Free Gunsmith #362 : Buffalo Soldiers (9781101554388) by J. R. Roberts Page B

that twice.”
    “Then sit by yourself and drink it.”
    “Uh, okay, yessir.”
    “Now!” Washington said.
    Gordon got up and walked to the bar.
    “What are we gonna do now?” Washington asked. “I’m gonna talk to ’im.”
    “Talk to Bass Reeves?” Jefferson said. “You sure that’s smart?”
    “I want him to know,” Washington said. “I want him to know it’s me.”
    “But—”
    “Ain’t no buts, Corporal,” Washington said. “That’s part of all this, that Bass Reeves ends up knowin’ it’s me behind all this.”
    “Don’t you think,” Jefferson said, “we should find who’s with him before we make a move?”
    Washington frowned.
    “You’re probably right,” he said, “but I can do that at the same time. After all, I’m just gonna talk to him first.”
    “When you gon’ do that?”
    “I guess,” Washington said, “as soon as he cuts into a nice juicy steak.”

TWENTY-SEVEN
    “Sheriff Harry Riggs,” the lawman said after Reeves introduced himself. “Glad ta meet you, Deputy. I heard a lot about you.”
    “This here’s Clint Adams, he’s ridin’ with me,” Reeves said.
    Now Riggs’s eyes really widened.
    “The Gunsmith?” he said. “In my town?”
    “We’re trackin’ some men,” Reeves said. “The trail has led us here.”
    “Well, have a seat,” Riggs said. He lowered his bulk into his chair. He wasn’t fat, but he was so barrel-chested his chair creaked in protest.
    Reeves and Clint remained standing.
    “We’re lookin’ for black men,” Reeves said. “Either three of ’em, or six.”
    “Three or six?”
    “There’s two groups, but they may have joined up,” Reeves said.
    “Well,” Riggs said, “we got some black men in town, but I don’t think you’d be trackin’ them.”
    “Oh? Why not?”
    “These here fellas is Buffalo Soldiers,” Riggs said.
    Clint and Reeves exchanged a glance, then looked back at the sheriff, who was sure that settled that…
    Washington caught Gordon’s eyes and waved him over. The man hurried to join them, carrying his beer.
    “Finish that up,” Washington said.
    “Yessir!” Gordon thought his sergeant wanted him to finish so the man could buy him another beer.
    “I want you to find the others,” Washington said instead. “I want you to make sure that you, and they, stay out of sight until you hear from me, or from the corporal. Understand?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Well, you don’t have to understand,” Jefferson said. “Just do it.”
    “Yessir. I’ll take care of it.”
    “Then go!” Jefferson said.
    “Sir!”
    The man hurried out of the saloon.
    “If they’re talkin’ to the sheriff, he’s gon’ tell him we’re here, ya know.”
    “I know,” Washington said. “I’m countin’ on it.”
    Jefferson shook his head and drank some of his beer. Washington was just looking off into the distance.
    * * *
    “Buffalo Soldiers?” the sheriff said. “Robbing bank? Shootin’ folks?”
    “That’s the way it looks,” Reeves said.
    “Well, I find that hard to believe,” Riggs Said. “And if they was, what’re they doin’ out in the open here in Kilkenny?”
    “We’re in Kansas,” Reeves said. “They been doin’ all their dirty work in the Territories.”
    “You sure it’s these fellers?” Riggs asked.
    “That’s what we’re here to find out, Sheriff,” Clint said.
    “Well,” Riggs said, looking distressed, “I’ll do what I can to help you…”
    “Do you have any deputies?”
    “No,” Riggs said, “we’re a small town. There’s just me.”
    “Have you spoken with these men?” Reeves asked.
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “I didn’t see no reason to,” Riggs said. “They’re Buffalo Soldiers. I figured if they needed my help, they’d ask.”
    “Well,” Clint said, “that would make sense if they were still Buffalo Soldiers.”
    “They’re not?” Riggs asked. “They’re wearin’ the jackets.”
    Clint and Reeves remained silent and exchanged a look.
    “What is