The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

102: Fortress

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Collins made of found images by me. 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.

Lieutenant Geoffrey Collins was exhausted. He was exhausted because they hadn't slept. And they hadn't slept because apparently, if the way everyone was acting was any indication, the most important thing in the country...no...in the entire world...was the traitorous, red-haired, Indian-loving trollop that had leaked a warning to the Sioux that they were about to be attacked. They had lost more men than they should have because of that, and the way Collins reckoned it, the whore had the blood of soldiers on her hands. And here they were, chasing after a confidence man in an idiotic attempt to retrieve her. She'll pay for that, if she hasn't already. I mean to make certain of it. I'm going to have to drop Stone as soon as possible. Before he can talk. And my men will take care Scarcliff and Peltier and the others. But I'm going to make the girl wait. I'm going to make her watch.

Peltier, flanked by the two Sioux and the squaw man, had halted ahead of them, quickly returning to where the rest of them had stopped among the pinyons and cottonwoods. "Trapper's cabin ahead," the scout said, looking up at Scarcliff. We think he's holed up there. No windows, solid walls, low to the ground. Set back into the hillside. The thing could probably withstand lightning and tornadoes."

"Shit," Lynch breathed under his breath.

Scarcliff wearily rubbed his face with a gloved hand, leaving streaks of dust. "How many men?"

"Hard to say. Can't see inside. Four hanging around outside. They're expecting trouble."

"Damn it." Scarcliff deflated in his saddle. "Did you see Miss. Lewis-"

"No." Peltier's answer was clipped. "But if she's in there..."

"I know." Scarcliff shook his head. "We can't just go in shooting."

The squaw man, Hanson, was scratching at the unkempt blond stubble on his jaw and cheeks. Clearly, he was suffering the itch of a new beard, and Collins wondered how long he'd been out here riding with Sioux, and why. "We can't let 'em know we're out here," the young man said in his southwestern twang. "We don't want 'em using her to block bullets. And besides..." he said, sighing and looked down the trail with a worried look on his face. "Stone's crazy. I ain't ashamed to admit, he scares the hell out of me. He'll hurt her if we ain't careful."

"We certainly don't want that," Collins said keeping his voice neutral. Not yet, anyways...

"I suppose we could wait them out," Scarcliff said, looking very unhappy with the idea. "But there's no telling what their plans are. They could be in there for days."

Peltier was shaking his head. "I can't...we can't just sit here with her in there with them. That's not going to work."

"Right," Lynch agreed, his face pale and haggard. "I'm not willing to leave her in there any longer than I have to. I say we just find a good vantage point and start picking the sumbitches off."

Collins narrowed his eyes, peering hard at Peltier. His mind went back to the Crow scout and the British woman talking on the porch back in Bridger, and he thought about how fiercely they had defended one another. Injun could have been shot for what he did. He didn't care. This ain't just a hired job for that red bastard. It's personal for him. And probably not without good reason. Disgust rolled through him, and he spat on the ground, working to keep his face passive. Injun-loving whore. "We have no way of knowing how many of the are in the cabin, Captain." He shook his head. "I advise against that. Besides..." He hitched his face into a semblance of concern and looked at Scarcliff. "We're just as likely to accidentally shoot the woman."

Scarcliff nodded in agreement. "The ideal situation would be if they came out without knowing we're here."

"Well, there's no way to flush them out of there without making ourselves known," Collins said.

Peltier rubbed his brow with the heel of his hand, muttering something in his heathen tongue to the leather-and-bone clad Sioux that Collins still could not believe were riding with them. He looked up suddenly, his hand settling across his mouth and chin, thinking. "No..." he said slowly, his black eyes focusing on something inside his own head. "Wait. Maybe there is."

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