Crossed Arrows (A Long-Knives Western Book 1)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Hawkins glanced at Ludlow. “Might be some railroad fellow who tipped ’em off.”

  “Yes, sir. Or even somebody in the Army.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Hawkins said. He gave Wright a hard nudge. “Where do we find Bill Stucker?”

  “In Bitterwaters,” Wright said.

  “Well, now we’re getting somewhere,” Hawkins said. “Jim Pate mentioned that place. He said Stucker wouldn’t be going there directly.”

  “He didn’t,” Wright said. “But I know for a fact he’s there now.”

  “Y’know, there’s a good chance that Stucker might recognize me,” Hawkins said. “Even though it was a long time ago when we last laid eyes on each other. Who else besides Stucker will we find there?” He gave Wright another sharp punch.

  “Ow!” Wright complained. “Stop that, will you?”

  “I’ll smack you up the side of the head,” Hawkins said. “Answer the questions.”

  “Bill is gonna have the rest of the gang with him,” Wright warned. “You can count on going up against at least a half dozen pistoleros. And damn good’uns too.”

  “Well, now,” Hawkins said thoughtfully. “That’s gonna call for some real careful reconnoitering.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ludlow agreed. “It sure will.”

  “I can’t send our scouts in,” Hawkins mused. “They wouldn’t hardly be able to blend in and take a casual look around. And, like I said, Bill Stucker may well know exactly who I am. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced I knew him once a long time ago. If he lays eyes on me, my goose’ll be cooked for sure.”

  “Yes, sir. That pretty much makes scouting the place out impossible.”

  “You’re such a modest fellow, Mr. Dooley.”

  “Sir?”

  “You just get out from that army shirt, put on that civilian one you brought with you, and pack ol’ Wright’s shooting iron, and you’ll be able to go any place you want in Bitterwaters, Texas.”

  “Oh! I hadn’t thought of that, sir.”

  “Isn’t it lucky I did?” Hawkins asked. “And I think it’d be best if you rode Wright’s civilian horse.”

  Ludlow displayed a weak grin. “Yes, sir.”

  “Late afternoon would be a good time, Mr. Dooley.”

  “I can’t wait,” Ludlow said without conviction.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ludlow Dooley, alone and nervous, rode slowly into the town of Bitterwaters, Texas during the early evening hours. He traveled on Elmer Wright’s horse because the prominent brand US on his own military mount would have roused suspicions. He also had the outlaw’s holster and Colt revolver strapped around his waist. The lieutenant had removed his army blouse, and wore a light wool civilian shirt that that had been an early purchase in the store at the Kiowa-Comanche Agency.

  Following the information supplied by the reluctant informer Elmer Wright, Ludlow looked up and down the street for a local saloon called the El Dorado. As the officer rode through the town’s business district, he noted that Bitterwaters was very similar to the settlement where they had captured Jim Pate, and he had killed Jim Miller.

  The main differences in the two places was that Bitterwaters had a street system of sorts. The inhabitants might have been just as wild and dangerous as could be found in any lawless community, but this particular town had certain structure in its design.

  Ludlow finally noted a wide, two-story building with a steeple of sorts on top. A crudely lettered sign proclaimed the place as the El Dorado Saloon. He rode over to the hitching rack and found a place open among half dozen horses.

  After dismounting and securing his mount, Ludlow reluctantly stepped up on the boardwalk and slowly approached the doors to the drinking spot. This was an assignment he definitely was not going to enjoy.

  After a couple of deep, nervous breaths, he stepped inside and peered at the interior of the place. It was dark and smoky with a dozen people scattered around between the bar and tables. Although crude and simple, the tables and chairs, while scuffed and a rickety, all matched, and an actual bar complete with a foot rail, occupied one side of the room.

  Ludlow went up to where the barkeep stood. Following previous instructions from his commanding officer, he ordered a drink. “Gimme a shot of rye,” he said out of the corner of his mouth as he thought a tough outlaw might do.

  “You got it, Slim,” the barkeep said. He produced a shot glass of amber-colored liquor and sat it down.

  Ludlow slid a coin across to the man, and grabbed the glass. Sneering in a boastful manner, he downed the liquor in one gulp. Immediately his eyes watered and his throat felt as if boiling water had been poured down it. He wheezed and coughed so hard he had to grab the bar. For one terrible moment, he thought him might vomit. But his stomach settled down as quickly as it had become upset.

  “What’s the matter, Slim?” the barkeep asked.

  “I—uh—I—I,” Ludlow gasped in a hoarse whisper. “I swallowed wrong.”

  “You want another?”

  “Yeah,” Ludlow answered, finding his voice. “I reckon that I do.”

  “Here you go again, Slim.”

  This time Ludlow didn’t immediately down the drink. Instead he picked up the glass and held it. “I’m looking for somebody here in Bitterwaters,” he said. “Maybe you know him.”

  “What’s his handle?”

  “He goes by the name of Bill Stucker,” Ludlow said in his best cowboy style.

  The barkeep gave him a suspicious look, but decided such an undersized youngster wouldn’t be much of a threat. “I know him. He comes in here ‘bout ever’ night.”

  Ludlow glanced around the room. “Is he here now?”

  “Nope,” the barkeep replied in a suspicious tone of voice. “Don’t you know what he looks like?”

  Ludlow answered, “I ain’t never laid eyes on Bill Stucker. I got a message for him from some friends. It’s real important.’

  “Well, you hang around, Slim. When he shows up, I’ll point him out to you right away.”

  “Thanks,” Ludlow said. He waited for the barkeep to tend to another drinker, then he forced himself to take a sip of the liquor. Although it was small, it still burned his throat.

  “Say, would you buy a lady a drink?”

  The husky feminine voice startled Ludlow. He turned to find a heavily made-up woman of undeterminable age standing next to him. The garment she wore seemed more a nightgown than a dress. It was badly worn and cut low enough to reveal the tops of the fleshy globes of her breasts.

  “Pardon me, ma’am?” he asked, trying hard not to stare at her chest.

  “I was wondering if you’d buy me a drink,” the woman said. “My name is Sally.” She pulled down on her dress to expose herself a bit more.

  “How do you—I mean, why Howdy, Miss Sally,” Ludlow Dooley said. “I’d be mighty proud to buy you a drink.”

  The woman motioned to the barkeep. “Pete! Bring me a whiskey.” After she was served she took a sip, looking at Ludlow. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”

  “It’s my first time, I reckon, ma’am,” Ludlow said. “I just moseyed in here. I reckon that’s what I did or done, that is. I mean I be a-looking for somebody but he ain’t here but he will be so I’m a-waiting for him.”

  “You got a real peculiar way of talking,” Sally said. “What’s your name?”

  “My name?”

  “Yeah, honey,” Sally said, moving closer to him. “If someone wants your attention, what do they yell?”

  “Oh, I think I’m called—” He thought a moment, then suddenly grinned in a self-assured way. “—Dangerous Dooley. That’s my handle. Dangerous Dooley.” He took another sip of whiskey, noticing that he was more able to bear the burning in his throat. In fact, the sensation didn’t seem at all bad now.

  “Dangerous Dooley, huh?” she asked. “You don’t look too dangerous. How’s come they call you that?”

  Ludlow tried to show a cocky smile as
he patted the pistol he carried. “Oh, they got their reasons.” He tipped his glass up and swallowed the remainder of the contents, beginning to feel pretty good. He signaled the barkeep. “I’m a-reckoning that I’ll have another.”

  “Sure thing, Slim,” the bartender said, serving him.

  Sally gazed closely at him. “A feller doesn’t have big muscles to handle a gun, does he?”

  “No he don’t,” Ludlow said with a smug grin. He patted the weapon again. “I reckon that’s why they call these six-shooters ‘equalizers.’ And I’m always looking for action.”

  “That’s true all right,” the woman said, pushing up against him. “What sort of action are you looking for?”

  The feel of her breasts against his arm along with the whiskey he had swallowed caused an emotional and physical upheaval he had never experienced before. He tried to think of something to say, but his mind was blank with astonishment at his emotional reaction to the woman.

  Sally gave him a whore’s seductive look. “Do you want a good time, Dangerous Dooley?”

  He recovered from his confusion, replying, “Why, yes. I always enjoy various sorts of entertainment.” He swallowed the contents of his glass.

  “Do you want to go upstairs with me?”

  “Well, if there’s something I can do for you up there, I wouldn’t mind,” Ludlow replied with a silly grin.

  Sally emitted a husky laugh. “You’re a caution, Dangerous Dooley! But how about buying me another drink first?”

  “I’d be pleased to,” Ludlow replied. “And if you don’t be a-minding, I’ll buy me one too.”

  “Why do you keep saying things like that?” Sally asked. “I mean like a-minding, a-drinking and all that.”

  “I reckon I just a-picked it up,” Ludlow alias Dangerous Dooley replied.

  “You sound like an Italian,” Sally remarked. “I knowed one in New Orleans a few years back.” She chuckled sardonically. “A hell of a lot of years back to tell the truth.”

  They were served another round and quickly polished off the liquor with a minimum of small talk. Then Sally took him by the arm and led the slightly staggering young imposter over to the stairs.

  “Do we be a-going thataway?” Ludlow asked, pointing to the landing above.

  “Yes, Dangerous Dooley. That’s where we be a-going all right.”

  They went up to the second floor and turned off to go down a dingy hall to a room. Sally opened the door and led the way inside. A small table sitting beside a single bed with a dirty sheet on it made up the only furniture.

  Ludlow watched in confusion for a moment as the woman began to unbutton her dress. Then he realized she was taking off her clothes.

  “My goodness!” he exclaimed in a slurred voice.

  Sally turned and looked at him. “Well, get outta them britches. I ain’t gonna stay up here all night with you. And gimme a dollar.”

  “A dollar?”

  “You don’t think this is gonna be free, do you, Dangerous Dooley?”

  “I guess not,” Ludlow replied.

  “You ain’t a bad looking kid, but I’ve give up on any more romance in my life,” Sally said. She watched him for a moment more. “My God! You’re the slowest thing I ever saw.”

  She walked over, and in an instant had him ready for the job ahead. Ludlow allowed her to walk him over to the bed.

  The next twenty minutes for the drunk inexperienced officer made up a short space of time but it was an occurrence he would never forget for as long as he lived. Led through the act by Sally, who complained a bit at his reluctance but blaming it on the liquor, Second Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley, United States Army, had his first woman.

  When they finished, Sally dressed the young officer with the same difficulty it took to disrobe him. After making themselves decent once again, they left the room. A now very cold-sober Ludlow Dooley returned to the bar. Sally left him to circulate among the other men drinking at the tables.

  “You want another drink, Slim?” the bartender asked as Ludlow walked up to the bar.

  “Yes, sir,” Ludlow said in a daze.

  “By the way, the feller you’re looking for has come in.”

  “Who?”

  “Bill Stucker,” the barkeep said impatiently. “You said you was looking for him. He’s the tall, bearded gent over at the table in the corner with a feller by the name of Dick Eastman. See?”

  Ludlow turned and looked. “Yeah. Thanks a heap.”

  Ludlow quickly drank his whiskey. Then he walked slowly across the saloon and stopped at the table, looking at the bearded man. “Are you Bill Stucker?”

  Stucker glanced up. “Who’s asking?”

  “I got a message for you from Jim Pate, Arlo Capman and Elmer Wright,” Ludlow said. He noticed one of the men staring at him. “Howdy.”

  Art Taylor asked, “Ain’t we met someplace before?”

  “I don’t think so,” Ludlow replied.

  Stucker interrupted. “What do them three son of a bitches want?”

  “They said it’s important they see you,” Ludlow said. “They didn’t want to come into Bitterwaters so they asked me to come in and fetch you.”

  “Now just what would keep ’em from coming into Bitterwaters?”

  “I don’t know,” Ludlow said. “They said it was real important that you meet with ’em. I can be a-taking you out to their bivouac—uh—I mean camp.”

  “I know you from someplace,” Taylor insisted again. “Now where can it be?”

  Stucker interrupted again. “You tell those three varmints to come in and see me personal if they got something all-fired important to say. I been traveling a lot lately, and I ain’t gonna ride a horse again soon unless I really have to.”

  Taylor suddenly exclaimed, “I know you! You’re Dangerous Dooley!”

  “Who?” Ludlow stupidly asked.

  “I seen you kill Jim Miller,” Taylor said. “You’re a godamn soljer. You arrested Jim Pate!”

  Ludlow’s pistol was in his hand so quick he hadn’t realized he’d drawn it. His voice became high-pitched as he threatened, “Don’t anyone move or I shall shoot. I shall! I shall!”

  Stucker, utterly confused, looked at both his friend and Ludlow. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “That’s Dangerous Dooley,” Taylor said. “Him and this other soljer is after you and your gang, Bill. They was a buncha Redskins with ’em and they said they was gonna arrest ever’body they can. I heard it all outta their own mouths.”

  Bill Stucker remained calm. “So this is one of that bunch you told me about.” He smiled at Ludlow. “I spent quite a few years as a reservation agent and sutler with the Army. You got the look of an army officer to me even if you ain’t wearing a uniform.”

  “I, sir, am Second Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley of the Kiowa-Comanche Detachment of the U.S. Scouts.” As he spoke, he wisely began backing up toward the door.

  “I never heard of no U.S. Scouts,” Stucker said curious. “Who’s your commanding officer?”

  “Captain Hawkins is his name.”

  “Not Mack Hawkins, is it?”

  “That’s him,” Ludlow said.

  “Be careful, Bill,” Taylor said. “Dangerous Dooley is as cold as a stone when it comes to shooting. He’ll gun you down in a twinkling.”

  Ludlow, glancing around, noticed the other patrons of the place were nervous because of the way the man described him. He realized he would have to bluff his way out of the situation if he were to leave Bitterwaters alive.

  “I’m Dangerous Dooley all right,” he said in his impersonation of a tough hombre. But he still couldn’t get the high-pitched excitement out of his voice. “I’ll kill the first fellow that even blinks an eye.”

  Ludlow had reached the door by then. The lieutenant fired two shots at the opposite wall and immediately turned to race for the hitching rack. When he reached the horse, he quickly freed the reins and flung himself on the animal’s back.

  He had gone no farther than fifteen
yards before he could hear shooting and the crack of bullets whipping around his head. Ludlow Dooley decided he would follow Captain Mack Hawkins’ crude but imaginative advice on the art of horseback riding:

  Stick to that saddle like shit to a blanket.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ludlow Dooley didn’t glance rearward during his mad gallop out of the town of Bitterwaters, Texas. He locked himself into the saddle by clamping down his skinny legs as tight as he could with his eyes on the road directly to his front.

  When he finally chanced a quick glimpse behind him, the sight his eyes beheld gave him no comfort. Not only had a quick pursuit been mounted against him, but the many horsemen involved in the chase were firing. Although they were unable to aim carefully, a large volume of bullets did not require any particular accuracy to do their damage. A good chance existed that one out of the many in the swarms of shots was bound to find its mark.

  The young lieutenant didn’t bother to shoot back. The few paltry shots he might have managed would have flown off into the sky. Rather than making any foolhardy attempts to slow his pursuers, he leaned low over the horse’s neck and urged the mount to greater speed.

  Unfortunately, Elmer Wright had not given the animal the care and feeding that an army horse enjoyed. Lacking in stamina and speed, it did not match the fastest horses of the pursuing mob.

  The lieutenant’s fright was of such intensity that he gave no notice to the fact he was giving a superb demonstration of expert horsemanship. He became one with the animal between his legs as it pounded down the road. His body moved in fluid rhythm with that of the horse, and the only thing on Ludlow’s mind was a very sincere wish that the detachment’s bivouac had been established a hell of a lot closer to Bitterwaters.

  Numerous bullets were coming closer as they split the air around the young officer. The outlaws had drawn closer and the knowledge they would soon overtake their prey led to increased firing on their part. Their excitement was not unlike that of a wolf pack closing in on an exhausted deer.

  The pursuers were all professional gunmen and as such carried more than one firearm. The group of outlaw killers could also boast of carbines, pistols and even a large-bore buffalo rifle or two within their group. The combined weaponry added up to very real potential that the final remains of Second Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley would be a mangled bullet-riddled corpse.