Kinch Riley and Hickok and Cody

by Matt Braun

  “You surprise me, Mr. Cody,” Reynolds said curtly. “Your duty was to the mission. Those children are a civilian matter.”

  “Beg your pardon, Colonel,” Hickok interrupted. “Cody was responsible for seven hostiles bitin’ the dust and he recovered them stolen horses. Cap’n Meinhold will bear me out.”

  Meinhold cleared his throat. “Apart from the children, Colonel, I’d be forced to agree. Mr. Cody performed in an exemplary manner.”

  “What am I to do with you, Cody?” Reynolds asked in a bemused voice. “You redeem yourself even in the midst of willful disobedience.”

  Cody looked abashed. “I’ll go along with whatever you say, Colonel.”

  The door swung open. Sergeant Major O’Meara stepped inside, shoulders squared. “Colonel, sir!” he boomed. “Telegraph for Mr. Cody just come over the wire.”

  “How providential,” Reynolds said dryly. “Don’t let me stop you, Mr. Cody. Go right ahead.”

  O’Meara handed over the telegram. Cody unfolded the form and quickly scanned the message. He read it through again.

  HAVE CONTRACTED THREE-MONTH RUN OF STAGE SHOW IN NEW YORK’S GRANDEST THEATER. YOUR PRESENCE REQUIRED HERE POSTHASTE. TELEGRAPH DATE OF ARRIVAL.

  NED BUNTLINE

  Cody looked up. “It’s from my stage partner in New York. Says I’ve got to come right away. He’s contracted a theater.”

  “Come now, Mr. Cody,” Reynolds said. “Your leave of absence doesn’t start for another week. You know that.”

  “Yessir, no argument there. But what’s a week more or less? He wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

  Cody’s arrangement with the army permitted him a leave of absence for the months February through April. The hostile tribes seldom broke winter camp before early May, and the raiding season was usually delayed for a spring hunt. By then, he would have returned to duty as Chief of Scouts.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Reynolds conceded. “Quite frankly, I’d rather not consider the thought of disciplinary action. We’ll leave it that the success of your mission offsets the matter of the children. You have your extra week, Mr. Cody.”

  “I’m obliged, Colonel,” Cody said gratefully. “I’ll make it up to you come spring.”

  “Just don’t return with any children.”

  “No, sir, I shorely won’t.”

  There was a sense of relief all around. After a round of handshakes, Cody and Hickok collected the children from the orderly room. Outside headquarters, they walked toward the hitch rack where their horses were tied. Hickok gave Cody a sideways glance.

  “I take it you’re headed East.”

  “There’s an evenin’ train out of North Platte. Got plenty of time to make it.”

  “You’re forgettin’ something, ain’t you?” Hickok said. “What are we gonna do with these kids?”

  Cody grinned. “How’d you like to see New York City?”

  * * *

  The sun dropped steadily westward. Up ahead was a creek lined with trees, and Cody thought it a good spot to allow the horses a drink. He figured they would make North Platte with time to spare.

  Earlier, before leaving Fort McPherson, he and Hickok had gathered their gear from his quarters. They were prone to travel light, and their war bags were strapped behind their saddles. Yet the matter of New York still hung between them like a gaseous shroud. Cody decided to broach it from a new angle.

  “Look here now,” he said. “We’re dutybound to see that these kids get home. What better way than to take ’em ourselves?”

  “You’re wastin’ your breath,” Hickok said gruffly. “I ain’t going to New York, and that’s that.”

  “What’ve you got against New York?”

  “Too damn many people to suit my style.”

  “You’ve got nothin’ else to do,” Cody persisted. “They won’t be hiring a marshal for Ellsworth till May at the earliest. You said so yourself.”

  “Yeah?” Hickok grumped. “So what?”

  “So what’s your plans between now and then?”

  “There’s lots of gamblin’ dives between here and Kansas. You might recollect I’m a fair-to-middlin’ poker player.”

  “Dollar here, dollar there,” Cody said dismissively. “Why not make yourself some real money?”

  Hickok squinted at him. “What exactly are we talkin’ about here?”

  “Couple of hundred a week, steady work. That’s a sight more than you make wearin’ a badge.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “There’s a spot for you in my stage play. The show business pays mighty good.”

  “You must’ve popped your cork. Whatever gave you the notion I’d go on the stage?”

  “You’re a natural,” Cody insisted. “All you have to do is stand up there and talk. Somebody else even writes the lines.”

  “Thanks all the same,” Hickok said doggedly. “Think I’ll stick to poker.”

  “What about the kids? You started this and you ought to see it through. Never knew you to be a quitter.”

  Katherine and Augustus were listening intently. From talk among the cavalry troopers, they’d heard how Cody and Hickok routed the Sioux raiders and killed seven warriors. By now they idolized the plainsmen in the way of saints or mythical dragon slayers. Augustus squirmed around in his saddle.

  “Won’t you please come with us, Wild Bill? Even if you never go on the stage, you’ll like New York. I just know you will!”

  “Yes, please do,” Katherine urged. “Going home wouldn’t be the same without you, Wild Bill. We so want you to meet Mother and Father.”

  Hickok suddenly sat straighter. The treeline bordering the creek was some three hundred yards to their direct front. His eyes narrowed.

  “We got trouble,” he said solemnly. “There’s somebody in them trees.”

  “You sure?” Cody said.

  “Damn right I’m sure. Somebody’s fixin’ to ambush us. Might be Injuns.”

  “We can’t take any chances with the kids. We’ll have to run for it.”

  “You kids listen to me,” Hickok ordered. “When I give you the word, boot your horses and take off. Got that?”

  The children nodded, their features taut with fear. Hickok barked a command and the four of them wheeled their horses west at a gallop. The distant treeline spurted flashes of smoke, followed an instant later by the rolling crack of rifles. Katherine’s saddlehorn exploded, and Augustus’s hat went sailing in the air. The angry buzz of slugs whistled past Hickok and Cody. They pounded off at a dead lope.

  Otto Richter watched them from the trees. On the ride south, trailing them to Fort McPherson, he’d realized that all his options had been foreclosed. Army officials were now aware of the situation, and simply killing Cody and Hickok solved nothing. There was only one solution that would end the problem. He’d instructed Bohannon to kill the children.

  “Gawdammit!” Bohannon raged. “Something must’ve tipped them off.”

  “Let’s get mounted,” Richter told him. “We have no time to lose.”

  “What’s your hurry?”

  “I think we can assume they’re headed for North Platte. Do you agree?”

  “Yeah, that’d be my guess.”

  “I’ve just upped the price,” Richter said. “Five thousand if those children are dead by nightfall.”

  “Uh-huh,” Bohannon said, his eyes inquisitive. “What about Hickok and Cody?”

  “I’m interested only in the children.”

  “And I did hear right—five thousand?”

  “Precisely.”

  Bohannon ordered his men to get mounted.

  * * *

  Cody came out of the livery stable. He had returned the rented horses, and without telling Hickok, arranged to stable their horses. Hickok was waiting with the children on the boardwalk.

  “We’d better eat,” Cody said. “Never know what kind of vittles you’ll find on a train.”

  “Good idea,” Hickok commented. “Wouldn’t
want to send you off hungry.”

  Augustus looked at him. “Aren’t you coming with us, Wild Bill?”

  “I’m still thinkin’ on it, sport. Haven’t made up my mind.”

  They crossed the street to the Bon Ton Café. A waitress took their orders and a sense of gloom settled over the table. Cody finally broke the silence.

  “You think it was Injuns that tried to bushwhack us?”

  “Maybe,” Hickok said thoughtfully. “’Course, that’d be a helluva coincidence, wouldn’t it? Tangle with one bunch yesterday and stumble across another today.”

  “So what are you sayin’?”

  “I got to wonderin’ about that Richter feller. Could be he’s still after these here kids.”

  Cody studied on it a moment. “Way it sounded, there was at least six rifles, maybe more. Where would Richter get all them guns?”

  “Don’t know,” Hickok admitted. “Unless he’s trailin’ us with the sheriff and a pack of deputies. They was in pretty thick, you’ll recollect.”

  “I suppose stranger things have happened.”

  The children seemed to cringe at the mention of Richter. The waitress returned with their orders, and the men let the subject drop. When they came out of the café, dusk had fallen over North Platte. They walked toward the train station.

  At the depot, Cody purchased four tickets. The eastbound train ground to a halt as he emerged onto the platform. He handed one of the tickets to Hickok.

  “You’re all set.”

  Hickok exhaled heavily. “Haven’t said I was going to New York.”

  “I don’t think you’ll let the kids down. They’re dependin’ on you.”

  “You shore know how to twist the knife.”

  “Oh, please, Wild Bill,” Katherine pleaded, tugging at his sleeve. “Won’t you please do it for us?”

  “Well, little missy—”

  Hickok abruptly pushed her aside. He saw a group of riders step down from their horses at the west end of the platform. In the spill of light from the depot windows, he counted eight men. One of them was Otto Richter.

  “Do what I tell you,” he said roughly to Cody. “Get the kids on the train. Now!”

  Cody obeyed without question. He grabbed each of the children by the arm and rushed toward the center coach. They were the only ones boarding the train, and the debarking passengers were already moving through the stationhouse. As they neared the coach, the men at the end of the platform went for their pistols. The conductor ducked back onto the train.

  A ragged volley of shots whistled across the platform. The slugs pinged off the side of the coach, one plucking at Augustus’s coatsleeve and another nipping the hem of Katherine’s skirt. Hickok pulled a Colt Navy with either hand, thumbing the hammers as the barrels came level. He opened fire in a drumming roar, the shots blending together. Two men pitched forward on their faces.

  The train lurched into motion. Hickok backed across the platform, alternately firing his Colts with methodical precision. Axel Bohannon staggered, drilled through the chest, and slumped to the ground. Another man spun away, spurting blood from his throat, and collapsed in a heap. Hickok fired again, then stepped aboard as the train got under way. Cody and the children were waiting in the vestibule.

  “You hit?” Cody demanded. “You all right?”

  Hickok shrugged him off. “Looks like you shanghaied me after all.”

  The train gathered speed. As it pulled away from the depot, Richter and Turk Johnson darted from the shadows. They sprinted along the track bed and Johnson leaped onto the observation deck of the last passenger coach. He dragged Richter aboard.

  The train sped through the night from North Platte.

  CHAPTER 11

  CODY WAS his own best press agent. He quickly befriended the conductor and set about making arrangements for their trip East. A sizable gratuity ensured they would travel in style.

  The conductor hardly needed his palm greased. He was almost euphoric to have Buffalo Bill Cody and Wild Bill Hickok aboard his train. An avid reader of dime novels, he accorded them the courtesy reserved for dignitaries. They were shown to a parlor car forward of the passenger coaches.

  Hickok had never heard of a parlor car. The conductor explained that it was something new, a car with four private compartments. The Union Pacific was testing the cars between New York and San Francisco, providing luxury accommodations for wealthy travelers and businessmen. Three of the four compartments were already occupied.

  The plainsmen agreed that it was a godsend. With a little planning, the compartment was spacious enough for four. There was a double bunk bed, similar to the Pullman sleeping cars, and a small sitting area by the window. There was even a private lavatory, with running water and a commode. They would have no problem keeping an eye on the children.

  Katherine and Augustus were still shaken by the gunfight at the train station. Yet, however great their fear, they were awed by the memory of Hickok blazing away with a pistol in either hand. The reality was far more exciting, and frightening, than anything they might have imagined from dime novels. Hickok told them to get settled in, and wisely dodged their questions about the shootout. He motioned Cody into the passageway outside the compartment.

  “Need to talk,” he said, waiting for Cody to close the door. “What happened back there at the depot don’t make sense.”

  “I know,” Cody said. “Where the deuce did Richter find himself an army?”

  “That’s not what I’m getting at. Them bastards wasn’t shootin’ at me, or you. They was shootin’ at the kids.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “There wasn’t a bullet come anywhere near me. Them kids was drawin’ all the fire.”

  “You serious?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m serious. You don’t believe me, take a look at their clothes. Them holes is bullet holes.”

  “I’ll be jiggered,” Cody said, dumbfounded. “Why would Richter want to kill the kids?”

  Hickok nodded soberly. “Told you it don’t make any sense.”

  “We’re missin’ something here somewheres. Richter was the one that abducted them from New York—”

  “And sent ’em West on the Orphan Train.”

  “—plannin’ all along they’d be adopted by some farmer off in the middle of nowhere.”

  “So when that got bollixed, he switched tactics. Set about tryin’ to kill’em.”

  “Yeah, but why?”

  They muddled on it a moment. “There’s things we don’t know,” Hickok finally said. “How’d the kids get stole from their folks in the first place? Sounds like Richter pulled it off mighty easy.”

  Cody tugged at his goatee. “You think their folks hired Richter?”

  “I reckon that’d be one answer. All we know for sure is that Richter was bound and determined they’d never return East.”

  “Which means there’s liable to be somebody in New York that feels the same way. Somebody willin’ to kill them.”

  Hickok grimaced. “Hate to think it’s their folks, but who the hell knows? Stranger things have happened.”

  “You’re right,” Cody said gravely. “We’ve got to be real careful when we hit New York City. Nobody’s to be trusted.”

  “Meanwhile, we don’t say nothin’ to the kids. Let’em think everything’s hunky-dory.”

  “I’m mighty glad you’re along for the ride.”

  “Guess there wasn’t no choice when the shootin’ started.”

  In the compartment, they found the children seated on the lower bunk. Hickok suddenly thought of something he’d overlooked. He shot Cody a quick glance.

  “Hope you wasn’t plannin’ to stop off and see Lulu. Doubt it’d be wise to lay over in St. Louis.”

  Cody caught the warning in his voice. “No, we’ll go straight through to New York. I’ll see Lulu another time.”

  Augustus was overcome with curiosity. “Who is Lulu, Buffalo Bill?”

  “Why, she’s my wife, young feller. Her a
nd the children live in St. Louis.”

  “You’re married?” Katherine said, visibly shocked by the news. “You have children?”

  “Shore do,” Cody acknowledged. “Arta, that’s my daughter, she’s just turned six. Kit, that’s the boy, he’s two now.”

  “Kit—?”

  “Well, he’s named after another famous scout, Kit Carson. He was a mite before your time.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Going on seven years, come March. Time flies when you’re not lookin’.”

  Hickok seated himself on an upholstered bench across from the bunks. He took a powder flask and a pouch of lead balls from his war bag and began reloading his pistols. Katherine continued to question Cody, and as he listened, he thought again that it was a strange marriage. But then, Lulu was a strange woman.

  Her given name was Louisa, though everyone called her Lulu. She was originally from St. Louis, a religious girl educated in a convent. Cody married her shortly after the Civil War, and she’d followed him West on his first posting as a scout. Yet she was appalled by army life, and with the birth of their daughter, she returned to St. Louis. She tolerated an occasional visit by Cody.

  Hickok was often amused by what passed for marital bliss. Lulu was content with the children and her home in St. Louis, and in their entire married life, Cody had never spent longer than a month at a time in her bed. As he reflected on it, Hickok thought his friend was home only long enough to sire children. Cody much preferred to be off with the cavalry, chasing Indians.

  “Do you miss your wife?” Katherine asked. “How long has it been since you were home?”

  Cody wasn’t sure. “Well, near as I recollect, it was last summer sometime. June, maybe July.”

  “Goodness,” Katherine said, surprised. “Augustus and I don’t mind if you stop in St. Louis. Wouldn’t it make your wife very happy?”

  “Just bet it would.” Cody exchanged a furtive look with Hickok. “But I’ve got business in New York with this stage play. I’ll stop by next time through.”

  Katherine saw the look pass between them. Her attention turned to Hickok. “Are you married too, Wild Bill?”

  Cody laughed. “Wild Bill’s not the marryin’ kind. Scared he’ll get his wings clipped.”