and left.
This,' Pearce said thoughtfully, 'isn't nice. The news, I mean. How many at the last count. Colonel? Of the garrison, I mean. The dead.'
Claremont glanced interrogatively at O'Brien, who was his usual prompt and authoritative self. 'At the last count – that was about six hours ago – there were fifteen. That is out of a garrison of seventy-six. We don't have figures as to the numbers stricken but still alive but Molyneux, who is very experienced in such matters, estimates, on the basis of the number of the dead, that anything between two-thirds and threequarters of the remainder must be affected.'
Pearce said: 'So possibly there are no more than fifteen fit soldiers left to defend the Fort?'
'Possibly.'
'What a chance for White Hand. If he knew about this.'
'White Hand? Your bloodthirsty chief of the Paiutes?' Pearce nodded his head and O'Brien shook his. 'We've thought of this possibility and discounted it. We all know about White Hand's obsessive hatred of the white man in general and the United States Cavalry in particular, but we also know that he's very, very far from being a fool. If he weren't, the Army or –' O'Brien permitted himself a slight smile – 'our intrepid lawmen of the West would have nabbed him quite some time ago. If White Hand knows that Fort Humboldt is so desperately under-manned, then he'll know why and will avoid the Fort like the plague.' Another smile, but wintry this time. 'Sorry, that wasn't meant to be clever.'
Marica said shakily: 'My father?'
'No. Clear so far.'
'You mean–'
'I'm sorry.' O'Brien touched her arm lightly. 'All I mean is that I know no more about it than you do.'
'Fifteen of God's children taken to their rest.' Peabody's voice emerged from the depths of the sepulchre. 'I wonder how many more of those poor souls will have been taken from us come the dawn.'
'Come the dawn,' Claremont said shortly, 'we'll find out.' Claremont, clearly, was increasingly of the opinion that the padre was a less than desirable person to have around in circumstances such as these.
'You'll find out?' Again the millimetric raising of Pearce's right eyebrow. 'How?'
'There's no magic. We have a portable telegraph transmitter aboard. We clamp a long lead on to the railroad telegraph wires: that way we contact the fort to the west of Reese City – even Ogden – to the east.' He looked at Marica, who had turned away. 'You are leaving us, Miss Fairchild.'
'I'm – I'm just tired.' She smiled wanly. 'Not your fault. Colonel, but you're not the bearer of very good news.' She walked away stopped by the passageway entrance and looked for a long, considering moment at Deakin, then swung round to face Pearce.
'Is this poor man to get nothing at all to eat or drink?'
'Poor man!' There was open contempt in Pearce's voice but it was clearly directed at Deakin, not Marica. 'Would you like to repeat that, ma'am, to the relatives of the folks who died in the fire at Lake's Crossing? Plenty of meat on that ruffian's bones yet. He'll survive.'
'But surely you're not going to leave him tied up all night?'
'That's just what I intend to do.' Finality in the voice. 'I'll cut him free in the morning.'
'In the morning?'
'That's it. And not for any tender feelings I have for our friend here. By that time we'll be deep in hostile territory. He won't try to escape then. A white man, alone, unarmed and without a horse wouldn't last two hours among the Paiutes. A two-year-old could track him in the snow – and apart from anything else he'd just starve or freeze to death. And whatever else we don't know about Master John Deakin, we have learnt that he has a mighty high regard for his own skin.'
'So he lies there – and suffers – all night.'
Pearce said patiently: 'He's a murderer, arsonist, thief, cheat and coward. You make a mighty poor choice for your pity, ma'am.'
'And you make a mighty poor example of a lawman, Mr Pearce.' Judging by the rather more than mildly astonished looks on the faces of the listeners, her stormy outburst was clearly out of character. 'Or don't you know the law? No, Uncle, I will not “shush, my dear”. The law of the United States is very explicit on this. A man is innocent until proved guilty, but Mr Pearce has already tried, convicted and condemned this man and will probably hang him from the first convenient tree. The law! Show me the law that says that you're entitled to treat a man like a wild dog!'
With a swirl of her long skirts Marica made an angry departure. O'Brien said, poker-faced: 'I thought you knew about the law, Nathan?'
Pearce scowled at him, then grinned ruefully and reached for his glass.
On the western horizon the dark clouds had now turned to a threatening indigo-black. The dimlyseen and still distant peaks loomed palely white against the ominous backdrop: the upper pines in the valley, along the foot of which the railway track snaked in conformation with the winding and partially frozen river, were already covered with snow. The relief train, scarcely more than crawling up the steep gradient, was moving into the bitter cold, the icy darkness of the uplands.
The contrast aboard the train itself could hardly have been more marked, but Deakin, alone now in the officers' day compartment, was hardly in a mood to appreciate this. The warmth from the cordwood stove, the warm glow from the single gimballed oil-lamp were clearly not the matters uppermost in his mind. He was still in his recumbent position but had now fallen over completely on his side. He grimaced in pain as he made another wrenching but futile attempt to ease the ropes that bound his wrists together behind his back; the brief attempt ceased as abruptly as it had begun.
Deakin was not the only one in that coach who was not asleep. Marica sat upright on the narrow bunk which occupied more than half of her tiny cubicle, thoughtfully biting her lower lip and glancing occasionally and irresolutely at her door. Her thoughts were centred on precisely the same matter as was engaging the attention of Deakin himself – the uncomfortable predicament in which the latter found himself. Suddenly, decisively, she rose, pulled a wrap around her and moved silently out into the passageway, closing the door as silently behind her.
She put her ear against the door next her own. It was clear that, within, silence was not at a premium: judging from the stentorian snores, the Governor of the State of Nevada had decided to let tomorrow's troubles look after themselves. Satisfied, Marica moved on, opened the door to the day compartment, closed it behind her and looked down at Deakin. He returned her gaze, his face giving away nothing. Marica forced herself to speak in a calm and detached manner.
'Are you all right?'
'Well, well.' Deakin looked at her with an expression of faint interest in his face. 'Perhaps the Governor's niece isn't quite the cocooned little marshmallow she seems to be. You know what the Governor or the Colonel or, for that matter, Pearce would do to you if you were found here?'
'And what would they do to me?' A degree of acerbity was not lacking in her voice. 'I hardly think, Mr Deakin, that you are in a position to warn or lecture anybody. And I would remind you that today is today and not a hundred years ago and I can get by quite well, thank you, without any cotton-wool or rose-petals. I asked you if you were all right.'
Deakin sighed. 'That's it – kick a man when he's down. Sure I'm all right. Can't you see? I always sleep this way.'
'As a form of wit, sarcasm is wasted on me.' Her voice was cold. 'And it looks as if I'm wasting my time on you. I came to ask if I can get you something.'
'Sorry. No offence. John Deakin is not at his best. As regards your offer – well, you heard what the Marshal said. Don't waste your sympathy on me.'
'What the Marshal says goes in my left ear and out the right.' She ignored the slight surprise, the increasing interest in his face. 'There's some food left in the galley.'
'I've lost my appetite. Thanks, all the same.'
'A drink?'
'Ah, now! Did I hear the sound of sweet music?' He straightened, with difficulty, until he had reached a
