“Look, down there!” someone shouted from the darkness at the far end of the street. “There’s riders in front of Armbruster’s!”
“This is the sheriff!” a voice called. “You men hold it right there!”
“Throw a few shots their way, then let’s get the hell out of here!” Fargo said.
Fargo, Casey, Monroe, and Dagen began shooting toward the approaching crowd. The muzzle-flame patterns lit up the building fronts like flashes of summer lightning, and the sounds of gunshots filled the street.
The shooting had the desired effect, because the crowd screamed and scattered, just as Fargo thought they would.
“Let’s go!” Fargo shouted, and he and the other three galloped out of town.
“You didn’t get the money?” Monroe shouted over the sound of the galloping horses. “Why did you kill him without getting the money?”
“It wasn’t Ponci!” Fargo yelled back. “I killed the wrong man!”
CHAPTER 15
Falcon had seen scores of Army posts just like Fort Lowell all over the West. But unlike the forts of the Northwest, this one did not have a palisade. Instead, it had a low-lying rock fence, more as a means of marking out the property than providing any protection. But there was a front gate, from which hung a sign denoting this as the Fort Lowell Military Reservation, and the gate was manned by an armed guard.
As Falcon and Sheriff Corbin approached the gate, the guard, a young private, stepped out to meet them. He held his rifle at the high-port position.
“Halt!” he ordered.
Falcon and Sheriff Corbin complied.
“Dismount,” the guard ordered.
Falcon and Corbin swung down from their horses and, holding the reins, approached the guard.
“Who are you, and what is the purpose of your visit?” the guard asked.
“Private, I’m Sheriff Corbin from Oro Blanco,” Corbin said. He pointed to Falcon. “This is ... my deputy,” he added, cutting a quick glance toward Falcon and asking him silently to go along with the ruse.
Falcon said nothing to dispute the sheriff.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” the guard asked.
“We are here on official business. I need to speak with the fort commander.”
“Wait here,” the guard ordered. He stepped back a few paces, then turned his head to shout. “Corporal of the guard! Repair to post number one!”
His call was repeated by the next-nearest sentry to him.
“Corporal of the guard! Repair to post number one!”
They heard it repeated three more times, each call becoming less distinct than the preceding call as the relaying guards grew farther away. Then they heard the returning call, repeated several times until it reached the guard nearest this one.
“Corporal of the guard is repairing to post number one!”
“The corporal of the guard will be here shortly, sir,” the private at the front gate said.
Falcon chuckled. “Yes, we heard.”
A moment later, the corporal arrived. He was overage for his grade, and the corporal’s corpulent body and patchy red face suggested that his lack of rank might be related to his love of drink. “What is it, Private Wilson? What’s the problem?” he asked.
“These men are here to speak with Colonel Dixon,” Private Wilson answered.
The corporal looked at Falcon and the sheriff. “I’m Sergeant ...” he started, then corrected himself. “That is, I’m ... Corporal ... Gibson. You are here to see the colonel?”
“We are.”
“What do you want to speak to the colonel about?”
“That’s between us and the colonel,” the sheriff said.
Corporal Gibson shook his head. “No, it ain’t between you and the colonel. Not unless I say it is. I’m in charge here, so I’m the one you are going to have to deal with. Now, I’m goin’ to ask you one more time, real nice. What do you want to see the colonel for?”
“And I’m going to tell you one more time ... real nice,” the sheriff replied, emphasizing the “real nice,” “that what we want to talk to your commanding officer about is none of your business. It is between the colonel and us.”
With a dismissive wave of his hand, the corporal turned and started walking away. “In that case, the answer is no, you cannot see the colonel,” he called back over his shoulder.
“How the hell are we going to get around this arrogant shit?” the sheriff asked, frustrated by the self-inflated ego of the corporal.
“Wait here for a moment, Sheriff, and let me talk to him,” Falcon said. “I’m pretty sure I will be able to reason with him.”
