The Law of a Fast Gun (8 page)

“Hah,” Carter said. “That’s not goin’ to make ’em like me all that much.”

“Get Deekus and Arnie first. They rode with me during the war,” Jessup said. “I want you to tell them that we’re going to have us a little foray into town tonight. They’ll know what you are talking about, and they’ll help you bring the others back.”

“A foray? What is that?”

“You’ll find out tonight,” Jessup said. “I don’t intend to let any jerkwater town keep my men in jail for nothing more than a broken window.”

“We’re goin’ to break ’em out, ain’t we?” Carter asked, a big smile spreading across his face.

“Just do what I said,” Jessup replied. He drained his coffee. “In the meantime, I’m going to take myself a little nap. Wake me when you return.”

THE DREAM CAME AGAIN.

Because of the ebb and flow of the battle, the dead and wounded were scattered over a wide area. The fighting had left many casualties on both sides, and during the night their moans and cries could be heard above the thunderous drumming of the rain and the incessant boom of artillery. The sound was heartrending even to the most hardened ears.

Most of the wounded were calling for water, so Jesse Cole collected a couple canteens and started out onto the battlefield. Fortunately, the rain stopped shortly after he went out, but the night was still dark and overcast, without moon or stars to light the way.

Jesse wasn’t the only one who went out, and because the night was so dark, many of the men who prowled the battleground were carrying lanterns to help them distinguish the wounded from the dead. As a result, the battlefield looked
like a great meadow filled with giant fireflies, as the lanterns, carried knee high, bobbed about from point to point.

A breeze came up, carrying on its breath a damp chill. Jesse pulled his coat about him and continued on his mission of mercy, picking his way across the roads and fields, now littered with the residue of battle: weapons, equipment, and, among the discards, the dead and dying.

“Water,” a weak voice called, and Jesse halted. “I beg of you, sir, be you Union or Reb, if you are a God-fearing man, you’ll give me water.”

“Yes,” Jesse said. “I have water.” Moving quickly to the soldier, he saw that it was a Yankee officer, an infantry lieutenant. He uncorked the canteen and knelt down by the officer, then lifted his head.

“Here you go, Yank,” he said.

“Bless you,” the wounded soldier replied.

Jesse heard the metallic click of a pistol being cocked.

“You give that Yankee one swallow of water and I’ll kill you for the traitor you are,” a cold voice said.

He looked toward the man who had issued the challenge. It was a Confederate officer, though not anyone he recognized. That was understandable; there had been thousands of men from both sides committed to this fight, and there was no way he could know everyone.

“I’m not going to deny this man a drink of water just because he is a Yankee,” Jesse said.

“I’ll shoot you if you so much as give him one drop of water,” the Confederate officer replied. “As far as I’m concerned, he and all the rest of the Yankee trash out here can die of thirst.”

“If you are going to shoot, go ahead and shoot,” Jesse said resolutely. “But this man’s going to die with water on his lips.” Once again he offered the canteen up to the Yankee officer, and the wounded man began drinking thirstily.

“You son of a bitch! I warned you!” the Confederate officer shouted. That was as far as he got. An instant before he
could pull the trigger, there was a loud thump as someone came up behind him and hit him over the head.

“Did you kill him?” Jesse asked. There was a nonchalance to his voice that belied the situation.

“No, sir,” his sergeant said, kneeling down beside the man he had just hit. “He’s still alive. He’s going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up, though.”

“Thank you,” the wounded Yankee said as he took his fill of water. “You are a true gentleman.”

“Major, we’d better get back,” the sergeant said.

“In a minute,” Jesse answered. “Where are you hit?” he asked the Yankee.

“In the leg.”

Jesse held the lantern down toward the wound as he and the sergeant examined it. “What do you think, Sergeant Kincaid?” Jesse asked.

“I think if he can get back to his surgeon and have the bullet taken out before it festers, he’ll be all right,” Kincaid said.

“You think you can walk?” Jesse asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll try.”

“I’ll help.”

“Major, leave him be,” Sergeant Kincaid begged. “They’s Yankees all over out here.”

“You go on back, Kincaid. I’ll handle it from here,” Jesse said.

Kincaid shook his head. “No, sir. If you’re a’goin’ to take him to his lines, I’m a’goin’ with you.”

With Jesse on one side and Sergeant Kincaid on the other, the two Rebel soldiers got the wounded Yankee officer on his feet, then began walking him toward the Union lines.

“My name is Reader,” the young officer said. “Lieutenant Lou Reader. Who might you gentlemen be?”

“Just a couple of good Samaritans,” Jesse said.

“Are you men with General Sterling Price?”

“In a manner of speaking. Our group just joined with him for this battle. We are irregulars.”

Reader gasped. “Irregulars?” After a moment’s silence he continued. “Maybe you should leave me here,” he suggested. “I can make it the rest of the way on my own.”

“We’ll take you a little closer,” Jesse said. “What’s the matter? Does it bother you because we are irregulars?”

“Yes,” Reader admitted. “But I’m worried for you, not for me. You may not know this, but the orders are out. If any irregulars are captured—”

“We are not to be treated as prisoners of war, but as criminals,” Jesse said. “Yes, I’ve seen the orders.”

“But, don’t you understand? If you are captured tonight, you’ll be dead by sunup. They’ll hang you.”

“They haven’t caught us yet,” Sergeant Kincaid said.

“Shhh,” Jesse whispered. “We’re nearly to the Yankee lines. No sense in announcing our presence.”

Jesse’s warning was too late. From the darkness in front of them, two Yankee soldiers suddenly appeared. Both were carrying rifles, and holding them at the ready position.

“Halt!” one of them called. “Who is there?”

“Yankee pickets,” Sergeant Kincaid said under his breath.

“Soldiers, I am Lieutenant Lou Reader, of the Seventh Illinois,” Reader said.

The soldiers looked at Reader. His uniform clearly announced who he was, but neither Jesse nor Sergeant Kincaid were wearing uniforms.

“Who are these men? They don’t look like Union soldiers to me,” one of the pickets challenged.

“They are Missouri irregulars,” Reader said.

“Missourians! By God, they are bushwhackers!” one of the soldiers exclaimed.

Jesse and Kincaid looked as if they had been betrayed, and they tensed to make a break. But Reader’s next words stopped them.

“No!” Reader said. “Remember, Missouri is a border state! They have as many men fighting for the North as they do for the South.”

“You mean, these fellas are on our side?”

“Thank you very much for your help,” Reader said to Jesse and Kincaid, ignoring the soldier’s question. “But I expect you two had better get on back to your own unit now.”

“And what unit would that be?” one of the pickets asked, still curious.

“This is no place to stand around gabbing, soldier,” Reader said. “Why don’t you two men help me back to the aid station?” Reader put his arms around their shoulders. “I have a minié ball in my leg and it’s going to have to come out.”

With their attention diverted, Jesse and Kincaid were able to go back across no man’s land.

“I’m sure glad that Yankee lied for us,” Sergeant Kincaid said. He put his finger in his collar, then pulled it away from his neck. “I wouldn’t have taken too highly to hanging in the morning.”

“He didn’t lie for us,” Jesse replied.

“What do you mean, he didn’t lie for us? He said we was Missouri irregulars, fighting for the North.”

Jesse chuckled. “No, what he said was, we were Missouri irregulars—which we are—and that there are as many Missourians fighting for the North as there are fighting for the South. He never did say which side we were on.”

“I’ll be damned,” Kincaid said. “I didn’t think about it, but you’re right. Why would he do that?”

“Because I think he truly is a man of honor,” Jesse said. “I don’t think he could tell a lie even if it was militarily expedient to do so.”

“Major? Major Jessup? You wanted me to wake you up when I got back.”

Jessup opened his eyes and saw Carter squatting beside his bedroll.

“Did you get the men?” Jessup asked.

“Yes, sir, they’s all here,” Carter said. “Ever man jack
that’s a’ridin’ for the Bar-J. ’Cept Tex, Brandt, and Cracker. And they’re in jail.”

“Gather the men around the chuck wagon,” Jessup ordered. “I want to talk to them.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Carter walked away and went to gather the men, Jessup pulled on his boots, strapped on his gun, and put on his hat. By the time he walked over to the chuck wagon, all of his riders were gathered there, illuminated not only by the lantern that Poke had sitting on the tailgate, but also by the full moon, which was exceptionally bright.

“Poke, is there enough coffee for everyone?” Jessup asked.

“Yes, sir, I made up a bunch, just like you asked.”

“Good. We’re going to need it tonight. Men,” he called out to the others. “Get yourself a cup of coffee and then come on back here. I’ve got something to say.”

Poke brought a cup to Jessup, and he held the warm mug in his hands, smelling the aroma for a moment before he took a swallow, slurping it in through extended lips in order to cool it.

It took a moment for everyone to get their coffee and return, and then they stood in a semicircle, looking toward Jessup to see what he wanted with them at this hour of the night.

“Men,” Jessup began. “We started this drive together. We’ve been through lightning-spooked cows, heat that would fry an egg on your skin, bone-aching tiredness, bad water, drenching rain and dust storms where you couldn’t see two feet in front of your nose. We even had to deal with some rustlers, and we left two of ’em hanging from an old oak tree.

“But, through it all, we stuck together.”

There were a few grunts of agreement as the men listened and nodded.

“Then we reached this place,” Jessup said. “A place where we thought we could relax, have a few drinks, and enjoy ourselves while our cattle are being shipped back East.”

Jessup paused for effect.

“But that’s not the way things have turned out here. Instead
of a place that’s cordial to cowboys, we find a place where the drinks are overpriced and watered, where even the very goods we buy in the stores cost us more than it does the people who live here.”

Jessup held up a newspaper. “And, if you have read this newspaper article, the city council of Braggadocio is making plans to disarm every cowboy who comes into town. They want to take away our guns, but let the townspeople continue to wear theirs.”

“What?” one of the cowboys said. “That ain’t right. That ain’t right at all.”

There were others who reacted as well, and Jessup waited a moment for his men to grow quiet again.

“One of the men who started this drive with us has already been killed. Shot by a piano player.”

“Major, you ain’t never seen a piano player like this fella,” Deekus said. “He ain’t your ordinary piano player.”

“Yes, Deekus, I heard of your encounter with him. That makes it even more unfair that they want to leave a man like him armed, while making us surrender our guns when we go to town. This piano player, Mason Hawke, has already proven himself to be not only a killer, but a man with a quick temper.

“So, where do we stand? We have had one of our number killed, three of our friends are now rotting in jail for nothing any more serious than breaking a window, and Deekus was humiliated in front of his friends by an armed bully.”

Jessup held up his finger and wagged it back and forth.

“Now, let me ask you boys something,” he said, speaking so quietly that they had to strain to hear him. Then he bellowed out the next words.
“Are we just going to sit back and take this?”

“No!”
the cowboys shouted, the word erupting as one from thirty lips.

A big smile spread across Jessup’s face. “Good,” he said. “Now, I want all of you to get mounted. We are going to take a ride into town.”

“All right!”

“Yahoo!”

“Here we come!”

The cowboys whooped and shouted in excitement as they hurried to the remuda to saddle their horses.

Jessup looked over at Poke, who, with his arms folded across his chest, was leaning against the chuck wagon. Poke had watched the whole thing, and smiling now, he applauded quietly.

“I tell you true, Major, you still got it in you,” he said. “I ain’t heard a rip snorter like that since the war, and the speech you give us before we raided Norwood.”

It was three o’clock in the morning, and Jessup had thirty men with him, spread out on the military crest of a hill, meaning they were just below the actual crest, so as not to form silhouettes against the night sky. The leaves of a nearby tree caught the full moon and, waving in a gentle breeze, sent slivers of silver scattering into the night. Below them the town of Braggadocio lay shimmering as the roof of every building gleamed in the glow of the full moon.

It was no coincidence that the riders resembled a military unit about to launch an operation, because that was exactly the way Jessup planned it. And although he had led many such operations during the war, this was the first time he had done anything on such a scale since then.

Jessup rode a few feet in front of his men, then turned to speak to them.

“Do you men understand what I want you to do?” he asked. “I want you to ride through the town making as much noise and disturbance as you can. I don’t want you shooting at anyone in particular, but it is important that you make enough noise to cause everyone to pay attention to you.”

He turned to Deekus.

“Deekus, while the rest of the men are creating the diversion,
you and Arnie will be with me. We’re going to the jail to break out Tex, Cracker, and Brandt.”

“Major, you said don’t shoot at anyone, but what if someone comes out and starts shooting at us?” Carter asked.

“In that case, shoot back,” Jessup answered. “All right, men, follow me, but don’t open fire until you hear my signal shot.”

The riders started forward, beginning with a brisk walk, then breaking into a trot, and finally a full gallop. The horses’ hooves were raising a thunder as they swept toward the edge of town.

“Now!” Jessup shouted, shooting his pistol into the air.