The Confederate 2 by Forrest A. Randolph

Author:Forrest A. Randolph
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: american civil war, the old west, western stories, piccadilly publishing, the searcher, wild west ebook, alan le may
Publisher: Piccadilly

The end of the week came and still no Captain Fallon. Griff all but bit his nails with anxiety. So far some six wagon masters had appeared in St. Joe. Griff considered taking to the bottle again, but rejected the idea. He hadn’t drank more than two shots of whiskey or a pitcher of beer at one time since he’d taken the badge as marshal.

Tuesday of the next week came; and a tall, lean man of indeterminate age, rode into town on a big chested, blood bay. He wore a buckskin shirt and trousers, high black boots that came nearly to his knees, and a wide-brimmed fawn-colored hat. He had a pair of tooled-leather holsters over the high Spanish fork and large, flat horn of his saddle; they bore a pair of huge Colt dragoon horse pistols. Wavy, dark brown hair hung to his collar, curled slightly outward at the ends; and in the crook of his right elbow, he held a Henry repeating rifle.

Captain John Fallon had come to town.

“Don’t let the getup fool you, son,” Windy Tremaine remarked to Griff in a burst of loquacity. “He’s the best damn wagon master in a thousand miles.”

“Will you introduce me to him?”

“Yep.”

“Now?”

“Nope. T’night at the camp grounds. Cap’n John’s at his best around a bonfire.”

So Griff waited, rehearsing over and over the questions he wanted to ask. As the sun sank below the distant flat rim of the prairie, reflecting for long, dramatic moments off the rippling water of the Missouri, he went first to Ansel’s shop.

“Ja, sure. I’m through for the day. I’ll come with you.”

Windy made a typically verbose introduction. “Cap’n John, Griff Stark. Griff … Cap’n John.”

“Talkative, ain’t he?” the wagon master said through a chuckle. “Best cook in five counties, though. If I didn’t have him along to fix victuals for my crew and myself, I’d have a mutiny on my hands and I’d starve to death.” Suddenly he got down to business. “Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Stark? This year I’m on a long haul. Bellingham Bay, up in the Oregon Territory. You fixin’ to sign on as an immigrant or a crewman?”

“No. I got a job. Marshal of St. Joe.”

“Hmm. I’ve not done something wrong, have I?” Firelight reflected off the bronze skin stretched over the wagon master’s high cheekbones.

Griff gave him an easy smile. “Not at all. I do want to ask you some questions, though. Last summer you took a family named Tucker to Fort Kearny.”

“That’s right. I recall them well. Feller with one hand. A blacksmith. Fair at doctorin’ critters, too. He pulled one of my horses out of a bad case of sanding. What would you like to know?”

“First off, did they winter at Fort Kearny?”

“That I don’t know. I didn’t stay there. Went on to Fort Laramie.”

“Did you ever happen to hear what Evan Tucker planned to do, where he was going to settle?”

“N-nooo,” Fallon responded slowly, searching his memory. “Not exactly. He did once mention

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