Baptism Of Fire E-Book

Stuart G. Yates

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

It is 1863 and the Civil War continues to rage. Reuben Cole, soon twenty years of age, is a scout for the Union forces.

Based in the sprawling Fort Nelson, he finds himself embroiled in the murder of his Native scout friend, Given Sky. Unearthing who was responsible is not easy, and Cole must deal with a surly bunch of miscreants as well as a commanding officer embroiled in the whole grizzly affair.

Setting out to capture a group of Confederate renegades, Cole, together with a group of Union Sharpshooters, is drawn into a series of deadly encounters as he tracks the Rebs all the way to the Texas border. By the end, he will not only have encountered the renegades and discovered the identity of Given Sky's killers, but a good deal more about himself as well.

A gritty adventure set in the mid-19th century American frontier, Baptism Of Fire is the third book in Stuart G. Yates's series of western novels.

Leseprobe

BAPTISM OF FIRE

Reuben Cole - The Early Years Book 3

STUART G. YATES

Copyright (C) 2022 Stuart G. Yates

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Tyler Colins

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

CONTENTS

1. 1863 Kentucky

2. Across The Open Plains

3. A Partnership Forged

4. To The Borderlands

5. Discoveries At Dawn

6. Towards The Beast’s Lair

7. The Beast Himself

8. Return To Nelson

9. Attack

10. Dawn’s Peace And More

11. Investigations Begin

12. Mrs Winter

13. Investigations Continue

14. Bryce

15. News From Mathieson

16. Across The Open Plains

17. Return To Nelson

18. Revelations

19. Decisions

20. Colonel Mathieson

21. Cold, Quiet Embers

About the Author

1863 KENTUCKY

As the years rolled on, so did the War. Reuben Cole, still young, grew into a hardened, successful scout, trusted by those who rode alongside him, by the men who served in the ranks and by the officers who looked to him for help and guidance. Honing his skills, both in scouting and fighting, he donned buckskin clothes and exchanged his old Paterson for a brace of 1861 Navy Colts that several of his fellow troopers preferred. It was this gun that helped him overcome a desperado named Shapiro.

By now Cole was based in Camp Nelson in Kentucky, a sprawling collection of hundreds of buildings. Not only were there the usual barracks, mess houses, a makeshift hospital and jailhouse, but there were also additional constructions set up by private individuals. Saloons, eating houses, fruit and vegetable stalls, all thrived alongside the most popular of all businesses – the photography studio. Young recruits, eager to send mementoes back to their folks in faraway New York and Chicago, stood in long lines dressed in freshly pressed uniforms, some with their naturally blond hair dyed dark brown to show up in the final prints. Cole would watch them from afar, amused and always detached. He had no desire to have any memories of this ghastly war and his part in it.

Summoned to his Commanding Officer’s quarters one morning, he stood with his hat clasped in front of him, studying the green-jacketed Sergeant-Major standing a little away from the Colonel’s desk.

“This is First-Sergeant Cavendish of the Second Regiment of Sharpshooters,” explained the Colonel without any preamble. “He and his men have been seconded to this post to aid us in the capture of a bunch of Rebel vagabonds who are raiding Union supply wagons and selling their wares to the Confederacy. So far, we have lost guns, ammunition of all types, and horses, of course. They need to be stopped.”

Cole nodded. “And you want me to track ‘em?”

“That’s about it. Once they are located, Cavendish and his men will take charge. His orders are to destroy this gang with all due thoroughness. In other words, Cole – the Army wants them dead.”

The Sergeant cleared his throat. “If I may, sir?” Colonel Mathieson nodded and sat back in his chair. “Except for their leader,” said Cavendish, his voice unemotional. “A man called Shapiro. He is to be taken alive, if at all possible, and put on public trial so that the Rebs know we have broken up their operation.”

“All right,” said Cole. “Do we have any idea where these raiders might be?”

“Quite aways,” said Mathieson.

“Mexican border was last we heard,” said Cavendish.

Cole blinked and had to swallow hard before continuing. “Mexican … but we can’t go down there, Colonel! It’s a journey of—”

“I know how far away it is, Cole,” said Mathieson, leaning forward. “News came through from numerous sources so we’re pretty sure it’s accurate. Shapiro is holed up in a bordello not far from the Mexican border. It’s in what we have come to know as the New Mexican Territory. You will travel with Sergeant Cavendish here and you will find him, extricate him, and bring him back. There is no other way to say this Cole – you have your orders, now get to it.”

Cole had grown friendly with the small group of Indian scouts who were attached to the regiment. They were tough, small in stature but huge in courage. Most of them were Crow but one of them was Arapaho and his name, loosely translated, was Given Sky. It was always a name that intrigued Cole and when pressed, the young Indian finally relented and explained. “My mother would leave me in the center of our village when I was a tiny child, the world moving all around me without me noticing anything. All I would do, every day, was stare at the open sky. I felt so calm, the blueness so beautiful. I would never cry, not until she lifted me in her arms and took me into the wikiup. Then I would wail like a mad coyote. As soon as she took me outside to watch the sky, my cries would cease. She said, ‘I will give you the sky’ and that is what she did, through my name.”

Cole loved that story. He loved those scouts, their easy manner, their calm resilience. When out on the trail, forever watchful, concentrating on every single blade of broken grass, every scuffed-up area of dirt; he’d learned so much from them. In the evenings they would sit, often not talking, and sink within themselves, pondering on the day they had spent and the next one to come. He liked that. It struck him that this kind of quiet reflection made them better scouts so he too took to following their example. The results, although not instant, certainly seemed to confirm his initial thoughts and as his skills developed, he honed to such a degree that even the Native scouts bowed to his greater insights and acknowledged him as the best among them.

It was a cold, grey morning a day or so before he was meant to leave when he came across Given Sky’s body, stuffed behind some packing cases next to the Fat Belly Saloon. Wide-open eyes stared out from a stone-white face and the blood, which had spilt down from his ripped-out throat, dried black over his chest.

They said a wild dog, gone mad with disease, was responsible. But how could a dog then drag him behind those crates, thought Cole perplexed, as if hiding him from discovery?

“You found him easily enough, didn’t you,” asked Colonel Mathieson when Cole reported the Arapaho’s death.

“It was dogs that led me to him.”

“Well, there you are then,” said Mathieson, leaning back in his chair, smiling like someone who had won first prize. “It’s like I told you, them dogs, they can—”

“No,” Cole snapped. Mathieson frowned. “No, the dogs did not kill him. I saw them sniffing around those crates, crates arranged in such a way to keep the body hidden from sight. Deliberately.”

“You’ve been smoking with them savages too much, Cole. You know the stuff they put in them pipes makes you go loopy.” To add emphasis, he put an index finger to his temple and made circular motions with it.

“So, you’re not going to investigate it?”

“Investigate what, Cole? A drunken Indian set upon by a mad dog?” He leaned forward, gathering some papers as if suddenly they were his most pressing job. “Close the door on your way out.”

“I’ll take this to a US Marshal if I must.”

Mathieson’s eyes came up, narrow and dangerous. “I’ll tell you what you will do, Corporal, you will keep your fat face shut. No one cares about some drunken savage, and I don’t understand why you do.”

“He was my friend.”

Shocked at first, Mathieson’s expression slowly changed to appalled. “I don’t like you, Cole. I don’t like the way you do things and I don’t like the way you hang around that Redskin bunch the way you do. The only reason I don’t pack your ass back to Kansas is that you are a damned good scout and we need you, more’s the pity. Take my advice: go back to your bunkhouse and keep yourself low. I reckon if word gets out that you is preparing to bring in the law to sort this out, your life won’t be worth a plug nickel.”

“Is that right?”

“It sure as hell is! Now get out of my office!”

Outside again, Cole caught the eyes of three troopers glaring at him. He recognised them. A surly bunch who spent their days kicking the ground, playing cards and counting the days until they were discharged. He did not flinch from their glares. Instead, he stepped casually towards them, studying each one in turn. “If I find out it was you,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I’ll make sure justice is served.”

“And how are you gonna do that, Cole?” asked the lean, dangerous-looking one in the center.

“I have my ways, Johnson.”

“Oh yeah?” Johnson looked left and right to his surly companions. “My advice is to look out for yourself while out on the trail, Cole.”

“Yeah,” said one of the others, “all sorts of things can happen out there.”

They all sniggered.

Cole waited until they were quiet again before adding, “Strange how you know what I’m talking about, isn’t it Johnson?”

Johnson’s face fell.

Cole turned about and, raging inside, strode back to his bunkhouse.

The following day the fort was full of the story about the troop of green-jacketed Sharpshooters who were going down south to sniff out Quantrill and his raiders. Cole did not enlighten them any further but wondered where the story had come from. As various ideas tumbled around inside his mind, he busied himself in preparing for the ride into Texas. As he checked through his saddle, Staff Sergeant Winter stepped up next to him. Winter was Cole’s immediate superior, former Sergeant Burnside now fighting with the army in the east since his promotion. Cole immediately brought himself to attention.

“At ease, Cole.” Winter reached out and smoothed his hand across the flank of Cole’s horse. “I hear there was some nastiness the other night? You found a scout, murdered?”

“I believe he was, Sergeant, yes.”

“You voiced your concerns to the Colonel, so I understand.”

“Yes … he, er, did not quite believe me.”

“He’s a busy man and has a lot on his mind.”

“Yes, I expect he has.” If Cole did not sound convinced, then that was precisely how he felt. He wanted to say more but kept his thoughts to himself for now.

“I’m not doubting you, Cole,” continued Winter, “but if you can, put this to the back of your mind until your return. If foul play has occurred, I’ll get to the bottom of it, have no worries about that.”

Cole nodded. Winter spoke sense but Cole feared that if he managed to get through the hell that awaited him, the whole incident would have been conveniently forgotten. “If you wouldn’t mind, sir, I’d like to make a report for the United States Marshal’s office.”

“We can handle this ‘in-house’ Cole, but if you are not satisfied with my own investigations, then you are free to do as you choose. I respect you immensely, young man, and your service is well-proven. So, let’s see how it all pans out on your return.”

Cole set his jaw, saluted, and watched the tall, lanky Sergeant stride across the parade ground. As he started to return to preparing his horse, he saw the three toughs who had already confronted him, leaning against a nearby hitching rail. Johnson chewed thoughtfully on a strand of dry grass. His companions, thumbs in belts, glared. Johnson turned to a green-jacketed Sharpshooter close by and said something. They all laughed.

Ignoring them, Cole took his horse by the reins and led him gently away to where the hunting party was gathering.

ACROSS THE OPEN PLAINS

The journey, as they all knew it would be, proved long and arduous. Many times they had to make detours to ensure they were not spotted by Confederate troops. Texas, especially, proved the most dangerous, and it wasn’t long before telltale signs appeared that they were being shadowed.

Cole held back his horse. He was ahead of the small column and slowed to allow Cavendish to come up beside him. Without looking at the Sergeant, Cole lowered his voice and said, “We’re being followed.”

Cavendish immediately stiffened and snapped his head around.

Calmly, Cole reached over and gripped the Sergeant’s arm. “Don’t make it so obvious. Relax.”

“But who is it? How many?”

“I’m not sure but whoever they are, they are good. The fact that they haven’t launched an attack makes me think they are a mix of Native people and renegades. There are not many Native peoples fighting for the Confederacy and even fewer here as we cross into Texas. They are almost certainly desperate, probably starving, and their interest will be on our supplies and horses.”

“Will they attack?”

“Not a direct assault. An ambush.” He nodded towards a far-off rock formation with towering cliffs and deep gullies. “There will be the perfect place.”

“Then we’ll simply go around.”

“That will put hours if not days on our journey. No, best if I break off, circle wide, and come at them from the rear. I will need two men. Good men. Your best.”

Cavendish did not look convinced as he chewed at his bottom lip. “Are you up to this Cole? I mean, you’re nothing but a pipsqueak, how can you—”

“I believe I’ve proven my mettle, Sergeant, in matters such as this. More than once.”

Cavendish caught the anger at the edge of Cole’s voice. He blew out a loud sigh. “Very well. What should we do?”

“You make as if you are arguing with me, raise your voice, tell me to go to the rear as I am useless. Order two of your men – the men you have picked to be with me – to escort me as if under arrest. You can do that?”

“I can do whatever is necessary, Cole. Remember, I’m in charge.”

“Yes, so shout, strike me if you must, then order those men to take me away. Do it now, Sergeant. Do not hesitate.”

Perhaps relishing the task a little too much, Cavendish screamed out, “You damned rascal, Cole!” and struck him across the face. The blow was so strong it almost knocked Cole out of his saddle. “Fraser, Prentis? Come here, at the double.”

Within a moment, two green-clad Sharpshooters reined in their horses next to Cole, who had a hand pressed against his bleeding nose.

“Take him to the rear and keep him there until I order you otherwise.” He leaned forward and gripped Cole by the shirt front. As he did so, he whispered, “Prentis, this is a ruse, do you understand? When Cole gives the order, you follow them. Is that clear?"

“Yes sir,” said the soldier called Prentis.

Cavendish pushed Cole away, “Get out of my sight,” he yelled.

Prentis gave Cole a prod, took hold of his horse’s reins, and led him to the rear. Every eye followed them with intense curiosity but neither of the two Sharpshooters reacted. At the end of the column, they stopped.

Cole sniffed loudly and stared at his hand, the blood smeared all over the skin. “He seemed to enjoy that.”

“Cavendish is not a man to pick a fight with,” said Prentis.

“Not unless you can handle it,” put in Fraser, watching the other soldiers slowly moving forward. “What is this all about anyway?”

“We have company. Don’t look; keep your eyes on me. We hold back a little, allow the others to get ahead, then we break away and make a wide detour.”

Prentis grunted. “How many are we talking about?”

“I do not know. Could be half a dozen, could be twenty or more. We won’t know until we come across them.”

“This sounds like a plan doomed to failure.”