by Tony Masero
Guardeen sighed. “You’re right, it’s true enough. I’m just a mite tetchy this morning. Come on, let’s go.”
The road ahead stretched alongside an open plain of dry gray dust bordered by a range of low hills encrusted with high black lava rock boulders that overhung their route. As they moved toward the plain, Guardeen studied the cliffs with a sharpshooter’s eye. It would be a good spot, he thought as he looked up at the low cloud. He felt the breeze on his face and gauged visibility and wind shift. With a frown, he turned to Thaddeus.
“Maybe we should cut along a little bit here. Maybe make a wider path out yonder onto the plains.”
“You have a feeling?”
“I don’t like that overlook, at least not after last night. Maybe I’m just a tad jumpy, but–”
The blow was sudden and Guardeen felt as if he’d been struck along the side of the head with a two-by-four tent pole. He rocked in the saddle, almost lifted over the cantle by the force of it, and he only managed to stay in his seat by instinctively grabbing the pommel. The bang of rifle fire rattled down to them as Thaddeus urged his pony forward and grasped Guardeen’s bridle, steadying the animal.
“Come on, Mister Nick. We have to move. They’ve got us sighted.”
Guardeen swayed in the saddle. Disorientated and stunned, he hung on until he drooped down semiconscious over the neck of his horse.
Thaddeus looked up at the crest of the hills from where the shot originated. He counted off the seconds; he guessed how long it would take to reload before the next shot came. Then plunging his spurs into his pony, he lurched the creature forward bringing a bobbing Guardeen up alongside him.
The shot came. Thaddeus heard its report after he felt the hot hum of a bullet cracking a hole through the air beside his head. The shooter was good, that was for sure; if he hadn’t moved when he did, Thaddeus’s brains would’ve been flying in the wind right now. Urging his pony on and bringing Guardeen with him, Thaddeus rode at full pelt straight toward the overhanging cliffs. He knew that by foreshortening the distance between them and the shooter, the sniper would have difficulty correcting his aim downward with a long rifle barrel.
They reached the cover of an overhang as another bullet sped past them and ploughed a furrow in the earth behind. Thaddeus helped Guardeen down from his saddle and propped him up with his back against the rock. Then, sliding the carbine from his saddle rig, he dived for a narrow rock strewn pathway that led up.
A slug whined off the boulder near his left shoulder as Thaddeus took cover and checked the load in his rifle. Scattering chips of stone, another shot powdered his shirt and stung his neck. Close. Too damned close. Above and to the left, he figured. He lay low around the right side of the rock and snapped off a quick shot in the general direction. Best to let them know that we weren’t toothless down here, he reckoned.
A powerful weapon, he guessed. By the sound of it, a Morgan James heavy rifle. Good for two hundred yards in the hands of an expert. That’s a sighted gun, he remembered. That’s a sharpshooter up there. One of our own kind.
Thaddeus knew their opponent’s rifle was a muzzle-loading single-shot weapon. It took a moment even for a skilled marksman to ram and prime another shot and that was his time to move. Taking his chances, he slipped up around a steep pathway of rugged rocks. It was a close call as shot after shot split the air close by. The pressure only reduced when he heard the heavy sound of Guardeen’s Sharps taking up the action from below. Shots echoed up the hillside as his friend, obviously recovered now, picked his favored spots and blasted the crest of the sharpshooter’s hilltop. That left the way clear for Thaddeus to rise and clamber up over the crest of the hill.
Then all was silence.
Thaddeus made his way to the crest and waved his carbine above his head in an all clear sign. Guardeen climbed the hillside to join his partner.
“He’s gone,” Thaddeus said, and pointed at the hoofprints in the soft earth of the plateau. “See here. One man.”
“Sounded like a Morgan James to me,” panted Guardeen, a little breathless.
“Me too. I saw the bullet casings over yonder.”
“That was some shooting. Cracked my skull without even a sighting shot. Now who do we know could do that? Who could it be?”
“Maybe this will tell you.” Dangling on Thaddeus’s forefinger was a wide black ribbon bow. It was the type that mourners fastened around their arms at funerals.
“Black Band!” Guardeen said.
“Yes sir, Mister ‘Black Band’ Doolin.”
“I’ll be damned! I thought I had that half caste dead at Gettysburg.”
“Well, I guess he isn’t.”
“Why us, though? We don’t have any quarrel with him any more. War’s over now.”
Thaddeus shrugged. “Might be he still bears a grudge after what you did to him. Unforgiving man, as I recall.”
“Dumb rebel, I’ll nail his hide to a barn door if I catch up to him.”
“He sure cracked your head open there, Mister Nick. We’d better fix that up.”
Guardeen rubbed the wound thoughtfully and glanced down at his bloody fingertips. “Aww! I’ve got a hard head. It’s no more that a crease.”
“I know you’ve got a hard head, Mister Nick, I know that for certain sure. But we’re going to fix that cut there before it festers. Now, come on back down here, I have some liniment in my saddle bag that’ll do the job.”
Guardeen was not too sure of the significance of Thaddeus’s observation about his hard head. He felt there might have been some hint of criticism involved but, despite his misgivings, he obediently followed his partner down the hillside.
Chapter Four
At first sight, Guardeen considered Governor General Elias T. George had certainly retained his pomposity. The politician rose to greet them from behind a heavy, impressively molded desk with a tall window view that looked out over the steadily growing street grid of the State capital, Phoenix. His room was full of clerks, architects and supplicants from the town site-commissioner’s department but the Governor brushed them aside as he moved toward the pair at the doorway. A ruddy-cheeked, bewhiskered man, with large mutton chop sideburns and a shock of white hair above. Small and rotund, he sported a bright yellow check patterned waistcoat and a politician’s broad watermelon grin that split his ruby cheeks from side to side.
“Why, look here,” he bellowed in his best barnstorming voice as he approached with arms spread wide. “Two old comrades in arms.” He took the hand of Guardeen and shook it vigorously; Thaddeus received no more than a formal nod of recognition. “And still carrying that long rifle, I see. By God, sir, you did some work with that.”
“Captain ... oh, excuse me sir, it’s General now. So I hear,” Guardeen greeted in response. “Appears you’ve done well.”
“Just fine, my boy. Just fine.” The Governor looked askance at the lumpy bandage Thaddeus had fixed about Guardeen’s head. It was an amateur affair and made Guardeen look slightly ridiculous with his flap fronted Stetson perched on top like a thimble on an egg. “Hurt your head there, Mr. Guardeen?”
“It’s nothing, just a bump.”
“How d’you come by that, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Fell out of bed, Governor.”
The Governor chuckled and raised his eyebrows in sympathy. “After a glass or two, no doubt; do it all the time myself. Don’t you worry on that score. Now come on in here. We’ve got things to discuss.” The Governor flapped his hands in dismissal at the crowded room and the gathered people appeared somewhat begrudging at their sudden eviction. “Come on now, friends. Let us free me a jot of space here,” ordered the Governor loudly. “I’ve got some catching up to do with my two old compatriots here. We all served the glorious Union throughout the War, you know. These here men are heroes, gave their blood for the likes of you folks. Now make you some room for them, you hear.”
One man lingered, a stooped-backed creature with plastered down hair and a pai
r of wire rimmed spectacles balancing on a long thin nose.
“Gentlemen, this is my secretary, Clitus Leatheridge. He’ll be attending us during this meeting.”
The man gave them a crooked, simpering smile and shrugged his shoulders self effacingly. He appeared to cling to the walls and shadowy corners of the room, not in any sort of reality but there was something about his demeanor that implied this. His unfortunate appearance exuded an unattractive spider’s aura and Guardeen felt an instinctive uneasiness about the fellow.
“You may remember, gentlemen, that during the recent conflict,” the Governor said as he made his way back behind his desk. Still in mid-sentence, he reseated himself, leaned forward and pushed an open cigar box in Guardeen’s direction.
Guardeen declined.
The Governor went on, “That whilst the Southern Confederacy took this State to itself in earlier days and they held that Tucson should be the capital. Well, that no longer is the case. As we determined, our fair city of Phoenix certainly rises with pride from the ashes of that struggle.”
Guardeen was getting a little tired of the man’s rhetoric. He’d seen the General in action when a Captain and was not impressed by his “old comrade’s” attitude and flamboyant speechifying. More bluster than bite, as he recalled.
“But to the nub of the matter.”
At last, thought Guardeen.
“Let’s get to why I’ve asked for your presence here, Guardeen. There is talk now. Talk that has reached our ears and been confirmed by report from our Army scouts. Something is seriously amiss in our State, gentlemen. We hear that a certain carpet-bagging ne’er-do-well is raising a gang. A gang of discontented Southerners. Their aim, gentlemen, is to retake our fair city for themselves and reconstitute Southern rule in this State, thereafter repeating their earlier determination for secession from the Union.”
The Governor paused as he selected a cigar from the box, running it first under his bulbous nose to extract the scent, then fine tuning his expert opinion as he rolled the tube next to his ear before placing it between his lips. He waited momentarily, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the cigar jutting from between his pouting mouth and fingers tapping impatiently on his desktop until Clitus Leatheridge got the message and hurried forward and obsequiously struck a match for the waiting official.
Satisfied, Elias George continued, puffing occasionally on his smoke. “This man, this traitorous Texan, made his original fortune – can you credit this? – selling much needed beef to the Union during the War. He invested this large remuneration cunningly in the railroads shortly after the surrender and subsequently has prospered enormously. A dangerous man, gentlemen! He now has the financial wherewithal to become a genuine danger to our security. For it is not a mere band of robbers and rustlers he is forming, no sir, he is conscripting a veritable army!”
Guardeen stifled a yawn and crooked one leg, resting on his rifle barrel as he stood listening.
Elias George noticed the motion and tutted. “Dear me, oh, dear me. Forgive me, boys. How remiss. Fetch a chair, Leatheridge. Pray be seated, Mr. Guardeen. I do apologize.”
“That’s all right, General. I prefer to stand. Been in the saddle awhile coming over here, you’ll appreciate.”
“Of course, of course. As you wish. As I was saying, this fellow, one Mister Cave Wyatt is his name. He is a true fomenter of trouble. As you will hear in more detail this very minute. Leatheridge, pray, call in the Colonel.”
Leatheridge obediently went to the door and waved in a young cavalry officer. Guardeen noticed that the soldier’s uniform was baggy and creased with usage and although recently brush-beaten was still stained with dust ingrained into its weave. At least this boy did more than ride a desk here in the Capital, he allowed. The fair haired young man held himself well and sported a dropped moustache with waxed ends of a style much favored in earlier more cavalier years.
“Colonel Winter, gentlemen,” the Governor introduced.
Winter snapped to attention and offered the Governor a salute before stepping forward and shaking his hand. “This here is Mr. Nicholas Guardeen and his Negro associate.”
The Colonel took in the two in at a glance. The long rifle that Guardeen rested on, Thaddeus’s army cap and the Navy Colt in its flapped and fastened holster hanging at his waist.
“Ex-servicemen, I see.” A smile twitched at his lip beneath the moustache.
“We did our time, Colonel.” Guardeen nodded a greeting.
“Most pleased to meet you both.”
The Governor waved his cigar in a wreath of smoke. “Pray, Colonel, explain to our sharp-shooting friends here what you have discovered.”
The Colonel removed his gauntlets, fiddling with them slowly as he collected his thoughts. “The Indians, gentlemen. The Apache are our problem. They were a problem for us all during the War. Under both Cochise and Mangas Colorado. But now they’re restless again and I fear we’re in for another war. Not in the same fashion as our more recent conflict, but of a vastly different nature.” He slapped his gloves against his palm. “Make no mistake, these are a hardy foe. Most able in the harsh environment we find ourselves in. Our disadvantage is their success in surviving beyond the expectations of our own men, good as the troops are. Why, they will outrun us on foot in temperatures we cannot bear to be abroad in. They can cover fifty miles a day and knowing where the water is, for weeks live off the sparse findings found in the desert. They fight with such a viciousness and cruelty I’ve not beheld before.” He shook his head and raised a finger of warning. “Our government in Washington underestimates them, thinking of them as simple savages easily tamed, and yet they fight with great courage and determination, as, I have to say in all fairness, so would anyone desirous of protecting hearth and home.”
“But more to the point, Colonel,” cut in Governor George, “what of this Wyatt fellow?”
“Well, Governor, we have report that the hostiles are being supplied weaponry by that very man, Cave Everett Wyatt. A one-time Texas cattleman, now railroad magnate. Wealthy beyond reason and a devoted servant of the Southern cause. It appears he wishes to use an uprising of the natives as a diversion to his own attempt at an overthrow of central government here in Phoenix.”
“An army, by God!” said the Governor, spluttering angrily on his cigar.
The Colonel nodded. “Yes. We know he is raising an army below the border in Mexico, at a place called Montañas de las Lagrimas. They’re training their forces there and amongst them are many ex-Confederate servicemen and disenchanted Southerners who cannot abide the Reconstruction enforced in their home States, nor do they wish to take the Oath of Loyalty, so are found outside the amnesty granted by such an undertaking. They have some light artillery pieces with them and Wyatt supplies them with weapons and ammunition just as he does the Apache. As yet they are a ragged bunch, but given time they will be a force to be reckoned with.”
“The man must be mad,” snapped the Governor, “to even consider such a thing.”
“That may well be the case, sir,” agreed Winter. “But still he carries a great many discontents with him. He gives them hope, as I see it. A hope they had lost with their defeat.”
“It’s a sad day,” continued the Governor. “When we win a war only to find ourselves embroiled in another. A sad day, indeed. Thank you for your report, Colonel. I’m obliged to you for the time taken to brief our friends here.”
“Your servant, sir!” The Colonel snapped off a salute and turned to leave. He hesitated, taking a final look in Guardeen and Thaddeus’s direction. “Gentlemen, I don’t know what your play will be in this matter but be sure I wish you the best of fortune.” He replaced his gauntlets. “If it is in my power to help, please call on me. I shall be stationed at Fort Benson until this matter is resolved.”
With a parting nod, he took his leave and was ushered out by Leatheridge.
“There you have it.” The Governor spread his hands wide. “The whole darned mess of it.”
Guardeen cleared his throat. “And just what is it you’re asking of us particularly, Governor?”
“Why, I wish you to take care of the matter, that’s what. Bring this fellow Wyatt to justice, of course. We cannot cross the border in any force; it will upset our Mexican neighbors. It takes a little subtlety. Two fellows slipping in there secretly. Covertly. An incisive action. Simple, neat and clean.”
“Ah, well, I don’t know about that, Governor. We’re not Government Issue anymore, you know. Been a while since we crept about amongst the bushes.”
“Come now, sir. You are as good as ever. We’ve heard even here in Phoenix of your successes at the Three-B ranch. A protective force to be reckoned with, so I am informed. It is evident you still have the skills. But you are also loyal patriots, I trust. We all fought for a just cause; would you see it destroyed by a renegade? Why, who knows how far such a rebellion could spread once started, what fires it might ignite.”
“I’m sorry, Governor. It’s not our fight. We came up here in respect of your invite but I have no desire to become involved in any battles again. Our days of fighting wars are over. Isn’t that right, Thaddeus?”
“Reckon so.”
“Now look here, boys.” The Governor’s voice took on a conciliatory tone. “No one was thinking of expecting you to do this all for nothing. Risking life and limb and such. Why we have a bounty on this renegade’s head. There’s legal writ on him that puts him outside the law and with it goes a purse of some five hundred dollars, gentlemen. Bring down this villain and you shall be in pocket and have the blessings for ...” he paused and gave a little shrug; “… well, whatever this office allows.”
“Blessings? In what respect, these blessings?” Guardeen looked at him, bemused.
“Why yes, of course. We shall look on any slight misadventures in a kindly light. If, for instance, during this exercise you should find something of your liking in the way of goods or chattels along the way. We should not find it outside our remit to allow such acquisition, if you get my drift.” The Governor smiled at them thinly with a knowing gleam in his eye.
