Nathan Stark, Army Scout

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Nathan leaned close to Homer. “I have something to give to, uh, Arianna.”

  Homer nodded. “I’ll see she gets it.”

  Nathan handed him a double eagle, and Homer’s eyes widened. “You didn’t go upstairs—”

  Nathan shook his head. “I didn’t mean to upset her, Homer. Tell her this is from me—as a friend. I just want her to have it. Tell her I’m sorry.”

  Homer nodded and put the coin in his pocket. “I’ll give it to her, Mr. Stark, my word on that. But later, when she might be more willing to accept it.”

  CHAPTER 5

  As tired as Nathan was, it was impossible to sleep after the conversation he’d had with Leah. He lay on the bed, trying to relax. The feather-stuffed mattress was like heaven to the bruised flesh and sore muscles he sported from the fight with Black Sun and the days in the saddle.

  Cullen lay close to the far edge, breathing deeply, having been asleep for hours.

  In the morning, Nathan planned to get a bath, haircut, and the decent meal he hadn’t had tonight. A new shirt was in his future, too. He didn’t want to ride into a new command looking like an orphan.

  The savage had slashed the shirt but good, and his own blood had finished it off. Might be salvageable if he had it laundered and mended by someone who knew what they were doing. A spare, if he could get it fixed neat enough. He wasn’t short of money, just careful with it.

  Except when he threw away twenty dollars on a prostitute he hadn’t even slept with.

  He needed to focus on the assignment he was going to. One he wasn’t especially happy about. He’d spent a lot of years in the military and he’d served under many fine men—and some not so fine.

  From all accounts, he was soon going to be scouting for a company led by a man who was concerned with his own advancement above all else—Colonel Wesley Ledbetter. The assignment didn’t worry him all that much. He could leave any time he wanted if he couldn’t abide Ledbetter’s methods. And Cullen would be there to back him, either way, stay or go.

  Nathan was fair-minded. He would give the colonel a chance to prove the rumors false. It was comforting to know he had the freedom to walk away if need be.

  It went against the grain to quit, though. No one could say he was a quitter. He never had been and never would be, nor Cullen, either. They were a lot alike, in that respect.

  The Sioux Nation was a definite threat to white settlers—it had been so for more than twenty years. Conflict had heated up to the boiling point once more. It was Nathan’s job—scouting for the army to forge ahead into Sioux Territory, but he had a two-fold purpose. He would not shirk either the job he’d been hired for or the duty he would fulfill in finding Rena—if he could locate her.

  Leah’s angry words rang in his ears as he shifted on the mattress. My story is just that—mine. Something you won’t know unless I choose to tell it.

  He thought of the way she’d looked at him as she’d spoken—the way her voice had trembled in remembrance. She had already told him a big part of her story. She just didn’t realize it.

  Nathan had learned to read people early on as a matter of survival. Leah had a wall of protection erected against those memories that no one could tear down. But Nathan would be back at Statler’s Mill eventually, and when he was, he’d find the truth about what Leah-with-no-last-name knew.

  * * *

  The next morning, Nathan rose early, despite having slept little the night before. Cullen was already up and around, but not looking chipper.

  Nathan leaned over the washbasin and splashed some water on his face. He glanced at his friend in the chipped mirror that hung above the basin and pitcher. “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks. That’s the pot callin’ the kettle black, if I ever saw it.” Cullen shrugged into his spare shirt with a grimace.

  “We both need a doc to look at these cuts,” Nathan said casually, knowing Cullen would never agree to see a doctor over something he considered minor. If he agreed to go, Nathan would know how serious his side was hurting.

  Cullen’s head jerked up. “The hell you say! I don’t need a sawbones lookin’ at me for somethin’ this . . . this . . . Why, hell, this ain’t nothin’! Little ol’ cut, that’s all.”

  Grinning, Nathan turned as he dried his face. “Yeah, you’re feelin’ better, though you don’t look it. Guess we oughta ride on, if you’re able.”

  “You ornery cuss,” Cullen sputtered. “Of course, I’m able to ride.”

  “We’ll get some grub first. Bet your stomach thinks your throat’s been cut, doesn’t it?”

  “It does. Should’ve gone with you to eat last night, but I was too tired.”

  If Cullen had been with him, he never would’ve had that conversation with Leah. And that had been invaluable . . . maybe.

  “I’m gonna go get clean before I do anything,” Nathan said. “Believe me, that saloon food wasn’t the best.” He didn’t explain the real reason he hadn’t eaten it. “I’m hungry, but guess we better get presentable before we try going into a decent restaurant.”

  “S’pose you’re right. I’d favor a bath right now. Might ease this cut some, too.”

  They settled up at the front desk, then headed for the recommended laundry, bath house, and barber.

  * * *

  Clean and shaven, they decided to take care of the business of selling the Creek ponies before eating breakfast.

  “Been expecting you,” Everett Anderson greeted them when they arrived at the livery. “John told me you men were lookin’ to sell the five Injun ponies.”

  “That’s true—if we can get a good price for ’em,” Cullen said.

  Anderson smiled and shook Nathan’s hand, then Cullen’s. “Let’s do some horse tradin’. Looks like you’re in a hurry to leave Statler’s Mill behind.”

  Nathan nodded. “We’re expected to report at Fort Randall next week.”

  “That a fact? You scouts? Don’t see no uniform.”

  “That’s right,” Nathan responded. “But we did our stint in the army during the war.”

  “Oh? Which side?”

  Nathan’s voice hardened slightly as he said, “I disremember.”

  “Oh. Ah . . . of course.” Anderson forced a chuckle. “I don’t have a very good memory for those things myself. Well, you won’t need to be keepin’ up with five extra horses. That’ll slow you down considerable. Let’s see what kind of bargain we can come to so you men can be on your way.”

  * * *

  Nathan spent more time than he liked bargaining with the livery owner, who was in need of some extra mounts and came close to paying them what they’d first asked for the animals.

  From there, they went to buy supplies and the new rifle Nathan knew he couldn’t leave without. It would be suicidal to start toward Fort Randall again with the older Winchester that had nearly cost him his life. A man could feel affectionate toward something that had stood him in good stead for years, but sooner or later the time came to move on.

  The general store had one Winchester ’73 that had seen very little use. The storekeeper knew the man who’d owned it—an older trapper who’d had it only a matter of weeks before he’d been hit by a stray bullet in a gun battle between two rival outlaw gangs who had both wound up in Statler’s Mill at the same time.

  “Just pur-dee old bad luck,” Freeman, the store owner, told him. “I sold him this gun”—he took it from the rack on the wall behind the counter—“and he paid me half. Was s’posed to pay the other half the week after he got shot down in the street. I went right out to his place and took it. You know, before anyone else might get it in their heads to go in and loot. He still owed me twenty dollars for it, you know.”

  Nathan nodded, keeping his features neutral as Freeman handed the repeater to him to examine. It did look to be well cared for, almost as if the previous owner had never used it at all.

  Nathan tried the action and found it to be smooth. The walnut stock was virtually flawless. Someone had carved a s
mall double diamond symbol into the right side of it as a decoration, and the brass fittings and barrel had been polished.

  “How much?” Nathan asked, showing no enthusiasm.

  Freeman shrugged. “Forty bucks.”

  Nathan laughed and started to hand it back to the storekeeper. “No thanks, Mr. Freeman. I’m not looking to be robbed this early in the morning.”

  “Now see here, Mr. Stark. I’m a fair man, and—”

  Nathan looked him squarely in the face. “You’ve sold this gun once. You got half your money at that time. Forty dollars is about twice what this piece is worth, even if it was brand spankin’ new . . . which it isn’t.”

  “We’re remote from the commerce routes,” Freeman said sullenly. “Ever’thang costs more out here.”

  “I’ll give you twenty, considering you already made the first twenty from the old trapper.”

  “Thirty.” Freeman’s chin rose defiantly.

  “Twenty-five, Mr. Freeman. That’s more than fair, and we both know it.” Nathan waited a beat, then said, “There are some other supplies I’ll be needing, too. Maybe I should go on over to Alexson’s”—he nodded toward the door as he mentioned the other general store down the street—“and see what they might have—”

  “No, no, don’t do that. I think we can do business.” Freeman gave Nathan a hard stare. “All right. Twenty-five for the rifle.” He put his hand out and they shook. “Want me to keep it up here while you look around?”

  Nathan shook his head, glancing at Cullen. “No, we know what we need.”

  By the time Nathan and Cullen rode out of Statler’s Mill, they were more than ready to be gone.

  * * *

  Two hours out of town, they were headed north again, but with all their business settled. With the extra horses sold, they were making good time once more. They should make Fort Randall by the end of the week, a couple days ahead of time.

  They’d report to Colonel Ledbetter as soon as they arrived, but no matter what, Nathan planned to take at least one day—maybe two—to rest Buck before they did any more riding. Cullen needed a respite, too, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  The journey had not been an easy one, and Nathan had to admit that once or twice the thought of leaving the nomadic life behind had surfaced in his mind. But it was all he’d known for so long . . . though certainly not what he’d planned for his future, so many years past.

  Those dreams of a long happy life with Camilla had ended abruptly—and that day had changed everything. When she had been taken from him, any compassion he might have had—or love—had been ripped away, too.

  He’d become mercenary in every way. Life had held nothing but the single-minded purpose of revenge. He’d turned that into a lifelong job as a soldier—a man with a license to kill.

  Now, he was even more dangerous. He answered to no one but himself. Even though scouts had certain expected protocols to abide by, the knowledge that he could walk away at any time gave him the freedom he couldn’t live without. And the freedom to do what needed doing without having to answer to anyone.

  Nathan Stark’s responsibility was to himself—to his own ideals and heart—what there might be left of it.

  CHAPTER 6

  Four days later, a couple hours after sunset, Nathan and Cullen stopped at the gates of Fort Randall, already barred securely for the night. They waited for the familiar, “Who goes there?”

  “Nathan Stark,” he responded, adding “U.S. Army civilian scout,” before the guard could ask him to state his business.

  “Cullen Jefferson, the same,” Cullen said.

  In a few moments, one of the gates swung open to admit them, and they rode through.

  “Hello, Mr. Stark, Mr. Jefferson,” a young soldier greeted them as they dismounted. “Colonel Ledbetter’s been expecting you”—he looked only at Nathan—“but he’s already retired for the evening.”

  “That’s fine, uh . . .” Nathan tried to read the soldier’s rank in the dim light of the waning moon.

  “Corporal. Corporal Sims, sir,” the soldier supplied. “He will see you . . . uh ... in the morning, at eight o’clock.”

  Nathan’s eyes narrowed. How would Ledbetter know ... ? “Corporal, was the colonel aware I’d be arriving today?”

  “No, sir. He gave us orders that whenever a guest or anyone with army business arrives, we are always to let them know they’ll be expected to meet with the colonel at eight o’clock the next morning.”

  “Well, you can let the colonel know there’ll be two of us at that eight o’clock meeting.”

  Sims nodded uncertainly. “I’ll show you to your quarters, and someone else will escort you to your meeting with the colonel in the morning.”

  It was easy to see the young corporal’s discomfort. Nathan and Cullen took a few steps toward the commons area. “Where are the stables? We’ll need to see to our horses.”

  “I’ll take them over, sir, and the Injun boys’ll see to ’em right fine.”

  Nathan stopped and gave Corporal Sims a hard look. “Injun boys?”

  Cullen held tight to his horse’s reins, glaring at Sims as if he’d cursed them.

  “Yes, sir. They live here. There’s four of ’em and they . . . Well, sir, they’re Sioux orphan boys. Real good with horses. Colonel Ledbetter feeds ’em, gives ’em shelter in the stables—”

  “I’ll see to my horse myself, Corporal. Thank you.”

  “As will I,” Cullen said stonily.

  Sims looked shocked at Nathan’s announcement. “They’re good boys, Mr. Stark, Mr. Jefferson. And they love the horses. You need not worry—”

  “I won’t, Corporal. I’ll be seeing to Buck myself.”

  Cullen gave a decisive nod of agreement.

  At that, Corporal Sims turned away stiffly and in utter silence, headed for the stables once more.

  Once they reached the stables, Sims lit a lantern and pointed out where the oats and curry brushes were located. Fresh water was available in the nearby trough, buckets stacked beside it.

  “Your quarters are ready. Second house on the left.” Sims pointed it out from the stable doorway. “I’ll stop by and light the lamp for you. Uh ... and we’ll ready another cabin for you, Mr. Jefferson. The one next to Mr. Stark’s. We didn’t know—”

  “Much obliged, Corporal. We appreciate your help,” Nathan interrupted.

  Corporal Sims gave him a smart salute as he turned to go.

  “No need for that, son,” Nathan said.

  “Sorry. I forget sometimes. Better safe than sorry. Good night, Mr. Stark. Mr. Jefferson.” He turned back to Nathan for a moment. “Colonel Ledbetter’s a stickler for bein’ on time, sir.”

  * * *

  Nathan rose soon after the 5:00 A.M. reveille call. He lit the lamp and washed, pulling on some of the new clothing he’d bought in Statler’s Mill.

  The little house wasn’t much, but he wouldn’t be spending a lot of time there. It was adequate. A cot with a mattress that had seen better days, but it still beat sleeping on the ground, as he’d spent so many nights. A nightstand nearby held the lantern. A wash table, containing a pitcher of water and a bowl, stood before the window. A chair and small rectangular table stood in the far corner of the room, obviously for studying maps and documents, possibly for reading or taking a private meal from time to time.

  Three hooks were in place on the wall to hang heavy coats, saddlebags, or gun belts. A chamber pot was shoved beneath the cot. A chest of drawers completed the furnishings of his quarters.

  He took the time to unpack his clothing and put everything away in the chest before strapping on his Colt. Then he stepped out the door, closing it firmly behind him as he headed for the latrine. He intended to search out the mess hall for breakfast in a bit, but first he wanted to get a look around and see how Cullen had fared.

  The fort swarmed with soldiers going about their morning activities before their first call to assemble in the commons.

  On the way bac
k from the latrine, Nathan detoured to the stables. No matter how Corporal Sims had sung the praises of “the Injun boys” who lived in the stables, Nathan would never trust any kind of redskin with Buck’s care. Those same Sioux orphans who offered so readily to take care of his horse would just as soon befriend the buckskin and ride off into the night, never to be seen or heard from again.

  Nathan was a good judge of fine horseflesh, and he also knew the thieving ways of the red man, as well. He figured he’d shown them more mercy, in his own way, than they’d shown him.

  Killing his parents and stealing Rena had been almost more than a man could take. But when he learned they’d murdered Camilla and their unborn baby, it had put a burning hatred within him that would never be quenched.

  During all the years of blood and death that followed, he had never murdered children or women—pregnant or not. And truth to tell, he’d balk at killing the elderly. Maybe the last shred of his conscience was what had kept him from killing Black Sun. He was young . . . and though Nathan had no doubt that Black Sun would’ve killed him, no matter the circumstances, he still couldn’t forget that look in the boy’s eyes—probably much as he himself had looked on that fateful April day, fifteen years ago.

  He walked into the stables and started for the stall where Buck had been secured last night, but something made him stop and listen in the dim morning light. Muffled voices drifted to him where he stood, next to the first stall.

  “I’m going to ride him if the Indian Killer comes to see to him this morning!” The voice was young, the words heavily accented. Yeah, it was Sioux, all right. Nathan wasn’t certain of the dialect, but from the inflection he believed the boy was Lakota.

  “One of our number will be no more by the next moon,” another voice answered in the Sioux language. Definitely Lakota, from the words he’d used for words one—wanji—and moon—hanyewi. Dakotas had a slight variation for both words—wanzi and hanwi.