Straw Men (16 page)

Mingan couldn't hide his surprise when he saw both Clint and Tolfox ride back to the rest of the tribe. The Indians all rode with their horses clustered in a group so the braves could keep watch from the outside while protecting the children and women in the middle of the cluster. Even though Mingan rode toward the front of the group, the uneasy faces on the nearby braves made it known that they wished he would accept a bit more protection.

“Where are the others?” Mingan asked.

Tolfox slouched forward upon his horse with his head hung low. Now that he was closer, it was easier for the others to see that Tolfox's hands were tied at the wrists and his wrists were tied to the saddle horn. Blood was already soaking through the shredded material wrapped around Tolfox's ribs as a makeshift bandage.

Riding beside Tolfox so he could keep hold of the Crow's reins, Clint brought Eclipse and Tolfox's horse to a stop. “The other Crow are gone,” he said. “Three were shot dead and a fourth ran away. I had to kill those three because they meant to kill me. If anyone has something to say about this, say it now.”

There were plenty of uneasy glances tossed among the Navajo, but none of them spoke out against what they'd heard.

“Tolfox is coming along with us as a prisoner,” Clint announced. “He's been leading you people down a path that will only end in more blood. Farelli's on a rampage of his own at the moment, but the rest of the Army will only pick up where he leaves off if this doesn't stop right now. Agreed?”

The tribe was silent.

One by one, the Navajo all turned their eyes to one man.

Mingan accepted their silent gazes by tightening the muscles in his jaw and bowing his head a bit as if their attention weighed on him like a load of bricks. Then the old man straightened up and sat in his saddle as if he towered above all the others. “We did not have the courage to stand up to Tolfox before. We should have been the ones to stand against him now. We will take him and see to it that no more blood is spilled because of our own mistake.”

Just then, Clint spotted a face among the braves that he hadn't been expecting. “Ahiga? Is that you?”

The Navajo warrior nodded once.

“So where's…?” Before he could finish his question, Clint spotted the translator among the Indian women toward the center of the tribe's protective group. The skinny fellow was covered by a blanket that made him look more like an old woman. If not for the translator's distinctive face and pasty white skin, Clint might not have seen him there at all.

“I led the soldiers away,” Ahiga said. “They did not follow me for long once they were done with our camp. I thought this man would be safest here with us. If you want me to take him somewhere else—”

“Oh, no,” Clint interrupted. “This is fine. To be honest, I doubt he'd be much safer anywhere else.” As he rode closer to Ahiga, Clint needed to fight to keep from laughing at the nervous translator who had more fear in his eyes than the women surrounding him.

Clint looked back to make certain the men who'd taken the reins to Tolfox's horse weren't having any trouble with their prisoner. Even though Tolfox's wound looked a whole lot worse than it truly was, the Crow slouched in his saddle as if all the life had been drained from him. For the moment, Tolfox wasn't going to give anyone much of a fight.

“Tolfox has done a lot of talking,” Clint said to Ahiga. “Without his men, he doesn't have a lot left in him.”

“Good,” Ahiga replied.

“I know you're not Crow and I know most of the men in the attack I saw were painted with the same marks as Tolfox's warriors, but you were also one of the men who attacked that wagon and those soldiers a while ago.”

“Yes.”

“Why fight in Tolfox's battles?” Clint asked. “Especially when you already knew Tolfox was dealing with Farelli?”

Ahiga sat tall as a mountain and wore an expression that was just as stony. “Because if the colonel thought I was with him, he would not slaughter this tribe the way his Army has slaughtered so many others.”

“How do you know that?”

“He wrote a letter to me, swearing this. He handed it to me personally and swore it was his bond.”

“Where is that letter?” Clint asked.

Without blinking an eye, Ahiga replied, “I burned it. His words mean nothing and a man like that cannot be trusted to uphold any bond.”

As much as Clint would have liked something more concrete to wave in front of Farelli's face as some sort of bargaining chip, he couldn't deny that Ahiga had a valid point. “That letter was probably worth less than the paper it was written on, but it would have been nice to wave it under Farelli's nose. Apparently, just thinking that a letter from him could find its way to the Federals is enough to make him nervous, and that's just how we want him to be.”

Clint rode through the clustered Indians until he was close enough to reach out and pull aside the blanket wrapped around the translator's head. “I'll take this,” Clint said as he tore the markings from the skinny man's shoulder. “And this,” he added as he peeled the spectacles from the translator's face.

“But…I need those,” the translator whined as he eyed the spectacles.

“Considering you were present to help iron out deals that involved killing innocent folks on both sides of this bloodbath, I'd keep my mouth shut. This tribe's keeping you alive,” Clint warned. “I'd say that's worth seeing badly for a little while.”

The translator glanced about and nodded before wrapping the blanket back around his head.

Clint then rode over to Tolfox and asked, “What can you donate to the cause?”

When Clint returned to Fort Winstead, he found the place in a state of celebration. It was no surprise that most of the raucous sounds and loud music were coming from the saloon. What did surprise Clint was that Colonel Farelli was in the middle of the merriment and raising his cup along with all the other soldiers.

Just as Clint was about to wade into the drunken mess, he was pulled aside by a strong grip that closed around his left wrist. After being turned around and nearly yanked from his feet, Clint felt a set of warm, eager lips press against his mouth. He recognized Abigail's kiss immediately.

“What was that for?” Clint asked once he was able to take a breath.

Abigail's face was dusty as ever and her hair was a wild tangle roughly tied behind her head. She smiled broadly and wrapped an arm around Clint's body while sliding one leg along his hip. “That was for letting me get so deep into the colonel's pockets that I won't have to work for a year. Why didn't you tell me you were gonna leave something more for them soldiers to find than just a bunch of empty old wagons?”

“What are you talking about?”

“We all heard the shooting,” she said in a somewhat slurred whisper. “I was about to pretend to see somethin' else when those shots came and so I went to see if you needed help. I didn't find you, but I sure as hell found those dead Injuns you left behind.” After thinking for a moment, she asked, “That was you, wasn't it?”

“Right, those were some of Tolfox's men,” Clint told her.

“It didn't matter whose men they were,” Abigail said. “The colonel was out to kill some Injuns, and finding those bodies made his day. The man's a damned vulture, but he promised a bonus for scalps and he paid up. You didn't get hurt or nothin', did you?”

Clint chuckled and replied, “No, but it's good to know that concern was so far down on your list.”

“Aw, yer standin' here in front of me! It ain't like I thought a dead man could do that!”

Clint was about to ask if she was drunk, but a better question came to mind. “How drunk are you, Abigail?”

“Pretty damn drunk, but not too drunk to give you a hell of a ride.”

“I think Farelli is trying to catch my attention, but don't you think for one second I'll forget about that offer you just made.”

Abigail made a few more offers, but most of them were lost amid a chorus of whoops and hollers as another bottle of whiskey was opened and drinks were passed around. Now that he was in the saloon and among all the men, Clint noticed that only a few of the men were in Army uniforms. The rest looked like gunmen that could be found in any rowdy drinking hole.

Colonel Farelli had been waving to Clint on and off since Clint had walked into the place. Now the colonel was waving hard enough to throw his arm out of its socket. As much as he would have liked to see Farelli continue to flail and flap his wing like an idiot, Clint acknowledged the wave and walked over to Farelli's table.

“There he is!” Farelli shouted. “Just the man I wanted to see. Clint Adams! The Gunsmith himself!”

Nodding and standing beside Farelli, Clint patted the other man's shoulder and said, “No need to shout, Farelli. I'm right here.”

“I owe you some money, Adams. We killed most of those murdering redskins and chased the rest of them into the hills. You did a hell of a job today!”

More than anything, Clint wanted to ask Farelli how he came up with such a colorful way to describe blowing up an empty camp and stumbling across some dead bodies.

“We even got us a prisoner!” Farelli continued. “He'll be swinging from a noose in the morning.”

“Can I have a word with you?” Clint asked. “Maybe somewhere without all this noise?”

“If you want your money, I can pay you right here.”

“It's not about any money. It's about some important business that needs to be handled.”

“Then handle it with one of my clerks,” Farelli said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They know about my business matters.”

“No,” Clint told him, “this is going to be something you'll want to handle yourself.”

Clint waited outside of the saloon for a few minutes and watched drunken gunmen stagger in and out to collect their fees and free drinks. A few soldiers came and went as well, but most of them were busy doing their jobs instead of drinking with their commanding officer. When Farelli finally did make his appearance, it was amid a booming laugh and several halfhearted salutes from the hired guns.

“What is it, Adams?” Farelli asked as he walked over to where Clint was waiting. “I've got more celebrating to do.”

Rather than say anything, Clint extended his hand to show the few items he was holding. Among them were the translator's spectacles and the black feathers that had hung from Tolfox's forearm. That sight seemed to cut through Farelli's whiskey haze real quickly.

“What are those?” Farelli demanded.

“Proof that your translator and Tolfox are still alive,” Clint replied. “I thought you'd like to know about them so you'd know who'll be speaking against you at your court-martial.”

“If I'm going to be brought up before anyone, it'll be to pin a few medals on me.”

“Is that why you started this whole mess?” Clint asked. “To get some medals? I thought you'd just keep your head down and stay quiet since you got out of that business of stealing supplies and selling them for profit.”

“I'm not the first one to ever be accused of that, you know.”

“That's true, but I think most crooked officers draw the line at stirring up a whole bunch of angry Indians just so he can ride in to make the whole mess go away. You probably only hear about these attacks from what your men tell you or what you read in the newspapers, but real folks have been dying. Most of those folks had been just going about their lives when they were pulled into this little Indian war you started.”

Farelli grabbed hold of Clint's arm so he could drag him away from the saloon. Although Clint went along with him for a few steps, he easily pulled out of the other man's grasp. When Farelli spoke again, his drunken bluster was gone and his voice was reduced to a harsh whisper. “Those redskins have always been attacking wagons and settlers. And in case you haven't noticed, most of the men getting hurt of late have been my soldiers!”

“And why is that, Colonel?” Clint asked, mentioning Farelli's rank as if it were a slur. “Could it be that your men were put into danger when they should have been dispatched somewhere they were truly needed? Or were they always in your pocket like these killers you hired to chase the old folks and women from their camp?”

“Those attacks were real.”

“They were set up!” Clint shot back. “I've spoken to the man who carried them out. I've spoken to the man who was at every meeting between you and Tolfox. I know you were working with Tolfox back when he was named Proud Fox, and don't even try to act like you don't know that name because you mentioned it earlier, yourself!”

Retracting a bit when he heard the fire in Clint's voice, Farelli said, “I could have you booted out of here for talking to me like that. Some might even consider this grounds for—”

“Grounds for what?” Clint interrupted. “Lying? Stealing? Killing? I know one of us is guilty of those things, and it's not me. You know damn well what you did and so did these two,” he said as he tightened his fist around the items in his hand and held them up for Farelli to see.

Farelli slapped away Clint's hand and snarled, “These trinkets don't mean shit!”

“Maybe not, but both the men they belong to can put an end to this bloody scam you've been running. Tolfox knows you've been gunning for him. First you sent Nolan, who killed some of the few truly good soldiers under your command, and then you charged into that camp tossing sticks of dynamite.”

“That translator's a whiny piece of milquetoast,” Farelli said. “He wouldn't dare stand against me.”

“He would if he thought that display at that camp was meant for him. And, come to think of it, someone may just have given him that idea.”

Farelli slowly shook his head. “Fine. It's all over. I've used up all my favors and I won't try to collect any more. Wherever Tolfox is, he can stay there. We're done. You happy?”

Clint shook his head. “Too late for that. Too much blood was spilled and someone's got to answer for it. Tolfox will be paying up, and you can't just sit here in your own little fort, no matter how pathetic it is.”

“So what do you want from me, Adams?”

“You're a disgrace to your uniform. I want you to stand trial for what you've done so the Army can know who managed to somehow slither this far up through the ranks. We're going to gather up what ever you need to take with you and then I'm escorting you out of here so we can go to a proper Army officer and set this matter straight. After all this scrambling around and scurrying in the shadows, it should be a relief to be done with it once and for all.”

There was plenty of fire in Farelli's eyes as he glanced back and forth. A few soldiers looked toward him and Clint, but they ignored what ever was going on and kept walking, just as they had for all the other times when the colonel had conducted his business in the shadows. “I don't suppose you'd allow me to wrap things up my own way?”

“No,” Clint replied. “I wouldn't. I tried to let the cards fall where they may the last time I caught you with your hand in the till. This time, I'm doing everything I can to put you where you'll need a miracle to slither out of it again.”

Farelli's jaw clenched and his lips twitched as if he was silently listing all of his possible escape routes. Once he reached the end of that short list, he let out the breath he'd been holding and said, “I've got documents I'll need for my defense. Will you let me go to my office to fetch them?”

“I'll go along with you,” Clint said. “But if you step out of line, I've got more than enough to justify burying you in the middle of this place.”