Hard Ride to Wichita (23 page)

“They hit the billiard parlor!” the rider said amid a series of panting breaths.

Granger's hand was still resting on his holstered Colt. “The Red Bison?
My
Red Bison?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Who hit it?”

“It was a contingent of Quantrill's men. Maybe half a dozen of them or more.”

“You're certain they're Quantrill's?” Granger asked.

The rider nodded. “Henderschott recognized one of them from the Centralia massacre. Busted in with guns blazing and shot three of our troops before anyone had a chance to bat an eye. They started shooting and never let up, not even when one of them put a torch to the place. You can see the smoke from here!”

Granger cursed loudly while storming past the soldier and out of the tent. He cursed again, even louder this time, when he was able to verify the rider's story with his own eyes. When he came back inside, the captain threw open the tent's flap with enough force to shake the entire canvas structure. “Assemble all of the men and ride out to meet those murderous savages!” he roared. “I want to send half of them around the eastern perimeter of town and the other half around the west. We'll flank them on either side and cut them off from making an escape. You said there were only six of them?”

“Yes, sir, but there could have been more,” the rider admitted. “I had to get out of there awfully quick.”

“Who else is with you? Maybe he has more actionable intelligence.”

“There isn't anyone with me, sir. I was the only one that made it out of there.”

That stopped Granger in his tracks. “What was that, soldier?”

The rider shook his head solemnly. “None of our men in that billiard hall made it out with me. I stayed as long as I could, but the place was burning down. Those Quantrill men . . . they filled that whole building full of holes. Anyone inside was cut down where they stood. Our men . . . even a few locals who were in there just to have a game—”

“Get a hold of yourself,” Granger snarled. Looking over to one of the uniformed men who'd captured Luke and Red, he said, “My orders still stand. Muster every man here and get them on a damn horse!”

“All due respect, Captain, but we don't have enough men to flank anyone,” that soldier replied.

“Don't question my strategy!”

The soldier looked confused and even glanced over to Luke as if waiting for him to say something to back him up. Finally the soldier said, “These three killed four men before we could get to them. That only leaves—”

“I can count!” Granger roared. “I know how many that leaves! You men,” he said while pointing to all but one of the soldiers within the tent, “come with me and I'll show you how to deal with a bunch of murderous Rebs.” Looking to the one soldier that remained, he added, “You stay with these three. If even one of them makes a move you don't like, shoot them all.” With that, Granger took the men he'd selected outside where they gathered up their horses.

Carlo lifted his head to watch them go . . . and smiled.

Luke listened to the sounds of orders being shouted and horses racing through camp. Strangely enough, his blood had been pumping faster through his veins when things had been much quieter and the only sound that presided over all the others was that of Granger's gravelly voice. Red was still slumped in the same position as he'd been when Luke had first opened his eyes. Since his friend wasn't the sort to play possum, that meant Red was still out cold.

“Hey, you yellow-bellied dog.”

Both Luke and the guard turned toward the source of that insult.

Carlo stared up at the remaining soldier with tired eyes set within a face stained with blood that had been spilled when he was cracked in the head. “You heard me. I bet you're mighty glad to be in here and out of sight while all your friends ride off to their death.”

“Shut your mouth, you Reb bastard.”

The single laugh Carlo spat back at him seemed to sap most of his strength. “Yeah, you're scared all right. That's plain enough for everyone to see.”

“I told you to shut your mouth.”

Carlo barely had the strength to turn his head so he could look over at Luke. “You can see it too, right, kid? I know I just took a knock to the head, but I'd swear he's shaking in his boots. Not just how folks say that, but I believe he is truly shaking.”

The soldier took a step toward Carlo and glared down at him while staring down the sights of his rifle. “I told you to keep quiet.”

Without seeming to mind that he was at gunpoint, Carlo kept his weary eyes fixed on Luke. “Am I seeing things? Isn't he trembling like a frightened woman?”

Outside, the horses were galloping away and Granger was still barking orders at his men. Those sounds didn't concern Luke as much as what was happening right in front of him. “Maybe you should ease up on him, Carlo,” he said cautiously.

Carlo's head drooped once more and he expelled a breath that left him shrunken and deflated. “You hear that, Union man? The kid wants me to take it easy on you. He doesn't want me to get too rough with my harsh words. You know,” he added as he strained to lift his head. “Kind of how someone might look out for a sweet little girl.”

At first, the soldier had been angry. Then he was taken aback by what was being said to him. Now he grinned and stalked closer to Carlo like a hungry dog that had finally been let off its chain. “I know you heard what the captain said about me being able to kill you. So all I can think of is that you're needling me just to get it over with before the captain figures out a torturous way for you to die. Either that,” he said as he reached for the bayonet hanging from his belt in a leather sheath, “or you're just delirious and—”

Carlo snapped awake as if someone had flipped a switch. The guard was so intent on glaring down into his eyes that he didn't see Carlo's leg moving until it was too late to do anything about it. His foot came around like the end of a whip to knock the guard's legs out from under him in one powerful sweep. As soon as the guard's back hit the ground, Carlo brought that same foot up and slammed it down again into the middle of the guard's chest. That stunned the uniformed man just long enough for Carlo to drop his boot again. This time, his heel pounded into the guard's neck with a muffled crunch.

“Can you get loose?” Carlo asked.

Luke was almost as stunned as the guard had been with the sudden turn of events. “Get loose? How?”

“Never mind.” With one powerful effort, Carlo pulled the wooden pole out from the ground so he could slip the ropes between his wrists underneath it. Next, he lay on the ground and slid his arms down past his boots and around so they were in front of him. Although the dislodged pole allowed a portion of the tent's roof to sag, the structure remained more or less intact.

“How did you do that?” Luke asked.

“This ain't my first time being captured,” Carlo replied as he took the fallen guard's bayonet from its scabbard. “Been working on loosening that post since I woke up. What about him?” he asked while nodding toward Red. “He going to wake up anytime soon?”

“Probably not on his own. I could splash some water on his face. That worked well enough on me.”

Carlo held the bayonet between his feet to keep it still as he hunkered down and scraped the ropes back and forth against the blade. After only a few desperate passes, he'd cut through enough of the rope for him to snap them apart using pure muscle and will. “Don't bother,” he said. “This is all gonna be over before he'd have a chance to get his wits about him. All we need to do is try to survive long enough to reap the rewards.”

“Rewards?” Luke asked as Carlo approached him and went around to cut his ropes with the bayonet. “What rewards?”

“The reasons we all came to Wichita in the first place. Just stick close to me and don't lose your head.”

Until now, most of the sounds outside had come from Granger issuing orders while he and his men rode through camp. By the time both Luke and Carlo were free, the first shots within the camp were fired.

“What was that?” Luke asked.

“If you don't recognize the sound of gunfire by now,” Carlo replied with half a grin, “then you haven't been paying attention.”

“What's going on out there? Who are they shooting at?”

“Remember what Granger was talking about in regards to me riding with a contingent of Quantrill's men?” Carlo asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, he wasn't lying. Granger moves his base of operations around quite a bit, and those men storming this camp right now have been trying to nail down exactly where he was for some time. They hit that billiard hall and now they aim to clean out this here camp.”

More gunshots cracked through the air as Union soldiers returned fire. It wasn't long before a stray bullet or two punched holes through one side of the tent all the way through to the other. “We can't stay in here,” Carlo said. “Things are bound to get worse before they get better. Shots will go wild. There may even be a horse trampling through here. We need to be out where we can see what's going on.”

“But that means we'll be out where the shots are being fired!” Luke protested.

“Take my word on this, kid. I've been on enough raids to know. This ain't a proper battle where ranks are formed and orders are given. This is directed chaos and if you can't see which way the tide is flowing, it'll sweep right over you. Now pick your friend up,” Carlo said as he sliced through the rope binding Red's wrists in one chop, “and follow me.”

Of the two friends, Red had always been the stronger one. He just came from heartier stock and never missed an opportunity to remind Luke which of them could beat the other when it came to fisticuffs. But this was no test of strength or bare-knuckle brawl. When Luke reached down to take hold of Red beneath the arms, he didn't consider what might happen if he couldn't lift him. He simply did what needed to be done and didn't question where he found the strength to carry Red away from that tent. He moved quickly because Carlo had already charged outside. And he moved even quicker when he got a look at the hell that had been unleashed upon Granger's base of operations.

Most of the horses he could see belonged to Granger and the Union soldiers. They were concentrated at the opposite end of camp, firing toward the outer perimeters as bullets whipped through the air from the trees. From those trees, like the very sound of the chaos Carlo had mentioned, came the cries of several unseen men. Some of them hollered as if it were the Fourth of July while others simply emptied their lungs in a rending battle cry. As Luke watched one soldier wave frantically toward a spot where the trees thinned out, no fewer than three bullets ripped through the uniformed man to send him flying from his horse.

Granger was nearby and he pointed to that same spot while shouting, “Here they come!”

Sure enough, four horses exploded from the tree line. Two riders fired pistols while the other two carried torches, which were thrown at the nearest tents. Those canvas tarps caught fire and smoke started to fill the air.

“Here!” another soldier cried before he was cut down by a volley of gunfire. Three men charged past him, two of whom carried torches. Instead of tossing their fiery cargo, they wove between the tents and touched the lit end of their torches to each in turn to set them alight one by one. Although only one of those riders was shooting back at the remaining Union soldiers, he was doing the work of at least two men.

That rider caught Luke's eye because, if he was older than him, it was only by a year or maybe two. He had a slender build and smooth features, but his eyes were intense and filled with cruel purpose. He sat in his saddle as if he was the master of everything around him, reins clamped in his teeth and a pistol in each fist. Even with the leather straps gripped in that manner, he still managed to let out a battle cry that sounded just as loud as the rest.

There were only a few soldiers remaining with Granger doing his best to lead them. The captain bared his teeth and fired a shot that dropped one of the marauders before he holstered his pistol and drew his saber. “None of these men leaves this ground!” he shouted. “We end Quantrill's rampage here and now!”

Even though they were outnumbered by rampaging attackers and their camp was in blazes around them, the Union men took strength from Granger's words and rallied to fight back against the other men. One soldier's horse took a bullet in the flank that caused it to rear up and turn away from the fight. Its rider allowed the animal to carry him through the middle of camp, which also pointed him directly at Luke and Red.

Although Luke was able to carry his friend some distance, he knew he wouldn't be able to get Red to safety before the rider got to them. Dropping him would only expose Red to the possibility of being trampled, and in the short amount of time left to him, Luke couldn't come up with any other choices. Before he was forced to pick from his unsavory options, Luke heard another shot fired from behind him.

Carlo had gotten his hands on a long rifle carried by Union infantry. His bullet caused the oncoming rider to drop down low over his horse's neck, but it did not convince him to steer away from his targets. Without missing a beat, Carlo gripped the rifle in both hands and charged. The bayonet he'd taken from the soldier in the tent might or might not have been the same one fixed to the end of that rifle. All that mattered was that the blade was sharp enough to drive deep into the mounted soldier's torso. Straining with both arms, Carlo pulled the rider from his saddle and drove the bayonet into him once more after he hit the ground.

Luke's only thought after that was to take his friend as far from danger as possible. Since Carlo was holding his own well enough, he found the clearest path between the burning tents and dragged Red along with him toward the trees.

“You!”

Turning toward that savage voice, Luke found Granger riding toward him with his saber held high.

“You brought this upon us!” the captain shouted. “You'll die right along with these good men!”

Luke saw the saber coming at him as if the entire world had started turning slower. Since jumping in any direction would require more strength to lift Red with him, he allowed his legs to go limp so both he and his unconscious friend could drop straight to the ground. Granger's blade sliced through the air directly over Luke's head as horse's hooves pounded against the dirt inches away from where he and Red landed.

Almost immediately, Granger pulled his reins to bring his horse around for another pass. There was blood on his coat from wounds that were his own as well as from a few that weren't. His eyes were wide and his nostrils flared while drawing in a breath tainted by smoke from the burning tents and the barrels of roaring guns. As several of the invading riders fired at him, Granger ducked low, leaned from side to side, and steered his horse in a pattern so erratic that none of the gunmen could draw a bead on him.

The saber in Granger's hand rose high above his head and Luke knew he would taste that blade when it came down again. Only now did he remember Carlo tossing a pistol over to him, but it was too late to put it to use. His hands were busy carrying Red, which meant there was nothing left to do besides pray for Granger to miss.

Riding forward with his eyes locked on Luke, Granger brought his saber down in a smooth motion that hadn't missed a target in several years. Even when a shot cracked through the air to catch him through the upper region of his chest, Granger looked as if he fully expected to spill Luke's blood. The bullet had caught him squarely, however, and the impact of its passing kicked like a mule to send him toppling from his saddle.

Now that Granger had fallen, the battle raging through the entire camp died down. Flames roared and swelled to consume whatever they could as the remaining soldiers were chased into the woods by screaming young men on horseback. Luke still couldn't believe that someone had managed to hit Granger so precisely while he was not only riding a horse at full gallop, but ducking and weaving to make himself the most inconvenient target possible.

The Union captain scraped his boots against the ground while turning to look up at Luke. “Kyle,” he said in a croaking voice. “He . . . owes me . . . owes me that money. It's . . . mine.”

Luke squatted down beside the dying man, waiting to hear more.

“That money!” Granger said with more venom in his tone now that he could see the younger man in front of him. “It's mine! He . . . owes . . .”

Luke reached for the gun he'd been given. It was one of Scott's that had been tucked under his belt throughout the entire ride from Maconville. That ride, which now seemed to have begun so very, very long ago. The pistol filled his hand and his thumb found the hammer.

“Don't bother, kid,” Carlo said as he approached them. Coming to a stop so he loomed over them both, he held Luke's old Colt in his hand and said, “This is a fine weapon. I couldn't have made that shot with anything less.”