  “This where you usually eat?” Clint asked. “Pull up a chair, unless you’re afraid of us, like everyone else.”

  Riggs pulled out a chair and sat down. The waiter immediately appeared with a steak dinner.

  “Looks like they were expecting you,” Clint said.

  “I always eat here the same time every day,” Riggs said, “only it ain’t usually this empty.”

  “Our fault, I guess,” Clint said.

  “I’ll tip big,” Reeves said, “to try to make up for it.”

  “Well, the word is around town,” Riggs said. “Nobody’s on the street. They’re all inside, waiting to see who’s gonna make the first move, you or the Buffalo Soldiers.”

  “They ain’t Buffalo Soldiers no more,” Reeves said with feeling.

  “Well,” Riggs said, “sorry, but that’s how people around here think of them.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  “Don’t mind him,” Clint said. “He’s been after these men a long time.”

  “If you don’t mind me askin’,” Riggs said, “when will you be facin’ them?” Then he added, “I’m askin’ on behalf of the town.”

  “Soon,” Reeves said.

  “We’re waiting to see if they’ll blink first,” Clint explained. Riggs didn’t look like he understood. “We just want to make them a little nervous.”

  “Ah,” Riggs said, “well, the whole town is nervous, that’s for sure.”

  “We’re sorry about that,” Reeves said. “We’ll do our best to get this over with as fast as we can so the people in town can feel safe again.”

  They finished their pie and coffee while Riggs was still eating his steak.

  “We’ll leave you to your meal,” Clint said as he and Reeves stood up.

  “I’ll be listenin’ for shots,” Riggs said. “Lots of them.”

  “You’ll hear them,” Clint said, “unless all six of those men just surrender.”

  Riggs laughed. “What’s the chance of that?” he asked.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Clint said. “What are the chances?”

  He and Reeves left the café.

  Outside the street was still deserted. They stopped just in front of the café door.

  “I have a suggestion,” Clint said.

  “What’s that?” Reeves asked.

  “Let me call the play.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Clint said, “you and Washington know each other.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you heard of the game called chess?”

  “No,” Reeves said, “just poker.”

  “Well, this isn’t with cards, it’s on a board…actually, I really don’t know how to play it myself, but I know that it’s about strategy. You and Washington can figure out each other’s strategies.”

  “Okay, I think I see what you mean,” Reeves said. “If you call the play, he won’t be able to predict it.”

  “Exactly.”

  Reeves thought a moment, then said, “Well, yeah, okay. Let’s do that, ’cause right now Washington and me have got us all sittin’ around doin’ nothin’.”

  “That’s why,” Clint said, “I think we should do something.”

  “But what?”

  “Come on,” Clint said. “I’ll tell you my plan on the way.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Clint took a deep breath and walked through the batwing doors. Inside six black men and one white man turned their eyes toward him.

  “Can I get a beer in here?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Washington said. “Make room at the bar for Mr. Adams, boys.”

  There was plenty of room so they didn’t really have to move. The bartender—the only other white man in the place—set a beer on th
e bar for Clint and implored him with his eyes to give him some help.

  Clint picked up the beer left-handed, turned, and looked at Washington and Jefferson.

  “Where’s your buddy?” Washington asked. “Where’s Bass Reeves?”

  Clint sipped his beer, said, “To tell you the truth, I don’t know where he is right now.”

  “Is that a fact?” Washington asked. “Gordon, check the back door of this place.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Take somebody with you.”

  Gordon looked at Weatherby, who nodded. The two men headed for the back of the saloon.

  “You think I’m lying?” Clint asked.

  “The next thing you’ll tell me is that you and Bass had a fight,” Washington said, “and you ain’t backin’ his play no more.”

  “Why would I tell you that?” Clint asked. “Bass is my friend. Of course I’m backing his play.”

  “Then what are you doin’ here?”

  “Maybe this is his play.”

  “And he’s comin’ in the back while you keep us busy? That ain’t much of a plan.”

  “I agree,” Clint said. “That wouldn’t be much of a plan.”

  Gordon and Weatherby returned.

  “Ain’t nothin’ happenin’ back there, Sarge,” he said. “The rear door is locked up tight, and ain’t no broken windows.”

  “All right,” Washington said. “Check upstairs. See if Reeves came in through a window up there.”

  Both Gordon and Weatherby looked up at the ceiling, then back at Washington.

  “All right,” he said, “all four of you go!”

  The four black men moved away from the bar and went up the stairs to the second floor.

  “Check every room!” Washington shouted.

  “We will,” Gordon said.

  In a few moments they could hear the footsteps above them as the men went from room to room.

  In the saloon there were now only two black men, Jefferson and Washington. Clint stood at the bar, a half-finished beer in his left hand. He was watching the two seated men. The bartender stood behind the bar, watching all three of them.

  Washington and Jefferson watched Clint, then seemed to realize that they had gone from a six-to-one advantage to two-to-one.

  Which against the Gunsmith was a disadvantage.

  “Wait a minute,” Jefferson said. He started to get up and go for his gun.