From a few feet away, where he was giving grain to the horses, Fox added to Landrum, "You could do some of the other chores, you know. You're quick enough to give orders, but neither you nor that savage intend to pull your own weight, do you?"
A hand came down on Fox's arm as a figure materialized out of the evening shadows. "Perhaps you'd rather do the scouting and make sure there's nobody on our back trail, eh?" Glidinghawk asked, smiling at the way Fox jumped at his touch.
As Fox tried to sputter an answer, Glidinghawk strode past him to the fire and squatted on his haunches, reaching for a cup and the coffee pot.
"See anything unusual?" Landrum asked.
Glidinghawk shook his head. "Not behind us or in front of us. There's another camp about a mile back, but I got close enough to see that it's just some pilgrims on their way to the goldfields. No sign of Red Cloud or his men."
"Of course, we might not see them until it's too late," Landrum pointed out.
"That's why you'd better put this fire out before too much longer. When it gets darker, the flames can be spotted for a long way." The Omaha glanced at Celia. "How are you coming with supper?"
She blew a strand of red hair out of her eyes and kept stirring the batter in the bowl she held. "If one of you would help," she said bitterly, "we might eat sometime tonight. Being a scullery maid isn't why I joined this outfit, you know."
Landrum and Glidinghawk smiled at each other but didn't move to help her. Fox, finished with the horses, looked disgustedly at the other two men and moved to Celia's side.
"What can I do to help?" he asked.
Celia glanced up, surprised. She and Fox had never gotten along that well. She knew he looked down on her, and his stubbornness had almost gotten all of them killed a couple of times, but now he seemed sincere in his question.
She held the bowl up to him. "Stir this," she told him. "I'll get the bacon cooking."
Preston did as she said, and with the two of them working together, they finally managed to get the meal done. When they were through with the fire, Landrum doused it with dirt, and a deep darkness dropped down over the little clearing where they were camped.
There was some slight illumination from the stars overhead, and after a few minutes, eyes adjusted enough for the four of them to make out each other, at least vaguely. As they ate, Celia asked Glidinghawk, "Do you think we'll run into any trouble from the Indians?"
Glidinghawk shrugged. "Hard to say. Last I heard, Red Cloud and his braves were north of here, running rings around the Army. I'm not sure they'd bother with us even if they were around."
"The way you talk about those heathens, you sound almost proud of the way they've fought the Army," Fox said tightly.
"Maybe I am. You've got to admire what they've been able to accomplish with inferior manpower and supplies. If the Indians were as well-armed and as numerous as the whites . . . Well, let's just say that there might be some different occupants on the reservations."
Fox snorted contemptuously. "I should have known you'd take their side. After all, you're one of them, aren't you?"
"The Omaha are related to the Sioux," Glidinghawk admitted.
"So it's no wonder you're defending them, even though the bloody-handed bastards slaughtered Celia's parents!"
All three of them stiffened at Fox's statement. "You'd better watch it, boy," Landrum growled. Glidinghawk came to his feet, his muscles poised.
Celia shook her head. "No. Leave him alone. He's just spewing out words, as usual. I don't think he meant to hurt me."
"Indeed not," Fox said. He glanced nervously at Glidinghawk's menacing figure. "I meant no offense at all."
Glidinghawk grunted and sat back down. His disgust was evident in the guttural but eloquent sound.
A moment later, Landrum said, "We'd better post a watch tonight. Preston, you'll stand the first one, then me, then Glidinghawk can finish off the night. Agreed?"
Glidinghawk muttered a brief assent while Fox said, "Certainly. Standing watch is something I know about. Should we have a password?"
"How about don't shoot me?" Glidinghawk suggested.
Landrum shook his head. "I don't think we need to bother with any of that stuff."
"What about me?" Celia asked. "Don't you want me to stand one of the watches? Or isn't a proper lady allowed to do that?"
Landrum grinned again. "You'll be busy enough in the morning cooking our breakfast. You need all the sleep you can get."
Celia glared at the darker shadow where he sat. He thought he was being funny, but it didn't strike her that way at all.
Preston Kirkwood Fox sat on the hard ground, leaning against the wagon wheel where Landrum had been earlier, and listened to the tiny noises of the night.
At this time of year, there weren't many animals or insects around, but there was still an occasional scurrying in the nearby brush. Preston's hands were wrapped tightly around the Winchester carbine that Landrum had given him, and at each suspicious sound, he sat up slightly.
Despite Glidinghawk's earlier reconnaissance, Fox was not convinced that they were safe from danger. This was the wild frontier, after all. There could be savages or bandits lurking anywhere.
A few feet away, the other three members of Powell's Army were rolled in their blankets, evidently sleeping soundly. Landrum snorted and snored from time to time, but Celia and Glidinghawk were silent except for their deep, regular breathing.
Even though they still seemed to regard him as more of a nuisance than anything else, they had to have some confidence in him, Fox thought. Otherwise they would not have gone to sleep and left him to guard them.
Why he should even worry about such a thing was beyond him. But a part of him wanted them to trust him, wanted them to — like him.
Admitting that, even to himself, bothered Fox somewhat. He had always envisioned for himself a long, distinguished military career, not the short-lived debacle as liaison officer for the undercover operatives. Now he was worried about the opinions of three of the most disreputable characters he had ever run across.
Things could not continue this way, Preston told himself sternly. If this mission went well-if he could trap the outlaws himself and become a hero — he was sure his military career could be resurrected. These same thoughts had run through his head before, and now he settled back against the wagon wheel and let his mind wander, thinking about what it would be like when he was an officer again.
He had been doing that for ten minutes when the cold metal of a gun barrel suddenly dug painfully into his ear.
"Bang!" Landrum Davis whispered. "You're one dead son-of-a-bitch, Preston."
Fox drew a deep, shuddery breath. "My God!" he exploded. "You nearly scared the life out of me.
"If I'd been an outlaw, or one of Red Cloud's warriors, the life would be out of you, all right." Landrum holstered his gun and knelt beside Fox. "If you can't stay awake I'll relieve you right now. Losing some sleep's better than getting killed in it."
"I was awake," Fox protested. "I was just thinking about . . . about something."
"You were thinking so hard I was able to get up and sneak right over to you, and you never even saw me coming." Landrum shook his head. "No, I'll take over."
"But really — "
"Forget it," Landrum cut him off curtly. "That's an order, mister — or don't you take those anymore?"
Fox caught his breath. "I know what you're saying," he snapped. "You're making fun of me because I'm not in the Army anymore. But I will be! You'll see."
From one of the blanket-wrapped forms, Celia's voice said, "Why don't both of you shut up? I'm supposed to be getting my beauty sleep."
"We don't want to deprive her, do we?" Landrum asked. He jerked a thumb at the ground. "Sack out, Fox."
Still angry, Fox did as he was told.
But as he rolled up in his blankets and stretched out on the hard ground, he was still thinking about how different things were going to be later, when this mission was over.
When former Second Lieutenant Preston Fox had saved the day — again.
* * *
The rest of the night passed quietly. Glidinghawk had the others up before the sun had peeked over the horizon. Celia set about brewing fresh coffee and making breakfast. She was unusually quiet this morning, quiet enough so that Landrum commented on it.
"I had a dream," she said in reply to his question. "Nothing important, really."
"It's important if it bothers you," the Confederate said quietly. "We all have to keep our minds on the mission."
Celia hesitated for a moment before speaking again, and when she did, she didn't meet his eyes. "I dreamed about my parents."
"Oh."
Landrum knew what she was talking about. On the way to Bozeman, they had passed the spot on the trail where Celia's parents had been massacred by Indians. She had been back east at finishing school when it happened, and as far as Landrum knew, this was the first time she had seen the actual site of the battle.
"I honestly didn't think it would bother me so much," Celia went on when Landrum didn't say anything else. "And when I saw the place, it really didn't. It was just . . . another spot on the trail."
"It had to've stirred up some memories, though."
She nodded. "It did. And they keep coming back to me. My father was a stern man, and I was never really that close to my mother. I was away at school so much, you understand. But still, they were my parents. And when I think about them dying so violently, out there in the middle of nowhere — "
Landrum cast a glance at Fox, who had overheard enough of the conversation to feel guilty about his remarks of the night before. Preston hurried away to tend to the horses.
"Having that fool mouthing off last night probably didn't help matters any," Landrum said bitterly. "Sometimes I wonder what Amos had in mind by saddling us with him."
Celia shook her head. "I honestly think Preston tries sometimes, but he's just so out of place here. He never should have come west."
"Well, we're stuck with him now. Maybe he won't get us all killed."
The food Celia prepared was a little better than the meal the night before, and when he was finished, Glidinghawk said, "I think you'll get the hang of this yet, Celia."
She made a face at him and announced, "I cooked. Somebody else is going to clean up."
"There you go, Preston," Landrum said. 'That'll be a good job for you."
Fox shot him a venomous look. "Why did I know you were going to say that?"
"I guess you're getting smart, little brother."
They were on their way not long after the sun was up. The morning passed quickly, Landrum driving the wagon with Celia beside him, Glidinghawk and Fox riding in the back with their supplies. They forded the Madison River-thankfully not too big a stream at this time of year — and passed through a small settlement called Meadow Creek. If their luck held and they continued this pace, they would reach Virginia City by the middle of the next day.
Landrum hauled back on the reins and drew the team to a stop that afternoon as the sound of hoofbeats came from behind the wagon. All four of them craned their heads around to see a small band of soldiers overtaking them.
Among the soldiers was the big, middle-aged corporal — Clancy was his name, Landrum remembered — and the private who had been in the middle of the saloon brawl back in Bozeman. There was a sergeant with them, and three or four other privates.
The sergeant held up his hand to stop the riders as they drew abreast of the wagon. He nodded to Celia and touched the brim of his campaign hat. "Howdy, folks. Where you bound?"
"Virginia City," Landrum answered. "After some of that gold before it all gets found."
"Well, from what I hear, you may be too late. Most of the claims have petered out."
"We've come this far, Sergeant, seeking our fortune. It's too late to turn back now."
The non-com took off his hat and drew the sleeve of his blue uniform across his forehead. There was a slight chill in the autumn air, but this florid-faced man was still sweating a little.
"Suit yourself," he said. "We're bound for Virginia City ourselves. You mind some company?"
Landrum shook his head. "Not at all. It does get a little lonely out here."
One of the privates gestured at Glidinghawk. "What ya doin' with the redskin?"
"Him?" Landrum asked nonchalantly. "Hell, he's tame. Looks after our horses and such."
The sergeant frowned. "We've had a lot of trouble with the Sioux around here. He looks like he might be one of 'em."
Glidinghawk thumped his chest with a closed fist. "Glidinghawk is Omaha, not one of Red Cloud's dogs! Want only peace with white man." He made a flat, sweeping gesture with his palm down. "No trouble."
"See that you remember that, redskin," the sergeant snapped. "Shall we get going, Mister . . . ?"
"Colfax," Landrum supplied, extending his hand to shake with the sergeant. "Landrum Colfax. This is my sister Celia and my brother Preston."
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," the non-com said to Celia. He glanced at Fox and nodded briefly, obviously not impressed by what he saw.
Landrum flicked the reins and got the team moving again. As they pulled out, the troopers fell in beside the wagon. Landrum wondered why they were going to Virginia City and what they had been doing in Bozeman. It was unusual to find a group like this without a commissioned officer in charge.
That very fact was bothering Fox, too. His trained eyes played over the soldiers, saw how slovenly and undisciplined they were. Why, the big corporal and one of the privates looked like they had been fighting! With civilians no doubt. They looked like the type.
If he was in command of this detail, things would be much different. He would crack the whip and get them into shape, would make them toe the line so that the Army could be proud of them.
Ah, the joys of command! Fox could almost taste them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Landrum wanted to talk to Clancy some more, and he was wondering how to approach the corporal when the big man gave him an opening.
Riding beside the driver's seat of the wagon, Clancy stared squinty-eyed at Landrum and said, "Don't I know ye, lad?"
"I was talking to you in the Hanging Post yesterday," Landrum replied.
"Ah, yes. I recall it now. 'Twas just before that little roo-kus, was it not?"
Landrum grinned. "It was. And that looked like quite a fight."
Clancy snorted and shook his massive head. "That? That was nothin', me boy. Ye should've seen me in me prime. Why, I've cleaned out more saloons — "
"And been busted back to private more than any man I've ever known," the sergeant put in. "If I have to bail you out one more time, Clancy, so help me I'm going to let you rot in one of those two-bit jails."
"Ah, ye wouldn't do that, Sarge. Not to your ol' pal Clancy."
Fox interrupted from the back of the wagon, "Don't you men have an officer assigned to your detail?" Landrum looked quickly over his shoulder with a frown, as if he didn't want Fox butting in, but Fox wanted to know what these troopers were doing out on their own.
"We'll have an officer with us on the way back," the sergeant replied. "We're going to Virginia City to escort him back to Fort Ellis. Lieutenant Sims was wounded a while back, hurt too bad to move him right away, and he's been recuperating in Virginia City."
"Wounded in that payroll hold-up?" Landrum asked quickly.
The sergeant grimaced. "Does everybody in the whole damn country know about that? I guess it was too much to hope for, keeping it quiet. Yeah, that was when the lieutenant got shot."
"I was there, you know," Clancy put in. Several of the other troopers moaned and rolled their eyes, as if they had heard it all before and knew what was coming.
"You were talking about that in the saloon," Landrum said, wanting Clancy to keep talking.
"Aye, and a grisly story it is." The big corporal cast his eyes around at their surroundings. "And if yell stop your wagon for a we
e moment, I can show where it all happened."
That was another stroke of luck, Landrum realized quickly, and they were not going to turn down good luck. He reined in the team, and the soldiers stopped as well, grateful for the opportunity to rest their mounts.
They were in a small valley between rugged, heavily-wooded hills. Clancy waved a hand at the slope to the north and said, "They started shootin' from up there. Not too many of 'em, I don't think, but they was good wi' their rifles. They started us runnin', and then the rest o' the desperadoes come out of them trees over there." He pointed to the south. "Had us in a crossfire, they did."
The four members of Powell's Army listened intently to his story while the other soldiers wandered away to tend to their horses or relieve themselves in the nearby bushes.
Fox felt a surge of excitement in his blood as he leaned forward and listened to the corporal's yarn. He still had high hopes of rounding up the criminals himself, so he was willing to take information anywhere he could get it — even from a booze-swilling sot who was a disgrace to his uniform.
Success was what mattered on this mission. Success for himself and success for the team. If they failed, Fox knew, it meant not only the end of his dream of a triumphant return to the military but also meant the finish of Powell's Army itself.
And Preston was discovering that that mattered to him.
"We tried to fight 'em off, we did," Clancy was saying. "But there was just too damned many of 'em. Pardon my French, missy," he added to Celia.
"That's quite all right, Corporal," she told him with a smile. He reminded her of a lot of other career soldiers she had seen while growing up.
"All we could do was cut an' run an' try to save ourselves. The trooper drivin' the wagon was blowed all to pieces by their bullets, but we might've been able to take it with us if that bloody big scoundrel hadn't've come ridin' in and jumped on the box."
"One of the outlaws, you mean?" Landrum asked.
"Aye, and the leader of the hellions from the way he was bawlin' orders to 'em. Leaped right on the wagon, he did, from the back of his horse, and there was devil we could do just then to stop him. We was runnin' for our own lives by then." Clancy shook his head. "Never saw a man drive a wagon like that. That crippled hand didn't bother him at all, the lowdown varmint."
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