Gunsmith #362 : Buffalo Soldiers (9781101554388) Read Free

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.”

FIVE
    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.