Human Hunger: A Paul Ondragon Mystery by Anette Strohmeyer

Author:Anette Strohmeyer [Strohmeyer, Anette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Podium Publishing
Published: 2024-08-20T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 27

1835, Fort Frances,

British base and trading post

Tired and drained, the small troop reached the fort. It was already dark, and everyone was glad to finally be safe behind the wooden palisades. Fort Frances was not particularly large, comprising a muddy courtyard of about a hundred and forty square yards. Inside, a long stable, a few more log cabins, and the officers’ quarters leaned against the palisades.

Lacroix knew the fort, but he was more familiar with the small village that had formed around the British trading post. They sold their hides and skins here. It consisted of at least two dozen crooked huts and houses, crouched like emaciated street dogs against the Arctic cold. But the run-down look of the settlement was deceiving; behind the doors of the log cabins, the place was full of life and vitality. Here was everything a trapper’s heart could desire after a long season in the woods: booze, gin, news, and the warm lap of a whore whose makeup could no longer hide the fact that her best days were behind her. No matter, after six months in the wilderness, even the wrinkliest pussy was a Garden of Eden in full bloom.

Lacroix saw the gate of the fort open and close behind them. Stafford and his men dismounted while Sergeant Hancock yelled out some order or other. An icy breeze swept over them across the gloomy sky. The thought that the Wendigo might have followed them this far worried Lacroix. He glanced up at the palisades. Would they present any obstacle to this creature? His gaze drifted to his friend. Alan Parker was clinging to his horse like a sack of flour. Lacroix went over and helped him dismount. Then he looked around questioningly.

“Hey, Lieutenant!” he finally called out to Stafford, who was talking to two men, one fat and the other a highly decorated officer. “My friend is in sore need of warmth and rest. Where should I take him?”

Stafford and the two men approached. “This is Colonel Richards, the commander-in-chief of the fort,” he said, presenting the decorated man. “And this is Governor Simpson. He’s very interested in solving the murders.”

The fat man eyed the newcomers suspiciously. It seemed beneath his dignity to greet them.

Lacroix nodded to the men. “Messieurs.” He knew all too well what they thought of him, and had to hold himself back from spitting on the mud at their feet. “Now, what about my friend?”

“Take him to the officers’ barracks,” Stafford said. “There is a small room where you can set up camp. I reiterate that you are not prisoners, but merely witnesses. Nevertheless, I must ask you not to leave the fort without my permission. And I forbid you to speak to my men about the murders. I don’t want to cause any alarm here, do you understand?”

So we’re prisoners after all, Lacroix thought.

He moved his sick friend into the small room and settled him down to rest. Parker was still sweating like a bear, and his feet were barely recognizable.

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