by Jake Logan
“Let me see,” Slocum said. He found a spot where he could rest his rifle and command a wide arc of fire across the road. If Magee showed up, this would be the spot.
In the darkness all Slocum could see were darting shadows. Rather than waste his ammo, he shifted his field of fire around until he found one of the artillery batteries. A discharge momentarily blinded him. Then came the whistling sound and an impact that shook the entire wall. For a heart-stopping instant, Slocum thought the cannonball had brought down the entire wall. But whoever had built the defenses for Fort Supply had done a good job. A few timbers fell free and a hole large enough to walk through had been blasted low in the wall, but the structure remained standing.
Slocum sighted in on the cannon, judged distances, and made guesses about windage. They had made a mistake moving the cannon too close to their target. He began firing slowly, steadily, shifting each subsequent shot a little to the right to send out a spray of bullets. He did not hear any sound, but he had the feeling his aim was on target.
“They oughta send another cannonball into us, ’less you got ’em,” the private said.
Slocum did not reply. He hunted for a new target, still wanting to sight in on Clayton Magee. When he didn’t see anyone mounted, he shifted his rifle a little lower. Magee’s gang had gone to ground and were waiting to rush the front gate.
In the dark and dismounted, they would be almost unstoppable.
“Down!” Slocum shouted. “Everyone off the front wall!”
He turned and jumped, landing hard fifteen feet below. He tried to roll, but the impact was too great. He was slammed flat and had the air knocked out of his lungs. This saved him. Magee had brought up the Gatling gun and opened fire, reducing the top of the wall to splinters. Three of the soldiers had not heeded his warning and were dead, two falling into the fort and the other flopped over the top of the palisade.
“Stay away from the gate!” Slocum rolled onto his back and brought up his Winchester as the Gatling barked its deadly cry again. The gate was reduced to splinters in a second.
Not even waiting for what remained of the heavy gate to fall, Slocum began firing. He brought down two of Magee’s men and wounded two others. His rifle came up empty. He drew his six-shooter and emptied it, too. By this time, Captain Langmuir and two other soldiers had appeared from their posts along other segments of the wall and poured their fire into the gaping hole in the fort’s defense.
“Charge!” roared Les Vannover. “Attack! Go get ’em. Get ’em all!”
No one was mounted or able to obey the command, but Slocum saw that the shouted order was intended only to throw the enemy into confusion. Reloading quickly, he flopped onto his belly and, from this prone position, began picking his targets carefully. He brought down two more before the outlaws got an order to retreat.
When the shooting stopped, Slocum thought he had gone deaf. There was a complete silence that swaddled him like a woolen blanket.
“They’ve pulled back,” Langmuir said, peering around the corner of the gate out along the road.
“They’ll wait for daylight and attack again,” Slocum said, getting up and dusting himself off. “You have to turn that cannon against them.”
“And take out the Gatling gun while you’re at it. It did all the damage,” Vannover pointed out.
“Is there anybody left who knows how to fire a howitzer?” Slocum asked.
“I do,” said Langmuir. “And Private Leary is trained.”
“Come along, Private,” Slocum said. “Me and you are going to do some skunk hunting.”
“Go on, Leary,” the captain said, seeing the private confused about whose orders to follow. “There’ll be enough left of us to defend the fort.”
Slocum knew that wasn’t true. If there were three others left, it would be a miracle. He saw Louisa coming from her quarters, carrying a rifle. She looked so determined he said nothing.
“Give me a post, Captain, and I’ll do what I can,” she said.
“Mrs. Magee, you can’t—”
“I will die fighting that son of a bitch husband of mine rather than surrender. Considering his history with towns and soldiers who stand in his way, I’d recommend that you do the same thing.”
Slocum nudged Leary and pointed toward the gate. With the clouds hanging low and heavy, he didn’t know how long they had before sunrise. Even a small amount of daylight would stop him from doing what he planned.
Leary followed as Slocum slipped outside the fort, found a shallow drainage ditch alongside the road, and walked in a crouch along it.
“What we up to, Mr. Slocum?”
“Was the captain right? You know how to man a cannon?”
“Not the best artillerist in the company, but I ain’t the worst either. I can load and swab with the best of ’em.”
“Stay low. We are heading for the battery.” Slocum used what cover he could find to get within ten yards of the howitzer that had caused so much damage to the fort. His sniping had killed two of the gun crew. The other two stood arguing about what to do. From what little Slocum could overhear, he had killed the only two who knew how to fire the cannon.
“What’ll we do, Mr. Slocum?”
Slocum paid Leary no heed. He aimed carefully and fired. One outlaw sank to the ground, dead instantly with a bullet to the skull. The other kept arguing, as if his partner had not simply collapsed. When he realized there was trouble, he was dead, too. Running forward, Slocum reached the cannon and found what remained. There were two cannonballs, wadding, and enough powder for a dozen shots.
“Help me turn it.” Slocum lifted the cannon tongue while Leary dug in his toes and pushed for all he was worth. The field piece cut deep into the soft ground, but finally relented so Slocum could get it aimed away from the fort and toward the road.
He silently pointed to what he wanted Leary to do. The private worked with infuriating deliberateness, but Slocum could not fault him for that. Leary had his way of doing things and it worked.
“Get on the lanyard. Fire when I tell you,” Slocum said. He jumped to the carriage and climbed to the top of the right wheel, balancing precariously. He waited several minutes, then hopped down and struggled to shift the muzzle a few degrees to the right.
“Three, two, one, fire!” Slocum yelled. Leary turned away as he yanked the lanyard. The cannon leaped up off its wheels and then fell back to the ground heavily. “Get it reloaded!”
“The barrel’s gonna melt if we keep firin’ it fast,” Leary warned.
“There’s only one cannonball left. Don’t worry about wasting powder. We got plenty.” Slocum took another sighting and immediately ordered Leary to fire. Again the cannon spat out its death.
“Load it chock-full of powder and wadding,” Slocum said.
“But there’s no shot!”
“Do it!”
After Leary had rammed the barrel full of the remaining powder, Slocum lifted the tongue and called to Leary to help. When the private saw what Slocum was doing, he got under the wood support and heaved hard enough to upend the cannon and drive its muzzle down into mud.
“Get on back to the fort,” Slocum ordered. “This cannon’s going to be shrapnel in a few seconds.”
“But Mr. Slocum, you can’t stand here and fire it. It’ll blow up!”
“They won’t use it again,” Slocum said. He heard horses coming. “Now git!”
Private Leary “got.” Slocum ran as much of the lanyard cord out as he could, then tugged as he fell into a low ditch. The explosion behind him rattled his teeth and turned him deaf. Hot metal chunks from the brass barrel sailed past him—and also ripped toward the outlaws galloping toward the gun.
Slocum lay for a minute getting his senses back. When he sat up, a loud buzzing in his ears told him he was still mostly deaf, but he was alive and three more of Magee’s men were not. The exploding barrel had turned men and their horses into bloody shreds.
Getting his bearings, Slocum moved away from where the
main body of Magee’s men would be gathered—what remained of them. He moved in a wide circle around the fort until he came to the spot where Sarah Beth had left. It took Slocum only a few minutes to find two sets of footprints leading away from the fort and another ten minutes to locate where horses had been tethered.
Slocum had the trail. All he needed was a horse to follow it.
25
“There’s no reason to hold back. What do we do? Sit around on our asses while they laugh at us?” Albert Kimbrell did not try to restrain his anger. “Attack now. Kill them while we can.”
“There is need for caution,” Magee said. “My family is in there. I feel it in my bones. Two scouts saw them in a wagon heading toward the fort. Where else can they be? I’m so close now. My wife and daughter! I don’t want them hurt.”
“One cannon blew up on us and the other’s no good after its carriage broke,” Kimbrell said. “Use the Gatling gun on them some more. They’ll give up.”
“My wife and daughter might be injured. Or killed!” Magee’s eyes flashed with a wildness that Kimbrell had seldom seen. But Kimbrell didn’t care. He was furious at losing the chance to kill the soldiers inside the fort.
“There’s not that many of those bluebellies left. Use the Gatling. They’ll surrender. They’re all cowards.”
“You should never have fired the cannon or ordered the Gatling up. You disobeyed my orders, Mr. Kimbrell.”
“To hell with orders! I want to kill them all! We busted into that damned fort before without so much as a fare-thee-well. You sayin’ we can’t do it again when there’s only half a dozen left? We stole their guns and ammo. They’re sittin’ ducks!”
“My family comes first. Their safety trumps your blood-lust.”
“We sat around doin’ nuthin’ at Charity. We coulda destroyed the whole damn town, but you thought they were in the town so we held back. If it wasn’t for my men findin’ the wagon with your wife and kid, we’d still be sittin’ outside Charity, jerkin’ off and wonderin’ what to do next!”
Kimbrell rocked back when Magee slapped him hard with the canvas officer’s gloves he carried. Kimbrell went for his six-shooter, but found himself looking down the barrel of the major’s gun before he could draw.
“Disobeying my orders is a punishable offense. Should I order a field court-martial for you, Mr. Kimbrell, or will you obey my orders exactly as I give them?”
Kimbrell swallowed hard and rubbed his face. Sullenly, he said, “I’ll obey.”
“Good,” Magee said. “I must plan how best to rescue my family from those that have kidnapped them. There is no doubt they are being held hostage.”
“Full-out attack,” Kimbrell said. Magee glared at him and he fell silent.
“Dismissed.”
Like a whipped dog, Kimbrell slunk off. The farther from the major he got, the angrier he grew, until his towering rage knew no bounds. He had to kill something.
“You look like something the cat drug in, Al,” piped up one of his men. Kimbrell glowered at Herk Wilson. Nothing bothered the man. His expression never changed whether he was raping a woman or killing her husband or sitting across a poker table bluffing with a pair of deuces. Kimbrell could depend on Wilson and half a dozen in the gang to follow him, no matter what. The rest were either loyal to Clayton Magee, or would slip away and find their own trails when things went to hell.
“I want to attack that damned fort. I want to bring it down.”
“I’ll get the boys ready,” Wilson said. The stocky man hesitated and asked, “There more in it for us?”
“Double shares. We’ll be the only ones attacking.”
“That’ll make it about one on one. We can handle that,” Wilson said, laughing. “And I want you to rename it Fort Wilson, after me.”
“I’ll name it Fort Shit after you if you don’t get the men,” Kimbrell snapped. Even this tone did nothing to change Wilson’s expression. He went off, humming a song that Kimbrell couldn’t quite recognize. With one last glance in the direction of Magee and the map the man had spread out on the ground in front of him, Kimbrell went to his horse and mounted. He settled his six pistols and made certain his rifle’s magazine was full. With half a dozen other men riding beside him, there was no reason they couldn’t take care of the fort with their first assault.
Kimbrell rode up and looked at Wilson and the others. Without a word, Kimbrell pointed toward the fort. They let out bloodcurdling battle cries and galloped to the attack.
“No quarter, men. Kill ’em all!”
“What about the major’s family?” called Herk Wilson. “You said we don’t kill no blond women.”
“Kill ’em all!” Kimbrell was past caring what Major Magee said or did. The old man was getting cold feet when it came to leveling towns now that he thought he had finally found his wife and daughter. With the money Kimbrell had stashed away, he didn’t need Magee anymore and could live like a king. After this one last killing spree.
Six-shooters came easily to his hands as he rode with the reins in his teeth. The gate to the fort canted inward at a crazy angle. One of the cannonballs must have knocked it from its hinges. Kimbrell began firing wildly at anyone daring to poke their head up above the top of the wall. On either side rode his cadre of men, all firing, too.
To his surprise, a volley from the fort ripped past. Kimbrell put his head down and kept firing until his six-guns were empty. He grabbed another pair thrust into his belt and got closer, only to find the fire from the fort was growing more intense. Bullets ripped past him. One nicked his horse’s leg, causing it to stumble. It took all of Kimbrell’s skill to keep from being spilled to the ground.
“Keep going. We can get inside!” Kimbrell saw that the men with him were slowing their headlong attack as the fusillade did not slacken. The closer they got, the better targets they made. The sun was coming up behind them, outlining them in the dawn light.
“Al, two of us are down. They shot our horses.” Even as Wilson reported, he took a dive off his horse. He hit the ground hard and skidded to a halt, moaning. Kimbrell emptied his second pair of six-shooters and went for his third, but the attack had been turned. The men on the fort walls continued to fire steadily, accurately.
“Get back,” Kimbrell said. “We shoulda had all the men behind us.” He saw that he had underestimated the resistance he would meet. He thought the sight of half a dozen men galloping down on them would break the spirit of the fort’s defenders. It had done the opposite. It had made them even more determined.
“Where’d they get the goddamn ammunition? I thought we took it all.”
“Al, don’t leave me!”
Kimbrell looked around and saw that Wilson and two others were down. He considered simply retreating, getting the hell out of there. He didn’t need more scalps to make him happy if it was going to be this dangerous, but the way the soldiers fought infuriated him. He bent low, reached down grabbed Wilson’s outstretched arm, and pulled him up behind him.
“I owe you,” Wilson said. Kimbrell did not bother replying. He was galloping away from Fort Supply, knowing he had to face Magee’s wrath.
“You there,” Kimbrell said, pointing to the others, also riding double. “Grab more horses. And the Gatling. Take the Gatling. Hitch up its wagon and let’s get the hell out of here.”
“What are we gonna do with it?” Wilson hit the ground running, stumbled, and caught himself. Then he was up into the almost empty supply wagon where they had mounted the Gatling gun and carried spare ammo and magazines for it.
“We gotta get out of here right now,” Kimbrell said. If Magee sent men after them, the Gatling would come in real handy. And if he didn’t, if he let them simply ride away, Kimbrell was sure he could figure out a use for the deadly weapon. There had to be more than one bank waiting to get shot up and robbed between Indian Territory and the Mexican border.
Kimbrell and his men rattled away with the Gatling gun, leaving the rest of Magee’s men wondering what was go
ing on.
“Halt!” shrieked Clayton Magee when he saw his lieutenant begin the assault. “I’m placing you under arrest! I’m going to court-martial you, damn your eyes!” Magee ran forward, waving his six-shooter in the air. He slowed and then stopped, watching in the gathering light as Kimbrell and his men began their sortie against the eastern side of Fort Supply.
The attack was all wrong. They were spraying bullets wildly and might injure Louisa and Sarah Beth. The two women had to be inside the fort. They had to be. Nothing else made any sense.
Magee took no pleasure seeing how the handful of defenders rose from behind the walls and began firing methodically, not rushing, but keeping a steady curtain of lead flying outward against Kimbrell and his men. Part of the major appreciated the coolness of the defense, even as part of him hated to see the soldiers successfully repel the assault. It made his task all the more difficult now. He had seriously considered going to the fort commander under a truce flag and offering safe passage for the officer and his men in exchange for Louisa and Sarah Beth. And the men who held them prisoner.
Magee wanted to personally shoot those sons of bitches responsible for making him do all the terrible things he had done because they had stolen away Louisa and Sarah Beth. No one kidnapped his family and dragged them across Oklahoma without paying for that heinous crime.
Kimbrell’s attack faltered as the defenders found the range and took out their horses. Magee saw that the walls would have been breached had all his men participated. But the risk to Louisa and Sarah Beth was too great for that. The soldiers in the fort would be like trapped rats. Magee did not want them lashing out and harming his family. He loved them too much to ever see them harmed.
“You should never have gone from the house against my wishes,” Magee said to his wife and daughter, as if they could hear over the gunfire and at this distance. “When we return, I’ll put locks on all the doors and windows. You’ll be safe. No one will ever kidnap you again, not while there’s breath in my body.”
He straightened as he watched Kimbrell and his men ride double to escape the withering fire from the fort. How the soldiers could have any ammunition left after their armory had been looted puzzled Magee, but not unduly. He knew how his men sometimes fell down in their duties. They might have looted the fort armory and left ammunition and weapons behind. Enough, as it turned out, for the handful of soldiers to defend themselves.
