Black Sun, The Battle of Summit Springs, 1869 (18 page)

Bill Cody watched as the first of the day's patrons entered the corral, passing through the huge iron gate that fronted on Wazee Street. From his tiny room on the second story of the Chase Hotel that faced Fifteenth Street, Cody could look directly down on the corral and watch the activity in each of the stalls that bordered the corral's three sides.

Over the next hour a curious mixture of customers entered the corral, eager to peruse the day's selection of animals for auction. Some wore the coarsest frontier clothing, or were dressed in fine Indian-made buckskins, while a minority sported styles freshly imported from the East—garments made of the finest velvets, silks and satins were in evidence. The few women who accompanied their gentleman friends carried parasols; flashing diamonds and sparkling jewelry accented their décolleté gowns.

Most of the early activity centered on the long row of tables near the east end of the corral, where owner Teats had spread a sumptuous repast for his guests that would easily rival even the famous Delmonico's of New York City. Here the contract teamster in muddy boots rubbed shoulders with the wealthy barons of this new city, every man with an eye kept on the auction ring.

“We're going to have to do something about dinner soon,” Seamus Donegan groaned, watching the feeding frenzy below. He poured the last of the coffee into his tin cup, grounds and all. “Having to sit here and watch them starch-shirts eating canned oysters and goose livers.”

“You're not the only one whose belly is hollering for fodder, Irishman,” joked Cody. “We'll get Green to get us something—”

Donegan pushed the tin cup of cold coffee across the washstand, watching Cody go tense. “You see something down there?”

“Could be,” then he pointed out the window. “See that mule they're leading 'round the crowd. Next up for auction. I'd lay my mother's watch that's Forbush's mule.”

“The lieutenant's animal?” asked Farley.

“Damn if it ain't!” Cody cheered, standing of a sudden, flinging the chair out of his way. He yanked the pistol from his belt, slowly spinning the cylinder.

“How you want to play this?”

Cody smiled at the three of them. “Green will come inside the corral with us. Farley, you best hang back at the gate—in case the bastards make a run to light out.”

“How many guns you figure on us coming up against?”

He wagged his head. “Don't know, Seamus. Farley counted two sets of tracks down there on Sand Creek. Chances are they've got someone up here in on things—help 'em get these animals sold off.”

“Could be three, eh?” Green replied.

“That's why there's three of us going in—and Farley closing the door behind us, boys,” Donegan said.

Entering the Elephant Corral, Cody sent Green up the north wall of stables. “Hang 'round the auction ring to see what comes up when the mule goes for sale.”

He nodded for Donegan to follow him into the milling crowd. “Let's have us a look at the mule, Irishman.”

The vivid perfumes of lilac water mingled with the earthy fragrance of horse dung and old sweat as the two strode slowly through the crowd, on a direct course for the black mule being led toward the auction ring.

Closer and closer they drew to the animal and its handler until the handler nervously looked back over his shoulder at the same moment the crowd parted.

“I know him!” Cody hissed.

The handler broke for it, pushing his way through the spectators and bidders, the mule rearing and scree-hawing, frightening the ladies with its gyrations.

“Damn well seems he knows you too!” Donegan shouted as they both darted into the pandemonium.

“He's going for the gate—cover me!”

Lunging heedless into a small knot of monied stockmen dressed in silk and fine skin boots, the thief stumbled, fell to a mud puddle and picked himself back up as the young scout reached out, snagging the thief. Cody wrenched him about by the shoulder.

“Williams! By damn—it is you!”

He tore at the grip Cody had on him, freeing himself long enough to go for the two long-barreled pistols stuffed in his waistband.

“Don't think about it, me friend.”

Williams froze as the voice whispered harsh in his ears, the thief's hands hanging motionless over his pistols. His eyes grew wider as the big muzzle nudged his backbone a trifle impatiently.

“Good to see you could make it, Seamus.”

“Just trying to help, Cody.” He glanced around at the crowd, finding everything had stopped, everyone staring at the three gunmen. “Suppose you take this man's guns and we'll walk ourselves out of here, Bill.”

“Why you steal army property?” Cody asked the thief once they were outside the corral.

“Didn't steal nothing.”

“That mule you were dancing with belongs to Lieutenant Forbush,” Farley snarled in the man's face.

“You know him too?” Cody asked of Farley.

He nodded. “Nate Williams. Small-time horse thief and road agent. Plays second fiddle to some bigger fish, Bill.”

“Who's that, Williams?” Cody prodded, jabbing the muzzle of his pistol into the thief's ribs as Donegan tied Williams's hands.

“Don't know what you're talking about,” he replied.

“I'm not gonna mess with him,” Cody said, walking behind Williams so he could wink at Green and Farley. “Why don't you both take this lying bastard out of town—get him out of my sight. Hang him so we can get back to Fort Lyon with the major's horses.”

“H-Hang me?”

“That's what's done with horse thieves out here,” Farley hissed. “Didn't you know that when you started keeping company with Bevins?”

The thief licked his lips, his eyes darting anxiously. He swallowed hard, as if sensing a tightness ringing his neck.

“Bevins?” Cody asked.

“Bill Bevins,” Farley replied. “He's the big fish in this bad act.”

Cody stepped up to glare into Williams's face. “Tell you what, mister—I'll see what I can do so you don't hang, if you see that I get my hands on Bevins.”

“He … he'd kill me—he found out I told you—”

“He won't know,” Cody said.

“Here's the rope,” Donegan said, striding up with a length of hemp he had taken from Farley's mount.

“We can't do it in town,” Green said. “I know a tree south of here that's high enough to stretch his neck good.”

“Help me get the bastard on a horse,” Farley said.

Williams was actually shaking by that time, wagging his head frantically. “You ain't … no—you can't! That's murder … I just—”

“Just what?”

“All right—I'll tell you,” he spit out in a gusher. “Bevins is out of town. Place we found. Where we got the rest of the goddamned animals.”

“Where?”

“North. Down the Platte a ways.”

“How far?”

*   *   *

Three miles farther down the Platte River, a frightened Nate Williams nodded to show that the rough cabin up ahead through the trees was the one where they would find Bill Bevins.

Seamus glanced at the sky, finding the sun was falling from its zenith, dipping behind some clouds. “Be a good time to go in now.”

“What we gonna do with him?” Green asked, indicating Williams.

“Tie him up here,” Cody directed. “We'll come back after we're done with Bevins.”

Williams was left behind, seated, gagged and tied to a cottonwood while the three advanced on foot toward the cabin.

“Awful quiet in there,” Green said as they huddled in the willows, watching for some sign from the cabin.

“Suppose he's spotted us?”

Donegan shook his head. “I'll wager the bastard's taking himself a nap—so he can gamble and play with the ladies all night.”

Cody smiled back at him. “Sounds like he's a man after your own heart, Irishman.”

Donegan nodded. “He does at that. C'mon, Cody—this is your show. Let's be about it.”

The young scout led them out of the willows, sending Farley to the left and Green to the right. Donegan backed him up from a cottonwood as Cody ran in a crouch to the cabin door. He stood beside it a moment, as if listening. Then inched closer to the entrance, ears cocked.

Suddenly he whirled about, kicked at the door and burst into the cabin. Donegan sprang from the tree, sprinting toward the cabin as the voices erupted from the doorway.

“Drop it, Bevins!”

“Goddamn you! I'll see you in hell!”

“Drop the gun, damn you!”

“You all right in there, Cody?” Seamus asked.

It was another half-dozen heartbeats before he saw a tall, thin rail of a man duck out the cabin door, his hands on his head. Behind him came Bill Cody, holding the muzzle of his rifle against Bevins's backbone. The pair stopped halfway to the Irishman as Green and Farley walked up.

“By the saints, Cody. You gave me a start there.”

Cody laughed, easy and full-hearted. “By the saints, indeed, Irishman! It was just like you said, goddammit—he was taking himself a bloody nap!”

Chapter 14

Mid-April 1869

As the sky turned dark and the wind leed about out of the north with the smell of winter to it, Cody found the rest of the stolen animals roped off in a narrow, tree-lined draw not far from the cabin. They were all there: seven horses and three mules, in addition to Major Carr's prize thoroughbred and Forbush's animal captured that morning at the corral. All twelve were left with Robert Teats at the Elephant Corral just about the time the sky turned belly-up over Denver City, whirling over the scouts and their prisoners with a typical spring snowstorm: heavy and wet and wind-whipped to a white froth.

The animals protested the storm, coming rumps around as the horsemen dropped to the soggy street and attempted tying the horses off in front of the marshal's office. Narrow ribbons of yellow light spilled from the two windows on either side of a door that opened only a crack against the howling wind.

“You boys get on in here!” a voice shouted from the doorway.

A wild gust of snow snaked its way through the opening as the four scouts dragged their prisoners from the saddles and shoved them toward the narrow slit opened by the marshal.

“Is that you, Bill Cody?” the voice called out as the young scout stomped into the room, knocking wet snow from his tall boots.

“Dave Cook—I'll be go to hell in a hand-basket!”

They shook, pounding each other good.

“You fellas meet a friend of mine, Dave Cook. Met him hauling freight years ago. You're town marshal here?”

Cook nodded. “Just been nominated to run for sheriff, Bill.”

He grinned and clucked. “You sure coming up in the world, Sheriff Cook.”

“And you?”

“Scouting for the Fifth Cavalry.”

“How's that bring you to Denver City?” Cook asked, eyeing the two prisoners with their wrists bound in rope.

“Horse thieves,” Cody replied. “Army property. Gonna take 'em back to Fort Lyon come morning. You got a dry place for 'em to spend the night, Dave?”

“Sure as hell. The rest of you too, if you care.”

“I've no mind,” Seamus replied. “Soon as spend a night here. Just as dry as Chase's inn—and cheaper too.” He presented his hand to Cook. “Name's Seamus Donegan.”

“You're scouting with Cody?”

“Aye—but we've not found many Injins yet,” he answered, winking at Cody. “Only hijacked a load of Mexican beer and waylaid a bathtub full of some Old Tom-Cat gin!”

The four scouts laughed as Cook closed the prisoners in separate cells.

“You'll have to tell me about that campaign,” the marshal said.

“Tonight's as good as any, Dave,” Cody replied. “Put some coffee on to boil.”

Cook moved to the wall pegs where his heavy mackinaw hung. “Put it on yourself. I'll go on over to Singlaw's place and get us all something to eat.”

“On you?”

He grinned. “That's right, Cody. I'm buying. Least I can do is to feed you boys—to repay you for feeding me your wild stories of the Indian campaigns.”

*   *   *

Seamus Donegan poked the fire, sending a bevy of sparks into the cloudy, night sky. He looked longingly at the pile of firewood they had gathered to last them until morning, hoping it would stretch past breakfast. He truly wanted to put more on the flames, make himself and the others a bit warmer. But if the wood was to last …

Driving the recaptured animals before them, they had slogged through the drifted, wet snow since sunup, when Marshal Cook awakened them all with coffee and fried salt-beef. Not much to excite the palate, but it was a change from the pork and bacon the army offered its scouts. Williams and Bevins devoured their breakfast using only their hands, saying it was the first time they had eaten in three days.

Outside the marshal's office the horses stood saddled and readied to begin the trip south to Fort Lyon. First Bevins, then Williams—both were retied, wrists bound together, then lashed to the saddlehorn. Their ankles were roped together beneath the belly of their mounts.

It had been a long and exhausting day, keeping the small remuda of army animals plowing trail in front of them as they put Denver City behind them.

“I'll take first watch,” Seamus had volunteered, arriving at their camping spot.

“You just want to do that because it's easier for a man to stay up than to wake up,” Cody grumped.

“All right, you take first watch,” Donegan replied.

“Did I hurt your feelings, Irishman?”

“Not near as much as your nose is going to hurt when I get through knocking it sideways across your face, Cody.”

“All right,” the young scout said and chuckled, standing from his supper dishes as the moon rose in the east beneath a thick layer of heavy clouds soiling in the night sky, “Donegan will stand first watch. Farley, you're next. Then Green and me.”