Jory Sherman: Blood Sky at Morning

“You were here?” she said.

Zak shook his head. “No, but I heard about it.”

“I think we’ve wasted enough time here, Mr. Cody.”

He helped her onto the coach, took his seat beside her. A few minutes later they reached the fort, beyond the pass. It lay in a saddle in the mountains, east of Apache Springs. There were a lot of buildings, some made of adobe, some of stone, others, frame dwellings, made from lumber. A steam pump pulled water from a well. A flagpole stood in the center of the ramada, its banners flapping in the breeze.

“So, this is Fort Bowie,” Colleen said.

“This is the second Fort Bowie. Troops have only been here since ’sixty-nine, so it’s still pretty new.”

He pulled the coach up in front of the corrals and stables. A corporal came out to greet them.

“Howdy, ma’am,” he said, “welcome to Fort Bowie.” Then he looked at Zak.

“Where’s the regular driver,” the young man asked. “Jenkins?”

“He’s in the coach,” Zak said.

“What’s he doin’ in the coach?” The young man’s face scrunched up in genuine puzzlement.

“Nothing,” Zak said.

“Huh?”

The corporal walked over to the side door and opened it. He jumped back in surprise.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“Mr. Cody,” Colleen said, “will you escort me to meet the post commander?”

“Sure,” Cody said. He spoke to the corporal. “That black horse, rub him down and grain him, will you, soldier?”

“Wh-What about what’s in the coach? Those men are dead, ain’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Shit, I got to report this.”

Zak walked back to his horse, slid the rifle from its scabbard and lifted his saddlebags from behind the cantle. He patted Nox’s withers and walked back to the stunned soldier.

“Can you point out the post commander’s office, son?”

“Over yonder. Where you see the flagpole. He ain’t in, though. Major Willoughby’s acting in his stead. I got to report what’s in that coach.”

“Do it, then,” Zak said.

The corporal ran off toward the guard house, legs pumping, arms flying around in all angles. Zak slung his saddlebags over his shoulder, shifted his rifle to his left hand. He crooked his arm and Colleen slipped her arm in it and they walked toward the large building beyond the parade ground. Soldiers walked here and there, not even mildly curious. Flies buzzed around their heads and the hot sun beat down. The flags flapped on the flagpole, but the air was thick and hot and the breeze brought no cool with it.

A pair of mourning doves whistled overhead, twisting and turning in the air like feathered darts. The sound of a blacksmith’s hammer ringing on iron wafted across the compound. The horses hitched to the coach whickered and swatted at flies with their tails. Two soldiers crossed in front of them. Both looked longingly at Colleen, who returned their smiles and gripped Zak’s arm even tighter.

Two men stood guard at the entrance to the headquarters building. Both wore sergeant’s stripes.

“Miss Colleen O’Hara to see Major Willoughby,” Zak said.

“She can go in,” one of the men said. “You’ll have to show me some papers, sir.”

Zak drew out a leather wallet from his pocket, handed it, open, to the sergeant.

“Yes, sir,” the man snapped, with a salute. He handed the wallet back to Zak.

They entered the building, where more men stood guard, and walked to one seated at a desk.

“What was that all about, Mr. Cody?” Colleen whispered.

“My identification.”

“And you rate a salute? A civilian?”

Zak said nothing.

“Major Willoughby,” Colleen said to the clerk. “I’m Colleen O’Hara and this is Mr. Zak Cody.”

“Yes’m,” the corporal said. “Just one minute.”

He left his desk, opened one half of a double door and went inside. A moment later he returned.

“You can go right in,” he said. His gaze lingered on Cody for a long moment. Colleen noticed it and frowned.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“Just who I said I am, Miss O’Hara.”

Major Willoughby was a short, fastidious man, who rose up from behind a desk so neat and polished there was but a single paper atop it. There was a map of the territory on the wall behind the desk and a window that sparkled with sunlight, giving a view of the hills and part of the compound. The desk was flanked by an American flag and one bearing the insignia of the Second Cavalry. A man stood in a far corner, his back turned to the room.

“May I see your papers, Mr. Cody?” Willoughby said. “And good afternoon to you, Miss O’Hara. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Thank you, Major,” she said.

“Please sit down,” Willoughby said to her as he took Zak’s wallet and opened it. Zak stood there, looking at the man whose back was turned to him.

“You’ve got some pay here at the post, Colonel,” Willoughby said. “I think Lieutenant John Welch is the paymaster this month. Check with the quartermaster.”

“I’ve got two of your men outside in the coach,” Zak said. “They were with Miss O’Hara.”

“That would be Sergeant Briggs and Lieutenant Coberly,” the major said. “They were her escorts from Tucson. I wonder why they didn’t report with you, Colonel.”

“Because they’re both dead,” Colleen said. She shot an odd look at Cody. “Mr. Cody killed the driver, a man named Jenkins.”

“What happened?” Willoughby’s face had drained of color. It looked as if he’d swallowed a jar of paste and it had oozed out through his pores.

Colleen looked at Zak, but he said nothing.

“We—We were attacked,” she said. “I think by Apaches. But Mr. Cody doesn’t think they were Apaches.”

“Why did you kill Jenkins?” the major asked.

“Because he was going to kill me,” Zak said “Those soldiers were scalped, sir. I don’t think Apaches take scalps.”

The man in the corner turned around.

“You’re right, Cody. They don’t. Cochise doesn’t anyway, and he’s the main thorn in our sides at the moment.”

“Colonel Cody,” Willoughby said, “shake hands with Tom Jeffords. He’s the authority on Apaches in this neck of the woods.”

The two men shook hands.

“I’ve heard of you, Jeffords,” Zak said. “General Crook thinks very highly of you.”

“I’ve heard of you, too, Cody, and the same holds for what Crook thinks of you.”

“I’d like to see my brother now,” Colleen said.

Willoughby froze. His eyes turned to flint.

Jeffords looked at Colleen, his face softening with an expression of concern. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Miss O’Hara,” Jeffords said. “That’s why I’m here with Major Willoughby. Your brother is missing.”

Zak caught her on the way down as Colleen fell into a deep swoon, her legs collapsing beneath her.

“Damn,” Willoughby said, his voice a raspy whisper. “If it weren’t for the bad news, we wouldn’t have any news at all out here.”

Zak carried Colleen to a chair, looked at Willoughby.

“I’ll get some water,” Jeffords said, and left the room.

“Major,” Zak said. “Don’t call me Colonel. I’m not in the army anymore. You better read those papers in my wallet more carefully.”

“But you carry the rank.”

“Compliments of President Grant and General Crook, sir. But to you, I’m just an ordinary civilian.”

Willoughby gulped and began to read the papers while Zak fanned Colleen’s face. It was the second time she had fainted that day. He wondered that the woman could still go on, and how much more she could take before she’d have to be put in the post infirmary.

Chapter 4

Major Willoughby read the short note attached to the back of Zak’s identity card, which listed him as Colonel Zak Cody, U.S. Army, retired.