by Tony Masero
Both of the youngsters looked away in embarrassment and with an impassive tilt of the head Warren returned to his rifle cleaning.
Jan came back in with a bucket of water, a bar of soap and a bundle of male and female garments under her arm, ‘Best I could do,’ she said. ‘They ain’t much but be better than a horse blanket, I reckon.’
It was the next morning early when Britt and Kilchii came upon Placido.
Not knowing what awaited them in the village they had sat through the night hours, resting the ponies and themselves before approaching the township in daylight.
The two riders came slowly over the mound along the deserted single road that led in. They were cautious, their eyes searching the silent buildings and both carrying rifles in their hands.
Britt gave a nod and Kilchii separated from him to circle around behind the village, coming in through the back yards as Britt headed up and turned down a side alley to approach the cantina from the rear.
Britt was about to dismount when he heard a door creak open behind him.
‘And what might you be wanting?’ asked a voice.
Britt reseated himself and turned in the saddle to see Warren standing with his long rifle pointed at him.
‘I come for them kids,’ said Britt.
Warren shook his head, ‘Jan!’ he called. ‘Get out here, we got company.’
‘Best you stand down,’ Britt warned. ‘I aim to take them children back and I don’t know what you and Cromwell is planning but I’ll bet it’s not good.’
Jan appeared at the doorway behind Warren, her hair ruffled and sleep in her eyes. She squinted into the daylight, ‘Come on, mister,’ she said. ‘You got no call to interfere, we got these youngsters and are getting them back to their people.’
Curious heads were beginning to poke out along the street, the locals taking a quick look and then disappearing inside again.
‘Then why are you here and not at the fort now?’ asked Britt.
Jan shrugged, ‘I reckon the Captain is already up there and collecting our pay as we speak.’
‘That a fact?’ said Britt doubtfully. ‘Money without goods? I don’t think so, he’s dealing with some tough business folk here, so what is he doing? Holding out for more cash?’
‘Maybe,’ Jan allowed.
‘Well, it ain’t going to be that way. I’m taking them back.’
‘You think so?’ warned Warren, levering back the hammer on his Sharps.
‘You remember a certain young Navajo Indian you put a slug into a while back?’ Britt asked. ‘Killed him stone dead from ambush, you remember that?’
Warren tilted his head questioningly to one side; ‘I put a lot of slugs in a lot of Indians.’
‘Well, this one’s good buddy is standing right behind you and he ain’t too happy with you. He ain’t happy at all.’
Warren froze as he heard the click of a rifle being cocked behind him.
Jan turned to see Kilchii, standing with his Winchester to his shoulder the barrel sighted on the back of Warren’s head.
‘Oh, my!’ she drawled. ‘He ain’t lying, Warren. There’s one mean looking buck here alright.’
‘Shit!’ spat Warren, lowering the Sharps.
‘Get them kids out of there,’ ordered Britt.
Jan, who had been hovering in the doorway, cast a glance inside, ‘Why don’t you come get them?’ she smiled broadly at Britt.
‘She’s got a gun!’
Britt heard Elizabeth’s scream from inside the hut and as Jan brought the pistol around from behind her back, he dived sideways from the saddle.
Britt landed with a heavy thump on the ground as Jan fired, her shot missing him and thudding into the cantina’s back door.
At the same time, Warren ducked down and spun around to face the Navajo, swinging his Sharps up as he did so. Kilchii calmly loosed off a shot from his Winchester, burying the bullet in Warren’s midriff. The sharpshooter folded down over his rifle and Kilchii fired again and again, levering the Winchester in a steady rain of fire that sent Warren bucking and staggering into the alleyway. He kept to his feet with difficulty and lurched off holding his arms pressed around his blood soaked stomach.
Britt had lost his rifle in the fall and in desperation as he laid full length in the dirt he drew his damaged Colt and returned fire. Jan had ducked back in the doorway and was fanning her pistol, letting loose a steady stream of pistol shots in Britt’s direction.
His Winchester empty now, Kilchii threw aside the weapon and drew his knife, running unheeding across Jan’s line of fire he chased after the weaving Warren who was clutching at his middle and limping wildly away up the road heading in the direction of the corral.
Britt knew his returned fire was going astray from the bent Colt yet his position still left him a difficult target for Jan, laid out as he was with Pencil skittering about and kicking out at the sound of gunfire, the animal nervously unsure of what to do without its rider.
Woodwork shattered around the doorway of the shed from Britt’s wayward bullets and Jan ducked inside, only popping out to loose off another shot.
Then it all changed.
Suddenly, Jan lurched into sight, pushed from inside, off-balance she staggered with a cry of surprise sideways into the open.
Britt fired immediately and saw the woman spin around giving a brief scream of pain as she fell to the ground.
Elizabeth appeared at the doorway, a look of bitterness and determination on her face. Without a word, she boldly crossed over to the fallen Jan and kicked the pistol away from her hand.
Britt eased himself to his feet and looked down the road, he saw Kilchii come up on the staggering marksman and stab his knife down hard into the man’s back. Warren gave a cry and fell to his knees. Kilchii promptly, caught him by his hair and pulled his head over backward. Then, with an angry cry, the Navajo dragged the blade across the unprotected throat.
Wild-eyed, Elizabeth was staring at Britt, ‘There’s another one!’ she cried, pointing at the cantina.
Britt leapt backwards into the cover of the canteen’s rear doorway, he shouldered the door, the thin wood splintering easily and he crashed inside. The unseen steps inside undid him and he fell down the drop and onto the hard-packed earthen floor.
Britt groaned as for the second time that morning he felt his aching bones take a blow.
He looked up to see Domingo behind the bar, a double-barreled shotgun in his hands. Without thinking, Britt fired his Colt. The damaged pistol sent his bullet winging off to one side of the bartender, who promptly dropped the shotgun and raised his hands high above his head.
‘Ain’t nothing to do with me!’ he cried. ‘Don’t shoot. I ain’t one of them.’
Britt climbed to his feet and strode the length of the cantina, grabbing the shotgun from the counter as he arrived and dropping his useless pistol back in its holster.
‘Where is he?’ he snarled.
Domingo backed away nervously his hands still in the air and indicated the curtain behind the bar with his eyes.
‘Get out of here,’ said Britt, waving him away.
As Domingo hurried to obey, Britt eased back the curtain with the shotgun barrel.
A walled stairway confronted him, the stairs leading upwards in a curve.
Cautiously, Britt stepped on the first wooden step, wincing as he heard it creak underfoot. There was a scrabble of noise from above and the sound of boots on bare boards.
Britt lunged up the stairs and peaked above the last riser.
It was a small attic room; a straw paillasse lay on the floor where a dusky woman of gigantic proportions lay clutching sheets about her voluminous nakedness. Her mouth formed a completely round ‘O’ shape as she spotted Britt.
Kant was struggling with the tiny window, he wore nothing but his boots and his large and hairy ass was the only thing visible as he tried to squeeze himself through the frame. He was stuck and no amount of wriggling could free his hips from their place in the wi
ndow. Britt stepped up until he was standing in the room and clear of the stair well. He levered back both hammers on the shotgun.
‘Don’t!’ he heard Kant cry desperately. ‘Don’t do that, I’m stuck here. I surrender.’
‘Looks like you need a little help, scalp hunter,’ said Britt softly.
‘No! No! I give in. Look here, I’m dropping my gun.’
Britt heard the pistol drop on the sloping roof and slide away.
‘See, I’m done,’ pleaded Kant.
‘So you are,’ agreed Britt and he pulled the trigger.
The bang of the shotgun was deafening in the room and the large woman in the bed let loose with a long pitiful wail that did not stop. Lucky for Kant it was no more than small gauge birdshot that peppered his backside but it did enervate him enough to find his way out through the window. Kant shot forwards with a scream of pain and rolled and tumbled across the rooftop to fall over the edge and land heavily onto the street below.
Britt made his way through the gun smoke clouding the room and peered out. He could see Kant lying in a pink heap, rolling in pain and moaning. Britt turned around and held a finger to his lips, which instantly stilled the irritating and continual sound of pitiful wailing coming from the large woman in the bed.
Nathan was kneeling over Jan where she lay clutching at her bloody waist.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Damned silly question,’ frowned Jan. ‘Looks like your girlfriend has done for me.’
‘You ain’t dying,’ said Britt, coming up and standing over her. ‘Lucky for you my pistol was buckled. If it hadn’t been I’d have got you dead center.’
‘Hell!’ spat Jan. ‘That makes me feel a whole lot better.’
‘She needs a doctor,’ said Nathan.
‘That’s a fact,’ agreed Britt. ‘We’ll get a cart sorted and take her and that tub of lard, Kant with us back to the fort. Damnable renegade action, it was bound to end in tears. Your folks have a lot to answer for, paying for these pitiful creatures to come get you instead of leaving it to the army.’
Kilchii appeared behind him, wiping his knife clean of blood on his sleeve.
‘You happy now?’ asked Britt.
The Navajo said nothing merely jerked his head once as a sign of approval. Honor had been satisfied and his friend avenged.
‘Can we go now?’ Elizabeth pleaded.
‘Sure thing,’ Britt agreed. ‘Just wanted to thank you, Miss. For pushing that woman out so I could get a clear shot, right brave of you.’
‘It’s nothing, sir. Now, please, let us be on our way.’
Nathan noted the boldness in her statement and despite himself he felt a wave of approval. Something had definitely changed in Elizabeth, she was no longer the vapid young lady full of delicacy and gentle remark, there was a mature streak of steel running through her now. Although she had taken her enmity out on Jan it was still a mark of strong independence and Nathan had to respect that.
He was torn, he knew it. On the one hand there was the soft affection and invitation shown to him by Jan Marques even though at the back of his mind he recognized that for her it was merely a passing fancy that would soon be forgotten. On the other hand, Elizabeth was beginning to demonstrate an attraction for him in her resolute personality and he understood that whatever happened to each of them from now on both would be changed permanently by their experiences with the Indians.
Chapter Fifteen
Fort Rosebud was a fairly new installation and stood on level ground alongside a steep sided gully were a creek flowed and supplied the fort with water. It was not a walled fort and the brick-build quarters were scattered amongst clumps of cottonwood around a large central rectangular parade ground where a tall flag post stood. The officer’s quarters were a long row of tile-roofed buildings each alike in style and lined up with military precision along one side of the parade ground. The fort’s administration building stood impressively separate, fronted by a long columned porch entrance and was the only building with a second story. Off-duty soldiers lounged before their barracks and guards paraded with rifle and bayonet amongst a few cannon and magazine wagonettes lying off to one corner of the parade ground.
It was a rambling place in its layout and there were many buildings outside the fort area, in fact a small township had grown up across the creek gully. Every military installation attracted people, partly for protection and the ability to trade with the regularly paid soldiers and so a mixed accretion of roughly built installations were soon added across the creek, all of them ready and willing to serve every taste.
They called the small township Bud Town and its dirt roads bisected a grid where various supply stores, a saloon, laundry and bathhouse stood and where loose cattle browsed freely on the unused land between. To one end stood a brothel and gaming house and it was to here that Cromwell had naturally gravitated.
He had tried for an interview with Clairmont Royce and Delvin Reese but found that both parties had left to attend to their businesses and would not be back for a week. It was frustrating and Cromwell had thought at first to contact the wives who were still in residence but on second thoughts he realized he could do no business with them. It was their menfolk who held the purse strings and he would have to wait patiently until they returned.
With time on his hands, Cromwell indulged himself in drinking and the occasional game at the tables and with one of the better-looking ladies that plied their trade there.
It was with anger and distress that he heard the news that Britt Marley had returned with three of the children. And that both Kant and Jan had been hospitalized and Warren killed after a shoot out with the scout, the survivor’s prospects being sealed with the prospect of adjudication and a prison sentence at the end of it. His bitterness grew as Britt was lauded for his efforts. From the sidelines, Cromwell watched as there were tearful scenes enacted as parents greeted their youngsters and more acclaim when Shane limped in with Oban Reese in tow bringing news of the fight at the three buttes, Cromwell’s enmity only deepened.
He had lost everything to the army and he held Britt Marley to be the root cause.
On the day Britt bade farewell to Kilchii, who intended to return to Niyol’s people and tell them of his passing and also to see that the proper rituals were carried out at his gravesite, he gave the Navajo the gifted bracelet that the Indian scouts had presented him with on his retirement.
‘Take this,’ he said, offering the silver and turquoise band to Kilchii. ‘Place it with Niyol; I would like him to have something from me for the Other World. He was a good man.’
As silent as ever, Kilchii accepted the gift with a sharp nod of the head. He took Britt’s hand and looked steadily into the old scout’s eyes.
‘Go well and live long, Cassadore.’
There was a hint of mischief in his eye as he used the Apache name that the Indians had given Britt.
Britt smiled back at him, ‘You too, brother.’
In one swift movement, Kilchii mounted up and without a backward glance headed directly out from the fort.
‘You will miss him?’ asked Colonel Dewilde coming up behind.
‘Him and a whole parcel of others.’
‘Can’t I persuade you to stay with us, Britt? I could certainly use you.’
‘Aw! Colonel, you know I’m getting to old and ornery for this life any longer. Goddamn it, I fell off my horse the other day and I’m still aching. Used to be a time I could come back from that right quick but them days are gone now. No, soon as I get my pistol fixed at the gunsmith’s I guess I’ll be heading out.’
‘Still, off to see that Mexican lady?’
Britt shrugged, ‘Wherever the wind takes me.’
Dewilde shook his head, ‘Well, I just wanted to thank you for all you’ve done. It was above and beyond the call. I’m grateful and I’m sure all those parents are too.’
Britt shook his head and reached for his pipe, ‘Ain’t seen hair nor hide o
f none of them but I was just doing what I do best, so it don’t matter none.’
‘Nobody’s come to thank you personally?’ the Colonel asked in surprise.
Britt sniffed, filled his pipe and said nothing.
‘Too bad,’ Dewilde frowned. ‘That’s most ungracious, sometimes I despair of folks, I really do.’
‘People like me, Colonel, we just come and go, do our thing best we can and pass on and I’m happy with that. Wouldn’t have it any other way.’
The colonel took his hand, ‘Well, I’ll be sorry to lose you, Britt. Hope it all works out for you.’
‘Thank you, sir. Been an honor serving with you.’
Britt crossed the small footbridge over the creek and made his way into Bud Town to go see how the gunsmith was doing with his damaged Colt. He was stepping out of the shop after having successfully retrieved the repaired weapon and was feeling the gratifying heft of it on his waist when a voice called out to him.
‘Hey! Britt Marley!’
It was Shane coming up to him in the street.
‘So sorry to hear about O’Brien,’ commiserated Britt.
‘A sad day all round,’ Shane answered. ‘I’ll miss that Irish numbskull, I really will.’
Britt pointed his pipe stem at the new set of chevrons on Shane’s sleeve, ‘I see you’re filling his boots though.’
‘Yeah, that’s the army for you; they made me up after the three buttes fight and bringing the kid back. Should be them other fellows that gets the recognition though, they were all good men.’
‘Think you’ll hang onto those stripes long enough to see the week out?’
Shane laughed, ‘I doubt it I have a tradition to keep up. Say, I’d like to buy you a drink, scout. You want to come along? Sink a glass for absent friends.’
‘I believe I will, Sergeant.’
They made their way to the brothel and gambling house at the head of the street and stepped up into the foyer and through to the bar.
