Dorothy and Loren were strolling arm in arm along the main road in the bright, warm May morning. They had time on their hands – Brian was minding the Gazette, and at the store Grace was choosing a new hat, and looked like she wanted to ponder it very carefully.
“I insist, Loren,” Dorothy said. “You ain’t giving Cloud Dancin’ his fair share of the profits.”
“Dorothy, dear, you got any idea of how vocal he is in defendin’ his profits?” Loren kicked a pebble. “He don’t need your support, I tell you!”
“I know that, Loren, but if you spent less time arguin’ with him, your business would vastly improve.”
“Dorothy, my business couldn’t be better, thank you, an’ I’d be glad if you...” He stopped and pointed to Michaela’s clinic. “Look at that!”
Sgt. McKay was sitting on the bench just outside the door, fanning himself with his hat. He saw them and nodded a greeting.
They exchanged a look and joined him. “You all right, Sergeant?”
He got up for the lady. “Ma’am, Mr. Bray. I’m quite fine, thanks.”
“You look awful!” exclaimed Loren. “Tell him, Dorothy.”
“You do, Sergeant. You look as if you’d not eaten for a week. Sit down, don’t exert yourself. I hope your turn comes soon.”
“My turn?”
“For Michaela to visit you, of course!”
Jake was walking by with a tome under his arm. “Hey, Loren, borrowed your wallpaper catalogue, Teresa wants to – “ He noticed the earnest small cluster. “What’s the matter?”
“Sgt. McKay’s ill,” said Loren helpfully.
“Actually I...”
“You look like hell,” agreed Jake, coming up to them. “Let me see.”
“Really, Mr. Slicker, no need of that. Dr. Quinn is...”
“I been treatin’ people in this town for years ‘fore she came,” he said gruffly. He took McKay’s wrist. “Pulse’s fast.” He looked closely into his perplexed eyes. “Dilated pupils.” He had learnt that phrase from Michaela, but he sure wasn’t going to admit that right then. He placed a hand on the sergeant’s brow. “You’re hot! You got a bad fever. All in all I’d say... influenza.”
“Influenza?” said Dorothy and Loren, jumping away from McKay.
Jake too moved back a step. “Get yourself at once to your wife’s home an’ stay there,” he warned. They all disappeared quickly down the road.
McKay stared after them, then sat down again, shaking his head.
The door opened and a smiling Michaela looked out. “Sergeant? You can come in now.”
For a moment he didn’t move, staring up at her. Then he got up and went into the clinic, closing the door behind him.
Alison was sitting on the examination table. She lifted only her eyes, and a sweet smiling blush diffused on her face as she watched him come in. McKay looked from her to Michaela and back to Alison, and stepped forward to put his hands on her shoulders.
“About the middle of November,” Michaela was saying. “You’ll become the proud mother and father of your child. Everything will be all right.”
Alison got up, without taking her eyes off McKay’s. He caressed her hair and she laid her hands on his chest. They looked at each other as if they had indeed a slight fever, light-headed and flushed. There was such a moving look in his blue eyes, a smile that slowly distended his lips and relaxed his eyebrows. He bent as if to kiss her mouth, then placed his lips on her forehead. She closed her eyes blissfully, her wish granted, their wish.
“Just a warning, Alison,” added Michaela firmly. “You’re in great shape, but it’s your first child - and I know something about it. Don’t overexert yourself. You have to decide: live at your farm or up at the fort. You must put an end to your rogue nights off.” She smiled.
Alison sighed, laying her face against McKay’s shoulder. Then she opened her eyes and gave a tough look at Michaela. “I can’t leave the farm. I just can’t afford another hired help. I don’t want to get indebted with Preston again. Besides –“
McKay nodded. “Besides, I may not be at the fort from now on. There’s a Captain Bannon up North who needs reinforcements. Marlowe’s inclined to send me.”
Michaela frowned. “You mean – against the Indians?”
“Not if I can avoid it,” answered McKay, sternly. “Anyway it’s all still in the makin’. I don't know the details. Nobody’s made a decision yet.”
Michaela looked concerned. “I know you’ll make the right choice, Sergeant.” She took a deep breath, looked around and lifted her fine eyebrows. “Sort of a slow morning, isn’t it? I’ll give a look outside to see if anybody’s waiting for me.” She smiled at Alison, then went out and closed the door.
Alison watched her go amusedly, then turned to McKay and embraced him tight. Finally their lips met. They stayed like that for long minutes, alternating deep soft kisses with whispered words of love. He gently pulled away from her and placed a hand on her belly. “Middle of November... does this mean...”
“Did they take you in the Army without checking if you can count, McKay?” she said wickedly.
“Valentine’s Day,” he concluded, amazed.
“Seems so. Couple of rather busy days, that.”
“But – this means it’s three months... This means when Fiona tried to kill me you were already...”
“Yes.”
“Oh God. An’ when we quarrelled at Fort Lafayette...”
“Yes.”
“An’ that day you wrestled me on the kitchen floor for the last muffin...”
“Terence... yes. I was pregnant all the time. But I felt well. I just thought I was getting fat, I eat more when you're here. And I’ve been feeling sick in the morning since I was a girl, and my monthly’s always been everything but monthly, so...”
“But didn’t Dr. Quinn –“
“I thought she’d had enough of me, I beleaguered her all the time for the first five months of our marriage...”
“Did you?” he said, moved.
She nodded, smiling.
He kept touching her gently, very curious. “Do you feel something already?”
“No, not yet. If I think about it, yes, I know there’s somebody down there...”
He smiled. “I know, too, I can’t tell how.” He looked at her, suddenly worried. “You look so pale. You sure you can handle mornin’ sickness?”
Alison shrugged. “Why, I told you... that – ooh, what’s this... oooohhh, I’m gonna be sick!” she moaned, doubling over.
McKay grabbed her, making her sit down. “Not here! Come on, breathe... all right... that’s better.” She had indeed paled, and sweat had broken out on her forehead. He sat on the examination table with her, circling her shoulders with his arm. “Shall I call Dr. Quinn?”
“No, it’s going away... ugghhh.” She put a hand on her mouth and waited for the next wave of nausea to pass. She glared at him. “Just stop talking about it, McKay!”
Then she burst into laughter and hugged him. It was contagious. Such a rare sight to see him laugh too, showing small even teeth and looking incredibly young. His eyes held all the light of the warm day outside. Hers were unfathomable velvet, her skin glowing, her lips soft. He kissed her once again, then whispered in her ear, “Let's go, now.”
Michaela was talking with a very apprehensive Dorothy when McKay and Alison got out of the clinic, arm in arm. He paid the doctor, thanked her with a nod and two fingers raised to his hat, and went towards the horses with his wife.
“Is he gonna stay away for some time?” asked Dorothy, concerned.
“I’m afraid so,” Michaela nodded.
“Is it very bad?”
“What?”
“His illness.”
“His illness? Dorothy, Sgt. McKay is perfectly all right! What makes you think he’s ill?”
“Well, why else has he come to see you?”
Michaela looked around. “It’s supposed to be a secret.”
“I won’t tell anybody – unless, of course, it threatens the safety of the town...”
“Oh no, Dorothy!” laughed Michaela. “Alison’s pregnant.”
“Oh. Oh!” Dorothy put her hands on her reddening cheeks. “Oh, dear! What wonderful news!” She hid her mouth and started giggling.
“What’s the matter now?” smiled Michaela.
“Jake diagnosed influenza to him.”
The doctor began laughing too. “You mean Jake mistook a pregnant wife for a case of influenza?!”
Dorothy put her arms around her stomach. “Ah, not bein’ able to tell it at the saloon!”
“Not yet,” said Michaela menacingly. They laughed again. “Poor Jake, he’s excused after all... indeed it looked like influenza, but it was more like a case of the jitters... a very bad case!”
They laughed even harder.
“It’s not fair to the sergeant,” said Michaela at last, drying her eyes. “He’s in for bad times. Alison barely manages already, and he...” She stopped.
“What did you mean, you’re afraid he’s gonna stay away?”
“Dorothy, I don’t know if...”
She looked at Michaela with friendly reproach. “I thought you knew you could trust me.”
“I do,” nodded the doctor with a brief smile. “It seems there’s going to be an expedition against the Indians in the North.”
“Oh no... not the Tongue River Valley Cheyenne, I hope!”
“I don’t know. He’s very doubtful about it. He mentioned a Captain Bannon – it’s not the first time I’ve heard this name, though I can’t remember where.”
“I’ve heard of him too, an’ it was nothin’ good. Oh, Michaela, will this ever stop?”
“Maybe there’s something we can do,” Michaela said, resolutely.
A knock on Colonel Marlowe’s door.
“Come in.”
“Mornin’, sir,” said McKay, entering the office. He took off his hat. “You wished to see me?”
“Yeah. How’s your bout of ‘flu?”
McKay stared at him, immediately on the defensive. “Sir?”
“Just a rumour from the town,” explained Marlowe. “Not much in the mood for jokes, today, are we?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“All right, sit down.” The colonel’s voice became businesslike. He pulled out a map and a stack of papers from under his trilobite, squared them on the desk and leaned back, looking at McKay as he took place in front of him. “Here’s the latest news from the North,” he said. “Some gold miners set up camp near a rocky outcrop, Eagle Top here. Been terrorised by a band of Sioux Dog Soldiers - a mix of tribes, Oglala, Hunkpapa, you name 'em - led by a brave called Two Streams. Comes outta nowhere, strikes hard, then disappears for days.'
McKay examined the map. 'Pretty close to the Black Hills,' he said. 'That's the sacred territory of the Sioux.'
'Not that the miners care about it,' Marlowe said. 'There's quite a mess up there, what with the Army bein' sent to investigate the Black Hills in forces, Red Cloud tryin' to keep his men under control, Sittin' Bull screamin' bloody murder an' all. Eagle Top's a bit outta the main fray, luckily or unfortunately, you decide - Custer don't wanna waste time with it, so he passed the buck to Captain Bannon; but now Bannon's had enough, an' wants to solve the problem.'
McKay nodded. 'What exactly's been happenin'?'
Marlowe pushed the stack of papers over the map. 'Got quite a lotta reports here – no reason to think they’re exaggerated. We know the routine.”
McKay leafed through the papers. He was more of an expert in Indian atrocities than he would have liked, and the words his gaze fell on sounded true.
Marlowe didn’t look at him while he read. “Bannon says his lads are beginnin’ to be unnerved by their guerrilla techniques,” he went on. “He’s askin’ for reinforcements with troops experienced in this kind of things. You’ve had quite a lot of experience with Dog Soldiers, an’ you did a good job down here in Colorado Springs two years ago.”
“Depends on whom you ask,” McKay said ironically.
Marlowe glowered at him. “They’re askin’ for you. You pick twenty men of your choice an’ start tomorrow.”
The sergeant kept silent. At last he said, “If it’s an order, I haven’t got much of an option. Am I dismissed, sir?”
“You’re not!” exclaimed Marlowe. “You gettin’ insubordinate, lad? Livin’ in this town ain’t doin’ you no good.”
McKay remained at his place, fingers playing restlessly with the strap of his hat.
“Now listen to me,” said Marlowe, in a softer tone, “I’m glad you’re the one who’s goin’ there, McKay. You’re a sensible man. I don’t like what's happenin' up there. This mission’ll mean a lot to you personally, too.”
“Why, sir?”
“You’re long overdue for a promotion.”
“Sgt. O’Connor’s report notwithstandin’?”
“Scrap O’Connor. What’s this obsession of yours, anyway? He’s dead!”
McKay shrugged.
“Sergeant,” said Marlowe, “you been havin’ trouble with this lately?”
‘This’ had no precise connotations. The colonel had made a circular gesture around the room. Yet its significance was quite precise.
“Yes, sir,” McKay admitted.
Marlowe let out his breath. “Look - I can get you outta the mission. Influenza, hm? That’s actually a good idea. I keep you here at the fort for some weeks, then you ‘recover’; but alas, your health’s compromised, an’ you resign from the Army.”
McKay lifted his eyes with alarm.
“I know,” said again the colonel, “I’m the one who stopped you from doing just that, last September. I’m still convinced you’re the best in your trade. But I’m tryin’ to be realistic. This won’t be the last time the Army moves against the Indians. It’ll just get worse an’ worse. I don’t wanna - no, I can’t deal with your conscience every time, an’ neither can you, Terence. I’m givin’ you two options. Either you renounce the mission, an’ the Army, or you go on this mission, you get promoted an’ keep your mouth shut for the rest of your career.”
“I can’t resign,” said McKay slowly. “I wouldn’t know what else to do.”
“Rubbish! You’re young an’ resourceful. If you say you wouldn’t want to do anythin’ else – that’s more like you. But that’s part of the problem, ain’t it?”
The sergeant stared at the worn-out surface of the desk. A promotion meant a higher pay. It meant being able to hire a regular help and let Alison take care of her child – their child! - at leisure, maybe getting them to live permanently up at the fort with him, without all the added stress of being worried about the farm. Having the baby to take care of would also allow her to keep to herself and consort less with all those Army wives she so thoroughly detested.
“You can think about it,” added Marlowe.
McKay shook his head. “No need of that, sir. I accept.”
The colonel looked at him, almost disappointed. He nodded and rustled together the papers once again. “Very well. Choose your men and brief ’em.” He handed him the papers. “Then report here at six a.m. sharp tomorrow. Now you’re dismissed, Sergeant.”
For a moment, McKay didn’t move. Those words carried an ominous echo. He remembered the agony of parting from Alison before the Red Needle. He had irrationally hoped such a thing would never happen again, and yet he had to accept its inevitability. The way the options were presented, he had no alternative. And now he knew with absolute clarity what his future life would be like, after that brief spell he had believed he could live in a compromise.
He rose from the chair, saluted and went out.
Corporal Winters was leaning against the corral fence, throwing small apples to the horses and trying to be polite to a superior. “I don’t know, Sgt. Flaherty,” he said, “Sgt. McKay looked perfectly all right to me.”
“Influenza, I tell ye,” reiterated Flaherty. “At least that’s what they say in town.”
“Colonel Marlowe wouldn’t have called him, in that case,” said Corporal O’Malley. “He’d have quarantined him.”
“Well, there he is,” said Winters. “You can ask him.”
McKay strode towards them and didn’t wait to be close to call out. “Winters, choose nineteen men. Have to report tomorrow at six a.m., equipped to go North.”
“Damn itchy woollen underwear, sir?”
“The very one.”
“You sure ‘bout six a.m.?”
“Another complaint an’ it’s three a.m. for you.”
Winters nodded resignedly. So that was it. The rumours that most interested him were true – they were going to fight the Sioux with Captain Bannon.
Flaherty started off after the already departing McKay. “Hey, Terry,” he said, “no chance you’re takin’ me with you?”
McKay turned and answered slowly. “I can’t have another sergeant as subordinate, Flaherty. By the way, tell somebody else I caught the flu an’ I’ll have you reprimanded.”
“Don’t ye be so touchy, now. Ain’t tellin’ nobody. Glad yer goin’ anyway. A great opportunity for ye to –“
McKay stopped him with a pointed finger. “You never learn, Flaherty,” he said. He turned his shoulders and stalked away.
“They say Bannon’s good,” O’Malley said. “A veteran of the war – handled many shootouts with Dog Soldiers.”
Winters shrugged. “I’ve heard he’s a martinet.”
“I’ve heard he’s a sort of renegade,” Flaherty added, coming back. “But his men adore him.”
The young corporal threw the last apple. “We’ll see,” he said, and started off to gather his nineteen men.
Sitting on his bunk in the NCO’s quarters, McKay was preparing his things. His blue overcoat lay neatly on the mattress, along with a small pile of folded underwear. He wanted to have everything ready for the departure; he had every intention of spending the rest of the day in Colorado Springs on various errands. He was rummaging for his maps in the trunk at the foot of the bed, when a private looked in. “Scuse me, sir,” he said, “but Colonel Marlowe would like to talk to you again.”
“I thought he was through briefin’ me,” said McKay, closing the trunk and getting up.
“Two scouts volunteered to join you in your mission,” explained the soldier.
“Two scouts?” repeated the sergeant as they walked towards Headquarters’ porch. He wasn’t thrilled with taking some strangers with him. This mission was sensitive, and he preferred to have only reliable people around. On the other hand, he knew little of the territory. “Well, if them's trustworthy, so much for the better.”
“See for yourself, sir,” said the private, opening the door of Marlowe’s office. Unsuspecting, he stepped inside.
The two scouts were standing before the colonel’s desk, poker-faced.
“Mornin’, McKay,” said Sully.
“Ha ho,” said Cloud Dancing.
The sergeant froze.
“Guess you all know each other,” said Marlowe.
“Is this a joke?” asked McKay, trying to keep his composure. “Do you – do you two know anything about the Sioux?”
“Sort of.”
“A little.”
McKay sighed. Then he turned to Marlowe. “I can’t bring them with me, sir. If Bannon asked for me, it means he knows what’s been goin’ on here.”
“That was two years ago,” said Sully. “We been fully accepted back into the respectable society.”
“But what’s the use?” exclaimed the sergeant. “How would you help me up there?”
“You been called on as an Indian expert. You’ll just bring with you two more Indian experts. In case of talks with the Sioux, they’ll give more credit to us. An’ if it comes to dealin’ with bloodthirsty soldiers, we’ll add the weight of our opinion.”
“I do know the weight of your opinion, thank you, Sully,” McKay said dryly.
“I ain’t gonna blow up anythin’, you have my word.”
McKay looked at them, almost with gratitude. “I’d be glad of your help. But what if somethin’ happens? Bannon’s spoken of as another Custer. What if he turns on you?”
“Why should he?” asked Cloud Dancing. “As of now we are two free and honest men.”
“You know why, Cloud Dancin’!” answered McKay. “You always were a free an’ honest man, for all that it mattered. I was able to defend you at the reservation, but I’ll count for nothin’ in Bannon’s troop! You’ll only get yourself into trouble.”
“The whole Indian nation is in trouble,” answered Cloud Dancing. “It will not be safer if we stay hidden. If we can avert just one more act of injustice, save just one more life, this world will be better.” Then he added, in the same tone McKay had used with him, “You know why, Sergeant McKay.”
Marlowe had been scribbling busily all the while. He handed two sealed notes to Sully and Cloud Dancing. “Somebody gets unpleasant, show ’em this. Ain’t sayin’ it’s the Gospel, but it could save you some trouble.”
“You endorse this madness, Colonel?” said the sergeant bitterly.
“There ain’t no more rules, McKay,” answered Marlowe. “I’m playin’ by ear. If I’m wrong, I’ll take full responsibility.”
“Yeah,” was McKay’s eloquent comment. He saluted. “See you tomorrow, sir.” He went out in a huff.
Marlowe watched Sully and Cloud Dancing file out after him. He leaned back on his chair and looked at the ceiling, worried. It would have been easier just saying no to Bannon - and leave the care of the souls to God.
Matthew was taking a survey of the meadow behind his house. He was planning to build a new corral for his cattle. He had so many things to do and to think about. Dr. Mike had been suggesting he went to law school for quite some time now, but he was afraid he was too old. And he did not want to leave Colorado Springs.
He was measuring the space between two trees with a long string. He looked up and saw McKay approaching after leaving his horse along the old Indian trail.
“They told me I’d find you here,” said the sergeant, by way of greeting.
Matthew looked at him from under the brim of his hat, coiling up the string.
“May I stop a moment?” asked McKay.
The young man shrugged. “Ain’t private property, if you stay beyond that log.”
McKay looked down at the large fallen trunk and nodded. “Matthew, I ain’t gonna waste our time in pleasantries. Nobody said the words ‘I’m sorry’ yet. I’ll be the first. I’m sorry ’bout the way it turned out, I’m sorry your family suffered so much also because of me. If I could go back, I’d try to do things differently.” He waited. Matthew was busy wrapping up the loose end of the string around the coils. “That’s all,” McKay concluded, and turned to go.
Matthew frowned. “Wait,” he said, despite himself. The sergeant stopped and looked at him. “Why you tellin’ me this right now?” the young man asked.
“I’m goin’ away for a mission tomorrow,” McKay explained. “I may be gone a long time. Didn’t wanna leave things unsaid.”
Matthew slung his string on his shoulder. “That’s where Sully’s goin’ too, ain’t it? You goin’ together.”
“Yeah.”
“Is it that dangerous?”
“I hope not. Not for Sully, anyway. He’ll just have a diplomatic role. I trust him to stay outta the melee this time. He gave me his word.”
Matthew looked at the ground, wondering about this new-found bond of trust between Sully and his old enemy. “Yeah, that’s what he told us too. Dr. Mike’s worried all the same, though.”
“Keep an eye on ’em, Matthew,” McKay added. “Though I need not tell you. You know how to take care of people, you were a fine sheriff. That’s another thing I’m sorry for.”
“Are you, now?” Matthew asked coldly, remembering the heart-rending conflict he had lived two years before, when he had been forced to resign. He had no intention of letting the sergeant’s kind words draw him into feeling sympathy for him.
“Yes,” McKay answered. “I did understand what that tin star meant for you, what kind of a sacrifice it was.”
“Sure,” said Matthew, looking about. He had to start measuring another strip of land. He had no time for McKay’s paternalistic attitude.
“It meant you had found your place,” went on the sergeant. “You were what you wanted to be. You finally could do the right thing for you an’ the others.” Matthew raised his eyes on him, astonished, as those words struck him more than he had expected. “It had been all so complicated, but at last you knew your path, an’ you felt it was good. That’s what I contributed to take away from you.”
The sergeant was just standing there, arms at his side, head tilted as if offering his good-will without asking for anything. The sneaking doubt that haunted Matthew became stronger. “How do you know this?” he asked in a low voice.
A vague half-smile smile appeared on McKay’s face. “I’ve been there.”
Matthew felt a rush of angry fear. His hatred for the Army had become a part of him. Feeling it slip away from him now seemed a betrayal, a rejection of all he had ever done for Sully and his family. He tightened his jaws, gripping the coil of string. “All right,” he said heatedly, “if we’re here to tie up loose ends, well, I’m sorry too about the way it turned out! I never really hated you. I hated what you were doin’, your role, that uniform of yours. I always thought you were a damn wasted chance!”
“A wasted chance?” shot back McKay, incredulous. “Don’t start talkin’ like my father!”
They looked at each other. Matthew almost laughed. The dialogue had indeed veered on the absurd. He couldn’t help smiling ruefully, and threw down his coil of string, sitting down on the fallen log. “You coulda done so much more,” he said with earnest sadness. “Even when I reason about it, even when I manage to get over the rage I felt, to understand that Sully and Dr. Mike have forgiven you, why, I can’t help gettin’ mad at the way you just stood there an’ did nothin’.”
“That ain’t true,” countered McKay tiredly.
“Yeah, you went to Denver, an’ what did you obtain? Nothin’!”
The sergeant crossed his arms. “Don’t start me on this once again, Matthew. I told you I –“
“Yeah, sure, you did all you could. How come Sergeant O’Connor did what he bloody well liked at the reservation, an’ you were always hangin’ on to regulations?”
McKay stared at him. He took off his hat and looked at the branches overhead, the portrait of a disheartened man. Then he collected himself, took a deep breath and sat down beside Matthew. “What I’d like you to understand is that I had absolutely no weight in the Army then, any more than I have now. O’Connor seemed to get his way because he broke all rules, but in the end he obtained nothin’ more than bein’ smashed at the foot of a cliff. He counted for nothin’. I count for nothin’.”
Matthew nodded, beginning to experience a new feeling towards McKay. “Is this what they pay you for, to count for nothin’?”
The sergeant looked at him and shook his head, clearly searching for an answer. Matthew went on, “You ain’t a bastard like O’Connor, Morrison an’ the rest. You got good intentions. That’s why I don’t hate you. But is it enough? Now they’re sendin’ you against the Indians once more. What’ll you do? Will you do what they ask you to, or what you feel is right? Your uniform, Sgt. McKay, is a contradiction.”
“Maybe,” said McKay dourly, “but it’s my job.”
Suddenly Matthew was able to place precisely his strange new feeling. It was pity.
He got up from the log, picking up his string. “Sergeant, I gotta thank you for comin’ here today to talk to me.” He lifted his shoulders, regretfully. “You – you understand things can’t get back to normal just like this, with a snap of the fingers.”
“You listened,” said McKay, getting up in his turn and putting on his hat. “It’s a beginnin’. Goodbye, Matthew.”
He walked to his horse and mounted without turning back, riding away fast to Colorado Springs.
Matthew slapped the string against his boots. “Damn,” he said softly.
Horace took the text of the telegram from Alison’s hands and gave it a look. A smile lit up his features. “Mrs. McKay!”
“Your oath, Horace,” she said patiently.
“Course, ma’am. Our little secret.” He tittered delightedly. “I’ll send it at once.”
“Thank you, Horace.”
As she went out, she bumped into McKay. “Just the man I was thinking of,” she exclaimed.
“Alison, what are you doin’ here?” he asked.
“Curious cat.”
“Didn’t mean to intrude.”
She took his arm. “Come on, you soldier! Who’s intruding? You know there’s nothing on earth I would hide from you. Absolutely nothing.”
They stepped down from Horace’s porch. He untied his horse and they both walked towards Alison’s wagon. “I sent a wire to Susan,” she explained. “Things have been a little cold between us, but I wanted her to know she’s going to be an aunt.” Today, she added silently, while I’m still happy, while you’re still with me. “Did you inform your folks?”
“Not yet.”
“Of course – you’re the one who told them you had found a girlfriend only after you got married,” she teased him, climbing up. “Don’t you think you have to notify them sooner, this time?”
“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll write ‘em before he or she gets married.”
They started out of the town at a canter. “I’m due to the fort early tomorrow,” McKay revealed as they crossed the railroad. “We’re leavin’.”
Alison was prepared to that. “How early?”
“Darn early. Gotta be at the fort by six.”
Her happiness clashed loudly with her apprehension. “You sleeping at home?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She clicked her tongue at her mare.
They reached home by noon. The kitchen was empty. He brought in the supplies and she began to put them in the cupboards. She took down some fruits from over the sink. “I wonder if it’s a boy or a girl,” she whispered. “What’s on your wish list?”
He looked at her with the plates in his hands, smiling dazedly. “I don’t know,” he said. “As long as it’s healthy and bright, I’ll take anything. How about you?”
Alison thought about it. “I believe I hope it’s a boy.” So that if his father never comes back I’ll have a man in the house. She tried to dispel that thought.
“We’ll have to think about his godparents,” McKay said, taking out the glasses.
“Oh, come on, we still have six months before us,” she said cheerfully.
Everything she said sounded off-key to her own ears. She had just declared she could hid nothing from him, and yet right now she was concealing her fear at seeing him go away, making small talk to avoid the silence. She tried to tell herself there was nothing to conceal. She wasn’t really afraid, there was no reason to. She noticed one of the small flour sacks was torn. Annoyed, she placed it into a bowl, lifting a thin cloud of white dust.
“All right, let’s go,” said McKay suddenly.
“Where?” asked Alison, surprised.
“Out.” He took a basket and quickly filled it with some towels, a nice chunk of freshly-baked bread, the meat loaf leftovers, a slice of cake and some apples. Under her astonished eyes he grabbed a couple of metal cups and wooden plates, put everything in and rushed her out the door. She barely had time to get hold of her pink shawl.
The afternoon was warm, scented with the May blooms. The sun came down through the leaves of the tree, scattering patches of light over the green grass. A welcome breeze rustled the branches, mixing with the sound of the small stream that ran nearby. They were just some fifty or sixty yards behind the house – if Alison stretched her neck she could see its back wall through the trees – and yet it seemed they were in the depths of the woods. McKay had discarded his jacket and belt, which now rested along with Alison’s shawl near the drying plates. He lay with his head in her lap, looking up at the flurry of leaves. Her back to the tree, she gazed down on his face, running her fingers through his hair and along his features. He was having a small struggle with her other hand, which toyed with his shirt buttons and the ends of his neckerchief, like a naughty kitten.
“Always been the best part of it all,” he drawled. When he was drowsy but didn’t feel like giving in to sleep he tended to get philosophical. “Travellin’ through the plains, every night a diff’rent place – but if you just stopped to look, an’ didn’t think ’bout what you were s’posed to do there, you went ‘oooh’. Such beautiful places. The splendour of the scenery an’ the pure loveliness of the small things around you. It feels like that when I think back on it. Flashes of beauty.”
Alison nodded, smiling. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s been that way for me too, lately.” She looked down and placed a finger at the centre of his hairline. She traced his profile, down from his forehead and along his nose, touching the small dint above his upper lip, then restraining from lingering on his mouth, or their mood would have swerved perilously. She slid down his chin and his throat, finally finding rest in the hollow between his collarbones where she could feel his warm peaceful pulse. All the while he had stared at her with his clean bright eyes, taking in that gesture with equal reverence.
“An’ when I first set foot here,” he went on softly, “I thought it was one of the finest places I’d ever seen. I couldn’t imagine that it was also the place where I’d find what I’d been searchin’ for. The place to stop.”
She restored her hand to his face. “Neither did I.”
“I’ll come back with a promotion, Alison. It’ll be better for me as a sergeant major. Our child’ll grow free. We’ll be a true family, we’ll be together.”
Alison smiled at that fantasy. Her fingers stole back to his small tight mouth. She made a movement towards him. Now she did want to kiss him, but she couldn’t bend that far.
“Wait,” he said, sitting up. Their lips joined, and they embraced tightly. It was not the most comfortable position, and she slid back along the tree till she was lying in the soft mossy grass at its base. He settled on top of her, and she tasted easily his mouth as he caressed her face. A root was pressing into the small of her back and she squirmed a little, finding an even more pleasant position.
He looked down at her in the warm shimmering light. “An’ this will be one of the brightest moments of beauty I’ve ever known, Alison,” he whispered. “This afternoon. Right now. Forever.”
She took his fine hand in hers and kissed each knuckle, then the palm. She wanted to kiss all of his body. Sometimes they were still timid like newlyweds. Michaela had told her she could carry on with “wifely duties” for some months more, and she had looked forward to it. They still had so much to discover about each other.
She caressed his shoulders, feeling his slim solidity, the tightly-knit muscles under his coarse blue shirt. She laughed softly and moved downward to the back edge of his breeches, her fingers getting entangled in the suspenders.
He hummed in appreciation, kissing her jawline, her ear. “Shall we go back in?” he breathed suggestively.
She opened her eyes on the quivering net of sunlight, quickly batting her eyelids to shield out the piercing glare.
“Just one moment more,” she whispered, letting the magic stretch out as much as she could.

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The squad was lined up by the light of the torches just inside the fort’s doors. Sully and Cloud Dancing waited on their ponies a little to the side. Whatever painful parting they had endured in their turn, they took care not to show it. The Cheyenne medicine man had discarded any symbol of his tribe and authority, braiding his hair and choosing a simple buckskin tunic and a blanket.
“Travis is down with the scurvy,” reported Corporal Winters gloomily, trying to calm his nervous young horse. He had really gotten up very early to supervise the forming of the squad. “I replaced him with Collins.”
Still on foot, McKay looked up and nodded. “Collins is good too,” he said. “Have ’em ready to start.” Poor Winters, he thought, a late sleeper who had never really adjusted to the harsh demands of army life and still felt a physical discomfort at getting up before the sun. And poor Collins, who the day before had been writing to his fiancée in the East that everything was quiet.
A quarter to six. The sergeant mentally checked that everything was packed on his horse and that he wasn’t leaving anything useful behind. Field glass? Compass? Heavy gloves, in case it snowed? There, he knew he was forgetting something, after all those sermons to his men.
He stepped quickly into the barracks and went to the small trunk that held all his belongings. He could search by touch, no need to light up the lantern. Ruefully he put aside letters from Alison and from home, his dress jacket and a writing necessaire. He finally felt the woolly gloves, and as he pulled them out he felt something else. A small leather pouch hanging by a thong.
It was a token from long before, something so strange he had often believed it had all been just a dream. He knew it was meant to keep him safe, but knew also he had forgotten it rather quickly. Men had teased him once when he had taken off his jacket forgetting he had it on, and another time it had caught on the edge of his table, snapping the strap. He had mended it as best as he could. But it bothered him to wear it while he slept, and he started forgetting to put it on during the day. The small pouch had eventually found its way to the bottom of his trunk for good.
It was all some Indian superstition, anyway.
McKay hesitated for a moment, then slipped it over his head and tucked it inside his jacket. He closed the trunk, grabbed the gloves and came back out, stuffing them into his rolled-up blanket and overcoat.
Winters was checking the line and the wagon with the supplies. Colonel Marlowe had appeared from his office, tying his neckerchief. He gave a quick survey to the squad and nodded. “Good luck, Sergeant,” he said warmly.
“Thank you, sir.” McKay looked at his commanding officer. “ Will you give me your hand?”
The colonel looked regretful. He held out his hand, and McKay took it gratefully.
Winters was standing beside them. “All is ready, sir.”
The sergeant mounted his horse, and the big wooden doors of the fort opened wide. The sun was already up, a flattened bloody disc laced with clouds. He rode to the top of the column, raised his arm and gave the order to start. They went out in single line, hooves thumping slowly in the cold sleepy morning.

* * *

Alison peered out of the window, munching a piece of old strawberry pie and downing apple juice. Actually she’d felt the unquenchable urge to devour a pumpkin pie, but that was the closest she could lay her hands on in the middle of May. She fondly patted her belly. It was a mystery how these symptoms had appeared only after she knew she was pregnant. In fact she had been randomly hungry many times in the past months, but she had not given it a second thought – she worked hard, she burned energies, and sometimes she also spent the night awake, as she recalled with a melancholy smile. She already missed him like a part of herself – she wanted him close to her and her child. As she cleared the plate of the smallest crumbs she saw a rider approaching along her trail.
She jumped at first, then told herself that McKay’s squad had gone away just two days before. It couldn’t be any news from them. The visitor rode fast but not madly so, a wide hat bouncing on her back. For a moment she thought it was Michaela, coming to tell her once again that she must not put on too much weight. But Michaela never pulled her hair up like that –
“Oh my God, it’s Susan,” she said aloud.
She ran out on the porch. It was indeed her sister, riding like in the old days. Her dress was vaguely dignified and her hat was pretty, but she wore a light cowboy overcoat and a pair of good riding boots. Alison felt relieved that life in Denver hadn’t made her lose her country practical sense.
Susan waved, laughing, and halted the horse. She dismounted and threw herself in Alison’s arms. “Oh, Allie, I’m so glad to see you! How do you feel?”
Alison was at a loss for words. “Susan, dear... what on earth brought you here?”
“Your wire, of course! I wanted to take you by surprise. Eddie wanted to come too, but I dissuaded him... I know how you feel about him. So, how’s it going? How lucky you are, Allie. We keep trying, but there’s no news yet. And where’s your husband?”
Alison was feeling guilty, then happy, then low-spirited, then comforted. At last she surrendered to the delight of having her little sister back, and without the least trace of bad feelings between them. “He’s gone on a mission, two days ago,” she admitted. “I don’t know when he will be back.”
“Oh, Allie! Why didn’t you write that? I’d have come yesterday!”
Alison smiled and embraced her again. “I’m glad you’re here now, Sue,” she said.
“I’ll stay here and help you,” Susan declared, pulling down her baggage from the saddle. “I’ll write to Eddie not to wait for me. I’ll take care of you, sis. Where’s Bella? I’ve missed her so much! Can’t wait to see the children –“ She went into the house, dragging her canvas bags.
Alison let out her breath and smiled. She wouldn’t have the time or the strength to be worried, now.

* * *

The nights were beginning to get really cold. This latest stop among the mountains was one of the most uncomfortable they had encountered. They had slept a little better at Fort Fetterman the night before, but from then on there were no more outposts till their destination.
The troopers were singing “Tenting tonight”, softly around their fire. McKay was sitting with Sully and Cloud Dancing before another fire. A coffee pot was warming on a flat stone beside the flames. The three spent their evenings together, talking about maps and trails, Indian customs and the secrets of the wilderness, and sometimes of those they had left back home. McKay was faintly surprised that Sully had not yet mentioned Alison’s child. Either Dr. Quinn had been really discreet, or Sully tactfully waited for him to bring up the subject. He hadn’t been able to do it. It was a warming thought, a beacon in those merciless nights, but whenever he even thought of telling someone his throat clogged up.
He took the pot with his gloved hands, poured himself a half mug of coffee and brought back his attention to the current topic of conversation. He noticed he’d better listen.
“The Army should realise the price of this war is too high,” Sully was saying bitterly. “Even if they win eventually, what’ll be left of them? That’s what the Dog Soldiers are tryin’ to do. To drag it out to the point when the Army’s exhausted.”
“They ain’t gonna make it,” McKay answered. “If it comes to a battle of wills, the government won’t give in. It’ll become a matter of pride.”
“Indian tribes have all the pride they need,” argued Cloud Dancing.
“But not the means. The price of war, as high as it may be for the Army, will always be higher for ’em. They gotta realise they’re wastin’ their time an’ their lives.”
Winters stepped close. “Got some salt pork an’ puddin’ to spare, want some more?”
They helped themselves. “Thank you,” said Cloud Dancing.
“You’re welcome,” answered the young man. “Say, don’t you feel like goin’ out in the woods tomorrow an’ gettin’ us some fresh meat, by any chance?”
Sully and the medicine man looked at McKay. The sergeant asked Winters, “How’s the state of supplies?”
“Not bad, but men are beginnin’ to complain ’bout cramps.”
“All right,” McKay said nodding at Sully and Cloud Dancing, “you two are allowed to detach from the squad tomorrow an’ see if you can bring us a deer.”
“Thank you, sir, I’ll tell the men,” exclaimed Winters, and went back to his post.
“A good lad,” Sully commented, biting away a chunk of salt pork and washing it down with the coffee.
“An’ a good soldier,” added McKay.
“The best soldier is no soldier at all,' whispered Sully.
“Always the radical, Sully,” said McKay. “This country needs an Army.”
Sully shrugged. They were on the verge of plunging into a discussion not different from those about the railway or the Colorado statehood, and wisely he stopped. “I try to see your point. Maybe the best soldier is somebody who ain’t a murderous madman nor a candid soul hampered by regulations, with respect, McKay.”
McKay shot him a look. “Hey, I may not be the best soldier an’ certainly I ain’t a murderous madman, but I ain’t a candid soul either. An’ as for regulations, they exist, an’ I’ve been taught to follow ’em.”
“You cannot walk two paths at once, Sergeant McKay,” said Cloud Dancing.
“You sound like Colonel Marlowe,” said McKay, irritated. He took a slice of the tough pudding and bit on it without enthusiasm.
“If so, Colonel Marlowe speaks the truth.”
The sergeant swallowed his bite, shaking his head. “I ain’t walkin’ two paths at once. I’m ready to fight for Indian rights an’ you know it, but Dog Soldiers are quite another matter. They kill women an’ children. When you use brute force to prove you’re right, it doesn’t matter if you’re really right: you put yourself in the wrong.”
“It seems this does not apply to the Army.”
“The Army’s entitled to the use of force, wouldn’t be the Army otherwise!” McKay exclaimed. “There are laws to be followed. We didn’t make ’em, but we must enforce ’em. We ain’t bandits. It’s a nasty world, Cloud Dancin’.”
“Sure is,” said Sully, “but who decides when to use force? If it’s you or Marlowe or that kid there, it could even suit me, but all the rest? All the O’Connors of the world?”
“Ain’t up to us to judge the rest,” said McKay, more and more annoyed.
“You don’t believe what you’re sayin’, McKay.”
The sergeant got up. “By acceptin’ this mission I made a choice, Sully,” he stated grimly. “An’ I’m gonna stick to it. Good night.” He strode away to throw himself down on his blanket.
Sully let out a concerned breath. Cloud Dancing was staring at him. He spoke in English, lowly but deliberately avoiding to use Cheyenne.
“I hadn’t heard him talkin’ like that for a long time. I don’t like it, Cloud Dancing. I’ve come to trust him completely, even as a friend, but now...”
“Now he is very frightened,” said the medicine man softly. “Something he once loved has been crumbling down before his eyes. He is trying to hold on to it as long as he can, with any means he can. The longer he resists, the more painful it will be when he is forced to let go.”
“Will he ever, I wonder. You think we’ll be able to trust him when we arrive? Will he behave like he’s always done, or like all the rest of ‘em?”
Cloud Dancing shook his head and did not answer, staring at the flames.

* * *

“We must be close to the settlement,” announced McKay.
The woody scenery was becoming more rocky and barren, with low steep hills surmounted by a few trees. It looked like a reprise of more Southern landscapes. They were on high ground now, and they could see again the sunset in all its magnificence. The air was clean and cold, the puff of their breath sharply defined.
The shadows were long and reddening among the rocks. The column had halted. McKay looked around and lowered his eyes on the map. “There’s Eagle Top,” he told Sully, “an’ that one’s the dry torrent bed. It should be here.”
“A li’l more within the hills, if you ask me,” said Sully.
“Don’t like these hills,” McKay answered. “Perfect place for an ambush. There should be sentries around already.” He signalled the column to dismount. “Let’s offer a less easy target, first of all,” he said, himself getting down. “Then Collins, Coverdale, you two circle ’round these rocks here, tell me what’s behind. Be careful.”
The two troopers had barely started away when McKay noticed a soldier coming towards them on horseback, waving his arm. “Sgt. McKay?” he called.
“That's me.”
As McKay recalled his troopers, the man spurred onward. “Glad to see you, sir. I’m Sergeant Hartford. Captain Bannon’s waitin’ for you.” He was a grizzled man with the air of an Indian Wars veteran, judging by the colourful trophies hanging from his neck and his belt. McKay was simply wondering about the piteous end of standard equipment out there in the frontier, even more than in Colorado Springs, when he noticed one of the items was a human scalp bleached by the sun.
He studiously kept all distaste out of his countenance, hoping Sully and Cloud Dancing did the same and feeling bad for them. They all had to work with these people, it was necessary to get along. He lifted his gaze back into the defiant eyes of the sergeant and said, “Very well. Take us there.”
They all mounted and formed a single line to pass through the rocks. McKay noticed that the place was indeed full of armed, grey- or brown-shirted people, almost blending with the rocks, who looked nothing like soldiers but had to be an integral part of Captain Bannon’s troop. McKay had to admire the way they had kept themselves hidden. Then he suppressed a shiver, thinking he could very well have ambushed them, if Collins and Coverdale’s detour had been successful. Just what they needed, to shoot one another before the mission had even begun.
“Sorry for the armed welcome,” said Hartford. “We weren’t waitin’ just for you. Two Stream’s been restless these days. Usually comes from the North, but you never know with these Injuns.” He talked as if Cloud Dancing and Sully hadn’t been present.
McKay just nodded. “Is he based on a village?”
“Ah, good question, Sergeant. That’s what we’ve been askin’ ourselves. If we find the damn village he comes from, end of story. But he always manages to confuse his tracks. We followed his braves a lotta times, to no avail. It should be somewhere North of here, but the terrain’s very bad. Practically impossible to attack in force.”
McKay knew Sully and Cloud Dancing were getting every word. Attack in force a village, just like Sand Creek, or Washita. And yet the words of the reports from the settlement danced before his eyes, descriptions of people killed unspeakably, things that forced him to remember that he was alive, that Alison was alive and well and all his family and friends were too, and rejoice for it. Did this justify turning on them in the same way? No, a civilised nation should find another way to settle its differences. Yet, if finding and destroying that village meant saving lives at the settlement...
Before he knew, they had arrived. McKay couldn’t understand whether the poor shacks of some miners and their families had gathered themselves around an old Army outpost, or the opposite had happened. Troopers’ barracks and civilian lodges were amassed upon each other, with a stone wall here and there to give some appearance of solidity and permanence. Smoke rose from the chimneys. No telegraph line was visible. The people looked at the comparatively clean and well-ordered line of fresh cavalrymen without many expectations.
Two men came out of a shack. One was a first lieutenant who seemed to take some pride in his almost pristine uniform, a thin, gloomy fellow who could have been a low-pay clerk in civilian life. The other had to be the famous Captain Bannon, thought McKay halting his line and dismounting. A middle-sized man, shorter than him, only a few years older, with a clean-cut black goatee and light eyes. He wore a captain’s jacket unbuttoned over a flannel white shirt and red plaid waistcoat, and with a straw hat placed on his head seemed unaware of the stinging air. He came forward with his hand extended. “You must be Sgt. McKay. Pleased to meet you. We’ll have some use for your experience.” He sounded a little like Preston.
“Thank you, sir,” answered McKay, saluting, then shaking his hand.
“My lieutenant, Pyle. And I suppose you’ve already got acquainted with our picturesque Sergeant Hartford. Did you brief him, Hartie?”
“’Course I did, sir. Told him we expect him to help us find that bloody village.”
Bannon scanned McKay’s men. “Seems you brought a fine crew.”
McKay braced himself. “Captain, meet my scouts, Byron Sully an’ Cloud Dancin’.”
Bannon pushed back his hat. “Sully and Cloud Dancing? You mean the Sully and Cloud Dancing?”
The sergeant had his little cheerful speech ready. “They’ve been pardoned, sir. Their conduct’s been irreproachable for almost two years, an’ they’ve already worked successfully with the Army. Maybe you remember the Windy Creek affair.” He threw in Cloud Dancing for good measure, although he hadn’t been able to employ the services of the Cheyenne medicine man back then, because of the bigoted Windy Creek miners. Cloud Dancing didn’t contradict.
“Heard something of it,” admitted Bannon. Then he laughed suddenly and patted vigorously the sergeant on the back. “You’ve got some nerve, McKay! Well, I asked for you, so I suppose I must take what I get. I hope you know what you’re doing. Because if these two get into some bad trouble, your career ends here, do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, captain,” answered McKay, seeing the glint of steel beneath the eccentric appearance and beginning to understand why his men would battle a dragon for him.
Bannon rubbed his hands together. “Now I suppose you’re all hungry. The kitchen’s not much here, but I hope you –“
A scream came from the rocks over them. “Alarm! Dog Soldiers! Forty men, coming from the North! Alarm!”
McKay looked up. He couldn’t see the sentinel. “Horses under cover!” he shouted to his men. He noticed quickly that the place was full of natural and man-made fortifications, trenches, piles of rock, wooden stacks, and that Bannon’s men were coming out of nowhere, armed to their teeth, as the civilians disappeared into their huts. He saw a cloud of smoke coming from behind the settlement and heard the first shots. Evidently Bannon had similarly covered the North side.
Bannon already had his pistol in hand and gestured at McKay and Winters to follow him. They dived into a stony trench, not before the sergeant had checked that his men and Sully and Cloud Dancing were taking cover. McKay lost track of Bannon’s NCOs, but he noticed the men guarding the South entrance were coming back at a gallop, sabre in hand. Then all hell broke loose.
The Dog Soldiers swarmed upon the settlement, shooting and screaming. Some aimed at the soldiers, but most just made noise. McKay tried to bring down some of them, but they seemed incredibly fast. He heard Sully shout something, noticed him out of the corner of his eye come forward and wave his hands, and saw a glass lantern explode behind him as Cloud Dancing dragged him back to cover. So much for diplomacy.
As some renegades engaged the mounted soldiers, lance against sabre, a man began crossing repeatedly McKay’s field of vision. At times he came so close that they could clearly see his face, then danced away so fast they never had time to take aim. He seemed charmed. He wore a red slash diagonally painted across his face, and his long black hair seemed to stand out from his head. He had to be the famed Two Streams.
“Traitors,” he screamed clearly in English, waving his rifle high. “Traitors all.”
McKay felt another ominous shiver. Black Moon had been an expert and charismatic warrior, but this one was little more than a boy. With the recklessness of boys. He could lead his people to destruction, and drag along with him the lives of countless soldiers.
“Leave this place, or I will kill you all,” shouted again the young chief. “There will be no mercy... no mercy for anyone!”
He took something from between his leg and the side of his horse, something that looked like a rag, and threw it into the trench. Then he turned and spurred away, with another war scream. His braves followed him, delivering some last volleys into Bannon’s ranks.
“After them!” shouted Lieutenant Pyle. He took the lead of the mounted group and together they started their Northward pursuit.
“All useless,” said Bannon bitterly. He looked down at what Two Streams had thrown at him. It was a corporal’s jacket, bloody and torn. The captain picked it up with regret. At McKay’s side, Winters flinched, visibly confronted with his own mortality.
“The North sentries?” asked McKay.
Bannon nodded. “Thank God you’re here, I’m losing too many men,” he said. He got out wearily of the trench and met with Sully and Cloud Dancing.
“You all right?” McKay asked them, receiving a bleak nod.
The captain looked at them. “Well, Mr. Sully and Cloud Dancing, we’ve had a full display of your usefulness. For my part, if your sergeant sends you back to Colorado Springs, I won’t raise objections. And now, gentlemen, I believe our dinner is postponed.”
On the ground remained a trooper and two renegades. “It was just a demonstrative action,” said Sully in a low voice. “I don’t think Two Streams got enough men to wipe out this settlement. Unless, of course, he receives reinforcements.”
“From the famous village?” said McKay.
“Yeah. Whatcha gonna do about it?”
“Come with me, Sgt. McKay,” called Bannon. “Help me recover my sentries’ bodies. You’ll learn something more about our enemy.” He walked away, his step heavy. That man was no Major Morrison, that much was certain.
McKay looked into Sully’s eyes. “I don’t know,” he answered. He turned and followed Bannon, while Sully and Cloud Dancing watched him with worry in their eyes.

* * *

The first rays of the sun shone through the cracked wood of the shack where Sully and Cloud Dancing had spent the night, lying on the floor wrapped up in their blankets, their heads pillowed on their bags, along with some soldiers of McKay’s squad. Sully had been awake for some time. He heard a step outside and sat up. McKay pushed open the door and entered.
“Gotta talk to you both,” he whispered. Cloud Dancing had turned towards him, alert at once.
They went out in the still chilly morning, taking the blankets with them. McKay wore gloves and his overcoat on his shoulders. “You heard Bannon yesterday. Best thing for you’s goin’ back.”
“So soon?” asked Sully, his breath condensing in the cold air. “Yesterday’s been a false start, McKay. If we manage to talk to Two Streams face to face, I’m sure we can - ”
“I don’t think so. This situation’s complicated, an’ I don’t wanna see you two get into trouble.”
“An’ yourself,” added Sully.
“This thought has crossed my mind, yes,” admitted the sergeant.
“This means you do not trust us, Sergeant McKay,” said Cloud Dancing matter-of-factly.
McKay tightened his lips. “Wish it was as easy as that,” he answered. “I’m sure you wouldn’t willingly do anythin’ stupid. Let’s say I don’t think you can be of help here, an’ your presence is a source of worry to me. I hoped the situation was better. As it is, I prefer to have you outta my sight.”
“You makin’ a mistake, McKay,” said Sully in a low voice.
“By choosin’ to come here you put yourself under my orders as scouts,” McKay said flatly. “Now I’m sendin’ you back. Arguin’s not an option.”
Sully stared at him as if he wanted to see all the way through the sergeant’s mind. McKay’s eyes were hard, touched by sadness. Sully felt – no, he knew that McKay would never order or take part in a raid against a harmless village. But he also knew how much he felt bound by regulations. “Not willingly do anything stupid” applied to him also. If they found the village and McKay was ordered to go against it, he’d just say no, like he’d done with Morrison. He’d find himself court-martialled, Bannon would destroy the village anyway and it would have been all useless.
“For the last time, McKay,” pleaded Sully, “we gotta work together. There’s still so much we can do, but only if we help each other.”
The sergeant looked at him in silence for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s too dangerous for everyone, Sully. I shouldnta brought you here in the first place. You have five minutes to pick up your things an’ go. Otherwise I’ll have you confined.”
Sully looked at the thoughtful Cloud Dancing. He gave a good look at McKay, defiantly lifting his face, unbelieving at the sergeant’s stubborness. Then he turned and went back in to recover his bag.
They rode slowly out of the rocks, in silence, away from all eyes, down to the zone where the trees started again.
“What are you thinking?” asked Cloud Dancing at last.
Sully shook his head. “I don’t understand why he did that.”
“He is in a bad position,” said the Cheyenne, quietly. “He is trying to save all he can, as usual. He believes this is best for everybody.”
“He can’t please everybody.”
“Enough of Sergeant McKay,” Cloud Dancing sighed. “He has decided to be on his own, and we must respect his choice. What are we going to do?”
“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
The medicine man gave him a thin smile. “Somewhere up there in the mountains there is Two Streams’ base. If we find it before the soldiers do, we can convince him to come to terms with the Army.”
“Strange hearin’ you talk like that, Cloud Dancin’.”
He looked melancholy. “I do not want to see another Washita, Sully.”
His brother nodded. “They say the village’s up North. If we take a wide enough detour we can try to reach it.”
“Let us go at once, then.”
They started away, ready to ride all day if necessary, hoping to avoid Bannon's scouts. Colonel Marlowe's papers lay unopened in their pockets.

* * *

McKay checked once again his watch, worried and angry beyond measure. Thoughts of terrifying disciplinary actions crossed recklessly his mind. The sun was setting beyond the rocks, the men were preparing for Bannon’s rite of supper, and still there was no trace of Corporal Winters.
Everybody was going out of his mind, thought the sergeant. He had given the young man a regular permit to go out on what he thought was the safe side, after checking first with Bannon who had had no objections. Winters was very nervous, after seeing what was left of his equivalent on the bleak rocks of Eagle Top; he was continuously on the verge of picking a fight with someyone - his usual damn defect, coupled with the other, that of not being able to keep his pants on. There were no damsels in distress around, only the miners’ dour-faced wives, and clearly this reflected on Winters’ temper. But to be fair, the atmosphere of the settlement was indeed getting on everybody’s nerves, what with the civilians’ depressed restlessness and the soldiers’ boisterous attitude. McKay had given Winters half an hour to cool down. After two hours the corporal wasn’t back yet.
McKay was about to ask for permission to go and look for him, when he heard the thump of hooves, and turning towards the Southern post he saw Winters come in on his horse, stop and dismount as if everything had been all right. He approached McKay, hat in hand. “Sorry, sir,” he said aloud.
“Sorry, sir?! Winters, you’re about to be disciplined. You’re –“
“Gotta talk to you,” added the corporal in a whisper.
“What?”
“Now.”
McKay stared at him. He noticed that his horse was sweaty, despite the apparent calm with which they had come in. “Better be a good explanation,” he said coldly. “Come with me.”
He drew him away from the barracks, towards the stables. Winters led his still foaming horse and once inside put a bucket of water in front of it and started taking off the saddle.
“So?” asked McKay, little disposed to mercy.
“I met a band of renegades, sir,” whispered Winters.
“What! Where?”
“South of here, not far. I had barely entered the woods an’ was about to turn back.”
“Gotta warn the captain –“
“No, sir, they weren’t armed for attack. They had no firearms, they were huntin’. Which means –“
They looked at each other. “Which means their base could be South of here, not North where everybody’s lookin’ for it, an’ not too far away either,” whispered McKay.
Winters nodded. He put a nosebag of oats on his horse and started brushing its sweaty flanks.
“Did they see you?” asked the sergeant.
“No. I kept outta sight. Tried to follow ’em, but when they got into open ground I thought it was too risky an’ turned back.”
McKay nodded, all anger replaced by a chilly apprehension. “Can you show me on a map where they were headed?”
“Guess so,” answered Winters. “Sir – you gonna report to Bannon?”
The sergeant was trying to think very quickly, but no amount of reflection could change his answer. “Not yet,” he said.
And quite a large village too, thought McKay, dispirited.
He was lying in the shrubs upon a small height, looking down at the cluster of tepees, among which the first fires began to burn low, dry branches, little smoke hidden by the shadows of evening. Two Streams had been more cunning than his youth could suggest. His attacks to the settlement were so spaced in time, not because he came from far away, but because he didn’t want to reveal that he came from very close.
The village was nestled in the elbow of a river. It had to be just an affluent, but from that height and in the fading light it looked and sounded like a wide watercourse. McKay saw women sitting on the ground, sewing buckskins. Children learning to use their father’s bow. Warriors in circle, talking. All in all, a hundred people.
There had to be something seriously wrong in him, McKay thought. He didn’t feel the slightest instinct to retaliate on them for the atrocities he had witnessed at the settlement and during his whole career in the Indian Wars. He knew that there wasn’t a single soldier in Bannon’s troop and in his own squad – with the possible exception of Winters – who would stop to think before slaying everybody in the village, regardless of women and children.
It was so simple. There were civilians to protect at the settlement too. If they wiped away the village, those people would be safe. Their safety was his responsibility. Lying in the grass in the fading light, his thoughts in a jumble, he leaned his face on his arms, dejectedly.
There had to be another solution, he thought with a stab of rebellion. Two Stream’s ruse had succeeded – so far. It had been Winters this time, but next time it could be one of Bannon’s men to run across the hunters or even the village. But till now, they had no idea about where the village was, and if Two Streams stopped his raids, the soldiers would eventually leave that uncomfortable and bleak fort.
Why had he sent Sully and Cloud Dancing away? How useful they would be, now.
McKay felt caught in a whirl of mistakes. Mistakes made trying to be cautious, to reconcile everything. His mind was still boggled in trying to choose what was right and what was not. His instinct was loudly urging him to act at once.
There was a way to break out of that spiral of doubt. He crept back on his elbows, until he was out of sight from below, and got up. He looked around, perfectly still. There wasn’t a sound. His horse stood quietly in a thicket.
Well, he didn’t have Sully and Cloud Dancing, he must do with what he had. Quite literally. There wasn’t a shred of white cloth in his equipment, aside from his shirt. He quickly took off jacket and shirt, shivering with cold, then put the jacket back on. He had left his greatcoat at the camp. No matter now.
He put his holster and gun into the saddlebag, so that it wouldn’t be menacingly visible. He cut a long straight branch from the thicket and tied his shirt on it. With his makeshift peace flag, he untied the horse, mounted in the saddle and started off to descend from the hill, towards the village.
He had been riding slowly through the darkening wood for some twenty minutes. From Winters’ directions, he knew he was headed the right way. The horse’s plunging hoofs sounded as if they could be heard for miles, and so did his heart. He heard the river, distant in the darkness, a steady, rushing sound.
Suddenly something was upon him from above, and he was dragged down from the horse by a savage weight. He hit the ground hard. Dark shadows emerged from the trees. He let go of his flag and tried to defend himself, but another one was already grabbing his arm. He couldn’t even have reached for his gun, had he had it on him. Now four or five Dog Soldiers were holding him down.
“I come in peace,” he said earnestly. “I want to talk. Please, listen to me. I know you speak my language. I –“
He recognised the renegades’ chief in the dusk from the wild-looking hair. “Two Streams, listen to me!” he called desperately. “Please, I know you understand me, you must listen, you’ll all be killed if you don’t...”
Two Streams drew out a shining knife. Fear choked McKay’s words. He tried to struggle, but they were holding him fast. He thought of Alison and her child. The warrior grabbed the collar of his jacket and tore it open.
If he goes for the heart it’ll be quick, McKay thought mindlessly. Two Streams placed a hand on his chest and hesitated. He lifted the sketchily mended medicine pouch.
McKay watched with growing horror. Now they would think he had stolen it from an Indian, and retaliate in even more inhuman ways. The young chief looked at him, then at the pouch again. He let it fall on his chest and got up. A nod, and the Indians let go of McKay. Then they turned and started away.
Incredulous, McKay dragged himself on his knees. “Do you believe me now?” he called out after them. “Please, listen to me...”
They disappeared in the dark without a trace.
He collapsed sitting on the ground. After the brutal rush of panic, tension abandoned him with equal violence. He was able to keep control of essential muscles - but his teeth started chattering, his breath came in hissing gasps, and his hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t even try to tuck the medicine pouch back inside his torn jacket. He hugged his knees and laid his face on them, his mind a blank, until the shock eased away.
Something moved behind him and he jumped. It was his horse. He held out a grateful hand to the furry searching muzzle. Holding to the reins, he managed to set himself upright. Then he recovered his shirt, untying it from the branch and folding it methodically, before putting it into his saddlebag.
When McKay returned to the camp it was dark and the men were still eating. He got quickly into the barracks, holding his jacket closed, sore and bruised from the struggle. “Fetch me Corporal Winters,” he said to the nearest private.
He had changed into a clean shirt and put his face into the washbasin, when Winters appeared on the threshold. “Sir?”
McKay turned, drying his face. “Get yourself to Fort Lafayette as fast as you can, take this to Colonel Marlowe.” He handed him an envelope. “Somebody must stop this madness. We’re riskin’ a catastrophe, no different than Washita or Sand Creek. He must wire Washington an’ come here at once.”
The corporal nodded at once, making McKay feel proud. “What will Bannon say ‘bout me leavin’ so suddenly?”
McKay shot him a wry look. “Medical reasons. You had a breakdown, anybody can see that. You’re a loose cannon. Battle fatigue, whatever, they’ll believe me hands down.”
Winters smiled briefly. Then he looked more closely at the sergeant’s face in the light of the single lantern hanging from the ceiling. McKay’s eyes were haunted and forlorn, and he seemed pale as death. “I’d be more careful ‘bout who you diagnose battle fatigue to,” Winters said softly.
McKay shrugged. “I’m just bloody scared. Tell you later. Take two men, don’t go near these woods, see that you avoid Custer. Be off, now.”
The corporal still hesitated. “Sergeant,” he said, “I’d rather stay.”
McKay shook his head. “I want you outta this, Duane.”
Winters was moved by the out-of-ordinance use of his first name. “Then I’ll go, sir,” he said, “but first, will you give me your hand?”
The sergeant said nothing. He took the hand Winters offered him, then drew the young man in an hug, patting his back.
“Now go,” he said finally, releasing Winters.
The corporal saluted stiffly and went out of the barrack, and McKay was alone.

End of Part 1 of 2

Theroad more traveled, part v.

The jug had a light mottled bluebackground, and inch-tall purplish-red letters of strange shape, withsmaller green letters underneath the main inscription.

“Four... S-spear – no, that's a'T' – and then 'eight'?” I thought.

The links of the last reddishcharacter straightened out, such that they became clearer, and myerror became obvious.

“Forty-chain!” I spat. “Nowwhat... El Serpente? What?”

As the jug passed, I noted a definitehierarchy among the black-dressed imbibers. All of them wore strangedomed hats of near-shapeless consistency, with droopy brims androunded peaks. The resemblance to stereotypical 'hills' wasastounding, and the drunken 'ardor' of these men was more so. 'Trashed' wasn't nearly a strong enough adjective to describe theiralcohol-sodden state.

The 'chief' – he was known thuslyamong his familiars – then turned toward me. His menacing glarewas mostly hidden by his droopy and dark dust-stained hat, but still,I could feel his irate rage. This man would not bark like a dog whendrunk, I knew; instead, he would behave as an unreasoning enragedamalgam of every mean drunk I had ever encountered.

Unlike those people, however, this manwas armed to the teeth. Two revolvers, one dangling from each hip inheat-checked leather holsters, were supplemented by a slunglarge-bore rifle and a huge knife hanging from a belt-scabbard. Ithen looked closer, and saw those were the man's obvious weapons.

He had more – and less obtrusive –engines of death and destruction hidden in his clothing.

After another pull on the jug, hebrought forth a dark colored 'stick' about four inches long. Thislumpy object gave off a profound aura of crudity, and when he lickedit carefully with a long and snake-like tongue, I wondered if he wasadmiring the flavor.

“That thing looks a little like theleavings of a dog,” I thought.

The man went with his dampened'dog-turd' toward a smoldering campfire, and knelt down near theglowing coals. The 'stick' in his hand, he reached toward areddish-orange flickering mound and placed one end of the stick amidthem. A faint plume of smoke came from first the lit end, then theother – and then slowly, with exaggerated care, the man brought theunlit end toward his smoke-hidden face. He then turned.

“He's s-s-smoking that thing,” Igasped.

The thick gray billowing clouds thatenveloped his upper half seemed a call to all the creatures of thenight, for as I watched, the darkened sky turned a hazy shade of redstreaked with a darkened 'no-color'. This last invaded first the'chief's' eyes, then the eyes of their followers, and finally, theeyes of their foul-smelling mounts.

“M-mules?” I gasped.

The reek of these animals was beyondimagination, and their fractious nature seemed subsumed by the odorsof what might have been another jug of forty-chain applied liberallyas an equine lubricant. They rode off to the north in the night downa gravely 'road' perhaps wide enough to cope with a freighter'swagon, and their near-soundless travel seemed to hide them amid thedarker secrets of the land in which they were traveling.

Here and there in the velvet-likedarkness, I saw small 'accumulations' of hazy lights, most of whichwere stationary, and a few of which moved in a slow fashion. Therewas little noise, at least at first, until the 'road' came closer toone of the sources of stationary light.

The first intimation of peculiaritycame when a green flaming streak flew up from the light-source to archigh into the air before falling slowly some further distance away. As the streak vanished, I heard the bang of an obvious weapon, and Iwaited.

Something else of important naturewould happen very soon.

Another such flaming green streak shotskyward, then a third – and as the second gunshot came to my ear, averitable torrent of green streaks shot up in a crazy fountain overthe course of several seconds.

“What am I seeing?” I thought, asI heard the third gunshot.

The answer came but a second later asthe roar of an obvious automatic weapon pounded on my ears. Thecolumn of horsemen seemed to give it no heed, or so I thought untilone man spoke in a low whisper that carried far beyond my ears.

“Crazy Pancho,” he muttered.

Yet the attitude of the others, whilemouthing a similar sentiment regarding 'Pancho's' profligateexpenditure of ammunition, thought much otherwise as to the weaponfiring it – and only Pancho's unwillingness to sell and maintainsuch weapons kept them from owning one or more examples.

“Is that it?” I thought, as thedream began to 'fade' unto a deeper and darker shade of blackness. “Does Pancho...”

I blacked out entirely, and only awokewhen my bladder truly nudged me.

“What was that dream?” I thought,as I wiped myself after using the 'privy'. “Who were those people? Did they ride n-north, or was it south, or was it even here?”

I had gone to the privy barefoot forsome reason – an over-full bladder figured heavily into themaelstrom of thoughts in my sleep-shuttered mind – and when Ireturned to where my boots and stockings lay, I noted somethingprofoundly different about them.

“They seem to be moving,” Ithought, as I reached for my revolver. “Did something get inthem?”

With revolver in hand, I nudged thenearer of the two boots. A faint hissing noise came from inside, andI drew back. I looked around, and wondered if there were snakes inthe area. The boot resumed moving, and I went around to retrieve mysword.

I used the flat of the unsheathedblade to knock over the boot, and this time, there was no hiss. Theboot shook, then with a sudden bounding spring, a hideousblack-striped scarlet 'bug' leaped out with claws held high andstinger whipping around crazily.

“Oh,my,” I gasped, as the boot shook further. “What is thatthing?”

The 'scorpion' - familiar as to shape,if not color or size – then saw the blade of my sword and lungedwith its stinger thrashing side-to-side. I twitched the blade, andthe bug fell thrashing to the ground in two pieces. It continuedthrashing for some seconds, even while I nudged the boot again.

As if nothing had happened, another'scorpion' lunged out. This time, I did not waste time; I sliced itin half mid-body, and tapped the other boot.

“How many of those stinkers arethere?” I thought, as a third 'scorpion' lunged out of my otherboot to nearly impale itself upon the blade of my sword.

After cutting the third such 'bug' intwo – bug number one lay still, number two was still thrashingfeebly, while number three had barely gotten the message and wasstill trying for all it was worth – I used the sword to nudge bothboots and stockings out to where I could pick them up.

I had to slice two more 'scorpions'once I had done so, and now wondered if my boots were safe to use. I sheathed my sword, then used pincers to grasp the boot nearest me,thinking to upend it carefully over the fire. I was about to beginshaking it out when I heard yawning from the tent behind me.

“Cold boots?” asked Gilbertus.

“N-no,” I said. “There werethese big nasty red-and-black bugs in them, and...”

“We're in the waste, then,” saidGilbertus. “I told the others to tie their footwear off the groundso those things don't get in them.”

As if to admonish me toward greatercare, another example of bug dropped out of my boot and flew into thesmoldering coals of the fire.

“Now watch,” said Gilbertus. “They call those things firebugs, and not just on account ofwhat they have in their tails.”

The 'bug' moved perhaps two inches,then curled up in a ball and burst into flames with such virulencethat I leaped back to dodge the distillate-like fireball and pall ofblack smoke.

“What gives?” shouted Lukas.

“He left his boots on the ground,”said Gilbertus.

“Now how...”

Lukas stopped in mid-sentence, thensaid, “he'd already gone to bed afore you went to tell him.” Abrief pause, then, “how is it you knew about those things?”

“I had this weird dream,” I said,“and when I got up, for some reason I used the privy withoutputting on my boots. I come back to them, and notice they'retwitching...”

“That's firebugs, all right,” saidLukas. “Now how many of those things were in or on them?”

“Uh, five before I brought this bootover,” I said. I held it by the heel with the mouth down, andslapped it hard.

Three more 'scorpions' fell out, andthis time I backed away in time, or so I thought when a fourth oneflew out and jumped toward the nearest tent. Lukas had his knife outand impaled the bug the instant the 'scorpion' landed, then pitchedit into the fire to add to the smoke-billowing holocaust.

“Are these things even safe towear?” I asked.

“That one should be,” said Lukas. “If you have some Geneva, put a small cup in that boot and put iton the buggy-seat for a little while, then shake it out good when weleave.”

“Uh, the Geneva poisons the bugs?”I asked.

“I'm not sure if those things canbe poisoned,” said Lukas. “I am sure they don't hold on verygood when they're pickled.”

I doused the boots in Geneva aftershaking them both out a final time, and when we were about to leave,I shook them out again.

No less than four more'trashed-looking' 'scorpions' fell out.

“How many of those things did youget?” asked Karl, as I doused my boots again. I would ridebarefoot for a while, as I did not wish 'scorpions' in myboots.

“Uh, I'm not sure,” I said. “Why,do you know about them?”

“Only what my uncle told me,” saidKarl. “He said that they were common in the mining country, andone wanted to tie one's shoes and boots off of the ground.”

“And put strong drink in them,”muttered Kees. “That's the only good use for forty-chainbrandy that I'm certain of.”

“What does that do?” I asked.

“It makes them turn loose so you canshake them out,” he said. “Only burning kills those things.”

While there were questions for Keesbefore we started, there were none for me and why I was riding withstockings only. About half an hour out, I heard a muttered oath frombehind, and turned to see Lukas dumping more 'scorpions' outof my boots.

“Do we need to get someforty-chain?” I asked.

“I am not certain,” said Gabriel. “I meant to tie up your boots last night, but I fell asleep beforeI could do so.”

The woodlots that we now encounteredseemed positively dessicated, with sparse grass showing gray-green inclumps in the areas around watering troughs. This grass seemeduncommonly well-gnawed, as did the yet-sparser greenery in the wideheath-covered 'swales'. These last gave the terrain an undulatingcharacter, and the gentle rolling of the High Way but added to it.

Farmsteads seemed scarce, even iftraffic-rutted side-roads were not, and about two hours after settingout we were passed by a postal buggy. I suspected we would see butfew more of such vehicles, and when we came to a small town about anhour later, I noted the buggy jacked up with its wheels off in theshade of a tile-covered alcove next to a postal hostel.

I tried shaking my boots once westopped, and nothing came out. I was about to put them on when Ifelt a strong 'hitch'. I went for my tub, and reached the aquavitjug.

“Now I did not think o' that,”said Lukas. “I dosed those things with enough Geneva that Kees ishunting some up in that Mercantile.”

“Uh, there's still something inthere,” I said. “Are those firebugs poisonous?”

“Aye, they are,” said Lukas. “That's the other part what gives them their name, is what happensif they plant that spike in their tails.”

“What happens?” I asked.

“The pain is terrible,” saidLukas. “I've heard tell it can kill, it's so bad, and more thanone person has entered a monk-house when they got over being spiked.”

“Uh, why?” I asked.

“They thought they were being cookedfit for Brimstone,” said Lukas, “and when they didn't go up insmoke, they thought they'd been warned twice too many times.” Abrief pause, then, “it isn't like it was long ago, when one had tolive a blameless life without cease or stint.”

“They had to, uh, prove their..?”

“Aye, and there isn't much that goesfurther that way than becoming a friar, or so most think,” saidLukas. “I know better now.”

“What is it you know better?”asked Karl. He had two full jugs, and both of them smelled of beer.

“What's a better proof of goodliving,” said Lukas. “I thought living in a monk-house was untilwe came out of the second kingdom.”

“What is better, though?” askedKarl.

“I would not speak of it asbeing better,” said Kees. He had two jugs also.

“What, then?” asked Karl.

“Being given to that pendant,”said Kees. “I am not sure if I can compare it to much else, and Idoubt if it is all that wise to do so.”

“Those jugs?” asked Lukas.

“They had some Geneva,” said Kees,“as well as some aquavit. I purchased some of both.”

Hidden Hills Cabins

“Uh, forty-chain?” I asked.

“I'd try dousing those things withaquavit first,” said Kees. “I'm not certain what has happened tome, but I seem to be learning things I was never taught, either athome or at school.”

I poured a small cup of aquavit ineach boot, then put them in the front of the buggy prior toremounting Jaak. Within moments of resuming travel, I heardmuttering coming from behind, and I turned to see Lukas tossinganother 'scorpion' using his knife.

“Is it working?” I asked.

“I have no idea how those thingskeep coming out of your boots,” said Lukas, “but that aquavit isgetting to them. This is the second one I've poked since you lastdosed your boots.”

“Is that a curse?” I thought.

To my complete astonishment, I knewbeyond all reason it wasn't but seconds later. There wassomething about sweaty footwear that firebugs found veryattractive, such that it drew them from considerable distances; andmore, such bugs were fond of each other's company, so much so thatthey 'broadcast' their finds of a boot nature.

“Hence, if one bug finds a sweatyboot..?” I thought.

“Every such bug within 'hearing'distance comes 'running',” said the soft voice, “and the same forfood, shelter, and water.”

“Broadcast?” I asked.

“Firebugs have well-developedolfactory senses,” said the soft voice, “and more, they have awide variety of pheromones with which to communicate with oneanother. The 'smelly boot' pheromone is especially potent, with only'fresh meat' and 'water' having greater range.”

“What kind of range?”

“Your boots had about half thefirebugs in that woodlot,” said the soft voice, “and a goodlyproportion of those of the surrounding area were in transit. Miners,though – those people have especial trouble.”

“Uh, how?”

“Near-unending darkness in the minesprovide firebugs with almost unlimited opportunities for travel, andhence they are not limited by their lack of speed,” said the softvoice. “There were bugs two miles away that smelled the pheromoneemissions, and those first bugs smelled your boots at over a hundredyards.”

“And the bugs?” I asked.

“The 'die-hards' are finally beingovercome by the fumes of aquavit,” said the soft voice. “Anotherdose in an hour, and by noon the bugs will be entirely gone.”

I was glad of the frequent stops, evenif a lack of footwear made for 'tender feet', and when I poured afresh dose of aquavit in each boot, Lukas was glad.

“They've been mighty scarce the lasthalf hour,” he said, “and I've been thumping those boots regularso as to get them out.”

“You spoke too soon, Lukas,”muttered Gilbertus, as he shook out a dampened 'scorpion' of unusualsize and then trod it thoroughly into the ground. “That one wasabout ripe.”

“For exploding?” I asked.

“Those don't explode,” saidGilbertus, “but they can start fires on their own if they're ripeenough.”

The idea of 'incendiary scorpions'upwards of four inches long was not a pleasant one to contemplate,and at our next watering stop, I thought to shake my boots further. This time, nothing came out, even when I used Lukas' pole, and Ithought to put them on.

The cool damp sensation I felt upon mytoes seemed an uncommon harbinger of hell's arising in the form ofburning pain, and I thought to remove my foot and pray first. I putmy hands around the lower portion of my right boot, and 'aimed' itsopen 'mouth' out away from the others and toward a dessicated copseacross the road.

Within seconds after beginning prayer,I felt as if not completely present, and the boot squirmed crazily inmy hands, much as if it were alive. It bucked like a pistolrepeatedly, even when I continued praying, and only when it became'still' did I notice the heat. I then opened my eyes.

A narrow fan-shaped area stretchingnearly fifty feet in length was blackened with soot, while severalsmall fires blazed furiously amid a faintly oily scent mingled withthe nauseating reek of aquavit. I looked at my boot, and now knewbeyond all doubt it was clear of vermin. I then looked around.

“Where did everyone go?” I askedfeebly.

“Behind the watering trough,” saidSepp. “I had no idea you had fireworks in your boots.”

I did the same with the second boot,and when I opened my eyes, I had trouble believing what had happened.

“That c-copse is gone, and the wholearea looks like it was burnt to a crisp,” I murmured.

“'Taint half of it,” mutteredLukas. “I've never seen such bugs as what came out of your bootsthen, as they were trailing fire and smoking like falling stars, andthat was the bugs. There were other things, too.”

“Other things?” I asked.

“I seemed to see some bad men I onceheard of,” said Lukas. “I hope it ain't them.”

“Uh, who?” I asked.

“One's named Hecht,” saidLukas, “and the others, except for one, I disrecall. All of 'emhave prices on their heads.”

“That one person?” I asked, as Ishook my boots a final time.

“He's named Sam,” saidLukas. “Sam Brumm.”

I was glad to be shod again when weresumed, and gladder yet for dampened clothing and hat. Ahead, pastperhaps one more small town, lay the border; and beyond it, lay amystery. I looked around at the now dessicated remainder of thefourth kingdom, and saw gray-green 'heath' all-but unbroken, withoccasional groves of scrubby trees or copses showing a trifle darkerabove the brushy 'sea'.

“At least most of these pumps work,”mumbled Gabriel, between gulped beer. “There isn't much out inthis area.”

“A town ahead, perhaps an houraway?” I asked. “The border..?”

“That's just beyond the town,”said Lukas. “The border has its share of trouble out this way,and...”

A brilliant blast of light came a fewhundred yards from the left, and as the thundering roar washed overus, I noted the thick black smoke billowing lazily up into the sky.

“That was a...”

Gabriel's speech was cut off by a reekof such intensity I began to see colors, and behind me and to eachside, I heard the sounds of nausea coming to the fore. I turned tothe side and began retching myself, and only after a few seconds didI think to ask that the stink go elsewhere.

It left with such alacrity I wasalarmed, and I ceased retching. I asked a question but secondslater.

“A bug?”

“I'd think that likely,” saidGabriel. “I take it you asked the stink to leave. Did you?”

I nodded nervously, then shaded myeyes with both hands, and ahead saw what might have been ableached-out town far in the distance.

“Are we on the top of a hill of somekind?” I asked.

“There are hills to the south ofwhere we are,” said Gabriel, “but beyond that, I am not able tosay. It is almost as if I never came down here.”

“Did you?” I asked. Heat-wavesshimmered crazily on the road ahead. They seemed to yell for thecompany of water.

“Eight or nine times,” saidGabriel. “While spinner parlors aren't worth much in one'sreports, the waste was a very seldom subject at Maagensonst. My best notes came from those trips, in fact.”

“Seldom subject?” I asked.

“No one would go there,” saidGabriel. “I heard talk more than once that the west school hadlunatics to spare, and they could go down into the waste to die.”

The word 'lunatic' seemed to seize apart of my being, and I recalled the vague thoughts I had hadregarding guard training and notes speaking of them – as well asthe comments of at least one person.

“...I wish you could write down alot of the stuff you know, rather than what that stone-headed wretchspoke during those lectures...” came the voice of recollection.

“Perhaps that would be a title forsuch notes,” I thought. “The Lunatic's Manual.”

There was but one further wateringstop prior to the 'border town', and upon reaching its outskirts, Icould feel an aspect of 'mourning'. The 'main street' – easilyhalf a mile long in this sparsely-settled 'town' – seemed awash indust and reeking with the scent of blood, and the side-streetsbranching off every hundred yards or so seemed dead to the world andall else.

While silence was not present, theusual 'hubbub' common to fourth kingdom towns was also absent, and Ithought to stop at a Public House if one showed. Faint speech camefrom the rear now and then, with words I could not decipher, and whena Public House actually showed, its roofed 'parking lots' were jammedwith horses, buggies, and wagons.

“Is it lunchtime?” I asked, as Icame to a small less-crowded region on the south side of the massivestone-walled building.

“It is that,” said Gabriel. “Somehow, I doubt that to be the cause of this town's silence.”

“Do you..?” I asked.

“I'd bet someone was shot,” saidLukas. “Talk had it there was trouble down this way recently.”

The somber sensation did not diminishnoticeably when we went inside, and while the others went to the rear'bar' of the place regarding beer and bread, I stood and listened. Faint upon an unseen wind I heard people similar to those of mynight-before dream, and as I paid attention to such matters, I hearda faint thundering seem to come from the south.

I ducked down, even as a hissing whizcame steadily closer, and I was deep in the sawdust on the floor bythe time it passed over. It continued on for some distance, and thencame to earth with a crash and roar that made the ground shake.

I came to myself with someone's handupon my arm, and I looked to see an open door ahead. I tried tospeak, and could not, at least until I was 'ready' to mount. I thensqualled out a warning.

“Down!” I yelled, as I dovefor the dirt.

“What are you doing?” asked Karl,as he came from the buggy-seat. “We need to leave this place, asthe brigands are causing trouble.”

And as if to punctuate what Karl said,a howling scream flew just above the roof of the Public House todetonate but a second later. I tried to dig deeper in thehoof-churned dirt for a second before 'coming to'.

“No time for it,” said Lukas, as Igot off of my knees. “They're closer than those people thought.”

I now had to 'mount up' in the face ofone of my worst nightmares, that of being under artillery fire, andonce I had done so – with a face gone white with terror – Inearly screamed. I could feel another shell being rammed home intothe breach of the gun, and I led off at a near-trot. I wanted ayard-thick concrete bunker to hide in, and nothing even closeto that status was handy.

As we came to a gap formed by thejoining of our road and a side-street heading to the right, I heardthe muffled roar of the gun firing, and I had all I could do to nothunker down and let Jaak have his head. He was restive...

“You don't like gunfire much, doyou?” I asked.

The answer I received was of suchintensity that I nearly fell off into the dirt, and I began to pray –not merely for myself, but for the group and Jaak.

He didn't cope at all well withartillery shells landing close by, no more than I did.

The shell screamed overhead so closethat I involuntarily ducked, and the window of the shop across fromme vanished in a blinding red flash and billow of smoke to scatterbits and pieces all over our party.

“Ow!” yelped someone to the rear. “That hurt!”

“Best get a move on, then,”muttered Lukas. “At least he's got the right idea.”

Another hundred yards, then the roadbent to the right. A wide-open stretch to the right showed moreheath and copses for perhaps several hundred yards. A copse somedistance away erupted billows of smoke, and now, I could no longerrestrain Jaak.

He bolted as if crazed.

I now wondered what was happening, somuch so that when he darted behind a tall mound of stone blocks on a'vacant lot' I was surprised. I 'fell off' as a wet smacking soundcame from the other side of the stones, then another, then a third –which was followed by another howling sound that seemed impossiblyclose. I huddled down next to Jaak, who was laying on the groundbehind the piled stones, and as I unslung my rifle, the howling...

Became louder...

And was subsumed by a titanic eruptionof fire and smoke that billowed around me in a thick and noisome fog.

The reek of powder was unmistakable,so much so that as I went to my knees, I watched carefully forshell-splinters laying hot and sharp to catch the unwary. I spottedmy first instance but a second later.

“C-cast iron,” I muttered, as Ibrushed the sizzling smoldering thing aside. It was not a smallfragment.

I came to the edge of the stones justas another howling shell brushed the top of the stones and pinged offinto the air crazily as if a massive rifle bullet. Its warbling notespoke of a loss of true, and as I tried to bring my rifle up to bear,I heard a volley of distant gunshots.

Their deep-toned roars reminded me ofthe handful of instances I had heard roers fire audibly, and thesounds of lead impacting mingled with the shrieks of ricochets spokeof the shooters not merely having the range, but also being goodshots. I gave up the idea of standing or kneeling, even as anothercannon shell came screaming downrange.

I flung myself to the left as thething came danger-close, and the blast tossed fragments of stonecrazily into the air. I came back that way, now even more wary thanbefore, and when I did, I came in crawling.

“Th-there's a tunnel here,” Imurmured, as I brought my rifle forward.

The copse was still billowing smokefrom its latest volley, but as I watched, I saw movement both within. Faintly, I saw what might have been a darkened hole some distanceaway in a second and larger copse, and in a third such copse, I sawwhat looked to be another such 'hole'.

The furthest away copse seemed to bethe most active, for some reason, and when I began aiming at it, Iwondered briefly as to why. The eruption of red flame that came fromit soon spoke as to why; I could almost see the shell flyingmy way. I hugged the dirt for an instant, then knew what I needed todo.

“I need to shoot those copses,” Ithought, as I lined up on the copse furthest away.

This shell flew wide, for some reason,even if the scream of travel followed by the blast seemed terriblyclose. I began looking closer, until the foliage seemed to thinwhere I was looking to uncover a familiar-looking varnished box.

“Dynamite?” I thought, as I drewto full cock and aimed about three feet above it.

The rifle fired almost before I wasready, and I wormed out of my 'hide' to the sound of gunfire. Ibarely got clear in time before first one bullet flew but inches pastmy leg, then another came 'too close' as several more bullets madeeerie pings and whines that were swallowed up seconds later in aneruption of such massive quality I expected to see more rocks fly.

I began reloading, and as I thumbed ina bullet, I heard more gunfire. This was of a different tonecompared to that of the thugs; more importantly it was to the northreferenced to the copses. A faint scream came from some distanceaway as I removed the ramrod, and then another booming roar sent ahowling shell downrange.

Only this time the shell was intendedfor someone else, not me.

I wormed my way back into the tunnel,and at first, I did not believe what I saw. The furthest-away copsewas billowing thick black smoke, while the two nearer ones werefrantic with activity. I aimed at the larger of the remaining two,only this time I aimed for a spot near the ground just under theplace where that one 'black hole' had been. It was no longer facingme.

I was ready for my rifle when I firedthis time, and while I was not surprised at the stab of recoil, I wassurprised seconds later at what happened to the far-off copse.

The first thing I saw was a smallwhitish flash, then a billow of red-yellow flame that engulfed thecopse. I then recalled the need to move, and jerked out of the wayas a spattering of wet smacking sounds hit all over the stones, thenmore hideous noises erupted to the west.

“They're rattled enough that theiraim has gone south,” I muttered, as I dumped another load ofpowder.

“True, though you underestimated thedegree,” said the soft voice. “Losing those guns didn't helpmuch, especially as that members of that first crew you shot wereleading the attack.”

“And those other people shooting?”I asked.

“Are people living in town,” saidthe soft voice. “The last group doesn't have 'high-value' targetshandy, so they will need greater care than the artillerymen.”

“High-value?” I asked.

“They loaded their shells with asemi-smokeless small-arms propellant,” said the soft voice. “Inshells such as they are firing, it gives about twenty percent moreblast with the same amount by volume. Then, there was somedynamite.”

“Dynamite?”

“You shot a box of it that firsttime,” said the soft voice. “The second time, you hit theirfriction igniters, which started a fire that got into both shells andcannon-powder.”

I came back to my hiding area amid thecontinuing scattered shots, then looked at the third and last copse.Faintly, I could see numbers of black-dressed thugs loading andfiring, and I waited until I lined up on one before drawing to fullcock and then firing.

The roar of the rifle seemed to echoin my ears, and when the copse suddenly billowed smoke, I jerked tothe side. I was quite surprised to not hear the sounds of bulletshitting my hiding place, and when I came back with a reloaded rifle,I was more than a little surprised to see two black-dressed thugslying stationary on the ground near the last copse.

“What happened?” I asked.

“You hit the first thug in theneck,” said the soft voice, “and the bullet struck the secondthug's weapon near the hammer. It misfired and spat its breach-blockin its firer's face.”

“The other thugs?” I asked.

“Will continue shooting unless dealtwith,” said the soft voice.

“Do they have, uh, strong drink?”I asked.

While there was no answer, the growingsense I had was 'it's worth a try'. I reloaded, crawled back to my'hide', and began looking carefully.

Within seconds, the brush of the copseseemed to go gauzy. I counted four thugs still effectual among thenear-dozen that had originally occupied it, with several laying stillon the copse floor in slow-growing pools of blood, and two otherwounded thugs passing a jug between them.

I centered on this jug, and as one ofthe two thugs set the thing down, I fired at it. The abruptness ofrecoil and report pounded upon my ears until the copse eruptednear-colorless flames.

The screams of burning thugs grewlouder as the frontal wall of the copse came down, and the thugswithin came out swinging their weapons upon each other. A gunshotcame from the west, then two more, and one of the black-dressed thugsstumbled and fell. His flames went out forthwith.

“What are those people shootingwith?” I asked.

“Most of the townsmen havebetter-made larger muskets,” said the soft voice, “while two inthat group have weapons similar in concept to those of the fifthkingdom.”

“Hence enough range?” I asked.

“That added range does but littlegood for people who seldom practice,” said the soft voice. “Theyare not fifth kingdom thugs.”

I had reloaded by now, and I aimed atone of the still-standing thugs. While his flames had died downmarkedly, he was still on his feet and fighting with his fellows. AsI got comfortable with the sights, I noted a small mob of peopleswarming toward the still-standing thugs, and when I fired, thatseemed a signal of sorts. The thug I had aimed at dropped like astone.

The remaining thugs broke off theirfighting and began running for the safety of their copse, with the'citizens' in hot pursuit and firing their weapons. The two fallenthugs were left behind, and when the citizens came upon them, twopaused to fire at the fallen at 'powder-burn' range before rejoiningtheir swarming fellows.

A third thug dropped but feet shy ofthe copse, and as he staggered to his knees, the 'frontal' portion ofthe copse went back up to provide concealment for the refugees. Thefallen thug crawled to the copse and weakly slapped the brush withhis hands.

“Do those people think they can hidein there?” I thought, as the weakened thug still slapped at thenow-obvious 'hide'.

The 'citizens' came rushing up to thecopse, and while the fallen thug was shot and killed immediately, thelocation of the remaining thugs seemed such an imponderable mysteryto the citizens that I myself was shocked. The thugs had 'hiddenthemselves' quite well, if I went by the reaction of the citizens;only one reason occurred to me to account for such an obvious ployactually working.

“Is that a curse?” I muttered. “If it is, it needs to go to hell where it belongs.”

The copse abruptly ignited withexplosive force amid enraged screams, and the 'citizens' fired theirweapons into the burning holocaust again and again, until the screamsdied away to be subsumed by the soft crackle of flames.

I retreated from the 'tunnel', and asI lay flat against the stone blocks, I noticed Jaak was now standing. I stood up with my rifle in my hands, and looked around. Nowheredid I see the others, and as I began cleaning out my weapon, Iwondered just where they had gone.

“Clear to the other side of town, nodoubt,” I thought, as I removed a filthy patch and dampened a cleanone with spit. “I don't blame them much, actually.”

By the time I'd finished cleaning andreloading my rifle, however, the aura of 'dead' in town seemed to beslowly vanishing, and when I mounted Jaak, I noted slow movement tothe north along the 'main street'. I turned to see the group comingup slowly with exaggerated caution.

I waited, now turning toward the sceneof battle to the west. All three copses still smoldered, while the'citizens' dragged numbers of black-dressed bodies into severalpiles. I could almost smell the reek of distillate on theslow-moving winds, and the whole tableau seemed to burn but onething into my brain.

Even here, many people, perhapsmost, were such that they lay in thrall to the will of witches, andonly witch-nurtured thinking, goals, and behavior existed in theirminds. I had seen the evidence plainly, and that with my own eyes,and I sat lost in thought while the others came up.

“It was you they were shooting at,”said Gabriel. “Are they all dead?”

“What?” I gasped. “How?”

“They left us alone once you hadgone ahead,” said Gabriel, “and...”

“No, it isn't that,” said Lukas. I could hear a plain reproach in his voice. “We got under cover,same as he did, only his was a lot more exposed. Then, he drew themonto him by shooting at them.”

And, muttered softly, “a good thing,too.”

“Uh, why?” I asked, as I took myplace in the column. “How was it good?”

“None of us have weapons with thatkind of range,” said Lukas from behind, “and neither do most ofthe people in town.”

“But...”

“No buts, Gabriel,” said Lukas. “What I have might manage two hundred paces if I hold steady, andthe other things we have are worthless at half that distance.”

“And what I have shoots muchfurther,” I said. “I knew I had to put those people out ofcommission before we could continue traveling, and they wereshooting at me.”

“At you alone,” saidGabriel. “Jaak left just in time, as the bullets nearly hit therest of us.”

“That's to be expected,” saidLukas. “Those brigands might shoot fairly good, but at thatrange, they do well to call individual people.”

The impression I now had – Gabrielwas not listening to anything remotely plausible; he had becomefixated upon his thinking, and would not give that fixation up– was sufficiently troubling that our arrival at the border properamid scattered buildings came as a near-complete surprise to me.

The 'border' had two sizable stone andwood buildings with a sizable crossing guard, and this weathered'log' raised silently to let us pass. We had come from 'the land ofenchantment' – not witch-enchantment, at least for the most part;this was mostly a matter of one's mind and senses – and into anarea that seemed to have well-hidden brigands / pfuddaarn /black-dressed thugs hiding behind every scrubby tree and dessicatedcopse I could see.

That was for the portion that layabove the surface of the ground.

Below lay long weary drifts compoundedinto mines; and there, one found floods, cave-ins, deaths, anddestruction. The upper and lower levels mingled had a distinct aura,one best described as being violent, bloody, and most of all refinedcruelty; and this was so much so that I was reminded slightly of theways and means of Norden.

I quickly learned I was not the onlyone, for out of a mire of oblivion, Gabriel spoke at length.

“This kingdom shall not desire newsof retribution,” he said, “and while Cardosso died when his chiefcity burned, his attitude migrated south. This area acts as if itwas taught at his court.”

“And..?” I asked.

“And it was a very poor learner,”said Gabriel. “Cardosso commonly used poison, but he knew enoughto not ingest it. That cannot be said of those in the fifthkingdom.”

“The miners?” I gasped.

“They might well be different,”said Gabriel. “They endure things nearly as bad as swine, hencethey might well give ear, especially if they work or live nearhaunted mines.”

“That special, uh, iron..?”

“There is that mine, and possiblyothers,” said Gabriel. “I am not certain how such mines compareto the cellar.”

A brief pause, then with outstretchedarm, Gabriel said, “I am certain that is the beginning of thatfreighting road.”

“How?” I asked.

A low chuckle came from behind, then“look to your left.”

I did so, and nearly fell onto theroad.

Aweathered wooden sign topped with a crude-forged iron arrow specifiedthe distances to three towns, these being 'Kraag', Ersenbach, andMeerburgh. The distances spoken of were not in miles, however; theywere listed in Laengen, a term that at first eluded me.

“Laengen?” I asked. “Leagues?”

“Only the fifth kingdom uses thatold unit of measurement,” said Gabriel, “and there are threemiles to the Laeng.”

“Now I would not say that,” saidLukas. “I've heard that spoken in the second kingdom's backcountry, and a few places in the third.”

The High Way began to curve gently tothe west as we came to the turnoff proper, and once on the gentlyrutted dirt track before us, I noted the surrounding territory. Wehad indeed left the fourth kingdom behind entirely, if I went by whatI saw.

While the road itself was softer andlooser than most roads at home, I knew that was but the seeming. Ourcurrent road headed roughly south-southeast, with rounded hillsshowing in the distance ahead and to the right. Much further away,more hills showed to the left and front, where a narrow gap permittedpassage of our road.

There were no towns close by, and thedry and dessicated 'heath' around us looked more and more like'sagebrush' with each passing minute. I could see 'copses' dottingthe otherwise monotonous landscape here and there to each side, andthe few and scrubby trees commonly had either birds perched in them,or what might have been animals under them.

“Is that a goat over there?” Iasked, when I pointed to one of the shade-bound creatures.

“Aye, it is,” said Lukas, “andit looks to have escaped from the valley.”

“Unhealthful to eat, and seasonedwith flies,” muttered Gabriel. He sounded as if enduring anightmare. “Spices bring their weight in dust of gold to hide thetaste of such evil meat.”

“What?” I asked.

“Flies are rare at home,” saidGabriel. “They are not rare here.”

“Flies?” I asked.

“They'll show soon enough,” saidLukas.

“Towns?” I asked.

A brief spate of silence, then, “thosetend to be scarce, and what's in them tends to be scarce, too.”

“Really small Public Houses?” Iasked. “Huge Mercantiles?”

“Aye, both of those things,” saidLukas. “Only the fifth kingdom has true south-style Mercantiles.”

“True..?” I asked.

“The ones we've seen so far that waywere but the stink of the mule,” said Lukas. “Here, they havethe mule that makes the stink.”

“And no greengrocers, correct?” Iasked.

“I've not heard of any,” saidLukas. Gabriel seemed to have swooned, for some reason, and only hisremaining upright made for wondering.

“I hope he doesn't have heatstroke,”I thought. “I don't begin to know how to treat it.”

“Do these Mercantiles sell nearly'everything'?” I asked.

“They don't sell bugs,” saidLukas, “nor do they sell dirt. Otherwise, if people will buy it,they seem to have it.”

Our first watering stop was nothingmore than a wide place in the road with fresh ruts and a longwatering trough made of reddish-brown badly laid brick. The pump –larger and cruder-looking than anything of the sort I had seen yet –was faintly tinged with rust amid its peeling yellow and red paint,and as I looked over the buggies, I noted faintly the odor of mules.

I had to cease with my labors once thepump began groaning, however, and only my working it until itregained prime was enough to permit pumping water. I returned to thebuggies, only to hear the pump once more groaning less than a minutelater.

“Wonderful,” I thought, as I swungthe weathered handle through its long arc again and again. “I'mnot going to get much checking done.”

Smoke Hidden Hills Stable Valley

“Karl, come here,” said Lukas. “He's got to stay near that pump.”

I overheard scraps of conversationbetween the two men about what to look for when checking hooves whileI continued pumping, and after a minute, I let Kees try. He seemedto manage, the pump continued belching water, and I went to finishthe buggies.

I barely finished the 'oiling' beforethe pump began groaning again.

Once I had 'reprimed' the pump,however, I heard a faint buzzing noise to my rear, and I looked outover the horses to see which of them needed attention while Seppworked the pump. The noise drew nearer, and I turned to see what itwas.

The source of the noise first provedelusive, for it seemed inclined to hide amid the 'sagebrush'. Iwaited, both for the pump's groaning and the other noise; and when astrange creature arose to draw slowly nearer, I wondered as to whatit was. It was making the buzzing noise.

Three globular portions of increasingsize from front to rear were joined by thin threadlike stalks to oneanother, while the whole was suspended from near-transparent panes of'glass' that rapidly moved. As I watched this slow-moving thingdrone closer, I noted the front portion had two glossy black roundedprotrusions and a long 'poker', and the rear portion, a long andcurved 'tail'. The central part had, in addition to the rapidlymoving 'wings', a sizable number of legs.

The finger-long creature seemedsuspended as if to defy gravity – it looked far too heavy to fly –for it moved in a lazy and aimless fashion, and its thick and unevennoise reminded me of an ancient outboard motor in dire need ofmaintenance. It turned around in mid air, all the while buzzing asif stupefied, then slowly it 'flew away'.

“What is that thing?” I asked. Icould not restrain the hint of hysterical laughter.

“A fly,” said Sepp, as he finishedpumping to the sound of the pump's grating croak. “They're a lotmore common down here because it's always warm.” He paused, as hewent for a jug, then after pouring a cupful of beer, he said, “homeis seldom warm enough for those to show, and I'm glad.”

“Uh, why?” I asked.

“Flies are trouble,” said Sepp. “I've shot them before.”

“With what?” I asked.

“Small stones from a slingshot,”said Sepp, “and I've heard of people using muskets filled withlead-filings.”

“Especially that type,” said Karl. “That was a manure-fly.”

“Is that why I smelled mules?” Imuttered. “I hope those are not going to be overly common.”

As we resumed travel, I had theimpression that 'manure-flies' were very common where we wereheading, and the drearily rolling hills that had 'materialized'seemed a fit harbinger of dryness and decay. There were trees– small, stunted, single or in small groups, and dust-gray forcolor – but beyond those, the 'sagebrush', the road, and the fainthigh clouds overhead in a blistering light blue desert sky, thereseemed no life to be had.

I was surprised at the road'snear-silence and lack of dust, and the muffled clop of the horses'hooves mingled with the faint dry hissing of the buggy wheels seemedan appropriate backdrop for trouble. I was looking for itconstantly, and the others regarded where we were with an emotion Icould not identify.

“This is not romantic,” Ithought. “I might have been to places like this before...”

“At least there is some grassstill,” said Lukas. “We may have to gather it when we camp atnight.”

“Gather it?” I asked.

“Go out in pairs and cut the stuffwith knives,” said Lukas. “There are some better watering spotswhere seed might have taken.”

An hour's travel and two wateringstops later, we came to an obvious 'crossroads'. I could feel a town'some distance' ahead, and as I stopped to get my bearings, I heardGabriel trying to say something. He was having uncommon trouble withit.

“What is it?” I asked,

“P-p-p... I cannot say that word,”he muttered, “and that for the first one. Those others bother me.”

“Which..?”

I turned to see another road sign.

Unlikethe previous one, this example had been nipped by a bullet, and as Imouthed the words, a sense of horror grew with the passing seconds. There were mules named Plugs, and the worst of them were indeedGenuine, and now...

“Mekhicho?” I gasped. The wordcame out as 'Mexico', and now the dreaded three-word description wasindeed made whole and complete. I mouthed the dread incantation, andthe sound of “Genuine Mexican Plug” in my mind was indeeda fit curse.

Gabriel was scribbling something inhis ledger between mumbling about lips able to speak the unspeakable. From behind, Lukas asked me how to say the words.

“Poo-Eh-Blah Meck-He-Cho,” I said,with the 'C' of the last syllable being barely pronounced. The soundwhen spoken in the original language was much closer to what Irecalled.

“Now that makes sense,” saidLukas. “There was talk of some places that did a lot of businessin mules, and that might have been one of the names.”

“In the Valley?” I asked.

Gabriel looked at me in stunnedhorror, and resumed writing.

The gentle undulations of the roadmade for hidden details, and as the hours 'droned past' one by one, Icould feel the town coming closer. We had passed two more road signsand several 'crossroads', and coming to the top of a larger-thancommon rise showed an obvious town less than a mile distant. It was'midafternoon', or perhaps a bit later, and as we came closer to this'outpost of civilization', I noted its small number of buildings.

“This place might have fourbuildings,” I thought. “At least it has a place with food.”

For some reason, the vegetation seemeda trifle greener near the place compared with further away, and atthe outskirts of this town, I noted buildings of stone, dried-outwood, mud, and perhaps thatch. These small places had laboriouslyscratched-out plots of what might have been vegetables, and as ourweary group passed one of them, I saw a young girl dipping out waterfrom a bucket onto individual plants.

The spread-out nature of this town wasthat of the fourth kingdom's border amplified, and with each further'farmstead' – I found it difficult to think of a 'farmstead' ofsuch small size, but I suspected those operating them received ampleincome – I could feel and smell the town proper coming closer. Faint on the wind I smelled what might have been mules and distillatemingled, and I barely stifled a gag.

The 'farmsteads' thinned out withsudden abruptness. To our right and just ahead was a long narrowbuilding of gray-toned weathered wood; its stoop showed both fadedwhite paint and the lack of a second story, while windows ran downits side like a row of lead-crossed portholes. The remains ofonce-gaudy signs lay to each side of the single centered whitewasheddoor, and the huge unlit collections of brass and glass to each sideof that door had meanings indecipherable.

The noise, confusion, reek of strongdrink, and intermittent faint and hoarse yells from inside were easyto understand, and I mouthed my feelings with barely audible voice.

“No, I do not like bars, and thatgoes double for rough ones,” I muttered, as we left that horror inour wake.

Faintly-marked dirt trails headed allthrough the roadside 'sagebrush' from the center of 'town', and theother two 'main buildings' showed shaded by small groves of'eucalyptus' trees.

To the left was a building labeled asbeing a Public House, and its exterior was beyond 'unprepossessing'. I knew not what to make of a building made in the guise of afarmstead, save far larger: walls of mud-slathered gray rock, a thickweed-strewn roof of poles, brush, mud, and perhaps the bones of thedead; a weathered door of wooden planks flung wide open to double asthe sign; and a rag-draped open hole in the wall...

“That looks like the door,” Ithought, as we came into the empty lot that fronted on the place.

Across the road and somewhat south wasa much larger building of similar construction: it had two plankeddoors, one flung each way from its doorway; and above thatcloth-barred hole was a faded sun-bleached wooden sign spelling outthe word 'Mercantile'. The watering trough to its right was barren,while two 'farm wagons' were parked in front of the left example.

Dismounting, however, reminded me ofthe first 'building' we had found in the town, and after dismissingit mentally – “I am not going near that place” – I had aquestion.

“Do miners go there?” I thought.

There was no answer, and I beganlooking over the buggies while Lukas and Gilbertus began inspectingthe horses' hooves.

The pump held its prime, and each ofus in turn pumped a few strokes into the trough as the horses wereled to it. With twelve horses drinking, we took turns pumping untilthey looked to be nearly 'done'. I then followed the two older menbehind the cloth drape and into the Public House.

The ambiance of the place made for rawnerves the instant I saw it, for it was more like the interior of amine than any place I had ever been before. The lighting – dim,flickering, and somewhat sulfurous – threw ghostly shadows inprofusion, and the sawdust-covered floor, the worn plank tables, theweathered timbers sprouting from the floor – all of this made methink of a mine. I watched my feet carefully so as to avoid thepart-hidden narrow-gage rails used for moving ore and equipment, andwhen I glanced around to see the remainder of the place, Ihalf-expected to see more rails, mining cars, picks, shovels,hammers, drills, fuse...

The list went on endlessly down theghostly halls of nightmare, and when I came to a long and narrowtrestle table scarred with knife-cut graffiti, I wondered as to myseat for an instant.

At least, until I saw the thingitself.

There were profusions of seat-polishedcopper nails, and softly shining brass corners setting off darklyvarnished wood, and the brass latch in front over a faded markingspoke at once of what was present.

I nearly fainted, and it was all Icould do to not turn and run out of the place, even as I came closerand cautiously lifted up the lid. My thanks were audible when Ifound the box empty, and the hilarity of the others seemed of anotherplace and time.

“That box wasn't empty long,” Imuttered, as I reached into my bag for the vial of fever bark. Myhead was pounding.

“What?” gasped Gabriel. “I havea headache, and until you opened that box, I did not have it. Whatwas in that box?”

“D-dynamite boxes f-for seats?” Igasped.

“Those are common here for seating,”said Karl, “and my uncle spoke of places like this. Why?”

“He asks me 'why' when I've founddynamite in boxes like that?” I thought. “I do not want to beblown up!”

“Karl,” asked Gabriel with a traceof pique, “how many times have you been blown up?”

“I have been lucky that way,” saidKarl. “I have not been. Why?”

“He was, and more than once,” saidGabriel. “That would be for explosives. There were many otherinstances on top of that. That kind of caution may seem excessive tous, but I doubt greatly it is excessive for him.”

After sitting down, I looked aroundthe room while attempting to suppress the shaking feeling I feltinside, and to my surprise, I learned we did not have the placeentirely to ourselves: a trio of what resembled 'drovers' indust-stained clothing were sitting at a table nearby, and muffledsteps in the background spoke of at least one person walking around.

As I looked closer at the drovers, Irealized the laughter had been confined to our table. These threemen had seen my reactions, and had thought them neither excessive norparticularly unusual. I wondered why for an instant until I recalledHans' common attitude toward much of the basement's contents.

“I'd bet he'd have checked that boxtoo,” I thought.

A minute's sitting, perhaps two, and Ifelt up to asking a question: “do they have cots here?”

“That Mercantile across the road hassome,” said one of the gruff-voiced men I had thought drovers, “andI would hurry. If it gets out that they have cots, there will be arustle for them.”

“Aye,” murmured one of thedrover's companions, and all three hoisted mugs and drank. The secondspeaker finished his drinking first, then continued.

“And you'll need to shoot your wayin,” he said. “That would be double-true if they are good onesfrom up north, and those they have are them.”

I stood up, and made to leave. As Iexcused myself, I overheard faint scraps of conversation, much ofwhich spoke of 'ace powdermen' and their careful ways. I came to thecloth barring the doorway, then glanced out of a small worn placewith a hole.

There was no apparent activityoutside, even to the north, and I carefully thrust the cloth aside. I hurried across the dirt road at a rapid walk, with one eye to thenorth on the 'bar' until I had passed the threshold of theMercantile.

“Th-this place is huge,” Ithought, as I slowly went up one of the myriad narrow aisles, andwhen I saw picks and shovels, I marveled.

“Those look to be decent,” Ithought, as I examined the blade of a shovel.

The next thing I found were chemicals.The labeling was similar to Grussmaan's, even if the contents werevastly different, and when I came to the cots, I was amazed to findtwo head-tall stacks. A minute's looking showed the cots of one stackwere but slightly more costly than the others, while their materialsand execution were markedly better. I then walked slowly toward thecounter.

There were two clerks, each of thembusy with one or more drovers, and as I rested my arms on theweathered boards of the counter proper, I heard faint clumping stepscoming from the hidden vastnesses behind the counter. These lastwere hidden by more shelves, and when I saw first a head show betweena pair of these shelves, then the entirety of a person between thenext two, I realized suddenly that the Mercantile had a basement.

This made for wondering: “do thesepeople live there?”

The third individual came up to whereI was with a dented mug in his hand. The color said 'pewter', andhis purposeful drinking named him dehydrated.

“Do you have glass-blower's wire?”I asked.

“That we do have,” said the clerk,“and for sale. Freighters like that stuff for toothpicks.” Abrief pause, then, “you look to be after cots and other things,too.”

“I am,” I said, “but why do youask, out of curiosity?”

“You look like a powderman,” hesaid, “and not a common one, but one what leads a gang of 'em. Howmany times you get blown up?”

“S-several times,” I said. “Why?”

“You seem uncommon careful,” hesaid, “and that's what it takes to set powder and not get killed.”

He left for the rear of the shop, andmoments later came back with a leather pouch. This he set upon thecounter, and extracted a sizable coil of silvery wire, an old-lookinghammer, and a somewhat battered chisel. I dug a gold monster coinout of my pouch and put it in front of me.

“Aye, you're serious, then,” hesaid, as he began uncoiling the wire and laying it on top of atarnished brass scale. “One, two, three, four, and five. There.”

He marked the wire with the edge ofthe chisel, then hit the striking end with the hammer after movingthe wire onto a 'safe' place. The 'snap' of the wire being cut spokeof a very hard metal, and when he began coiling the cut piece, thestruggle he endured spoke more on the subject. He tied my small coilwith a piece of thick and greasy string, then moved the coin to theside.

“The cots?” I asked.

“Those would be ten each,” hesaid, “unless you buy more than five. Then, they are eight.” Hepaused, sipped from his mug, then asked, “the better ones?”

I nodded, then dug out three more goldmonsters and a large silver piece.

“Aye, I thought so,” he said, ashe moved the coins to the side where the other gold monster heldcourt.

“Uh, wagon grease?” I asked.

“We do have that,” he said. “Howmuch are you after?”

“A smaller tin,” I said. “Also,some caps. Those need to be, uh, stiff ones.”

While he went 'hunting' for the thingsI asked for, I dug out another gold monster coin, and his returnshowed a sizable tin of 'number one first quality' grease and a boxof caps nearly nine inches to the side. I opened the sliding woodenlid and poked around with my fingers until I unearthed a dullygleaming pointed copper cylinder nearly three inches long. I brieflylooked at it, hefted it gently, then returned it to its sawdustrefuge.

“Good enough,” I said, as I pushedthe last gold monster coin toward him.

While I had some change returning –two smaller silver coins – I was less concerned about my changecompared to transportation, and I was altogether surprised to findKarl and Sepp wandering up the aisles when I turned around. Karllooked at the cots for a second, then resumed walking closer.

“I bought eight cots,” I said, asI gathered up tin and box, “and carrying all of that stuff myselfis a bit much.”

“I suspected that,” said Sepp,“and Gabriel did also, which is why the two of us are here. Whichcots?”

I walked back to the stacks, thenindicated the ones in question. Once outside of the Mercantile andmoving across the road, I spoke of the caps.

“Did you get stiff ones?” askedKarl. “My uncle spoke of those.”

“I did,” I said. “They mightwell keep those thugs off of us.”

“What about those squibs?” askedSepp, as we began stowing the cots.

“I have yet to finish those,” Isaid, “and somehow, I have the impression we may well be tossingmore than... Oh, now I know why. The caps won't need lighting ifthey're tossed hard enough.”

Karl grinned, then said, “he spokeabout that, too.”

“Uh, why?” I asked.

“A mining town thug tried for himonce,” said Karl, “and he tossed a stiff cap at him.”

“And?” I asked.

Smoke Hidden Hills Stable Trail

“That thug was not doing wellafterward,” said Karl.

“In what way?” I asked.

Karl grinned, then said, “theyburied him the next morning.”

I refrained from commenting on Karl'slatest exposition, and once returned to my seat inside, Gabrielasked, “did you get what you were after?”

I nodded, then said, “eight decentcots, glass-blower's wire, wagon grease, and a box of large caps.”

“How much for that wire?” askedLukas.

“A gold piece for five feet,” Isaid.

“We want to remember that place,then,” said Gabriel. “The best price before that was four feetand three marks.”

“And the worst?” I asked.

“Two feet and nine in the secondkingdom house,” said Gilbertus.

“Did you see anything else inthere?” asked Karl.

“Uh, not really,” I said. “Why?”

“Arsenic,” said Karl, “that, orflower sap. I can wait on the sap, but Hans is not inclined to letme have arsenic...”

“He does not want your death on hishands,” intoned Gabriel.

I looked at Karl quizzically, andwondered why he had an arsenic fixation. He seemed to deem my gaze asignal of sorts, for he stood and went to the door. Not threeminutes later, he returned.

“They have both of those things,”he said, “but they want a lot for them – that, and the arsenicwas mixed with grain.” Karl paused, then mumbled, “he called itgoat-poison, and goats are poisonous enough without arsenic.”

“Where did you get this tale ofpoisonous goats?” I asked – and then recalled what Hans hadspoken regarding dried goat meat.

“My uncle spoke of them,” saidKarl, “and...”

“Fifth kingdom dried goat?” Iasked.

Karl nodded, then asked, “why, isthere another type?”

“What the third kingdom sells isdecent, if you can get it,” said Lukas. “I might still havesome, in fact.”

“Those nasty-looking bricks look,uh...”

“Now those are poisonous,”said Lukas. “You can't cook that stuff enough to make it safe toeat.”

A waiter suddenly 'materialized' nottwo minutes later, and while he circulated getting orders for 'drink'– chiefly beer, though someone wanted unfermented wine and was toldit wasn't to be had – I realized that this Public House wasperennially short-handed, with perhaps two people for labors thatwanted three or more.

“And that for a very long day,” Ithought, as I mentioned 'common beer' to the waiter. As he finished,he paused to speak.

“You people do not look to beminers,” he said. “They come in about sundown, if they comehere.”

“Food?” I asked innocently.

“Meat, vegetables, bread, and beer,”he said, “and the meat and vegetables are usually dried.”

The man's stilted language –singsong syllables, clipped consonants, rolled 'r's', and perhaps alilt – made for wondering as to his tenure down this way, and more,his place of origin. There was a brief hush, and my thinkingsundered it like a bolt of lightning once I had digested what he hadspoken.

“Good!” I thought. “None ofthose accursed squabs!”

“We do not have fowls,” he said,“nor do we have fouls. Those things are popular to thesouth about five and fifty laengen, and the pfuddaarn can have them.” I could almost hear him spitting. “Those things are costly, theypeck everything they can get their beaks into, and they stink worsethan the bugs they have around here.”

He paused, much as if he had heard aninaudible question, then said, “that is why they call those thingsfouls.” He paused again, then asked, “now who brought up thosestinky birds and put the thinking of them in my head?”

I now felt 'something coming' hard andfast, and my feet trembled in their boots as a faint vibration becamesteadily more noticeable – until with a shuddering rumble, thedim-lit room flashed blue-white for a count of three as the ceilingvanished to be replaced by roiling flames.

The waiter seemed unmoved for perhapshalf a second, or so I thought until he spoke. I could plainly hearpanic in his voice:

“This is not a mine,” hesaid. “This is not a mine...”

And as if to dissuade his thinking, alow-sounding growling shriek came from everywhere at once and hescreamed “flood! Flood! Help me, I'm...”

I looked up, saw the flames, and said,“please, look up.”

He ceased screaming, then dumbly didas told. His panic vanished to be replaced by something utterlydifferent:

“Oh, my,” he murmured. “It hascome.” A pause, then, “I get so seldom the chance for a bath...”

Upon finishing this last, he leapedand vanished within the cloud.

There were questions in the eyes ofthose seated at the table, and I mentally ticked off the secondsuntil the thud of reentry spoke of his return. I looked to the left,and saw that now he actually had plans beyond 'do what I must tosurvive'.

“I shall leave for the north withina ten-day,” he said, “for the Abbey is building, and I do know mychisels.”

“And here?” I asked.

“They are not likely to miss meovermuch,” he said, as something else built steadily in thebackground. This sensation – whether sound or feeling, I could nottell – grew steadily, until a less-than-faint gunshot was followedby two more. A muled brayed long and loud, then audible near-silencereturned.

It had never been 'silent' in otheraspects, I now realized. It wasn't just that horror of a bar; therewas more.

“That would be the salon,”said the waiter. “It gets more people than here and the Mercantiletogether.”

“Salon?” I asked.

“It never shuts its door,” hesaid, “and between the drink and the gambling, people get killedwith some frequency.” He paused, then said in a lower voice, “Iheard that mule, and thought some drunken wretch would ride it inhere.”

“Ride it in here?” I asked.

“That usually means dodging hotlead,” said Lukas. “I've seen it happen more than once.”

“I have also,” said the waiter. “I'll go fetch the food and drink.”

“What is a 'salon'?” I asked. Theword was pronounced 'Saw-loan', and for some reason, I heardrepeatedly the word 'saloon' in my mind.

“That is the fifth kingdom's namefor a drink-house,” said Gilbertus. “That one we passed was toosmall to do much in the way of services.”

“It definitely had spinner tables init,” muttered Gabriel archly between gulps of beer. “No salon isa proper salon unless it has those.”

“S-services?” I gasped.

“Those places are in the biggertowns to the east and south,” said Karl. “My uncle said anespecially bad one had a red sun rising on its front, and that placewas a witch-hole for evil.”