Clancy's Last War Read online

  Clancy’s Last War

  Some crimes are too heinous to go unpunished. Morgan Clancy seeks the man responsible for the deaths of a great number of men, including his younger brother. When the trail leads him to Bluestone Creek, Colorado, his search for justice becomes entwined with the plight of several farmers and one local rancher.

  Clancy’s battle escalates when his meddling uncovers a theft of cattle and endangers the lives of a young woman, her sister and father. The stakes are lethal and when the final battle comes, Clancy discovers his trail of vengeance may cost all four of them their lives. . . .

  By the same author

  Yancy’s Luck

  Battle at Lost Mesa

  A Man Called Sundown

  The Shadow Killers

  Spencer’s Law

  The Guns at Three Forks

  The Last Revenge

  High Gun at Surlock

  The Trail to Yuma

  Warrick’s Battle

  A Reckoning at Orphan Creek

  The Killer’s Brand

  Death Comes Riding

  The Legend of Tornado Tess

  Ambush at Lakota Crossing

  No Quarter at Devil’s Fork

  Gun Law of Phoenix Cline

  Invite to a Showdown

  Clancy’s Last War

  Terrell L. Bowers

  ROBERT HALE

  © Terrell L. Bowers 2013

  First published in Great Britain 2013

  ISBN 978-0-7198-2429-6

  The Crowood Press

  The Stable Block

  Crowood Lane

  Ramsbury

  Marlborough

  Wiltshire SN8 2HR

  www.bhwesterns.com

  This e-book first published in 2017

  Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press

  The right of Terrell L. Bowers to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  Chapter One

  Choctaw enjoyed telling everyone he was half Indian and half coyote. He liked to say he had been a scout for wayfaring pilgrims on the Western frontier since the days when the Mormon Trail of ’46 had been no more then a deer path. He told stories that no one truly believed about Indian fights, buffalo hunts and cattle drives. At the saloon in town, he concocted tall tales to entertain anyone who would buy him a drink.

  He was actually only thirty-eight years old, but he had gray streaks in his hair and beard, more wrinkles than a week-old shirt, and his skin was a sun-parched brown from constant exposure to the elements.

  It was his turn to watch the Freeman cattle tonight. They were bunched up in a box canyon where there was feed and a pool of water from last week’s rainstorm. Next week, he and the other hands working the ranch would start a drive to Denver. The cattle buyer would meet them there and the worst of the summer would be over.

  Choctaw hummed a tune to himself as he rode slowly back and forth across the canyon entrance, glad that the long months of branding steers was behind him. After helping to rope and tie down a hundred head of beef, he had so many aches and pains that he actually felt the fifty or so years-old that people assumed him to be.

  He stopped his horse as a shadowy figure appeared in the dark. No one was due to relieve him until sunup, so he put his hand on his pistol and removed the thong so it would be ready for instant use.

  ‘Hey there, Choctaw!’ It was a familiar voice, that of one of the top hands for Fulton Armstrong.

  ‘That you, Jocko?’ he called back. ‘What’n thunderation are you doing out here in the middle of the night?’

  Jocko rode closer until he was only a few feet away. ‘Gillum said he seen a mountain lion roaming the hills. I wanted to warn you, in case that cat decided to stir up the herd.’

  ‘You didn’t have to ride way out here for that,’ Choctaw said. ‘I’ve turned a herd of running buffalo with only a stick and a couple of rocks. No way those beef would get stampeded on my watch.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Jocko said. ‘It’d be a real job to round them up if they spooked.’

  ‘Good of you to come and tell me, but the cattle are all tucked in safely for the night.’

  Jocko suddenly drew his gun and pointed it at Choctaw’s chest. ‘I’m sorry you were the one riding night guard. I never believed half of the stories you tell, but I did like to listen.’

  ‘What’s the gun for?’

  ‘I’m taking the herd,’ Jocko said, matter-of-factly. ‘I’ve got three hired men ready to move in and lend a hand.’

  Choctaw knew he had little chance when he grabbed for his gun. He did manage to get it free of the holster before a white-hot slug passed through his chest.

  The bullet caused his horse to jump, but he stayed aboard, trying with his last bit of strength to bring his gun to bear on Jocko.

  However, a second bullet knocked him from the saddle and he landed heavily on the ground. He lost his gun in the fall, couldn’t catch his breath, and his vision was so skewed he saw only blurred black shadows.

  ‘Rest easy, old-timer,’ Jocko muttered. Then he fired again and, for Choctaw, the world ceased to exist.

  Morgan Clancy walked through the infirmary, horrified by the suffering of the many skeletal patients. There were rows of bunks with emaciated, diseased and dying soldiers. These were the last of the poor devils from the prison camp known as Andersonville; mortally afflicted victims who would likely never recover.

  ‘You find him yet?’ an orderly inquired.

  ‘His name is on one of the mass graves,’ Clancy reported sadly. ‘My brother was strong and healthy all of his life. From the date scratched on the cross, it appears he was interned for about five months before he died.’

  ‘Some of these men I’m watching over were in the camp for less than three,’ the orderly informed him. ‘I doubt a single one will ever see his home again.’

  ‘Soldiers taken prisoner are supposed to be afforded a degree of decency,’ Clancy said, his rage barely controlled.

  ‘God must have been looking the other way when Captain Henry Wirz took command of the prison. There’s no way he and his ghouls could have been from the same human race as the rest of us.’

  ‘Do you know the final count on the dead?’

  ‘Nearly thirteen thousand,’ the orderly replied. ‘About one in three of those who were confined in that pit of horrors. And that doesn’t include many who will perish from their ill treatment, infections and disease after their release.’

  ‘If they don’t track down and hang the lot of those officers and guards, there is no justice in this world.’

  ‘Wirz didn’t want to admit how many prisoners were dying in his monthly reports. He claimed he was only interested in making sure none of them ever fought against the Confederacy again.’

  Clancy surveyed several men who were missing limbs or were too sick to feed themselves. The gaunt faces looked to have been sketched in charcoal: black holes for eyes, rotted teeth, most were missing hair, having been shaved to get rid of lice. His only real hope was that Jeff had died without too much suffering.

  ‘I don’t envy you your job,’ Clancy said to the orderly. ‘These past months, enduring the smell, the maggots and vermin, the infected wounds and gangrene . . . you and the other orderlies deserve a medal for tending these men.’

  ‘Actually, every man who survived that camp deserves a medal.’

  Clancy left the hospital area and journeyed back to headquarters. His had become a familiar face since the end of the war.

  Captain Marsh, who was one of the officers designated to process ex-prisoners and stragglers from different outfits, nodded his head in greeting. He had been kind enough to share his quarters with Clancy since his arrival. That had been three weeks ago, and now Clancy’s search was ended.

  ‘So you found him.’ It was a statement by Marsh.

  ‘I wanted a last look at the few remaining live prisoners first,’ Clancy admitted. ‘There are thousands of graves at Andersonville, and many bear only a nickname and the number of the unit the dead man was with. A lot of them were buried with no names at all. But I did locate my brother. He was listed at one of the mass graves.’

  ‘We’ve learned that, at the peak of the overcrowding and starvation, a hundred men were dying each day,’ Marsh informed him. ‘They couldn’t keep up with the records for so many deaths.’

  ‘That’s probably why I didn’t find his name on the formal register,’ Clancy said.

  Marsh swore. ‘No commander on the battlefield could accept such losses, not day after day, week after week. Yet the wretched butchers who ran Andersonville gleefully watched their fellow men drown in filth and disease. Scurvy, diarrhea, stomach disorders from bad water, malnutrition and untreated wounds – I never knew men could be so unfeeling, so downright evil.’

  Clancy sighed his defeat. ‘I reckon I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I’m responsible for Jeff’s death. He only joined the Union army because of me. As our folks had both passed away, he followed my lead, me being the older brother.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Clancy,’ Marsh said. ‘I was hopeful of a better outcome.’

  ‘The Union took too long to get here, too long to arrange an exchange of prisoners. Jeff was never strong-willed. I’m afraid he didn’t have a chance.’

  ‘You’ve certainly done all you could. It’s a shame he didn’t make it.’

  ‘I checked every place to which prisoners were transferred from Andersonville first, hoping
he was one of the lucky ones. I knew that, once I wound up here, it would be to search for his grave.’

  ‘It was a long and terrible war, Clancy. There’s not a single family living in this country who didn’t suffer some degree of loss.’

  ‘I guess there’s nothing left for me to do but leave it to the war department to round up those responsible for all of the ill-treatment and slaughter of so many good men.’

  Marsh stepped closer so his voice would reach only Clancy’s ears. ‘I’m not supposed to say anything to the survivors,’ he whispered. ‘But there’s speculation that Wirz is the only one of those cruel, black-hearted Rebs who is going to be charged for war crimes against humanity. His trial is to start next month and I suspect he will probably hang before the end of the year.’

  ‘He was the stockade commander for fifteen months,’ Clancy summarized. ‘Whatever happened, he is the man most responsible for the actions of his men.’

  ‘Yes, but he wasn’t the only guilty party. I’ve learned from the ex-prisoners how some of the guards beat, tortured and even shot Yankee soldiers for sport. There should be dozens of men on the list for war crimes, and many of those should be hanged alongside Wirz.’

  ‘What can we do about it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Marsh said tightly. ‘Most of them disappeared, along with the thousands who surrendered. But I did learn something about the sergeant who was in charge of the infirmary. He and several other Rebs made a business out of tending to the sick and dying men.’ His voice grew even colder. ‘They charged men for treatment. If you couldn’t pay, you were left to die in your own misery. Plus, once in the hospital, they robbed the dead and dying of everything they owned, including their gold teeth.’

  ‘How could Wirz let that happen? Didn’t the man have any honor or conscience?’

  ‘It’s hard to say how much Wirz knew. The sergeant had several guards who worked with him and also a collaborator or two inside the camp. For extra rations and other considerations, the turncoats would secretly point out men who had anything of value. It was a lucrative business for over a year.’

  ‘What happened when the camp closed?’ Clancy asked. ‘Didn’t anyone hold the sergeant responsible for his crimes?’

  ‘From the men I’ve talked to, the sergeant and his group got nervous when the tide turned for the Union, and the prisoners started being shipped out to other camps. About the time Andersonville was abandoned, the sergeant and several others absconded with all of the loot they’d collected and disappeared.’

  ‘You mean they deserted and got away?’

  ‘As far as anyone knows. There’s no record of him or his pals after the surrender.’

  Clancy grit his teeth. ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘His name is Sergeant Fuller.’

  ‘Are the authorities looking for him?’

  ‘Everyone in the War Department wants to put the fighting and strife behind them.’

  ‘So they are going to overlook the fact that up to thirty thousand men were crowded into some twenty-six acres at one time, with no shelter, other than a few sticks, or forced to dig burrows like animals; that the only water for those men was a swamp running through the middle of the camp, which was contaminated with disease and filth? Forget the fact that our boys were given such meager rations, that would not have kept a dog alive?’

  ‘Don’t forget the entire camp was surrounded by a dead zone, about twenty feet wide all along the fifteen-foot-high stockade. Step over that line and the Rebel guards would shoot them like rabid dogs.’ Marsh did not hide his disgust. ‘Such inhumanity toward one’s fellow man makes me ashamed for the whole damned human race!’

  ‘And one of the men in charge of the infirmary was robbing men of everything they owned, including their gold teeth!’ Clancy exclaimed. ‘And that’s OK with our War Department!’

  ‘They won’t even issue warrants.’ Marsh sighed.

  ‘My brother carried our mother’s wedding ring on a chain around his neck. It’s all we had after she died, back in ’61. Pa had been killed during an Indian raid some years earlier. You can bet Sergeant Fuller ended up with it.’

  ‘There’s a chance he would have taken the ring. But finding him would be a major chore. Like I told you, he and the others disappeared almost a year ago.’

  ‘Yes, with him running for his life there’s no telling where he went.’

  ‘It’s the reason I never spoke about him with you before now. I wanted you to focus on the search for your brother.’

  Clancy eyed Marsh with suspicion. ‘You’re holding something back. What is it?’

  ‘Fuller used to get letters from his father,’ Marsh informed him. ‘One prisoner I talked to had been a medic. He worked inside the dispensary sometimes and saw a couple of the letters. He said the address was from Kansas City, Missouri.’

  ‘All right, but he might have changed his name and gotten rid of the wedding ring by now,’ Clancy surmised. ‘Do you have a description of the man?’

  ‘Big guy with a lot of mud-colored hair covering his face. He also has a half-moon scar over his left eye and is missing two bottom teeth on the left side. One of the guards who left with him would stand out. He was called Rusty and had red hair, a big red moustache, freckles covering his entire face, a crooked nose and big ears.’

  ‘That’s something, I guess.’

  ‘What will you do, Clancy?’

  ‘I’m going to see if I can track down Sergeant Fuller. If the Union won’t make him pay for his crimes, I’ll see to it he doesn’t go unpunished.’

  Marsh handed him a sheet of paper. ‘This is all I’ve learned from the prisoners whom I interviewed. That’s about all the help I can give you.’

  Clancy stuck out his hand. ‘I’m going to miss reading from your medical journals every night. I swear, if I spent much more time with you, I’d be looking to attend medical school.’

  ‘Some of those journals contain accounts of the most recent discoveries that have been made in medicine. I wish I’d known some of the facts concerning amputations and the like during the war. It could have saved a lot of lives.’

  The two shook hands and Clancy turned to head for the captain’s quarters, so that he could gather his few belongings. Marsh called after him.

  ‘If you catch up with Fuller, give him a nice bullet between the eyes for me.’

  Chapter Two

  Kate arrived on horseback. She hopped down and hurried over to her father’s hired men, Ingersoll and Owens. They were standing over a body that was completely covered with a ground blanket, except for his boots. Kate stopped and put a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp.

  ‘Choctaw?’ She whispered his name, filled with a terrible dread.

  ‘Shot him three times,’ Ingersoll told her. ‘His gun was out, but he never got off a shot.’

  Kate looked up the small canyon. ‘What about the cattle?’

  ‘They’ve been run off,’ Owens informed her. ‘Looks like they pushed the herd north toward Indian territory.’

  ‘There are plenty of buffalo out on the plains. Why would Indians steal our herd?’

  ‘The rustlers probably took the herd north until they can mix their tracks in with the buffalo. They have enough of a lead on any pursuit for it to be hard for anyone to catch up. I counted several riders and we’re down to just the two of us.’

  ‘We lose those beef and we lose the ranch!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Kate,’ Owens said. ‘But without more help, me and Inger wouldn’t have a chance of getting those cattle back.’

  ‘We could ask Armstrong for a couple men,’ Ingersoll suggested. ‘Four or five of us might be enough.’

  ‘Could it have been Indians?’ Kate queried.

  ‘Indians don’t usually run off more than the tribe can butcher and eat in a few days. A hundred head . . . that’s rustlers,’ Owens determined.

  ‘Can you tell for certain how many riders there were?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve ridden a circle, but it’s hard to say. Could have been as few as four, but there might have been six or seven.’

  Kate was crestfallen. Even if Armstrong agreed to let three or four of his men accompany her two, they might be outnumbered and outgunned.