Straw Men (6 page)

With the wagon driver, shotgunner, and Clint working at it, the dead horse was eventually removed from the rig. The remaining horse seemed so grateful to be able to stand up straight again that it didn't mind pulling the wagon on its own. Fortunately, the wagon was light enough to make its way without the other horse for a while.

Climbing back into his own saddle, Clint asked the driver, “You sure you're going to be all right?”

“Yeah.” The driver sighed. “We'll have to go a bit slower than before, but Sergeant Davis won't let us go too long on our own. I think them Injuns were mainly after them Army fellas anyways.”

“What makes you say that?”

“We traveled a long way on our own before meeting up with that armed escort. We even passed some Injuns a few times and they didn't do anything but watch us pass. Soon as them Army fellas joined us, the redskins sat up and took notice.”

“Is that so?”

The driver wiped some sweat from his brow and cast his eyes along the horizon. “Truth be told, I didn't keep a journal on it, but that's how it seemed to go for me. I'd also rather not stand about and talk it over. We should really be moving.”

“Where you headed?” Clint asked.

“We're bound for a trading post a couple days west of here.”

“Care for an escort?”

“Seeing as how you're not wearin' uniforms, we should be just fine,” the driver replied as he climbed into his seat and gathered up his reins. The shotgunner sat beside him quietly. So far that one hadn't let more than a word or two pass his lips.

Clint settled into his own saddle and motioned toward Abigail, who was keeping watch from higher ground. “You really think those Indians were after the Army men, then?”

“Hell, I don't know. I just know when we got ambushed. For all I know, them redskins could've been waiting for us to get to this spot the whole time or they might've made their move before more soldiers arrived. Could've been some bad firewater in their veins. I'll contemplate it all once I've got my feet up and this wagon is where it needs to be.”

“Fair enough,” Clint said. “Lead the way.”

The driver flicked his reins and let out a few yelps, but it didn't take much to get the horse moving. The horse seemed more than ready to get away from its dead partner, but it took an awful lot of pulling to get the wagon moving. Once the wheels were rolling, however, the horse fell into an easy rhythm and got going along the trail.

Clint rode alongside the wagon and was soon joined by Abigail. “So we're keeping watch over this one now?” she asked.

“Just until the sergeant comes back.”

“Won't be no need for that.” Since those words came from the shotgunner, they caught everyone's notice.

The driver, Clint, and Abigail all looked toward the previously quiet man. The shotgunner nodded toward the south and then shifted his weapon so it was propped against his hip.

Looking in the direction the shotgunner had indicated, Clint saw a row of figures skylined upon a nearby ridge. There were three men sitting tall in their saddles. Although they were a bit far for Clint to make out the riders' faces, he didn't have any trouble spotting the feathers hanging from their head and armbands, as well as the rifles that were on prominent display.

“No sudden movements,” Clint said. Although the shotgunner was content to remain in his spot, Clint could feel the anxiousness boiling to his left. “That goes double for you,” he said to Abigail, who was practically jumping from her saddle.

“You wanna get into another fight with them Injuns?” she asked.

“No. That's why I don't want anyone to make any sudden moves.”

She complied, but obviously wasn't happy about it.

Clint knew she might not sit still for long, so he reached into his saddlebag as best he could without making any moves that might be taken the wrong way from anyone watching him from afar. He found the spyglass with ease and pulled it from the saddlebag. Placing the lens to his eye, Clint got a closer look at the horse men watching them from the ridge.

“More redskins?” the driver asked.

“The same ones from before,” Clint replied. “They're watching us.”

“Look like they might take another run at us?”

After studying the Indians for a few more seconds, Clint shook his head. “I don't think so. They've got rifles and they could have fired at us already.”

“They're in a perfect spot for it,” the shotgunner pointed out.

Focusing on one of the Indians in particular, Clint said, “You got that right. If they wanted to, they could have started firing and probably hit at least one of us by now.”

Abigail was getting anxious again. “So what do we do?”

“Keep moving,” Clint replied. “Nice and easy.”

The next few seconds went by like a stone sinking into molasses. Clint watched the Indians every step of they way. As he did, it seemed as if the lead Indian watched him just as closely, but without the aid of a spyglass. In fact, Clint felt as though that Indian could look him straight in the eye from several miles away.

After the wagon had cleared the ridge and moved into an open stretch of land, the driver asked, “Are they followin' us?”

“No,” Clint replied. “They're gone.”

“I appreciate you stayin' close. We should be fine from here on.”

“You sure about that?”

“That was a prime spot for an ambush,” the shotgunner said. “There ain't another spot like it between here and where we need to go.”

Clint would have liked to stay with the wagon for a bit longer, but he could tell by looking in the shotgunner's eyes that he wasn't going to let his guard down anytime soon. “All right, then,” Clint said as he tipped his hat. “We'll be moving along. You men take care.”

“Right back at ya,” the driver replied. “Thanks again.”

After Abigail and Clint had put some distance between themselves and the wagon, she leaned over and asked, “You think they'll be okay on their own?”

“They won't be on their own for long. Davis or that other soldier will be along shortly. Besides, I have a feeling we'll be able to do a lot more good if we hurry up and get to Fort Winstead.”

Clint was glad Abigail was along for the ride. Without her, he might have had a hard time finding Fort Winstead. As far as forts were concerned, Winstead wasn't much. Its walls were higher on one side than the other, and had gaps between the logs that were filled in with everything from sod to rocks. A flagpole stretched above everything else, but wasn't flying any colors. When Clint and Abigail approached the front gate, they might as well have been riding up to a run-down trading post.

“You sure this is the place?” Clint asked.

Abigail nodded. “It ain't much to look at, but this is the place all right. The officers are in that building over there.

Looking at the spot Abigail was pointing at, Clint found a shack with a broken window.

There were plenty of folks milling about within the walls of the fort. About half of them were dressed as soldiers and the other half appeared to be a mix of families and shop keepers. For a small town, the place wasn't too bad. The shops seemed to be prospering. There was a blacksmith in a well-stocked shop of his own. Two stables were filled with horses and a livery was available to tend to the needs of bigger wagons. In the short ride from the gate to the officer's shack, Clint was able to get a close look at several soldiers. Their uniforms were rumpled and their faces were unshaven. One or two of them may have even been drunk.

“What do you know about the colonel?” Clint asked.

Abigail shrugged. “I barely met the man. I got the job, he handed the letter to me and told me to make sure it got to you.”

“What's your impression of him?”

“Honestly?”

Looking over to make sure he had a good view of her eyes, Clint replied, “Honestly.”

“Whenever he can't get out of doin' something, he does the least it takes to get it done. If he hadn't paid me so much to get you here, I would've gone a mile out of my way just to make sure I didn't see him.” When she saw the expression on Clint's face, she added, “Well, you told me to be honest.”

“I sure did. Looks like this is the place,” Clint said as he brought Eclipse to a stop in front of the shack. “You want to come in?”

“Hell yes. The colonel still owes me half my payment. I was supposed to get my money from one of his men at another post, but I think I'd rather see him personally.”

“That may be a good idea.”

Those words had barely come out of Clint's mouth when the shack's door was pulled open. Clint's hand was poised to knock, so he pulled it back and extended it to the man who'd opened the door.

“Hello. My name's Clint Adams. I believe Colonel Farelli is expecting me.”

The man at the door was in his twenties and the closest thing to a real soldier Clint had seen since he'd gotten to the fort. His face and uniform were all composed of straight lines and perfect angles. When he looked at Clint, his face might as well have been carved from granite.

“The colonel's inside,” the man said without shaking Clint's hand. He then stepped past Clint and tipped his hat curtly to Abigail. “Ma'am.”

Abigail let the young man pass and then fell into step behind Clint so she could shut the door after both of them were inside.

Colonel Farelli wasn't hard to find. The shack had one room and most of it was filled by a large desk that had most definitely seen better days. The edges of the desk were chipped and the top was piled high with papers and writing implements. The man behind the desk wore an Army uniform that had just enough ribbons to show Farelli's rank. The boots he'd propped on top of a smaller stack of papers must have been polished within the last hour.

“Colonel Farelli?” Clint asked.

But the colonel had his sights set upon Abigail. “I didn't expect to see your pretty face around here so soon, Abby.”

Abigail grinned unconvincingly and shrugged her shoulders. “After I gave Clint your message, he asked me to show him back. I was headed this way and I thought…”

“You thought you'd go the extra mile, huh? Very admirable.”

“I was hopin' to be movin' along soon,” she added. “You think I could get the second half of my payment?”

“Why don't I give you what you want after a nice dinner?” Farelli asked as he got to his feet and circled his desk.

Without batting an eye, Abigail said, “I'd like the money now, thanks.”

Farelli nodded slowly and scowled. When he looked at Clint, it was only for a moment before swiftly turning back around and snatching a pencil from his desk. “Take this to the quartermaster,” he said while scribbling on a piece of paper. “He hands out the pay as well.”

Abigail accepted the paper but was careful to look it over carefully.

“It's all there,” Farelli snarled. “Take it and go.”

She tucked the paper into a pocket and looked to Clint. “I'll be stocking up on supplies before I head out,” Abigail said. “You can find me if you want.”

“I'll be sure to do that,” Clint replied. “Don't go anywhere until I can buy you a drink.”

That seemed to brighten her mood a bit. Abigail's grin only lasted until her eyes swept over the spot where Farelli was leaning against his desk and staring at her. “Colonel,” she said quickly.

“Don't be a stranger, Abby,” Farelli said, making sure to refer to her in a way that obviously didn't set well with Abigail. Once she was gone, he looked at Clint as if he'd been alone in his shack until that very moment.

“Hello, Farelli,” Clint said.

Extending his hand, he announced, “It's Colonel Farelli now. Good to see you decided to come.”

Clint shook Farelli's hand, noticing the colonel's distinct effort to exert some force in his grip. The handshake was enthusiastic, but not very impressive. “We've met, sir,” Clint replied. “I'm sure you recall.”

“Oh, I sure do. But that was before…” Releasing his grip, Farelli proudly tapped the rank insignia on his shoulder.

“That's right. Congratulations.”

Beaming like a kid who'd just won the spelling bee, Farelli marched behind his desk and sat down. He then motioned toward one of the other chairs in the room and said, “Have a seat, Adams. I'll get right down to the heart of the matter, since I'm sure you've already heard about the Indian attacks that have been happening of late.”

“Heard about them and seen them for myself.”

“Really? Nothing too serious, I hope.”

“Actually, it was on the way over here,” Clint replied while carefully studying Farelli's reaction. “Abigail and I crossed paths with a wagon being guarded by a Sergeant Davis. Do you know of him?”

Farelli wasn't too hard to read. He was smug when Clint began his story, but his expression turned to one of surprise when he heard Davis's name. “He came through here not too long ago. Did he mention me?”

“No. Should he have mentioned you?”

Pulling himself together with a few breaths, Farelli puffed out his chest and regained his original smugness. “We're both dealing with the same problem. The reason I requested to speak to you was so you could help us with that problem. I've arranged to meet with Chief Tolfox. He runs the tribe that's been responsible for most of the attacks, so I hope to smooth over enough differences to ensure the safety of travelers in this area.”

“Are you sure this chief has a problem with the travelers?” Clint asked. “What if he's just attacking the men in uniform?”

“If that's the case, it's the first I've ever heard of it. Besides, I can only know about the attacks that are brought to my attention and those have been the ones involving Army men.”

Clint knew it was pointless to pursue that matter any further. If Farelli was hiding something, he wasn't about to give it up. Even if he wasn't hiding anything, what he'd said fell well within the realm of possibility. Clint had to forget about who he was dealing with and focus on the task at hand. “Where do I come into this?” he asked.

“I thought the letter was clear. Since my men have been under fire, I assume this Chief Tolfox is keeping watch for them. At the very least, it's safe to assume he's got men among his warriors who have a knack for hunting down the Army uniform.”

“That seems about right.”

Settling into a whole other layer of smugness now that he saw Clint was genuinely paying attention, Farelli leaned back in his chair and said, “Going to these peace talks with a brigade of armed men wouldn't send the proper message and might just spark a fight straightaway. If I don't send enough armed men, I'd be putting my negotiators at risk. That's why I need to send a few extremely capable men to the talks. Since you were in the area and you can handle yourself under such conditions, I thought I'd ask for your help.”

“Are you going to the talks?” Clint asked.

That question hit Farelli like a cold slap in the face. “No. My relations are…strained with Tolfox. My presence there wouldn't be prudent.”

“Of course not. Who will be going?”

“If all goes well, you'll be going along with my second in command as well as a few of my assistants who are qualified to barter a certain amount of our goods if that should be necessary.”

Clint chuckled under his breath. “Trying to buy them off?”

Farelli held out both hands and replied, “What ever works. I'd just like to be done with this whole mess. If you don't want to take part, that's fine. If you do, you'll be paid a fee of five hundred dollars to cover your expenses as well as the ser vices you're providing.”

Oddly enough, that moment was the first time when Clint didn't suspect anything from the colonel. He already knew Farelli was a conniving weasel, but he seemed well intentioned enough as far as this job was concerned. After all, the man still was an Army officer, and he had a job to do.

“Can I think about it?” Clint asked.

“Sure. You've got until tomorrow.”

“That's not a lot of time.”

“You're not the easiest man to track down,” Farelli shot back. “Johnson is the man to see at the bunk house. He'll set you up with a place to stay, if you like.”

Clint started to leave the room, but stopped before opening the door. Turning toward Farelli's desk, he asked, “What's your angle?”

“Pardon me?”

“The last time we met, you were being charged with stealing supplies and pocketing the profits. Now you make me this offer, complete with five hundred dollars and a free room for the night. Surely you might have expected I'd be a little suspicious.”

Although Farelli kept his posture straight and his chin high, the expression on his face dropped all the way to his boots. His eyes burned for a moment before sputtering out. “You caught me red-handed, Adams. I was fined and prosecuted. It's over. You can help put a stop to this bloodshed, so you can either do it or not. It's too late for much of anything else that used to be between us.”

Clint hadn't seen that coming. Farelli actually seemed honest. “All right. I'll help out.” Placing his hands upon the edge of the desk, Clint leaned forward and added, “But if I so much as sniff the first hint of a double-cross, I'll make sure you'll regret ever seeing my face again.”

“Fair enough. The bunk house is out my door and to your right.”