The Wounded Yankee

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Time to put out the lights, Red,” Zack said, and waited. Yeager struggled to his feet and made a blind attempt to strike. Zack pivoted and caught him under the jaw, driving his head upward. He fell loosely—and lay limp.

  Without another look, Zack walked across to Pfouts and stuck out his hands. “Get these things off!”

  Pfouts stripped the bandages off, and Zack flexed his fingers. He took the gun belt from Clark and strapped it on. Then he stepped back into the street. Ives had not moved, though his eyes were searching the crowd.

  “Your turn, George,” Zack challenged. He walked slowly across the dusty street, his chest rising and falling from the exertion. He halted ten feet away, and paused. His hands were held loosely at his sides, and when he said, “Start blazing away, George,” men behind him scrambled to get out of the line of fire.

  Ives stood motionless, shaken by the brutal beating Yeager had taken. “I’ve got no quarrel with you, Winslow.”

  Zack smiled, and said loudly, “I’ll give you one then. You’re a cheap two-bit card sharp, Ives. Your mother slept with every man in town.” He paused. “That make you mad enough to fight, Ives?”

  Jack Gallagher suddenly caught a sign from Ives and shoved his way through the crowd up to Zack and said, “I’ve got to take your gun, Winslow.”

  Zack shifted to face him. “Why, take it then, Jack. Lots of other honest guns here today.”

  Gallagher realized he was facing a situation he hadn’t bargained for. “You can’t buck the law, Winslow!”

  “Why can’t I? That sorry bunch who call themselves the Innocents do.” He raised his voice and shouted, “Any of you big bad Innocents here? Step out and let’s have a look at you!”

  He looked around and spotted Boone Helm. “Boone, you one of those yellow curs?”

  Boone tried to shrink back, and a jeer went up from the crowd.

  “Get out of my sight, Jack!” Zack said evenly.

  Gallagher flushed, then slunk away. Seeing this, other toughs followed—even Ives saw it.

  Zack said, “I’m trying to think of an insult that’ll make you pull that gun of yours, George—but you’re too yellow. Why don’t you go put on a nightgown with the rest of the girls?”

  Ives was caught and knew he had to do something. He was a tough man, but the scheme had backfired. He sprang into action. “I am Innocent!” he cried.

  Instantly Miller shouted, “Look out, Zack!”

  But Winslow had already seen Long John Frank pull his gun, and he downed the man with one shot. At the same time Billy Page shoved his revolver against Buck Stinson’s upraised hand. Stinson’s gun exploded, and Beidler followed by driving two bullets into Stinson’s body.

  The rest of the Innocents were frozen in place by this show of resistance.

  Zack whirled and sprinted across to face Ives. “Ives, you’re a dog!” he said, slamming his fist into the man’s jaw. He fell as though struck by a log.

  Zack glared at the crumpled mess, then turned and raised his eyes to the second story of the Palace Hotel. Bron’s horror-stricken eyes met his and held—for an instant. Then she whirled and disappeared.

  The crowd milled around the street, talking animatedly; Yeager was out cold; Stinson lay inert; Long John Frank screamed with pain.

  Beidler walked over to Zack. “I dug one grave for Stinson already. Now I’ll dig another—and this time he’ll be in it.” Simpson and Clark joined him.

  “It was rough justice, Winslow. And high time,” Clark said.

  All at once Zack felt tired. He nodded and as he pushed his way through the crowd, he heard Pfouts say, “They’ll all want him to help them clean up the Gulch. Hope he realizes that.”

  Zack headed for Steele’s office, and found the physician waiting for him. “Buck’s awake, Winslow. Wants to see you. I . . . ah . . . told him what you just did.”

  Buck looked up as Zack came in. “Doc was just in. Sure wish I could’ve seen it!” he whispered.

  “I’m glad you didn’t, Buck. The thing is, they didn’t know I could fight.” He pulled up a chair and for the next twenty minutes they talked.

  “You see,” Zack began, “I always was a fighter, first in the streets as a boy, then as a young man. I almost turned professional. I was good enough, but I soon discovered that the professional side was a degrading business. Still, I loved the sport, boxing for the fun of it whenever I could during the time I was a soldier. I had a good trainer who taught me well, and I soon learned that being left-handed was to my advantage, because most fighters got so used to a right hand in their face that they were confused when it was the other way around. That’s what happened to Yeager.”

  “Gosh!” Buck said. “And here we all thought you were afraid to fight! Why didn’t you?”

  “I got sick of fighting in the war. I came out here to find peace and quiet—just leave me alone, the hermit, you know. I don’t like to fight, but when this happened to you and Lillian, I realized some things are worth fighting for—even if you don’t always win.”

  “Gosh!” Buck’s voice was filled with awe.

  At that moment Doc Steele entered the room. “Time’s up. No more company for a while, Buck.”

  “I guess that’s my cue to leave,” Zack said. “I’ll be around tomorrow. Glad you’re better. Don’t want to lose you.”

  He walked straight to the Palace, conscious of stares from every man he passed. He hated it.

  “Billy!” he said as he almost bumped into him. “How many more times are you going to save my life?”

  Page shook his head. “Never mind that, Zack. You’ve got to get out of town. The toughs have already decided you’ll go down.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Why, everybody knows,” he replied. “It won’t do you any good to try to hide at your ranch. They’ll pot you through the window. It better be quick!”

  “Come on, Billy. Let’s go eat,” Zack said, shrugging it off.

  “You’re not leaving?”

  “I came two thousand miles to get away from trouble, Billy. Now it’s caught up with me. I guess there’s no getting away from what’s in store for me.”

  “They’ll kill you, Zack,” Billy said evenly, then added, “Get out, Zack!” Then he was gone.

  He entered the hotel, ignoring the open-mouthed stare of the clerk and climbed to the second floor. He tapped on room 204. Bron opened the door and stepped outside, closing the door behind her. “Lillian woke up, and all the noise scared her.”

  “She see any of that on the street?”

  “No, thank God! Dr. Steele left some laudanum, and when I saw what was happening, I gave her enough to put her out.”

  An awkward silence fell between them. Things had changed, and she was staring at him in a way that disturbed him.

  “What’s wrong, Bron?”

  She fingered a button on her blouse, and shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong.” Then she said, “That’s not so, Zacharias. I’m afraid. Everything is going to pieces!”

  “It’ll all straighten up.”

  “I didn’t know you down there,” she whispered. “You were so—so deadly.”

  “You can’t stop men like Ives and Yeager with a hymnbook, Bron. What do you want?” His face burned with anger as he lashed out. “You don’t want things like what happened to Lillian and Buck to go on, but when I do something about it, you look at me as if I were some sort of monster!”

  She began to tremble. “I don’t know—I don’t know!” she whispered, as she leaned against him, her face on his chest. He held her as she wept. Finally she drew back and looked up at him. “Let’s leave the Gulch! This place is too far gone!”

  He shook his head. “Now you sound like you’re the one who wants to run off and be a hermit, Bron.” He motioned toward the door, saying, “We’ve got Lillian to look out for. And Buck. What about the kids? And what about this town? You came here to preach to the Indians, Bron. Isn’t your God big enough for Alder Gulch?”

  She
blinked as though he had slapped her, and her hand went to her cheek. “Yes, He is that!” she whispered. “He is!” Her eyes met his with a glimmer of the old courage he’d always admired.

  “We’ll not be hermits, then, Zacharias!” She smiled, adding, “See what a strange man you are! Come to be a hermit, and now you’ve got to save the whole town!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  WHAT LOVE MEANS

  As soon as Henry Plummer heard of the incident in front of the Silver Moon, he sent for Ives and Yeager. When they walked in he lit into them. “You two managed to ruin everything I’ve been trying to do in the Gulch!”

  Ives’ anger matched Plummer’s and he yelled back in defense, “We’ll take care of Winslow!”

  “You had your chance, George. What stopped you?”

  “It would have been suicide!” Ives swore. “Beidler was right in front of me, waiting for me to draw—and so were Miller and Clark. They’d set it all up, and as soon as I saw it, I backed off.”

  “You backed off all right,” Plummer growled. “You looked like scum right in front of the whole town.” He glared at Yeager, noting the swollen eyes and missing teeth. “And you let him make a sucker out of you, too.”

  “He’s a pug,” Yeager mumbled through thick lips. “Nobody in camp could stand up to fists like that—but all it takes is one bullet!”

  Plummer’s displeasure creased his smooth face. “All right,” he growled, “it’s done. Red, you go out and help Sam Bunton. George, you’ll have to go back to Virginia City or else leave the country. “

  “I’m not leaving, Henry!” Ives snapped back bitterly. “The only reason I came here was because you sent for me. We’ll put the squeeze on the Gulch tighter than ever—and don’t worry about Winslow.”

  “You’re the man to worry, George. Get him or you’re not worth a dime to us.”

  Ives had gone back primed to face Winslow, but found that he was staying close to his ranch. The outlaw bided his time, but pushed even harder against the town and the miners. Holdups became even more common than they’d been before the encounter with Winslow as Ives drove the Innocents hard. All through August there was scarcely a day when some miner didn’t get held up, and no matter how Simpson and other leaders tried to ship gold, the Innocents were always ready with an ambush.

  “We’ll have to wait for a break,” Simpson told a small group that met in his office. “I wrote to Washington and asked them to put the town under martial law, but they haven’t got the men. All of them are fighting Lee in Virginia.”

  “When the time comes,” Miller nodded, “we’ll organize a vigilante troop—but it wouldn’t work now.” He shook his head, “If Winslow had only said one word about organizing a group after he faced Ives down, it might have happened.”

  “What’s he waiting for?” Simpson asked.

  “I think he feels outside of it, Colonel,” Pfouts shrugged. “He’s in the backwoods and doesn’t have to see what we do every day. Besides, he’s had his hands full taking care of Buck—and those children.”

  “Well,” Clark said, “I don’t wish him any bad luck, but I hope something’ll stir him up! We need him and every man we can get—or we’re going to be eaten alive by the toughs!”

  “Zack caught the hearts of the people in the Gulch when he pounded Yeager and humiliated Ives,” Simpson said. “They’re all watching him. If he made a move, the whole camp would follow—but he’s a loner and won’t do a thing about it.”

  “I think you’re right,” Beidler nodded. “When Yeager and Ives hurt those kids, Zack blew off like gunpowder. Wish he’d do the same when the rest of the world gets hurt—but that’s why he wanted to be a hermit, I guess.”

  The violence increased. One man was killed for a two-dollar nugget on his watch chain. Two others vanished when they tried to ride at night with their money. Three thugs murdered a man in broad daylight between the stable and the gunsmith’s shop in full view of twenty witnesses, then rode away. Most people stayed inside after dark behind locked doors with loaded guns handy. The gold kept coming out of the ground, but large portions went to the toughs.

  ****

  Zack had noticed that Bron no longer smiled at him as much as before the fight. Why, he wasn’t sure. He knew she had been shocked by the violence that boiled out of him, but she was also preoccupied with starting a work among the Indians. He’d given her the money he won from Yeager, explaining, “I don’t know where this money came from, Bron. Probably stolen. I don’t want it. Think you might use it to help the Arapaho?”

  She had taken it without any compunctions. “Old Slew-foot’s had this money long enough. We’ll see what the Lord will do with it!” She and Pfouts had immediately begun rebuilding the mission, often spending whole days on the site overseeing. She had also worked hard on learning the language, and seemed pleased with the way things were going.

  Buck had healed quickly, but Lillian was not herself. She never mentioned going to town anymore; indeed, she refused to go when asked. She became introverted, going for long walks alone and speaking only when addressed. They all were patient with her, but Zack wondered if her mind was affected.

  As for Jeanne, she was almost as quiet as Lillian. Crenna had moved back to his claim, and came by the cabin several times a week, ostensibly to get vegetables, but managed to spend as much time with Jeanne and Hawk as he could.

  Zack had no inclination to go into town either—unless to get supplies, and then never lingered. Yeager had left the area. As for Ives, Zack didn’t go looking for him. Pfouts and Simpson tried to persuade Winslow to attend the special meetings to discuss the problems of the town, but he always refused. The truth was, he had cut Virginia City out of his mind, thinking now of how to help those close to him.

  In the middle of September he came home with two letters, and after supper pored over them until bedtime. Bron wondered what they were as she sat sewing. She and Zack were alone since everyone else had retired early.

  Finally he said, “Bron, I got two letters this morning.” He handed her a sheet of paper. “That’s from Sam’s grandmother back East.”

  Bron read the letter and handed it back. It was filled with thanks to Zack for taking care of Samuel, but she was living with distant relatives, and in very poor health. “Please take care of Sam, be a father to him.”

  “That’s very sad, Zacharias. Poor woman! I know you were hoping there’d be a relative to take him in.”

  “It’d be better for him. A person needs a family.”

  “What will you do?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. Just keep on as we have been.” He put the letter aside and picked up a fat envelope. “I guess I’m thinking he needs a family because of this.”

  “What is it?”

  He pulled several sheets out and laid them on the table. “Come and look at this, Bron.” When she stood beside him, he said, “The letter’s from a relative of mine—an old man named Whitfield Winslow. He’s trying to get in touch with all the living members of the Winslow family.”

  “What a lovely idea!” she exclaimed. “And what are all these names with the lines to them?”

  “A family tree. Sorta looks like a tree, doesn’t it? All start with one couple, then their children—and so on down to me.” He pointed. “Look—there’s my name. And right over it, my mother’s and father’s.”

  She read the names out loud: “Silas Winslow and Martha Howard.” She studied the others. “And George Winslow was your grandfather.”

  “Yes. He’s dead, but I remember him very well.”

  She was fascinated by the novelty of the chart. “I never knew there was anything like this! Do you know any of these people?”

  “Well, some of them. Father used to talk about them, and I was quite impressed. Look here, Christmas Winslow—he was my grandfather’s brother. He was born on Christmas Day in Valley Forge. His father was in Washington’s army.”

  “Christmas Winslow,” she smiled. “What a nice name!”
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  “He was a rough character—at least when he was young. Went to prison. Another Winslow who was sort of famous got him out. Captain Paul Winslow. He was a naval hero in the War of 1812.”

  “What happened to Christmas?”

  “He went west, Father said. Married an Indian girl—see here’s her name—White Dove.” Zack stared at the chart, then shook his head. “It’s odd, Bron. Their son was named Sky Winslow, and the letter says he’s Jefferson Davis’s right-hand man—and has several sons in the Confederate Army.”

  An odd look crossed his face. “You know what I thought as soon as I read that? I may have killed one of my own family! This man, Captain Whitfield Winslow, was in the U.S. Navy and he says he has a grandson named Lowell who’s in the Union Army. Winslows fighting against Winslows,” he murmured. “That’s sad—this world makes no sense, Bron. None at all.”

  “It will one day—when Jesus comes back and makes a new heaven and a new earth!”

  “A new world,” he mused. “Look at the name at the very top—Gilbert Winslow. He came over on the Mayflower. He was looking for a new world—and I guess it was, for him. But it’s sure gotten spoiled!”

  “This country of yours isn’t like other countries,” Bron said. “It was founded by men and women who came to make a place where God could be worshiped freely. I think after this war, He’ll make it a better place, and people will come from all over the world to find a land where they can worship God.”

  He was standing so close to her that he could smell the fragrance of her hair. It was the first time in weeks that she had allowed the warmth of her smile when she looked at him. He remembered how he’d kissed her in anger. Now he had the impulse to kiss her again, but in a different way. Yet even as he watched, she discerned what was in his mind, and the guarded expression returned. “I’d like to hear more about your family sometime,” she said, and moved away. “It’s late. Good night, Zacharias.”

  He stared at the door as it clicked shut, feeling the wall she had put between them. Nothing I can do about it, I guess. He picked up the chart to put it away, and sighed, Strange. I’m one member of a family that’s spread out all over the country. He had not thought of it a great deal since he was an only child, and there was little family close by. He wondered what his relatives were like, and if he’d ever meet any of them. Even after he went to bed, he kept thinking about the chart. Family is important. We need people. Got to do something for the kids. Soon he drifted off to sleep, but the next morning he awoke with an idea.