“No human varmints to report,” the corporal said. He handed down the large lizard to another soldier. “But we came across a dead horse about ten kilometers west along the river—looked like it’d been there a few days, half-picked clean. Jimbo retrieved the saddle.”
Another patrolman dropped a weathered, leather saddle to the ground, and his pony shuffled to the side.
“Good job, men,” Colt replied. “Sergeant Slater, you have tomorrow morning’s patrol, correct?”
The big, scruffy man shifted his cigar to the other side of his mouth and nodded.
“Keep an eye out for the rider—dead or alive. He had to have come from somewhere.”
The squad dismounted, conversing with their friends, as they led their ponies to the stable, while several others hauled the fresh meat toward the kitchen.
Smiles,Colt thought.I’ll take them.Mercer eyed him from across the yard—granite-jawed, lean power, unmoved by Colt’s minor triumph.
Slater moseyed up to him with a dubious expression. “You think there’s someone out there? That’s crazy.”
“Maybe,” Colt said, meeting his gaze. “Last time I checked, horses don’t saddle themselves. Just watch your six. You are far more valuable to me alive than dead.”
Slater rolled his eyes and smirked. “Well, thanks—I think.”
Chapter fourteen
Shared Ground
Fort Desperado, a week later
After a glimmer of hope, morale slumped back into a coma. Drunken brawls continued despite Colt’s warnings. He needed to establish discipline without further brutality. At least most of the soldiers showed up for their duty assignments. The team guarding the mercury mine rotated, and Colt met them for the first time. None looked impressed.
A watchman in the tower rang the bell, prompting Colt to look up at him. Just as the man boomed out the news, an engine rattled and knocked outside the adobe walls. “The delivery truck!”
Andrew had told Colt it came about once a week, but not on a strict schedule. It was the second-biggest excitement after the day the canteen girls came, which was usually on payday.
“Open the gate,” Colt shouted. He wiped his face with his bandana and readjusted his brimmed hat.
“More beer!” cheered a grizzled soldier Colt had learned was sent here in lieu of prison.
“Mail,” Sergeant Castellano added with a dreamy look. Colt hoped there’d be a letter for him. He dashed into his office to grab the one he’d written to Harmony.
Castellano dispatched a team of soldiers to unload the truck. When Colt returned to the yard, they were heaving the creaky gate open—partway, at least. The truck rumbled in through a cloud of dust before the engine sputtered to a stop. A young man wearing lieutenant’s bars climbed out of the passenger seat.
Thank God, Colt offered in silent prayer. Adopting a pleasant, welcoming expression, he strode across the yard to meet him. Fit and of average size, the brown-haired White man appeared to be in his mid-twenties, his uniform still in good shape. He did not smile. Instead, as soon as they met in the middle, he halted, dropped his duffel bag, and snapped an official salute.
“Lieutenant Marcus Crane, reporting for duty, sir.”
Colt’s eyes flickered with recognition, and he returned the salute. “Captain Colt Irons. Welcome to Fort Desperado.”
“Permission to find my quarters and unpack, sir.” Marcus ground his teeth, a vein throbbing in his neck. His manner bordered on tightly controlled rage.
Though he appeared not to recognize him, Colt knew exactly who had been sent to aid him.Dad’s idea of a cruel joke, no doubt.The last time he’d seen Marcus, he’d been a teenager—idealistic and eager to earn his place in the world. Now, Colt’s father had murdered Marcus’s father, or the equivalent thereof. Instead of heading out with the invasion force, they’d purposely left him behind. Adding insult to injury, they sent him to the boil on the butt of the world … and to Colt.
“Certainly,” Colt said, clasping his hands behind him as Maddox had modeled. “Private Mendez!” he called. His adjunct rushed to his side, eyes wide with anticipation. “Please show Lieutenant Crane to his quarters and get him anything he needs.” He stepped aside, angling toward Marcus. “I’ll catch you up on everything as soon as you’re ready.”
“This way, sir,” Andrew said cheerfully. “The last lieutenant kept a private room off the commander’s office. It’s small, but convenient. The captain stays upstairs.” He hoisted Marcus’s bag over his shoulder, clearly burdened under its weight, the duffel almost as big as the private. “You’ll like Captain Irons,” he chatted as he led the way. “He’s OK.”
“I’ll bet,” muttered Marcus.
A pang struck Colt in the chest. Glancing around the yard, he detected curious looks from those not cheering over the supply delivery. Slater sat on his throne, his court gathered around him, cigar smoke curling as he held an open beer bottle. His keen eyes followed Marcus, as if he were inspecting a new bull just in from the breeder. Across the way, leaning against a post in the shade, Mercer’s gaze remained fixed on Colt. He wiggled a finger. A private rushed to his side, and he whispered something in the man’s ear. He nodded and scurried off.
Two days ago, a crate “fell” from the wall, narrowly missing Colt. When he looked up, he saw no one, and an investigation led nowhere. Castellano informed him there was no reason for the crate to be on the wall to begin with. Without proof, Colt didn’t wish to make accusations, so he let the matter drop and reminded himself of who surrounded him.