Gunsmith #362 : Buffalo Soldiers (9781101554388) (2 page)

As the two men went for their guns, Reeves reacted out of pure reflex. He drew and fired three times. Two bullets hit one man in the chest, one a perfect heart shot, the other one just insurance. Then he fired at the other men, and held himself back from pulling the trigger a second time.

The single bullet hit the man in the chest and his gun flew from his hand as he went down. Reeves rushed to him, hoping he could get a word or two out of him before he expired.

“Who are you?” he asked the bleeding man. “Who are you ridin’ with?”

“Oh Lord, I’s gonna die,” the man cried. “Don’ let me die, Mister Reeves!”

“I won’t let you die,” Bass Reeves lied. “Just tell me who you’re ridin’ with.”

“Lord, save me!” the man shouted at the ceiling. “Don’ let me die!”

Reeves shook the man and said, “I’ll kill you myself if you don’t tell me who you’re with!”

“Soldiers!” the man cried.

“What?”

“B-Buffalo Soldiers,” the man said, and died with a blood bubble on his lips. It popped and left dots of blood on his face.

Half an hour later Bass Reeves was sitting in the sheriff’s office, looking across Overbay’s desk at him.

“You’re sayin’,” the big Indian said, “that some Buffalo Soldiers are robbing banks and killin’ people in the Territories?”

“Ex-Buffalo Soldiers,” Reeves said. “I mean, I’m sure they’re ex-Buffalo Soldiers.”

“Were you once a Buffalo Soldier?” Overybay asked.

“No,” Reeves said, “I enlisted in the Buffalo Soldier Police Academy, to learn how to be a proper marshal.”

“From what I hear, you learned pretty good.”

“I learned what I needed to in the Academy, but I learned the rest on the trail.”

“Well,” Sheriff Overbay asked, “what are you going to do now?”

“I have to go back to Fort Smith, with the two bodies,” Reeves said. “Judge Parker needs to know what we’re up against.”

“Don’t you mean,” Overbay asked, “what you’re up against? I’ll bet Judge Parker ain’t about to get on a horse.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Reeves said, “but there is someone who will.”

* * *

Clint Adams had been in Fort Smith for a week. After tracking a crooked sheriff from Adobe Walls, Texas, to the Territories and killing him, he decided to stay in town for a while. He wanted to rest not only his own bones, but those of his horse, the Darley Arabian, Eclipse.

While in Fort Smith, he had established contact with his friend, Deputy Marshal Bass Reeves. But after Bass Reeves was sent on a job by Judge Parker, Clint established contact with a new friend.

Her name was Rachel.

She had black hair, creamy white skin, and the most wonderful, full breasts he’d come across in some time. They were almost pear-shaped, with heavy, rounded undersides and large nipples and aureoles. Clint could have spent most of the afternoon on those breasts, but Rachel wasn’t able to lie still that long.

She had plans of her own.

Bass Reeves rode into Fort Smith with two bodies slung over their horses. It was not an unusual sight to the people of Fort Smith. Neither was it an unusual sight to Judge Parker, who happened to be looking out the window of his office at the time.

“Henry!”

The Judge’s bailiff, a little man named Henry Butler, came rushing into the room—that is, as much as a slow-moving man like Butler could rush.

“Deputy Reeves just rode into town with two dead men. Did I or did I not instruct him to bring those men back alive?”

“You did, sir.”

“Then why do you suppose he’s got them slung over their horses like two sacks of sugar?”

“Uh, perhaps they didn’t give him much choice in the matter, sir?”

“Well,” Parker said, fiddling with his mustache, “I’ll want to hear that from him, won’t I?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring him directly to my office as soon as he comes in.”

“Yessir.”

“And Butler!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Is Clint Adams still in town?”

“He is.”

“And Heck Thomas?”

“He’s out on an assignment, sir. Won’t be back for…well, weeks.”

“Well, if Marshal Thomas is out of town, why is Adams still here?”

“I believe he’s made the acquaintance of a lady, sir,” Butler said.

“A lady?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of dubious distinction?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, sir,” Butler said, “but word has it Mr. Adams does not dally with…whores.”

“Is that a fact?” Parker asked. “A man of principle, huh?”

“Some principles, yes, sir,” Butler said.

“All right,” Parker said. “Get out. Bring me Reeves as soon as he arrives.”

“Yessir.”

Reeves delivered the two dead outlaws to the undertaker’s, then took his horse to the livery stable behind Judge Parker’s barracks building.

“Clint Adams still in town?” he asked.

“His horse is here,” the liveryman said. “I don’t think he’d go anyplace without him.”

“Thanks.”

Before he went home, before he got a steak or a beer, Deputy Marshal Bass Reeves went to the barracks building that housed not only the jail cells and courthouse in Fort Smith, but also Judge Parker’s office. He presented himself to the little bailiff, Henry Butler, who regarded the big black deputy from behind a rather small desk that matched his own stature perfectly.

“The Judge saw you ride in,” Butler said. “He wants to see you right away.”

Reeves made a face.

“He ain’t happy, huh? Well, them fellers didn’t leave me much choice,” he said.

“That is what I, ah, suggested to the Judge,” Butler said. “You can go right in.”

“Thanks, Butler.”

Butler nodded as Reeves headed for the door to the Judge’s office.

“Ah, Deputy Reeves,” Parker said, spreading his arms expansively. “Welcome back. I see you brought back two of your prey—dead!”

“I can explain, sir.”

“Good,” Parker said, “then do so.”

Parker was Eastern educated and, despite time spent in the West, maintained all those traits.

Reeves explained what had happened after he tracked the men to Muskogee.

“They gave me no choice, went for their guns right away,” he said. “I have a witness, the bartender in the saloon—”

Parker waved Reeves off and said, “I don’t need a witness, Deputy. If I can’t believe my men, who can I believe? I accept you had no choice, but this was just two of the men.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There are more.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement they both knew to be true. “Where are they? Did either of these men tell you that before they unfortunately died?”

“No, sir,” Reeves said. “One of them spoke, but he only said two words.”

“And what were they?”

Reeves hesitated.

“Well? Spit it out, man!”

“Buffalo Soldiers.”

Parker stared at Reeves.

“In what context did they say that?”

“I asked him who he was with.”

“And he said, ‘Buffalo Soldiers’?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you think he meant by that, Deputy?” the Judge asked.

“That the bank robbers and murderers they were riding with were black men,” Reeves said, “and ex-Buffalo Soldiers.”

He could see that the thought of lawmen—even black Buffalo Soldiers—killing people made the Judge uneasy.

“That’s not necessarily true.”

“I hope you’re right,” Reeves said, “but I feel that you are not.”

“Oh? Why?”

“There was no reason for the man to tell me a lie,” Reeves said. “He was dyin’.”

“So you’re going back out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But if you’re hunting Buffalo Soldiers—ex-Buffalo Soldiers—they will be…formidable.”

“Yes, sir,” Reeves said. “They should be well-trained men.”

“I don’t have another man to send with you,” Parker said almost apologetically.

“I understand that, sir,” Reeves said, “but I have an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Can I tell you tomorrow mornin’?”

“Yes, all right, Deputy,” Parker said, sounding weary now. “Get some food and a night’s sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Reeves said. “Thank you, sir.”

Parker went to his window and watched as Bass Reeves left the building. He had no doubt what Reeves’s idea was. He wished him luck.

Reeves left Parker’s office and walked to one of Fort Smith’s hotels. He went to the clerk and asked for Clint Adams’s room number.

“Um, am I supposed to tell you that, Deputy?” the clerk asked.

“Yes, you are,” Reeves said.

“B-But…Mr. Adams ain’t alone,” the clerk said. “And if I disturb him—”

“But you ain’t gonna disturb him,” Reeves said, “I am.”

The clerk gave him the room number. He went up the stairs and down the hall, wishing he didn’t have to interrupt his friend.

But he had no choice.

Clint rolled Rachel onto her back. Her solid breasts barely moved, but he knew that wouldn’t last. When she was thirty or so, they’d start to sag, but right now—she was twenty-five or -six—they were perfect.

He lowered his mouth to her brown nipples, nibbled them, licked them, sucked on them while she held his head in her hands.

“You really like them, don’t you?” she asked. “They’re just tits.”

“I like them, and you,” he said, kissing her. “You—and they—are magnificent.”

“Mmm,” she said, pushing him off her and rolling him over. “Let me show you what I like.”

She kissed her way down his body until she had his swollen cock in her hands. She lowered her lips to the head, stuck out her tongue, licked him lovingly. She wet the head thoroughly, then slid the length of him into her hot, eager mouth.

The sensation caused Clint to lift his hips to pump his cock in and out of her mouth. He knew from past experience—only hours past—that when he came, it would be as if his head were going to come off. She knew just how to suck him, how to milk him, how to stave off the end until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

She sucked him lovingly, putting her hands beneath
him to cup his buttocks and pull him into her mouth even harder…and that’s when the knock came at the door.

“Christ,” Clint said. “Now?”

She lifted her head and looked up at him.

“Don’t answer it.”

The knocking came again, harder.

“Clint! Come on, man,” a deep voiced rumbled. “It’s Bass.”

“Uh-oh,” she said with a mischievous look on her pretty face, “it’s the law.”

“Don’t go away,” he told her, rolling off the bed and grabbing his gun.

He walked naked to the door, gun in his right hand just in case, and opened the door with his left.

“I’m impressed,” Reeves said.

Clint looked down at himself. Although his cock was wilting, it was still mostly hard. But Clint didn’t think there was much for Reeves to be impressed with—unless he was talking about the girl on the bed.

“Bass,” he said, “I’m a little busy.”

“That’s what the clerk told me,” Reeves said, “and I can see that, but I bet she won’t go nowhere if you and me go out for a steak. My treat.”

“Steak dinner?”

Reeves nodded.

“All the trimmings?”

“Whatever you want,” Reeves said. “I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“A favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I’ll tell you over a steak.”

“Stay there,” Clint said, and closed the door.

As the door closed in his face, Bass Reeves did see the girl on the bed—and he was impressed. His friend always had a way of finding women who were more than pretty—and they always liked him.

It was obviously a gift.

He walked back to the bed, holstered the gun, and picked up his pants.

“You’re leaving?” she asked.

“The truth is, Rachel,” he said, “I’m still worn out from earlier in the day. I need to fortify myself.”

“And what about me?” she asked, rolling onto her back and staring at him. “I don’t need to be fortified?”

“Get something to eat,” he said, pulling on his boots and grabbing his shirt. “I’ll meet you back here.”

As he headed for the door, she said, “You hope.”

O’Boyle’s served the best steak in Fort Smith. It was a restaurant that Judge Parker usually frequented, but not as early as Reeves and Clint were there.

They both ordered steak dinners with everything, along with big icy mugs of beer. The waitress started them off with a basket of hot biscuits and butter.

“Okay,” Clint said, buttering a biscuit, “what’s going on, Bass?”

“I just rode in today with two dead men slung over their horses,” Reeves said. “Bank robbers and killers who didn’t give me no choice.”

“And why do I sense you’re not happy about it?” Clint asked.

“I ain’t never happy about havin’ to kill a man, Clint,” Reeves said, “but this was different.”

“Why?”

“Because they was black.”

They sat back while the waitress set their steaming plates in front of them.

“There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” Clint asked after she’d left.

“Yeah, there’s more,” Reeves said. “They were ex-Buffalo Soldiers.”

“Jesus,” Clint said. He could see why Reeves was so upset.

“There’s more.”

“More?”

“I think the rest of the gang are also ex-Buffalo Soldiers.”

“How many?”

“I’m not sure,” Reeves said. “Nine, maybe ten.”

“Are you going after them?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Well,” Reeves said, “that’s the favor.”

“I thought it might be.”

“The Judge has no one to send with me.”

“Where’s Heck?”

“Out on an assignment,” Reeves said. “So are all the other deputies.”

“Are you determined to go after these men and bring them back, Bass?” Clint said. “Even though they were Buffalo Soldiers?”

“I am.”

Clint knew that Reeves had gone to the Buffalo Soldier Academy to learn how to be a proper lawman. Having
other men—even ex-Buffalo Soldiers—go rogue would not sit well with him at all.

Clint cut into his inch-thick steak and said, “Then I’m your man.”

After dinner they had pie. They didn’t have Clint’s favorite peach, so they both had apple pie, and hot, black coffee.

“What’s your goal, here, Bass?”

“My goal?” The big black lawman frowned, unsure of what Clint meant.

“Usually you just want to bring the men you’re hunting back here to deliver to the Judge. You don’t much care what happens after that.”

“That’s true.”

“I would bet this has got to be a lot different,” Clint said.

“Yeah, it is,” Reeves said. “I guess I wanna know what made them do what they’re doin’. I mean…these men were Buffalo Soldiers. They used to keep the peace, and protect people.” He shook his head. “Now they’re out there killin’ people.”

“And you want to know why.”

“Damn right I do.”

“But you do still intend to bring them back, right?” Clint asked.

“I do.”

“No matter what?”

The big black lawman frowned again.

“What are you gettin’ at?”

“I’m willing to go along with you and watch your back, Bass,” Clint said. “I just want to know exactly what we’re doing, and why.”

“We’re huntin’ lawbreakers, and we’re gonna bring ’em back,” Reeves said. “it’s jus’…before we do, I wanna talk to ’em.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “When do we leave?”

“I gotta see the Judge in the mornin’,” Reeves said. “I figure after that.”

“Want me to meet you there?” Clint asked. “See the Judge with you?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

Clint figured Judge Parker would want to see him anyway. Every so often the man offered him a deputy marshal’s badge. Clint always turned him down, but that didn’t phase the man. He kept trying.

“He’s gonna try to make you wear a badge,” Reeves said, as if reading Clint’s mind.

“I know it,” Clint said. “Don’t worry. The Judge and I have an understanding.”

“Okay,” Reeves said.

“What are you going to do tonight?”

“Get some rest,” Reeves said.

“Good idea,” Clint said. “I’ll do the same.”

“Really?” Reeves gave Clint a look.

“Well,” Clint said, thinking about Rachel, “I’ll try.”

They left the restaurant and Reeves walked Clint back to the hotel.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this, Bass,” Clint said. “I know what the Buffalo Soldiers mean to you.”

“It just ain’t right,” Reeves said. “It’s hard for a black man to get respect, but that’s what bein’ a Buffalo Soldier means. These men…they’re just pissin’ on all of it.”

Clint clapped his friend on the back and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll get them.”

“Yeah,” Reeves said, “you’re damn right we will.”