Crossed Arrows (A Long-Knives Western Book 1)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Yelling and firing dominated the scene, and several more of Wright’s pals crumbled under the disciplined fire of the scout detachment. When the unit reached the livery stable, they did not slow down. All sensed that to do so would be suicidal.

  Now Hawkins rushed to the front of his men, leading the way into the large building. The yelling scouts were on his heels, acting as if they wished to follow the old tradition of counting coup on the enemy.

  As the detachment burst through the door, they were met by Sheriff Fred Dawson and three other men who delivered a wild, uncoordinated salvo of ineffective firing. The return volleys from Hawkins and his men was almost rhythmic, yet was ferociously rapid. The four gunmen went down in the bullet storm ripping into their midst.

  Suddenly all was quiet.

  Hawkins went to the front door of the livery barn, and eased it open a bit to peer out. Then he pushed it wider for a better look. The captain turned back and rejoined his men. “It’s all quiet out there,” he announced. “I’d say we won this battle.” He looked at the still very frightened Wright. “You got a horse in here, don’t you?”

  Wright nodded his head at one of the stalls. “Yeah. That’s mine.”

  “Well, Mr. Wright,” Hawkins said, going over to the animal, “I’m going to give you first class treatment. You’ll have your horse saddled by a captain of the United States Army.”

  “What an honor,” Wright said sarcastically. “I’m just glad my ass ain’t been shot off.”

  As soon as the horse was ready for riding, the prisoner was hoisted into the saddle. The rest of scout detachment quickly mounted their own steeds, and rode out of the large building onto the street.

  A crowd of townspeople had now come out of hiding from the violent gunfight, and were milling up and down the street examining the dead men sprawled and scattered throughout the town.

  A portly man with mutton chop whiskers, closely followed by two other townsmen, cautiously approached the army detachment. The fat fellow held up a hand in greeting. “How do you do, sir?”

  “I’m fine,” Mack Hawkins replied. He sensed these were individuals of some local importance. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, sir, my name is Horace Tumwater and I am the mayor of this town. This is Mr. O’Riley and Mr. Edmonton who make up our city council.”

  “I am Captain Mack Hawkins, commander of the Kiowa-Comanche Detachment of the U.S. Scouts. The other officer there with the pris’ner is my second-in-command Lieutenant Dooley. Then there is Sergeant Eagle Heart and Corporal Running Cougar.” He stopped talking abruptly as a signal that he expected Tumwater to quickly get to whatever point he wanted to make.

  The mayor nervously cleared his throat and said, “I am aware of what happened in the saloon. Our sheriff acted completely on his own, sir, and this attack by his deputies and hangers-on was in no way connected with the city government of Sawyer, Texas.”

  “I am sure of that, Mayor,” Hawkins said. “I shall make a note of that in my official report. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “I’m relieved you’re aware of the situation,” Tumwater said. “Dawson is a good sheriff—”

  “Dawson was a good sheriff,” Hawkins interrupted. “He’s laying dead in that livery barn.”

  “I see,” Tumwater said. “Well, he did a good job for us. I suppose we should have checked closer on him. But I’m sure you’re aware of what sort of men sometimes wear stars on their vests.”

  “I understand your problem completely.”

  Dooley, leading his prisoner, rode forward with his own agenda in mind. “Excuse me, Your Honor. Could you direct me to the home of a Mr. Jim Miller?”

  Tumwater raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised Miller wasn’t among those attacking you, but we’ve not seen him for awhile. You’ll find the Miller place about five miles outside the town on the North Road. There’s a soddy and several corrals at the site. Frankly, we’ve known for awhile that stolen horses were kept at the place, but we couldn’t—and Sheriff Dawson wouldn’t—do a thing about it.”

  Edmonton the city councilman asked, “Are you going to arrest Jim Miller? I don’t think he’s home right now.”

  O’Riley added, “Hell, he ain’t be around for almost a year now.”

  “My lieutenant wants to give his condolences to his widow,” Hawkins said. “Jim Miller was killed a short time ago.”

  Mayor Tumwater smiled. “That’s one less source of trouble around here.” He stepped aside. “I can see you’re in a hurry. If there’s any help we can give you, don’t hesitate to ask, Captain.”

  “Much obliged,” Hawkins said. He turned and looked at Ludlow. “Go ahead and lead us out to the Miller place, Mr. Dooley. I’ll take charge of your pris’ner.”

  Ludlow, steeling himself for the dreaded ordeal ahead, handed Wright over to the captain. Then he started out with the detachment behind him. He felt more fear and uncertainty now than he had in the gunfight. He wondered if there was any particular protocol about informing a woman that you had killed her husband.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Detachment, halt!”

  Captain Mack Hawkins brought his small command to a stop after a twenty minute ride on the North Road leading out of Sawyer He pointed off to the side of the crude thoroughfare. “Mr. Dooley! From what the mayor told us, I’d say that was the Miller place.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ludlow replied. He looked in the indicated direction and saw a rundown looking outfit with a large soddy building that was built of blocks of prairie earth. It appeared as if it had up to ten or twelve rooms. Several sizable corrals were located around the structure. Although empty, it was apparent from the tracks and horse dung inside, they had been fully occupied on previous occasions.

  Hawkins snorted, “That is a horse thief’s headquarters all right.”

  “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “Stolen animals can be brought here and boarded ‘til a buyer either comes along to pick ’em up or pays to have ’em herded to another location. All the fencing around here could accommodate a hundred or so horses. And that house is big enough to give shelter to a gang of robbers. And yeah! I’d say your Widow Miller is up to her ham hocks in crime of her own.”

  “She is probably an innocent lady dragged into such a life because of her husband,” Ludlow protested.

  “So that’s your opinion, is it, Mr. Dooley?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ludlow replied. He sat on his horse, gazing apprehensively at the Miller place.

  Hawkins gestured at the young officer. “Are you gonna call on the widow-lady or not? If so, then get to it. I’ll be damned if I can figure out why I’m taking time out of an important mission for you to tend to this sentimental foolishness of yours.”

  “Are you coming with me, sir?”

  “Hell no!” Hawkins snapped. “This is your idea, Mr. Dooley. And a damn stupid one at that. I wouldn’t talk to the wife of a man I killed unless I had a hell of a good reason or couldn’t get out of it. You’re strictly on your own.”

  “Very well, sir. Then I shall do what must be done.”

  Ludlow Dooley urged his mount forward. He rode slowly, turning off the road onto a track that led up to the house. As he approached, he noticed several children looking up from their activities at him. When the young lieutenant reined in near the door, he also noted that the youngsters resembled each other closely in a way they all sported rather large, prominent noses. They obviously had been sired by the same father.

  One of the older boys stared at the visitor, making careful note of the army shirt and buckskin britches. “Are you a soljer, mister?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Another boy walked up. “Are you looking for somebody, mister?”

  “Yes,” Ludlow answered. “I am seeking Mrs. Miller.”

  “That’s my ma,” the bigger boy said. “You got any horse business for us?”

  “No, but my visit here is very important.”

  “I’ll fetch he
r for you.”

  The boy went into the house. Moments later he reappeared with a woman behind him. She was a large, ruddy-faced female with her hair carelessly arranged into an untidy bun. Wisps of loose tresses stuck out all over. She looked as if she were in her late thirties or early forties, and her clothing was nondescript, obviously made of poor quality material.

  “So?” she asked in a raspy voice. “The boy says you want to talk to me. He says you ain’t here about no horses.”

  “That is correct, ma’am.”

  “Then just what the hell do you want?”

  Ludlow’s voice broke into a higher pitch as if he were a teenage boy. “Excuse me please, are you Mrs. Miller?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, noting his combination of civilian and military apparel. “Say! You’re a soljer, ain’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She grinned. “I reckon I’ve had my fun with soljer boys now and again up Kansas way in Junction City. Earned some pretty fair money at it too. That’s afore my husband made a honest woman outta me.” She affected a half smile and winked at Ludlow. “Though I cain’t say I wouldn’t give a soljer boy a good time if the money was right.”

  “Well, ma’am, uh—” Ludlow Dooley swallowed and cleared his throat. “That is—I, uh—uh—”

  “Soljer, I ain’t got all day to stand here and listen to you hack and stutter. If’n you got some business or t’other, get on with it or get outta here I don’t give a damn if’n you’re army or not.”

  Ludlow decided he had to get the ordeal over with. “Mrs. Miller, I’m sorry to have to inform you that your husband Jim has died—has been killed—was shot, actually—and expired and—” He took deep breath. “He is deceased, ma’am.”

  “You say he was shot?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ludlow said. At that point he suddenly decided not to tell the woman that he was the one who had dispatched her spouse into eternity. Letting her know the truth seemed like a gesture that might prove extraordinarily risky.

  The woman guffawed. “Damn my eyes! I always figgered that son of a bitch would be hung.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Never mind, godamn it,” she said. “Is there anything else you come out here to tell me?”

  “Well, Mrs. Miller, I have some money of Mr. Miller’s to give you.”

  “Money?” She suddenly smiled and softened her voice somewhat. “Did my dear Jim leave me some money?”

  A man suddenly came out the door of the soddy. “How much money?” he asked.

  “This here is Duprey, my hired hand,” Mrs. Miller explained.

  Ludlow noticed that Duprey had the same large nose so conspicuous on the Miller children. He also took note that the man was barefoot in trousers pulled up over a pair of long johns. It would seem he was pretty much a permanent resident in the soddy.

  The lieutenant turned back to the widow. “Jim Miller left you twenty-two dollars.”

  “Haw!” Duprey exclaimed. “How’d that dumb bastard ever manage to hang on to that much money?”

  “I was wondering about that myself,” Mrs. Miller said. “I recall that he robbed a bank in Laredo one time and dropped all the loot while he was skedaddling outta town with a posse right behind him. That’s the closest he ever come to being rich.” She walked closer to Ludlow. “Gimme that godamn money.” Then, not wanting to upset him, she added, “If’n you please.”

  Ludlow reached into his pocket and handed over all the cash he possessed in the world at that moment. “Here you go, ma’am.”

  She took it from him, but Duprey sudden grabbed the bills for himself. “I’ll take of that, Martha.”

  “That’s my money, damn you!” she shrieked.

  Without thinking, and surprising the hell out of himself, Ludlow drew his pistol and aimed it at the hired hand. “Give her back the money or I’ll blow your godamn head off!”

  “Sure, mister,” Duprey said, obeying. “There ain’t no reason a’tall to think I was gonna do the lady wrong.”

  “If I hear you took it back, I shall return and kill you,” Ludlow warned him. Then he loudly added, “I am Dangerous Dooley the scourge of Texas!”

  “Well, now, Mr. Dooley, don’t you go shooting me, you hear?” Duprey said in a respectful tone of voice.

  “Are you sure this is all Jim left me,” Mrs. Miller asked. “You ain’t holding back on me, are you?”

  “I assure you that I am not,” Ludlow replied. He was beginning to develop a marked dislike for the woman.

  “I’m real curious about one thing,” Mrs. Miller said. “Who was it that shot my poor Jim? It wasn’t Peck Deacon, was it? Them two have been enemies for as long as I can remember.”

  Ludlow, now frowning furiously, glared at her. “I did! I shot him!”

  Duprey smiled, saying, “I’m sure you had a good reason, Mr. Dooley.”

  “Why sure you did,” Mrs. Miller added.

  Ludlow, seething inside, suddenly said, “On second thought, return the money to me immediately.” He leaned down from the saddle, and snatched the money from the woman’s hand.

  She wailed, “Why would you take money from a poor widder with all these orphans?”

  Ludlow glowered at the couple. “You make me sick!”

  He abruptly pulled on the reins of his horse, turning and galloping out of the ranch yard. He rejoined the scout detachment waiting for him on the road.

  Hawkins asked, “How did it go, Mr. Dooley?”

  “I saved twenty-two dollars, sir. My good deed would not have been properly appreciated in those miserable quarters.”

  “But at least you tried to do what you thought was the right thing. That’s what counts.” Hawkins turned his attention to Elmer Wright. “Now that we’ve settled with that, we’ll turn to the business we have to conduct with you.”

  Wright, nervously angry, demanded, “Just what the hell are you planning?”

  “It’ll be the same with you as I did with your pal Jim Pate,” Hawkins replied. “I’ll ask questions and you’ll answer ’em quick and true.”

  Wright looked nervously at the scouts. “You ain’t gonna turn me over to these Injuns, are you?”

  “That all depends on you, Wright. You should have seen what they did to Pate. But he told you about that, didn’t he?”

  “Godamn you!” Wright growled. “How can you turn another white man over to a bunch of Redskins to be cooked alive?”

  “Real easy,” Hawkins said. “You want to see?”

  Wright thought quickly. “That’s against the law!”

  “Jim Pate pointed that out to me,” Hawkins said. “And I’m going to tell you what I told him; I don’t give a damn. We’ll ride on a ways from Sawyer and find a nice private place to stop for a bit. In case you turn stubborn on me and I let these scouts have you, I don’t want your yelling and hollering to disturb any honest rancher trying to get a good night’s rest.”

  Sergeant Eagle Heart and Corporal Striding Cougar, happy in their knowledge that the miserable prisoner was frightened completely out of his wits, enjoyed the situation to the fullest. They maneuvered themselves into position on each side of the outlaw, alternately glaring and grinning at him in what appeared to be gleeful anticipation.

  “You keep them godamn Injuns away from me,” Wright implored Hawkins.

  “You just remember what you got to do. If you cooperate, they won’t lay a hand on you. And I’ll make a note of the fact that you willingly gave me vital information when I turn you in.”

  “Good God!” Wright moaned.

  Their trek continued in relative silence as the small column moved farther into the Texas hinterlands. After another couple of hours passed, Hawkins looked back at Wright. “I hope for your sake we’re not going in the opposite direction from where the rest of those train robbers are. I get extremely riled when I have to retrace my trail.”

  “You’ll be heading off to the southeast directly,” Wright said.

  A half hour passed and Hawkins changed di
rection according to the information Wright supplied. They continued until he was certain they were far from any ranches or towns. After picking out a good defensive position on some high ground, the captain led the group to it and called a halt.

  “Here’s tonight’s bivouac,” he announced. “Sergeant Eagle Heart, set up a defensive perimeter. Mr. Dooley, you may join me in chatting with our guest.”

  “Delighted, sir,” Dooley said. “Thank you so much for the invitation.” His side was still sore where Wright had kicked him. He almost hoped the train robber would be tortured by the scouts.

  It took a half hour for the Indians to be positioned, get the horses unloaded and hobbled, and the evening’s cook fires started. When it was all done, Wright’s hands were freed and he was roughly pushed down to a sitting position.

  Captain Mack Hawkins and Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley joined him, both officers to his front, looking straight into his face. Hawkins lit a cigar before beginning. “How far are we from Bitterwaters?”

  “I reckon it at five miles,” Wright replied.

  “All right then,” Hawkins said. “Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. First question: who was the big boss behind the train robbery?”

  Wright replied. “I don’t know.”

  “Does the name Bill Stucker ring a bell?” Hawkins asked angrily. “Both Jim Pate and Arlo Capman mentioned him in their blabbing.”

  “You already know a hell of a lot don’t you?” Wright asked.

  “Not near enough to make me happy,” Hawkins warned him.

  “Bill Stucker ramrodded the robbery, yeah,” Wright said. “But he wasn’t the brains. Jim and Arlo wouldn’t’ve knowed that.”

  “Do you know who this big boss is?”

  “No, and Bill wouldn’t mention his name to nobody,” Wright explained. “But he got all the information he needed from the feller whoever he is. He knowed where the train was gonna be and at what time.”