2
Fort Lancaster was situated on Live Oak Creek not far from where the creek flowed into the Pecos River. As forts went, it was impressive. Two dozen buildings were arranged around a spacious parade ground. Among them were a sutler’s and a bakery, a blacksmith shop and a hospital.
Fargo rode up to the headquarters. He dismounted and tied the Ovaro to the hitch rail. Brushing dust from his buckskins he climbed the steps.
A young orderly sat at a desk, scribbling. His uniform was clean and pressed. “Yes, sir?”
“I’d like to see the colonel.”
Before the orderly could respond, an officer came out of a side office. He was tall and thin-boned and had a stiff bearing. “I’m Major Hargrove. Who are you and what do you want to see Colonel Crowley about?”
Fargo didn’t like the man’s tone. “It’s for his ears, not yours.”
“We expect him back tomorrow. You can leave word with the orderly if you refuse to tell me.” Major Hargrove sounded offended.
“Does he have a daughter named Miranda?”
“That he does,” the major confirmed. “A fine girl. She was the darling of the detachment but she went and married a farmer.” The way he said “farmer” was the way some people would say “cur.” “What about her?”
Fargo decided he might as well. He told him about the wagons and the bodies.
Hargrove grew red in the face as he listened. “Those stinking, filthy savages,” he rasped when Fargo finished. “The colonel will be heartbroken.”
“I’ll come see him tomorrow.”
“Hold on there,” Major Hargrove said, and grabbed Fargo’s arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To get a bite to eat and have a few drinks and sleep for ten hours.”
“I’m calling out the men and you’ll lead us to where you found the wagons.”
“No.” Fargo shrugged loose of his grip.
“What the hell do you mean, no?”
“Major, I rode two days and two nights to get here. I’m worn-out and so is my horse. We need rest.”
“But those women—”
“They were taken four days ago. Another night won’t make a difference.”
Hargrove gave it some thought. “No, I suppose you’re right. It wouldn’t do to go charging off. By now they are deep in Comanche country.” He smacked his right fist against his left palm. “But damn, I hate to think of that sweet girl in the hands of those filthy redskins.”
“What time do you expect the colonel?”
“He should be here by noon at the latest.”
Fargo nodded and opened the door.
“Wait. I didn’t catch your name.”
Fargo told him and went out. Troopers on horseback were on the parade ground drilling and dust hung heavy over them and their mounts.
A quarter of a mile off stood a cluster of buildings. There were saloons and a feed and grain and not much else.
Fargo stopped at the first watering hole. The Tumbleweed smelled of liquor and tobacco and was practically empty. He took a corner table and sat with his back to the wall.
A shapely dove in a blue dress sashayed over. She had big eyes almost as blue as his and a saucy quirk to her red lips. “What’s your poison, you handsome devil?”
“That sign says you serve food,” Fargo said, with a bob of his head. “Any chance of a steak and potatoes?”
“We’re short on beef so the steak will be venison. We always have potatoes.” She leaned on the table and smiled. “Anything else you need, you just ask. They call me Bunny, by the way.”
“Because you have big ears or a cute tail?”
Bunny laughed. “Because when I was little I hopped around all over the place.” She stood back. “The food will take about fifteen minutes. What would you like in the meantime?”
“The best whiskey you have.” Fargo figured he should treat himself after more than a week without.
“Are you with the army? You look to me like you might be a scout.”
“I’m between jobs,” Fargo said. As she turned, he gave her a light swat. “Look me up later. I could use some company.”
“Oh, could you?” Bunny said, and grinned. “Maybe I will and maybe I won’t.” Her bottom jiggled as she walked away.
Fargo leaned back. A night of fun and frolic was just what he needed to help him forget the wagon train. He took out his poke. He had seventeen dollars to his name, enough for the meal and the bottle and to sit in on a few hands of poker.
Bunny brought the whiskey and a glass. She contrived to stand close so when she put them down her hip rubbed his arm.
“The more I look at you, the more I like what I see.”
“Does that mean we’re on for tonight?”
“I’ll let you know when I’ve made up my mind.” Bunny touched a finger to his beard. “I doubt many girls tell you no.” She playfully pinched his cheek and went to wait on another customer.
When his food came, Fargo dug in. The venison was thick and juicy; the potatoes were smeared in butter. There were also string beans. He washed everything down with whiskey and by the time he pushed his plate back, he felt full and fine.
Outside, night was on the cusp of descending. The saloon had filled. The noise level rose: the hubbub of voices, the clink of glasses and chips.
Fargo was debating which poker table to join when trouble started.
Usually saloon fights were over an insult or because someone cheated at cards or someone thought someone cheated at cards. This one started when someone bumped Bunny and the tray she was carrying slipped. A glass of beer tipped and splashed onto a big trooper’s neck and shoulders. Bellowing like a mad bull, the trooper heaved out of his chair and shoved Bunny so hard she pitched against a chair.
“What in hell do you think you’re doing, you stupid cow?”
Fargo’s legs seemed to have a mind of their own. He was at Bunny’s side helping her stand while everyone else stood rooted in surprise. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” Bunny said. The beer had spilled on her, too, and the front of her dress was wet.
A heavy hand fell on Fargo’s shoulder and he was spun around.
“You a friend of this cow’s?” the big trooper growled.
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Bunny said.
“I’ll call you any damn thing I please.”
“It was an accident,” Bunny explained. “Someone bumped me.”
“I should slap you silly. Look at me. I smell like a brewery.”
“You have another problem besides how you smell,” Fargo said.
“What might that be?”
“Me,” Fargo said, and hit him.