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  “Your uncle would know. I’ll review these this afternoon and send telegrams to the suppliers before I head on to Utah tomorrow. Thanks for bringing these, Will.”

  “If it’s all right with you, General Jack, I’ll travel back with you tomorrow. I have a pass.”

  “Certainly. We’ll take the morning train. I’ll see that we have seats.”

  “If you have no need for me this afternoon, sir, I’d like to borrow a horse and ride down to Bullfrog Charlie’s old cabin. I think his son, Lone Eagle, may be living there now. I would like to see him.”

  “Lone Eagle Munro?” Colonel Stevenson asked. “I have a voucher here from General Dodge to pay him for services rendered last year as a scout on that hunting expedition you led for Count von Schroeder. He’s never collected it. You want to take his pay to him? I’ll get the money for this voucher and have it for you before you take off.”

  “Sure thing, sir. I advised Lone Eagle last fall to seek employment here as a scout. Guess he didn’t do it.”

  “If you don’t mind, sir,” Lieutenant Moretti said, snapping to attention. “I’ll ride along with Mr. Braddock. I’m in need of a good scout for my detachment. Perhaps I can convince Lone Eagle to join up.”

  “Fine. Lieutenant, take Will over to the corral and find him a horse. Those bloody savages stole all of our mules the other night. A mule would do better in these snowdrifts, but there aren’t any left.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Will and Lieutenant Moretti crossed the North Platte River at Fort Fred Steele on the ferry near the railroad bridge, turned south, and rode up the east bank of the river. Will knew they could have ridden down the west bank and then used Bullfrog Charlie Munro’s personal ferry to cross the river directly opposite the old mountain man’s cabin. But, that would have meant the horses would have to swim the frigid river since that ferry wasn’t large enough to carry animals.

  Will had tied a bandana over the brim of his slouch hat and cinched it beneath his chin to keep the cold wind from blowing his headgear away. His breath hung beneath his nose in a spidery cloud each time he exhaled. He rode in silence beside his military companion for most of the dozen miles after crossing the river because it hurt his teeth when he sucked in air to speak.

  He glanced sideways and grinned at the sight of icicles dangling from the tips of Moretti’s long mustache. “You better be careful, Luey. You’ll snap the ends off that mustache if you bang it on something.”

  “I know.” Luey laughed. “It happened once last year. Had to cut the opposite side down to match the shorter one. Took two months to grow back.”

  “I don’t see how you maintain it, even during the summer months.”

  “Problem then is the heat. They droop and blow into my mouth, and I have to be careful not to chew them off.” His laughter sprayed a stream of ice crystals ahead of his face.

  Will pulled up on the reins and brought his horse to a standstill. Luey paused beside him. The trail they rode emerged from a stand of cottonwoods at the edge of a large clearing adjacent to the river.

  “That’s the cabin, on the far side of the clearing. Best we go slowly in case someone’s there other than Lone Eagle.” Will carried his Winchester rifle in his left hand, and he now levered a round into the breech.

  The lieutenant reached across his waist, flipped up the leather flap on his pistol holster, and withdrew his revolver. “Best to be prepared,” he said. He cocked his Remington handgun and held it upright in a ready position.

  The two of them sat at the edge of the woods and surveyed the clearing and the distant cabin. Will’s horse snorted and shuffled. “Easy, fellow,” Will said. He tightened the reins, pulling the gelding’s head back.

  Pinned on the wall of the cabin a large bearskin covered most of the wall to the right of the door leading into the structure. Unless Lone Eagle had created an additional entrance, Will remembered this door as the only way into the cabin. The grizzly skin was all that was left of the giant bear that had killed Bullfrog Charlie the year before. Will felt an involuntary shiver as he recalled shooting the bear. But, he had not done so before it had mauled the old mountain man so badly he didn’t survive.

  Leaning against the wall to the left of the door, he recognized the travois Bullfrog had fashioned to drag Will to the cabin after he’d fallen into the frozen river last winter. He often thought about how Lone Eagle’s father had saved his life then, but how he’d failed to keep the old man alive after the grizzly attack. Will had ridden that travois one other time when last fall he’d been wounded by a grizzly when he’d stepped in to save the German count’s life. Lone Eagle later gave the travois to the Shoshone girl, Butterfly Morning. The fact the travois now leaned against the cabin confirmed in Will’s mind that his mixed-blood friend had indeed returned to occupy the cabin.

  “Hallo, the cabin!” Will shouted. The horse fidgeted beneath him, startled by the loud challenge.

  Will and Luey held their horses steady at the edge of the clearing and waited.

  “Hallo, the cabin! Will Braddock here!”

  A moment later the cabin door opened, and Lone Eagle Munro emerged. Even at this distance, Will could see the broad smile on his friend’s face.

  Lone Eagle motioned them toward the cabin. Will dropped his rifle onto the saddle horn and Luey returned his pistol to its holster. They nudged their horses and walked them across the clearing through fetlock-deep snow.

  “Welcome, Will Braddock. Why do you bring a soldier with you?”

  “This is my friend, Lieutenant Luigi Moretti,” Will replied.

  Moretti raised a hand. “Greetings, Lone Eagle Munro. I knew your father. It is nice to finally meet you.”

  “Welcome, Lieutenant. Both of you, welcome. Put your horses in the lean-to stable behind the cabin. There is plenty of room. Only my pony is there. He will welcome the warmth and companionship of your mounts. Then come inside. I’ll have Butterfly Morning prepare some food.”

  “Butterfly Morning is here?” Will asked.

  “Yes. We are married. She is with child.”

  Will grinned broadly. “Well, I’ll be. You sure didn’t waste time, did you?”

  Lone Eagle returned the grin. “No.”

  A half-hour later, Will and Luey patted their full bellies after gorging on a stew of buffalo hump and wild onions.

  Butterfly Morning spoke few words of English, and she mainly remained silent. She smiled each time she looked at Lone Eagle. Twin braids of black hair swung across her shoulders as she went about the task of cleaning up after the meal.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Will said. He rose from a three-legged stool and retrieved his haversack from where he’d hung it on a peg by the door. He dug out the sack of coins and handed it to Lone Eagle.

  Lone Eagle tipped the sack open and poured several silver dollars into his palm. “What is this?”

  “That’s your pay for serving as a scout on Count von Schroeder’s hunting trip last fall. I told you General Dodge would send it to Fort Fred Steele, but you never went there to fetch it.”

  Lone Eagle held his hand out to Butterfly Morning, who stirred the handful of coins with a finger. She faced Will and bowed slightly. “Thank you. Now we buy something for baby.”

  “The sutler has baby clothes and toys for sale at the fort, miss,” Moretti said.

  “Oh,” Butterfly Morning said. “I think soft blanket best.” The Shoshone girl’s black eyes sparkled in the light reflected from the logs burning in the fireplace.

  A gust of wind slammed against the outside of the cabin and rattled the door. Lone Eagle stepped outside and Will watched him survey the sky. He quickly returned.

  “More snow,” Lone Eagle said. “It has been a hard winter. Hunting has been slim.”

  “I can imagine,” Will said. “The railroad has had a hard time keeping the trains running. This may even be a worse winter than the one last year.”

  “At least as bad. The buffalo will be late returning this year, again.”r />
  “What are you going to do, Lone Eagle?” Will asked. “You have a family to consider now. You can’t fall back on the excuse that all you need to survive you can find by hunting and fishing. Have you given any thought to my suggestion that you become a scout for the Army?”

  Lone Eagle sighed. He squatted beside the fireplace and poked at the coals with a stick. “I have thought some about it. But I find it hard to put myself in a position to have to fight my people.”

  “You are no longer a member of the Cheyenne band, Lone Eagle. You told me last year that Black Wolf forced you to leave. They apparently do not consider you to be part of their people.”

  Lone Eagle glared at Will, then turned and stared into the fire.

  “You could really be aiding the Cheyennes, Lone Eagle, if you helped the Army maintain peace between the settlers and the natives.” Will moved over to the fireplace and knelt beside his friend. “The Indians cannot win a war in the long run. Oh, sure, they can create panic along the path of the railroad, but the government will never let the Indians stop the westward expansion.”

  “There you go again, Will, with that Manifest Destiny foolishness. Just because politicians in Washington spout that doctrine, does not make it right. The white man has no right to take these lands away from the tribes.”

  “It may not be right, to your way of thinking, Lone Eagle,”

  Will said. “But it is going to happen.”

  “I cannot bring myself to take up arms against my brothers.”

  “Lone Eagle,” Moretti said. “If I may?” He rose and pushed his stool against the wall with a toe. “I think I have a way for you to work for the Army and not have to fight against the Cheyennes.”

  Lone Eagle stood and looked at the Italian-born lieutenant, but said nothing. Will rose, also.

  Moretti continued. “I need a scout for my small detachment. I only have a dozen men and our assignment is to serve as a bodyguard for General Grenville Dodge until the railroad is completed. This assignment won’t last much longer, but I could use your services until it does. The Shoshones have mostly gone to the Wind River reservation . . . perhaps not all bands. The Utes are currently peaceful in Utah, but we do not know if that will last. You could help me, you could help General Dodge, you could help Will Braddock even, by working as my scout. The pay is good. The money will benefit you, your wife, and your new baby.”

  Lone Eagle looked at Butterfly Morning. She did not hold her husband’s gaze, but dropped her head. Lone Eagle turned back to the fire and stood silently for a moment. He looked back at Will and Moretti. “I will think on it.”

  Moretti extended his hand, which Lone Eagle shook. “That is all I can ask,” Moretti said. “I will be at Fort Fred Steele a few more weeks while I await General Dodge’s arrival. Let me know your decision as soon as you can.”

  Lone Eagle nodded.

  “That’s a good offer, Lone Eagle,” Will said. “Think well on it.”

  Lone Eagle nodded again.

  “Now, it’s time we head back, Will,” Moretti said. He reached to take his hat from a peg.

  “I think you will have to stay until morning, Lieutenant,” Lone Eagle said. He pointed at the waxed skin that covered one of the two windows that let light into the cabin. Snow had already drifted partway up the windowsill.

  CHAPTER 13

  Paddy descended from the rear of the passenger coach and stepped onto the platform of the station at Wahsatch. He planned to stay only a day or two, so he hadn’t brought any luggage. He looked quickly to his left, up the side of the train, to see if anybody got off who might recognize him. Seeing no familiar face, he slipped around the side of the depot building and hurried up the street, keeping on the boardwalks where they existed. The morning had warmed to well above freezing and the snow that hadn’t yet been churned into mud by wagon wheels and horses added melted water to the slush. Gooey muck soon coated his boots.

  Mort told him to head to the largest saloon he could find, because that’s where most of the tracklayers would hang out at the end of the workday. He saw a half-dozen tents bearing signs proclaiming to be purveyors of liquor, but the place that fit Mort’s criteria was the Sweet Adeline. With its false wooden front and raised wooden boardwalk, this establishment looked like it could accommodate a large crowd of workers. He passed through the batwing doors and walked to the bar. The place was empty except for two customers who occupied one of the dozen round tables scattered across the packed-dirt floor.

  Paddy slapped a hand on the bar to attract the attention of the bartender. “Aye, and a fine good morning to ye, sir. Is it there will be more customers later?”

  “Quite a bit later, lad.” The stocky bartender wiped his hands on a grubby apron that had not been white since it left the weaver’s loom. “Quitting time around here’s at sunset, then the place fills up.”

  “Railroad workers, to be sure.”

  “Who else. There ain’t nothing else in this godforsaken town except the store keeps and the tracklayers.”

  Paddy removed his bowler hat and placed it on the bar.

  “What’ll it be, lad?”

  “A beer, if it’s fresh, now.” Paddy would prefer Irish whiskey, but he couldn’t afford it.

  “Fresh as you’ll find anywhere in Utah.” The bartender pulled a glass out from under the bar and filled it from a keg upended on the back bar. He slapped the foam off the top with a spatula and placed the glass in front of Paddy. “That’ll be a quarter.”

  Paddy dropped a quarter on the bar and picked up the beer. He sniffed it. Not bad. Then he slurped a mouth full of foam off the top of the glass. He swiped his tongue around both corners of his mouth. Not bad, at all.

  “Aye, and is it that ye draw the same crowd most evenings?” Paddy asked. He tipped the glass and let the warm beer glide into his mouth. He grimaced and squinted one eye when the alcohol touched his aching tooth.

  “Same gang every day gravitates to this watering hole.”

  “They gravitate, ye say?”

  “That’s what I said. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to gather some supplies from the back. Can I pour you another beer before I go?”

  Paddy shook his head. He finished his beer and left the saloon. The only hotel in Wahsatch sat directly across the street from the UP’s depot. He retraced his steps, rented a room, and spent the afternoon napping on the bed.

  He must have fallen asleep. Increasing noise from the street woke him. He rolled off the bed and rubbed his eyes. He stepped to the single window of the room and watched the construction workers slog down the muddy road. Across the way, many of them passed through the swinging doors of the Sweet Adeline. Time to go to work.

  An hour later, after eating a slice of roast beef and a boiled potato at a café, he headed for the Sweet Adeline. All of the chairs at the card tables were occupied and little open space could be found along the bar. Smoke filled the space between the heads of the men and the ceiling of the room.

  “Ah, lad, you’re back. Another beer?” The bartender held up an empty glass.

  “Aye, and ye’re beer ain’t too bad. I’ll have another, to be sure.” Paddy dropped a quarter on the bar and picked up the glass of beer. He turned his back to the bar while he sipped the amber liquid and studied the men at each of the tables.

  The noise level precluded Paddy hearing much of the conversation. Most of the men busied themselves playing various games of cards while they sipped their beers and whiskeys. One fellow attracted Paddy’s attention at a far table. His voice carried over the span of the room. The Irish accent that punctuated his arguments convinced Paddy this was his best target.

  Paddy moved away from the bar and threaded his way between two tables. He took up a position where he could look over the heads of the other men at the table he’d chosen and make eye contact with the loud talker.

  “And when, by the grace of God, will the high and mighty owners of the UP be paying us, I ask?” The Irishman slammed his whiskey glass on the t
able and looked one at a time at the other five men seated with him. “Speaking for meself, I’m mighty close to running out of money. Me mother told me a borrower ye should never be. But I’m close, and that’s the truth of it.”

  “Why don’t ye strike, then?” Paddy asked.

  All six men at the table turned to glare at whoever had the gumption to intrude on their private conversation. Those directly in front of him craned their necks backward to see Paddy.

  “And what be yer interest in our wages, sonny?” the loud talker asked.

  “Nay, no interest in yer wages, sir. Just hate to see the railroad stiff the good Irish for their pay, ’tis all.”

  “He speaks the truth, Brenden.” One of the others at the table spoke.

  “Aye, and I’ve been a thinking on that meself.” The man identified as Brenden continued to dominate the table’s conversation with his loud voice.

  “I used to work for the railroad, sure and I did,” Paddy said. “I quit when they stopped paying me.” Paddy didn’t elaborate on the reason for the railroad stopping his pay.

  “We’ll have to think more on this, Brenden,” a third man spoke. “If the railroad gets wind of a strike, they may fire us all. I’ve family counting on my wages, ye can be sure. Don’t want to be losing me job.”

  The arguments for and against a strike continued late into the evening. The group even made room for Paddy to join them at their table and bought him beers.

  Paddy’s head ached when two sharp whistles from a nearby locomotive awakened him the next morning. He’d consumed too many beers last night. The men he’d been with had not committed to a strike, but he felt confident he’d stirred the controversy enough that they would continue the debate. If the railroad failed to pay their wages soon, they might take action into their own hands. Enough of them were fed up, he could tell. Mort would surely be pleased with his efforts, Paddy assured himself.