Nathan Stark, Army Scout

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Gott im Himmel, Dockery, don’t sneak up on a man like some skulking redskin. That’s a good way to get yourself killed.”

  Sergeant Dockery let out a disdainful snort. “You’re assuming I’d just stand here and let you kill me, you big dumb Dutchie.”

  Bucher was a little drunk from the schnapps, and on top of that, he didn’t like Dockery. However, they had some very important interests in common, so he let the insult pass. “What do you want, Dockery?”

  “Do you know a scout named Nathan Stark?”

  In the darkness outside the tent, it was difficult for the two men to see each other, but Bucher stared at the sergeant in surprise anyway. After a couple of seconds he asked, “Why der Teufel are you asking me about Stark?”

  “He’s here, and earlier today he tangled with McCall. The stupid ox wound up locked in the guardhouse.”

  Bucher took off his derby, ran a hand over his coarse black hair, and let out a stream of colorful German obscenities. When his anger had calmed down a little, he asked, “What did they fight over?”

  “A woman. The Widow Blaine.”

  “That is all?”

  “As far as I know,” Dockery said. “Now answer my question, damn it. Do you or don’t you know Nathan Stark? Sometimes they call him the Indian Killer, if that helps.”

  “Ja, I know him. And I know perfectly that he is called the Indian Killer, and why he was given that name.” Bucher put on his hat and inclined his head toward the tent. “He was in Farrow’s place with me a while ago, having a drink.”

  “He’s a friend of yours?”

  “Nein, that I would not say. We have served at several of the same posts. I have no fondness for the man, nor does he have any for me. But we have never been enemies.” Bucher spat. “I cannot say the same for his partner Cullen Jefferson. That man is the size of a buffalo, just as stupid, and stinks just as bad.”

  “Well, I asked around, and Jefferson is here, too, although it seems he doesn’t have any orders sending him to Fort Randall and the colonel wants to get rid of him. What I’m worried about is Stark holding a grudge against McCall and ruining all our plans.”

  “Ha!”

  “What the hell do you mean by that?” Dockery sounded angry.

  “I mean,” Bucher said, “that Nathan Stark has room for only one grudge in his life, und that is the one he carries against Indians. Any and all Indians. So long as he has plenty of chances to kill them, he will show no interest in anything else.” The big German paused. “We both know that very soon Stark will have all the opportunities to slay redskins that he could ever wish for.”

  “Yeah, well, if it doesn’t work out that way, if he becomes a threat—”

  “In that case, it is still nothing to worry about. I will just cut his throat and be done with it.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Nathan had heard soldiers say that the only thing about the army worse than the fighting was all the waiting you had to do. He had seen plenty of examples of that, and his first week at Fort Randall was yet another. When he had gotten his orders to report, he had figured that action was imminent in Dakota Territory. When Bucher had told him about the Sioux war chief Hanging Dog stirring up trouble, it had seemed likely they would be marching against the hostiles in a matter of days.

  Instead, he found himself sitting around the fort with Cullen, killing time rather than redskins. Rumor had it that another patrol would be going out in the near future, but nobody knew exactly when or which of the scouts would accompany it.

  Nathan avoided the recently built post chapel, not only because he wasn’t a religious man anymore but because Delia held her school classes in the library there. He was a rough man without the proper touch for dealing with women, he had concluded, so after their last encounter it was best just to stay away from her. He knew he’d probably run into her now and then around the fort, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to do so.

  By keeping his distance from Delia, he also insured that he was less likely to bump into Sergeant Seamus McCall. The burly Irish noncom had been released from the guardhouse with a stern warning to stay out of trouble, but Nathan had a hunch that if he, Delia, and McCall were in the same vicinity at the same time, the hotheaded sergeant would lose his temper again. The cut on Nathan’s forehead was healing up, and he didn’t want another ruckus with McCall.

  He and Cullen spent a considerable amount of time at the sutler’s store, nursing drinks and playing cards. Nathan was surprised to find that he enjoyed talking to Noah Crimmens, as well. The clerk was so mild-mannered that he tended to blend into the background, but he was smart and had a dry sense of humor. He confirmed Nathan’s opinion of Colonel Wesley Stuart Ledbetter: the commanding officer was a stuffed shirt, a martinet when it suited him, and harbored visions of glory.

  “You’ve seen the colonel,” Crimmens said to Nathan and Cullen one day when they were alone in the store area of the tent. “And I’m aware that you both served with General Custer.”

  “Mighty big difference there,” Cullen drawled. “With that long yellow hair, the ladies all swoon over Custer. Ledbetter looks more like a frog with spectacles on. Ain’t nobody gonna be swoonin’ over him, no matter how many Injuns he kills.”

  “I think he’s aware of that, too, but he feels that his greatest chance for advancement, socially as well as militarily, lies in running up a record of successful engagements with the hostiles. If he were to return to Washington for duty at the War Department, say, and had a chestful of ribbons and medals, there would be at least a chance his superiors and the ladies might look upon him differently.”

  Nathan was sitting on a keg with his back propped against a stack of crates. He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. “I suppose that’s all right, if that sort of thing is important to you.”

  “I know what’s important to you,” Cullen said. “At least I used to think I did, until the business with that Creek down by Fort Smith.”

  Crimmens looked interested. “What’s this?”

  “None of your damn business,” Nathan said. He saw the way Crimmens reacted to his sharp tone and harsh words and bit back a curse.

  “Nathan didn’t mean to bite your head off, Noah,” Cullen said. “That’s just a sore spot with him. He let some Injun go instead of killin’ him. It ain’t the way we usually go about our business.”

  “Did these hostiles ambush you?”

  “More like the other way around.”

  Crimmens frowned in confusion. “They weren’t trying to kill you?”

  “They would have sooner or later, if they got the chance,” Nathan said. “Killing white folks is all any of those red devils ever think about. And if it hadn’t been us, they would have killed somebody else. More than likely, somebody a hell of a lot more innocent than Cullen and me.”

  “Oh. I ... I suppose I understand.”

  Nathan looked away. He wished Cullen hadn’t brought up that incident. Over the past couple weeks, he had succeeded in shoving Black Sun out of his thoughts, but now the Creek youngster was back.

  Was he out there somewhere, tracking them, looking for an opportunity to take his revenge on the white men who had killed his father and brother and friends? Part of Nathan hoped that was the case. It would give him a chance to correct the mistake he had made . . .

  One of the soldiers poked his head through the tent entrance and looked around on both sides of the canvas partition. When his gaze fell on Nathan, Cullen, and Crimmens, he said, “There you are.”

  Nathan sat up straighter and asked, “You looking for me, Corporal?” He had recognized Corporal Winston Cahill, Colonel Ledbetter’s aide. Maybe a summons from the colonel would mean that something was about to happen at last.

  Cahill seemed a little uncomfortable as he replied, “Ah, no, sir, Captain Stark. I was looking for Mr. Jefferson.”

  During the war, Cullen had never held a higher rank than sergeant, and civilian employees of the army who were noncom
missioned officers weren’t referred to by their former rank.

  Cullen had been whittling on a chunk of wood and had fashioned it into a rough semblance of a grizzly bear standing up on its hind legs. He sheathed his knife and tossed the carving to Crimmens. “Here you go, Noah. You hang on to that for me.”

  “Ah... thank you?” the clerk said uncertainly.

  “I reckon my orders finally came through,” Cullen said to Nathan as they stood up. “Come on. Let’s go see the colonel.”

  “I was only supposed to find you, Mr. Jefferson,” Cahill said. “Not Captain Stark.”

  “We ain’t got no secrets from each other. Been partners for nigh on to ten years. Anything Ledbetter says to me, I’m just gonna tell Nathan anyway.”

  Cahill sighed and didn’t try to argue. He sensed that it would be like arguing with a force of nature.

  Nathan and Cullen followed Corporal Cahill to “The House,” the big frame structure that served as the commander’s quarters and post headquarters. Nathan hadn’t set foot in there since the day they had arrived at Fort Randall, nor laid eyes on Colonel Ledbetter in that time except at a distance.

  Cahill ushered them into the building and opened the door of the colonel’s office. “I have Mr. Jefferson, sir,” he announced, then added, “and, ah, Captain Stark.”

  “What?” Ledbetter’s voice came from inside. “Corporal, I specifically said—”

  “I’m here, Colonel.” Cullen brushed past Cahill and strode into the office with Nathan trailing behind him. “What is it you want? My orders finally come through? ”

  Ledbetter’s face turned red, and the way his cheeks puffed up put Nathan in mind of the way Cullen had compared him to a frog a short time earlier.

  The colonel controlled his anger, though, and said, “There are no orders, because you were never assigned to this post to start with, Jefferson. But Colonel Bixby down at Fort Sill knew where you were, so he passed along this dispatch for you.” Ledbetter picked up a folded and sealed piece of paper from his desk and held it out. “Letter, I should say, since you’re a civilian.”

  Both of Cullen’s shaggy brows drew down in a puzzled frown. He looked at the letter almost as if it were a rattler like the one he had blasted down in Indian Territory. “Who in Hades would be writin’ to me?”

  Ledbetter shook the paper impatiently and suggested, “Why don’t you take it and find out?”

  Cullen reached out, took the letter from the officer, and then clumsily broke the seal. He unfolded it and started to read.

  Nathan saw the way his partner suddenly drew in a breath. Cullen’s weather-beaten features tightened. Whatever was in that letter, it was bad news.

  Cullen read all the way through the message at least twice, then lowered the hand holding it to his side. His fingers clenched, crumpling the paper. He turned and stalked past Nathan, out of the office. His eyes looked stunned and didn’t seem to be seeing anything.

  Nathan looked at Ledbetter and said, “What the hell!”

  The colonel spread his hands and smiled smugly. “Honestly, I have no idea. You’ll have to ask your friend yourself, Mister Stark.”

  “That’s damn well what I figure on doing.” Nathan went after Cullen.

  He caught up to the older man on the porch of The House. Cullen had stopped at the top of the stairs and stared unseeingly out over the parade ground.

  Nathan came up beside him. “Cullen, what’s wrong?”

  At first, Cullen didn’t seem to hear him, but then he frowned, gave a little shake of his head, and said, “What?”

  “I asked you what’s wrong. You read that letter and looked like somebody walloped you over the head with a singletree.”

  Slowly, Cullen lifted the crumpled piece of paper and stared at it as if surprised to find it in his hand. Then he smoothed it out, folded it, and tucked it away inside his buckskin shirt.

  “My ma died.”

  “Your... I didn’t know either of your folks were still alive. You never talked about ’em.”

  “My pa’s still alive,” Cullen said. “Near as old as Methuselah, I reckon, but he’s still kickin’. The letter’s from him, tellin’ me about my ma’s passin’. And askin’ me to come home while there’s still a chance for him to see me one more time.”

  Nathan knew that Cullen was from Texas, although he wasn’t sure exactly where in that massive state. Cullen had always been tight-lipped about his family history. From a few things he had said, Nathan had gotten the idea that there might be one of those notorious Texas feuds in Cullen’s background. They were friends, so he didn’t pry. On the frontier, everything that had happened in a man’s life before he rode over the most recent hill was nobody’s damned business, if he wanted it that way.

  “Are you going?” Nathan asked simply.

  “I got to. When I left home, all those years ago, there were some hard feelin’s. My pa and my brothers thought I ought to stay and help with the ranch, but I was too fiddle-footed. They told me to go and never come back.” Cullen drew in a deep, ragged breath. “It’s hard when your own kin feels that way about you. Maybe that’s why... you and me hit it off so good, Nate. You was like a brother to me. A better brother than any o’ my own.”

  “I’ve thought the same thing about you more than once, Cul,” Nathan said honestly.

  “Yeah.” Cullen smiled. “I guess a couple old codgers like us, we’re just too rough for normal folks to put up with. Good thing we run into each other durin’ the war. But now, with my pa tellin’ me he’s sorry and that he made a mistake and wants to see me again...”

  “You’ve got to go,” Nathan finished for his friend as Cullen’s voice trailed off. “No two ways about it.”

  Cullen looked at him. “It’ll take some time to ride all the way down to Texas. Maybe my pa will last until I get there.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Whether he does or not, I reckon it won’t be long. Then I’ll be headed back up this way.” Cullen grunted. “Don’t go and get yourself killed while I’m gone.”

  “I don’t reckon there’s much chance of that,” Nathan replied with a shake of his head. “Unless all this blasted boredom does me in.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Fort Randall seemed a lot emptier with Cullen gone. Nathan liked Noah Crimmens, but the two of them didn’t really have enough in common to be considered close friends. Dietrich Bucher was around, but Nathan would have to get a lot more lonely than he was, before he sought out the big German’s company. Doc Lightner kept up a professional reserve when he changed the dressings on Nathan’s wounds, finally pronouncing them healed sufficiently that they didn’t need to be bandaged anymore.

  That left Delia Blaine, and Nathan still wasn’t convinced that spending much time around her was a good idea. For one thing, he didn’t even know if she would want him around. Their last parting hadn’t been on the best of terms, after all.

  So he was thankful when he stepped out of his cabin a few days after Cullen had ridden away, heading south, to see that a new air of activity gripped the post. Soldiers were moving here and there with purposeful strides. Several pack mules were lined up in front of the quartermaster’s storehouses with hostlers holding them. Bags of supplies were brought from the building and attached to the pack saddles on the mules’ backs.

  A patrol was going out, Nathan realized, and from the amount of provisions they were taking with them, it looked like they were expecting to be gone from the fort for several days.

  He walked toward headquarters. Colonel Ledbetter hadn’t sent for him, but that didn’t mean someone else would be going along to scout for the patrol. Maybe the colonel just hadn’t gotten around to letting him know yet.

  He wasn’t going to sit around waiting and let that ass Bucher snatch up the job. Nathan felt like he would go mad if he had to spend much more time at the fort.

  Cahill was at his desk in the outer office when Nathan strode in. “Captain Stark,” the corporal said. “I was about to come lookin
g for you, as soon as I finish writing up the official orders for Lieutenant Pryor.”

  “Pryor’s taking out another patrol?” Nathan was a little surprised. Other junior officers were posted at Fort Randall, and Pryor had been in command of the previous patrol. But maybe Colonel Ledbetter trusted him more than the other shavetails.

  “That’s right, and you’ll be assigned to it as one of the scouts.”

  “One of the scouts?” Nathan repeated as a frown creased his forehead. “You mean Bucher is going along, too?”

  “No, there’s a, ah, new man,” Cahill answered. “The colonel is talking to him now.”

  Nathan jerked his head in a curt nod and stepped over to the door of Ledbetter’s office. If he was going to be working with someone else, he wanted to find out who it was. There was a pretty good chance he would know the man, even if they had never been assigned to the same patrol before. He would have preferred to have Cullen with him, of course, but at least he could hope that whoever the other fellow was, he would be better than Dietrich Bucher.

  “Captain Stark—” Cahill began.

  Nathan ignored Cahill, grasped the knob, and opened the door. He knew the corporal was going to tell him that he couldn’t go in just yet. He took one step inside, then stopped short.

  His hand dropped to the butt of the Colt on his hip and clawed it halfway out of the holster before Colonel Ledbetter yelled, “Stark! What the hell are you doing?”

  The man standing in front of Ledbetter’s desk had half-turned toward Nathan when the door opened. He wore a battered old brown hat with a high, creased crown that matched the vest he wore over a loose cotton shirt. An eagle feather was tucked into the hat’s snakeskin band. A loincloth, fringed buckskin leggings, and high-topped black boots completed his outfit. Under the hat, his thick, raven-black hair was twisted into two braids that hung on the front of his shoulders. His coppery face was as sharp as an ax blade. He carried a Henry rifle in the crook of his left arm, and a revolver and a knife were stuck behind the sash tied around his lean waist.