Ghost Towns by Louis L'Amour

Author:Louis L'Amour
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2010-07-22T16:00:00+00:00

A single pair of hands shook his arm. “Sir, please wake up. You’re scaring the whole camp.”

Joseph’s eyes popped open, and he found a boy, younger than Skeeter, peering down at him. Joseph bolted off the cot and grabbed the child’s arms. “Did you save them? Sarah and Skeeter. Did they get out?”

The boy winced as Joseph’s fingers dug into his flesh. “I don’t know no Sarah or Skeeter, sir. Maybe Colonel Siegel does.” No sooner had Joseph turned loose, the boy lit out of there as though he’d seen the devil.

Determined to find answers, Joseph followed and burst into another tent. The man at the table glanced up.

“Glad to have you back, Lieutenant Scriven. Thought that fever was going to be the last of you.”

Lieutenant? Only then did Joseph notice his clothes, discovering he wore an officer’s uniform with a single bar on the shoulder strap. This was not right!

Joseph opened his hands. “Lieutenant? Sir? I’m where? How? The fire?” He stood there; face as blank as new paper.

The colonel motioned toward a crate. “Sit down, son, before you fall over and hurt yourself. Can’t have you snap your neck now that your fever’s finally broke.”

Remembering the bullet he’d taken, Joseph reached for his side. “I had a fever, and my leg was broken, but…?”

“Well, don’t know about the leg but it was one haystack of a fever. Felt like a fire, doc said. Never saw a rabid dog fight as hard as you did last night. Got the whole camp riled. Who’s Sarah?”

The colonel didn’t wait for an answer. “None of my nevermind. You can write her later. Right now, I want you to get yourself put together and meet me at the west edge of camp. Dismissed.”

Still mystified and uncertain he was awake, Joseph returned to the other tent. There, he found a small basin of water.

Face scrubbed and coat buttoned, Joseph gazed long and hard at himself in the mirror. Holding it closely, he recognized his eyes but when he pulled it farther away, it seemed as though he’d been slipped into the skin of his father. And when had he grown a beard?

The officer’s uniform. It fit as though it’d been made for his now six-foot frame. Certain the word “private” had been written on his enlistment papers, he squeezed closed his eyes, trying to visualize the word. His mind saw only illegible squiggles of ink.

With memories dashing madly through his head feeling as though they belonged to someone else, he wandered to the edge of camp. Enlisted men saluted him. Uneasily, he returned each gesture.

A half hour later, the colonel met him in front of a couple dozen ragtag men bunched on the ground. “Lieutenant Scriven, these are prisoners of the United States of America. You’re to see that they are properly treated and not allowed to escape until such time as we can figure out what to do with them. Sergeants Linn and Tiswell are at your command. Any questions?” Again, the colonel didn’t wait for any.

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