Simon Bone was a bear of a man with a face full of coarse black whiskers that stood out from his face like a porcupine’s quills. He was partial to chewing tobacco, as evidenced by two permanent brown streaks from the corners of his mouth down crusted twin troughs in his beard. Dressed mountain man style, he wore buckskin trousers and a fringed buckskin shirt that had grown almost black with grease, dirt, and smoke. No man had ever seen Bone without his heavy cartridge belt and a Colt Peacemaker stuck, handle forward, on one side. His bellowing voice was as loud as he was big, causing many a man to back quietly away when Bone was in a drinking mood, which was most of his waking hours. The only thing wider than Bone’s shoulders was his mean streak and that was why Jason Coles had no use for the man.
Jason understood and respected a man who turned savage in battle but he couldn’t abide a man who was just plumb mean when there was no call for it. He didn’t like to be around the man. For that reason, Jason almost decided to turn around and come back later. He didn’t have to enter the building to know Bone was there; he heard his booming voice as soon as he was within twenty yards of the door. He considered it a moment but, since the sutler had the only place a man could get a drink and he hadn’t had a drink in quite some time, he decided to go on in. I’m probably gonna have to shoot that son of a bitch before it’s over, he thought.
Jason had no fear of Bone or any other mortal man. It was just that he had his mind set on a quiet drink or two before he rolled up in his blankets. His shoulder, though not quite as tender as before, was throbbing a little and he thought a drink might help him rest.
He paused in the doorway for a few moments to look the room over before he walked in. It was Bone at the bar all right, no mistaking that mountain of dirty buckskin, and from the volume of his voice, he appeared to have a pretty good start on a rip-roaring drunk. That usually meant somebody was going to get hurt before the night was over. Matching Bone, drink for drink, were a couple of troopers, no doubt two of the few soldiers on the post with any money left. It was the end of the month and the paymaster had not arrived from Laramie. Consequently, there was no one else at the bar.
Jason walked in and went to the counter on the opposite side of the building where the sutler stocked his general merchandise. Bone was in the middle of some wild tale about his exploits in the Oklahoma territory, so engrossed in his own narrative that he paid no attention to the tall scout. The sutler walked over behind the counter.
“Howdy. Can I help you?”
“Howdy,” Jason returned and handed him the voucher from Colonel Fleming. “I’m gonna be needing some things. I’d be obliged if you’d run me a credit and I’ll pick ’em up when I need ’em. Right now I reckon I just need a drink of whiskey, something that ain’t too green if you got it.”
“Yessir, I can shore fix you right up, anything you need.” He looked over the voucher Jason had given him and seemed satisfied that it was as good as cash. “My name’s Harvey Singleton. This here’s my store.” He stuck his hand out.
Jason shook it. “Jason Coles,” he said.
The conversation at the bar went dead silent. One of the soldiers started to say something but Bone held up one huge hand in front of his face to silence him. He turned slowly around until he faced Jason and the sutler, the look in his eye pure hatred. Aware of the sudden silence, Jason looked toward the bar.
“Jason Coles,” Bone rumbled softly, his voice just above a whisper. “Jason Coles,” he repeated, this time a bit louder. “Well, I’ll be damned and go to hell.” Without thinking, his hand reached up and slowly rubbed his eye. “Feller told me he saw somebody ride in this afternoon that looked like you but I didn’t put no stock in it ’cause I heard you was dead. And here you be, bigger’n life. Now, why don’t that just tickle me to death?”
Jason met the big man’s stare for a few seconds, then, without replying to Bone, looked back at Singleton. “I reckon I’ll take that drink now, Mr. Singleton.” He walked past Bone and the troopers to the far end of the bar. Singleton moved from the counter back to the bar and poured his drink.
Bone turned, keeping his steady gaze on Jason as he walked past him, a sinister grin parting the dirty whiskers that all but hid his mouth. “Singleton, you’ll serve damn near anybody in here, won’t you?” Jason ignored him, as did Singleton. Bone did not intend to be ignored. For the first time, he noticed the bandage under Jason’s shirt and his eyes lit up with the discovery. “Looks like you run into a little trouble. What happened? That little Injun wife of your’n catch you diddlin’ with the livestock?” He laughed at his own wit, nudging the soldier standing next to him. “Mr. Coles here is one of them squaw men. Ain’t that right, Jason?”
Both of the troopers laughed with Bone while staring at Jason through a drunken haze. They figured right away that Bone was going to provide some real entertainment for them with this trail-weary stranger. It was to be their initial introduction to Jason Coles.
The look in his eye was like cold steel. He glanced at one of the troopers and then the other, silencing them both with no more than his gaze. There was something there that told them this was a man they did not want trouble with. One soldier stood between Bone and Jason and he backed out of the way as Jason walked unhurriedly up to Bone, stopping almost in his face.
Harvey Singleton, silently watching the trouble developing up to that point, suddenly saw the possibility that his establishment might be about to sustain some considerable damage. These were two sizable men and might be about like a grizzly and a mountain lion having a tussle in his store. He decided it prudent to make an effort to head off the trouble.
“Here now, boys. No sense in gittin’ all riled up. Bone here don’t mean nothin’. Do you, Bone?” Bone didn’t answer. He was too intent on keeping his eye on Jason, who was almost nose to nose with him. It didn’t look good. The two soldiers backed out of the way to give them room. “Come on, boys. We don’t want the Officer of the Day down here to close my bar up. That’s what’ll happen if there’s trouble . . . and you won’t have no place to get a drink.”
“Back outta my face, Injun lover, or I’m gonna break your back for you,” Bone snarled. He glanced down at Jason’s wounded shoulder for an instant before locking on to his gaze again. He liked the odds.
Singleton was close to panic. “Come on, boys. Bone . . . Mr. Coles . . . Why don’t you two settle down. Have a drink on it. Lookee here, drinks on the house.” He quickly grabbed the bottle and filled two glasses. “Whaddaya say? Have a drink on me.”
A hint of a smile appeared on Jason’s face. “Why not? Sure, I’ll have a drink with this piece of horseshit.” He picked up the glass and casually tossed the contents in Bone’s face.
Bone roared when the alcohol stung his eyes and immediately reached for his pistol. Jason moved like lightning but it was so fluid that it looked almost casual. By the time one of Bone’s huge paws had touched the handle of his pistol, the barrel of Jason’s forty-four was resting neatly under the huge man’s chin.
“Go ahead, you sack of shit, pull it,” Jason implored, his voice soft and low.
Bone froze. He could see Death’s cold eye. Then the color drained from his face when he heard the hammer cock on the pistol right under his chin.
Singleton pleaded, “Please, Mr. Coles, don’t pull the trigger. It’ll make a mess.”
Jason was tempted to do the world a favor but he decided it wouldn’t be a very good way to start his employment at Fort Fetterman. He reached down and took Bone’s pistol out and laid it on the counter. “All right, Bone, let’s you and me walk real slowly out that door. And you better pray I don’t stub my toe ’cause this forty-four has a real sensitive trigger.”
Some of the color began to seep back into Bone’s face when he realized he might have cheated Death after all but he wasn’t fool enough to make a move. “All right, Coles. You got the jump on me this time ’cause I was drunk. But, by God, this ain’t the end of it.”
“It ain’t, huh? Then I might as well blow your head open right now.” He jammed the barrel up so hard it snapped Bone’s head back.
“No, wait!” Bone yelled. “Dammit, I’m goin’.”
Jason walked him out the front door and started him on his way with a little help from his boot in the seat of Bone’s pants. He held the gun on him while he picked himself out of the dust and stumbled off across the parade ground. “You can pick up your pistol from Sergeant Woodcock in the morning. Take my advice and stay the hell out of my way from now on. I ain’t always gonna be in this good a mood.”
Bone considered making a bull rush at his antagonist but thought better of it. He knew Jason wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him. But it was bitter bile he was forced to swallow, humiliated by a man with one bad shoulder.
Jason stood outside watching until Bone disappeared, then went back in to get his rifle and a few staples from the store. “I think I’ll have another drink now, Mr. Singleton. I spilled my first one.”
“Mr. Coles, I thank you for not shooting that coyote in my store but take my advice and watch your back from now on. Bone don’t cotton much to eatin’ crow.”
* * *
Colonel Fleming had suggested that Jason should take a day to get himself settled in, find a place to stay, and take care of any personal things that needed attention, then report to him for duty on the following day. Jason had thought at the time that he didn’t need a day to get ready. He was always, more or less, in a state of readiness and could have taken the field the next morning if need be. All the same to Jason but, if the colonel said day after tomorrow, he was paying his salary so he’d take the day off.
It was probably a good idea after all because he could take the opportunity to check on Bright Feather . . . or John, as he was now to be called. So, after moving his two horses to a better place to graze, he called on Ruth and Wes. It was well after sunup when he rapped on the door.
“Good morning, Jason. I thought you might be coming by this morning.” Ruth Woodcock opened the door and stood aside. “Come on in and have some breakfast.”
“I don’t want to put you out any, Ruth.”
“Fiddlesticks. You ain’t putting anybody out. I was expecting you. You’ll be putting me out if you don’t eat some of this food I fixed.” She took him by the arm and started him toward the table where her husband was seated, drinking coffee. He greeted Jason with a wide grin.
“When’s the last time you had some hen eggs?” Wes asked.
Jason was not aware of being hungry until he saw the spread of food on Ruth Woodcock’s table. “I swear, Wes, I don’t remember. It’s been more’n a year, I can tell you that.” He sat down and watched Ruth pour his coffee from a huge gray coffeepot. “I figured you’d already be at work by now instead of laying around home drinking coffee.”
Wes laughed. “It’s Sunday. Can’t a man get at least one day off?”
“It is?” Jason was surprised. He had lost track of the days since he had started tracking Black Eagle.
“My goodness,” Ruth clucked. “Don’t even know when it’s the Lord’s Day. You’re as wild as those Injuns out there, Jason Coles.”
Jason smiled and replied, “I reckon.” Her remark reminded him why he had come by. “How’s the boy getting along?”
Ruth smiled broadly. “See for yourself.” She pointed toward the kitchen window.
Jason got up and went to the window. John was sitting contentedly while Ruth’s two sons entertained him. If he was harboring any feelings of fear or insecurity, he sure wasn’t showing it. After a few moments at the window, Jason returned and sat down at the table. “Where’d he get the clothes?”
“They’re some of Lemuel’s hand-me-downs,” Ruth replied. “You should have seen the way that child ate this morning. You must not have fed him for a month.” She shook her head in mock despair.
“When I get the rest of my money for the horses, I can give you a little something for his board.”
“No such a’thing! He’s part of this family now and we don’t charge our younguns board. Do we, Wes?” Wes just grinned. “If you want to stay on my good side, Jason Coles, you better not come up with any more of that kind of talk.” She shook a long wooden spoon at him for emphasis. “And don’t ever think about taking him back. He’s John Woodcock now.”
Jason threw up his hands and laughed. “All right, he’s yours.”
Wes sat there quietly amused by the conversation between his wife and Jason. It didn’t truly matter to Wes if they had three younguns or twelve. He liked having them around. He watched Jason while he cleaned his plate and sopped up the gravy with a biscuit. “Don’t look like you or the boy has et much lately.”
Jason pushed his chair back to give his belly some breathing room. “That’s a fact. I don’t get vittles like this very often.”
“Let’s go out on the porch and set.” He got up and led the way. Jason followed after thanking Ruth for breakfast.
Wes offered Jason a straight-backed chair while he pulled up another one for himself. After Wes packed his corncob pipe and got it fired up, he started talking. “Heard you had a little face-off with Simon Bone last night.”
Jason dismissed it with a shrug. “Wasn’t much, just a bunch of words.”
“Seems to me I heard you had a little set-to with Bone when you was riding scout outta Fort Cobb.” Again Jason shrugged it off. Wes studied his friend’s face for a moment, concerned that Jason might not be taking Bone as serious business. “You know, that mean son of a bitch ain’t all talk. He’s put some men under, Jason, and they weren’t all Injuns. I don’t know why the colonel don’t run him off. He ain’t even around a lot of the time—disappears for two or three weeks at a time—always shows up again to scout for D Troop under Lieutenant Lassiter and the colonel puts him back on the payroll.” He looked straight into Jason’s eyes, looking for a response. The scout remained stoic. “You just be shore you watch your back is all I’m sayin’.”
“I will, Wes. I always do,” Jason finally replied.
They sat in silence, watching the sparse activity of a frontier army post on a peaceful Sunday. After Wes’s pipe went out twice and the load tamped and relit three times, he filled Jason in on the orders for the following morning.
“You’ll be riding out to Camp Robinson in the morning, scouting for Lieutenant Thad Anderson. You know him?” Jason shook his head no. Wes continued, “He’s a good officer, been out here since the war back east ended. He’d probably be a major or at least a captain by now but he fought for the Rebs so he’ll more’n likely stay a lieutenant.” He took his pipe out and looked at it, then tamped it again with his finger, jerked it out when he discovered there was still a live spark, and quickly wiped his finger on his pants leg.
Jason waited patiently while Wes examined the end of his finger and decided it was all right. “Damn,” he swore. “Anyway, Lieutenant Anderson is gonna take a patrol out to Robinson and you’ll be riding out of there for a while.”
“That’s a new one on me,” Jason said. “Where’s Camp Robinson?”
“It’s a post they set up on the Red Cloud Agency to guard the Injuns there. It’s about a four- or five-day march from here, east and a little south.”
Jason thought about that for a moment, then, “Seems to me that would put it closer to Fort Laramie than here.”
“It is. Matter of fact, you’ll most likely go back down the Platte to Laramie and go east from there.” Anticipating Jason’s obvious question, he continued, “Laramie is worse undermanned than we are so Colonel Fleming said he’d spare a few men for a while.” He chuckled and added, “You know the army always does things the hard way.”
“I reckon,” Jason replied thoughtfully. “What’s the purpose of the patrol?”
Wes grinned. “Well, now, that’s the part I figured might tweak your interest a tad.” He knocked the ashes from his pipe on the porch railing and put it in his pocket. “We got a message from Laramie that a band of Cheyennes jumped the reservation over at Camp Supply. One of the Lakota scouts said they showed up at the Red Cloud Agency, been there for two or three days, and they’re stirring up some of the young bucks to leave and go join Sitting Bull. Major Gaston asked for some help to round them up. The part I thought might interest you was he said another Cheyenne renegade showed up, name of Black Eagle.”
Jason’s eyes hardened. So it was Black Eagle who got away that night. To Wes, he said, “That makes it interesting all right.”
They talked awhile longer. Wes filled Jason in on Thad Anderson’s record on the frontier and let Jason know that it was his doing that got him assigned as Anderson’s scout. He wouldn’t be the only scout. There would be two Indians also, both Crow, sworn enemies of the Sioux.
Wes said he had also advised Colonel Fleming to avoid assigning Jason and Bone to the same patrol if he wanted both men to return to the fort. “I don’t reckon you’ll have to worry about that on this detail, though.” When Jason looked puzzled, Woodcock pointed toward the far side of the parade ground to two riders leaving the garrison. There was no mistaking the huge form of Simon Bone, even from that distance. “Looks like Bone is heading out on another one of his little vacations . . . taking along one of his Sioux friends as usual. I swear, I don’t know why the colonel puts up with that man. Like I said, every once in a while he just takes off, sometimes for weeks at a time. Always shows up again and Lieutenant Lassiter always takes him back. Lassiter says it’s because Bone is such a damn good scout.” Wes snorted his contempt. “The only reason he thinks that way is because Bone tells him he is.”
Jason was only mildly interested. “Where does he go when he takes off like that?”
“Who the hell knows? Probably off robbing some poor settler or something. I wouldn’t put it past him.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the two riders until they faded into the morning gray.
When Jason got up to leave, Wes walked with him as far as the Orderly Room. Even though he was generally off on Sundays, he always checked on the Officer of the Day. It was, after all, Wes’s responsibility to run the regiment and the largest part of that job was to keep the officers from messing it up.