As Billy and Sim went to search for the gunmen’s horses, the dying man yelled to Mackey, “Where you going? Ain’t you gonna kill me? You promised! You said you’d kill me if I told you everything and that’s what I done.”
The man was still yelling when they found the mounts and saddled up. The Boudreauxs shared a horse while Billy, Sim and Mackey got their own. Sim rode off down the trail at a good clip while Mackey led the men back to the others.
As they crossed the creek bed, the man kept yelling, “Concho is going to kill you, you son of a bitch. He’s going to gut you and everyone you’re with. He ain’t like nothing you ever came up against, you bastard. He’s the end. The worst. He’s gonna skin you bastards alive, you hear me? Bastards!”
They did hear him and kept on hearing most of the way back down the trail to where they had left the others. There, they switched for their usual mounts, trailed Sim and the dead men’s horses behind their own and headed back across the creek bed.
By the time they crossed the creek bed again, the man was no longer screaming. His shoulder wound had bled out.
Mackey was glad he hadn’t wasted the bullet. He had a feeling he’d need every round in the days ahead.
Chapter 36
Mackey had Henry Boudreaux ride point and kept Billy and the others close to him. More of Darabont’s men could be nearby. The brush was thicker here, and he didn’t want to lose outriders to another ambush in the greenery. He wanted to have his men close in case anything popped. They were still only eight against twenty or more. Sandborne was still recovering from his head wound, so he couldn’t be counted on for much. That made it over two-to-one against. Better odds than before, but not good enough where he could afford to be reckless.
Mackey knew his group had fared well in their first couple of engagements, but they hadn’t seen much action. Until now, everyone had kept their head and followed orders. Even during the run-in with the Blackfeet, they all kept their powder dry. He took some comfort in that. Not much, but some.
Mackey turned when he heard Billy ride up beside him. “You believe what that bastard said about them avoiding Fort Custer?”
“I believe that’s what he told them.”
“But you don’t believe it’s true.”
“I think Darabont saw what he was up against when he saw how we defended the town. He probably figured we’d spot those four bastards back there and would most likely kill them before they talked. He was hoping we’d lose a few on our side in the bargain and maybe turn back, but I’ll bet he didn’t think we’d get any of them alive. If I was him, I’d have told them the opposite of where I was heading just to be sure.”
Billy rode a little taller in the saddle. “You’re a smart man, Sheriff Mackey, because that’s exactly what I was thinking, too.”
“Where do you think they’re riding next?”
“The trail will tell the tale, but I’d imagine it’ll be straight for Fort Custer. He’s most likely low on supplies and men and ammunition. Probably ride into town looking for any of the above or all three, just like he did in Dover Station. He’ll be more careful this time, though. Tougher to track, too. Fort Custer’s a busy place and it’ll be easier for his tracks to blend in with the others.”
Billy seemed to think about that for a moment. “Wish we knew what the rest of his men looked like.”
“No need. They know what we look like. And I’ve got a feeling that’ll be enough when the time comes.”
Billy had ridden with Mackey long enough to know when to ask questions and when not to. This was one of the times he knew enough to keep his mouth shut. “A while back, I heard Captain Peters got himself named as commander of Fort Custer.”
“I heard the same thing, though he’s Major Peters now.”
“Some history between you two.”
Mackey hated it when Billy played coy. Peters had been one of the men who testified against him at his dismissal hearing from the cavalry. “You know there is.”
“You planning on talking to him about helping us find Darabont?”
“I’m planning on reporting a massacre on a Blackfoot reservation, which is Peters’ duty to investigate. I’m hoping I can wrangle some help with Darabont out of him in the bargain.”
Billy rode quietly for a while. “You think he’s still sore over what happened?”
“You mean about me beating his cousin half to death?”
Billy’s horse threw a stone but he brought her under control. “I was trying to be delicate about it.”
“Nothing delicate about caving in a man’s skull,” Mackey said, “even if he deserved it. I did it, and I paid the consequences for it. And yes, I’d imagine Major Peters is still angry about it.”
“Well, seeing as how we’re headed to the town right outside his fort, maybe you’re not the best one to talk to him. Maybe I should do it.”
“Maybe you’re forgetting Major Peters is from Virginia and wasn’t entirely accepting of people of your persuasion?”
“I didn’t forget,” Billy admitted. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t cave in his skull, too. As I remember, Peters was as much of a son of a bitch as his cousin.”
“Your recollection fails you, deputy. Peters was the grandest son of a bitch I’ve ever known. Worse than Mayor Mason, if that’s possible.” Mackey tried a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold my temper.”
“We’d have better luck sending Sim to talk with him before you’d hold on to your temper.”
Mackey couldn’t argue with that.
* * *
It was going on full dark by the time they reached Fort Custer. Mackey knew the way and didn’t need a lot of sunlight. Besides, the place looked better at night.
The town that had sprung up around the fort was every bit as squat and ugly as any other town he’d seen around any other fort in the West. The town of Fort Custer featured a general store, four hotels of various quality, a livery, a blacksmith, a couple of trading posts and, of course, plenty of whorehouses and saloons to meet the needs of soldiers and travelers alike.
All the stores were already long closed by the time Mackey led his men into town, but the windows of the saloons and whorehouses glowed with activity and possibility.
Mackey knew from experience that there were only two types of people in a town like Fort Custer: the men who’d been ordered to be there and the people who lived off them. That meant shopkeepers, bartenders, and whores. Mackey knew everyone had to be somewhere. And whores had to make a living, too.
He dug a bag of dollar coins out of his saddlebags and tossed it to Billy. “Get the mounts situated over at the livery. Have the stable boys give the horses plenty of feed and rest. We’ll need them as fresh as possible before we head out after Darabont tomorrow.”
“What about the men?”
“Get them set up in rooms wherever you can in town. I want everyone in the same hotel if possible. Get one for me if you can manage it, but not until each of them has a place to lay their head. I’ll sleep in the barn if I need to. Then get them something to eat. They can have beer but no whiskey. I need everyone to have clear heads for the trail tomorrow.”
Billy tucked the bag of coins in his pocket. “What about female companionship?”
Mackey thought about that. “If they want that, they’ll have to pay for it on their own. Just let them know I only want their trigger fingers to be itchy, nothing else.”
Billy was still shaking his head as he led the men toward the livery.
Mackey didn’t turn toward the fort right away. He wasn’t a hesitant man by nature, but he hesitated now. This would be the first time he had set foot on federal property since his dismissal five years before.
He could remember a time when all he had ever wanted out of life was to be a soldier. He had intended on dying in uniform or being drummed out as an old man against his will. But now, he’d give anything to have all memory of his service scrubbed from his memory and he cursed the day he’d ever heard of Adob
e Flats.
He looked through the gates at the squat, crooked buildings just inside the walls of the fort. There was still a light on in the building he knew housed the commander’s office. He could always put off meeting Peters until tomorrow, but decided to get it over with.
He brought Adair around and rode through the gates.
* * *
The fort’s headquarters building was a ramshackle affair warped by the intense heat of the frontier sun. The building was comprised of blistered wood and uneven beams and a sagging porch. The windows all had cracks from the building’s uneven settling in the Montana mud. The building should have been repaired a long time ago. It should’ve been built right in the first place. But he wasn’t in the army anymore. He had no right to complain.
He hitched Adair to the post outside the main building and walked inside.
An aging sergeant with a day’s worth of stubble on his fleshy face sat at a table just inside the door. He stifled a yawn as though he’d just woken up from a long nap.
“What do you want?” the sergeant asked.
“I’m here to see Major Peters. Tell him . . .”
“Don’t you see what time it is? Major don’t take meetings at this time of night and he don’t take meetings with drovers who just come in off the trail.” The sergeant opened a notebook on his desk. “Make an appointment and maybe he’ll see you tomorrow.”
Mackey might be a civilian for over five years, but his days in uniform came to the fore. “Sergeant, my name is Captain Aaron Mackey of the United States Cavalry and I want to see Major Peters immediately. Now get your dead ass out of that chair and tell him I’m here before I beat you to death.”
“Uh oh.” The sergeant flushed and obviously recognized the name. He might not have moved as quickly as Mackey would’ve liked, but he moved as fast as he could into Peters’s office. When he came back outside, he snapped to attention and was a lot paler than when he’d gone in.
“Sorry, sir. The major will see you now.”
Mackey strode into the office and slammed the door behind him, ignoring the sergeant’s salute.
Chapter 37
Mackey hadn’t expected Major Samuel “Pete” Peters to be happy to see him. He wasn’t disappointed.
Upon seeing the commanding officer of Fort Custer, Mackey was reminded of something Pappy used to say: A fish rots from the head down. Major Peters’s condition reflected the rest of his command. His desk was cluttered with papers and opened ledgers. Mackey could see the barrel of a Colt pistol sticking out beneath piles of unread reports.
Peters’s uniform was frayed around the collar and cuffs, the buttons dull. His sleeves bore tobacco and wine stains. He was clean-shaven, but his skin was pale and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His once sandy hair was grayer than Mackey remembered and prematurely thinning.
Just about the only orderly thing about Major Peters was his thin, blond moustache. He’d had it since the day Mackey had first met him, back when Mackey was a young lieutenant and Peters was younger still. The major was Mackey’s junior by four years, but that night, he looked at least a decade older.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Peters said from behind his desk with all the Virginian aristocratic arrogance he could muster. Mackey could remember a time when the affectation had been amusing. But it didn’t seem like an act now. It seemed like a drunk trying to come off better than he was. “I’d offer you a chair, but knowing you as well as I do, you’d probably just take it anyway.”
Mackey remembered Peters always loved a great debate and was in no mood to oblige him. He simply sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk. “Been a while, Pete. How’ve you been faring?”
“Ah, so we’ve advanced to the pleasantries already. You know, I could have you arrested for impersonating an officer just now. You’re not a cavalryman anymore.”
Mackey made a point of looking over Peters. “Neither are you.”
If Peters took offense, he hid it well. He nodded at the star pinned to Mackey’s shirt. “Ah, look at that. I had heard you had become a lawman. I guess that bit of tin takes the sting out of being banished.”
“Only thing I regret is not giving you the same beating I threw your cousin.” Mackey smiled. “Would have, too, if you hadn’t run and gotten the sergeant to pull me off him.”
Peters looked away. Mackey used to see a fire in the brash younger man’s eyes. Now, he didn’t see much of anything at all. “Shall we sit here and discuss the missed opportunities of our youth or do you plan on telling me why you’re here. It certainly isn’t for your wish for my company.”
“I’m here to report an attack on an Indian reservation under your jurisdiction.”
Peters’s bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Attack? What attack? Where? On whom? I haven’t been informed of any attack?”
Mackey knew Peters and knew his concern was more about his career than about the dead or the damage. “I’m informing you now. It happened a few days ago up at the Blackfoot reservation just outside Dover Station. I know you haven’t been up there, even though you’ve been in command of the fort for over a year, but some of your men might know where it is.”
“To hell with you, Aaron. I know exactly where it is.”
Mackey grinned. “Good for you. A bastard by the name of Darabont raided a small village up there. Killed a good number of women and children while the men were out hunting. His group then raided my town. I’d like to report that, too.”
“Darabont,” Peters repeated. “I’ve heard of him. Thought he was further south than here.”
“Yeah, well he’s here now and he’s raising hell wherever he goes. Got a group of women he’s holding captive, too. Plans on selling them once he reaches Mexico, if they live that long.”
“And I take it you’re going after him.”
“That’s another reason why I’m here. I’d like you to lend me some men to help bring him in.”
“I’m sure you would. How many men do you have with you?”
Mackey hedged. “Enough.”
Peters might’ve been on the downswing of a mediocre career, but he was no fool. “How many, Sheriff Mackey?”
“Ten. Got Billy Sunday and Sim Halstead with me, plus two Blackfoot scouts.”
“Sergeants Sunday and Halstead. Your old cohorts.” Peters smiled. “You always were more at ease with the enlisted men, weren’t you? What sort are the others with you?”
If spilling his guts was what it took to get Peters to help, he’d do it. “Four cow punchers and some hunters.”
“Sounds like quite an impressive ensemble. Couldn’t get anyone worth a damn to go with you, could you?”
“They defended Dover Station well enough. Sent ten of Darabont’s men to Hell when the time came.”
“I know you’ve been a civilian for quite some time,” Peters said, “but I hope you haven’t forgotten that defending a fixed position like a fort or a town is completely different than fighting an engagement on open land? I’d have thought the hero of Adobe Flats would realize that.”
“And since you were with me at Adobe Flats, you saw how I can get the most out of men.” He had a grin of his own. “Even you.”
“You were a fine commander in your day, Aaron. No one can ever take that from you. Not even me, as much as I would like.” Peters looked at his filthy tunic and made a show of wiping off an ash that wasn’t there. “Alas, raiding a town isn’t a federal offense unless it’s by hostile natives. I’m afraid I can’t help you with Darabont.”
“Maybe not, but attacking Indians on a reservation is, which is why I need your help to track down the bastards who did this.”
“Of course, after I conduct a full official investigation into the matter.”
“We don’t have that kind of time and you know it.” He could feel his temper beginning to slip away from him. He forced himself to lower his voice. “I’ve got two scouts from Wolf Child’s tribe riding with me right now who can testify to the whole thing. Right here
. Tonight, if that’ll help ease your conscience.”
“Ah, so you’re reporting that you’ve encouraged two scouts to jump the reservation.” Peters sucked his teeth as he began taking notes. “First you impersonate an army official, now you’ve confessed to harboring two renegade Blackfoot dog soldiers. Your federal infractions are piling up more by the second, Aaron.”
Mackey gripped the arms of his chair. “Don’t do this, Pete.”
“I’m doing the only thing I can under the circumstances. My duty. You should appreciate that. Besides, I doubt the sworn testimony of two heathens would hold up under scrutiny from my superiors, especially two that have willfully jumped the reservation under the wing of a disgraced former cavalry officer.”
Mackey knew saying anything else would just make it worse. He clamped his mouth shut instead. He hadn’t formally turned him down yet and might still come around. He also might want to have some more fun with him before he turned him down. Either way, Mackey had no choice but to sit and see what happens.
Peters sat back in his chair and was in no apparent hurry. He even sighed as he looked around his barren office. He pointed at an old barrel in the middle of the floor. “It’s a horrible place, isn’t it? Hasn’t rained in days, but the roof still leaks. I have to dump that bucket out twice a day even during the mildest spring shower. But I get to hear it all day long, drip, drip, drip like a ticking clock reminding me of the passage of time.”
Mackey didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. “Pete, for Christ’s sake . . .”
“I shouldn’t complain, though, should I? I’m doing far better than poor William Pike is. You remember Willie? My cousin? The man you beat into a vegetative state?”
Where the Bullets Fly Page 22
