The Loner: Inferno

Chapter 6

The rest of the night passed quietly. The Apaches didn’t attack, and there was no more trouble between the soldiers and the members of the wagon train. The Kid had spread his bedroll underneath one of the wagons, and slept soundly.

When he got up in the morning and looked toward the cavalry camp, he saw the troopers were already getting ready to move out.

One of the women who had provided supper for him the night before came over to him bearing a steaming cup of coffee. The Kid took it with a grateful grin. “Thanks, ma’am.”

“I’ll bring you some flapjacks and bacon in a minute if that’s all right, Mr. Morgan,” she said.

“That’s more than all right,” he assured her. “It sounds wonderful.”

He looked around and didn’t see Jessica Ritter, but even though it occurred to him, he didn’t think he ought to ask after her. Things between them had been rather tense ever since they’d met. Jessica didn’t seem to want any attention from him, yet sometimes went out of her way to talk to him.

While The Kid sat on a wagon tongue and drank his coffee, Horace Dunlap came over to him and nodded good morning. The wagonmaster’s face was bruised and swollen from the fight with Sgt. Brennan, and he moved like he was sore all over.

With a sheepish grin, he confirmed it. “Reckon I’m gettin’ a mite too old for bare-knuckles brawlin’. I just hope that durned sergeant has half as many aches and pains as I do this mornin’.”

“I think there’s a good chance of that,” The Kid said. “It looked to me like you got in some pretty good licks.”

Dunlap chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” He waved a hand toward the cavalry camp. “I guess you saw them soldier boys gettin’ ready to ride.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna go over there and ask that lieutenant one more time if he’ll go with us to Raincrow Valley. I don’t expect it’ll do any good, but I got to try. You want to come with me, Kid?”

“I don’t see what good having me along will do.” The Kid frowned.

“You’re a famous hombre. Lieutenant Nicholson might come closer to listenin’ to you.”

“I think you’re way wrong there, but I’ll go with you. For moral support, if nothing else.”

The Kid told the woman at the campfire that he would be back in a few minutes for his flapjacks and bacon, then, carrying the coffee cup, he walked over to the cavalry camp with Dunlap.

A couple of troopers got in their way, carbines slanted across their chests. “Hold it right there, sir,” one said to Dunlap. “Please state your business.”

“I want to talk to your lieutenant,” Dunlap said.

“I’ll see if he’s available,” the soldier said.

Dunlap scowled and pointed at Nicholson, who stood about ten feet away watching some of the men saddle their horses. “He’s standin’ right there.” The wagonmaster sounded like a man trying not to reveal his irritation.

“I’ll see if he’s available,” the trooper repeated. He turned on a heel and walked over to Nicholson, where he saluted, then spoke to the officer in a low voice.

The Kid had never been in the army, so he was no expert on military discipline. It seemed to him Nicholson was being a little too strict, especially considering they were out in the middle of nowhere.

But maybe that was what it took to maintain order among his men, The Kid mused. The troopers hadn’t seemed too well-disciplined the night before when they’d been brawling with the immigrants.

Nicholson nodded to the soldier who’d been talking to him. The trooper came back over to The Kid and Dunlap. “You can speak to the lieutenant now.”

“Much obliged,” Dunlap said in a dry tone, making it clear how ridiculous he thought the whole thing was. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and walked over to Nicholson.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Dunlap?” the lieutenant asked.

“Well, you can go with us to Raincrow Valley and make sure the Apaches don’t scalp all those good folks in the wagon train.”

Nicholson shook his head. “I’ve already told you I can’t do that.”

“Just how big is that war party you’re chasin’, anyway?”

“It’s been reported to have as many as a hundred warriors in it.”

“Good Lord!” Dunlap exclaimed. “How many men have you got in your patrol?”

“Thirty,” Nicholson answered without hesitation.

“Then if you do find them Indians, you’ll be outnumbered more than three to one.”

“That’s true,” the lieutenant admitted. “But I’m counting on the fact that a well-trained and well-equipped member of the United States Cavalry is the fighting equivalent of several dirty, illiterate savages.”

It was all The Kid could do not to ask Nicholson just how big a damned fool he really was. Instead he asked, “What sort of rifles do your men carry, Lieutenant?”

“What?” Nicholson appeared to be taken by surprise by the question. “They’re Springfields, of course.”

“Single shot weapons?”

“Of course.”

“Most of the Apaches have Winchester repeaters that they’ve either stolen in raids or traded for with white and Mexican gunrunners.” The Kid had been told as much by Frank Morgan. “Those rifles can fire off fifteen rounds in the same time it would take your men to get off three or four shots, reloading between each round. But you think one of your men is really a match for three or four of them?”

“The hostiles are undisciplined—”

“Why don’t you ask my head scout, Scott Harwood about that? Scott served with General Crook over in Arizona while Crook was tryin’ to chase down Cochise and Geronimo. He can tell you just how undisciplined those Apaches are.”

Nicholson’s face flushed with anger. “It doesn’t matter what you say,” he snapped. “I know my men, and I have my orders, which are to locate and engage the hostiles. I won’t be distracted from that mission by a bunch of farmers.”

Dunlap looked mad enough to start swinging again. The Kid put a warning hand on his shoulder.

“Lieutenant, I think you’re making a mistake,” The Kid said. “I believe if your superiors were here, they would see how important it is to get this wagon train safely to Raincrow Valley.”

Nicholson glared at him. “From what I understand, you’re nothing but a wandering gunman, Morgan. It’s presumptuous of you to claim you know more about what my superiors would want than I do. I’ll say it one last time. I have my orders. And we’re moving out with all due speed.”

Nicholson turned and called to his noncom. “Sergeant Brennan, tell the men to mount up!”

“Yes, sir!” Brennan replied. He had been standing not too far away, glaring at Dunlap and The Kid. Now he began stalking around the camp, getting the troopers on their horses and ready to ride.

Nicholson nodded to the two civilians. “You’re dismissed.”

The lieutenant’s contemptuous tone made Dunlap’s hands clench into fists.

“Come on,” The Kid told the older man. “We’re wasting our time here.”

“Yeah, I reckon it was a waste of time tryin’ to talk sense into somebody with his head so far up his rear end that he can’t hear nothin’.”

The Kid chuckled at the angry look that flashed across Nicholson’s face as the lieutenant glanced back. Nicholson’s spine was stiff and the back of his neck turned a deep red as he walked away.

When The Kid and Dunlap returned to the wagon train, Scott Harwood and Milo Farnum were waiting for them.

“Talking to the lieutenant didn’t do any good, did it?” Harwood asked.

“Nope,” Dunlap replied. “I didn’t figure it would, but I had to try.” He took off his hat and scratched his head. “Oh, well, we made it this far without any real trouble. Maybe we can make it a mite farther.”

“We’ll both be on the scout all day,” Farnum said. “If there’s any Injuns waitin’ for us, Horace, Scott and me will find ’em.”

Dunlap nodded, but The Kid saw the doubt in the wagonmaster’s eyes. The Apaches were so good at hiding, sometimes when they attacked it seemed like they came up from the very ground itself, like worms rising from the earth after a hard rain.

Some of the immigrants were hitching up their teams and getting ready to roll the wagons. All The Kid had to do was saddle his dun, so he took the time to enjoy the breakfast the woman had put aside for him.

“What’s your name, ma’am?” he asked.

“I’m Mrs. Price. Violet Price.” She was about forty, a pleasant-looking woman with short brown hair.

The Kid still hadn’t seen Jessica that morning. But as he approached her wagon a few minutes later, she emerged from the canvas-covered bed and dropped to the ground.

“Good morning,” he said. “Do you need a hand getting your team hitched?”

Jessica didn’t hesitate. She shook her head. “No, I’ve been hitching them up every morning for weeks. I think I can manage.”

“I’m sure you can. Just thought it might be easier with a little help.”

“How many teams of oxen have you handled, Mr. Morgan?”

“Well ... none, really,” The Kid admitted.

“That’s what I thought. If you really want to help, you can stay out of my way.”

“Seems to me like your fiancé might be over here giving you a hand.”

“Scott has more important things to do,” Jessica snapped. “Like making sure there aren’t any Apaches waiting for us around the next bend in the trail.”

The Kid supposed that was true. He had seen Harwood ride out a few minutes earlier, along with Milo Farnum.

“It’s a dangerous job, too,” Jessica went on. “Out there in front of the wagons by himself, he’s liable to be attacked if he runs into any savages.”

That was true, as well.

“Maybe I should do some scouting myself,” The Kid suggested. “Three pairs of eyes have to be better than two.”

“That’s up to you. Do whatever you want.”

He left her getting the oxen in their traces and sought out Horace Dunlap again.

“I was thinking I’d go out with Harwood and Farnum,” he told the wagonmaster.

Dunlap frowned. “Scott and Milo already left. They were gonna split up and cover both sides of the trail.”

“I could ride directly in front of the wagons, then.”

“I didn’t think you knew how to get to Raincrow Valley. You’d never heard of the place.”

“You’re headed west, and you said the valley was still three days from here, so you won’t reach it today. I think I can handle riding west.”

Dunlap shrugged his brawny shoulders. “That’s fine with me, if that’s what you want to do, Kid. You’ll be able to see our dust behind you. Don’t get more than a mile or so ahead of us, though, in case you run into trouble and have to light a shuck back here.”

The Kid nodded his agreement and went to get his horse. By the time he saddled the dun and led him back to the front of the wagon train, all the teams were in their traces and the wagons were ready to roll.

“I’ll see you later,” he told Dunlap.

“Come back in when it gets to be the middle of the day,” Dunlap said. “We’ll stop and eat.”

“Sounds good.” The Kid glanced back along the line of canvas-covered vehicles. Jessica’s wagon was the ninth in line. She had donned her sunbonnet and climbed to the high seat on the front of the wagon to grip the reins in her hands. The Kid thought she gave him a slight nod, but he couldn’t be sure.

He lifted a hand and touched his fingers to the brim of his hat anyway, then turned and heeled the dun into motion. The horse carried him in an easy lope across the arid plains, and the wagons soon dwindled in the distance behind him.