It was time to move on. Jason decided he had a need to shake the dust of Fort Fetterman from his heels . . . Maybe find a place where he could forget about Lark and the boy, Bright Feather. Fleming wanted him to stay on but Jason couldn’t summon any enthusiasm for leading scouting parties out after the occasional group of Indians, sickened enough by reservation life to want to escape to pursue a real existence. He hadn’t made up his mind where he was going, but he was going.
That morning, he had invited himself to breakfast with Wes and Ruth Woodcock to take the opportunity to say good-bye and to see the boy once more. Ruth, as usual, was more than happy to see him. Jason knew she felt she owed him a great deal in spite of his efforts to convince her otherwise. Wes was disappointed to see him go but he fully understood Jason’s need to move on.
After leaving the Woodcocks, Jason settled his account with Harvey Singleton and packed his supplies on White. Satisfied that his horses were ready to travel, he had one last call to make and that would be the infirmary.
“Well, you don’t look like you got it too bad in here,” Jason commented when he entered the hospital tent.
“Hello, Jason,” Thad returned. He had been lying on his cot, staring at the top of the tent when Jason came in. He sat up and threw his legs over on the floor. In answer to Jason’s comment, he said, “One more day of this and I’m going to go crazy.”
“When are you going to be released for duty again?”
Thad shrugged. “The doctor said two more days but I’m getting out of here tomorrow. Anything’s better than lying around here.”
Jason studied his friend’s face for a moment. There was a shroud of melancholia about the usually cheerful young man that Jason suspected was caused by something more than physical wounds. Sergeant Brady had been worried about his lieutenant’s frame of mind and, seeing him here, moping about the hospital tent, he was beginning to believe Thad was never going to get over Martha Lynch. Life in a soldier’s occupation was hard enough without carrying any extra baggage over a love unrequited. He was undecided whether to sympathize with the young man or kick him in the ass and tell him to get over it.
“I hear you’re leaving Fetterman.”
Jason nodded. “Today.”
“Damn, Jason, I hate to see you go. Who’s going to save my bacon when you’re gone?”
Jason laughed. “Just don’t go volunteering for no more foolish missions and you won’t need anybody to save your bacon.”
There was a long silence as neither man spoke. Thad found it difficult to put into words how fortunate he deemed himself to be for the time he rode with the tall scout. For his part, Jason saw no need to express feelings that should be obvious.
“Well, I’ll be going. Take care of yourself, Thad.” Jason extended his hand and Thad shook it.
“Wait, I’ll walk out with you.” He picked up his jacket from a footlocker. As he threw it over his shoulder, something dropped out of the pocket and fell to the floor of the tent. Jason picked it up and started to hand it to him.
“Ain’t this the letter I took across the river for you?” He turned it over. “You ain’t even opened it yet.” He ran his thumb across the seal.
“I don’t want to read it,” Thad said.
Jason looked deep into Thad’s eyes for a moment. It wasn’t his nature to attempt to counsel anybody, especially if it involved females. But Thad had the makings of becoming a first-rate cavalry officer and he hated to see him destroying himself, pining his life away over a woman. “Dammit, boy, you’ve got to quit moping around over that girl. Read the damn letter or burn it. Either way, be done with it.”
“I guess I’ll burn it then,” Thad replied.
Jason just looked at him, disgusted, for a long minute. Then he took the letter and broke the seal and read it himself. Thad stared at him in disbelief. Jason read the neatly scripted message, then slowly reread it, his face expressionless. He carefully folded the letter back and looked at Thad.
“Well?” Thad asked, prepared to hear what he had already surmised.
Jason’s stern face suddenly broke into a smile. “Looks like you’re in for more sorrow. She’s on her way back to Laramie and, if I read this letter right, she’s planning on becoming Mrs. Anderson.”
“What?” Thad did not believe what he had just heard. “Give me that letter!”
Jason handed him the letter. “Looks to me like there’s a wedding gonna happen and I don’t want to hang around for that. Weddings make me melancholy.” He left Thad still in shock, reading the letter over and over.
He stepped up into the saddle and turned Black’s head toward the west when he heard his name called. He turned to see Wes Woodcock signaling him from the headquarters building. The sergeant waited for him to pull up before the hitching rail and then handed him a telegram.
“This just came over the wire. I hoped I’d catch you before you pulled out.”
“What is it?” Jason asked and pulled back like he didn’t want to accept it.
“It’s from Colonel Holder. He says it’s important you come to Fort Lincoln as soon as you can get there.”
“What for?”
“It don’t say.”
Jason didn’t say anything for a few moments. “Fort Lincoln . . . hell, that’s way up in Dakota territory . . . northeast. I’m fixin’ to head west.” He looked hard at Wes as if it were Wes’s fault. The sergeant simply shrugged. Jason didn’t say anything else for a long time, then, “What the hell . . .” He turned Black’s head toward the northeast and nudged his ribs gently. The Appaloosa responded immediately.
Sergeant-Major Wes Woodcock stood by the hitching post and watched the scout until he was almost out of sight, loping along, easy in the saddle, the horse and the man moving as one. “Jason Coles,” he said softly to himself and turned to go back in the Orderly Room. He still had tomorrow’s duty roster to make up.