Trial at Fort Keogh

by Charles G. West

  “Wait, damn it!” Clint blurted at almost the same time the first shot was fired from the top of the ridge. He didn’t hesitate but rolled out of the saddle to land on the ground between his horse and the steep side of the ravine. “Get down!” he yelled to Justin, who was still in the saddle, too startled to react. Clint ran up beside Justin’s horse, grabbed the confused lieutenant by the tail of his coat, and jerked him off the horse, just as a second shot hit the chestnut gelding, causing it to scream and rear up on its back legs.

  “I’m getting’ damn tired of savin’ your ass for Hope,” Clint muttered angrily. “Hug the side of that slope!” he ordered as Justin’s horse tried to run but collapsed after a few yards and crumpled to the ground.

  Clint ran back to Sam to pull his rifle from the saddle sling. Then to keep his horse from getting hit, too, he grabbed his bridle and turned him around. With a sound smack on his croup, he chased him away to gallop a short distance from the narrow ravine before stopping. With little choice to avoid the many shots being fired from above them, Justin and Clint pressed hard up against the steep side of the ravine. They were protected as long as they remained where they were, but they were pinned down, unable to chance retreating to a better spot.

  “We’re not in a very good spot,” Justin declared breathlessly. “Who do you think it is, Indians?”

  “I think it’s my two good friends, Yeager’s yard dogs,” Clint said, “and you’re right—this ain’t a good spot.”

  “They got my horse,” Justin complained. “What are we gonna do?”

  Clint was busy trying to assess the options available to them. They were few, but he knew they couldn’t stay where they were, so he settled on a desperate plan. “You stay tight up against that hill. I’m gonna try to crawl back the way we came and see if I can get up behind them.”

  “They’ll see you when you crawl out of this shadow,” Justin protested, not confident of Clint’s chances.

  “You got a better idea?” Clint came back. “If you have, I’d like to hear it.”

  Not waiting for a response from Justin, he dropped to his hands and knees and began crawling along the base of the dark wall.

  “Stay in that shadow,” he reminded Justin, knowing that he didn’t have much time before the moon rose higher and the shadow diminished. The same thought must have occurred to the two snipers on the ridge, because the firing stopped. The void caused Clint to crawl faster.

  In a few more seconds, he reached the mouth of the ravine and the end of any real cover. His objective now would be to reach the Parson’s Nose, and there were about twenty yards of open ground between it and the point where he was now paused. He waited, hesitating to expose himself to the rifle fire above while the seconds ticked off. It seemed like a foolish gamble. The only option, however, was to turn around and crawl back to huddle up against the side of the ravine with Justin.

  Hell, he thought, nobody lives forever.

  Then before he had time to think about it further, he sprang up and sprinted toward the rocks as hard as he could go. When he reached the cover of the rocks, breathing desperately from the short sprint, he was scarcely able to believe he had made it without hearing a shot from the snipers.

  Fifty feet above him, Curly and Blankenship had left their ambush position, having decided they could work their way closer to the edge of the steep side wall of the ravine. The targets of their assault were hiding in the shadow of the hill, and they wanted to be in a position to take advantage of that fact when the moon rose high enough to shrink the shadow. Moving as cautiously as they possibly could, they were careful to watch where each foot was placed. One false step might start a slide of rocks and give away the surprise they intended.

  With their concentration so absorbed, they failed to notice the figure that suddenly sprinted across the open space to disappear behind the rock tower.

  Pressing ever tighter against the wall, as the narrow band of shadow grew smaller and smaller, Justin cautiously pulled his feet up closer to his body when the toe of his boot was suddenly illuminated by the moonlight. He held his pistol up flat against his chest, ready to fire, not sure if he was even going to see a target before his whole body was exposed and fired upon. Clint had crawled away, saying that he intended to get behind them.

  Maybe he was intent only upon saving his skin and to hell with me, Justin could not help thinking.

  Little more than ten feet above the frightened lieutenant, Curly suddenly caught sight of a small protrusion on the otherwise constant edge line of the shadow cast on the floor of the ravine. When it moved slightly, he took a harder look and realized it was made by the brim of a hat. He raised his hand and signaled Blankenship, a few steps behind him. Blankenship acknowledged the signal with a nod of his head. Curly inched forward, closer and closer to the edge of the steep wall, until he could make out the entire form of Justin below him. He knelt on one knee and steadied himself to raise the Spencer carbine he carried and aim it at the unsuspecting soldier.

  “Where’s Cooper?” he asked the startled lieutenant seconds before pulling the trigger.

  “I’m here,” the answer came back. Curly turned at once, but not quickly enough to stop the rifle slug that caught him in the shoulder, spun him around, and dropped him on the steep slope. His body slid on the snow-covered shale and dropped off the edge to land at Justin’s feet.

  Startled, Blankenship tried to react, but in that instant of confusion, without thinking, he grabbed the forearm of his rifle with his injured hand, causing him to recoil in pain and jerk the weapon when he pulled the trigger. The result was a wide miss, moments before a slug from Clint’s Winchester slammed him in the chest. Killed instantly, he slid over the edge of the short precipice to land next to Curly, who was staring into the business end of the Colt Justin held, aimed at his face.

  Clint hurried back the way he had come up the slope, which took him a couple of minutes. When he reached Justin, the lieutenant was still standing over Curly, his army single-action Colt .44 still pointed at the wounded man’s face.

  “Why didn’t you tell me what you were gonna do?” Justin complained. “This bastard almost shot me! What are we gonna do with him?”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t,” Clint said calmly. “Almost gettin’ shot ain’t ever hurt nobody, so no harm done, right?”

  “Right, my ass!” Justin responded. The sensation of having looked up to see a rifle muzzle pointed at him from only a few feet away had jangled his nerves, and now that it was over, he didn’t appreciate the close call. “If you had been a few seconds later, I would be lying there dead like that man.”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t, so quit your bellyaching,” Clint said. He looked at Blankenship to make sure he was dead, then slipped the toe of his boot under Blankenship’s left arm and lifted it a few inches. “I knew I had nicked one of these jaspers back at the line shack.” He turned back to Justin and nodded toward Curly. “Don’t you reckon you oughta pull that pistol outta his holster? He ain’t shot so bad he can’t use it.”

  “I was just going to do that,” Justin lied, having been too shaken to think of it before. “We have to decide what we’re going to do with him.”

  “To hell with him,” Clint said. “What about your horse? Is he dead?”

  “I’m not sure,” Justin replied.

  His answer irritated Clint, and he let him know it. “Well, for God’s sake, man, look at him and put him out of his misery if he ain’t dead.”

  He had no use for a man who neglected to take care of his horse. He was further irritated when Justin went to the wounded horse and put his pistol to its head and shot it. Damn, he thought, knowing the animal had not been dead, and had been suffering all that time.

  Clint took a look at the wounded man, whose eyes were wide in uncertain desperation as the discussion returned regarding his fate. “Well, we could blow his brains out and make him a helluva lot le
ss trouble,” he said. “But I expect you’d wanna take him and his friend there in to Fort Keogh and throw this one in the guardhouse.”

  Curly nodded vigorously and gasped, “Yes, sir. I won’t give you no trouble. I surrender. Take me to see the doctor. I’m hurt bad.”

  “You ain’t hurt that bad,” Clint said. “And that’s my fault. I meant to kill your sorry ass. That’s what you deserve for shootin’ Ben Hawkins, and I might change my mind about botherin’ with you. You need some doctorin’?” He pulled his skinning knife from his belt. “I’ll dig that bullet outta you.”

  “No, don’t do that,” Curly pleaded. “It weren’t me that shot that other feller. It was Blankenship that done that—and you shot him deader’n hell, so everythin’s all square on that account. I’m goin’ peaceful. I surrender.”

  “Damn right you do,” Clint said. “You ain’t got no choice, you piece of shit. I’m still thinkin’ about shootin’ you.” He couldn’t help badgering the frightened assassin, because of the trouble the man and his partner had caused him.

  “I’ll be the one making that decision,” Justin stated flatly, having suddenly regained control of his sense of authority. Looking at Curly then, he said, “I hereby place you under arrest for attempted murder.” He glanced briefly at Clint before adding, “You will be taken, unharmed, to be incarcerated in the guardhouse to await trial.” It was clearly a warning to Clint that the prisoner was not to be harmed.

  “Well, let’s get movin’, then,” Clint said. He grabbed Curly by the lapels of his coat and jerked him roughly to his feet. “Keep your gun on him,” he directed Justin; then he whistled for Sam. The horse plodded obediently up beside him and stopped. Clint cut off a short piece of rope from his saddle and bound Curly’s hands behind his back, ignoring the grunt of pain that Curly uttered. “Watch him,” Clint said. “I’m goin’ to get his horse.” He stepped up on Sam, wheeled him around, and rode back toward the mouth of the ravine.

  When Clint rode out of sight, Curly took the opportunity to play on the lieutenant’s pride, hoping to ensure his own safety. “It’s a mighty honorable thing you’re doin’ here, Lieutenant. I mean, standin’ up to that killer, lettin’ him know whose boss. He’s liable to take over if you don’t keep him on a short rope.”

  Already rankled by Clint’s attitude, Justin was in no mood to hear any comments from Curly. “Make no mistake, mister, you’re a prisoner of the U.S. Army—my prisoner—and it’ll be my discretion as to how you are treated.”

  “Oh yes, sir,” Curly quickly acknowledged. “You’re the boss—ain’t no doubt about that.”

  In a few minutes, Clint returned, leading two horses. He dismounted and walked over to Blankenship’s body. “Give me a hand and we’ll throw this one over that horse’s rump.” He paused then while Justin hesitated. “Take hold of his feet.” Justin finally moved to do as Clint instructed, and they hefted Blankenship to lay him behind the saddle, across the horse’s croup. “Now let’s help ol’ Curly here up in the saddle.” He paused again to ask, “You are the one called Curly, ain’t you?” Curly didn’t answer but allowed himself to be hoisted up into the saddle. “Well, that leaves the other horse for you, Lieutenant,” Clint went on. “What are you gonna do about the saddle? You wanna take that army saddle offa your horse, or use the one that’s on his partner’s horse? It’s a helluva lot better saddle than that army saddle.” He waited again for Justin to speak. “While you’re decidin’, I’ll tie Curly’s reins to this bush. He just might take a notion to go for a ride while you’re makin’ up your mind.”

  Justin hesitated before going to collect his saddlebags from the dead horse. The resentment for Clint Cooper was building inside him to the point of anger, especially since Clint seemed to be giving the orders when it was clearly not his authority. He didn’t like Clint to begin with because of his close relationship with Hope Valentine. It didn’t sit well with him, either, that Clint had probably saved him from being shot when he jerked him off his horse, then again when he killed Blankenship.

  He thinks he’s some kind of hero, ever since he supposedly saved me and my men on that grave-digging detail, he thought. Damn him, he treats me like I haven’t the sense to get out of the rain.

  Suddenly he had had all of Clint Cooper that he felt he could take without restitution.

  “What’s it gonna be, Lieutenant?” Clint asked, after tying Curly’s horse to the bush. “This saddle, or the army’s?”

  “I’ll let you know,” Justin replied curtly. “First, I want an answer from you. What did you mean back there when you said something about being tired of taking care of me for Hope’s sake?”

  The question surprised Clint. He didn’t even remember saying it in the chaos of being fired upon. “Well, I don’t know, Lieutenant. I reckon I did tell Hope that I’d try to keep you from doin’ something dumb and gettin’ yourself shot. It sure as hell ain’t been easy. I’ll admit it ain’t something I wanna do, but since Hope’s sweet on you, I told her I would.”

  “I don’t need a guardian angel,” Justin said sarcastically. “And if I did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be you.”

  “So you say,” Clint replied, somewhat amused by Justin’s attitude. “But you sure as hell woulda been dead a couple of times without somebody there to save your ass.”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  “Why, you insolent bastard,” Justin fumed. “I ought to give you a thrashing for that.”

  Clint smiled, enjoying the snit Justin had worked himself into. “You oughta try,” he said. Again, it was the wrong thing to say.

  To Clint’s complete surprise, Justin hauled off and smacked him full on the nose with his fist. Never expecting the angry reaction from the usually proper young officer, Clint staggered back a couple of steps before recovering. When he realized what had just happened, he felt a sense of satisfaction for being given the opportunity to plant one on Hope’s pompous suitor. He set his feet solidly and wiped a trickle of blood away from his upper lip. Then he threw a solid right hand that caught Justin flush on the cheek, driving him backward against Curly’s horse, which kept him from going down.

  Too angry to be intimidated by the taller man, Justin stepped up and delivered another right that landed on Clint’s forehead. He received a solid left in return, and the two adversaries stood toe-to-toe exchanging punches to the absolute astonishment of Curly James, who watched the contest, scarcely able to believe his eyes.

  In his estimation, the lieutenant gave a good accounting of himself, but he was clearly overmatched. Justin remained on his feet longer than Curly, or Clint, had expected, but it was inevitable that he would go down when one too many of Clint’s haymakers collided with his jaw. The brief fight was over then as Justin dropped to his knees and could not get up, much to Clint’s relief. He wasn’t sure how much fight he had left in him, since he was still recovering from a serious bullet wound that had left him weak.

  Clint walked over to his horse and took his extra bandanna from his saddlebag. He pulled off the one around his neck and wet them both with water from his canteen. Then he walked back to Justin, who was still on his knees, and handed him one of the wet cloths. Justin looked up at him with eyes still trying to focus.

  “Thanks,” he said, and took the bandanna.

  While the two combatants cleaned the blood from their faces, Curly shook his head, amazed. “I tell you the truth,” he said. “I thought about jerkin’ them reins offa that bush and makin’ a run for it. But I wouldn’ta wanted to miss that fight.”

  Clint gave him a bored glance and said, “I’da shot you.”

  It was difficult to explain by either man, but the tension between them seemed to have been cleared away. Neither man could have foreseen the ensuing fight, but it was something that had to occur eventually. And now that it had, both men were ready to forget about it.

  “I think I should take my saddle back, if we c
an get it off the horse,” Justin said. “It’s army property, but I’ll leave the other saddle on.”

  “All right,” Clint said. “I’ll help you get the girth strap out from under him.”

  Chapter 12

  They were challenged by a sentry when they rode into Fort Keogh, and Justin asked who the officer of the day was. He was told that Lieutenant Grant was the O.D. and that he had just made his rounds of the guard posts.

  “He’ll be at the headquarters office now,” Justin said, and led the way. “We’ll drop Mr. James off at the guardhouse on the way over. They can get the surgeon to treat that wound.”

  After turning Curly over to Sergeant O’Brien at the guardhouse, Justin and Clint proceeded to the post headquarters, where First Lieutenant Lawrence Grant was on duty as officer of the day. Grant looked up in surprise when Justin walked in with Clint.

  “Hello there, Justin. Back from visiting your lady friend?” he greeted him before Justin walked fully into the light of the lamp on Grant’s desk. He recoiled, startled, when he saw the lump beside Justin’s eye and the swelling on his jaw. “What the hell happened to you?” Then before Justin answered, he noticed the marks on Clint’s face and his swollen nose. “Damn,” he blurted.

  “Lawrence,” Justin replied. “Yep, I’m back. This is Clint Cooper. He works for Randolph Valentine. We ran into a little trouble on the way back from the Double- V-Bar.”

  He went on to tell him about the ambush they had encountered at the Parson’s Nose, and the prisoner he had delivered to the guardhouse.

  “There’s a body of one of the men that tried to ambush us on a horse outside. I wasn’t sure whether I should bring it back or not. I guess we can detail a couple of men to dig a grave and bury him, if there’s no need for the provost marshal to see him.”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Grant said. He turned to a sergeant standing by, who had been listening to the exchange between the two lieutenants. “Roper, detail a couple of men to take care of it.” The sergeant did as he was ordered. “I’d guess you two had a helluva time of it, from the looks of both of you,” Grant continued.