Fort Buford was an open post and relatively small. It stationed the Sixth Cavalry Engineers. It was late afternoon when the G-Man led the beleaguered train into the open area of the parade field. Malingering reservation Indians lounging in the shade of the buildings watched with casual interest as the wagons passed by. Trappers, hanging about the Sutler’s store took note. Obviously, there had been trouble and that could mean a warning to their own safety. A Corporal rushed up to meet them, his rifle at port arms.
“Ran into hostiles north of here,” Jack said, gazing down at the Corporal from his saddle. “We’d like to report to your commanding officer.”
“Yes,sir.” Answered the corporal. “ You can pull your wagons off to the side of the parade grounds. I’ll take you to the commandant.”
Jack dismounted, handed his reins to Amos and followed the Corporal. Dunn motioned to the drivers and led Regret with him to the designated area.
The command post was a squat, log built structure next to the quartermasters. It was dark inside and the air was stale after a hot day with little ventilation. The balding, stocky Master Sergeant at the desk looked up as Clayton and the Corporal came through the door. “This man wants to see the Major, Sergeant. Came in with a wagon train that was attacked by Indians.”
“The Major’s busy with the Commissioner right now.” The sergeant’s voice was deep and growly. “You may have to wait a while,” he said to Jack. “Let me check.”
He got up went to a door behind him to his left, knocked and entered without waiting for response. He disappeared inside and returned a moment later.
“It’s alright,” he said. “The Major will see you now.” He held the door open.
Clayton nodded and strode through the door. The sergeant pulled it closed behind him.
A tall middle aged man behind his desk was standing straight and tall. His light brown hair had not yet been tinged with gray. His blue uniform displayed a Major’s gold oak leaf on his shoulders. “Come in. Come in,” he greeted holding out his hand to shake. “I’m Major Pearson.”
“Pleased to meet you sir.” Jack took his hand. My name is Jack Clayton. I just brought in a wagon train that had been hit by hostiles. I found the train north of here and guided them in.”
“Well sit down and give me a full report.” Pearson waved him toward a rough wooden captain’s chair in front of his desk. A heavy set , distinguished looking gentleman with gray wavy hair, wearing a gray swallow tailed coat sat in a chair next to it. “This is Commissioner Thorpe,” the major explained. “He’s Commissioner of Military, Indian and Land Affairs for the Dakota Territory. He will also be interested in your report.”
Thorpe half rose extended his pudgy hand. Clayton took it, but not too readily as he recognized the name. He stared into Thorpe’s cold green eyes. “Commissioner.” He acknowledged and sat down. Thorpe eased back and took a drag on his expensive cigar.
What was he doing here? Jack thought. He was supposed to be at Fort Lincoln. Rudy would have missed him. Or had Rudy misled him. Was there something deliberate here or was there a change in plans? He would have to wait it out and play along.
“Cigar, Mr. Clayton.” The major extended a wooden tray of cigars. The bands indicated they were expensive Havanna.
“No thanks, sir,” Jack said, declining apologetically. “No offense sir, but I don’t smoke. Never could develop a taste. ”
“Very well,” Pearson closed the tray and set it down on his desk.
“Well now,” Pearson said, getting comfortable in his chair. “Tell me about the attack.”
Jack quickly relayed how he had come upon the attacked train and helped them out. He deliberately refrained from telling the Major about the wagon master’s deliberate attempt to thwart military orders and enter the Black Hills illegally. He also omitted his reasons for being in the area and his affiliation with the government. He would keep that secret until the appropriate time. Besides, with Thorpe at his left arm, listening to every word, he did not want to tip his hand. He needed to find out more about Thorpe and what was going on.
“Do you know a man named Latrell, Sir?” Jack asked when he had finished relaying the story.
“Yes,” the Major replied, a hint of regret in his voice. “Unfortunately. He’s a renegade, but we’ve never been able to pin anything on him. He comes and goes. Claims to be a guide at times. Hangs around with the fort Indians a lot. Why?”
“He had hired on as guide to the wagon train. The wagon master believes he was in league with the Indians and led them into a trap. He disappeared before the attack.”
“Sounds like him,” the Major agreed. “I’ve heard similar stories about him. Haven’t been able to do anything about it. Haven’t seen him around for quite some time either. Wish I could help more, but right now I can’t. Maybe the Commissioner here might be able to do something.”
“My job is to protect this territory, Mister Clayton.” There was something about the way he said ‘Mister Clayton.’ “I will look into this matter at once.”
‘Yeah, I bet you will,’ the G-Man thought. Then to the Major, he said. “Perhaps, you can help the members of the train. Their wounded need attention and they don’t know what they want to do now. I told them the army might be able to help them. I need to be moving on.” He took note of Thorpe’s reaction as he glanced out of the corner of his eye
“Of course, you’ve done more than your share. We’ll take it from here. Send Mister Dunn in and we’ll discuss what’s best for his people.”
“The Major wants to see you, Amos. I’m sure he can help you out. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him about the gold fever.”
“Thanks, Jack”
“Glad I could help.” He extended his hand. “I’ve got to be moving on now.”
Amos Dunn’s expression turned dark and his eyes steely with anger. He was staring over Jack’s shoulder toward the entrance to the fort.
“What is it, Amos?” Jacked asked. First thought was that Dunn was unhappy with him for leaving. “You’ll be alright. You won’t need me.”
“It’s not that, Jack.” Dunn said nervously. “That man.” He nodded directionally.
Jack turned. A wiry, scruffy bearded man in buckskin clothes and an Indian were riding into the fort and trotting their tired horses toward the Sutler’s store. “That’s Latrell.” Dunn said.
“Oh,” Jack responded appraisingly watching the two men ride up to the hitch rail. “Maybe we ought to have a talk with him. Come on.”
Latrell and his companion had dismounted, tied up and stepped up onto the wooden porch of the Sutler’s store. “Just a minute there, Latrell!” Jack shouted as he and the wagon master closed the distance from across the field.
Latrell and the Indian turned to face the two men striding toward them. The renegade’s dark eyes squinted menacingly. There was a deep scar running down his stubbly bearded right cheek. He showed no fear, surprise, or any other emotion. Didn’t acknowledge that he recognized Dunn. He stepped down off the porch. The Indian remained where he was.
“You dirty weasel,” Dunn warbled.. “You led us out there to get killed.” He was rushing past Jack, his fists balled with fury.
“Hold it, Amos,” Jack commanded, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and pulling him back.
“Let me at him,” Amos protested, stamping his feet.
“Just wait. Let me handled this.” Clayton pushed the wagon master slightly behind him.
“Is he right, Mister.?” Jack confronted Latrell. “Did you lead him into a trap?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Latrell growled. He spat tobacco juice into the dust at Jack’s feet and rolled his cud around in his cheek. “I went off scouting. When I got back the train was gone. That’s all.” He started to turn toward the porch. “Let’s go, Brave Bear.” He said to his companion.
“Wait a minute.” Jack warned, gripping Latrell’s shoulder to spin him around. “We’re not through with you, yet.”
Latrell
spun on his moccasined heel. His fringed buckskin clad arm swung out and his fist smashed Clayton squarely on the chin. Jack staggered back and fell into the dust. Amos Dunn dived at Latrell, driving his head into Latrell’s mid section, doubling him over and driving him down on the porch floor. Brave Bear twisted around, pulling his knife from its sheath, raising it high, poised to drive the blade into the wagon master’s back.
Clayton lunged to his feet, came up behind Brave Bear and grasped his wrist, restraining the blade from being plunged into Dunn’s back. Brave Bear twisted under Jack’s raised arm to face him. Clayton drove a fist into Brave Bear’s face and the Indian fell backward sprawling into the street. The G-Man followed him down, landing on him with both knees pinning him down. Jack pounded a right and then a left into Brave Bear’s face. Blood oozed from his cut lip and he snarled viciously. The knife was still clutched in his right hand. With a desperate surge of strength Brave Bear arched his back, doubled his legs and catapulted Jack over his head to land rolling in the dirt. Brave Bear lurched to his feet, spun around and dived at Clayton, the sun glinting off the deadly blade of his knife as it arched downward at the G-Man.
Clayton rolled to the side. The knife plunged into the dirt where he had just laid . Jack came up quickly and stomped his right fool down on the Indian’s wrist. Brave Bear yelped in pain and his fingers loosed the hilt of the knife. Jack reached down, retrieved it and threw it away out of reach. In the same motion, he pulled Brave Bear to his feet and sent a powerful right fist to his jaw. Brave Bear fell backward, but Jack didn’t let him fall. He gripped him by the front of his shirt, held him and pounded his face again and again. Then seeing that the Indian was finished, he let him drop into the dust, standing over him sweating and heaving for gulps of air.
Meanwhile, Amos Dunn was still wrestling with Latrell, both men rolling over and over, first one man on top and then the other. Latrell had now gained the controlling position over Dunn and was now on top, holding the wagon master down and pounding at his face.
Clayton turned his attention to this other fight, jumped forward to come in from behind Latrell. Gripping Latrell’s collar, Clayton pulled him off the wagon master, spun him around, held him up and swung an arcing blow to his face. Latrell, already spent from the exertion of the fight could not fight back. His eyes glazed over and he fell faint, Jack’s right arm still cocked to drive another blow, but it was no longer necessary. He released his grip on Latrell and let him sink into the dust.
“What’s going on here?” A commanding voice sounded as Clayton helped his friend to his feet.
Jack and Amos, both breathing hard, turned to see Major Pearson standing before them. Commissioner Thorpe stood back slightly behind him.
“Take a look, sir,” Jack gasped, still winded. “We’ve got Latrell. When we tried to question him. He and his Indian friend attacked us. I suggest you put these men under arrest.”
“I think that is a very good suggestion, Mister Clayton” Pearson agreed. “Corporal, lock these men up in the guard house immediately.”
****
Chapter Eight
The Little Thief