The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

16: Siege

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Storm by Angel Taratuta. 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.

Storm sighed, resigning himself to the sense of foreboding that had been growing in the pit of his stomach. The arid landscape rolled across the land, greening grass adding welcome color to the pale, sandy hues of the rocky plains around them. Fort Bridger lay before them, the heavy timbers forming its walls seeming an impenetrable barrier.

Usually, there were traders camping around the walls of this place, and the gates wide open. Today, though, there was no one to be seen on the grounds surrounding the stockade and the doors were closed up tight. He could hear the sounds of talking and activity inside, but the stillness outside the walls unnerved him. He glanced at Dev, riding beside him. "Doesn't smell right. Does it."

Dev grunted in assessment, a faint smirk curling his lips. "When does it ever smell right here?" The chilly breeze, damp with a hint of far-off rain, whipped his salt and pepper mop of unkempt hair across his grizzled face. His dark eyes surveyed the wall, glancing upwards. "Looks like they're expecting guests." He squinted, ruffling his beard with his fingers.

Sentries with long rifles were watching them from the guardposts, and had noticed them. "Well." Storm raised an eyebrow as he watched one of them pointing at them and giving a shout down below. "It's not like we expected things to be normal. If they were, we wouldn't be here."

"Just don't give them any reason to get crazy," the older man said under his breath. "How are you holding up?"

Storm drew in a deep breath, the residual ache of healing ribs in his chest flaring dully. The pinching burn across his shoulder pulled and stung. He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "It hardly matters at this point."

"True. Let me do the talking. They probably don't know that letter was actually for you." Dev held up his hands to show they were empty. "Francis Devereaux and Lights the Storm Peltier," he called up to the sentries.

"State your business," came the barked reply. Storm noticed with annoyance that several rifles were instantly pointed at Dev and himself as he likewise showed the sentries his empty hands. He was acutely aware of how the absence of the hawk feather in his hair left him feeling naked, vulnerable. He gritted his teeth and tried to relax as his borrowed horse snorted and tossed his head beneath him.

Dev went on. "Need to talk to Erastus Lynch."

A man in what Storm recognized as an officer's uniform strode up to the stockade edge and looked down at them, giving them a hard, suspicious stare. He was young, with a neatly trimmed moustache. "No one is coming in here," he said dismissively. The fort's closed to prevent an Indian attack. I'm not opening the door for a couple of breeds."

Dev kept his face impassive. "We're employees of Central Overland California and Pikes Peak Express Company, and we work for Mr. Lynch. Got company business to discuss."

The officer on the wall scowled. "Well, you're not discussing it here unless you can do it through a closed door."

"Sir," Dev shook his head. "With respect, we really need to speak to our employer."

"And 'with respect', I find it hard to believe the likes of you two work for Central Overland California and Pikes Peak Express Company."

Storm barely checked himself before he slipped up and rolled his eyes. Officious prick. He gritted his teeth again and whispered to Dev out of the side of his mouth, " and yet it's not hard for him to believe the likes of us work here."

"Shhh..."

"Marde, I hate this damned place."

Dev's jaw clenched. "Shut up...." he grunted at Storm. He cleared his throat and addressed the officer again. "I'm sure he'll vouch for us if you tell him we're here."

"Do I look like a messenger boy?" the man snapped. "You've already wasted too much of our time here. This could be a ruse to get us to open the gates. How do I know it isn't?"

Dev's patience was impressive, considering how cantankerous he usually was. "Sir, if you'd just ask Erastus Lynch..."

"We're done here," the officer barked, turning on his heel and waving them off with his hand. "The conversation is over. So unless you two want to see the inside of the brig, turn around and don't say another word.That's a direct order."

Storm quickly counted the stripes on the man's uniform, just to be sure of what he was seeing. This man is petty and insecure and wants to show everyone what a big man he is. He plays games with people's lives. Having to endure men like him is one of a thousand reasons I left here. He closed his eyes, bracing himself. Still, it's a safe gamble that he's not in charge of the fort. Opening his eyes, he squinted up at the man, raised a cocky eyebrow, and said, "Tell Mr. Lynch hello for us."

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