A Tale Out of Luck by Willie Nelson, Mike Blakely Page B

going to end?

11
    J AY BLUE was studying his own reflection in the lenses of Jubal Hayes’s glasses, noting that bruises covered a good portion of his face. He improved upon his image as much as he could, drawing himself up into a slightly bolder stance. He was hoping the mustanger might be of some assistance to him in recovering his lost mare, since Major Quitman had showed no inclination toward helping. If Jubal could charm the wildest of horses right into a cavalry corral, certainly he could track down a single stall-raised Thoroughbred.
    But before he could broach the subject, the rattle of a wagon attracted his attention. He turned and saw a buckboard coming, five horsemen following at a trot. Instantly, he recognized the Double Horn Ranch crew, led by big Jack Brennan. As the buckboard came closer, Jay Blue saw that the ranch foreman, Eddie Milliken, was driving the vehicle behind two mules. Then he noticed some odd-shaped object in the bed of the wagon, covered by a wagon sheet.
    First Sergeant Polk was dragging the offending corporal back by his collar as the buckboard rattled right up to the acting post commander. Milliken’s shoulders lurched in a silent chuckle when he saw Jay Blue’s face. Jay Blue snarled back.
    “What is this?” the major demanded.
    Jack Brennan ignored the major, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Jay Blue and Skeeter. “What are you two whelps doin’ here?”
    “Jay Blue was supposed to be on guard and Indians stole the captain’s Thoroughbred,” Skeeter claimed.
    Jay Blue heard Jubal Hayes make a horselike grunt that said he knew otherwise.
    “I’ll ask the questions here,” Quitman scolded. “What have you got in the wagon?”
    “Evidence.”
    “Of what?”
    Brennan shrugged. “The government’s failed Indian policy?”
    “What is that supposed to mean?”
    “Why don’t you take a look and see,” Jack Brennan suggested.
    “First Sergeant!” The major waggled his index finger at the wagon.
    Keeping one big hand clamped tightly on the corporal’s collar, Polk stepped forward and threw the tarp aside. The corpse of a man lay in the bed of the wagon, six arrows protruding from it at odd angles. Jay Blue approached close enough to look over the sideboards. He saw the lifeless face of the man staring heavenward, but only from one eye, as the other was missing. He grimaced at the sight of the bloody skull where the scalp had been torn away.
    “We found him up on Shovel Mountain,” Brennan announced.
    “Who is he?” Jay Blue asked.
    “Hell, I don’t know. I saw him once at Flora’s Saloon.”
    “What happened to his eye?” Skeeter asked.
    Brennan pointed at the buzzards circling overhead.
    “These are Comanche markings,” Major Quitman claimed, studying the intricate designs in red paint on the dogwood arrow shafts. “We’ll need to ride over to Flat Rock Creek and question those Comanches about this. First Sergeant, secure one of those arrows to bring with us, and get a section of men mounted.”
    “Section Two, Red Platoon, Company K!” Polk barked.
    The buffalo soldiers made like a covey of quail, the men running to choose and saddle mounts. Polk looked at the corporal he still held in his grasp—the one who had started the trouble with the albino mustanger. “Well, Corporal Cornelius, if you’re so full of fight, you can ride at the head of the column.” He shoved the corporal toward the stables.
    Jay Blue heard a chuckle of satisfaction from Jubal Hayes.
    With one powerful hand, First Sergeant Polk yanked an arrow from the corpse. The sound of the barbs on the war point ripping flesh sent a chill down Jay Blue’s backbone.
    Jack Brennan had gotten down from his horse to address the post commander. “Me and my boys will go with you, Major. I’ve been missing a couple of horses, and I’ll just bet that those red devils have got ’em.”
    “I’ll bet they’ve got our Kentucky mare, too!” Jay Blue sang. “Skeeter and I will ride with