The Five Dollar Mail (Book 1: The Green & Book 2: Lynch's Boys)

189: Pay the Reckoning On the Nail

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Fiona by Diego Candia. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

Fiona leaned her face on her knuckles as she sat in the officer's mess with Uncle Lynch, the breathtakingly annoying Captain Scarcliff, and a few of the other station keepers who had traveled to Fort Bridger to discuss "The Indian Problem." She wondered how Storm was faring, and if he missed her as much as she missed him. I can't stand it. I want to go back to the Green. Back to Storm. I spend my entire life missing him, it seems. The smell of cooking grease and burnt coffee hung in the air. She took a sip of her now-lukewarm tea and wished she were somewhere else.

"...what I'm saying is that we have a worse situation than we initially thought," Captain Holloway went on. "These savages butchered over a hundred men near Pyramid Lake..."

Fiona scowled and sat up straight, lifting her head. "That went out there to fight them at the army's behest."

Scarcliff turned his head and stared at her, genuinely startled. She resisted the urge to smirk.

Jasper Krantz, the sturdy, sandy-haired Fort Bridger stock tender, raised an eyebrow. His lip twitched and he pretended to rub the spot below his nose as he suppressed a snicker.

She favored him with a sidelong glance and turned her attention back to the room at large, letting her gaze focus on one surprised face after another. She'd been sitting here, silently, the entire time as the assembled station keepers had bickered amongst themselves for the better part of the hour.

"They didn't just start randomly attacking stations," she boldly pressed. "You're all mincing around the heart of it because I'm in the room and you think you can't discuss it around me. Because you think it's too vulgar. So I'll just say it...the men at Williams attacked some young girls. Took them prisoner and compromised them."

"Fiona..." Uncle Erastus warned her, wincing. "I don't think..."

She saw color flood Scarcliff's face. Anger flared inside her. He's embarrassed. Good. "And then when their fathers and brothers came to rescue them and punish these...these..." She chuckled bitterly. "savages, since that seems to be such a popular word around here... a militia was thrown together to go out there and punish them. Am I understanding all this correctly?"

Captain Scarcliff's brows were knitted together in patronizing consternation. "Miss Lewis-Smythe...I don't think you understand quite how complicated this situation is."

"I evidently understand it better than you do, Captain. And it's quite simple, isn't it? It would have been over and done if not for the army's insistence that the Pah Ute be brought to their knees for not quietly bearing unprovoked violence done them."

Fiona noticed that Mr. Krantz was watching Scarcliff intently. Mr. Krantz is not doing a very good job of hiding the fact that he is thoroughly enjoying watching Scarcliff squirm. I suspect that the good Captain has quite a few people that enjoy watching him squirm. I wish Saint and Wash were here to see it.

Major Egan, keeper at Salt Lake house, scowled above his dark, wiry whiskers. His balding brow furrowed with worry and frustration. "All I know is I don't want to lose any more men over this. We can't just stop mail service now. Especially now, with everything that's going on back east."

Uncle Erastus spoke up, turning towards him. "I don't know that it will come to that, Howard."

Mr. Krantz leaned forward, getting serious. "I think it already has. We all know the mail's down to not even a trickle at this point." He looked at Scarcliff and shrugged, holding up his big hands helplessly. "We can't run mail like this, Captain. I know you yourself turned a coach around and sent it back after confiscating nearly all their shot. They're lucky they made it home alive."

Scarcliff 's face went beet red and Fiona was more than a little surprised lightning didn't shoot out of his eyes and burn Krantz to ash where he sat. She covered her mouth with her fingers and closed her eyes, restraining herself.

Uncle Erastus raised his voice. "They nearly didn't. They ended up at Church Buttes with no ammunition and a wounded guard when it was attacked. And not by Indians, either. By a handful of hysterical idiots trying to murder my Métis stocktender for being part Shoshone. Because of all this." He waved his hand. "With respect, Captain, we need some better protection by the army if the service is going to continue. I don't want my men coming back that torn up."

And we'd hardly need more protection if the army wasn't out here adding insult to injury, would we? Fiona folded her arms. If Uncle Ras thinks I'm talking too much, he just ought to hear what's going through my head. Ptah! They're sitting here outraged that that the Indians are as fierce protecting their own as they themselves are.

Egan spoke again, his voice steady and compelling. "It's extremely dangerous west of Salt Lake House," he said simply. "I'd say this situation is going to chew up quite a few good men before it's done. Obviously, sending another militia in isn't going to accomplish anything but keeping the undertaker busy."

Fiona slid her knuckles back under her chin and leaned forward again. I'm not about to sit here and let them place all the blame for this squarely on the shoulders of the natives. The Pah Ute didn't start this bloody mess. Scarcliff looks angry now...and feeling a little humiliated, from the look of it. Good.

The Captain squared his shoulders and glanced reproachfully at her. "You didn't think it was too dangerous to bring your niece out here, Mr. Lynch," he said defensively. "Which I find curious."

Uncle Erastus squinted under his bushy eybrows at Scarcliff. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm just saying that bringing a woman out here was reckless."

"I came of my own choice, Captain Scarcliff," Fiona said icily. "My uncle did not 'bring' me. I came to spare his injured interpreter having to travel. He was beaten by yet another clutch of stupid men visiting senseless violence on natives." She glanced around dryly. "I speak French. And Native sign. We didn't know if we'd encounter trouble on the road."

The look on Scarcliff's face was well worth revealing that little tidbit. His eyebrows went up another notch. "If you'll pardon my asking...how did a proper young lady such as yourself ever learn such a thing as sign?"

In her memory, Storm's brown hands twitched, communicating comments and jokes and requests that only she could catch. Her heart jumped with fondness and longing. "I'm... observant," she deadpanned.

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