Bret's Story:

The only thing I had to say to Buckley after we left my room was to ask what direction I needed to go in. He tried to ask a couple of questions and I think he might have again mentioned Boucher's intention to kill me once or twice, but I didn't pay attention to him. My only concern right at that moment was getting to Bart. If Buckley had anything else to say it would have to wait until we were back on the trail. Of course, no one will ever be able to say Buckley was easily deterred. I was about halfway between the hotel and the livery when he grabbed my arm. "Bret."

Fighting back irritation I finally stopped and faced him. "What?"

"He means to kill you."

"At least I have the advantage of knowing."

Buckley stared at me like I'd just lost my mind. "Don't you think you should . . . formulate some sort of plan? Or something?"

I pulled out of his grip and started walking again. "I got twelve miles to do that."

I could hear Jim behind me but honestly at that point didn't care if he stayed with me or not. I already knew I needed to head out to the stagecoach; as far as I was concerned Jim had done his part. If he stayed or came it didn't matter to me, although I didn't for a minute believe he would actually fall behind. He did keep quiet after that, though, for which I was grateful. I didn't have time for talk. The only thing I wanted right now was to get my horse saddled and get to Bart as fast as I could.

As I said, I didn't have time for talk, and I hoped that whoever was working the livery wasn't the kind to stir up a lot of idle chatter. Usually, I enjoy a good conversation about nothing in particular, but not today. Thankfully, the man must have sensed the urgency of the situation because as soon as I told him I needed my horse yet again, he had the boy who worked for him get started on saddling him up. A fresh horse was also arranged for Jim, and less than fifteen minutes later we were on our way.

I kept my gelding at a walk until we cleared the last of the buildings in town and as soon as we did that I kicked him up into a ground-eating lope. I knew we could make good time at that pace and there was a part of me that hated we couldn't cover the whole twelve miles at that speed, but that was just the worried older brother in me. The other part knew neither mine nor Jim's mount was up to traveling like that, so after a couple of miles I slowed back down.

Once we were down to a walk, Jim moved up beside me. I looked over and was surprised to see something like concern on his face. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen Buckley concerned for anyone besides himself before. The man was certainly a puzzle.

"Tell me about Bart," I said as we walked. The time I'd spent running had cleared my head some and I realized Jim was right. I did need to stop and think about this some. I couldn't see that it would do any of us any good for me to go barging in without at least some idea of what I was going to do. Besides, the more information I had, the better.

"What about him?"

"How was he when you left?"

Buckley sighed. "He'd been shot. I suppose he was doing as well as could be expected under those circumstances. He told me to come get you."

I grimaced. It didn't matter what Jim was saying, if Bart had asked for me, it was bad. Especially if Bart had the same inkling Buckley did, that Boucher intended to kill me. "Tell me the rest; everything that happened involving this Boucher."

Jim briefly told me about running into Bart in Kansas City and inviting himself to come along to Denver and meeting Charity Moss on the stage. I couldn't help but roll my eyes when Miss Moss came up. Of course Bart was taken with the young woman, it's Bart. Not that I have a lot of room to talk when it comes to being attentive to a beautiful woman, but I'm not as bad as Bart. I guess it did come as a shock when it turned out the girl was mixed up in his kidnapping.

"Around noon today, this Boucher fellow comes in and tells us Bart was merely bait to get to you," Jim continued.

"Was '65 the only thing he mentioned?"

Buckley hesitated. "No."

"Well?" I prompted after a long pause.

"He mentioned you being . . . well, he called you a rebel turncoat."

I flinched at the name. Maybe I wasn't as over all that as I thought I was. "Anything else?"

"He said you and the other rebels received preferred treatment and that you were responsible for a massacre."

I snorted. "The army didn't give anyone preferred treatment."

Buckley sighed. "What did happen, Maverick? If you have any fault at all it's that you're too honest for your own good at times. I know Boucher can't be telling things exactly as they happened."

No, things hadn't happened the way Boucher said. At least they hadn't happened the way Buckley had related them, and for once I had no reason not to believe him. If Boucher was using terms like "rebel turncoat" and desperate enough to kidnap, I didn't doubt he was skewing reality some. "It didn't."

"What did happen?"

"Were you ever in the army?"

Buckley chuckled. "No. That was one of the reasons I left my home; to avoid that particular experience."

"Yeah, that is what you've said." I sighed heavily, the expression rebel turncoat still running through my mind. I wasn't prepared for how hearing that had affected me. I really wasn't supposed to care anymore. I'd made a choice, the only one that had made sense; the only one that still made sense. But if something happened to Bart because of that decision . . . . I shook my head slightly to clear it of the negative thoughts that were threatening to take over. Now wasn't the time to contemplate my life or to try and figure out why this was suddenly bothering me so much. Instead, I let my mind drift back to '65 and the scouting party that seemed to have everyone in an uproar.

XXXXXXX

October 1865 Arizona Territory

"Good thing the Yankees have us around to do their dirty work, huh?" The statement came from Private Collin Danvers and was accompanied by an eye roll.

I shrugged. "We knew what we were gettin' into when we agreed to come out here."

Danvers and I had just been informed by Sergeant Murphy we would be joining a scouting party that was pulling out at daybreak the next day. There had been reports of some renegade Apaches in the area and naturally, the army was expected to handle a problem like that.

"I guess you're right, but If I'd known then what I know now . . . ." Collin trailed off shaking his head. "Six months, Bret. Six months and we could've been out for good. Now we're stuck out here in this godforsaken desert huntin' down angry Apaches."

Collin had been a fellow prisoner in Douglas and had taken the same deal me and Bart had. He was a Louisiana boy and his feelings concerning the Confederacy were a little stronger than mine or Bart's had been. None of us had known when we agreed to serve time in the Union Army that Lee was going to surrender the Army of Northern Virginia within six months, and Collin had always been vocal about his displeasure at being stuck here since then. Maybe Collin thought he could have survived a Chicago winter, but I was still convinced I'd done the only thing I could when I joined up. Not that I was looking forward to huntin' down angry Apaches, but as far as I was concerned, being stuck in the desert for a while was worth having gotten out of Douglas before it killed me. The biggest complaint I'd had since joining the United Sates army was with being sent to Arizona while Bart stayed in New Mexico. Bart and I had never been separated like this before and frankly, I missed my brother. Oh, I got along well with Collin and we'd become friends over the last few weeks, but it wasn't the same as having Bart around.

"We really are the lucky ones, ain't we?" Collin asked a smile coming to his face.

Collin had often joked about us being the lucky ones since we'd become acquainted. We'd been lucky enough to end up in Douglas, lucky enough to get conscripted into service when the war was so close to being over, lucky enough to be part of the randomly selected men pulled out of our company and sent to Arizona, and now lucky enough to be part of the scouting party being sent after those Apaches. Frankly, I felt like I'd had more than enough luck lately and would be more than happy to pass my luck along to someone else. The only thing I was interested in now was getting through what time I had left in the Army and getting back to Little Bend, Texas. Getting rid of the headache that seemed to be growing with each passing hour would be nice too.

"At least it's Lieutenant Allen," I offered. "There are worse men we could be stuck goin' out with." Lieutenant Allen was one man who didn't seem to automatically distrust us because we were Galvanized Yankees. Although, with the men that had been pulled out of New Mexico a good number of men currently at the fort were Galvanized Yankees. Maybe he just decided it was easier to trust us than not.

"How right you are, my friend. If we can only get that lucky with the rest of the group . . . "

"We don't need any more luck," I broke in.

Collin laughed. "Not the way ours has been runnin'. Hey, you alright?"

I'd been rubbing a hand across my forehead but stopped at the question. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little headache."

"You need to go to the infirmary?"

"No, I'll be alright. I'll probably feel better after I get something to eat." It was almost time for us to be in the mess hall anyway.

Collin looked at me but finally nodded. "Alright. As I was saying, if we can get lucky enough . . ."

I shoved Collin's shoulder good-naturedly. "Stop talkin' about luck. Right now, if it weren't for bad luck I don't think we'd have any luck at all."

"Ah, you're probably right. You sure you're feelin' alright?"

I realized I'd been rubbing my temple and once again dropped my hand. "I'm fine." The headache had gotten more persistent over the last hour or so, but it was nothing too bad. I was still hoping that supper and a few hours sleep was all I would need.

"At least we don't have guard duty tonight," Collin offered with a smile.

I gave him a look. "They wouldn't make us pull out at dawn if . . . ." I stopped. "They wouldn't do that, would they?"

Collin sighed. "Bret, I gave up trying to figure out the army, particularly the Yankee army, years ago."

I laughed. "I know what you mean. Come on, let's see what delicacies the U.S. Army has for us this evening."

It turned out I was wrong about supper improving my headache. As a matter of fact, eating seemed to make me feel worse. Not only did the ache become a throb, but my stomach started acting up on me too. Soon it was a challenge just to get a bite down, and I was quickly becoming afraid keeping it down was going to turn out to be a bigger challenge. Thankfully, there was nowhere I had to be after supper and was free to find my bunk as soon I'd forced down as much food as I could. Collin asked about the infirmary once more before I made my escape but I brushed off his concerns and told him to go enjoy his free time.

It took about an hour after I lay down to realize nothing was going to get better. The throbbing was turning into pounding, and my stomach was churning worse than ever. As much as I hated any thought of going to the infirmary I was soon too miserable to do anything else. I forced myself off my bunk and staggered to the infirmary.

Captain Parish M.D. was talking to one of his orderlies when I entered the infirmary. He looked up at me. "What can I do for you, private?"

I opened my mouth to reply and immediately felt bile start to rise in my throat. I swallowed hard. "Excuse me, sir," I mumbled before I stumbled back outside and lost everything I'd eaten earlier.

Sometime during my retching, I felt a hand on my back. "Private?"

I straightened and faced the doctor again. "Sorry, sir."

The doctor smiled, his hand still on my shoulder. "Nothing to apologize for. Let's get you inside and you can tell me what's troubling you; besides the obvious."

It didn't take much of an exam to figure out I was sick. By the end of it I had thrown up again, and I was starting to feel the fever the doctor said I had. I was told I was staying in the infirmary at least for the night, and when I weakly protested that I had orders for the morning I was calmly informed that I would be going nowhere in the morning and doctor's orders trumped all others. Having never been one to question orders I took whatever it was I was given and settled in for the night.

As the doctor predicted, I was in no shape to go anywhere come dawn. Sometime during the night things got much worse, and by the time the sun came up I didn't think I could haul myself out of bed if I had to. I vaguely remember someone being at my bedside speaking words it took too much effort to figure out and trying to pour more concoctions down my throat. All I knew for certain was that I felt worse than I'd ever felt before, and I welcomed sleep when it came.

My next conscious thought was there were a lot of people in the infirmary, much more than there had been the night before. Warily I forced my eyes open and was surprised to find every bunk occupied. I was trying to find a reason for the infirmary being full when I heard someone calling my name. I looked over and saw Collin sitting beside my bed.

"You finally decided to wake up, huh?"

"What?" I asked drowsily. Something about Collin didn't look quite right, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

Collin smiled. "Doctor said you had it bad, worse than anyone else. You've been out of it for 'bout four days now."

"What?"

"Some kind of grippe. You were the first but you weren't the last. Couple of dozen of us got hit with it in all."

I was more awake now and the words started to make sense. I finally realized what was wrong with Collin too. He was wearing nothing but his trousers and undershirt, and his boots were off. He was also pale and his eyes looked tired. Collin had been sick too. I smiled weakly. "Still the lucky ones, huh?"

Collin's face clouded. "I think we might be luckier than either one of us realized."

"What?" That seemed to be about the only thing I could say right now.

Collin glanced down for a moment then looked back at me. "Well, I came down with it just a few hours after you did. I didn't go out in that party either."

"So?"

"Those renegades we were supposed to track down. Well, they didn't find them." Collin grimaced. "The Apaches found them, though."

Even through the haze that was still clouding my thinking, Collin didn't need to say anything else for me to understand what he was telling me. "How bad?"

Collin sort of shrugged. "Four made it back. Povey died from his wounds yesterday."

"Lieutenant Allen?" I knew what the answer would be but I asked it anyway. Collin silently shook his head.

I stared at Collin, only one thought running through my head; I was supposed to have been out there. If I hadn't gotten sick, I would have been out there. Maybe I really was one of the lucky ones.

XXXXXXX

"Lost in a memory, Maverick?"

I was jerked back to the present by Buckley's words. I looked over at him and saw he was eyeing me curiously. The smug expression I'd been happy to see earlier had once again become just irritating. Yes, I had been lost in a memory, but not necessarily one I was going to tell him about.

"We have a few miles yet to travel," Buckley continued. "Would you mind telling me what this man has against you?"

"I don't know." That was the truth. Even recounting all that I remembered about that party I still had no idea why this man would go to such extremes to get to me.

"Come now, Bret. You did say you knew about the scouting party he mentioned."

I nodded. "I do know. I don't know why he would want me dead because of it. I told you, I didn't have anything to do with it."

"He seems to think you did," Jim mumbled almost under his breath.

I shot him an irritated look but he was right. Whoever this Boucher was, he did seem to think I was involved. It didn't matter what the man thought, however, I still didn't know who he was. I sighed irritably. "I was supposed to go out with that party. The night before we were to leave I got sick, really sick, with the grippe. I obviously couldn't go and spent more than a week in the infirmity. The party still went out and was attacked by a group of renegades. Only four men came back and one of them died from his wounds a couple of days later. That's it. Unfortunate, but that 's it."

"There must be more to it than that."

"There's not."

Buckley looked like he was about to say something else but thought better of it when I sent him another glare. I kicked my mount back into a lope ready to cover some more ground.

The rest of the trip was made in relative silence until the stagecoach was once again in sight. I was starting to hate the way that thing looked, sitting out by the road and wondered when the stage company would come get it. I had very little time to think of that though before Buckley spoke up.

"Up ahead, Bret."

I peered ahead and saw a man sitting beside the coach at the edge of the woods. "Our escort?" I asked.

Buckley nodded. "The one called Jack."

I gave Buckley a forced smile even though my gut was once more tied up in knots. "Well, let's not keep the man waiting."