The Riflemen

by Tony Masero

  Guardeen wormed his way back from the ledge and lay there, his mind racing. What the hell was he to do now? Everything seemed to be moving towards jeopardizing his mission. Their security breached at the very outset and a gang of sharpshooting killers set on their trail. The two guards and the traitor Solace killed, those deaths compromising evidence of his presence on the scene. And now Thaddeus taken prisoner. All he had in his favor was the secret help of Christine Lenoir. At least she was in the very heart of the fort and perhaps the two of them could come up with a plan in the morning. But could he afford to wait with Cave Wyatt due at any moment? It was a difficult call, but he decided to test it come dark.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It had proved impossible. The high smooth adobe walls and well guarded gates made any kind of entry difficult without inside aid. Cautiously, he’d skirted the walls; even in the early hours when he made his survey, there were still people about in the inner courtyard. He heard them coughing and smelled their pipe tobacco. He needed that inside help from Christine Lenoir if he was to assist Thaddeus at all. That was the thought that filled Guardeen’s mind as he gave up any notion of entry and made his way off towards their rendezvous. It was still dark, although dawn was just lightening the sky as he set off. He’d kept to the sentries’ patrol tracks below the cliff face to disguise his own footprints as he left his plateau hiding place and now he headed for the yellow bluff.

  He carried the little water that remained in his canteen, a blanket and his rifle. He knew he must find more water soon as the savage heat of the day continued to sap his energy. Without water he wouldn’t last much longer.

  The sun came full up and struck the yellow bluff in a startling burst of light, turning the flat surface golden and reflecting the dazzling glow into his slitted eyes. Guardeen approached the designated place cautiously and scouted the whole area well in advance of his meeting. When he was satisfied all was well, he found a slight depression in the ground at the foot of the bluff and spread his blanket across it. With some sticks of brushwood, he propped up one end whilst he covered the blanket with dust and scrub. When he was satisfied that the covered blanket looked like the rest of the desert floor, he wormed his way underneath and released the supporting sticks. Leaving open only a small aperture to keep lookout and maintain ventilation, he melded into the ground and became invisible.

  He dropped into the meditative state that best suited his sharpshooter frame of mind. A no-thought, blank area of mindlessness that stilled the brain. He waited patiently only for some movement out there in the desert to awaken it. This self-taught state of mind had served him well in the past as he had waited for his target to make its appearance. His body remained pliable without any tension or expectant fear and therefore when called to action it replied with instant and refreshed readiness. Even the stifling heat under the blanket passed him by and he paid no attention to the discomfort despite the sweat that dripped from his brow.

  She came alone and on time, as she had promised. Riding towards his unseen presence she quartered the horizon, searching for him amongst the dunes. He noticed a discoloring beside her left eye. A recent bruise, just beginning to purple.

  Carefully, Guardeen scanned the distance behind her. The shimmering skyline showed no evidence of any following parties and he wondered how she’d evaded her bodyguard.

  She drew up beneath the high cliff face and dismounted, tying her horse to a branch of brush.

  Guardeen waited, still checking the way she’d come.

  Christine Lenoir was impatient, he could see it as she strode backwards and forwards not ten yards away, kicking at stones and constantly looking in every direction. When she turned away from him, he finally relented and rose from his dusty hiding place. She heard the sound of his blanket dropping and turned abruptly, gasping as she saw him standing there as if he’d just fallen from out of the sky.

  “My God!” she blurted. “How do you do that? Where did you come from?”

  “More to the point, how is it you got here alone?”

  “I managed it.” She said no more, but a hand instinctively moved to the bruise on her cheek.

  “Who did that?” he asked.

  “It’s unimportant. I had to get out alone. It meant making up some sort of argument with Lowell. I went a bit too far, I guess. He hit me.”

  “Hit you hard, by the look of it.”

  She bit her lip wryly. “Oh, it’s happened before, believe me. No man has come out of that damned war without some personal problem with violence.”

  Guardeen wondered if this was some form of criticism of him, but he realized there was an element of truth in what she said. There were many he knew that had left the army only to find that peaceful civilian expectations were difficult to meet after many cruel years of spilling blood on the battlefield. Some never adjusted.

  “I have a problem,” he said.

  “We certainly do. Wyatt is due back tomorrow and there’s a whole bunch of things happening. He’s supplying the Indians with weapons and they have a raid planned.”

  “My problem is closer to hand and a sight more personal. He’s tied to those crossbeams.”

  She studied him a long moment. “The Negro? I heard they’d taken a Negro.”

  He nodded. “My partner, Thaddeus. I have to get him out.”

  She shook her head. “That’s going to be tough. They have him planned as a special attraction for Wyatt tomorrow. Wyatt’s a confirmed hater of blacks. He thinks they undermine and corrupt southern society. I think he’s one of those idiots who rides about with a flour sack on his head some nights.”

  “The Klan, I heard of them and all their lynching and burning of helpless folk. But I need your help, ma’am. Thaddeus is a great shot with the long arm; he’s my backup and I’m not about to see him strung up for some fool’s amusement. Is there anything you can do to get me inside that fort?”

  She looked off into the distance for a moment as she considered his plea.

  He saw the golden reflection of the sun-bleached bluff fill her eyes. She really was quite a beautiful woman.

  “There is a way,” she said, finally. “It’s a tunnel. Wyatt had it built as one of his back door escape routes. He’s very fearful about being trapped, even in that fortified castle he’s built. But the way in has a barred gate and wooden doors. Now, if I can get a hold of the keys, it’s possible.”

  “God bless you, Miss Lenoir. Will you do it?”

  “Only if you will reassure me of one thing.”

  “What’s that? I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “I need Wyatt destroyed. I want that more than anything. He brought my daddy down. Daddy was the sweetest of men, you know? Too soft, really, to be in the world of banking. He trusted that swine Wyatt and the pig cheated him. He stole from trusting investors and brought down the entire bank. It broke my daddy’s heart. You break him and I’ll help you all I can.”

  “It’s what we’re here for anyway, ma’am.”

  “I know but I want your promise, your personal assurance.”

  “You have it.”

  “Very well then. Wyatt usually occupies that building atop the ancient Indian pyramid when he’s here. He likes to look down over his domain like some damned king of old. The man is unbelievably arrogant. Most days, come evening time, he takes a stroll around the parapet up there. He likes to smoke a cigar and see what’s going on in the barracks. Some kind of perverse peeping tom attitude, I think. That’s your best time to shoot him down.” She looked at him, sudden venom in her voice. “Don’t miss, Mr. Guardeen. Don’t you dare miss.”

  “I don’t miss, ma’am. Appears to me that maybe you have a particular grudge over and above your father, though?”

  She breathed deeply through her nostrils. “Maybe I do, Mr. Guardeen. But that is none of your concern. Just do your job and we’ll get along fine. The rest of it doesn’t matter right now.”

  He was surprised by her callousness, a quality he hadn’t met in many women be
fore, and he was pained to see such a depth of hate in so pretty a face. “Very well, ma’am. Maybe you’d best tell me about this arms distribution and raid they have planned.”

  “Soldero is the Indian chief Wyatt supplies; he and his Apaches will arrive tomorrow or the day after. It’s hard to say exactly when, as they have their own system of timekeeping. They seem to come and go just when they feel like it. But with the prospect of weapons and some whisky on offer, they’ll be here sooner than later, I believe.”

  “I’ve seen what whisky and Indians can do when mixed and I know it ain’t pretty.”

  She nodded. “Well, it’s pretty chaotic when they get here. All sorts of rough celebrations, guns going off, drunkenness, fights. Ends up as a gross debauch.”

  “How do you cope? I mean, liquor and men…”

  “I tend to avoid it, if at all possible. Beckett’s protective of me. Until now, at least…”

  “What about the planned raid?”

  “It’s for bullion. Rich as he is, Wyatt always needs more money. This is an expensive project he’s involved in and he has to offset his operating costs where he can. There’s a company that mines gold about fifty miles east of here at a place called Placer City. Its just over the border Stateside and they make a run every month or so carrying the gold up to the capital for safe- keeping. The depot in Placer City holds the stockpiled ore and Wyatt plans to hit the depot. He has information that this month’s quota is particularly high, so he’s set his raiders to go in and take it.”

  “Guess there’s little we can do about that right now. We best stick to what we can handle here. If it’s possible to let the military know in time, then they can deal with it.”

  “Best hurry then, the raid’s planned for three days from now.” She squatted down and looked up at him where he leaned on the barrel of his Sharps. “You’re a strange one, Mr. Guardeen.”

  “How so, ma’am?”

  “You’re not what I was expecting. I suppose I thought you’d be quite a cold person. A professional assassin, indifferent to most things outside the job in hand, yet here you are, wanting to help this colored man, Thaddeus. He seems quite important to you.”

  “We’ve been through a lot together, Thaddeus and me. And don’t be fooled, ma’am, by my desire to save Thaddeus. When it comes down to it, I can be just as cold blooded as you imagine when it’s a matter of nailing someone in my sights. Didn’t get to be a sharpshooter any other way.”

  She stood up and brushed down her riding skirt. “Very well, I should be off. I have to leave report for my go-between, best let the Governor know what’s happening.”

  “Waste of paper, Miss Lenoir. Your go-between was a no-account snake oil salesman called Doctor Solace. It was him who was playing both sides. He set Black Band Doolin on my trail.”

  She paled. “Where is he now then?”

  “Fellow tried to pull a cut-off double eight shotgun on me. It was a dumb thing to do when I’m holding this here Sharps in my hand.”

  “So.” She smiled wanly. “We have no postal service now.”

  “Afraid not, ma’am. But then it never was much use, was it? No one’s coming down here to give us a helping hand now, are they? We’re on our own all the way.”

  Her face turned somber. “All right, Mr. Guardeen. I’ll get the keys and let you in tonight. But after that, you’re on your own.”

  “Don’t worry, ma’am. That’s what I’m used to.”

  Watching her ride off, Guardeen wondered at the bitterness that could take so great a root in a person’s soul that they’d set themselves up to stay with a man who physically abused them. And to spend their days in a rebel stronghold in close company with a hated maniac and have only the wish to see him annihilated. He wondered again at her hatred of Wyatt. What had the man done to her, other than destroy her father? He was sure there was more to be told than she’d let on.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was a small wooden door, curved at the head. Heavy timbers set with a large pair of well-greased metal hinges. When it swung silently inwards, Guardeen had to crouch to enter as the tunnel was so low. Dressed in a pale blue nightgown, Christine waited on the inside with a small lantern in her hand. She closed the door after him and locked it. She brought her mouth next to his ear and whispered. “There’s no way I can leave this open. You’ll have to find your own way out as these keys have to go back. If Lowell misses them, I’m finished; they won’t hesitate to shoot me.”

  He smelled the cleanliness of her hair brushing his cheek and the soft womanly scent she emitted. It made his own dusty and sweat-stained body seem alien and it embarrassed him; he pulled away instinctively. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I understand.”

  “It’s not a long tunnel but has a very low ceiling. The lantern has to go out before the last door, as there are guards in the courtyard alongside the main gate. They still watch your friend but he is suffering. No food and only a little water they threw over him, most of it ended up in the dust.”

  She set off down the corridor and he followed, the lamplight silhouetting the shadowy outline of her slender body against the thin cloth of her nightgown. He shrugged off the stirring thoughts and tried to concentrate on the rescue mission in hand.

  They reached the end of the corridor with its inner iron barred gateway. The thick stone walls around them vanished as she extinguished the lamp. He felt her warm presence against his shoulder. “We’re here. I’ll open the gate and then the outer door and see if everything is clear. Come out at my call, but keep to the shadows. I’ll say no more as I must get back, I’ve been away too long already.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thanks for everything.”

  He felt the touch of her cool hand on his wrist. “Good luck.”

  As he stood in the shadows of the stone wall, Guardeen watched her scurry across the open courtyard. A ghostly figure in the moonless night, her pale nightdress swirling around her as she hurried back into the married quarters of the barracks.

  He remained stock still, his eyes taking in the shadowed approach to the main gates where Thaddeus still hung, a dark silhouette hanging from the outline of the wooden cross. He made out two guards, hunched over a small glowing brazier under the gate porch. Above them on the parapet, another guard patrolled the firestep of the fort walls, his rifle held at port arms. To one side of the gateway was the shadowy outline of a well built into the fort wall, the sides streaked with damp stains of mould. He licked his dry lips, he could almost smell the fresh water and his dry throat almost cried out for a sip.

  He turned away and silently climbed the stone steps that led up to the parapet walkway. From here the stone of the great pyramid rose above him, the building at the pinnacle lit with lamps, where there was much activity as they prepared for the coming of their Commander. It was certainly a vast complex, bigger than it appeared from his overlook on the mountain. At this level the parade ground stretched around the huge base of the pyramid and was surrounded by housing that would take many more occupants than already present. Wyatt obviously had great plans for expanding his army.

  Boldly, he continued along the parapet, his Sharps loose in his right hand. The rifle weighed a hefty thirteen pounds but after long years Guardeen was well used to the inconvenience and thought little of it. The sentry saw him coming but remained casual and made no suspicious moves and he continued until they were face to face. The lean man wore a peaked gray Confederate kepi and an old ragged military shell jacket.

  “Evening, friend,” the sentry said. “You my relief?”

  “Sure am,” agreed Guardeen, bringing the flat butt of his rifle under the man’s chin with a sharp and solid blow that clicked his teeth together. Stunned, the sentry fell over backwards and Guardeen stepped across him and slammed the brass-plated butt down on the sentry’s forehead. Swiftly he looked about to see if they’d been seen, then quickly he divested the man of his cap and jacket before lifting him bodily and sliding the slack figure over the wall to d
rop in the dust on the far side.

  His Stetson stuffed into his shirt, Guardeen quickly donned the cap and jacket and retraced the steps down from the parapet. Without pausing he strode towards the two guards crouched over the brazier at the main gate.

  “Hey, Ezra,” one called; a pale faced overweight man. “Where you going? You ain’t been relieved yet.”

  In answer, Guardeen held up his canteen before his face and silently indicated the well just beyond the guards.

  “Got a thirst on yuh, huh?” the fat guard said with a laugh. “Should’ve laid off that firewater they been brewing up for the Indians. I saw you, Ezra. Pouring spoonfuls of that stuff down your throat. Well, now you’re paying for it, partner.”

  The other guard, a grizzled veteran with a white beard and a corncob pipe stuck in his jaw, cackled and joined in the amusement. “Can’t cut it, huh, Ezra? Dry as a bone, I’ll bet. Go drink your fill and get back on that parapet before the duty sergeant sees you’re missing.”

  Guardeen waved vaguely at them and, keeping to the shadows as best he could, he walked past them and over to the well. He slipped close by where Thaddeus sagged and hissed a warning to his friend as he passed. “Stay sharp, Thaddeus.” Then he was beyond them, not knowing if Thaddeus heard or was even conscious.

  Greedily, Guardeen drunk his fill from the ceramic jar at the lip of the well. His cracked lips burned as the cool water slid over them. Then he tipped the remainder into his canteen and fastened the lid. Slinging the canteen over his shoulder he turned and made his way back to Thaddeus, slipping his knife from its sheath he held it out of sight beside his leg. He passed behind the great timbers of the cross and as he vanished from sight of the guards, he crouched and sliced the bonds at Thaddeus’s ankles. He cut them away quickly and moved up to the ropes at Thaddeus’s wrists. “You with me, Thaddeus?”