by Jake Logan
Clayton Magee would once more be united with his wife and daughter. No matter how their kidnappers hid them, he would free them and they would again live as a cherished, happy family.
First, he would raze Fort Supply.
“The men are too tired to fight, Major,” Kimbrell complained.
Magee glared at him. It had taken much hard riding to reach Fort Supply. The cavalry post stretched out over the prairie, virtually undefended. Unlike most posts in the region, it sported a ten-foot palisade with guardhouses at each of the four corners of the wall. The fort depended on sentries in those lookout posts to raise the alarm should they be attacked by Indians, but he knew from careful observation that only one of the rear lookout posts and the gate had sentries. There were far fewer soldiers than normal at Fort Supply.
Magee was a student of such matters, and could not remember the last time a fort in Oklahoma had been attacked. Although guards would be marching along their posts, there would be no alarm raised if he employed a coordinated attack, front and rear.
Fort Supply was complacent and ripe for the picking.
“How much ammunition does each man carry?” Magee asked, ignoring the complaint about exhaustion. Armies that marched into battle never had enough rest. That was a given condition of combat. Seldom were they completely prepared, often lacking adequate training and supplies, when they faced death in battle.
Clayton Magee was willing to endure all that to free his family and see them once more at home.
“Not more than fifty rounds. They scavenged what they could from the men who left and those that died.”
“Good work,” Magee said, nodding in approval. “Fifty rounds each, twenty men. We should have an adequate amount of ammunition for the task.”
“If we ride down their throats, they’re likely to keep firing at us from up on them walls. They’ve got an entire armory chock-full of rifles and all the ammunition they can carry.”
Magee waved this objection aside. Fort Supply, in spite of its name, had the same problems as all other frontier posts. Chronic undersupply, mistakes made in supply shipments, it was all the same whether in peace or war. If anything, such lackadaisical resupply might be more of a problem in a peacetime garrison. No one died immediately to raise ire back at headquarters.
“See how they patrol only along the eastern wall?” Magee asked.
“They got a man stationed at the west wall, too,” Kimbrell said. “I can take him out with a single shot. How are you gonna get through the gate?”
“The wall is sturdy enough for soldiers to crouch behind and fire. If we committed to a frontal assault, a handful of them would certainly repel us. Instead, we have a few men ride up and engage the sentries in conversation.”
“Then shoot ’em down?”
“Exactly. Attack will come from three sides, with the bulk of our force moving in from the north and south to scale those walls. A few ropes over the palisade spikes will suffice for climbing. Those on the east will do little more than kill the guards. You will act as sniper for the lone guard at the west wall.”
“You called that a pincer movement,” Kimbrell said. “That worked real good before, on the first town we hit.”
“There has been no need to use the same tactics since,” Magee said, sniffing in disdain. “There has not been sufficient opposition anywhere else.”
“When do we hit ’em?”
“It is almost sundown,” Magee said. “Twilight will cover movement north and south. Eight men to either flank. You will go around to the far side. I will take three men with me to query the guards.”
“When do I shoot the guard?” Kimbrell was already eager for the fight. Magee appreciated that, but hoped his lieutenant would not jump the gun. If he did, they would have a serious fight on their hands, with all the soldiers being alerted. He hoped to take most of them by surprise since his own ranks had been decimated.
“There will be gunshots when the guards are taken out,” Magee said. “When you hear the shots, do not hesitate. Attack right away.”
“What if I can’t get the guard?”
Magee flushed with anger and almost his pistol. He stayed his hand. No wonder they had not found Louisa and Sarah Beth yet. He was surrounded by fools and incompetents.
“Attack when you please,” Magee said. “I will coordinate my attack to match yours. Is that clear enough for you?”
“Don’t ever talk to me in that tone,” Kimbrell snapped. “I won’t tolerate it.” His head rocked back as Magee slapped him hard. Kimbrell staggered and went for his pistol, only to find he was staring down the barrel of the major’s six-shooter.
“Obey my orders and you will continue to profit. I know what you do in the towns. I don’t care. All I care about is finding those I seek.”
“Your damned family,” growled Kimbrell, rubbing his jaw. “You didn’t have to hit me.”
“To your horse, sir, and move into position. You have very little time. We must take the fort before night falls.” Magee watched Kimbrell slink off, still grumbling to himself as he rubbed his jaw. Magee had not wanted to strike a subordinate, but sometimes authority had to be enforced. He opened the gate on his six-gun and made certain he had a full cylinder. Then he waved over the three men who would accompany him. He wanted to get this done before night worked against him.
Magee and the three rode slowly toward the break in the low wall where two guards stood. The guards talked idly until one spotted the riders approaching. Magee did not vary his horse’s gait. He rode forward as if he intended nothing more than to inquire after the post commander’s health.
“Halt!” called the shorter of the two guards. Although he did not level his rifle, he did turn it in Magee’s general direction.
“May I advance and speak to you? I have business with the post commander.” Magee saw that the guard high on the wall looked down curiously, making an easy target from the ground.
“Come on ahead,” the guard said, foolishly lowering his rifle.
“Good evening,” Magee said, leaning forward slightly. This allowed him to put his hand on the butt of the six-shooter slung in a cross-draw holster. “Just the pair of you on guard duty tonight?”
“Mason got the shits,” said the second guard. “I do declare, we’re all gonna die from eatin’ in the mess hall ’less we git a new cook soon.”
“No,” said Magee, “that’s not true.”
“What’s not true?” asked the first guard, stepping forward.
“The food won’t kill you. I will.” Magee drew and fired three times. The guard was dead before he hit the ground. Magee turned his weapon on the stunned second guard. A single shot to the head ended his life. Turning his attention upward, he emptied his pistol. One round caught the guard on the wall. He landed with a loud thud inside the fort. Magee motioned for his three men to join him.
“I hear gunshots, Major. Comin’ from both sides of the fort.”
“Have your six-shooters ready,” he ordered. Magee counted slowly, every number corresponding to an event. Inside. Shoot any soldiers found. Ride closer to the compound. Shoot curious soldiers coming out of their barracks. Ride to the armory. Kill the guard there and cut off the soldiers from their weapons.
He heard a loud outcry. The soldiers finally realized they were under attack. If there were enough remaining at the post, they could swamp his handful of stalwarts.
“Attack,” Magee ordered. “Make every shot count, but be sure you stop anyone wearing a uniform.” He put his heels to his stallion and rocketed out onto the parade ground. He burst out into the center of the open area, and saw three howitzers lined up near the flagpole. The few soldiers running around, frantically trying to find a noncom or officer to tell them what to do, all died under Magee’s accurate gunfire.
The roar of six-guns blazing reached him from both sides of the fort. Then the sounds died out. Only a few moans of pain remained. His men had successfully scaled the unguarded walls and made the attack a success t
hus far. Kimbrell rode up through the gate, shouting.
“Got the son of a bitch, Major. No more guards on the walls!”
With that succinct report, Kimbrell dismounted and walked around, finishing off the wounded soldiers. Magee started to order him to save his ammunition, then decided to let Kimbrell continue. After he had been humiliated before the attack, Kimbrell needed something to bolster his spirits.
They all did.
Magee rode past the commanding officer’s quarters. He did not bother looking inside. He wanted the armory secured before making a room-to-room search for survivors.
He slid from the saddle and went to the armory door. It was heavily chained and padlocked.
“Open it. No, don’t try shooting off the lock. Get a crowbar. Pry off the lock.” Magee shook his head in wonder. These men thought the heavy padlock was just like the ones used on stagecoach strongboxes. One thing the army did not scrimp on was locks. A bullet would only smear itself across the face of the heavy brass lock. Worse, it might foul the mechanism. Better to begin with a pry bar.
Magee waited impatiently as a man returned with a long iron rod. It took almost a minute to force open the door. Magee pushed the man aside and went inside. The dying light from the sunset made it difficult to see what was stored there.
“There. Get that outside. That and that also. Take it to the parade ground.”
His men obeyed. Magee posted three men, two to stand guard and the third to dispense ammunition and rifles from the armory, then went to the howitzer nearest the flagpole.
“Do as I say.” He guided two men through loading the cannon and turning it toward the officers’ quarters. “You will face away and yank the lanyard when I order you,” Magee said to a frightened young man. “You will enjoy the experience, I promise.”
“It’ll blow up something.”
“It will.”
This made the man grin wolfishly and do everything Magee told him to do.
Magee sighted the cannon in, then gave the order. The man yanked hard at the lanyard and the howitzer fired with a satisfying roar. Then all hell broke loose. The cannonball smashed into the officers’ barracks. The resulting fireball exploded upward into the twilight, dazzling anyone looking in that direction.
“You were right, Major. That’s ’bout the most fun I’ve had in a coon’s age.”
“Reload. Aim in that direction,” Magee ordered. He trained the cannon on the building where the post commander, his executive officer, the quartermaster, and others had their offices. He smiled ruefully when he saw muzzle flashes coming from doorways and windows. Some of the officers had either worked late or had taken refuge in that building. Magee gave the order to fire. The officers not killed by the first shot were blown apart with his second.
The cannon’s roar continued to echo in his ears, but Magee knew the fort was eerily silent now. His men had completed their task. All the soldiers were dead. Using the cannon had eliminated the officers with grim efficiency, and he was now in control of the fort.
“What you want us to do next, Major?” Kimbrell strutted up, his face sooty from gunpowder. “Burn the place to the ground?”
“No, we occupy and use its facilities for the night. Be wary of the food. It’s likely to be contaminated.”
“How’d you know that?” Kimbrell asked.
Magee laughed. “I’m your commander. It’s my job to know these things.” In a lower voice, he said, “You may loot the paymaster’s office while the men are eating. Then have them rest up.”
“What’s next?” Kimbrell looked at Magee suspiciously.
“There is a town not a mile away that caters to the fort and its men. We will attack it at first light. But first, we eat, we rest, we resupply.”
Magee looked long and hard at his lieutenant.
“And we loot.”
Kimbrell let out a yell of triumph and ran off to tell the men. Magee stood alone in the middle of the parade ground, unsure what to do. Louisa and Sarah Beth would not be here. They wouldn’t be in the town that would be destroyed in the morning either. He walked away from the cannon slowly to be by himself and to dream of the day when he was reunited with his family.
14
Slocum didn’t much care what town this was. It was intact and that meant it had avoided Clayton Magee’s devastation. Which meant there was likely to be a doctor who could look after the marshal. At least, Slocum hoped it would be that way. Vannover was delirious now and barely able to hang on to his saddle horn. Slocum considered tying the man in place or even draping him over the saddle to complete the ride into town, but that could take more out of a man than being unconscious.
As they rode down the main street, curious faces pressed against windows and more than a few children rushed out, hollering and jumping about.
“Where’s the town doctor?” Slocum asked the nearest of the children. The boy looked at Slocum with wide eyes and then ran off, screaming. “Do you have a doctor?” More of the children ran away. “A vet? This man’s in bad shape. He needs tending to!”
By this time a woman had come from the bakery. At first Slocum thought she was a ghost, then saw she was doused from head to toe in baking flour. She dusted off her hands and created a tiny tornado all around her.
“Who you got there, mister?”
“He’s a town marshal over in Charity. Where are we?”
“This here’s Foreman. Charity’s a couple days’ ride, maybe more. With a man in his condition, it might be a forever ride.”
“He can’t ride much farther than the side of the street,” Slocum said. “He banged up his ankle. The doctor over in Cimarron Junction did what he could for him, but there’s a powerful lot of wounded he had to tend to. The marshal here probably caught an infection.”
“Yup, that’s so,” the woman said.
“A doctor?” Slocum prodded.
“Ain’t got one. Not a vet either. Mostly, we look after our own. Or . . .” She turned and looked toward a small cemetery with a knee-high white picket fence around it at the edge of town. Slocum had been all too aware of it when he had ridden in.
“A midwife? Somebody?”
“Midwife’s not what this gent needs. He really a marshal?”
Slocum reached over and straightened a burning-hot Lester Vannover so his badge shone brightly in the sunlight.
“I know him! He is a marshal. Over in Charity.”
Slocum looked from the woman decked out in baking flour to another, who stood in the doorway behind her.
“You sure, Louisa?” asked the baker.
“As certain sure as I’ve ever been.”
“Then get him on down. I don’t have much in the way of a cot here in the bakery.”
“The room with Mrs. Post. Sarah Beth can look after him.”
“You go help her, Louisa.”
Slocum’s eyes narrowed. Louisa? Sarah Beth? He was not one to believe in coincidence, but here it was staring him in the face. These had to be the women who had spoken to Vannover back in Charity, warning him of Magee’s attack. If not for them, the entire town would have been destroyed.
“You happen to be in Charity before the attack?” Slocum asked. Louisa’s face blanched whiter than the flour.
“You know about that?”
“It’s why I’m riding with the marshal.”
“You tell me about this later on, Louisa,” said the baker.
“Thank you, Maggie. This marshal tried to save our lives. It’s only fitting we try to save him, if we can.” Louisa Magee tossed her apron back into the bakery and hurried off. Slocum tugged on the reins of the marshal’s horse and got it following the woman as she retraced the path he had just ridden.
“There,” Louisa said. “There’s where we can take him. Let me ask first to be sure it’s all right with Mrs. Post. But she can’t deny a lawman help when he’s so badly hurt.”
Slocum wasn’t so sure of that, but he said nothing. Some folks got their dander up at the mere sight of a ba
dge. He knew. He was one of them. He dismounted and went to stand beside Vannover. The man swayed about in the saddle, eyes closed. He muttered something incoherent. The fever had completely possessed his senses, and unless something was done to break that fever, Lester Vannover would soon enough be out in that pretty little cemetery.
When Louisa waved to him from the front porch, Slocum grabbed Vannover by the arm and tugged. The marshal fell into his arms. Slocum staggered back, and finally got a grip on the semiconscious man. Lugging him up the walk, he got to the porch.
“Where can I put him?”
“There,” Louisa said, pointing to a divan just inside the door. Slocum turned and heaved. Vannover sank down, opened his eyes, and smiled.
“Heaven,” he muttered, “never thought it’d look so sweet.” Then he collapsed back onto the divan.
“I do declare, I never thought inviting you into my house would cause such a commotion.” The older woman coming from the kitchen carried towels over her arm and a pan of water. She put it down on the floor beside Vannover and began applying damp compresses to his forehead. “This should help. If it doesn’t hold his fever, we might have to dunk him in the stream out back. This time o’ year, it can be downright chilly.”
Slocum glanced up when another woman came into the room. He looked from Louisa Magee to the younger woman and knew instantly they were mother and daughter—and the reason for Major Magee’s rampage across Indian Territory.
“Could I have a word with you? Both of you?” Slocum saw the fear rising in Sarah Beth Magee’s eyes. Her mother was similarly distressed at his request, but hers was better hidden.
They went onto the porch while Mrs. Post murmured and tended to the marshal. Slocum wasn’t sure which worked better with the man because the marshal smiled just a little as the woman offered her sympathies to him. The cool compresses tended to his body, but the soothing words of the woman worked on his soul.
