The men saluted and filed from the room. Hogan and the two Texans remained and after the door closed Mark grinned broadly.
‘You sure started something,’ he said. ‘I near on jumped through the roof when you told them your right name.’
Dusty shrugged. ‘I had to do it, there’s too many folks here knew van Druten so I had to let on who I was and rely on folks thinking I’d joined the Yankee army after all.’
‘Reckon I’ll go and jaw a spell with Sucataw and the other scouts,’ drawled the Kid. ‘I’ll lend a hand with the scouting as soon as I know the country. Unless the captain’s got other ideas for me.’
‘None at all, be a change to see you working,’ grunted Dusty. ‘You stay on and lend a hand, Mark, ride with Lon on scout. I reckon every bit of help’ll be needed once we start moving. I’m going to my quarters now, Sergeant-major. Keep the men at it.’
Throughout the Fort men scrubbed, scraped, painted, removed dirt and debris to burn outside the Fort. They worked hard, being driven on by the non-coms and supervised by the officers. Until darkness fell horses were still being groomed in the lines and everywhere sweating, cursing men made sure nothing would offend their new captain’s eyes in the morning.
Even when the main cleaning-up work was done the men had not finished. In the barrack blocks and houses soldiers now set to work to clean up their gear and make sure they’d look at their best in the morning. Not one of them chanced breaking Dusty’s rule that the town and sutler’s store were out of bounds. They would not have had the time, nor would they been able to get through any of the gates even if they’d wished to go drinking.
In the room which Dusty took as his quarters he found his striker waiting for him. The old soldier had been Major Lingley’s striker and knew how to handle an officer’s belongings. He appeared to work as much for Joanna as for Dusty and warned that dinner would be served at eight o’clock, then went to fetch hot water for Dusty to wash and shave. Finally he took van Druten’s keys from Dusty, opened the late captain’s box and got out the dress uniform.
Dusty had not found time to unpack any of his personal belongings, but they were in the room where Mark and the Kid stayed. He went along to collect his razor and shaving gear from his warbag but left the rest of his belongings where they were until he could bring them in without the striker seeing them.
‘Perhaps you’d like to go and see Miss Joanna before the other gentlemen arrive, sir?’ said Dawkins, the striker. He’d been a butler but followed his master into the Union army, saw him killed and became striker for Major Lingley, then a full colonel. Like so many officers, Lingley lost rank when war ended. Dawkins, however, he never lost and the old man did much to make life comfortable for his officer.
‘Be a good idea,’ Dusty agreed, allowing Dawkins to help him into van Druten’s dress coat. Dusty was now washed, shaved and wearing the best uniform, with his sword belt at his side. He left the officers’ quarters and headed for the Lingley house, knocking on the door. An old Negress opened it, a woman who’d been with the Lingley family ever since Lingley married the daughter of a southern plantation owner and he presented the couple with her as a servant.
Allowing Dusty to enter the old woman took his hat and escorted him along a passage to the sitting-room. Joanna rose from the table to greet Dusty but did not come towards him. There were several newspapers on the table, one of which Dusty would have preferred not to see.
The door closed behind him and Joanna’s hand dropped, going under the newspaper to lift out a Colt Baby Dragoon revolver. She lined it at him, cocking the hammer in a way which showed she knew how to use it.
‘Stand right there, Captain Fog, for that’s your real name.’
‘
The Bismark Herald,
’ Dusty drawled with a smile. ‘I should have thought of that. We brought the mail and likely some newspapers in.’
‘That’s right, you should. There’s an interesting item on the front page. About a trailherd brought in by the Texas gunfighter and rancher, Dusty Fog. You deny it of course?’
‘Yes ma’am. I’m neither a gunfighter or a rancher. I’ve had to use my guns more’n a little, but I never laid claim to being a gunfighter. And I’m segundo of the OD Connected, not a rancher. I’ve got the money for the herd and enough to identify me in my warbag.’
The gun barrel lowered a trifle. ‘But you couldn’t have enlisted—’
‘I didn’t, officially.’
Joanna brought the gun into line once more. Dusty walked forward slowly, ignoring it completely. The girl’s face showed her sudden worry but she did not try to squeeze the trigger.
‘You better explain,’ she suggested.
Quickly Dusty explained, told of the reasons he’d come to the Fort. He saw the revolver muzzle lower until it pointed towards the table top. The girl lowered the Colt’s hammer on to a safety notch and laid it aside. She smiled and relaxed.
‘I see,’ she said, and meant it. ‘But we’d better keep the paper from out of Frank and the boys’ hands. You’re right of course and I don’t think I know of another civilian in the country who could have done what you’ve done today.’
‘Shucks, you’ll be making me blush next,’ Dusty grinned.
‘I arranged for the ladies of the Fort to come and meet you after dinner,’ she went on. ‘I suppose I ought to have waited for permission but—’
‘I’d like you to carry on arranging things like that for me until you leave, or I do,’ Dusty replied. ‘If you wish to leave earlier than when the wagons go back in a month I’ll try and arrange it.’
‘I’ll wait. I might even be able to help you when the new relief arrives,’ she replied, then began to chuckle as she hid the papers and her revolver. ‘You’ve made quite an impression since your arrival. I’ve already heard four versions of how you whipped Madlarn and his men, all most complimentary to you.’
‘Reckon anybody suspects I’m not an officer, apart from you?’
‘I doubt it,’ she smiled and cocked her head as a knock sounded at the outside door. ‘And I wouldn’t want to be the person to try to convince your men you aren’t what you seem. Shall we go in to meet our guests, Captain Fog?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Like most of the Fort’s occupants, Noreen Kallan attended the review parade and watched the patrol ride out. She noticed the difference in the bearing and appearance of the men and knew that few had managed to grab more than a couple of hours’ sleep the previous night. However, Captain Fog seemed to be satisfied. After watching the patrol’s departure, Noreen left the Fort’s confines and made for the rear of the post-sutler’s building. Opening the door, she walked into Madlarn’s living quarters.
Tuck, his jaw swollen, opened the door for her, did not trouble to ask any questions but allowed her to enter. Clearly Noreen knew where she was going for she went to a door at the side of the passage, opened it and walked in.
Stripped to his long-john underwear Madlarn stood before the mirror trying to shave himself without touching his battered and pain-filled face. Neither he nor Noreen showed the slightest embarrassment at his lack of clothes and she leaned by the door, closing it, watching as he finished shaving and rinsed his face.
‘It looks like you ran into trouble, Karl,’ she remarked, then came nearer. ‘My, he really worked you over.’
Madlarn turned, his face flushing with anger and his hand drawing back. The woman showed neither fear nor worry at this but stood facing him, a taunting smile on her face. He threw the razor to one side and grabbed her, dragging her up to him and kissing her hard. Noreen kissed back, her fingernails digging into his back as she clung to him. They sank to the bed and he pressed her against it. For a long time they stayed locked in each other’s arms, then he released her.
‘Why’d you come here like this?’ he asked. ‘In plain daylight.’
Noreen chuckled, seeing the worried look he threw at the door. Madlarn might have charm, he might and frequently did, supply the extra loving she craved for, but she knew him for what he was. If Slasher Kallan ever found out about her and Madlarn the sutler would run or die and she guessed Madlarn would run.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, looking up at the man’s battered face. ‘Nobody saw me, Slasher’s with the other non-coms at a conference with Captain Fog.’
‘Fog? I thought he was Dandy van Druten.’
‘So did I,’ purred Noreen. ‘I went to see him just after he arrived. Thought I’d renew an old acquaintance. Only it was Dusty Fog, not Dandy when I arrived.’
‘Dusty Fog, that Texas gunfighter?’ croaked Madlarn.
‘Sure,’ she answered, taking scarcely hidden pleasure at the fear in the man’s eyes. ‘He was promised a commission in the army through something he did in the war. Slasher and some of the other sergeants were at our place discussing it last night. You’d think he was a kind of god the way the folks in the Fort are going on about him.’ She paused and sighed. ‘Mind you, he’s all man, and what a man.’
Angrily Madlarn drew her up from the bed and locked his arms around her. Once more she kissed back but suddenly twisted her head from his and whispered into his ear.
‘He’s sent a patrol out, Karl.’
Madlarn let out an angry snarl and thrust the woman from him, coming to his feet.
‘He’s done what?’
‘Sent out a patrol. Thirty men under Cardon and his sergeant.’
‘Why in hell didn’t you let me know sooner?’ he snapped. ‘Which way’re they going?’
Slowly Noreen came to her feet and looked the man over from head to foot. ‘I didn’t know until after the parade this morning, nor did they. And they’re riding under sealed orders, from what I could tell. Them and every other patrol which goes out and from what I’ve seen of Captain Fog that’s going to be a tolerable few. No more telling which way they’re headed, Karl, so you can sell the information to the rushers.’
For a moment Noreen thought she’d gone too far. Madlarn’s face went almost black with rage and his hands clenched into fists. She faced him with her own hands clenched and such a look in her eyes that he fell back a step or two, further proving to her that she’d picked a coward to play with.
‘All right, Noreen,’ he said. ‘You did your best. We’ll just have to hope the bunch we sent out this morning don’t get caught.’
‘And if they do?’
‘They can’t prove a thing,’ he answered. ‘They can’t bring anything back to me. I’ve been passing the information through Bruno Lewis down at the Shacktown Saloon. I’ll send Tuck to warn Bruno, he’s got some tough boys on hand to help him in cases like this.’
‘What’re you fixing to do now?’ Noreen inquired.
There she had Madlarn. He did not know how he might get information from the Fort. She’d brought him much, in return for sexual pleasure. He’d learned more from the soldiers when they came to the store to drink. Now both sources of information appeared to be closed, for the man would not know where they patrolled and so the rushers could not be sent through as they used to be.
‘Just how deep in are you?’ Noreen asked.
‘Deep enough. We’ve been taking money from the rushers, letting a few slip in at a time. Never enough to start the Sioux on the warpath but enough to bring a steady return for our effort.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘You know who we is. I work in with Bruno Lewis.’ Noreen smiled mockingly. She knew Bruno Lewis, the head of Shacktown, the man behind the entire collection of graft and crookedness which made up the gathering point of the rushers in this area. Lewis did not have partners, only underlings and Madlarn was no more than that.
‘Go send Tuck to tell him,’ she said.
While Madlarn was gone Noreen stripped off her clothes and on his return she lay on the bed. Her eyes mocked him as she looked up towards him.
‘All this time you’ve been using me, Karl honey. Now I’m the only one between you and the rushers. I’m the only one who might find out where the patrols will be hiding. You’re going to pay for every bit of information, Karl—and you’re going to pay in advance.’
Madlarn sank on to the bed by the woman. He knew what she said to be true. If anyone in the Fort might possibly learn where the patrols went it would be Noreen and he would have to pay her the way she wanted. No longer could he wave her aside when he did not feel like love-making. No longer would she beg him to come into his room and satisfy her lust. Now it would be different, she held the reins, the whip, and could set the spurs any time she wished.
In the Fort the tightening-up process began, or continued at full pace. The results were showing already. Word reached Dusty, via a rider sent back from Cardon’s patrol, that five different groups of rushers had been spotted and turned back from the Belle Pourche River. Dusty knew his plan was working, he also knew that whoever let the rushers know they would slip through was going to need some smart explaining when these parties returned.
He did not know that an exhausted Madlarn received a visit from Bruno Lewis late that night, an angry man demanding to know why he’d been given wrong information about the patrols.
‘I’ve got ten men down there,’ Lewis snarled. ‘They want their money back, or word of how to get in.’
Madlarn studied his boss. Lewis was not a tall man, his face had the sallow colour of old parchment and his dark eyes were colder than any snake’s He wore a sober black suit and hat, a cheap white shirt and bow tie. Yet he ran Shacktown and controlled the crooked bunch who stayed there and rooked the rushers. He did it by brains and organizing ability, for he never wore a gun. Yet he was feared in the town, for when he pointed his finger a man died. Backing Lewis were a trio of dangerous killers, he did not need to wear a gun.
‘There’s a new boss at the Fort,’ Madlarn finally replied. ‘He’s playing it smart. Closed down my place and set your town off limits.’
‘Dandy van Druten did that?’ snarled Lewis. ‘I’d better go and see him.’
‘It won’t do any good. That’s not Dandy van Druten at the Fort.’
‘Who is it then?’
‘Dusty Fog. That Texas gunfighter. He’s joined the army and they sent him out instead of van Druten.’
The words had their effect on Lewis. He managed to hold down the expression which came to his face, but failed in it for he knew all too well who Dusty Fog was. Lewis knew van Druten, had some information the young captain would not wish to be made public. Yet it would do him no good at all now for van Druten did not command the Fort.
‘I thought you told me you’d got the Fort tied up,’ Lewis said quietly. ‘The men ready to mutiny and pull out.’
‘I was well on the way to it when he arrived. But he’s got them back again. He came here yesterday and worked me over—him and that damned dumb mick, Magoon.’
‘Then you’ll have to do what you can,’ Lewis warned. ‘I’ve got men waiting to go over the river and they want to get over without being caught or sent back. Don’t you see what sort of a position you put me in. I get the rushers into the Black Hills, they take the chances, dig the gold and we get most of it from them when they come out. I’m not standing back and letting any damn gunfighter scare me off or cost me money.’
‘I’ll do what I can, boss,’ answered Madlarn sullenly.
‘How about that gal, that sergeant’s wife, Noreen?’
Madlarn could have groaned at the thought of her. His body ached from her clawing hands and biting teeth. She’d only just left before Lewis arrived and the sutler still felt the effects of her love-making.
‘She’ll do what she can.’
‘All right, see she does and keep her happy,’ Lewis ordered. ‘I’ve an idea she’s the only one who might be able to help us.’
With that Lewis left the room and Madlarn sank to his bed groaning and holding his head. Things were getting to the stage where he felt he’d best pull out and head east to a healthier climate. Only he’d have to go careful or he’d be likely to wind up with a bullet in his head, for Lewis had not paid out good money to put him into the sutler’s store and then allow him to run out when the going got a bit rough.
Unaware, although suspecting his plans might be making life awkward for folks, Dusty carried on with his plans for making the Fort efficient once more. He began the tricky task of building up the morale of the men. First he had to jolt them out of their complacency, revive their pride in being cavalrymen. This called for skilled judgement, for knowledge of men. It was a time for instant obedience of orders, of discipline enforced to the letter, a time when punishment awarded must be exactly right, neither too much nor too little.
For a regular career officer, his future at stake as an inducement, it would have been a difficult enough time. For Dusty it was even more so as he had no such inducements. He was here to do an unpleasant job forced on to him by circumstances and he aimed to do it well. So he seemed to be everywhere, and wherever he went he expected work to be done well. He praised, he cursed, he awarded field punishment, pack drill, extra work but always so fairly that the men who received the punishment admitted they got no more than they deserved.
The patrols came and went. They would come in secret and go in secret. No man could say for sure how many patrols were out or how they would be divided. The rushers never knew when they might be able to slip across the Belle Pourche and seek for the pot of gold at the end of the Custer-inspired rainbow. Many tried but each time a patrol arrived in time to catch them and turn them back. In the first week not one rusher managed to cross the river.
To the men on the patrols it meant long hours in the saddle and longer hours walking and leading the horses. Scouts fanned out, from high points studying the surrounding country, though they formed a chain across the area, with so few men there were blind spots, but in the first week the rushers found none.
In the Fort things were no easier for the men not on patrol. They were led by a man who did not believe in letting them grow bored by inactivity and kept every daylight hour fully occupied. There was drill, with Slasher Kallan in his glory as he put the men through their paces. Inspection, weapon training, physical training, horsemanship, stable policing, they all were used to keep the men occupied and in the first week became once more part of the lives of the soldiers.
Nor was it just in working hours Dusty kept his men going. He knew boredom could drive the men to drinking outside the Fort and so made sure nobody found time to be bored. Every company vied with the others to find the best horseman, shot, sabre fencer, best drill group. Not only on military matters did they compete among themselves. The wives organized a cooking contest to be judged on the night they held their dance in the empty store cabin. A group of Scottish-born soldiers announced that Company ‘B’ had a man who could do a sword dance better than any other soldier in the Fort and the Scots of the other companies set out to disprove it.
At the end of the first week Dusty lifted his off limits order, but few were the men who took advantage of it. The new recruits paid a visit to Shacktown but found it offered little to them. For the most part the soldiers found enough in the Fort to keep them going.
On the Monday of the second week Dusty shed his official sword belt and came on morning inspection with his own gun-belt and matched bone-handled Colts. The easing off could begin slowly now the men did not need a constant watch being kept on them.
Just after morning muster parade Dusty strolled along through the Fort with his usual escort of Dunbrowski, Kallan and Hogan. The drill instructor, as always, wanted more time to work the soldiers. He hoped to take back at least one company as a trained drill team and that took work. Dusty used his tact to restrain Kallan for others wished to have their own departments worked.
They approached the main gates and saw that Dusty’s orders for the sentry were being enforced to the letter.
In his buggy, with Cato, a tall gaunt, buckskin-dressed half-breed at his side, Bruno Lewis looked down at the sentry. He’d rolled up to the Fort in the buggy but was halted on the outside by a grim-eyed soldier nursing a Springfield carbine across his arm.
‘Come to see the captain,’ Lewis said, as if that would make things all right for him to enter.
‘Hold it there,’ replied the sentry. ‘I’ll get the sergeant of the guard.’
‘We ain’t got time to waste with all that fooling,’ Cato snarled. He’d a name as a real bad man to cross and wore a low-tied Army Colt at his right side, a knife at the left. ‘We’re going right in.’