J. Johnstone - The Loner - Inferno #12

Most of the immigrant women fled from the violence, which caused the crowd to thin out in a hurry. The Kid could move again. It wasn’t his fight and he didn’t want any part of it, so he started to back up.

Jessica Ritter stalked forward, grabbed the shoulder of a trooper who was pounding his fist into the face of a civilian, and hauled him around with a shouted, “Hey!”

She punched the startled soldier in the nose, flattening it and making blood spurt from his nostrils.

The startled trooper howled in pain and clapped one hand to his injured nose. He swung the other in a backhand that cracked across Jessica’s face and jerked her head to the side.

It was an instinctive reaction on the soldier’s part, an unthinking response to the pain he felt. Under normal circumstances it was unlikely he would have hit a woman.

The Kid reacted instinctively, too. Since Scott Harwood wasn’t around to protect the woman he was engaged to, The Kid lunged forward, shoved the stumbling Jessica behind him, and uncorked a punch that buried his fist to the wrist in the trooper’s belly. The man doubled over and collapsed at The Kid’s feet.

He turned toward Jessica, not expecting any thanks but not anticipating what he got, either. She punched him hard in the chest.

“I didn’t ask you to do that!” she yelled. “I can take care of myself!”

The imprint of the trooper’s hand stood out on her cheek where she’d been hit, and she looked a little dazed.

Suddenly, her eyes rolled up in their sockets, and her knees started to come unhinged. The Kid caught her before she could fall, getting his hands under her arms. Her head rolled loosely on her neck as she sagged against him.

Fists still flew and chaos still raged around him. He started to back up, half carrying and half dragging the unconscious Jessica. He wanted to get her clear of the ruckus before either of them got seriously hurt.

Stumbling into the open, The Kid paused and scooped her up in his arms. She was solidly built and weighed enough that he grunted with the effort of carrying her. He made it to where he had eaten his supper before all hell broke loose, and carefully he put her on the lowered tailgate.

“What the hell are you doing with her?”

The angry shout came from Scott Harwood, who rushed up to the wagon with his hand on the butt of his revolver. The Kid watched him closely. He didn’t want to kill the scout or even wound him, but if Harwood tried to draw that gun, The Kid would have to do something. He wasn’t going to stand there and let Harwood shoot him.

“Calm down,” The Kid snapped. “I’m just trying to help her. She got hit in that brawl. You can see that for yourself.”

Harwood regarded him coldly. “Did you hit her?”

“What? Of course not!” The Kid shook his head disgustedly. “It was one of the cavalrymen ... but only after she busted his nose.”

The fierce tension visibly gripping Harwood eased a little. He asked, “How bad is she hurt?”

“Not too bad, I expect. I think she just passed out. But when she started to fall down I figured I’d better get her out of there. She could have gotten hurt a lot worse if that loco bunch trampled all over her!”

Harwood nodded, clearly knowing The Kid was right about that. “Sorry, Morgan,” he muttered. “I saw you messing with her, and I didn’t know what had happened.”

“You can tend to her now.” As The Kid started to turn away from the wagon, the high, shrill notes of a bugle blowing attention sounded in the night.

The troopers stopped fighting and formed up into rough ranks, the ones who were still conscious and on their feet, anyway. Several of them were sprawled on the ground, either out cold or moaning from the blows that had knocked them down.

Lt. Nicholson, bareheaded and looking furious, strode into the circle of wagons as the strains of the bugle died away. His gaze fell on Sgt. Brennan, and he demanded, “Sergeant, what’s going on here?”

Brennan stood stiffly at attention. “A, uh, misunderstanding with these pilgrims, sir.”

“Misunderstanding, hell!” Harwood walked up with a groggy-looking Jessica leaning on him. “Your men attacked us, Lieutenant. One of them even assaulted my fiancée!”

“Is that true, Sergeant?” Nicholson snapped at Brennan.

“With all due respect, sir, it sure ain’t,” the noncom said. “That fella Dunlap, the wagonmaster, threw the first punch. I was just defendin’ myself, and the rest of the lads were only tryin’ to help me.”

“What were you doing over here, anyway?”

“Well, sir, you didn’t make the wagons off-limits, so the boys and me figured maybe some of these ladies would like to dance.”

“So you tried to force your way in here to fraternize with these civilian women.” Nicholson drew in such a deep breath it caused his nostrils to flare. “Get back to camp, Sergeant. Have the men pick up the ones who can’t walk and take them with you. And double the guard for tonight! I don’t want the pickets just standing around. The men on guard duty will walk the perimeter of this entire area, double time!”

Brennan hesitated. “Sir, the men will likely be in the saddle for a long time tomorrow—”

“Then they should have thought of that before they decided it was so important to go sashaying around with these women. You have your orders, Sergeant. Dismissed!”

Horace Dunlap had been helped back to his feet. He still looked a little stunned, but was able to come up to Nicholson. “You need to keep those troopers of yours under control, Lieutenant.”

Nicholson looked at him coldly. “My apologies for this incident,” the lieutenant said, although he didn’t sound too sincere. “But you have to understand that my men are under a great deal of pressure. The Apaches could be anywhere. We could be fighting for our lives without even a moment’s notice.”

“The same thing’s true for us,” Dunlap said. “Don’t get me wrong, Lieutenant. I’m glad you fellas are here tonight. Just keep ’em away from our wagons.”

Nicholson gave him a brusque nod and stepped over a wagon tongue to leave the circle and go back to the cavalry camp. The immigrants began to scatter to their wagons. Some hadn’t finished eating supper yet.

The Kid picked up his bowl and coffee cup, which he had brushed off the tailgate when he placed Jessica on it. When he turned to take them back to the women who had provided the meal, he found Jessica standing in his path.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” she said. Her apology sounded about as genuine as the one Nicholson had offered to Dunlap.

“That’s all right,” The Kid told her with a faint smile. “Chalk it up to the heat of battle. Anyway, I’m not hurt.”

“You’ll have a bruise there in the morning.”

“Maybe. Let me guess, Mrs. Ritter ... You were raised with a bunch of brothers.”

“Seven of them,” she said. “And I was the youngest in the family. I learned early on that I’d have to fight for anything I got.”

“You learned well,” The Kid said.

“Yes. Unfortunately, there are times when fighting doesn’t do any good, when all the rage in the world won’t—” She stopped herself and after a moment went on. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Good night.” She started to turn away.

The Kid touched her lightly on the arm. When she looked back at him, he said, “Maybe next time we’ll be fighting on the same side.”

“We’ll be in Raincrow Valley in three days. There won’t be a next time.”

Chapter 6

The rest of the night passed quietly. The Apaches didn’t attack, and there was no more trouble between the soldiers and the members of the wagon train. The Kid had spread his bedroll underneath one of the wagons, and slept soundly.