Glory's Guidons (The Long-Knives US Cavalry Western Book 3) by Patrick E. Andrews

Author:Patrick E. Andrews
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wild west, old west, us cavalry, comanche indians, patrick e andrews, western novel ebook, western novel online
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Chapter Nine

Fort Durham, in north Texas, was a comfortable post. Its buildings were well constructed of lumber and even the barracks boasted wood burning stoves, not only at each end, but in the center of the structures as well. The cavalrymen of L Company halted at the edge of the garrison, staring in disbelief at the three stove pipes that jutted through each roof of the soldiers’ quarters.

Delaney and Pepperdine left the men to ride in to report to the garrison’s commander. After tying up their horses in front of headquarters, they went inside to introduce themselves to the adjutant. The harried officer evidently balding prematurely from his pressing staff duties, greeted them in a manner that swayed somewhere between confusion and outright alarm at their unexpected appearance in front of his desk.

“You are from where, sir?” he asked Delaney. “I don’t understand why you’re here at Fort Durham. We have six companies this garrison so there was no reason for you—“

“I wish to report to the post commander,” Delaney stated in a firm voice. “I believe that’s the proper custom, is it not?”

“Indeed it is, sir,” the adjutant agreed.

“Then pray get on with it, Lieutenant,” Delaney ordered. “I have ridden a long distance and I am fatigued, thirsty and hungry. My command is in the same boat. We would like to resolve the question of continuing our mission or turning it over to your commanding officer.”

“Yes, sir. Wait, please, Captain. I’ll tell the commander you’re here.”

A voice sounded from behind the adjutant. “Never mind, I’ve noted their presence.” The statement came from a short, heavily mustachioed major standing in the doorway of his office. “I’ll be damned! Is that you, Delaney?”

“Yes, sir,” Delaney answered. He studied the figure standing there. His memory suddenly flashed back to the image of this same major as a young lieutenant lying wounded on the ground after a brief cavalry skirmish at Brandy Station. It was the last time he had seen him. “Well! Johnny Morrow. A bit of time’s gone by since last we stood facing each other like this.”

“I believe only you were standing the last time,” Morrow said. He walked over to Delaney and gazed into his face. “Damn! You’re older and grayer by a hell of a lot, Ambrose.”

“I suppose,” Delaney said. He indicated his junior officer. “This is my lieutenant Mr. Pepperdine.”

Pepperdine came to attention. “Honored, sir.”

“Likewise, Lieutenant,” Morrow answered. “You two come into my office and fill me in on this unexpected pleasure.”

He led the way into the room and sat down behind his desk while Pepperdine and Delaney stood in front. The captain gave a quick, but thorough report of the patrol’s mission and the reasons behind it.

Morrow nodded. “Fine. I’ll telegraph the department commander and see what his pleasure is.” He called to the adjutant and dictated a quick message. After the officer left, Morrow pulled out a desk drawer and produced a bottle of rye. He indicated some tin cups on a shelf and Pepperdine, taking the hint, set three of them on the desk.

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