Cooper popped his head into the kitchen and found Hawkins sitting at a table with John. Both were just finishing off their breakfast of fried ham and potatoes. It was Cooper's first sober morning in weeks. He was surprised at how much energy he had.
Hawkins stood and looked over at a clock on the wall. "Sorry, sir, am I late?"
Cooper shook his head. "No, Sergeant, I'm early. Please sit down and finish your meal." He poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and joined them at the table. Only after John had wolfed his food down and gone about his chores did Cooper tell Hawkins about his conversation with Payne from the night before.
"Do you believe him?" Hawkins asked.
"Not in the slightest. If this had happened back in April right after the war ended, I might have fallen for his explanation, but not now. It's not as cut and dry as deadbeats and runaways. I wonder if the sheriff will give us the same cock-and-bull story about Maclean as the mayor did?"
Hawkins shrugged. "So, what's the plan for today, Captain?"
"Once I finish my coffee I say we pay the sheriff a visit and see what he has to say. After that, we'll ride on out to Roy Stone's plantation and speak with him."
Hawkins stood up. "I'll send John to the stables to tell the boy there to get our horses ready."
Cooper nodded. "Good thinking."
"That's why I'm a sergeant, sir," replied Hawkins, toasting him with his coffee cup.
"Yeah, okay, First Sergeant. Drink up, we've got work to do."
Outside the sun climbed high in the cloudless sky. The road running through town had turned into a muddy mess during the night. Steam rose from the ground as it began to dry. The sheriff's office was four buildings down from the inn. Cooper spotted a couple men standing outside of the saloon across the road watching them. No matter how carefully they stepped, their once clean boots were soon caked with mud.
Cooper and Hawkins wiped their boots off on a set of wooden stairs, trying to get them as clean as possible before walking into the sheriff's office. From inside they could hear the sound of a woman crying. Cooper opened the door and saw a distraught woman holding a sleeping child tight in her arms. He removed his cap. "Morning, ma'am."
The woman looked over with tear-filled eyes but said nothing. She looked exhausted. Her dress was covered in mud. It was clear she had walked some distance through the muck to see the sheriff.
"What do you want?" asked a man sitting behind a desk at the far end of the room. Cooper saw that the man was wearing an old Confederate uniform with sergeant's stripes on the sleeves. He had thick reddish-blond hair and appeared to have not shaved in several days. The sheriff wore an eye patch over his left eye and looked to be in his late twenties.
"Good day, my name is Captain Cooper and this is First Sergeant Hawkins. Are you the sheriff?"
"I am and I'm doing my job right now, so why don't you and your boy wait outside," replied the sheriff with a wave of his right arm.
Cooper was already tired of playing nice with the town's folk and wasn't in the mood to be pushed around by an ex-rebel lawman. He smiled, pulled out a nearby chair, and sat down. "Please ignore us and carry on with your work."
Hawkins remained standing. He crossed his arms and looked over at the sheriff with a stone-faced visage.
The sheriff stood, and Cooper noticed the man was missing his left arm from the elbow down. His sleeve had been bent up and pinned to his gray tunic. The sheriff walked over and took a seat across from the woman. "Mrs. Wright, please try to ignore the ill-mannered Yankees in the room and tell me what happened last night."
"My husband, Darcy, thought he heard someone moving around outside near our pig pen," said Mrs. Wright, her voice cracked. "We didn't have many to start with and as we had already lost one, he didn't want to lose anymore. So he grabbed his shotgun and went to see what was going on. With the rain coming down, it was as black as pitch out there. I was watching from the front door when I think he saw someone moving around and fired his shotgun." Mrs. Wright paused for a moment to wipe the tears from her eyes.
"Please, take your time," said the sheriff.
"A second or two later, something grabbed a hold of my Darcy. Before I could do or say anything, he was dragged away into the night. Oh, it was horrible, Sheriff . . . absolutely horrible."
Cooper sat up in his chair. No matter what the mayor had said last night, this poor man had not run out on his family, he had been taken. "Were there any tracks, ma'am?" he asked.
"Be quiet, Yankee!" snapped the sheriff. "I'm talking to Mrs. Wright, not you."
"I waited for first light before stepping out of the house," explained Mrs. Wright. "I had Darcy's revolver from the war with me just in case whoever it was, was still around. I looked everywhere, but there was nothing to be found. If there had been tracks, they were long gone, washed away by the rain. My poor husband was nowhere to be seen. It was as if the Devil himself had come out of the woods and taken him from me."
"Why don't you and Clara go visit Mrs. James and get something to eat. Tell her to bill me. I'll arrange for William, my deputy, to give you a lift back to your farm when you're feeling up to it."
Mrs. Wright stood, as did Cooper and Hawkins. She wiped the tears from her face and tried to smile. "Thank you, Sheriff." With that, she shuffled out of the office looking as if she were still trapped in some horrible nightmare.
The sheriff waited until Mrs. Wright was gone before looking over at Cooper. "What the hell did you say your name was again?"
"Cooper, Captain Cooper, and this is Sergeant Hawkins, mister?"
"Sheriff Tom Owens. Now, what are a couple of blue-bellies doing in Williamstown?"
Cooper couldn't decide if the man was being deliberately confrontational or not. "Sheriff Owens, we are here at the request of Roy Stone to help investigate a rash of murders that have taken place in the past month or so."
Owens shook his head. "Now why would he go and do a damn fool thing like that? I don't need outsiders, especially ones from the Union Army, coming up here to tell me how to do my job."
"We wouldn't be here if Mister Stone had any faith in you to put an end to the ever-increasing number of unexplained disappearances in your jurisdiction."
The sudden flash of anger etched across Owens' face told Cooper that he had touched a nerve. "Listen here, Captain, I looked around Mercy Plantation and found nothing. Absolutely nothing. He's just ashamed his nephew ran off with the cook's daughter . . . a hussy Negro no less."
"The mayor seems to share your sentiments regarding Mister Stone, but I've heard there have been other disappearances," countered Cooper. "What about them?"
"Since I became sheriff of Williamstown, back in May, there has been a total of six people reported missing. The two up at Mercy, a poor farmer and his son a mile out of town, a drunken plantation overseer, and now Darcy Wright."
"What about colored folk?" asked Hawkins. "How many of them have gone missing?"
Owens shrugged. "I honestly don't know and don't care. So many of them ran off during the summer that it would be impossible to tell if anything happened to them."
"Surely the plantation owners would know how many of their former slaves have left them recently?" said Cooper.
"They may, and then again, they may not," replied Owens.
Cooper quickly grew tired of the sheriff's less-than-helpful attitude. "Okay then, Sheriff, what can you tell me about the Maclean Gang?"
Owens chortled. "Who told you about them?"
"Does it exist or not?"
"Yeah, they do, but they're not what people think they are. They like folks in this part, especially the coloreds, to think that they are a gang of outlaws which is pure bull. Alexander Maclean and I rode together raising hell behind Union lines. He's nothing more than a blowhard. After the war, we both came home to Williamstown. I got the job as sheriff, which pissed him off to no end. You see, he wanted the job for himself. The day after I was elected sheriff, he and a bunch of his drunkard friends took off out of town. They've been caug
ht causing a bit of mischief every now and then. But it's nothing that would warrant me chasing them through the bayou."
"Mischief for who?" asked Hawkins.
"I think you know the answer to that."
Cooper wondered what it would take to get Owens to care enough to do his job. "Well, I guess we've learned all we're going to. Thank you for your time, Sheriff."
"Glad I could be of assistance. I take it you'll be riding up to see Roy Stone later today?"
"Correct," said Cooper as he placed his hat back on his head. "However, I think Sergeant Hawkins and I will first take a look around Mrs. Wright's farm to see if we can learn anything out there."
Owens looked at Cooper for a moment. He cleared his throat. "Mister Wright's disappearance is a local matter. There is no need for you to get involved. If you insist in poking your nose where it isn't wanted, I will have no recourse but to place you both under arrest for interfering with the law."
Cooper smiled and stepped closer to Owens. The sheriff had overplayed his hand. "In case you missed it, Sheriff, the South is still under military occupation. Louisiana may be legally considered to once again be part of the Union. However, the state and all who live within her borders are still part of the Fifth Military District, and right now military law trumps all others. Have no doubt in your mind that I can do as I bloody well please and there is absolutely nothing you or anyone else around here can do about it."
Owens ground his teeth and took a step back. "People aren't going to take too kindly to you being here. I won't be held responsible should something happen to you while you and your boy root around in other people's business."
"If you think two Yankees in your town is intolerable, just imagine what would happen if something were to happen to us. In less than a week, hundreds of soldiers would march up here and set up camp. Unlike us, they'd be here as long as it takes to put an end to your troubles, and they'd have no qualms about hunting down Maclean and his bunch of rabble-rousers. In fact, they'd probably relish the chance to hunt him down and kill him."
"Knowing the commanding general, I'd be willing to bet he'd happily dispatch a regiment or two of colored troops to sort out this mess," added Hawkins.
"Jesus, why did you two damned Yankees have to come into my town?" muttered Owens.
"I've already told you why," replied Cooper. "Now if you'll excuse us, Sergeant Hawkins and I have a lot to do today."
Owens held up his right hand. "Hold on a minute, Captain. You can't just go riding around these parts by yourself, it's not safe. I'll come with you. Let me get me grab a few things and I'll meet you both at the stables."
"Thank you. I welcome your assistance."
"Trust me, I'm not doing this because I want to. I'm already looking forward to the day when I get to watch the two of you ride out of this town for good."
"I think I speak for the captain when I say, so do we," said Hawkins.
The Wrights' home was a small, decrepit shack built on a small patch of land in the woods one mile to the east of Williamstown. There was an old mule tied up to the side of the house, drinking rainwater from a trough.
Cooper got down off his horse, tied off its reins to a post, and drew his carbine. He checked that it was loaded. The pigs were back in their pen, sleeping.
"I'm gonna check out the home," said Owens. "There's no reason to take Mrs. Wright on her word. Something else may have happened to her husband."
"Sergeant, go with him," said Cooper. "I'll check around the farm for tracks."
"Yes, sir," Hawkins replied. He turned and followed the sheriff inside the rundown home.
Cooper looked over at the thick woods surrounding the farm. Long strands of moss hung from the old branches. If there had been someone standing there watching him, Cooper doubted he would have seen him. With his carbine held tight in his hands, he walked slowly, studying the ground.
The inside of the Wrights' home was the complete opposite of its exterior. As best she could, Maude Wright had tried to keep her home neat and tidy. Besides the two unmade beds and some mud on the floor, everything was placed where it ought to have been.
"What are you looking for, Sheriff?" Hawkins asked.
"Signs of a fight," answered Owens. "I know the Wrights, they're a good couple; however, people do change. If they had drunk a little too much and gotten into it with each other things in here would be a mess."
"Don't look that way to me."
"No, it doesn't." Owens opened a pantry cupboard and saw a couple of cans of food. There wasn't a bottle of alcohol in sight. "I guess she was telling us the truth."
Hawkins took one last look around before stepping back outside. He saw Cooper and walked to his side. "Any luck, sir?"
Cooper shook his head. "Nothing so far. It looks like the rain wiped the ground clean. If Wright was taken, his attacker's tracks will probably never be found."
"I guess this is a bit of a dead end."
"Did you and the sheriff find anything?"
"No. It looks like the woman was telling the truth."
Cooper looked at Owens. "Sheriff, do you think you could round up a couple of men with dogs to search the woods for any sign of Mister Wright?"
"I could, but it ain't gonna help," replied Owens as he reached into a pocket, pulled out a wad of plug tobacco, and took a bite.
"Why's that?"
Owens spat a dark gob of tobacco juice onto the ground. "Because there ain't a man in Williamstown who would volunteer to help you."
"This isn't about me, it's about Darcy Wright. Get them to help you in your investigation."
"If I do this, you two can't be anywhere near me."
Cooper was growing exasperated with Owens. "If it'll help you do your job, then I agree. Sergeant Hawkins and I will keep out of sight."
"I'll see what I can do. Are we finished here?"
"No. I want to try something. Where do you think Mister Wright was standing when he was taken?"
Owens spat out another mouthful of tobacco before walking about halfway between the shack and the woods. "I'd say about here. Why?"
"Sergeant Hawkins, get some rope off your horse and make a lasso," said Cooper.
"Right, sir," replied Hawkins. A minute later he returned with the rope in his hands.
"Now, Sergeant, move to the woodline and see if you can throw your lasso over the sheriff."
"Just a minute, Captain," yammered Owens. "There's no way in hell I'm going to allow your boy to lasso me."
Cooper shook his head, walked over, and pushed Owens out of the way. "Sergeant, see if you can get the rope over me from where you are."
Hawkins raised the lasso over his head and swung it around a couple of times before letting go of it. The rope flew through the air and landed on Cooper, ensnaring him.
"Pull it tight!"
The noose tightened around Cooper's body, trapping his arms.
"Now, Sergeant, pull me back toward the woods."
With a hard yank on the rope, Hawkins jerked Cooper off his feet and pulled him back toward him. Cooper landed on his back. It took only a few seconds before he was at Hawkins' feet.
"I think you can let me go now," said Cooper, looking up at his sergeant.
"Right you are, sir," replied Hawkins as he bent down and removed the rope from around Cooper's chest.
"What was that all about?" asked Owens.
"I was trying to see if someone hiding in the trees could have pulled Darcy to his death without ever being seen by his wife," explained Cooper. He stood up and brushed the dirt and leaves off his blue tunic. "It's obvious your killer was standing exactly where Sergeant Hawkins is right now. Might I suggest you begin your search from this very spot when you return with your dogs."
"See here, I don't need no foreign-born Yankee officer to tell me how to do my job," growled Owens.
"I think we'll have to agree to disagree on that, Sheriff."
Owens' face contorted in anger. Before he could speak, Cooper said, "I think we're
done here. How do we get to the Stone plantation from here?"
"It's about a mile down the road."
"Sergeant, saddle up, we're leaving."
"Right, sir," replied Hawkins.
Owens stepped in front of Cooper and glared at him. "You people may have won the war, but I'm the law in these parts. I'd prefer if you didn't speak down to me in front of your boy."
Cooper's eyes narrowed. "Sheriff, Sergeant Hawkins is no boy. He is a sergeant in the Union Army and you will call him by his rank from now on. Do we understand one another?"
"Like hell I will!"
"Fine. Have it your way. Sergeant Hawkins and I will carry on by ourselves. I'll come by your office after supper to see how the search for Mister Wright's body went." Cooper stepped past Owens and walked away.
"God damn it. Wait a minute!" called out Owens. "I told you it ain't safe to be riding alone out here."
Cooper stopped and looked back. "We'll take that risk."
Owens swore under his breath and ran after him. "That's fine and dandy for you, but I can't. When it's just us, I'll call him Sergeant even if I don't think he's real one. But there's no way in hell that I'll ever call him mister. He ain't no officer."
Cooper looked over at Hawkins, who chuckled as he climbed up onto his horse.
"Very well, Sheriff, if it's not too much trouble, could you escort us to the Mercy Plantation."
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