Badman's Pass

by R. W. Stone

  We rode over hundreds of miles that no Yankee unit had traveled before, often making fifty to seventy-five miles a day. At one point, just after Newton Station, a stray Confederate brigade picked up our tracks and almost rode right up our tail. Fortunately, one of the scouts in our unit, an old coot nicknamed the Parson, knew of a route through some of the nastiest swamps I’d ever seen. He used to preach around the area before the war and had some experience with the Underground Railway, helping runaway slaves escape.

  The Parson, Sergeant Hackworth, myself, and a man from the Seventh named Ed Preston somehow found a way through all that muck and successfully brought the troop through the swamp. At very least, we’d bought ourselves an extra day before those Rebels could even try to catch up with us.

  When we finally came out of the swamp and back onto dry ground, Colonel Grierson ordered us to reconnoiter in order to find a quicker path to the Union lines down around Baton Rouge. After two hours things were going well, and we were about to turn back and report when we were jumped by a group of twenty or so locals.

  We quickly dismounted, and a firefight broke out. After their first volley, Preston returned fire and shot a Rebel who was hiding behind a stump. Then they rushed us. The sergeant caught the rifle barrel of one of the attackers just behind the bayonet and spun him down and around. The man fell hard and in doing so let loose of his musket. The sergeant then pivoted in a circle so that the next Rebel ran right into that bayonet.

  I was a mite occupied myself, struggling with a big soldier who had knocked me flat on my back. Off to the side, I caught a glimpse of the Parson shooting another Rebel with his Colt percussion cap pistol. As the big Rebel tried to choke me, I remembered a simple trick that Sarge had taught me, and I reached up under his grip and pinched the hell out of the skin on the side of his ribs. The man screamed and let go, giving me just enough time to pull my knife out and run him through.

  I looked up and saw Sergeant Hackworth being grabbed on either side by two soldiers. He twisted a little, reversed their grip on his wrists, stepped back, and somehow or another spun their arms so the two men actually flipped forward, head over heels in the air, and landed hard on their backs. Both at the very same time! I swear I’d never seen anything like it in my life. He quickly pulled his revolver, and between his shots, with some help from Ed Preston, the rest were dispatched in a hurry. Or at least so we thought.

  I brushed myself off, and while everyone was recovering their mounts, I noticed that the first Rebel, the one who had lost his rifle when he was knocked to the ground, had gotten up and was lifting up another rifle. He lined up to fire from a kneeling position. There was hardly any time to react.

  “Hackworth, look out!” I yelled as I flung myself sideways across the sergeant’s body. That’s when I took the ball to the head. After he killed that man, the sergeant cradled me in his arms and washed the wound. “I owe you one, son,” he said gently. “From here on out, anything you need, anytime, any place, you just call, and I’ll come a-running.” That’s when I passed out.

  I traveled the rest of the way to Baton Rouge on a makeshift travois, pulled by Hackworth’s horse. Fortunately, I’ve always had a hard head. Eventually we made it safely through, and during the whole campaign, much to the colonel’s credit, we only had three killed, seven wounded, nine missing, and five men who we were forced to leave behind. From what they tell me, it was one of Grant’s finest moments during the whole war.

  The raid also made a hero of Grierson, although every man in the outfit already considered him one. There was not a single trooper in the brigade who wouldn’t have ridden into hell for that man. On second thought, maybe that’s just what we did. When we finally arrived at Baton Rouge, the colonel rode into town at the head of his column, sitting ramrod straight. As for the rest of us, we were so tired, most of the men in the outfit arrived riding sound asleep in the saddle.

  When the war ended, Sergeant Hackworth decided to retire, and that’s when I told him about my ranch. Or at least about the land I owned and how I was hoping to start one. I offered him a full partnership, but he declined. “I’ve had enough responsibility in my life,” he explained. “How’s about I just help ya maintain the place and keep ya company?”

  I agreed, and we’d been together ever since.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The old soldier looked none the worse for wear since the last time I saw him, which was several months ago. Lobo tried to jump up on him, but the sergeant just pushed him away with his knee.

  “Get off of me. Go on, get out of here,” he chided. “Go play somewhere else, Lobo, somewhere out of sight. Take your fleas with ya.”

  “Bad mood today?” I asked.

  “Never did like strangers hanging around much,” Sarge said.

  “Strangers? What … here?”

  Just then the door to the main house opened, and Lobo let out a short growl. A soldier walked out. I noticed he wore corporal’s stripes on a cavalry uniform—an active duty uniform.

  “What’s he doing here?” I asked.

  “Been eating us out of house and home until you returned,” Sarge explained. “Going on three days now”—he looked over at the corporal—“and he’s already been through half our food stock.”

  I chuckled. Admittedly, the soldier was a little more ample around the girth than most men were back when I served. “What’s he want?” I asked again.

  The sergeant shrugged. “Says he has a message for you.”

  “So why didn’t he just leave it with you?”

  I guess the corporal got tired of being referred to as if he wasn’t there. “I have instructions to deliver this letter to Corporal Kershaw personally and await a response before returning to the fort,” he said.

  “I ain’t a corporal no more,” I replied.

  “Yes, sir,” he answered.

  “And don’t ‘sir’ me. I work for a living.”

  “No, sir … er … I mean … no … er …” he stammered.

  Sarge just chuckled. “It’s all right, sonny, just hand him the damn letter,” he ordered.

  “Yes—” Hackworth shot him a dirty look “—Sergeant.”

  “Close enough,” he replied snidely. Then the corporal, whose name I later learned was Alec Daniels, pulled a folded envelope from his tunic pocket and handed it to me.

  I opened the letter and read it through twice, just to make sure. “No way,” I growled. “No damned way! I just got back.”

  “What is it, Badger?” Hackworth asked. Concern showed on his face.

  “It’s from Fort Russell,” I said, handing him the letter. “They need me to track someone down.”

  Sarge frowned. “What with all the men they got in uniform, the army can’t find a scout?”

  “Maybe I can help with that,” the corporal offered.

  I sighed deeply. “All right, but let’s go inside first. We got any rotgut left, or did he drink that, too?”

  The sergeant motioned to both of us. “Not the good stuff, he didn’t.”

  I chuckled and turned to the dog, now sniffing around the leg of a decidedly uncomfortable corporal.

  “Lobo, go hunt!” I commanded. The dog seemed to consider it for a moment and then took off at a run.

  We all turned and went indoors.

  Once we were seated around the kitchen table, I took off my hat and hung it on the back of the chair. Sarge poured out three shots from a bottle of Irish whiskey he’d kept hidden. The letter was now unfolded on the table in front of us. I picked it up and reread it.

  I passed it to Sarge, who also reread it. “Not very specific, is it?” he remarked. “Just sort of says we need ya, so drop everything and come a-running.”

  The corporal nodded. “That’s about it. The major was real insistent, too. Seems the higher-ups ordered him to find you. They asked specifically for you.”

  “
Kinda strange, Badger, don’t ya think?” Sarge remarked. “You rack up any big debts afore ya left the army?”

  I poured myself another shot and swallowed it in one gulp. “None that I remember.” I looked over at the corporal. “So, Alec, what the hell’s so important that an ex-scout’s gotta earn more saddle sores?”

  Sarge nodded. “Wondering that myself. They getting soft since I left?”

  The corporal took a drink and shook his head. “Not hardly. I don’t rightly understand it all myself. I wasn’t able to gin up much about all this before they put me on a horse and slapped its rump,” he said. “But it seems a Union Pacific train on its way West was robbed by some outlaw gang. The robbers attacked when the train stopped at a watering station. As I heard it told, the train was carrying a lot of people who were mostly heading to the fort. Some was robbed and some was kidnapped. Don’t rightly know if there’s been a ransom request or not. That’s it. It’s about all I know.”

  I put the letter back down on the table. “Corporal, thanks for coming all this way, but you’ll have to go back empty-handed. I just got back from being too long out on the trail and don’t rightly feel like doing anything besides kicking back and smoking a cigar. Besides, there doesn’t seem to be any reason the army can’t handle this themselves.” Shaking my head, I added: “Tell them I’m sorry, but rescuing rich bankers and whiskey peddlers just ain’t particularly attractive to me right at the moment.”

  Corporal Daniels sighed and then acted like he had suddenly remembered something important. “There was one other thing.” He held up his glass hopefully, so I poured him another shot of whiskey.

  “And just what might that be?” I asked.

  “The major told me that if you gave me a hard time to mention specifically that it was womenfolk that were taken.”

  “Damn,” I muttered.

  Sarge looked over at me and shrugged. “Women, huh? Well, don’t nobody know the whole Dakota Territory better’n you do, Badger.”

  “Yeah, but I’m bushed,” I replied truthfully. “Hell, fact is, I’m half done in.”

  “So take the other half and ride out to the fort,” Sarge replied. He took another drink. “Give them some helpful advice and then come right back. Just because they send you a letter don’t mean you’re obligated to go riding all over the place. Remember, you ain’t no army scout no more. You’re a civilian now. They can’t give you no orders.”

  “I don’t know, Sarge,” I replied wearily. I looked over at the corporal. “Women, huh?”

  “Yep, and one of them is the niece of some big colonel. Seems like he’s the one who cabled the major to … and I quote … ‘Go get the Badger!’”

  I groaned and looked over at Sarge. We both answered out loud at the same time. “Grierson!”

  The corporal smiled. “Yeah, that’s the name. Know him?”

  Sarge simply nodded. “What was it we used to say, Badger?”

  I took another shot. It burned my throat. “That we’d march right down to hell and back for the man.”

  “Badger, looks like it’s time to put up or shut up.”

  I groaned again and muttered: “Damn. All right, all right. I’ll go.”

  Sarge looked over at the corporal. “We’ll let the stock graze overnight, and you can leave first thing in the morning.”

  “Yeah, I’ll need them fresh for this one,” I agreed. “One night more won’t change much, I guess.”

  Sarge shook his head. “Great, now I gotta feed this yahoo another dinner.”

  “Mind if I ask you something?” the corporal asked me.

  “What?” I wondered.

  “Why do they call you the Badger?”

  I glared at him angrily and stuck my chin out with fire in my eyes. “’Cause when I’m badgered into something I don’t want to do, I get a real nasty disposition.”

  The corporal gulped. “Yes, sir, I don’t doubt that.”

  I snapped back at him. “And don’t call me ‘sir!’”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Over dinner Sergeant Hackworth entertained us with tales of his time in the Far East. Alec Daniels was practically mesmerized by the stories. I’d learned long ago not to be surprised by anything the sergeant related. That man had proved to me long ago that he could back up just about anything he said.

  I dropped another ladleful of pork and beans onto the corporal’s plate. I believe it was his third. Sarge started telling him about a trip he had once taken to the countryside in Japan.

  “The place isn’t like anything you’ve ever experienced. The people have this sort of caste system with peasants, warlords, and a special warrior class they call samurai. You gotta see these fellows. They all carry two swords in their belts. They call the pair their daisho, which I learned refers to a long sword called a katana and a shorter one called a wakizashi. These samurai warriors carry their swords like we carry pistols, but don’t be fooled. They can carve you into little pieces quicker than you can blink.”

  Corporal Daniels was unimpressed. “No one is that fast. Especially not with a saber.”

  Sergeant Hackworth took a drink and continued: “Don’t confuse the katana with no cavalry saber. Hell, those army ones make better machetes than they do fighting weapons. The katana, on the other hand, ain’t as curved, don’t have as big a handle, and the point is more like a chisel than a pick. The damn thing is sharp enough to shave with.”

  Alec chided him a mite. “But really faster than you can blink?”

  Sarge nodded at us. “Let me put it this way. I once saw two of these samurai fellows square off at each other. Imagine two men from around here ready to draw on each other in the middle of the street, except these two were practically face to face.”

  My curiosity was piqued. I hadn’t heard this story. “So what happened?”

  “One of the men drew his sword and brought it up over his head in a looping movement intending to cut the other fellow.”

  “And?” Corporal Daniels prompted.

  “Well, I wouldn’t be lying if I told you I was almost positive he would win, because the other samurai’s sword warn’t even out of its scabbard yet. But then the second samurai drew his sword and severed the first one’s head clear off his body. All that on the draw, no less.”

  “What do you mean ‘on the draw?’” I asked, puzzled.

  “He didn’t even bring that sword around. He just cut the other man on the upswing while drawing the sword out from his belt. And I’ll tell you, he had that katana, sharp as it was, back in its scabbard without even looking at it. The dead samurai actually stood there for a second without his head before falling down. If the whole fight took more than a few seconds, I’ll eat my hat.”

  “Damn,” Alec said, letting out a gasp.

  “Tell him about how you learned all that foot fighting stuff,” I urged.

  Sarge took another swig and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Well, at first those Jappers kept us pretty bottled up in the embassy. I guess they didn’t want us foreign devils mingling with the locals. The warlord in those parts had our embassy completely surrounded by these samurai. At any rate, what with our being all cooped up, we were all pretty bored, so to pass the time, we started learning their lingo with the help of a geisha they’d assigned us.”

  “‘Geisha?’” Corporal Daniels asked.

  “Sort of a high-classed, educated servant girl,” Sarge explained. “Although I suspect they serve other purposes for the high muckety-mucks. Anyhow, I always had a knack for learning other folks’ lingo. And like I said, we had a lot of time on our hands, so I picked it up pretty quick.”

  “You should hear him speak Comanche,” I added.

  “Don’t change the subject,” the sergeant said, taking another swig. “I’ll lose my place.”

  “Sorry, go on,” I said. “And pass that bottle.”

  �
�All right. So there I was, bored and protecting the embassy from a group of people who wanted very little to do with us. We were surrounded by samurai guards who were just as bored and just as curious. It made sense to break the monotony, so I just started talking to the guards.”

  “How’d they react to that?” Alec asked.

  “Well, I’ll tell you,” Sarge replied, laughing. “The first time I walked up to one and asked if the rain would hurt the rhubarb, he almost passed out. To them I guess it was as if your mule suddenly said howdy. Once they got over their surprise, we sort of became friends. The ambassador started making inroads with their government officials, so we later got to move around more.”

  “Badger mentioned something about foot fighting?” Alec said.

  “Right. Well anyway, by that time we realized Ambassador Harris warn’t in much danger, so he let me take up an invite by the samurai to train with them. Some of these fellows told me they actually guarded the emperor once when he traveled through their protectorate. I’m telling you, these men were downright dangerous.”

  “Like you ain’t?” I said sincerely. I had seen in action precisely what Sergeant Hackworth was capable of.

  “I thought so, too, Badger, but truth is, back then I was a babe in arms compared to those fellows. We set up a sparring match with one of the men I considered a friend. He was a skinny runt, so I felt pretty confident I warn’t gonna make no fool of myself.”

  “What happened?” Alec asked, glued to his seat.

  “I started off by throwing a left jab, followed quickly by a right haymaker. I had a lot of boxing experience and was good enough to take most folks’ heads off. Most folks except this one, that is. I got to tell you boys, that little samurai deflected my punches like they were twigs and hit me in the elbow so hard my right arm went numb. He then stepped in and tripped me somehow, and the next thing I know, I’m flat on my back.