“Good huntin’, Slocum,” called Colin O’Leary. The guard waved him on as he rode past. “We got to play some more poker when you get back. I need to get even!”

  Galloping to the front of the column, Slocum reined back a mite and rode alongside Davies.

  “Where are we bound? The colonel was closemouthed about the patrol territory.”

  “North.”

  “That’s a mighty big area to cover,” said Slocum.

  “Here’s the map. Give it a quick look, then take a couple men with you and scout ahead.” Davies pulled out a tattered map and fought the breeze to hold it flat. Slocum wondered what was so vital about the mission that they couldn’t stop and orient themselves and take a few minutes to get the details straight. Davies wasn’t inclined to even slow, forcing Slocum to get his bearings and find a tall peak ahead to use as a landmark.

  “Who do you want me to take?” Slocum asked, thinking it would be the two men who followed Davies around like puppy dogs—including the man who had robbed the Newsome bank. Again he was surprised.

  “You take those two,” Davies said, indicating a pair immediately behind him. They were from other squads. “Try to train ’em in the way you track. We kin always use more scouts.”

  Slocum looked over the two and knew they were not likely to be useful as scouts. One peered at him, so nearsighted he could hardly see past the end of his nose, and the other had a wild look that would have to be tamed before he could concentrate enough to stay on a trail.

  “Come on,” Slocum said. “Tell me what spoor you see as we ride.”

  The two obediently fell in behind Slocum, but he rode only a couple miles before motioning them to dismount.

  “We gonna be taught to find trails?” the nearsighted private asked.

  “Maybe,” Slocum said. “I want to know why Davies chose the pair of you to come on this scout.”

  The two looked at each other, then shrugged. The myopic one said, “We been nuthin’ but garrison soldiers up till now. Might be time to train us better.”

  “What’re your names?”

  Privates Craning and Zoran introduced themselves. Craning was the nearsighted one and Zoran kept glancing over his shoulder, as if he heard footsteps sneaking up on him.

  “Zoran,” Slocum said, starting with the jumpy soldier. “What trouble’d you get into back at the fort? You weren’t sent along because you’re a good soldier.”

  “I am, too,” Zoran said angrily. “I’m the best. ’Cept fer that one thing.”

  “Who’d you shoot?”

  “It was a fair fight, I swear! Wasn’t my fault he upped and turned when he did, so it looked like I shot him in the back.”

  “So you enlisted, thinking the law wouldn’t look for you.” Slocum had heard this story over and over and didn’t much care who Zoran had shot. There was something else that qualified him for this mission. “What did you do at the post?”

  “Well, I kinda wondered about why Sergeant Davies and his two shadows are always sneakin’ out and comin’ back with so much money.”

  “Did you tell Holman?”

  “Naw. He’s never around. I ast Lieutenant Tartaglia. But he tole me to keep my mouth shut since we’re gettin’ paid and a lot of other posts ain’t.”

  “That’s true. I got a letter a month back from my brother over at Fort Douglas and they haven’t been paid for nigh on two months,” said Craning. “The sarge said not to ask too much about that, that the colonel’s got his ways and we ought to be grateful.”

  “Did your brother know Captain Wilson?”

  Craning looked uncomfortable. “He’s in the captain’s company. I cain’t believe what’s bein’ said about the captain. He’s a hard man, but he does right by his men. Ray’s never said a word about Wilson bein’ a thief, much less a bank robber.”

  Slocum saw how Zoran looked mighty uncomfortable at this. Staring hard at the man produced the results Slocum hoped for.

  “They came ridin’ back, this very afternoon. They rode in and they had a pack animal and it was all weighed down. I saw a canvas bag slung over the horse’s back. It had First Bank of Newsome writ on it. Leastwise, I think that’s what it said.”

  “If you can’t read, how do you know?” Slocum asked.

  Zoran looked at Craning. “Him. He kinda translated what I saw. All that gold the sarge and his men was luggin’ around in them sacks. It made me wonder, but we get paid in gold and other posts only get worthless scrip.”

  “So you two are friends?” Slocum saw Craning and Zoran nod. “And you both wondered where Davies got all that gold?”

  “It wasn’t our place to ask.” Craning piped up. “Might be he found the gold Captain Wilson’s supposed to have stolen.” Craning looked at Zoran, hunting for reassurance.

  Slocum mulled over what the two men had told him and came to a conclusion that chilled him. The pair had been sent out with him to die. Craning and Zoran had inadvertently stumbled onto Davies returning with the stolen gold and might have asked unwanted questions—or worse, let everyone else on the post know what was going on.

  “You say anything to either Tartaglia or the colonel about what you saw?” Slocum asked.

  “We, well, Craning here, he might have mentioned it in passin’ to the lieutenant,” said Zoran. “It was so strange what the sarge did with the gold that—”

  “Strange? How?” Slocum perked up.

  “He buried it,” Craning blurted. “He buried it all out back of the stables. Near the henhouse. You know the spot.”

  “I can imagine,” Slocum said. “Where the chicken shit piles up?” If there was anywhere on the post he’d hide something he didn’t want found accidentally, this was it. Nobody in their right mind went poking about under that small mountain of disreputable refuse.

  “I thought it was more than passing strange,” Craning said. “Me and Zoran only hinted at it to the lieutenant, though, not bein’ sure what was goin’ on and all.”

  “What is goin’ on?” Zoran’s dark eyes stabbed like daggers at Slocum. “You know what’s wrong at the post, don’t you? It ain’t been right since the major left.”

  “All the officers gone ’cept for the lieutenant and the colonel,” Craning added. “That’s not right for so many men. And there’s been nuthin’ said about Sergeant Atkins and his men disappearin’ like they did. I asked and the lieutenant told me to mind my own beeswax.”

  “All this has happened since the last commander left,” Slocum said. His mind raced. He couldn’t figure out where Colonel Holman fit in. Complicitous in Davies’s crimes or a dupe? It looked more and more as if the “boss” Lem Butler had mentioned was Tartaglia.

  “You hear that, Slocum?” Craning asked, canting his head to one side. “Might be gunshots.”

  Slocum stood and turned slowly, straining to hear. Craning’s ears were sharper than his, possibly because his eyesight was so lacking. Echoes of another gunshot drifted to him from the direction of their backtrail.

  “Get mounted. There’s trouble brewing.”

  “Sounds all boiled and ready to pour,” observed Craning. “Might be a real fight goin’ on, from the sound of the rifles.”

  “Definitely rifles from the sound of the report,” Slocum said as he swung into the saddle. “No pistols. That means Davies and the rest of the squad might be fighting for their lives.” Slocum doubted Laredo Jack had openly attacked a patrol. Considering his growing suspicion about the reason behind this sortie, Slocum worried that he would find five dead troopers—and Davies and his two men would not be among them.

  Slocum and the two soldiers galloped back until good sense took over.

  “Stop!” Slocum shouted to Craning and Zoran. “Come on back. Halt!”

  Craning yanked back on the reins so hard his horse stumbled and almost threw him. Zoran was slower to obey, turning his horse and riding in a wide circle to return. Slocum saw the young soldier jerk spasmodically, throw up his arms and sink forward to grab his horse’s neck when a bullet caught him from behind.

  “Down. Off your horse and get that carbine of yours ready,” Slocum said. He hit the ground running, stumbled a few paces and kept running toward where Zoran’s frightened horse stamped and pawed at the ground. Slocum grabbed the dangling reins and led the horse back to where Craning had taken cover in a shallow arroyo.

  Bullets flew like angry bees all around as Slocum cut directly for the shelter Craning had chosen.

  “Return fire. Get me time to help Zoran.”

  Craning began a methodical firing. Slocum wondered how the nearsighted trooper could find a target, much less hit it, but the slugs seeking out living flesh—his!—stopped until Slocum got into the arroyo.

  He helped Zoran out of the saddle and flopped the man onto his belly to look at the wound in his back.

  “Not too serious,” Slocum said.

  “Not serious?” moaned the trooper. “My shoulder’s on fire!”

  “Broke the shoulder bone,” Slocum said, “but it missed your lung. Can you fire a rifle?”

  “If I don’t, we’re dead men, ain’t we?” Zoran turned white with pain as he rolled over and sat up. “Not much choice, is there?”

  “Not any at all,” Slocum said, grabbing the man’s carbine from its scabbard, dropping a shell into the chamber and closing it for him. “You watch behind us. Don’t let anybody sneak up on us from behind. Anybody, you understand?”

  “You reckon it was the sergeant what shot me?”

  Zoran turned even paler when he saw the answer on Slocum’s scowling face.

  “Count on me, if I don’t pass out from pain. And ’fore I do, I’ll warn you.”

  “Good man,” Slocum said, grabbing his own Winchester and dropping to his knees beside Craning. The nearly blind soldier continued to fire with uncanny accuracy. Slocum saw a flash of blue vanish when Craning centered a round on it.

  “How do you shoot like that when you can’t see squat?” Slocum asked.

  “Targets look bigger’n dinner plates out there,” Craning said. “I find the center of the movin’ blur and shoot.” Which he did again. Slocum saw that the private missed but forced someone back under cover. The private would be deadly trying to support his own comrades-in-arms, unable to pick them out from among attackers, but this kind of fight made it easy on Craning. If it moved in front of him, he’d try to kill it.

  “We can’t stay here,” Slocum said. “Zoran is hurt bad, and we have to get him to a doctor before he passes out.”

  “There’s not one at the post,” Craning said, “but there’s Old Petey and he’s real good at patchin’ up wounds. He was in the war. The stories he has to tell.”

  “Yeah,” Slocum said, not wanting to hear any of the gory tales right now. He’d had his fill of injuries during the war and wanted nothing less than adding to his memory with new ones. “If you got Zoran onto his horse, do you think you could make a break due south?”

  “I’m not so good seein’ where I’m goin’,” Craning said, “but Zoran usually tells me.”

  “Let him lead, if he can, but watch him close. He might pass out at any instant. I’ll hold them off as long as I can, then catch up with you. But don’t stop and wait for me. Keep riding. Get back to the fort.”

  Slocum worried at this advice, since Davies and the other two would return there eventually. If they got ahead of Craning and Zoran, they would ambush the two soldiers as they returned. That meant it was up to Slocum to keep Davies and the other two occupied long enough.

  Long enough.

  “Get moving,” Slocum said. Craning helped a moaning Zoran into the saddle, then had the good sense to tie his friend down so he wouldn’t fall off the horse. The two soldiers lit out, struggling up the side of the arroyo and galloping south. Slocum reared up, found a target and fired. He doubted he hit anyone, but he was rewarded with a string of curses and the disappearance of the blue target.

  He looked around for other cavalry caps. Every time one popped up, he shot at it. Once he even sent one sailing into the air, but again he knew he hadn’t even scratched the wearer. Davies and his partners were increasingly wary. This convinced Slocum it was time for him to get out of the ambush Davies had rushed.

  If the sergeant had been cleverer about the trap, he would have waited for all three of them to ride into range before opening fire. Zoran being winged was bad enough, but the ambush had not been too well planned.

  Slocum emptied his rifle’s magazine, then ran to his horse, vaulted into the saddle and took off after Zoran and Craning at a dead gallop. He wouldn’t be able to maintain this pace long, but he didn’t have to. All he needed to do was get out of range of the ambushers.

  But what would he do once he returned to Fort Crumpland? Slocum had no idea what to expect.

  14

  Slocum caught up with Craning and Zoran within a half mile. They had lit out like their tails were on fire, but Zoran’s wound began to slow them more and more.

  “Glad to see you, Slocum,” said Craning, seeing him overtaking them. “I’m gettin’ mighty worried about him.” The private jerked his thumb in Zoran’s direction. “Might be bleedin’ inside from that wound.”

  “You can reach the post before he passes out,” Slocum said. “I’ll hang back and take care of anybody trying to stop us.”

  “That was Sergeant Davies and the rest, wasn’t it?” Craning looked at Slocum with wide eyes. “Why’d the sarge want to kill us? Was it a mistake?”

  “I don’t think it was a mistake, and the others with Davies and his two partners are probably dead. They split us up, killed them, then set an ambush to get rid of us.”

  “Why?”

  “Think on it as you ride,” Slocum said. “Think about what you saw on the post, what Davies was doing.”

  “Buryin’ something?” Craning’s eyes grew even wider. “They was hidin’ the loot from that there Newsome robbery! They found the gold Wilson had stolen and—” Craning stopped again. Slocum saw real understanding flood him. “Oh, my God! It wasn’t the captain what robbed the bank at all!”

  “You get on back. Watch Zoran close, but if he passes out on you, don’t stop riding. He’s tied down to the saddle. Get him to that war veteran you mentioned—”

  “Old Petey.”

  “Get Zoran to Old Petey straight out.” Slocum paused, chewing on a request that bothered him. “Don’t report to Colonel Holman until you get Zoran patched up.”

  “Well, I suppose this is reason enough not to report,” Craning said, eyeing his partner weaving about as he sat astride his horse. Zoran was pale and sweat beaded his forehead. Slocum had seen this before. Shock was setting in.

  “Get moving,” Slocum ordered.

  The two privates rode away. When they were out of sight, Slocum circled east, then doubled back on the trail. If luck rode with him he’d have good shots at Davies and his men. He wasn’t above doing to them what they’d tried to do to him, Craning and Zoran. The difference was that Slocum had done this before, and with great, deadly efficiency.

  He found a spot commanding the road and dropped to the ground. He took time to reload his Winchester and be sure his Colt Navy had every chamber charged and ready to fire. Then he settled down to think hard as he waited for the shot that would bring a measure of justice to this part of Utah. He worried over not knowing what had happened to Joshua Atkins, but he could guess from the evidence he had found heading up toward Red Spur Peak. Davies had ambushed the veteran sergeant, probably using the same plan that had failed to kill Slocum and the other two soldiers. It never paid to go to the well too often.

  After twenty minutes, Slocum got antsy. He had the patience to sit all day, but there wasn’t any reason for Davies to take longer than this getting on the other soldiers’ trail. Davies might have taken a shortcut back to the post to head them off, or something more might be brewing. Slocum slid his rifle into the sheath on his saddle, mounted and rode slowly in the direction where the shots that had alerted Craning had been fired.

  A cold knot formed in his belly when he saw how accurate he had been guessing what Davies had done. The rest of the squad had all been shot in the back. They hadn’t even drawn their pistols before heavy lead slugs had ripped apart their spines. Slocum’s horse pawed at the ground, nervous at the smell of the fresh blood. Slocum looked around and couldn’t find Davies’s tracks. He heaved a sigh, knew he ought to bury the dead soldiers, but decided a detachment from the post could do the honors. He wheeled about and trotted after Craning and Zoran.

  Slocum slowed when he got within sight of Fort Crumpland. His mind raced as he ticked off the possibilities of what he might find. If Davies had returned directly, Slocum could be riding into a firestorm of woe. The sergeant had shown himself capable of shooting his own troopers in the back. Slocum already knew Davies enjoyed ambushing outlaws and stealing their loot. The death of the troopers told him that Davies was one of those owlhoots who simply enjoyed killing for the sick pleasure it gave.

  The furor as Craning and Zoran rode onto the post gave Slocum the chance to tether his horse some distance away, then advance on foot. He jumped the low wall and started for the barn, where he was most likely to find Davies and his two cronies if they had already returned. Halfway to the stables, Slocum stopped and stared. He wiped his face to be sure all the trail dirt and sweat wasn’t causing him to see a mirage.

  But in his gut he knew this wasn’t a vision—or it was a vision, he hurriedly corrected. A vision of loveliness he hadn’t expected to see at Fort Crumpland.

  “Laurel!” he called. Slocum waved and got her attention. She turned from where she worked at stacking boxes in front of the sutler’s store. A look of vexation crossed her face, and she shook her head, blond hair billowing. Then she waved him off.

  Slocum pointed to the rear of the store. Laurel’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She nodded, brushed back her hair and quickly put the finishing touches on the stack of boxes before going around the store in the direction opposite to the one Slocum took. They met at the rear.