The Big Gun (Dusty Fog's Civil War Book 3) (11 page)

With that, the
redhead took his
left hand from the fore-grip of the Springfield carbine. The
weapon, like the rest carried by the impostors, was a battlefield
‘purchase’. Up swung Red’s left arm, driving the back of his hand
against the side of Dusty’s face. Red had been told to make the
blow look natural and he threw himself into it with his usual
gusto. Nobody, particularly its recipient, could have doubted that
the redhead’s attack was genuine. Spun on his heels by the impact,
Dusty crashed to the ground.

‘
That
won’t help!’ Staunce barked as Red advanced and drew back a foot as
if meaning to kick his cousin. ‘Leave him to me. On your
feet,
luff.
’

Slowly, shaking his head and
rubbing at his reddened, stinging cheek, Dusty obeyed. He faced the
three
‘Yankees’, trying to look defiant and avoiding turning his
eyes to the men for whom the whole performance was being carried
out. For all that, he knew that he and his companions were holding
the civilians’ attention. He hoped that they were being
convinced—and that one of them really was the traitor.

‘
I
asked you a question, luff,’ Staunce continued, glowering at the
small Texan and retaining his Teutonic accent. ‘I want to know
where your outfit is, how many men are in it, and what your future
orders might be.’

‘
Do
what you like to me,’ Dusty challenged, in what he believed to be
the correct tone of voice. ‘You’ll never make me
answer.’

‘
Want
to bet on it?’ Red inquired, making as if to attack
again.

‘
That’s enough!’ Staunce snarled, for the redhead was not
such a good mimic and his Texas drawl was noticeable. A glance
suggested to the captain that it had gone unnoticed. ‘Keep your
damned mouth shut, Broski. And you, luff, this is your last chance
to answer.’

‘
I’m
in the 11th Kentucky Heavy Infantry,’ Dusty replied hastily. ‘We’re
fifteen hundred strong—’

‘
And
you’re a liar!’ Staunce interrupted. ‘Maybe you think I’m playing
games. I’ll show you.’ He looked at the group by the wedge tents.
‘Hey, you with those peckerwood bastards. Hang a couple of
them!’

Startled exclamations rose from
the civilians. However, their guards threatened them with the
carbines. So they restricted their objections to speech and not
action. The Springfield was a single-shot weapon, but not all of
the
‘Yankees’ had used their solitary loads when capturing the
camp. There was no way for the civilians to know which of the
muzzles directed at them was still capable of throwing out flame,
smoke and lead.

Being unable to put up any
resistance, the workmen watched six of the
‘Yankees’ hustling Corporal Hassle
and another small enlisted man towards the trees. The rest of the
‘prisoners’’ guards continued to watch over their ‘captives’, for
Dusty had warned them that they must do nothing that might warn the
civilian of the situation’s true nature.

Taking their two
‘victims’ to the
edge of the woods, the ‘Yankees’ brought up a pair of horses. While
Hassle’s and the private’s arms were being bound to their sides,
ropes were tossed over the branches of a big oak tree in plain view
of the civilians. Struggling futilely, the ‘victims’ were hoisted
on to the McClellan saddles. Dusty had insisted that this type of
rig be used, in case the man he was hoping to locate should be
suspicious, alert for traps and sufficiently observant to notice
apparently minor details. With the two men mounted, nooses were
dropped about their necks and tightened.

‘
This’s murder!’ Dusty croaked, watching the
civilians.

Although every one of them looked alarmed,
it was nothing more as yet.

Two hands rose and fell,
slapping the horses
’ rumps. Bounding forward, the animals left their burdens
dangling with wildly kicking legs from the limbs of the tree.
Horrified gasps and disgusted exclamations burst from the
civilians. To Dusty, it seemed that Fletcher and Meats reacted
somewhat more slowly than the rest of their party. For all that,
both of them seemed to be visibly shaken by what they had
seen.

‘
Well,’ Staunce said to Dusty. ‘Are you ready to tell me the
truth?’

‘
No!’
the small Texan replied.

‘
I’ll
hang every one of
your men, unless you tell me.’

‘
Then
do it. They’re soldiers and will have to take their
chances.’

‘
Like
you said,’ Staunce growled.
‘
They’re
soldiers and have to take their chances. So I’ll start to
hang the civilians.’

‘
The
civilians
?’
Dusty repeated, in tones of horror and there was a louder
rumble of protest from among the workmen. ‘You can’t—you
wouldn’t—
dare to do such a barbaric thing.’

‘
I not
only
can,
I
would—
and
will,
’
the Englishman declared and his eyes roamed over the
nervous, perturbed group of civilians. Returning his gaze to
Fletcher, he pointed. ‘Take that one. And the big, fat bastard. His
neck ought pop as sweet as can be when we whip the horse from under
him.’

Without speaking, Red and Kiowa moved
forward. The civilians began to protest, but the rest of the
soldiers kept their weapons held in a threatening manner that
overrode any hope of more strenuous objections. Closing on the
designated pair, the two Texans shoved them none too gently from
their companions.

‘
You
can’t do this to us!’ Fletcher wailed, then glared at Dusty. ‘Stop
them, damn you!’

‘
Show
me how I can!’ the small Texan answered, sounding
desperate.

‘
Tell
them what they want to know!’ Fletcher replied. ‘That’s
how.’

‘
I—I
can’t!’ Dusty groaned.

‘
Come
on. Let’s have some movement there,’ Staunce commanded. ‘Get them
to the trees and haul them up.’

Joined by two more soldiers, Red and Kiowa
made as if to hustle the selected civilians away. Fletcher moved,
but Meats stood still.

‘
Let
me talk to you,’ the burly man requested, looking from Staunce to
the suspended, still kicking, figures hanging from the
tree.

‘
What
about?’ the Englishman asked.

‘
In
private,’ Meats requested, sweat pouring down his face as it took
on a pleading expression. ‘Please, captain, it’s important. You’ll
regret it if you don’t hear me out.’

‘
All
right,’ Staunce said, sounding reluctant. ‘What is it?’

‘
Not
here,’ Meats began.

‘
Go
and hang him!’ Staunce barked.

‘
Damn
it!’ Meats howled, wild with anger and alarm, as the two soldiers
once more pretended to be eager to carry out their orders. ‘I’m a
member of the Union’s Secret Service—’

‘
Oh
sure,’ Staunce sniffed. ‘And I’m President Lincoln.’

‘
It’s
true I tell you!’ Meats insisted. ‘Last night I crossed the
Ouachita and brought back some posters that I’ve got to spread
around Camden. Let me take you to where I’ve hidden
them.’

‘
Well
now,’ Staunce answered, resuming his normal way of speaking. ‘I
hardly think you need to do that. Do you, Dusty?’

Shock twisted at
Meats
’
features and his cheeks reddened in rage as he realized that he had
been tricked into making a
damning confession. His eyes swung from the
‘Yankee’ captain to the Confederate ‘first lieutenant’ and
back.

‘
Why
you—!’ Meats began, tensing.

‘
Stay
put,
hombre,
’
Kiowa Cotton advised and his face was sufficiently menacing
to ensure compliance with the request.

Again excited chatter arose
among the civilians. They were becoming aware that things were
vastly different to what had appeared on the surface. The
‘shot’ soldiers
were rising, grinning amiably at their ‘killers’. At the edge of
the woodland, more of the ‘Yankees’ were raising the suspended pair
and removing the ropes from their necks.

Dusty was watching the latter
operation with considerable interest and not a little anxiety. It
was with much relief that he saw Hassle and the other man had not
been injured. While the leather harnesses they had
worn
—each
provided with metal hooks under which the noose had been placed and
prevented from closing about the throat—were strong and had been
tested by Dusty himself before being used, things might still have
gone wrong. Certainly the pair deserved every commendation for
volunteering to take that particular part in the scheme.

‘
That
was a neat trick, young feller,’
Fletcher praised and nodded to where Kiowa
was guarding Meats. ‘He’s a feller I was wanting to meet. I thought
all along he might be, he was too loyal to the South to be
true.’

‘
How
do you mean?’ Staunce inquired, the words having been directed at
him.

‘
I’m
with the Confederate Secret Service,’ Fletcher explained. ‘We heard
that there’re Yankee spies along the Ouachita and I was sent to try
to get to know them. That was why I acted like I’ve been doing. I
figured the spy might reckon I’d be useful to him. Lord, though,
you had me worried. Everything that happened looked so damned
real.’

‘
Yes,
it did,’ Dusty said thoughtfully and gingerly touched his reddened
cheek. He looked to where his cousin had handed the Springfield
carbine—which had sent the bullet between his feet—to a genuine
private and was watching Hassle’s party. ‘Red.’

‘
Ye—’
the redhead began, turning.

Gliding forward, Dusty whipped up his right
hand. The knuckles took Red under the jaw and, although Dusty had
not struck with his full strength, dumped the surprised youngster
rump-first on the ground.

‘
Hey!’
Red yelped indignantly, ‘what was that for?’

‘
Hitting me the way you did,’ Dusty answered, extending his
open right hand.

‘
But
you said for me to hit you!’ Red protested as his cousin helped him
back to his feet.

‘
Sure,’ Dusty agreed. ‘But I didn’t say you should
enjoy
doing
it.’

From
the moment Dusty Fog entered the library of the
fine colonial-style house, loaned by a prominent Camden citizen for
use as General Hardin’s temporary headquarters, he sensed that
events had taken a very serious turn. It showed on the faces of his
father, Ole Devil, Colonel Blaze and Major Smith. Almost
instinctively, Dusty guessed what was wrong. The older men were
gathered about the big desk and, prominent on it, were the warning
notices which he and Captain Staunce had found beyond Stilton
Crossing.

The time was shortly after ten
o
’clock at
night. Having left Lieutenant Clements and his men to resume their
interrupted guard duties—they had been hidden in the woods while
the deception was being played out—Dusty had brought Meats to the
jail in Camden. During the journey, the spy had been questioned.
None of his answers had been very informative. However, Dusty had
felt that any threat Meats might have posed was now at an
end.

Unless, of course—

‘
The
Mounted Infantry haven’t dealt with the big gun, Dustine,’ Ole
Devil announced, raising the matter upon which his nephew had just
been dwelling. ‘They’d crossed the river about two miles upstream
from Arkadelphia and were taking a roundabout route to join the
Malvern trail behind the woods. Instead, they were ambushed by a
large force of Yankee cavalry using repeating rifles and suffered
heavy losses.’

That meant, Dusty realized,
only the warning notices had been prevented from making their
appearances. The bom
bardment could still be carried out. The situation was very
grave and he had been correct in his guess at what was causing the
solemn expressions displayed by his superiors. They had returned
from Arkadelphia knowing that a serious and dangerous threat must
be met.

‘
Only
one officer escaped,’ Colonel Blaze went in. ‘A young shave
tail.
^xvi
He’d been wounded and wasn’t too
coherent. But, from what he said, it looks as if the Yankees knew
they were coming and had been waiting for them.’

‘
How
about the gun, sir?’ Dusty asked.

‘
They
never saw it,’ Ole Devil answered. ‘But the commanding officer of
the detachment across the Ouachita sent a message under a flag of
truce. He apologized on behalf of the Union Army for the shelling
and assured us that it wouldn’t happen again.’