Kill the Indian by Johnny D. Boggs

Author:Johnny D. Boggs
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2017-04-20T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

He had not seen anyone resembling the cowboy he had glimpsed in the alley, but he knew this Pale Eyes was the same one Daniel had spotted on the streets. Maybe the Metal Shirt had seen somebody enter the Taylor & Barr’s upstairs apartments.

Once he reached Rusk Street, Daniel stopped and caught a glimpse of the policeman as he turned east onto Eighth Street. Daniel broke into a sprint, weaving past men and women, careful not to knock anyone over. He took the corner, and spotted the officer passing a two-story structure on the corner of Calhoun. Twirling a nightstick in his right hand, the man moved at a lively clip, and Daniel, already out of breath, wished he had that copper’s gait. The cop turned south onto Calhoun, heading toward the Third Ward.

Sucking in air, Daniel chased after him.

He didn’t catch up with him until the officer had heard his footsteps and stopped, turning, raising his nightstick while reaching for a holstered pistol. Sensing the policeman’s alarm, Daniel stopped, held out his empty hands, and tried to catch his breath.

“My name … is Daniel … Killstraight,” he said. “I would like … to talk to … you.”

The police officer didn’t move, didn’t speak. He was almost to Eleventh Street.

Laughter echoed across the Third Ward, someone sawed a fiddle, terribly, and Daniel could hear the clinking of glasses, the curses and catcalls.

“Step into the bloody light.” The policeman had finally spoken.

Daniel moved until he stood under a gas lamp next to the City Gas Works building.

“That’s good. Just keep your bloody hands where they are.”

The officer moved closer to him, hands nervously but determinedly clutching the club and the butt of a Smith & Wesson revolver.

“You’re one of those Comanches,” the man spoke.

Daniel nodded, and tapped his badge. “I, too, am a peace officer.”

The policeman let out a mirthless chuckle and spit onto the street. A tall, angular man in the navy blue uniform of the Fort Worth Police Department, he had deep-set blue eyes that never seemed to blink, a crooked nose, dark walrus mustache flecked with gray, thin lips, and a cleft in his chin. A scar ran from the corner of his right eye, then up to his temple like a check mark. Two items hung from his neck: a whistle, part of the police force’s equipment, and a golden medallion that Daniel had seen worn by many of the miners in Pennsylvania who followed the Pale Eyes religion of the Black Robes.

“Peace officer. There’s no peace in the bloody Third Ward, boy. Best get your arse back to the wagon yard.”

Often, Daniel felt that way about the Comanche, Kiowa, and Apache reserve near Fort Sill.

“On Wednesday night,” Daniel said, “early Thursday morning, actually, you were patrolling on Houston Street.”

The police officer released his grip on the revolver, and lowered the billy club just a little. “Aye. And what of it?”

“That was the night Quanah Parker, our chief, was poisoned by the gas and another was killed.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.