Ralph Compton Whiskey River Read Free

Harder.”
    â€œAs former Rebs, you signed amnesty oaths?”
    â€œWe did,” said Bill grimly. “We was given no choice.”
    â€œFrom what I’m told, there’s evidence the two of you are not only in violation of those oaths, but you have committed murder,” Lieutenant Henry said. “You will be taken to jail in Waco until I’ve had time to investigate these charges. If evidence points to your guilt, the two of you will be taken to the stockade at Fort Worth for trial. Do you either of you have anything to say?”
    â€œPlenty,” said Mark, “but nothing that would help our cause. You might as well get on with your investigation.”
    This time, as Mark and Bill rode into Waco on their gaunt mules, they attracted plenty of attention, for they wore manacles on their wrists and were followed by a soldier escort. Standing in the door of his mercantile, old Ab sighed, his heart heavy for the two young men who had only wanted to claim what was rightly theirs. Reaching the jail, Mark and Bill had an unpleasant surprise. The “sheriff” was Rufe Elkins, a down-at-the-heels rancher nobody liked. Not only had Elkins not gone to war, but had been suspected of rustling the cattle of men who had. He seemed especially gratified, seeing Mark Rogers and Bill Harder in irons.
    â€œI been expectin’ them two,” Elkins said with an evil grin. “I got cells just waitin’ for ’em.”
    â€œI’m Lieutenant Henry,” said the officer, not liking the man. “See to it they’re issued decent clothing and are fed properly. For the several days they’re likely to be here, I am holding you responsible for their well-being. Do you understand?”
    â€œYeah, I . . . yes, sir, I understand,” said Elkins with considerably less enthusiasm. He was inclined to bully better men when he had the chance, but the cold eyes of Lieutenant Henry had taken his measure. Being a sheriff wasn’t all that rewarding, but it paid better than his rawhide outfit, even with the cattle he was able to rustle. He said nothing to either of his prisoners as he locked them in a cell. Suppertime came. To the surprise of Mark and Bill, they were served a decent meal, including coffee.
    â€œI reckon it all depends on which side of the war you was on, whether you get coffee or not,” said Mark.
    â€œI reckon,” Bill replied.
    â€œHaw, haw,” said Elkins, who had been listening, “you two bastards was purely on the wrong side.”
    â€œYou no-account son-of-a-bitch,” said Bill. “It don’t take guts to lay out in the brush and steal other men’s cattle when they’re away at war.”
    â€œHidin’ behind them soldiers, you got a big mouth, Harder,” Elkins snarled. “Maybe when them soldiers has gone on their way, you’ll find me behind you with a loaded Colt.”
    â€œIf I do,” said Bill grimly, “you’d better use it, or I’ll take it away from you and put it where the sun don’t shine.”

Waco, Texas. June 29, 1866.
    Lieutenant Henry didn’t return for three days. When he did, his manner was grim, and he wasted no time confronting Rogers and Harder. When he stood before the barred door, Mark and Bill rose to their feet.
    â€œWe found the bodies,” said Lieutenant Henry. “You’re both under military arrest upon suspicion of murder. You’ll be taken to Fort Worth for trial. Attorneys will be appointed to defend you. Meanwhile, anything you say may be held against you.”
    Mark and Bill said nothing. They sat down on their bunks, seeking to appear as calm as they could. They well knew that a murder conviction meant the firing squad. As they had expected, Sheriff Rufe Elkins looked for some sign of weakness in them, but he looked in vain.
    â€œSheriff,” said Lieutenant Henry, “you will have the prisoners prepared to depart in the morning at