CHAPTER II
On the second day out Captain Cargill’s men shot a fat buffalo cow from a small herd of about a dozen and laid over a few hours to feast Indian-style on the delicious meat. The men insisted on roasting a slab of hump for their captain, and the commander’s eyes welled with joy as he sank in his remaining teeth and let the heavenly meat melt in his mouth.
The luck of the column held, and around noon on the fourth day out they bumped into a large army surveying party. The major in charge could see the full story of their ordeal in the condition of Cargill’s men, and his sympathy was instant.
With the loan of half a dozen horses and a wagon for the sick, Captain Cargill’s column made excellent time, arriving at Fort Hays four days later.
It happens sometimes that those things we fear the most turn out to harm us the least, and so it was for Captain Cargill. He was not arrested for abandoning Fort Sedgewick, far from it. His men, who a few days before were dangerously close to overthrowing him, told the story of their privations at Fort Sedgewick, and not a single soldier failed to single out Captain Cargill as a leader in whom they had complete confidence. To a man, they testified that, without Captain Cargill, none of them would have made it through.
The army of the frontier, its resources and morale frayed to the point of breaking, listened to all this testimony with joy.
Two steps were taken immediately. The post commandant relayed the full story of Fort Sedgewick’s demise to General Tide at regional headquarters in St. Louis, ending his report with the recommendation that Fort Sedgewick be permanently abandoned, at least until further notice. General Tide was inclined to agree wholeheartedly, and within days Fort Sedgewick ceased to be connected with the United States government. It became a nonplace.
The second step concerned Captain Cargill. He was elevated to full hero status, receiving in rapid succession the Medal of Valor and a promotion to major. A “victory dinner” was organized on his behalf at the officers’ mess.
It was at this dinner, over drinks after the meal, that Cargill heard from a friend the curious little story that had fueled most of the talk around the post just prior to his triumphant arrival.
Old Major Fambrough, a midlevel administrator with a lackluster record, had gone off his rocker. He had stood one afternoon in the middle of the parade ground, jabbering incoherently about his kingdom and asking over and over for his crown. The poor fellow had been shipped east just a few days ago.
As the captain listened to the details of this weird event, he, of course, had no idea that Major Fambrough’s sad departure had also carried away all trace of Lieutenant Dunbar. Officially, the young officer existed only in the addled recesses of Major Fambrough’s cracked brain.
Cargill also learned that, ironically, a wagonload of provisions had finally been dispatched by the same unfortunate major, a wagon bound for Fort Sedgewick. They must have passed each other on the march back. Captain Cargill and his acquaintance had a good laugh as they imagined the driver pulling up to that awful place and wondering what on earth had happened. They went so far as to speculate humorlessly about what the driver would do and decided that if he was smart, he would continue west, selling off the provisions at various trading posts along the way. Cargill staggered half-drunk to his quarters in the wee hours, and his head hit the pillow with the wonderful thought that Fort Sedgewick was now only a memory.
So it came to be that only one person on earth was left with any notion as to the whereabouts or even the existence of Lieutenant Dunbar.
And that person was a poorly groomed bachelor civilian who mattered very little to anyone.
Timmons.
CHAPTER III
The only sign of life was the ragged piece of canvas flapping gently in the doorway of the collapsed supply house. The late afternoon breeze was up, but the only thing that moved was the shred of canvas.
Had it not been for the lettering, crudely gouged in the beam over Captain Cargill’s late residence, Lieutenant Dunbar could not have believed this was the place. But it was spelled out clearly.
“Fort Sedgewick.”
The men sat silently on the wagon seat, staring about at the skimpy ruin that had turned out to be their final destination.
At last Lieutenant Dunbar hopped down and stepped cautiously through Cargill’s doorway. Seconds later he emerged and glanced at Timmons, who was still in the wagon.
“Not what you’d call a goin’ concern,” Timmons shouted down.
But the lieutenant didn’t answer. He walked to the supply house, pulled the canvas flap aside, and leaned in. There was nothing to see, and in a moment he was walking back to the wagon.
Timmons stared down at him and started to shake his head.
“May as well unload,” the lieutenant said matter-of-factly.
“What for, Lieutenant?”
“Because we’ve arrived.”
Timmons squirmed on the seat. “There ain’t nothin’ here,” he croaked.
Lieutenant Dunbar glanced around at his post.
“Not at the moment, no.”
A silence passed between them, a silence that carried the tension of a standoff. Dunbar’s arms hung at his sides while Timmons fingered the team’s reins. He spat over the side of the wagon.
“Everybody’s run off . . . or got kilt.” He was glaring hard at the lieutenant, as if he wasn’t going to have any more of this nonsense. “We might jus’ as well turn ‘round and get started back.”
But Lieutenant Dunbar had no intention of going back. What had happened to Fort Sedgewick was something for finding out. Perhaps everyone had run off and perhaps they were all dead. Perhaps there were survivors, only an hour away, struggling to reach the fort.
And there was a deeper reason for his staying, something beyond his sharp sense of duty. There are times when a person wants something so badly that price or condition cease to be obstacles. Lieutenant Dunbar had wanted the frontier most of all. And now he was here. What Fort Sedgewick looked like or what its circumstances were didn’t matter to him. His heart was set.
So his eyes never wavered as he spoke, his voice flat and dispassionate.
“This is my post and those are the post’s provisions.”
They stared each other down again. A smile broke on Timmons’s mouth. He laughed.
“Are you crazy, boy?”
Timmons said this knowing that the lieutenant was a pup, that he had probably never been in combat, that he had never been west, and that he had not lived long enough to know anything. “Are you crazy, boy?” The words had come as though from the mouth of a fed-up father.
