Her comments were not well received by the annoyed lieutenant. “I want that man out of our lives,” he complained. “If you’re going to defend him every time his name’s brought up, I don’t see how that’s going to happen. The man’s dead. It’s time for Emma and you to accept it.”
“I’m sorry, Braxton,” Sarah replied softly. “Let’s just give it a little time, and I think you’ll understand Emma’s attitude.”
“The hell I will,” Braxton replied, fully steamed up by now. “I intend to find out who left this horse here and why.” He was convinced that it was a ploy by someone opposed to the wedding to upset the ceremony, and his mind was already racing to come up with likely suspects. Principal among these were possibly Lieutenant Bordeaux and Corporal Kincaid of C Company. They were big friends of the civilian scout.
A silent witness to the discussion to this point, Edna Boyle was beginning to have concerns about the chemistry between the bride and groom. She was seeing a side of Braxton Bradley that had not surfaced before. A more pragmatic woman had never lived, so the thought that the ghost of Will Cason had delivered on a spiritual promise to the six-year-old never gained a foot-hold in her mind. “If I can interrupt this lovers’ spat for a moment,” she commented, “maybe we should talk to Captain Tuttle. He just came from Fort Larned. Maybe he knows something about the horse.”
“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Boyle,” Braxton stated coolly, “but this really doesn’t concern you.”
“Oh, I think that it does,” Sarah said, her own hackles rising a bit by then. “Edna’s my friend and is the one person most responsible for the whole wedding.”
Even though indignant over the rebuke by Sarah, Braxton realized that he was not exhibiting himself in a favorable light by continuing his opposition. “Very well,” he said, “we’ll go talk to Captain Tuttle.”
Sarah called Emma up from the river, and the docile mare followed the tiny child back to be tied again by the wagon wheel. “We have to go see the preacher for a little while,” Sarah told her. “You stay here and watch the horse, and I’ll be right back.” Emma, content to stay with her present from Will, raised no objection. Sarah turned to follow Braxton and Edna, then paused to issue instructions. “Do not try to ride that horse under any circumstances.”
Captain Leonard Tuttle was enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee with Lieutenant Bordeaux when Lieutenant Bradley and the two women walked in. Surprised to see the women in the officers’ mess, the two immediately got to their feet while Edna introduced the reverend to the wedding couple. Edna quickly explained that their impromptu visit had nothing to do with the wedding plans, but was merely an effort to solve a minor mystery about a horse. After hearing the question, Tuttle replied that he had no knowledge of the horse, and that it had not come from Fort Larned with him.
An interested bystander to the unusual circumstances that delivered the horse and note to Sarah Lawton’s wagon, Lieutenant Bordeaux said nothing until Braxton made it a point to ask him directly whether he had anything to do with it. As a friend and admirer of the capable scout, Bordeaux had found it difficult to believe the news when he had heard that Will Cason was dead. “No, Bradley,” he replied. “I didn’t have anything to do with it. Why in the world would you think I did?”
“You and Cason were always pretty thick,” Braxton answered, for want of anything better in the way of a reason.
“He was a damn good man,” Bordeaux countered. “Begging your pardon, ladies,” he quickly added. The whole story didn’t add up to him, and the more he thought about it, the more he came to agree with the little girl’s contention that Will gave it to her. “Tell me somethin’, Bradley. You’re the last person to see Will alive, right?” Braxton nodded and Bordeaux continued. “Shot twice, you said, and you are absolutely sure he was dead before you left him on that creek bank.”
“Of course,” Braxton answered in a huff. “Do you doubt my word?”
“I got a feeling Will Cason was still alive when you left him.”
“I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating,” Braxton charged, his handsome face now flushed red.
Astonished by the storm brewing between the two officers, Captain Tuttle offered a piece of information that just then occurred to him. “There was a badly wounded civilian scout that arrived at the fort about a week ago,” he said. “I heard that he had been in some kind of ambush, now that I recall. Could this possibly be the man you speak of?”
“He’s alive!” Bordeaux exclaimed. “I knew damn well he wasn’t dead—pardon me again, ladies.” He cast an accusing glance in Braxton’s direction. “You left him on that creek bank to die.”
Taken aback by Bordeaux’s damning accusation, Braxton reacted before thinking. “There was only one horse! He told me to escape while I had the chance! He knew he was dying. I wouldn’t have left him otherwise.” He turned to plead his case to Sarah. “It made no sense for both of us to die, and I had you to think of.” His outburst was followed by a shocked silence that left him gazing beseechingly at Sarah. “I had a responsibility to get back to you.”
The confusion of emotions racing through Sarah’s mind was almost too much for her to cope with. Contrasted with the elation over the sudden prospect that Will was alive was the sobering confession of the man she was intending to wed. Still able to keep a clear head, Edna Boyle was quick to grasp the turmoil going through the younger woman’s mind. She took Sarah by the arm and pulled her toward the door. “Come on, darlin’,” she said. “You need to get outta here and go someplace where you can think.” She wasn’t sure exactly what Sarah’s feelings might have been regarding Will Cason, but she was certain beyond doubt that most of Braxton Bradley’s shine had rubbed off him.
“Wait, Sarah!” Braxton called after them. “We have to talk to the captain about the wedding.”
Sarah stopped and looked back at him. “I’m not sure there’s going to be a wedding,” she said. She was surprised to feel that the statement seemed to lift a great weight from her mind, and suddenly she felt that she had been saved from making a grave mistake—for her and Emma. She had been so fearful of failing to provide for her daughter that she had let it overshadow her personal feelings. She had convinced herself that she would learn to love Braxton as she had loved Edward. But now she was not sure she could love a man who would desert another—especially when that other had risked his life to rescue him.
Bordeaux favored Braxton with a brief glance and a shake of his head before following the women outside. Left in a state of confusion over whether there was to be a wedding or not, Captain Tuttle called after them, “I’ll be holding regular church services at noon. I hope you will all attend.”
Outside the officers’ mess, Lieutenant Bordeaux had taken his leave of the two women and gone at once to find Captain Fischer, his company commander. It took a few minutes’ time to explain the whole affair to Fischer, but the captain readily understood the lieutenant’s intent. With Fischer’s blessing, Bordeaux went in search of Corporal Kincaid. He found him in the process of instructing a group of new recruits in the care and feeding of their horses. After hearing what Bordeaux wanted him to do, Kincaid let go a little yelp of elation and immediately went to saddle his horse. In a matter of minutes, he was dismounting beside the brown and white paint pony at the rear of Sarah’s wagon.
Kincaid was not the tracker Will Cason was, but he was a far sight better than most. It could also be said that he was not a deep thinker, but he was smart enough to put two and two together and come up with an appropriate answer. He had suspected that Will’s recent comments about quitting the scouting business and settling down to a more steady life had something to do with a particular woman. After hearing Bordeaux’s report on the discussion at the officers’ mess, he was eager to get the news to Will, just in case he had been accurate in his speculations. Evidently Bordeaux was of the same opinion, else why would he have sent him to find Will? He couldn’t imagine his superiors going to this much trouble over finding t
he person who left a horse tied to a civilian’s wagon. But Will Cason was not the average person.
He took a moment to look the pinto over just to satisfy a natural curiosity to see what kind of horse she was. Nodding his approval, he then examined the horse’s hooves in case there might be some irregular marks that would make tracking easier. There were none, although the horse would probably need new shoes before very long. Kincaid had a pretty good notion that Will was heading to Camp Supply. All he was looking for now was verification of that, and an indication of the trail he took. In spite of the difficulty of tracking in the grassy river plain, he found the tracks leading into camp but none going back out. That indicated to him that Will had walked into the camp leading the mare, so as not to make any noise. Then he walked out again to some point where his horses were waiting. He back-tracked the mare’s hoofprints to that point and verified his belief that Will had headed south toward Camp Supply.
“Looks like we got company, Coyote,” Will commented to the gray gelding as he walked over to the saddle on the ground and pulled his rifle from the scabbard. He had stopped to make camp early in the afternoon, figuring that his horses needed a good long rest. “Maybe we shoulda gone on to Bluff Creek,” he said after a quick glance at his campsite.
The stream he had stopped beside offered scant protection other than a screen of berry bushes and brush, so he moved a few yards away from the horses and knelt behind a gooseberry thicket to wait for his visitor. Though still several hundred yards distant, he soon was able to identify the rider as a soldier and riding hard. After a few minutes, he smiled and softly uttered, “Corporal Kincaid.” He lowered his rifle and remained kneeling where he was, watching his friend as he pulled up short to take a closer look at the camp before riding in. When it appeared that Kincaid was a little cautious about proceeding, Will yelled, “It sure would be easy to pick you off, Kincaid. You’re lucky I ain’t a Cheyenne warrior.”
Startled but recovering immediately, Kincaid yelled back, “Hell, a Cheyenne wouldn’ta pitched his camp on that little crick where everybody could see it.” He rode on in and dismounted. “I did take a second or two before I made up my mind when I didn’t see that big bay of yours—thought I mighta rode up on somebody else’s camp.” His face lit up then with a great big grin. “You’re lookin’ pretty spry for a dead man.”
Walking forward to greet him, Will said, “Spades didn’t make it from Walnut Creek. Where the hell are you goin’ in such a big hurry? I thought somebody was chasin’ you.”
“Hell,” Kincaid replied as he dismounted, “I was lookin’ for you. Sorry to hear about your horse. What happened to him? Any coffee left in that pot?”
Will chuckled before answering. “What were you lookin’ for me for? Ned Spikes shot him. And there’s a little left, enough for a cup.”
Kincaid emptied the remains of the coffee into his cup and found a place to sit down near the stream. “Lieutenant Bordeaux sent me to find you,” he began. “You set off a real storm when you left that little paint by Sarah Lawton’s wagon.”
“How so?” Will asked.
“It’da been a whole lot simpler if you’da told somebody you were leavin’ it. Hell, man, we thought you were dead. There was people thinkin’ a ghost brought that horse and tied it there.” When Will’s expression clearly revealed that he didn’t understand, Kincaid laughed. “Nobody knew you survived that mess at Walnut Creek. The most anybody knew was what Lieutenant Bradley told ’em, and he said you were dead.”
“He did, did he?” Will replied. “Well, he was pretty nigh right, but I don’t see why that stirred up all the fuss about the horse.”
“You don’t see what I’m gettin’ at, do you?” Kincaid asked. He went on then to paint the picture for him, relating the scene when Captain Tuttle told them Will was still alive, and Bordeaux’s accusation that Braxton had deserted a wounded man. “Here’s the icing on your cake,” he said. “Sarah called off the weddin’.”
The news was sobering to him, and he had to hesitate before responding. “What’s that got to do with me? It ain’t no icing on my cake.”
“The hell it ain’t,” Kincaid exclaimed. “I ain’t got but two stripes on my sleeve, but I ain’t stupid. I know you been thinkin’ about that woman ever since you brought her into Fort Dodge. You better decide what you’re gonna do and make your move before somebody beats you to it. That’s what I think!”
“I thought you weren’t paid to think,” Will said with a slight smile. He hesitated then, thinking about what Kincaid had just told him. There was a long pause while he tried to sort things out in his mind. Just because Sarah had decided she couldn’t marry Braxton, there was no reason to assume she wanted to marry him or anybody else. Most likely she would simply choose to return to the east as she had originally planned. It didn’t occur to him that Bordeaux must have sent Kincaid to find him for some reason, when there was no official purpose as far as his scouting duties were concerned. In the end, he decided that Sarah was more than likely in a state of devastation caused by the sudden turn of events. And since it seemed he was a major party in the cause of her destroyed plans, she might not be receptive to seeing him at all. Hell, he thought, I can’t support a wife and child right now, anyway. The more he thought about it, the more he came to believe that any attraction Sarah might have had for him was wholly created in his mind. She had never said anything or given any real indication that she regarded him as more than a friend, and the rest was wishful thinking. He decided that it would be best to wait a spell before seeing Sarah again, and give her a chance to decide what she wanted to do. “I appreciate you ridin’ all the way out here to tell me,” he finally said to Kincaid. “But I expect Sarah will do what she wants to do, and I’ve got to report back to Camp Supply right now. I expect Ben Clarke mighta already fired me by now.”
Kincaid was not one to give up easily on a cause he believed in, so the discussion continued on into the evening. But he finally gave up when Will steadfastly insisted that the right thing for him to do was to report back to his boss at Camp Supply. Of course, he said, he would plan to stop in to visit Sarah and Emma if they were still there on his next trip to Dodge, but now was not the right time. He expressed a desire to see how Emma and her horse got along. However, he had no way of knowing whether he would be sent to Dodge for any reason anytime soon. Kincaid respected his feelings, although remaining perplexed over Will’s stubborn attitude, and the next morning he returned to Fort Dodge alone.
Chapter 15
The following week was a troublesome one for Will Cason. Ben Clarke noticed the difference in attitude from that of the usually unperturbed scout. There was certainly no slackening of his work ethic. In fact, he seemed to volunteer for every patrol that left the post. He even stepped up to muster for Lieutenant Bridges’ patrol, although Bridges rejected him. The first week back from Fort Dodge turned into two, and then three weeks, with still no change in the scout’s stoic, moody disposition. Sensing a discontent in Will’s demeanor, Clarke decided to give him a change of scene. Ordinarily, the chief scout could care less what personal demons might be bothering one of his men as long as it didn’t interfere with the job. But Clarke had always held a special interest in Will ever since he signed on as a scout. So on a Saturday afternoon Clarke went in search of him, with a fair idea where he might find him.
Will tossed down his third shot of rye whiskey, and waved Mickey’s hand off when the bartender lifted the bottle to refill his glass. “I expect that’s all the whiskey I need right now,” he said.
Ben Clarke was not the only person at Camp Supply to notice the somber change in the rangy scout’s attitude. Lula McGraw, standing at his elbow, had sensed it as well. Still it had not impeded her constant campaign to bed the indifferent young man. “Yeah, Mickey,” she echoed Will’s remark, “he’s had all the whiskey he needs. And now he needs somethin’ else. Don’t you, darlin’?”
Will didn’t answer at once. He turned to gaze at Lula for a long
moment. The woman had been trying to lure him into the back room for more than a year, and he had always resisted her advances. Why? he wondered. Lula was nothing to look at, but underneath her painted exterior there could be a compassionate heart. Why he had never seen fit to answer his more primal needs was something he had never given much thought when it came to Lula. After thinking about it for a moment, he decided he might as well donate three dollars since she had pressed so long for his business. “All right,” he said.
It came so sudden and so succinct that she was not sure she had heard him right. She met his eyes for a moment, waiting to see if he was toying with her again. When his gaze remained steady and unblinking, she asked, “You mean it?”
“I reckon,” he replied.
She looked at Mickey briefly, then back at Will, waiting for the joke. “You ain’t foolin’ with me, are you?”
He fished in his pocket for three dollars. “You want the money, or not?” he asked.
With no further hesitation, she swept the money from the bar with one hand and grabbed his hand with the other. “Come on, darlin’, before you change your mind.”
He let himself be led toward the door to the back room where Lula conducted her business. There was no desire on his part to complete the transaction, and he wondered now why he had agreed to it. The fact of the matter was that he just didn’t care one way or the other. It was obvious to the point where Lula picked up on it, causing her to pause in the process of removing her frock. When he showed no enthusiasm for the generous amount of skin visible so far, she was inspired to comment, “Well, you ain’t exactly chompin’ at the bit, are you?” She laid her dress across the foot of the bed and stood there studying him for a moment, still in her petticoat. “Somethin’s eatin’ at you,” she said, accustomed as she was to the frantic, puppy-dog impatience of her usual customer.
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