Fort Hatred

by Corba Sunman

  They rode surrounded by absolute silence, and were discomfited by the blazing sun. The range was illimitable. Moran, despite his thoughts, was constantly alert, ready to plunge into action at the first sign of trouble. He was faintly surprised when Bessemer interrupted his musing.

  ‘Shorten’s spread is just over the next ridge, Captain. And begging your pardon, sir, I don’t think it would be wise to ride in and confront him. You might have to kill him before you can question him.’

  ‘Does he know you by sight?’

  ‘We know each other, sir, but he wouldn’t let a small detail like that change his intention. He’d shoot me in the back without a pang of conscience.’

  ‘We’ll ride in openly. If he caught either of us sneaking around he’d have every right to start shooting. I’m beginning to look forward to confronting him – a man who would shoot down innocent callers without batting an eyelid. Let’s get on and do our duty.’

  Bessemer urged his horse forward and they ascended the rise before them. From the crest, they saw a small ranch consisting of a shack, barn, and two large corrals, one of which contained more than twenty horses. There was no sign of humans. The front door of the shack was closed, as was the door of the barn, and deep silence was spread over the place like a heavy blanket.

  ‘Looks like there’s no one home,’ Bessemer observed.

  ‘We’ll take a look from closer in,’ Moran decided. ‘Just remember we’re here to seek information. No shooting unless you’re forced to defend yourself.’

  Bessemer nodded and led the way down the slope. They reached the gate and crossed the yard. Moran saw that a pane of glass was missing from the window beside the door of the shack, and a tingle of some sixth sense made its presence felt in his breast. He reined in twenty feet from the shack, and his voice echoed when he called stridently.

  ‘Hello, the shack. I’ve come to talk to Stark Shorten. I’m Provost Captain Moran on duty from the fort.’

  The echoes of his voice were still sounding when a shot was fired through the broken window. A bullet struck the ground beside Moran’s horse and whined menacingly across the yard.

  ‘Get the hell outta my yard. You ain’t got no business here. My next shot will let daylight through you. Get out while the going is good.’

  ‘I’m here on Army business, and I’ll talk to you before I leave. There’s no two ways about that, Shorten, so show yourself and cut out the tough act.’

  The rifle was fired again, and Moran heard the slug pass his right ear within a couple of inches. Moments passed in a deathly silence, and then Moran spoke again.

  ‘OK, you’ve made your point. Come out now and we’ll get down to business. I’ve got other things to do today and you’re wasting my time.’

  The silence dragged on, and then a voice called out.

  ‘And what’ll you do if I don’t come out?’

  ‘I’ll come in there and drag you out. Don’t mess with the Army, Shorten; you can’t beat the cavalry. I can put twenty men around here; or fifty if I have to. What are you getting so het up over? I only want to talk.’

  ‘You’re sure giving him some good advice, Captain,’ Bessemer observed.

  ‘Let’s hope he’ll accept it,’ Moran replied.

  A moment later, the door of the shack was opened and a big man stepped into the doorway, holding a rifle which immediately covered Moran. Shorten was at least three inches over six feet and built like an ox. His battered black Stetson was pushed to the back of his head, revealing a mass of curly brown hair. His expression was like that of a she-bear with cubs to protect – face contorted, eyes filled with passion.

  ‘OK, so you don’t scare easy,’ Shorten snarled. ‘What do you want with me? I’ve got a busy day myself – the horses in my corral have to be delivered to the fort today. So get to it. I’m listening.’

  ‘Are you gonna drive twenty horses all by your lonesome?’ Moran demanded.

  ‘So you looked over my place before showing yourself, huh?’ Shorten grinned.

  ‘It’s good military practice,’ Moran replied.

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve got a couple of men riding with me, and they are in this shack right now, covering you with their guns. So don’t go getting any fancy ideas about pulling a fast one on me.’

  ‘You talk like a man with a guilty conscience,’ Moran observed. ‘I want to talk to you about Trooper Clark. You knew him well before he was jailed, and when he deserted and broke out of the guard house at the fort, he didn’t have any friends he could turn to except you. Have you seen him since his escape?’

  ‘You’re wasting your time if you’ve come all this way to ask fool questions like that,’ Shorten said. ‘Who I see and talk to is my business.’

  ‘Answer my question.’ Moran’s voice cut like a whip.

  Shorten’s grin widened. ‘Mister, you’re saying all the wrong things. I ain’t wearing one of your fancy blue uniforms so don’t come into my yard and talk to me like I should jump to your tune. I ain’t seen Clark since before he went into the guardhouse, and that’s an end to it.’

  Moran watched Shorten turn and re-enter the shack. Bessemer laughed and Moran frowned at him.

  ‘We’ve wasted a handful of time this morning,’ Bessemer observed.

  Moran smiled. ‘Is that what you think? Tell me, where is Shorten going today?’

  ‘You heard him. He’s taking some horses to the fort.’

  ‘And we’ll be there waiting for him.’ Moran turned his horse and started for the gate. He had a tiny shiver of anticipation between his shoulder blades because Shorten was behind him. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said sharply, and touched spurs to his horse; urging it into a faster gait.

  Bessemer increased his pace, and drew level with Moran as they passed through the gateway. The sound of a shot sounded behind them and Bessemer uttered a cry and crumpled in his saddle before pitching sideways to the ground. Moran thrust home his spurs and his horse leapt forward. As he hauled on his reins to seek cover, a second shot rang out and he felt the tug of a bullet against his tied-down holster. His mount ran into a gully and they were lost to sight to Shorten and his two-man crew. Moran sprang out of his saddle, pulled his carbine out of its saddle boot, and ran back to the edge of his cover.

  He saw Bessemer stretched out in the dust just this side of the gate. The sergeant was unmoving, and Moran could see blood seeping out of a wound in his back. Another shot came from the shack, struck the ground within an inch of Moran’s face and sprayed dust into his eyes. He ducked, wiped his eyes, and then got up and ran into the yard, weaving from side to side. Shots came at him but he kept moving, his carbine in his left hand and his pistol cocked and ready in his right hand. . . .

  CHAPTER THREE

  A puff of gun smoke erupted from the broken window and Moran fired at it without seeming to take aim. A bullet whined by his head but he ignored it, and he fired two more slugs through the window while moving for cover at the right hand side of the shack. A man came out of the shack at a run, triggering a stream of lead at Moran, who dropped to one knee and sent a quick shot in reply.

  The man fell face down in the dust and did not move again. Moran got up and ran for the window of the shack. He saw movement there and tossed a slug into it. He saw a quick movement and glimpsed a figure falling to the floor. He reached the wall of the shack beside the window and paused, breath searing his throat and shoulders heaving. Sweat ran down his face.

  ‘Hold your fire, Soldier-boy,’ Shorten yelled from inside. ‘My two men are down and out of it. They started the shooting against my orders. I ain’t such a fool I’d tangle with the military while I’m working for them.’

  ‘Come out of the shack with your hands up,’ Moran rasped.

  He waited until Shorten emerged from the building with his hands in the air. Moran approached him from behind and searched him for weapons. There was a set grin on Shorten’s slack lips.

  ‘You sure are a heller, Captain,’ he observed. �
��Now you better tell me how I’m gonna get those horses to the fort, huh?’

  ‘You won’t be taking them – at least not today. I’m gonna put you in the fort guardhouse and then send for the town marshal to come and pick you up. You’ll face several charges, and one of them will be for murder. My sergeant looks like he’s dead, so head over there to him and we’ll check his condition.’

  ‘I didn’t fire a shot in that little spat. My two men got out of hand, and I reckon they’re both dead. You could have waited until they helped me drive the horses into the fort before shooting them.’

  Moran nudged Shorten’s shoulder with the muzzle of his rifle. ‘Cut the gab and get moving,’ he ordered.

  They went to where Bessemer was stretched out, and Moran could see that the sergeant was dead.

  ‘Pack him on his horse and then we’ll take a look at your two men.’

  Moran watched Shorten closely as the sergeant’s body was hoisted on the back of his mount. Shorten led the horse to the front of the shack. They checked the other two men, found both were dead, and Moran made Shorten get two horses and load the cadavers. They set out for the fort, Shorten leading the three bodies while Moran rode at his back with his right hand resting on the butt of his holstered pistol. Shorten was passive during the ride, but when they reached the fort, he stirred in his saddle and gazed at Moran.

  ‘You’d better think over what you’re gonna say about what happened at my place,’ he said. ‘I didn’t shoot the sergeant, and you’ve got my two men to blame for what happened. That’s the easy way to handle it. If you’re gonna accuse me of murder then you better think again. There ain’t no evidence to prove I did it, and I’ll walk free at the trial, so why make needless trouble?’

  ‘I’ll tell the truth about what happened,’ Moran retorted. ‘There was no need for any shooting at the shack. I told you what I wanted – to talk about Clark – and you pushed for gun play and three men are dead as a result. As for you not firing a shot in that fracas, I saw you shooting at me and the sergeant, and that fact will go into my statement.’

  ‘You won’t make that stick against me.’ Shorten grinned. ‘I got friends in the fort, and in town. You’ll be facing a mess of trouble if you charge me with anything.’

  Moran leaned towards Shorten’s horse and struck it on the rump with the flat of his hand. The animal jumped forward and ran into the fort, and the dead men went along as their horses dragged at their reins.

  The sentry on the veranda in front of the headquarters building turned out the guard when he saw dead men in Moran’s party, and a sergeant and three troopers appeared as Moran stepped down from his saddle. Sergeant Major Craven emerged from his office and saluted Moran.

  ‘You’ve had some trouble, sir,’ he observed. He gazed at Shorten, sitting slumped and surly in his saddle. ‘Is he under arrest, Captain?’

  ‘There are several charges against him,’ Moran said, ‘and murder is one of them.’

  Craven’s eyes turned cold when he recognized Sergeant Bessemer face down across his saddle. He looked into Moran’s face, and his lips barely moved when he spoke.

  ‘Did Shorten kill him, sir?’

  ‘I didn’t see the incident.’ Moran spoke through his teeth.

  ‘But Shorten is under arrest on suspicion?’

  Moran nodded. Craven turned to the sergeant of the guard. ‘Sergeant Grimes, take the prisoner to the guardhouse and put him behind bars. I’ll see that Marshal Bowtell is informed that we have a civilian prisoner.’

  Two troopers hauled Shorten out of his saddle and led him protesting vociferously to the guardhouse. He scuffled with his escort at the door of the prison, and yelled at the watching Moran.

  ‘I want to see Mallory the lawyer. Get him out here fast.’

  ‘Is Major Harmon back from town?’ Moran asked Craven.

  ‘Not yet, Captain. The Major usually makes a day of it when he leaves the fort.’

  ‘I’ll write out a report of my visit to Shorten’s place, and then I’ll return to town. I’ll see the marshal about Shorten. I think we’d better keep him here while I’m making my investigation. I’ll see Shorten’s lawyer, too.’

  ‘Right, sir. By the way, I’ve moved you into different quarters – a room that is not overlooked by Spyglass Hill.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Sergeant-Major.’

  ‘I’ll send for your orderly and he’ll show you to your new quarters.’ Craven turned to the nearest trooper and rapped out an order that sent him off at the double, to return within moments with Trooper Myhill following.

  The new quarters were on the other side of the housing block, and Moran was pleased to see his uniform laid out and ready to wear.

  ‘Is there anything I can get you before you go into town, sir?’ Myhill asked.

  Moran shook his head. He changed into his uniform and stamped into his boots.

  ‘Take my mount to the lines, have a fresh horse saddled for me, and I’ll ride into town. It’s time I started looking around for Clark. I’ve got a hunch that he is still around here, and I need him behind bars.’

  He sat reading his copy of the summary of evidence until Myhill returned, and left his quarters to find a deep-bodied grey waiting for him. He mounted and left the fort, his mind busy as he cantered to Cactusville. There were one or two points in the sheets of evidence that needed checking out, and he was keen to get to grips with the problems. Someone in the fort had aided Clark’s escape, and he had to start asking questions.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When he reached town, Moran went to the law office, and found Art Bowtell at his desk, reading a newspaper. The Marshal leaned back in his seat when Moran walked in, a quizzical look on his rugged face.

  ‘What happened out at Shorten’s ranch?’ Bowtell demanded. ‘A range hand dropped in here an hour ago and reported hearing shooting coming from the direction of Shorten’s place. He went in to look around and found blood in the dust of the yard and Shorten gone. I knew you were heading out that way earlier, so I reckoned you had something to do with it. What happened?’

  Moran explained, and Bowtell shook his head.

  ‘I was afraid that might be the answer,’ he mused. ‘Shorten is an oddball. But I didn’t think he was crooked.’

  ‘What makes you think he’s crooked?’

  ‘Why else would he start shooting when you dropped in on him? Did you find any sign of Clark out there?’

  ‘I didn’t get the chance to look, but I’ll go out there again and check around. I want to talk to Mallory the lawyer.’

  ‘He’s the first man Shorten would ask for. Watch out for Mallory; he’s sharp as a new pin.’

  ‘Aren’t all lawyers?’ Moran countered. ‘Do you know where Major Harmon goes to when he’s in town?’

  ‘I ain’t seen him around, but I can tell you where he’ll be – the hotel. The widow Mrs Grant runs it. Her husband, Charles Grant, was shot in the back more than a year ago.’

  ‘Did you get his killer?’

  ‘No. He was shot by someone using a rifle from a great distance.’

  ‘Like Lieutenant Sandwell, huh? Shot on the parade ground in the fort from someone on Spyglass Hill.’ Moran nodded. ‘I’ll be getting around to that particular incident when I’ve handled the assignment that brought me here.’

  ‘You’re gonna be real busy from now on,’ Bowtell retorted.

  Moran left the law office and looked around the street. He caught a glimpse of a blue uniform down by the bank and watched Major Harmon walk along the sidewalk to a doorway almost next to the saloon. Moran headed in the same direction, and halted in front of the door by which Harmon had entered the building. There was a brass plate beside the door. On it was a name – Vernon Mallory – and underneath an inscription: ATTORNEY AT LAW.

  When Moran put his hand on the door to open it, someone inside the building grasped the handle and turned it. Moran stepped back. The door opened and Major Harmon emerged. Harmon halted in shock at the sight of Moran. H
is expression changed and a spark of emotion came to his sharp features. It was gone in an instant, but not before Moran had noted it. Moran was surprised when the word guilt blossomed in his mind, and he wondered what the Major could be guilty of.

  ‘Hello, Captain. You’re doing your investigation, I suppose. What have you discovered so far?’

  ‘Today’s activities will be on your desk first thing in the morning, Major. When I write a daily report, I always include an assessment of what I’ve learned and how it fits into the investigation. That assessment comes to me as a result of constructing a mental picture of what I am doing and thinking. That’s the way I work, and it usually leads me to the man or men I want to arrest. But I’ll tell you this. I went to talk to a horse rancher this morning who is a close friend of Clark, and shooting broke out. Sergeant Bessemer was killed, as were the two drovers who worked for the horse trader.’

  Harmon’s face turned pale. ‘Who is the horse trader?’ he demanded.

  ‘A man named Shorten. Tipple said he’d heard that Clark and Shorten were friends. I heard that Clark was still in the area, so I thought Shorten was a good bet to question.’

  ‘What happened to Shorten?’

  ‘I arrested him and lodged him in the guardhouse at the fort. I’ve got some more questions to put to him. I’ll charge him with Sergeant Bessemer’s murder, and there will be other charges.’

  ‘Why did Shorten attack you?’ Harmon’s face was expressionless but he was tense and seemed worried.

  ‘That’s one of the questions I want Shorten to answer.’

  ‘And you are here now to see Mallory, are you?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Mallory is out at the moment so you’ll have to come back later. I’ve just asked for him and was told he won’t be around until this evening. Did you get anything from Shorten about why he attacked you?’