Ralph Compton Whiskey River Read Free Page A

0800 hours. See that they are fed and that they’re supplied with horses and saddles. The mounts and saddles will be returned.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Rufe Elkins said. “Will I be goin’ along?”
    â€œNo,” said Lieutenant Henry, “your services are not required.”
    Mark and Bill grinned in delight as Elkins tried vainly to play upon an importance he didn’t possess. Ignoring him, Lieutenant Henry left immediately.
    Bill laughed. “You’d better stick to stealing cows, Elkins. You just ain’t impressive as a sheriff. Or a human being, for that matter.”
    â€œYou mouthy bastards,” said Elkins, “I’ll ride all the way to Fort Worth, just to see the pair of you backed up against a wall and gunned down.”
    â€œIt hasn’t happened yet,” Mark said, “but for the sake of your slimy hide, you better hope it does.”
    Elkins laughed. “Oh, I do hope it does. You gents have had a hell of a natural increase on what used to be your spreads, and I’m anxious to get my rope on the rest of them new mavericks.”
    Mark and Bill sat on their bunks, grinding their teeth in silence.

Waco, Texas. June 30, 1866.
    The distance to Fort Worth was about seventy-five miles. Lieutenant Henry and his three companions picked up their prisoners and departed at exactly eight o’clock. Resting the horses, the journey could easily be made in a day. There was no talk. The soldiers were grim, so Mark and Bill kept their silence. Reaching Fort Worth, they were admitted, taken into the guardhouse, and their shackles removed.
    â€œWell, pardner,” said Mark when they were alone, “we wrestled the devil and lost big time. What’ll we do now, wait for ’em to load their guns?”
    â€œOh, there’ll be some kind of a trial,” Bill said. “ Then they load their guns.”
    But nothing was said about a trial, and after three days, both men had begun to wonder what exactly would be their fate.

Fort Worth, Texas. July 5, 1866.
    Two soldiers came for them, and they were taken to the office of the post commander, Captain Ferguson. When Ferguson answered the knock on his door, the corporals saluted.
    â€œAt ease, corporals,” said the officer. “You’ll remain outside. Rogers, you and Harder will come in and be seated, he said, closing the door. ”I am Captain Ferguson.”
    â€œI wish I could say I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” said Bill, “but not under these kind of circumstances.”
    â€œSame feelings here,” Mark said.
    â€œI have spoken to your former commanding officer,” said Ferguson, “and the two of you had distinguished careers with the Confederacy. Now you’re both facing a murder charge. Why?”
    â€œBecause we come back to our proved up land and found it had been taken for taxes while we wasn’t here,” Bill said angrily. “That wasn’t fair.”
    â€œI agree,” said Ferguson, “but violating the law didn’t help your cause. As you have no doubt heard, the murder of President Lincoln by a Southern sympathizer has official Washington furious. Northern congressmen have retribution on their minds.”
    â€œSo they get back at us by stealing our land,” Mark said bitterly. “We wasn’t near the president. All we wanted was to forget about war and come back to Texas.”
    Captain Ferguson sighed. “The president wanted us all to forget about war, to allow the scars to heal. Now, God knows if they ever will.”
    â€œEverything you’ve said is true, sir,” said Bill, “but it’s of no help to us. What will become of Mark and me?”
    â€œI could have you court-martialed for murder,” Ferguson said. “Conviction calls for a mandatory death sentence.”
    â€œYou speak as though there’s some other choice,” said Mark.
    â€œMaybe there is,” Ferguson said.