Straw Men (7 page)

Clint walked out of the shack and meant to look around for Abigail before heading to the bunk house. As luck would have it, both of his searches were ended with one casual glance. Abigail was leaning against the bunk house.

She waited for him to approach before asking, “Was that asshole like that when you got him locked up?”

“Pretty close, yeah.”

“Good.”

“Did you get your money?” Clint asked.

Patting her jacket pocket, Abigail replied, “Every cent, and I sure as hell ain't spending any of it in this place. If you're headed west, I'd be willing to show you a few more sights.”

“I'm staying here for the night. After that, I'm joining Farelli's second in command to meet with the chief of the tribe that's been attacking folks around here.”

“You're really working for that colonel?” Abigail asked with shock written across her face. “How can you trust a damn word he says?”

“I don't,” Clint replied. Glancing around to notice that a few men in uniform were approaching, he lowered his voice and leaned closer to her. “And I don't have to trust him. If he meant to set me up for a fall, this is the perfect mission for it. From everything I've seen about this Indian situation, things couldn't be much worse.

“For a man like the colonel, the first move he'd make is to send an enemy or expendable annoyance into this fight. He might be stretching the truth to bring me here, but this is something I'd want to do no matter what. There're good men dying and I think I can help fix that. I've had some experience with the Navajo and I may be able to ease things up a bit, or at least find out what's causing all of this so I can get that information to someone who actually does his job properly.”

Abigail chuckled humorlessly and asked, “You think the colonel is just stretching the truth?”

“He may be lying about a lot of things, but the fact of the matter is that he may be the one behind this and the best way for me to find out is to spend a few days with his men and see what I can see. I'm not stupid enough to let him or any of the soldiers in his pocket get close to me.”

“You're stupid enough to sleep in his bunk house,” Abigail pointed out. “That snake in the grass might just slit yer throat before you wake up.”

Clint shook his head and waited for another couple of Army men to pass by. Even though they didn't seem interested in what he was saying, Clint waited for the soldiers to pass. “We butted heads, but Farelli came out of it smelling like a rose. He's got a promotion and he seems perfectly happy running this place into the ground. He's a pig in slop and the worst he's probably got lined up for me is to throw me to some angry Indians that he doesn't realize are on good terms with me. Whether he knows it or not, I'm suited for this job. If I could've arranged to meet with the Navajo to stop this bloodshed on my own, I would've done it.”

“Even if Farelli had to be involved?”

“Even if he was to be involved,” Clint assured her. “He doesn't even want to come along for this meeting, which fits perfectly with what I already know about the man.”

“So you just want to try and do this job right whether the colonel wants it that way or not?”

“That's right.”

She shook her head, but then started to laugh uncomfortably. “Yer a hell of a brave man or a damn stupid one,” she said. “At least yer heart's in the right place.”

“I appreciate that…I think. Whichever kind of man I am, I don't want you coming along with me for this job.”

“I wasn't about to ask,” she quickly replied. “If I wanted to lock horns with every tribe this side of the Rockies, not even the great high and mighty Gunsmith could talk me out of it.”

Clint reached out to slide his hand around the back of her head so he could pull her close. No matter how much Abigail tried to strut and snarl like a fighter, she melted against him the moment she felt her lips touch his. Her face was dirty as always, but her skin was soft to the touch. After he let her go, Abigail needed a moment to rebuild her hardened exterior.

“Take care of yourself, Abigail. Don't get in over your head.”

“The same goes for you, Adams,” she said as her hand drifted quickly between his legs. “And next time we cross paths, I'll take care of you.”

Clint spent the rest of that day waiting for something to happen. He got situated in his bunk and waited for someone to approach him about the next day's events. He ate supper with the rest of the soldiers and had a beer at the small saloon that was set up in what appeared to have been an old blacksmith's tent. He went to sleep expecting to be approached by Farelli or one of his assistants and he woke up wondering if he'd been forgotten somewhere along the line.

Not only was Clint left alone, but he was completely ignored. It seemed the rest of the men had plenty to do between their own duties and the daily affairs that were required to keep the fort running. When something actually did happen, Clint was almost startled enough to jump.

“Mister Adams?” a young man in a private's uniform asked.

Clint was buckling up his saddlebag when the younger man approached his bunk. “That's me.”

“You're the one that supposed to ride out with Lieutenant McGurn?”

“Where's the lieutenant heading?”

The young soldier blinked and replied, “To meet with those Indians, sir.”

“Then I'm the one you're looking for,” Clint replied.

Nodding as if he was on the wrong side of a bad joke, the private said, “I'm to show you to the stable, then. All of us are about to leave.”

“What about Colonel Farelli?”

“He won't be coming with us, sir. Actually, I think he's still asleep.”

Lowering his voice a bit, Clint asked, “Kind of a late sleeper, huh?”

The private chuckled and nodded. “Nobody's ever seen him any earlier than ten o'clock. Some of us call him Cold Brew on account of he's never in the canteen until the coffee's cooled off.” Suddenly, the private's grin faded and he straightened up. “But…um…it wouldn't be a good idea to…I mean…”

“Don't worry,” Clint assured him. “I won't let Cold Brew know he's called anything but Colonel.”

“I appreciate that, sir.”

“If you're riding with me today, you might as well call me Clint.”

The soldier grinned again, which made him look more like a kid than anyone suited to wear a uniform and carry a rifle. “Clint, it is. Are you really Clint Adams, sir? The Gunsmith?”

“That's what some folks call me.”

“We've heard about some of the things you've done. That is, me and some of the others stationed here. Some of the stories are pretty impressive.”

“Most stories are. And I don't appreciate people telling stories about me,” Clint said sternly. “Especially when they don't even take the time to introduce themselves properly.”

At first, the private seemed taken aback by Clint's change of tone. Then he relaxed when he realized what Clint was truly after. “I'm Private Biggs,” he said as the spark came back to his eyes. “Emory Biggs.”

“Nice to meet you,” Clint said amicably. “Feel free to tell all the stories you want.”

Biggs turned and headed for the front of the bunk house. “Yes, sir. You know where the stable is?”

“Sure do.”

“The rest of us will be there and intend on leaving as soon as possible.”

“I won't hold you up,” Clint said as he hefted his saddlebag onto his shoulder and left his bunk behind. “I'm ready to go.”

Biggs was a tall kid who walked as if he didn't truly know how long his legs were. His head naturally bowed to nearly every other soldier he passed, since only a few of the buglers and drummers were below him in the military pecking order. Despite his mannerisms, Biggs never seemed timid. He already spoke to Clint as if they were old friends.

“Some of us didn't think it would really be you that came along for this,” Biggs said. “We figured ol' Cold Brew was just trying to get our spirits up by saying he was sending the Gunsmith along with us and then he would throw in some hired gunfighter at the last second.”

“Is that something he does a lot?” Clint asked.

Biggs paused for a second and then replied, “No, but it's the sort of thing he'd be likely to do. One time he sent out a patrol and told them they'd meet up with another infantry unit. There wasn't no infantry out there. It was all just smoke to get us to where we needed to be.”

“I'll bet you came back pretty quickly after that.”

“Hell yes, sir,” Biggs said. Seeing that he was getting closer to a bunch of other men, he lowered his voice and said, “We sure did. I suppose that was the point. I've never heard of a commanding officer doing things like that, but I suppose it worked.”

“Yeah.” Clint sighed. “I suppose it did.”

The stable felt crowded, but that was mainly because hardly any of the stalls were filled and most of the other space was filled. Several men and their horses were packed into the aisle between the two rows of stalls, going through the last bits of preparation before saddling up. When Clint and Biggs walked into the stable, every last man stopped what they were doing so they could get a look for themselves.

There was a moment of heavy silence, which was broken by a question asked by a scruffy cowboy toward the back of the aisle. “That really Clint Adams?” he asked.

Of all the men inside the stable, only Biggs and one other were in uniform. The soldier with the larger collection of ribbons on his chest said, “That's him. I've seen him before in Dallas as well as Labyrinth.”

Clint squinted into the shadows within the stable and then smiled. “Sid McGurn? I didn't expect to see you again.”

McGurn stepped forward and extended his hand. “Probably not, especially since I could barely put two cents together for a slice of bread the last time we met.” Turning to the rest of the men, McGurn added, “Don't ever play poker with this one. He'll cheat you blind!”

Clint rolled his eyes and waved off the warning. He was then introduced to the other three men who followed McGurn's lead by slapping Clint on the shoulder or throwing him a few lighthearted threats about cheating at cards. One of the men was a scout. Another was along to translate Indian languages and the third was armed to the teeth. Apparently, Clint wasn't the only one coming along for protection.

“Is this the whole bunch?” Clint asked.

McGurn nodded. “It is, but our scout will only come for a portion of the ride to make sure we're heading in the right direction. After that, we're on our own.”

“Suits me,” the gunman replied. “I got enough bullets to clean out the whole tribe.”

“Let's not make that our first plan,” Clint suggested. “Things might go a whole lot smoother that way.”

McGurn led his horse from the stable and immediately climbed into the saddle. “Agreed. Our orders are to attend this meeting and work out a truce. Only if that fails do we fire a shot. Understood?”

The men sounded off as they emerged from the stable and mounted up. Clint brought Eclipse out last and noticed that McGurn was watching him intently. “I don't get extra pay for getting myself killed,” Clint said. “I'd be happy with just watching you boys talk.”

Nodding and pointing his horse's nose toward the fort's front gate, McGurn said, “All right, then. Let's ride.”

The men rode with a purpose and McGurn led them as if they were headed into a war. After a few pleasantries were exchanged outside the fort, the group thundered to the north and didn't let up their pace for hours. They didn't push the horses to their limits, but they rode without a few words passing between them.

The scout had bolted ahead of them before the rest of the horses could hit their stride and didn't show his face again until well past noon. When he caught sight of the scout, McGurn motioned for the rest of the men and then pulled back on his reins. The group slowed as one, allowing the scout to catch up and fall into step alongside McGurn.

“They're waiting for us about two miles ahead,” the scout said. He was breathing heavily enough to make it seem as if he'd done most of the running instead of his horse. “About a dozen of them.”

McGurn nodded once and asked, “Are they setting up an ambush?”

“I don't think so. From what I could see, it looks like they're just waiting. There's a tent set up and everything.”

Setting his jaw into a firm line, McGurn let out a breath and slowly looked along the horizon in front of him. “Biggs and I will ride ahead. I want the rest of you to spread out and follow us in. We're supposed to be going in under the banner of peace, so I don't want any guns drawn. Keep your hands in the open, but be ready to draw. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!” Biggs replied.

The rest of the men simply nodded or grunted a few words. Clint belonged to the first group.

The scout, on the other hand, fidgeted uncomfortably in his saddle. “I won't be going any further,” he said. “I was supposed to make sure nobody snuck up on you men along the way and that's what I did. Colonel Farelli said I could—”

“I know what he told you,” McGurn interrupted. “If you intend on leaving, then just go.”

Glancing around at the men, the scout turned his horse toward the west and snapped his reins. Judging by the way he spurred his horse, he wasn't about to stay in the area for one second longer than he'd been paid to.

McGurn made a quick waving motion, which was enough to set the rest of the men into motion. He snapped his reins and held his spot at the front of the group.

Breaking the command he'd just been given, Clint rode up to a spot on McGurn's left. Private Biggs nearly jumped across the lieutenant to try and shove Clint back.

“It's all right, Biggs,” McGurn said. Turning to Clint, he asked, “Something on your mind, Adams?”

“Were you planning on going ahead with just Biggs to guard you?” Clint asked.

“Nolan knows his orders. He'll be enough to get us out if things go bad.”

Nodding toward the man who wore a double-rig holster along with a Winchester strapped across his back, Clint asked, “Is that Nolan?”

“It sure is,” McGurn replied.

“With all due respect, I think I'd like to be the one to go along with you.”

For the first time since the ride had begun, McGurn broke out of his official demeanor and became more of the man that Clint had beaten at poker. “Why do you say that?”

“It's why I came along. I don't think Farelli went through all that trouble to find me just so I could hang back and watch for things to go badly. I can do a lot more good if I'm in the middle of things.”

“I respect you, Clint, but I don't know why Farelli would go through so much trouble to hire you. Some of us thought you'd be replacing Nolan altogether, but that's not how it turned out.”

“Why would Nolan be replaced?”

“You ask a lot of questions, Clint.”

“It's a quick way to find out things,” Clint replied.

“What sort of things?”

“That you don't hold the colonel in very high regard, for one.”

McGurn snapped his head around to shoot a quick look at Private Biggs. Reflexively, Biggs looked away and steered his horse to one side to give the lieutenant some room.

“Where'd you come up with that?” McGurn asked in a low voice that could barely be heard over the sound of hooves against the earth.

“You twitch when you call him by his rank and have already started calling him by his common name. And even when you do that…you still twitch,” Clint explained.

“Still got an eye for twitches, huh?”

“That's how I've won so many hands of poker,” Clint said. “Also, you conduct yourself like a proper soldier. Any man who acts befitting his rank would have a problem with someone like Farelli. How the hell did he get to be an officer anyway?”

“Lord only knows, but he is the one issuing the commands,” McGurn said. “Since he's actually doing something to try and stop these attacks before they get any worse, I'm inclined to follow his lead.”

Already seeing the smoke from the fires of a nearby camp, Clint spoke quicker before they got any closer to the awaiting Indians. “Doesn't the Army have someone better than him to handle this?”

“Farelli handled a group of unruly redskins when he was awaiting a formal court-martial. I believe you know something about that.”

“You're damn right, I do.”

“Farelli came up with a plan to deal with the Indians and they would only talk to him. Blood was being spilled and he was about to go on the block anyway, so he was allowed to try his own plan. It worked and he slipped away from his court-martial with a slap on the wrist. He even got promoted,” McGurn added with a shake of his head.

“Sounds like you know a lot about the subject.”

“I looked into it after I was stationed here. I had to know how a man like that could be in command.”

“And you still take his orders on this?” Clint asked.

McGurn nodded solemnly. “This is a job that needs doing, no matter who gives the order to start the work. I assume that's the same reason you're along for this ride.”

“Pretty much,” Clint said. “Should I fall back?”

After deliberating for all of two seconds, McGurn barked, “Nolan, you stay back and watch to make certain we don't get flanked while we're in the meeting.”

“But you can't just go in there with the kid!” Nolan protested.

“I won't be. Adams is coming with me and Biggs.”

“But—”

McGurn snapped his head around quickly enough to rattle almost every decoration on his hat and jacket. “You have a problem with that, mister?”

Even though Nolan was carrying enough guns to supply the entire group, he reflexively backed off when he saw the fire in McGurn's eyes. “I guess not. You're the officer, but Farelli will hear about this.”

“Then he'll hear it from both of us, because everything will wind up in my report.” With that, McGurn set his sights upon the group of Indians watching him from a small camp less than a hundred yards away. “All right, men. We know what to do. Let's do it and get home in time for supper.”