Ironhorse

84

The rapids of the Kiamichi grew louder as we walked across the tracks toward where the buckboard was sitting near the river.

“Me and my section boys had the duty of cleanup this morning,” Wesley Junior said.

As we got close to the buckboard, I caught the slight odor of dead.

“We’re all ex-Army,” Wesley Junior said. “Seen a lot of dead, used to it, but still it was a hell of a thing to have happen, here on the Kiamichi.”

Wesley Junior threw back a tarp covering the dead gunmen stacked between the rails of the buckboard.

“I tried to get the conductor of the Southbound Express to load them, take them and the car down to South Division in Paris, but they was too far behind. Paris dispatch said other arrangements would be made,” Wesley Junior said. “They best hurry, otherwise I’m gonna need to bury them.”

Virgil held up the lantern, and we looked at the bodies. They weren’t exactly stacked real neat, and it was kind of hard to tell where one man started and another man ended, but I looked at them all closely.

“Don’t see no buckskin,” I said.

“Nope, don’t,” Virgil said.

“Buckskin?”

“One of them was shot up near here,” I said. “Not sure if he made it or not.”

Wesley Junior looked out into the dark and said, “You think he might be out there?”

“Hard to say.”

“Was he mounted?” Wesley Junior said.

“No,” I said.

“Why do you ask?” Virgil said.

“A horse was stolen from here. Nothing like that happens here — hell, a horse apple falling out a tree is the normal news around here, not a horse getting stolen,” Wesley Junior said. “But still might be your buckskin fellow who done it. Thing is, though, another horse was left in its place. It was rode hard, real nice horse, well, it was a nice horse, but it was left in bad shape, damn near dead I think.”

“Lassiter,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“Where did this happen, Wesley?” Virgil asked.

“Horse taken belonged to a logger named Gobble Greene. A mean SOB who lives on the end of town there. Whoever stole his horse is lucky Gobble was not around, ’cause Gobble Greene ain’t nobody to mess with.”

Virgil held the lantern up and looked at Wesley Junior.

“Take us there,” Virgil said.

“Sure thing,” Wesley Junior said.

He threw the tarp back over the top of the dead men and started back toward the tracks, and Virgil and I followed.

“Everett,” Virgil said, “might be a good idea to get Berkeley.”

When we crossed back over the tracks, we walked behind the stock car. The ramp was down, and Berkeley was inside with the horses. I moved to the opening of the car.

“Berkeley,” I said.

“Yo,” Berkeley said.

He came to the opening with a pitchfork in his hand.

“Come on,” I said. “Got a set of circumstances that more than likely concerns you.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Didn’t when it was spelled out, either.”

Berkeley came down the ramp and we caught up with Virgil and Wesley Junior walking in the street that entered the town of Standley Station.