Buffalo Soldiers (The Gunsmith, No. 362)
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Former slave Bass Reeves is now a deputy marshal. With the help of Clint Adams, he's tracking a gang of masked bank robbers, who once rode as Buffalo Soldiers. What made the heroes of the cavalry go bad?
said. “Did they leave their horses here?” “No, sir, ain’t nobody been here all day.” “What about yesterday?” “No, sir.” “All right,” he said. “You got a sheriff here?” “Yessir, but he’s an Injun.” “That don’t matter to me,” Reeves said. “His name’s Sam Overbay,” the man said. “He’s a Cherokee.” “Okay, thanks. I’ll find him.” “You can’t miss ’im,” the man said. “He’s probably the only man in town you’ll have to look up to.” Bass Reeves drew himself up to his full six feet four and said,
magnificent beast like this.” “And mine?” Reeves asked. “I’ll see to him, too.” Reeves handed his reins over. “What can you tell us about the lawman you got in town?” Reeves asked. “You ain’t gonna get much help out of him,” the old man said. “Why not?” “He’s only wearin’ it because nobody else wanted it,” the liveryman said. “But he does his job, doesn’t he?” Reeves asked. The man shrugged. “I guess we will have to find out for ourselves in the morning, like the bartender said.” “This
across from each other. Reeves nodded. “Heavy beard, beady eyes.” “What do you want to bet he’s another son?” “Family-owned town,” Reeves said. “I hope this wasn’t a bad idea.” “Too late now,” Clint said. “Let’s get some sleep and get out of here in the morning.” “After breakfast,” Reeves said. “I want a hot breakfast.” “Agreed.” “Night, Clint.” “See you in the morning.” Clint opened the door to his room and went inside. He heard Reeves’s door close. * * * It was a couple of hours
both see when we get there.” “Are we goin’?” Gordon asked. “Now?” “In a minute,” Washington said, dismounting. “I want to rest my horse.” “Now?” Franklin asked. “Yes, now.” He walked his horse away from the two men, started checking his saddle, made sure the cinch was tight, let the horse take a breather—and looked behind them. As far as he could see, there was nobody there—but there was. He knew there was. Bass Reeves was there. He wondered what Reeves would think when he saw him.
for his gun. “Bass,” Clint said, “let’s get out of here.” They backed to the batwing door and went outside. “We need to get this done before somebody else gets brave,” Clint said. “You’re right,” Reeves said. “We better get over to the Wagon Wheel Saloon.” “He said down the street,” Clint said. “But which way?” Reeves looked both ways, then shrugged and said, “We’ll try both.” THIRTY-TWO Gordon was standing at the batwings. He turned and hurried to Washington’s table. “They’re