Gunsmith #362 : Buffalo Soldiers (9781101554388) (8 page)

Clint woke Reeves in the morning and said, “Let’s go to Kilkenny for breakfast.”

“Suits me,” Reeves said.

They saddled up, and within two hours, they were riding into Kilkenny, Kansas. It was a small town, and Clint wondered what could possibly interest the Buffalo Soldier Bandits—as he had come to think of them—in this town.

“They got a bank,” Reeves said as they rode past it.

“Kind of small, though.”

Reeves nodded.

They rode a little farther and Reeves said, “Two hotels, two saloons.”

“We’ll pick one of each later,” Clint said, “but maybe we should talk to the local law first.”

“Right.”

They found the sheriff’s office and reined in.

“You better do the talking,” Clint said as they dismounted. “You’ve got the badge.”

“Yeah, you keep remindin’ me,” Reeves said. “You sure you don’t want me to hide it?”

“No,” Clint said, “I think it’s important the sheriff sees it—oh, yeah, you were joking. You do it so rarely I didn’t notice.”

Reeves gave him a look, and they mounted the boardwalk in front of the office.

Across the street a black man stood in the shadows, watched Clint and Reeves enter the sheriff’s office. Then he came out of the shadows and hurried down the street.

Sergeant Lemuel Washington nursed his beer, sitting across from Corporal Jefferson. Three of the other four—Franklin, Weatherby, and Webster—were elsewhere. Their only instructions were to stay out of sight.

The batwings opened and Private Gordon entered, walking fast. He hurriedly joined Washington and Jefferson at the table.

“They’re here,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Jefferson asked.

“Yeah,” Gordon said, “one of them was a great big black man.”

“Reeves,” Washington said.

“And the other man was white.”

“Don’t know who that is,” Washington said, “but it don’t matter. As long as Bass Reeves is here.”

“So what are we gon’ do now?” Jefferson asked.

After Private Edwards—who Washington was sure
was dead—Jefferson was the oldest of the men, and the sergeant often looked to him for advice.

“Gordon,” Washington said, “get yourself a beer.”

“Yessir. Don’t got to tell me that twice.”

“Then sit by yourself and drink it.”

“Uh, okay, yessir.”

“Now!” Washington said.

Gordon got up and walked to the bar.

“What are we gonna do now?” Washington asked. “I’m gonna talk to ’im.”

“Talk to Bass Reeves?” Jefferson said. “You sure that’s smart?”

“I want him to know,” Washington said. “I want him to know it’s me.”

“But—”

“Ain’t no buts, Corporal,” Washington said. “That’s part of all this, that Bass Reeves ends up knowin’ it’s me behind all this.”

“Don’t you think,” Jefferson said, “we should find who’s with him before we make a move?”

Washington frowned.

“You’re probably right,” he said, “but I can do that at the same time. After all, I’m just gonna talk to him first.”

“When you gon’ do that?”

“I guess,” Washington said, “as soon as he cuts into a nice juicy steak.”

“Sheriff Harry Riggs,” the lawman said after Reeves introduced himself. “Glad ta meet you, Deputy. I heard a lot about you.”

“This here’s Clint Adams, he’s ridin’ with me,” Reeves said.

Now Riggs’s eyes really widened.

“The Gunsmith?” he said. “In my town?”

“We’re trackin’ some men,” Reeves said. “The trail has led us here.”

“Well, have a seat,” Riggs said. He lowered his bulk into his chair. He wasn’t fat, but he was so barrel-chested his chair creaked in protest.

Reeves and Clint remained standing.

“We’re lookin’ for black men,” Reeves said. “Either three of ’em, or six.”

“Three or six?”

“There’s two groups, but they may have joined up,” Reeves said.

“Well,” Riggs said, “we got some black men in town, but I don’t think you’d be trackin’ them.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“These here fellas is Buffalo Soldiers,” Riggs said.

Clint and Reeves exchanged a glance, then looked back at the sheriff, who was sure that settled that…

Washington caught Gordon’s eyes and waved him over. The man hurried to join them, carrying his beer.

“Finish that up,” Washington said.

“Yessir!” Gordon thought his sergeant wanted him to finish so the man could buy him another beer.

“I want you to find the others,” Washington said instead. “I want you to make sure that you, and they, stay out of sight until you hear from me, or from the corporal. Understand?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, you don’t have to understand,” Jefferson said. “Just do it.”

“Yessir. I’ll take care of it.”

“Then go!” Jefferson said.

“Sir!”

The man hurried out of the saloon.

“If they’re talkin’ to the sheriff, he’s gon’ tell him we’re here, ya know.”

“I know,” Washington said. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Jefferson shook his head and drank some of his beer. Washington was just looking off into the distance.

* * *

“Buffalo Soldiers?” the sheriff said. “Robbing bank? Shootin’ folks?”

“That’s the way it looks,” Reeves said.

“Well, I find that hard to believe,” Riggs Said. “And if they was, what’re they doin’ out in the open here in Kilkenny?”

“We’re in Kansas,” Reeves said. “They been doin’ all their dirty work in the Territories.”

“You sure it’s these fellers?” Riggs asked.

“That’s what we’re here to find out, Sheriff,” Clint said.

“Well,” Riggs said, looking distressed, “I’ll do what I can to help you…”

“Do you have any deputies?”

“No,” Riggs said, “we’re a small town. There’s just me.”

“Have you spoken with these men?” Reeves asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t see no reason to,” Riggs said. “They’re Buffalo Soldiers. I figured if they needed my help, they’d ask.”

“Well,” Clint said, “that would make sense if they were still Buffalo Soldiers.”

“They’re not?” Riggs asked. “They’re wearin’ the jackets.”

Clint and Reeves remained silent and exchanged a look.

“What is it?” Riggs asked.

“Just a thought that we both had,” Clint said. He looked at Reeves again, who nodded. “If these are the men we’re
looking for,” Clint said, “we assumed they were no longer Buffalo Soldiers.”

“But now you think…”

“If they are still Buffalo Soldiers,” Reeves said, “then this is even worse than I thought.”

“We should check,” Clint said. “Do you have a telegraph in town?”

“No.”

“We don’t have any names,” Reeves said. “We’ll have to do it another way.”

“How?” Riggs asked.

“We’ll ask ’em.”

“So where do we go now?” Jefferson asked.

“I go nowhere,” Washington said. “I’ll just wait here for Bass Reeves to find me.”

“And what do I do?”

“I want you to keep an eye on the white man with Reeves,” Washington said. “They’ll probably come in here together. You let me do the talkin’, and you just watch. If the white man makes a move, you kill him. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“And go slow with the beer,” the sergeant said. “Just nurse one. I don’t want you drunk when they get here.” Washington slapped Jefferson on the shoulder. “This is goin’ the way we planned, Corporal.”

Actually, Jefferson thought, this was going the way Washington had planned. Jefferson had just come along for the ride, like the others. For money, because they were tired of doing the white man’s work for peanuts.

“Okay, Sarge,” he said. “Okay.”

* * *

Reeves and Clint left the sheriff’s office, stopped just outside by their horses.

“How do you want to play this?” Clint asked.

Reeves thought a moment.

“If they rode into town bold as brass with their Buffalo Soldier jackets on, then they’re expectin’ us to find them.”

“You think they’re waiting for us?”

Reeves nodded.

“Then they’re probably in one of the saloons,” Clint said.

“Probably.”

“Which one you want to try first?”

“None,” Reeves said. “Let’s make them wait for us. We’ll take care of the horses, get our hotel rooms, and something to eat. Then we’ll go and find them.”

“Unless they find us first.”

“They might do that,” Reeves said, “but back when three of them ambushed us, they all could’ve done it. They probably could’ve killed us then.”

“But they didn’t want to.”

“No,” Reeves said. “They wanna talk to us.”

“To you,” Clint said. “They want to talk to you. They probably don’t even know who I am.”

“You’re right,” Reeves said. “That’s good. We won’t tell them who you are until we have to.”

“That’ll be our ace in the hole.”

“Right.”

“So, the livery first?”

“Yeah,” Reeves said. “Let’s go.”

They walked their mounts to the livery.

As in most places, the liveryman was impressed with Eclipse, but this particular man did not connect the horse to the Gunsmith, which pleased them.

“How long you gonna want to leave these horses here, Deputy?”

“We’re not sure,” Reeves said. “One or two days.”

“Okay. I got room.”

They were about to leave with their rifles and saddlebags when Reeves turned back to the man.

“Did the Buffalo Soldiers leave their horses here?” he asked.

“Yessir,” the man said. “I got them out back on the corral.”

“How many?”

“Six.”

Reeves looked at Clint.

“Six,” he said.

“Six.” Clint nodded.

They headed for the hotel.

They got a room each, again across from each other. Clint left his gear in his room and joined Reeves across the hall. The big black man was looking out the window at the street below.

“Anybody?” Clint asked.

“No,” Reeves said. “We’re not bein’ watched now.”

Reeves turned from the window.

“I’m startin’ to get a bad feelin’,” he said.

“Tell me,” Clint said. “Maybe it’s the same bad feeling I’m getting.”

“That we been led here by the nose?” Reeves asked.

“That’s the one,” Clint said, “or else why would they have stopped here?”

“And not even put a watch on us.”

Reeves went back to the window.

“Six of ’em,” he said, “and what are they doin’ if they’re not watchin’ us?”

“What do most men do when they hit a town?” Clint asked. “Eat, drink, or fuck.”

Reeves looked at Clint.

“Let’s eat and drink,” he said.

“Agreed,” Clint said.

Clint and Reeves went out and found a place where they could get a beer and a steak. They got a table away from the window and ordered.

“Six men waiting for us,” Clint said, “and they’re apparently not waiting to ambush us.”

“They wanted me to follow them,” Reeves said, “out of the Territories.”

“They wanted to get you out of your jurisdiction,” Clint said, “and alone.”

“But why?” Reeves asked. “Why me?”

“Well…you’re famous.”

“I ain’t goddamned famous,” Reeves said. “You’re famous.”

“Well, you’re a well-known black lawman,” Clint said, “and these are black men.”

“Black men,” Reeves said. “Also black lawmen. What do they have against me?”

“I guess that’s something we’re going to have to ask them,” Clint said.

“Take a walk,” Washington told Jefferson.

“What?”

“Take a walk around town, see what you can see,” the sergeant said.

“What if they see me?”

“If they do, and they stop you, bring them here,” Washington said. “Tell them I’m here.”

“What if they just…kill me on sight?” Jefferson asked.

Washington smiled.

“I know Bass Reeves well enough to know he won’t do that,” Washington said.

“What about sending Gordon? Or—”

“I don’t care who you send, just have someone take a look around town. I want to know where they are, what they’re doin’.”

“Okay,” Jefferson said, “I can do that.”

He stood up.

“Also check the hotels,” Washington said. “I want to know where they are—and who the white man is. We need to know what we’re dealin’ with.”

“Yessir.” Jefferson seemed calmer now that he didn’t necessarily have to be the one looking for Reeves and his partner.

He left the saloon and went in search of the others.

Washington went to the bar to get himself another
beer.

“You fellas ain’t lookin’ for trouble in town, are ya?” the bartender asked.

“Why do you ask that?” Washington asked.

“Well,” the bartender said, “half a dozen Buffalo Soldiers hangin’ around town, folks start to talk. Ya know…”

“Well,” Washington said, “you tell folks not to worry. We ain’t lookin’ for trouble.”

“That’s good—”

“But know this,” Washington added, “if it happens to come along, we’ll take care of it. Don’t you worry about that.”

He carried his fresh beer back to the table and sat down.

The bartender started cleaning the bar with a dirty rag, not feeling any better for the short conversation.

Jefferson found both Franklin and Gordon at the local cathouse.

He broke in on Franklin while he was pounding away at a fat whore. The skinny black man loved his women with meat on them, always asked for the biggest whore he could get. This one had massive thighs, pale as the moon, and they jiggled as Franklin drove himself in and out of her, grunting with the effort.

“-Ten-hut!” Jefferson shouted.

Franklin leaped off the woman to spring to attention, his long, skinny dick sticking straight out from his crotch, glistening with the girl’s juices. Jefferson averted his eyes.

When he saw Jefferson, he said, “Aw, goddamn, Corporal, you scared the crap outta me.”

“Sorry, Private, but we got some work for you,” Jefferson said with a wide grin.

The woman sat up. Her breasts were huge mounds of pale flesh with the biggest pink nipples he’d ever seen before. The hair on her head was as golden as the hair between her legs.

“Get dressed,” Jefferson said. “I’ve gotta find Gordon.”

“Probably down the hall,” Franklin said.

“I’ll check.”

The woman looked at Jefferson and smiled. Despite the weight in her face, she was very pretty.

“You sure you don’t wanna finish what your friend started, honey?” she asked with a smile. “I’m all warmed up for ya.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jefferson said politely. “Maybe another time.”

He left them and went down the hall, opened the door. Gordon had not even had time to get his pants off yet. A dark-haired, skinny whore was waiting on the bed for him, fully naked.

“Aw, Corporal—” he said when he saw Jefferson. “Come on!”

“Sorry,” Jefferson said. “Get your pants back on and meet me downstairs.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Jefferson left, he heard the whore say, “I still get paid, right?”