Kill Dusty Fog (9 page)

Despite his general’s approval, Silverman could see that Colonel Verncombe was less impressed with his brilliant grasp of the situation and prompt action. The Dragoon eyed him coldly and said:

‘Mister, I hope for your sake that your sergeant reached the fords in time to give a warning — or that those orders are fakes.’

‘Fa — Fakes?’ Silverman yelped, thinking of the fifty dollars he had paid for them. “Good man” or not, the guerilla had insisted on being remunerated for his trouble before handing them over.

‘It’s a possibility, Mr. Silverman,’ Trumpeter admitted. ‘They may have been put out by our Secret Service—’

‘Which means that your guerilla friend killed one of our spies, mister,’ Verncombe went on.

‘Mr. Silverman couldn’t know that, Colonel’ Trumpeter interrupted coldly. ‘He acted correctly and in a manner which I approve. We don’t know that these are fakes. After all, whoever was killed must have delivered the first set of orders and been allowed to go on with the others.’

‘Not necessarily — sir,’ Verncombe objected. ‘How loyal is that guerilla of your’s, mister?’

‘I — I’ve never dealt with him before,’ Silverman answered warily. ‘But I’ve heard good reports about him from other officers. He told me that he’d killed the Rebel courier on the other side of the river and I’d no cause to think he lied.’

‘Of course, he wouldn’t offer you anything that might show the orders were forged, would he?’ Verncombe demanded.

‘I — I don’t follow you, sir,’ Silverman muttered.

‘If he’d killed a courier on his way to Ole Devil with the forged orders and a report, he’d know they wouldn’t be worth anything to him,’ Verncombe explained. ‘So he wouldn’t say anything about it.’

‘It’s possible,’ Trumpeter admitted, willing to clutch at any straw as long as it held the conversation away from his share in responsibility. ‘Did he say or do anything to make you think might have other documents taken from the courier?’

‘No — sir,’ Silverman answered, applying the honorific as Trumpeter showed disapproval of its omission by
him
for the first time. ‘If he’d had any more, I’m sure he’d have passed them on.’

‘Unless he figured he could get a better price somewhere else,’ Verncombe sniffed, for he had no illusions about the loyalty or honesty of the average guerilla leader.

‘As I said, Colonel,’ Trumpeter declared when Verncombe swung to face him. ‘I know nothing about forged orders. Perhaps the plan to use them was made in General Buller’s time?’

‘
You
ordered the artillery to move up,’ Verncombe pointed out.

‘Yes,’ admitted Trumpeter, thinking faster than ever before in his life. ‘I found an order left by General Buller for reinforcing the four fords with batteries of artillery and put it through. It was possible that there were developments afoot of which I hadn’t been informed.’

Opening his mouth to ask another question, Verncombe closed with the words unsaid. Already he had gone to the very boundries of military etiquette and a demand that he be shown Bullet’s order might lead to his facing a court-martial for gross insubordination. From his wary attitude, Trumpeter had recovered after the first shock at seeing the documents. He could be counted on to know how he might best defend himself against criticism — no matter how justified — by an officer of lower rank.

‘You wanted to say something, Colonel?’ Trumpeter challenged.

‘Only to ask for orders, sir,’ Verncombe replied blandly, figuring that if the commanding general could lie he was at liberty to do so. ‘Mr. Aston says that the Rebels were making preparations to hold the eastern bank of the Snake Ford. What action does the general plan to take — sir?’

Ignoring the thinly-veiled sarcasm in his subordinate’s voice, Trumpeter quickly marshalled the facts and tried to reach a decision. The Snake Ford of the Caddo had little military significance. Two of the reasons for selecting that area had been its lack of importance and distance from the main battle-zone. So, on the face of it, there seemed little need and no urgency to act. For all that, he knew there could be only one answer. As long as the Rebels occupied the eastern side of the ford, they would be a constant reminder of his failure. Not knowing of his thwarted grand plan, people would only remember that his predecessors had at least managed to hold on to the land already captured.

So, regardless of the cost to his command, the Rebels must be driven back to the western bank. Looking at Verncombe’s cold, impassive face, Trumpeter saw a chance of taking his revenge on the colonel.

‘Your regiment will retake the ford, Colonel Verncombe,’ Trumpeter announced with the air of one conferring a favour.

‘We’ll need artillery support — sir,’ Verncombe answered, aware of the general’s intentions and the price for failure.

‘There are three batteries at the neighbouring fords,’ Trumpeter told him. ‘I’ll give you an order for them. Then you’ll have all the support you need.’

oooOooo

* Peckerwood: derogatory name for a white Southerner.

CHAPTER NINE

GENERAL JACKSON BAINS HARDIN, better known as Ole Devil was a tall, slim, tanned man who sat the chair behind his desk as if riding in full review. Hawk-faced, with eyes that hinted at a sense of humour under the grim mask, he was a different kind of soldier to his opposite number across the Ouachita. Tough, hard as nails, strict without being a blind martinet, Ole Devil Hardin had won the respect of his men on the battle-field and by his interest in their welfare.

Nothing on his face showed his feelings, or that he was studying his favourite nephew carefully, but he nodded in satisfaction as Captain Dusty Fog completed a verbal report on the recent activities of Company ‘C’.

It was over a week since the capture of the Snake Ford from the Yankees and during that time Dusty’s Company had taken a major part in defending the rim above the river. Ole Devil had been in full agreement with the decision to hold the recovered territory and had acted with characteristic speed. Reinforcements, including trained artillerymen to take over the Napoleons, had been rushed to the Caddo. Their arrival increased the already serious problems faced by Colonel Verncombe. Already the Dragoons had been delayed by lack of artillery support. On their return from delivering the warnings about the forged orders, Red Blaze and Kiowa had crossed the Ouachita and succeeded in running off every horse belonging to the batteries brought up to repulse the attacks which never came. By doing so, they had deprived Verncombe of the cannons at a time when they would have done him most good.

After an unsupported attack at regimental strength had failed, due to the fire from the captured Napoleons, Verncombe had found his men disinclined to take further risks. Just as Dusty had hoped, the story he had started circulated amongst the Dragoons. It caused much discontent, especially from the long-serving career-so1diers, and considerable cursing over the ‘college-boy’ general’s stupidity in trying such an impractical, detected trick. The Dragoons were grudging of their lives unwilling to face death to recapture land that ought never have fallen to the enemy in the first place.

‘By the time they’d got artillery with them, sir, so had we and trained gun crews to man the first battery,’ Dusty concluded, then went on after a brief pause, ‘Colonel Barnett’s handled things real well all the way through, sir.’

‘Has he?’ Ole Devil grunted coldly.

‘Yes, sir. I know he had both of his mounted couriers away the same time, but he’s infantry. Horses don’t mean a thing him.’

‘He was fooled by those forged orders—’

‘Anybody would’ve been, sir. You’ve seen them and know how good they are. The signature on them is so near perfect that I couldn’t see any difference between it and the real thing.’

‘That wasn’t what you told Barnett,’ Ole Devil pointed out. ‘No, sir,’ Dusty admitted. ‘Only I had to say something that would convince him it was a forgery. So I took a chance on him figuring, me being your nephew, that I’d be able to tell. It paid off— And that he obeyed in spite of the cavalry not reporting to him’s a mighty high tribute to
you
, sir.’

Giving a non-committal grunt, Ole Devil looked at the papers on his desk so that Dusty might not see any hint of the pride he felt at his nephew’s behaviour. Many young officers would have been determined to grab the fullest amount of glory for themselves from the incident at the Snake Ford, but Dusty’s primary interest was to help Barnett out of his difficulties.

‘I think we can forget the matter,’ the general said gruffly. ‘Whatever happens to Colonel Barnett, if anything, is none of your concern, Captain Fog.’

‘No, sir,’ Dusty replied.

Yet Ole Devil’s words had told him that Barnett’s career would not suffer as a result of being taken in by the forged order. Having cleared up that point, Dusty wondered why his Company had been replaced at the ford and he had received orders to report as quickly as possible to General Hardin’s headquarters at Prescott. With his report finished, he did not expect to be kept waiting long before he learned the reason.

‘You’ve heard of Mrs. Rose Greenhow, Dustine?’ Ole Devil asked.

‘She’s one of our best spies, isn’t she, sir?’

‘She is,’ Ole Devil agreed. Less hide-bound than most Confederate senior officers, he admitted that women spies served a useful purpose; although he did not entirely approve of Southern ladies performing such unpleasant and dangerous work. ‘She’s coming to report to me with information about Trumpeter and other matters. So I want her collected from Wexler’s place—’

‘Is she in Little Rock already, sir?’

‘She will be by the time you get there, according to my information. She’s coming by stagecoach, travelling as a Yankee major’s wife on her way to join him. Naturally she doesn’t want to stay in Little Rock any longer than necessary. So I want you to travel fast, meet her and bring her here.’

‘Yes, sir. It shouldn’t be too hard. The Yankees’ve taken most of their troops along the Ouachita up to the Snake Ford, so getting across’ll be easy enough. I’ll not take the full Company. A small party can travel faster. Do you reckon Mrs. Greenhow can ride?’

‘She can, if what I’ve heard of her is true,’ Ole Devil confirmed. ‘But I doubt if she’ll be up to your Cousin Betty’s standard.’

‘That’s not likely, sir,’ Dusty grinned.

‘No, it’s not,’ the general admitted, for his granddaughter possessed exceptional ability as a horsewoman. ‘Pick her horses carefully and don’t expect too much and you should get her through. By the way, Dustine, Betty and Georgina Blaze are expected to arrive any day now on a visit.’

‘Let’s hope they don’t get here until after Mrs. Greenhow’s gone, sir,’ Dusty drawled. ‘If they do, she’s likely to wind up with another couple of lady spies.’

‘Not if I’ve anything to say about it,’ Ole Devil stated, smiling frostily. Like Dusty, he knew the two girls to be high-spirited and likely to snatch at the opportunity to take a more active part in the war against the Yankees. Then he became serious again. ‘I don’t need to tell you how important it is that Mrs. Greenhow is kept out of the Union’s clutches, Dustine.’

‘No, sir. Now, with your permission, I’ll go and pick the men I want with me. We’ll be on our way before sun-down.’

‘Thanks for the bay stallion, Dustine,’ Ole Devil remarked as the small Texan saluted and turned to leave the office. ‘Only you didn’t need to send word that it has to be saddled and mounted from the right. I know all Indian horses do.’

‘I figured you might, sir,’ Dusty answered with a grin.

‘And you’d better take half of your ill-gotten gambling gains with you,’ Ole Devil concluded, also smiling. Wexler can probably find use for it.’

Leaving Ole Devil and making his way to Company ‘C’s’ lines, Dusty pondered on the vagaries of a cavalry officer’s life. There had been much speculation amongst his men on the subject of their recall. The reasons suggested had ranged from the optimistic, that they were to be sent back to Texas on furlough, through the dramatic, that they would be spear-heading an offensive aimed at driving the Yankees clear back to Washington, to Billy Jack’s pessimistic view that they were all to be court-martialled for fraternizing and gambling with the enemy. When Dusty had been asked to guess what quirk of fate took them back to Headquarters, the idea that it was to collect a female spy from the heart of Union territory had never entered his head. Yet, as Ole Devil had warned, the mission was of considerable importance.

Along with Belle Boyd — in whose company Dusty would later go on two dangerous missions — Rose Greenhow ranked high in the Confederate States’ Secret Service. Between them, originally in the face of official antipathy and disapproval, they had built up an organization which had caused the Union Army a great deal of trouble. Despite the objections of various senior officers and members of the Government, the two Southern ladies had more than justified the wisdom of employing them as spies. The Yankees would be most pleased to lay hands on either Belle Boyd or Rose Greenhow if the chance arose, for both of them possessed information that could all but wipe out the Confederate’s Secret Service.

For all that, Dusty felt little concern over his assignment. Without falling into the trap of over-confidence, he felt certain that he could once again cross the Ouachita, pass undetected through the Union-held country, reach Little Rock and return. The way he saw it, as long as Rose Greenhow could handle a horse at least adequately, bringing her to Prescott would present him with no serious problems or difficulties.

Ordering a protesting, but obedient, Red Blaze and Billy Jack to take charge of the Company, Dusty selected his escort. Kiowa Cotton, Corporals Vern Hassle and Sandy McGraw expressed their delight on finding that they would be accompanying Dusty instead of remaining in the safety of the regiment’s camp at Prescott. Stifling Red’s and other members of the Company’s reasons for inclusion in the party, Dusty kept his destination to himself. He made his arrangements with the speed born of experience.

The journey to the rendezvous passed without incident or alarm. Each of the party rode a two-horse relay and the corporals also led a mount apiece to be used by Rose Greenhow on the return trip. Wanting to make the best possible speed, they carried only the bare essentials. Sabres and carbines had been left behind, although Dusty had brought along his Henry rifle. Their bedding was restricted to a single blanket and poncho, with a spare taken for Rose’s use. For food they would rely on pemmican, the nourishing ‘Indian-bread’ which could be easily carried, and anything that came their way. Dusty had with him two more items, a Union Army cloak-coat and officer’s fatigue cap, but they were for a practical purpose rather than added luxuries for his comfort.

Travelling fast, for their mounts were the pick of the Texas Light Cavalry’s extensive remuda, they had seen no Union troops. At night-fall on the day after leaving their headquarters, Dusty left the corporals and horses hidden in the wooded country half a mile to the east of Little Rock. Dressed in the cloak-coat and fatigue cap, the former hiding his uniform and armament, Dusty went forward on foot. Devoid of any disguise, Kiowa drifted along like a shadow on Dusty’s heels; ready to fade into the darkness should they meet anybody.

Approaching a wooden building on the outskirts of the town, Dusty became even more cautious. While a lantern hung by the back door, its light turned down to a feeble glimmer, he took no chances. Not until Kiowa had scouted the area and announced all was clear did he go closer. Satisfied that nobody was spying upon him, Dusty crossed to the door and knocked.

‘Who’s there?’ called a querulous voice.

‘Lieutenant Oakland, 3rd Cavalry,’ Dusty replied.

A lock clicked and the door inched open as a thin, sharp, mean-featured face peered out at Dusty.

‘Come in, lieutenant,’ said the owner of the face, opening the door. ‘A man in my position has to watch who he lets in at night. Those Rebel scum’ve threatened to kill me.’

Grinning slightly at the greeting, Dusty stepped into the work-room of an undertaker’s shop. For all his comments, Hugo Wexler was the head of the Confederate States’ Secret Service in Arkansas.

Small, slender, dressed in sober black, Wexler looked the part of a successful undertaker. In many ways his appearance occupation helped his work as a spy, but he had another, valuable asset. Back in the early days of the abolition issue, had decided that a physical clash between the North and South could not be avoided. Firmly believing that each State should have the right to secede from the Union if its policies proved incompatible with those of the Federal Government — the major issue of the War, although the abolitionists recognized and used the propaganda value of freeing the slaves as their excuse for entering into hostilities — Wexler had sought for a way to serve the South. Becoming a member of the Radical Republican faction in Arkansas, he had succeeded in convincing them of his complete devotion to their cause.

Facing the derision and hostility of his own people had not been easy, but Wexler held on. At the outbreak of the War, he had ‘fled’ to safety with the other Radicals and returned to resume his business in Little Rock on the heels of the victorious Yankee Army. Everything about his background made him ideally suited to gather valuable information for the South. It had been due to his efforts that Ole Devil Hardin had known the Union Army’s weaknesses; a knowledge which allowed him to halt the Yankees’ advance on assuming command in Arkansas.

‘You should ask for a guard from the Army, Mr. Wexler,’ Dusty remarked in a loud voice.

‘We’re alone, Captain,’ Wexler answered, pleased with the way his visitor remembered to take precautions. ‘And I’ve bad news for you. They’ve captured Mrs. Greenhow.’

‘The hell you say!’ Dusty spat out. ‘How did it happen?’

‘You remember the dude who you took the remounts from?’ Wexler asked.

‘Sure.’

‘He was at the stagecoach depot, waiting to leave on the stage that brought Mrs. Greenhow in. As you can imagine, he’s not been over-popular with Trumpeter since his failure. Well, it seems that he’d known her in Washington. She’s a striking woman, very beautiful and not easily forgotten. Anyway, he recognized her and saw his chance to regain Trumpeter’s favour. Before I could contact her, he had fetched the Provost Marshal and denounced her.’

‘Damn his orney lil hide,’ Dusty said quietly. ‘I near on took him along with us, but I didn’t reckon he could’ve swum a horse across the narrows between the lakes. What happened?’

‘I must say Mrs. Greenhow was good,’ Wexler replied. ‘She looked shocked and angry, demanded to see the commanding general and for her husband to be informed, It didn’t do any good, they took her with them.’

‘Where’re they holding her?’

‘In one of the basement cells at the town’s jail. It’s mainly used for a military prison now.’

‘What force does Trumpeter have guarding her?’

‘Just the normal jail guard and a woman brought in to act as matr—’ Wexler began, then he stared hard at the
big
young Texan who was one of the few people who knew of his secret second identity. ‘You can’t be thinking of attempting a rescue, Captain Fog!’