“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I told you to stay in Newsome.”

  “You did no such thing. Even if you had, I wouldn’t have listened. There’s no reason I have to do anything you say,” she said, sounding like a petulant child. “You weren’t finding out anything more about my father, so I came here on my own. I can listen and ask questions as good as you, John Slocum!”

  “You’ll get yourself killed. You have no idea what you’re up against.” As the words slipped angrily from his mouth, Slocum realized he had only an inkling himself what he faced at the fort.

  “I have to find out what happened to my father,” Laurel said, her tone softening. “I appreciate all you’ve done to help so far, but you’re taking too long. If too much time goes by, I’ll never find him.” Laurel’s blue eyes began to well with tears. “Even if he’d dead, I want to f-find him, even if it’s to give him a proper burial.”

  “I think I know what happened,” Slocum said. “I’ll have to go back to Red Spur Peak to keep hunting, but first I have to stop the men who are responsible.”

  “Then he’s dead?”

  “There’s not much reason to believe otherwise,” Slocum said. Laurel took a step toward him, as if she wanted to be held in his strong embrace; then she stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Do what you have to, John. And I’ll do what I have to. I’m going to find him.”

  Slocum took a shot in the dark. “You haven’t found out the first thing about him or his squad, have you? The men are all closemouthed, those that even remember him. It’s been over two months since his patrol was sent out.”

  “Right after the colonel reported for duty,” Laurel said, nodding. She dabbed at the tears threatening to run down her cheeks. “I have to get back to work.”

  “This is too dangerous for you,” he said. “Get on back to Newsome and wait there. I can find out what you want to know.”

  “I’ve lived a sheltered life, John. Back East I went to a girl’s finishing school because my mother thought it was the proper way to raise a daughter. My father worked hard to afford it. On a sergeant’s pay, it was doubly hard, so my mother took in laundry and did mending and sewing to give me a good education. I cannot forget that.”

  “You took it real hard when your ma died, didn’t you?” Slocum read the answer in Laurel’s stricken face. She was hanging onto the only family she had—and Joshua Atkins might well have been dead for months.

  “It’ll be safer if you pretend not to know me,” Laurel said.

  Slocum smiled slowly, then grinned.

  “That’s going to be hard,” he said, “after all the getting to know one another we’ve done back in town.”

  Laurel smiled a little at the memory. “It’s going to be hard to forget that, I know. But try.”

  “For your safety, I can do it,” Slocum assured here. “But I wish you’d go back to Newsome, where—” He cut off the rest of his sentence when he saw Craning helping his wounded partner out of the stables. They didn’t go to the barracks where they were most likely to find Ole Petey, but headed directly for the colonel’s office.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Slocum cursed under his breath, then said, “You get into the store and don’t poke your pretty head out for a spell.”

  “Those men? They were in your patrol? What happened to them?”

  “Do it,” Slocum said, taking her by the upper arms and guiding her toward the back door of the sutler’s store.

  Slocum didn’t wait to see if Laurel went inside. His long strides took him across the space between the store and the colonel’s office in time to see Craning and Zoran both enter. Slocum heard Colonel Holman order them to report.

  Slocum dropped to his knees at the side of the colonel’s office, found the hole he had worried open earlier and put his eye to it. From this vantage he saw both privates in front of the colonel’s desk, but not the officer.

  “It was the dangedest thing, Colonel,” Craning said. “Look, can I tell you ’bout it after Private Zoran’s taken care of? He’s all white and clammy and can’t think straight.”

  “I’ll take care of him, Private. Tell me what happened. Everything.”

  “Well, sir, it’s like this. Sergeant Davies split us up. Me and Zoran and Slocum—”

  “What happened to Slocum? Tell me, Private!” The question came sharp, like the edge of a slashing razor.

  Slocum held his breath. He had asked Craning not to say anything about him surviving the ambush, but the private was worried about his friend and his commanding officer had ordered him directly to report.

  “He helped us get on back here, Colonel. He’s a good man. He ought to get a medal.”

  “Why?”

  “He saved us when Sergeant Davies ambushed us. Him and those two men of his tried to gun us down. Now can you see that Private Zoran’s taken care of?”

  “I’ll see that you both get what you deserve.”

  Slocum jumped at the report of a pistol discharging. He hastily pressed his face against the wall again and saw Craning slumped in the middle of the office. A second shot produced so much gun smoke that Slocum couldn’t see the result, but from the thud of a body hitting the floor, he knew that Zoran was dead, too. The colonel had murdered both men as they stood in front of him.

  Slocum swung around, back pressed against the wall as he thought fast. Holman knew he was still alive, but the colonel hadn’t learned he was on the post. But it wouldn’t be long before the commanding officer ordered a search of every building. Slocum thought his horse was safe enough outside the fort walls, but the same couldn’t be said for Laurel Atkins. If Holman murdered his own men so easily, he would think nothing of removing anyone who might pose a threat to him. Laurel was new to the post and therefore not to be trusted. That she had been asking questions of anyone who would listen doubly damned her.

  Getting to his feet, Slocum walked back to the sutler’s store. He wanted to run, to fly! He kept his stride short and his pace slow to avoid drawing unwanted attention. As he reached the rear door, he saw Davies and one of his henchmen come out of the stables. The two were arguing and didn’t spot him. Slocum ducked inside fast and collided with Laurel.

  “What’s going on, John? I heard shots.”

  “We’ve got to leave right now. Don’t stop to get your belongings. We’re leaving now!”

  He didn’t listen to her protests as he pulled her toward the front door leading from the store. What stopped him cold was Davies’s other henchman standing just outside, a carbine resting in the crook of his arm. Lem Butler alertly scanned the parade ground, then turned and paced slowly to the side of the sutler’s before returning. Slocum drew his six-shooter and started to shoot the man, then froze.

  Davies had joined the man posted in front of the store.

  “See anything, Lem?”

  “Nothing, Sarge. Slocum might still be out there, thinkin’ on ambushin’ us.”

  “Those two fools said he was right behind them. He’s around here somewhere. Keep an eye peeled.”

  “What was the shootin’ about?” Butler asked.

  “Them two won’t be botherin’ us anymore,” Davies said. “The colonel took care of ’em for us.”

  “That’s real thoughty of him. How much longer do we put up with him? We got plenty.”

  “Not enough,” Davies snapped. “The boss says there are new shipments, maybe gold and silver, comin’ through in a week. We get them, then we kin talk about ridin’ outta here.”

  “You put too much store in the Army seein’ us as deserters. You know that ain’t gonna happen, not with the colonel in charge.”

  Davies and Butler walked back to the corner of the building. Slocum holstered his six-gun and pressed Laurel back into the dim, cool interior of the store.

  “There’s no way to get past them,” he said. “If we try, they’ll gun us down. I don’t think I can shoot both of them before the rest of the post is down on our heads.”

  “What’s going on, John?”

  He quickly told her what he had witnessed in the colonel’s office. Slocum found it impossible to keep the bitterness from his voice. He had saved those two soldiers, only to see them murdered by a man they had trusted. All men die, but Slocum felt as cheated as he did angry at Holman.

  “If they’re hunting for you, John, you can’t go outside.”

  “It’ll be dark in a couple hours. I’ll hide in here somewhere.” Slocum looked around the store and wondered where that might be.

  “John! The sergeant’s coming in!”

  Slocum swung around, saw a pickle barrel and wrenched at the top. It was empty but still smelled of brine. He never hesitated as he gripped the rim, jumped in and pulled the lid over his head so he could peer out through a small slit. His legs hurt immediately from the cramped position, and his shoulders pressed into the sides of the barrel, but Davies never so much as glanced in his direction.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” Davies said. “You see anybody on the post this afternoon?” He went on to give Slocum’s description. Slocum couldn’t see Laurel’s face to know if she was giving anything away, but he heard her reply loud and clear.

  “Why, no, Sergeant, but I wish I had. He sounds like the kind of man I’d like to meet.”

  “You wouldn’t like this fellow, ma’am. He’s a low-down snake in the grass. The colonel’s said he’s wanted for killing damn near everyone in a patrol he was supposed to be scoutin’ for.”

  Slocum tensed with rage. Not only had Holman murdered Craning and Zoran, he was blaming their deaths on Slocum, as well as those of the soldiers still on the ground down the road a ways.

  “Oh, then I do not want to meet him,” Laurel said primly. “He sounds like a very bad man.”

  “That he is, ma’am, that he is.” Davies started for the door, then turned. “You look a powerful lot like somebody I know. You got kin on the post?”

  “Why, no, Sergeant, I don’t. But I’d like to.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Why, can’t you guess? My fiancé upped and left me at the altar. I’m in the market to find me a dependable man I can marry.”

  “Do tell? Might be you and me can discuss this more after I run that varmint to ground.”

  Slocum didn’t hear what Laurel said in reply, but it put a leer on Davies’s lips. Try as he might, Slocum couldn’t reach around to his six-shooter to gun down the sergeant. This wooden straitjacket proved to be a boon. Both of Davies’s underlings joined him in the doorway, exchanging whispered instructions, complete with pointing and tapping the stocks of their rifles for emphasis. Davies tipped his hat in Laurel’s direction, then left with the two soldiers.

  Laurel went about her chores, sweeping up and then rearranging items on the shelves, working slowly around the store until she stood beside the barrel where Slocum hid.

  “They’re still outside, John. What are we going to do?”

  Slocum said nothing about her flirting with Davies. It had been exactly the right thing to do to allay the sergeant’s suspicions, but it had also nailed the man’s boots to the boardwalk outside the store. From his limited view, Slocum saw Davies glance into the store, his hungry eyes following Laurel’s every move as she worked.

  “We wait. Go about your business, but don’t let Davies get you alone.”

  “What are you going to do? Other than get into another pickle?” Laurel tittered, then put her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, John. I’m so nervous.”

  “When it gets dark I’m going to see what Holman has in his office. There’s something wrong, and I don’t know what it is—what it all is,” he amended.

  “I’ll be back,” Laurel promised. She bent over, lifted the lid so she could give him a quick kiss, then backed off, rubbing her lips. “Oh, you taste salty.” Then she started to leave the store, just as the sutler came in.

  Laurel and the sutler talked a few minutes; then she left. Slocum settled down inside the barrel, trying to get as comfortable as possible. He found himself nodding off and kept forcing himself to alertness. If he began snoring, the sutler would hear and Davies would laugh himself sick about shooting fish in a barrel. An hour after sundown, the sutler left, closed the door behind him and plunged the store into utter silence.

  Slocum poked his head up like a wary prairie dog looking about. Every muscle aching, he crawled from the barrel and wiped off as much of the brine as he could. The barrel had been empty, but residue remained inside. Before going further, Slocum checked his Colt to be sure the salt hadn’t affected it. Satisfied that the six-shooter was in good condition, he unbarred the back door and went into the cool night. In the distance lovelorn coyotes howled, and nearer, inside the post, he heard the rhythmic sound of boots marching on the parade ground.

  He avoided the punishment detail making their steady circuit of the parade ground and went directly to the colonel’s office. As he reached the door, he saw movement in the shadows. His hand flashed to his six-gun; he drew and aimed for the center of the darkness.

  “It’s me, John. I never knew you were so quick on the draw.”

  “You shouldn’t have waited outside like this,” he told Laurel.

  “It’s as safe as anywhere else,” she said. “Davies is getting frantic trying to find you. He’s convinced you’re on the post, but nobody’s seen you.”

  “ ‘The wicked flees though no man pursues,’ ” Slocum quoted. “Only I’m hot on his tail and he ought to worry.”

  “What are we looking for?” Laurel asked. Slocum herded her into the colonel’s office and closed the door. He went to the coal oil lamp and lit it, trimming the wick to cast only a pale, guttering light across the desktop.

  “I want to know what’s going on at Fort Crumpland. There has to be a set of orders, something. The Army runs on paperwork, and I want to find it.”

  They began a systematic search of the files, reading only a few lines on each page they unearthed. Slocum began to grow more distraught as the pile of papers grew and he still had not found the key to everything happening at the fort.

  “John,” Laurel said, holding up a sheaf of papers. “This is odd. I don’t know what it means.”

  He took the papers and almost discarded them, then read further. Frowning, Slocum sat in the colonel’s chair as he read the remainder of the pages. He looked up at Laurel.

  “This says the new commander was supposed to shut down Fort Crumpland. The Department of War decommissioned the post.”

  “But the colonel’s kept it running. I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t, either. These orders to shut down the post say the commander’s name is Major Wheeler K. Nicholas. I never heard any of the soldiers mention a Major Nicholas,” Slocum said.

  “And they won’t, not ever.” Holman’s cold voice came from the doorway. “I killed him.”

  Slocum looked up and found himself staring down the bore of Colonel Holman’s service pistol.

  15

  Slocum saw where Holman stood in the doorway and immediately reached for the lamp on the desk and moved it to the other side, plunging Laurel into shadows.

  “I wasn’t expecting to be interrupted,” Slocum said loudly. He made a small shooing away motion with his hand. Laurel understood right away that the colonel was behind the door and couldn’t see her. Slocum shook his head when she moved to slam the door into the man.

  “Do you always talk to yourself?” Holman asked.

  “When I find such interesting documents,” Slocum said. He swept his arm across the desk and sent the orders to shutter the fort onto the floor, again drawing the colonel’s attention away from the dark corner of his office where Laurel stood stock-still, a rabbit fearing the wolf’s jaws. The misdirection worked. Holman stepped into the office and aimed his pistol straight at Slocum, never seeing the woman.

  “You won’t live to talk about what you read.” Holman paused, then asked, “What was it you saw in those papers?”

  “You were never assigned to this post. A Major Nicholas was ordered here to shut down the fort and move the detachment to Fort Douglas. The Army did away with this command. That’s why there aren’t any other officers here. They’d all been transferred already.”

  “I killed Nicholas on his way here. It was a sin to close a perfectly good fort.”

  “What else?” Slocum rose, his hand hanging loose at his side. He felt his shoulders tense and forced them to relax. If Holman saw Laurel, he’d have no choice but to throw down on the officer and hope his slug ended the man’s life before Holman could shoot Laurel.

  “You are a clever man, Slocum. Too clever for your own good. They cashiered me. Me! I was a hero, with medals, and they court-martialed me. Disgraced me over a picayune incident.”

  “How trivial? Who died?”

  Holman’s eyes flashed and his pistol hand began to shake. Slocum tensed again, preparing himself for the slug that would end his life. Not daring to take his eyes off the colonel, Slocum shifted away, so that Holman’s back was to Laurel. Slocum didn’t want her to stir, to give herself away, and yet he hoped she could smash something heavy onto Holman’s head. The wild look in the man’s eyes showed an insanity that hadn’t blazed forth before.

  “It was a massacre. How was I to know? I would have been with my men, if I had known they were going to be attacked by so many Pawnee.”

  “So you were booted out and decided to get back into the Army by taking over a fort that was ordered to be closed?”

  “Fort Crumpland,” the colonel said with disdain. “The worst fort in Utah. But I have what it takes to whip it into shape.”

  “You and Davies,” Slocum said, edging around and judging his chances. Laurel stood in the corner of the office, holding her breath and waiting to jump Holman.

  “An officer must work with the men in his command, no matter how inexpert they might be.”

  Slocum frowned at this.

  “He’s killing outlaws and taking their loot. Davies and his men robbed the Newsome bank.”

  “Nonsense. It was that brigand Wilson.” Holman spat out the words.