Terror Trackdown by Jon Sharpe

Author:Jon Sharpe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

11

Fort Laramie had a long history. It began as a trading post back in 1834. It was called Fort William for a while, after William Sublette, an early figure in the fur trade. Then it was called Fort John. Finally it occurred to someone to name it after the river it was near, and the post became known as Fort Laramie. The river itself was named after a Frenchman, Jacques Laramie, who had the misfortune to run into a band of unfriendly Arapahos while setting a trapline.

The post was intended to protect wagon trains bound for Oregon country, as well as those who decided the Laramie River region had just as much to offer, and stayed. Two companies of mounted riflemen and one company of infantry had the unenviable task. Unenviable, because most of the neighboring tribes resented the white invasion in general and the presence of the fort in particular.

Colonel Crane was the officer who had sent out the survey detail. Tall and slim, he always wore pressed uniforms and boots polished to a sheen. His office reflected his belief that neatness and efficiency went hand in hand.

Fargo had scouted for Crane in the past, and played cards with him a few times. They were not the best of friends but they got along tolerably well. At the moment, though, Colonel Crane was distinctly unhappy.

“You’re asking a lot. My superiors would not approve.” Fargo was straddling a chair catty-corner to the colonel’s immaculate desk. Since Prissy’s death, a scowl had become a permanent fixture on his face, and now that scowl deepened. “Whether I shoot him or he hangs doesn’t matter, just so long as he pays.”

“I agree Barstow deserves to be put to death,” Colonel Crane said in the clipped manner he had.

“Then let me go after him.”

Crane leaned back and made a teepee of his fingers. “I’ll be frank with you. I’m concerned that you are more interested in revenge than justice.” He held up a slender hand when Fargo went to interrupt. “Let me finish. After what you went through, you have every right to want to kill him. But the army abides by regulations, and those regulations state that I must have him duly taken into custody and brought back here to face a court-martial.”

“I can do that,” Fargo said.

“Were it only up to me, I would let you. But regulations require it be done by a member of the United States Army.” Again Crane held up his hand. “I know what you are about to say. You have been a scout in our employ. But you have never worn a uniform. You have never actually enlisted.”

Fargo’s temper was fraying. They had hashed this over several times during the two weeks he had been recovering. “Damn it, Alex. He wiped out the entire detail. He murdered two civilians, one of them a woman.” For a moment Fargo was back in the mountains, the blackness closing in, Prissy bucking in her final agonies. It was like having a knife twisting in his gut.

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