The Big Gun (Dusty Fog's Civil War Book 3) (10 page)

‘
Where’re they at now?’ Staunce wanted to know.

‘
Gone
into town, like every night,’ the lieutenant replied, alternating
puzzled looks between his visitors. ‘None of them live in Camden,
but they go to the Tavern. It’s a heap more fun than staying out
here. Comes midnight, most of them’ll be rolling back—and do I mean
rolling, some of them, anyways. Maybe you’d best tell me what’s on
your minds.’

‘
I
reckon that would be best,’ Dusty agreed, knowing Clements to be a
shrewd man, and did as requested.

‘
You
figure the horned toad who fetched these over the river’s come from
here?’ Clements demanded, after Dusty had finished speaking,
looking at a notice that Staunce had taken from the
package.

‘
He
could be,’ Dusty answered. ‘It’s more likely to be from here than
out of Camden, or Vaden.’

‘
I’ll
float my stick with you on that,’ Clements conceded. ‘Just one, or
more of them?’

‘
One
man
could
have handled the boat, even to hauling it out, turning it
over and hiding it,’ Dusty replied. ‘Comes morning, happen you’ve
got somebody who can read sign, you could have him go and see what
he thinks; although we’ve probably walked where we shouldn’t
have.’

‘
I’ll
do that,’ Clements promised. ‘If it is one of them, I reckon it’ll
be best if he’s caught.’

‘
That’s for sure,’ Dusty drawled. ‘And the sooner the
better.’

‘
The
difficult thing will be catching him,’ Staunce pointed
out.

‘
I was
just thinking that same thing,’ Dusty admitted. ‘But one thing I’m
sure of. We’re going to find out who he is.’

Standing
near one of the holes being dug as
emplacements from which the 12-pounder ‘Napoleon’ gun-howitzers
could help to defend Stilton Crossing, Captain Dusty Fog overtly
studied the nine civilian workmen as they climbed out at the
conclusion of their day’s work. Most of them had bruised faces, or
showed other signs of having been involved in a fight. However,
Dusty was less interested in that than in detecting any suggestion
of them knowing him. If they did, some of them might be aware that
all was not as it should be in the light of recent
events.

It was almost sundown on the
day after Dusty
’s discovery of the boat and the printed threat, apparently
from the United States’ Army of Arkansas, to the people who lived
along the southern bank of the Ouachita River. Dusty had just
returned to Stilton Crossing, accompanied by twelve carefully
selected members of Company C. On their arrival, they had relieved
the other soldiers of the Texas Light Cavalry who had performed the
guard duty during the previous evening.

Having already started to think how it might
be possible to trap the traitor, if he should be at the camp, Dusty
had insisted that he and Captain Staunce should leave before the
civilian workers returned from visiting Camden. Going to the town
and taking rooms in the best hotel, the captains had contrived to
avoid being seen by the workmen and had awaited developments.

One of Lieutenant
Clements
’
soldiers had possessed the necessary ability to read tracks. At
dawn, as soon as there had been sufficient light, he had been sent
to carry out an examination of the area around Dusty’s find. On his
return, he had declared that he had found evidence to suggest that
only one man had drawn the boat from the water, then passed through
the bushes on to the Arkadelphia-Camden trail. The nature of the
terrain had precluded any hopes of obtaining clues to the
mysterious person’s identity. Due to the hard ground underfoot and
the walker having had to force his way through the undergrowth, the
soldier could not even establish his height or weight from the
length and depth of his stride. However, he had gone from the boat
to the trail at an angle that had suggested he was making for
Camden—or Stilton Crossing.

Clements had reported his
man
’s
findings to the two captains. In addition, the lieutenant had
announced that he had checked up on his guard detail and was
satisfied that none of them could have left the camp, crossed the
Ouachita and returned with the bundle of warning notices. Wishing
to avoid arousing suspicion, he had not questioned the
civilians.

Having arranged for his cousin to keep a
careful, if surreptitious, watch on the suspects, Dusty had
accompanied Staunce to the headquarters of the Texas Light Cavalry.
They had informed Major Smith, who was in command until the return
of the other senior officers, of their discovery and plans. Giving
his official sanction, the major had left the affair in their
hands. To ensure its success, they had been compelled to cause a
lot of work for a considerable number of people. Dusty hoped that
the effort expended would be justified by the final results.

If Dusty was studying the
civilians, they in turn were subjecting him to a more obvious
scrutiny. He waited to catch some comment which would suggest that
one, or more, of them knew something was wrong with his appearance.
For his part in the scheme, he had reverted to wearing the official
ty
pe of
uniform that the late Captain von Hertz had insisted upon him
adopting; even down to the waist belt and a first lieutenant’s
insignias of rank. It was a much less impressive outfit than the
skirtless tunic and the Western gun-rig.

‘
Look
at the short-grown bastard!’ muttered the middle-sized, lean and
bitter-faced man called Fletcher, scowling in Dusty’s direction and
apparently neither knowing, or caring, that his words were reaching
the young officer’s ears. He alone of the civilians bore no
evidence of having been fighting the night before. ‘Trust a lousy
dressed-up button like him to just stand there watching folks
work.’

‘
He’s
doing his share by fighting the War,’ protested the big, burly,
jovial-featured Amos Meats tolerantly.

‘
That
ain’t likely,’ Fletcher answered. ‘He don’t look dry behind the
ears, much less been doing any fighting.’

‘
Even
if he’s not done any yet,’ Meats countered, ‘he’ll likely be doing
it soon. And anybody who’s willing to fight them Yankee bastards’s
all right with me.’

‘
He
may
get ’round to fighting ’em,’ Fletcher grumbled. ‘But it’s
poor bastards like us who have to do all the sweating and
work.’

‘
I
don’t mind how much hard work I do,’ Meats stated, a touch
pompously, ‘just so long as it helps to lick those Goddamned
Yankees.’

‘
Ole
Amos sure hates Yankees,’ chortled one of the other men.

‘
I’d
kill every last son-of-a-bitching one of ’em, was I given the
chance,’ Meats declared, scowling with the kind of patriotic fervor
his companions had come to know and expect. ‘And until the chance
comes my way, I’m willing to do a bit of work. You should be too,
Fletch.’

There was a mumble of
good-natured agreement from the rest of the civilians. While
Fletcher had taken the job rather than accept an offer to enlist in
Confederate States
’ Army and was receiving a higher rate of pay than the
soldiers, he never stopped complaining about the work, food,
accommodation, or conditions in general. He appeared to begrudge
every effort he was called upon to make for the Southron
cause.

On the other hand, Meats was
invariably cheerful, hard working and fanatically devoted to the
Confederate States. Almost
embarrassingly so, his companions considered. Last
night, at the Tavern, a group of Camden citizens had been
criticizing Ole Devil Hardin’s conduct of the War. They had become
most indignant when Meats had intervened. As a result, there had
been a fight which had seen three of their number put in hospital.
The rest had, however, avoided being jailed for their part in the
brawl by Meats making the town’s constable realize the importance
of their work.

Watching and listening to the
men, Dusty turned over in his mind all the information his cousin
had been able to give to him. Clements had studied the civilians
since his arrival and had drawn conclusions which Dusty believed
would be objective and close to correct. However, the lieutenant
had been inclined to believe that
—if there was a traitor in the
camp—Fletcher was the most likely suspect. Dusty preferred to keep
an open mind on the subject and to await developments. Unless he
was mistaken, they should soon be starting to happen.

And they did!

‘
Look!’ screeched one of the civilians, dropping his pick as
he stared and pointed towards the near-by woodland.

Figures were rushing from among
the trees. Carrying Springfield carbines, they wore the uniforms of
the United States
’ Cavalry.

Letting out a startled yell, Dusty grabbed
for and began to fumble with the flap of his holster. He did not
display any of his usual skill in handling the awkward rig.

Firing as they approached, with
their weapons belching clouds of white powder smoke, the attackers
scored hits and at least one near miss. Dirt flew between
Dusty
’s
spread apart feet as a bullet churned into the ground. Having
turned and started to raise his Enfield carbine, Sandy McGraw
screamed. He spun around, throwing aside the weapon, and sprawled
face down. The other three men on duty also went down, although in
a less spectacular manner.

Bursting out of the wedge
tents, the rest of the guard showed that they had been caught
unawares by the attack. One of them tried to draw a revolver, but
was fired on by the Yankee sergeant
—a tall, lean man whose hawk-nosed, high
cheekboned, savage dark features might have implied mixed
Indian and white
blood. Crying in agony, the stricken soldier twirled and tumbled
back into the tent.

At the shooting of the man by
his side, the short, white-
haired and ancient-looking Corporal Hassle
elevated his hands. It was an example followed by the remainder of
the soldiers.

‘
Don’t
shoot, blast ye!’ the old non-com howled. ‘We’ve quit! It ain’t no
use doing nothing else.’

‘
How
about you, luff?’
^xv
demanded the tall, lean, Union
captain, his voice holding a hard Teutonic timbre, as some of his
men trained their weapons in Dusty’s direction.

‘
All
right,’ the small Texan agreed, sounding what he hoped would be
angry and frightened. He thrust his hands hurriedly into the air,
yelping, ‘All
right
! I surrender.’

While speaking, Dusty darted a
glance in the civilians
’ direction. He could see alarm on their faces,
but nothing to suggest that any of them doubted the authenticity of
the ‘attack’. Not that he felt too surprised at their acceptance of
the situation. If he had not been aware of their ‘assailants’
identities, he might have taken them for genuine
Yankees.

Captain S
taunce and the selected members
of Company C looked every inch of hard-bitten, hard-travelled Union
cavalrymen. Having been aware that the need for such disguises
might arise, once the withdrawal had been halted on the south shore
of the Ouachita River, Ole Devil and Colonel Blaze had caused
perfect copies of Federal uniforms and equipment to be made and
held at the Texas Light Cavalry’s headquarters.

To be truthful, a certain
amount of luck was helping the deception. Shortly after
Dusty
’s
arrival at the regiment, Red Blaze had returned with the Company
from an all-night training exercise. So the small Texan had told
the men he had selected to become ‘Yankees’ neither to wash nor
shave. Staunce had already omitted his morning ablutions,
complaining bitterly and half seriously about the results of such
behavior. To augment their appearances of having ridden long, fast,
and hard, they had immersed themselves in the river and their
clothing bore evidence of the fact.

Moving forward, the Yankees
acted as they might have been expected to under the circumstances.
Some went to watch over the
‘surrendered’ Texans. Others gathered around the
civilians, or went to examine the ‘shot’ soldiers. Two of them took
hold of and dragged away Sandy McGraw’s laxly. He had been the
‘victim’ nearest to the workmen and the most likely for them to
have discovered was not really dead or injured. Accompanied by his
sergeant—who now bore the same rank in Company C and went by the
name Kiowa Cotton—and ‘Private’ Red Blaze, Staunce approached
Dusty.

‘
All
right, luff,’ Staunce said harshly. ‘I want to know where your
outfit is, how many men’re in it and what you’re going to be doing
in the future.’

‘
I
won’t tell you!’ Dusty declared.

‘
Like
hell you won’t!’ Red growled, hiding the delight he was feeling at
the part he now had to play.