Then she glanced up into his face and salacious thoughts were derailed. Curiously, she followed the direction of his intense focus to a littering of glass shards upon the floor. She looked for a moment, not making sense of what she saw, until she realized that with the glass on the inside, the bullet would have had to come from without.
Her father hadn’t fired the shot she heard. It had been fired at him.
So why hadn’t he said so?
Juliet took the revolver from the colonel’s hand, saying, “I’ll just take this before you shoot off your own foot.” He released it with reluctance and she immediately knew why.
The chamber was cool, its rounds in place, its cartridges never discharged.
He’d lied not only to his men, but also to her. And she was anxious to hear his explanation. Who was her father trying to protect with his silence? And why?
She was left to draw her own conclusions, for as soon as the others left, her father held up a hand to forestall her questions.
“To bed, Jules. It’s been a long, trying day for us all. Tomorrow is soon enough to plague me for my carelessness.” There was no mistaking the finality in his tone. The matter was closed.
But even as she lay back on her thin mattress, her thoughts were spinning in defiance of sleep. Who would have anything to gain from shooting her father? Only one answer came readily to mind, one disturbing answer as apparent as it was prophetic. Only the Southerners would have a reason to hate her father enough to wish him dead. But which Southerner? One hiding in the shadows? Or the one who came boldly to their door?
Had she been flirting with the man who even as he teased her was planning to murder her father?
In the morning, she learned her father’s intention of sweeping the incident away, just as the window glass had quietly been disposed of. When she tried to bring it up again over a brief breakfast of coffee and biscuits, he made himself very clear.
“We won’t discuss this matter any further, Jules. I’ll not have your vivid imagination making any more of it than it is. An accident.”
“But Papa—”
“No more, I said.”
His tone brooked no argument, his look, no quarter. So Juliet finished her coffee in silence, hurt by his exclusion and worrying over what might prove serious enough for her father to wish her insulated from it. Was it personal embarrassment? He’d made such a strong stand on the side of the Rebels keeping their word. Did that keep him from naming them in the attack? How foolish to place one’s pride above one’s life. The more she considered, the more likely it became as the answer to his silence. If he were to admit an attack took place, all his Southerners would fall under suspicion. If a report were made, it could result in all of them going back to their incarceration at Point Lookout.
But why was he willing to suppress the truth in order to protect these treacherous men? Why was he willing to put his own life at risk?
Had she the right to go against his wishes?
Juliet wondered as she watched him sponge his uniform to restore a fresh appearance. She’d always thought him at his most handsome when turned out in a crisp uniform, his shoes blacked, his buttons gleaming, saber strapped to his side. She couldn’t picture him any other way, not as a clerk going to work in a city store nor as a government employee heading for his comfortable desk and reams of paperwork. This was her father, the vital, fighting man before her, the man her mother had fallen in love with and followed throughout the West at the cost of her own life. Not a man of pride but one of honor.
A man who would not condemn an entire company for the action of one coward.
For him to be safe, that one coward would have to be ferreted out. If her father meant to let the matter pass, she could not afford to. Even if the bullet was meant to be a warning rather than a killing shot, she could take it no less seriously. Threats had a way of becoming actions, and those consequences were ones she planned to avoid.
The guard mount was the most important event of the average soldiering day. At 8:30 call, those assigned to guard duty assembled in front of the barracks for inspection by the company’s first sergeant. Ten minutes later, they marched to the parade ground for an inspection by the sergeant major, who then announced the duty roster. The men were then turned over to the officer of the day, who inspected again and put them through an exacting manual-of-arms drill.
Juliet leaned on the porch rail outside their small house to watch Miles Dougherty bark out orders. Usually, those under his command were sharp as a military crease, but this morning, with half the ranks made up of Banning’s men, the routine went poorly, a show of sloppy discipline that had Miles red-faced and seething.
“What the hell kind of soldiers do you call these, Major Banning?”
Noble stared at him straight on. “They aren’t soldiers, Dougherty. They were men fighting for their homeland, and for that task, they had no equal. If you want tin soldiers to line up at your command, you’ll have to train ’em yourself. I’ve no fault with their behavior.”
Miles glared at him, furious at his lack of support, then returned his attention to the men. “I give you a choice, the only one you’ll get from me. Act like soldiers going on guard duty or you’ll all be in the guard house. Let’s run through the drill again, like men this time instead of little girls.”
The routine was repeated, this time with a greater degree of cooperation but no less obvious reluctance on the part of the Southern troopers. That done, Miles snapped a crisp salute and dismissed the men to the guard house, from which they would begin their two-hour tours of sentry duty.
“A less than impressive display,” Juliet remarked as her father came to stand beside her on the porch. He made a noncommittal sound.
“I didn’t request them for their ability to perform close-order drill. Miles will have them shaped up in no time. No one takes their soldiering more seriously than Miles.”
Juliet glanced up at him in surprise. “You make that sound like a less than admirable trait.”
“This kind of warfare requires some degree of initiative and imagination. Miles is an extraordinary by-the-book soldier. But he lacks a certain … flexibility.”
Juliet blinked. She’d never heard him find fault with Miles before. Perhaps it was because he never had anyone to compare him to before Noble Banning arrived.
“And I suppose your bold Kentuckian has that desired flexibility.”
He smiled at her tart assessment. “Major Banning is a survivor at any cost—short of acting without honor. He has a fine mind and a shrewd cunning that should do quite well up against our nemeses. The Apache aren’t hampered by an excess of rules, either.”
“You sound as if you can’t wait to pit them against one another.”
Her dismay forced him to cool his enthusiasm. “I can wait, my dear, but in the meantime, I can anticipate.”
There was little for a woman to do on an army post unless she was doing laundry for the company at five dollar a month for officers and two dollars for enlisted men, or else serving as a midwife. It was a ritual for all women to turn out for the guard mount, and most professed a love for the flashy show of brass buttons. But after that, there came endless idle hours.
The strict caste system prevented socializing through the ranks. Though Juliet liked Pauline Folley, they had little in common. Pauline was wrapped up in her children and husband with scant time for or interest in much else. The only other officer’s wife was Maisy Bartholomew, and Juliet knew more about her than she cared to already.
That left her to her own company. Juliet was no stranger to solitude. She’d spend her days devoted to self-betterment, improvement of her mind through reading and of her health by the cultivation of a garden.
She was in the midst of arranging her books when a soft throat-clearing alerted her. Her breath caught when she saw Noble Banning standing in the doorway. She forced herself to remember he might be a co-conspirator in the attempt on her father’s life. That chilled her manner in a hurry.
“Major, can I help you with something?”
If he noticed the frigid plunge in temperature, he didn’t react. His attention was on the dozens of leather-bound volumes.
“Just wondering if the library was open yet.”
She gestured to the books scattered across the floor in teetering stacks. “I haven’t sorted through them all yet, but I can make a couple of recommendations.” She ran her forefinger down the gold-leaf type and selected two weighty editions. Noble took them and scanned the titles impassively.
“Brutus and Benedict Arnold. Renowned betrayers. Interesting topic. Is there some message I should be looking for?”
“You wouldn’t have to look far, Major.”
His mouth thinned as he studied the woman kneeling on the floor in what should have been, but wasn’t, a submissive pose. “Is there something on your mind, Miz Crowley?”
She wasted no time with discretion. “If I’d taken your pistol last night, would I have found it had been recently fired?”
“Fired at your father?”
Her unswerving stare was her answer.
“No, it was not, and no, I did not. But I don’t expect you’ll take my word for it, will you?”
“I haven’t my father’s blanket trust in your sincerity, sir.”
“Then what about something else you can believe in? Something like retribution. Your father has information I need. Until I find out what he knows, I need him alive. There. Does that satisfy you?”
She seized on his answer. “What information?”
“That’s between him and me.”
She accepted that reluctantly. But her questions weren’t done. “You were quick to appear at our door after the shot was fired. Did you, perhaps, see anyone else out on the parade ground?”
“Meaning any of my men, I assume.”
“Assume what you will, Major.”
His expression closed down tight, becoming all lean angles and harsh hollows. “All my men were in their barracks. The only one I saw anywhere near your quarters was your friend Dougherty. Maybe you should be asking him these questions.”
“That’s absurd!”
“That’s your opinion.” He hefted the books. “I shall enjoy these. Hopefully fact will be as entertaining as the fiction you’re creating.” He nodded to her and was gone before she could come up with a suitably cutting reply.
The horses arrived in a flurry of dust and commotion just before the afternoon fatigue detail went out to forage for wood and water. The men broke ranks in an effort to wave them around, giving the weary wranglers a chance to herd the bony broomtails in with the rest of the fort’s animals. One of the sergeants stood at the gate, counting, as the foam-flecked furies entered the corral. Thirty-four creatures as wild as the terrain milled about, inciting the milder company mounts to stomp and snort at the new arrivals.
“What a collection of teeth and ribs,” Noble remarked as he met Crowley and his daughter at the corral.
“Nothing oats and rest won’t restore at five dollars a head,” one of the wranglers stated as he rolled down out of his damp saddle. “Know we’d promised you’uns forty head, but them damned A-paches nabbed six of ’em last night. We’re lucky they was just interested in the horses instead of our hair.”
“They’d have done better taking your hair,” Noble said as he sized up the wayworn mustangs.
“Any of those animals worth five dollars, Major?” Crowley asked, deferring to the Kentuckian’s expertise.
“Maybe for the whole lot.”
“Now hold on a minute, pard,” the wrangler sputtered. “We was pledged five dollars apiece.”
“It’ll cost us twice that to get them fit enough to carry a man any distance. If they recover at all.”
That dire prediction had the wrangler twisting his hat in his hands. Juliet was glad to see he recognized Noble as a man who knew horseflesh, something the officers were usually ignorant of. He’d probably thought he’d have an easy sale. He was realizing he was wrong and didn’t like it. Trying to salvage something, he wheedled, “Now lookee here, it ain’t our fault them animals look so lean. We’ve had Injuns on our backs all the way here. After risking our very lives, you gonna go and welsh out on our deal?”
Crowley studied the scanty-tailed beasts. “My major says they’re not worth five dollars. I trust his judgment. I won’t put my men on animals that’ll collapse ten miles into the desert. A man’s only as good as his horse out here, and I happen to think quite a lot of my men.”
Seeing the whole deal going sour, the wrangler looked to his scowling comrades, then sighed. “Since you’ve got to nurse ’em a bit, how ‘bout we say four dollars a head.”
“Three would be a lot more reasonable,” Noble claimed as he watched the animals canter the circumference of the corral.
Juliet smiled to herself as the wrangler beat his hat against his thigh, sending up a choking cloud of dust, but he forced a smile and said, “You’re stealing from us, but we can’t afford to go back empty-handed. Three apiece it is.”
Crowley nodded, satisfied a good bargain had been made. “If you’ll follow the sergeant, he’ll see you receive army scrip—and a good meal.”
“Thankee for that much,” the wrangler grumbled, then motioned to his two companions. When they were gone, Crowley looked to his major.
“Are they worth three dollars?”
“Probably, by the time we break ’em and fill in their ribs.”
Crowley smiled. “When do you think they’ll be ready to ride? Our mounts are about played out.”
“Grain ’em and rest ’em good today and they’ll be ready to kick up their heels in about a week.”
Juliet leaned against the corral rail to watch the mangy beasts. She refused to admit her pleasure at the way Noble’s cunning had saved them money, casually saying instead, “Is that when we’ll discover if you’re worth the trouble my father went through for you?”
Noble grinned. “That’s where the seat meets saddle leather, ma’am.”
“Well, what do you think of him?”
Juliet gave a start, then continued to serve their supper, pretending not to know whom her father referred to.
“Of whom?”
“Major Banning.”
“I can’t say my opinion of him has been much changed.” She sat down and tucked in her skirt with atypical fussiness.
Watching her a bit too closely for comfort, her father asked, “And what is that opinion?”
“The one I’ve expressed often and loudly, only to have you ignore it. That he, like all of his kind, is arrogant, spoiled by luxury, and too full of himself to be much good to anyone else.”
“His men thought highly enough of him to change their colors.”
Juliet considered that, then said, “Perhaps his men are fools, as well. Or change colors as easily as a chameleon, just for camouflage.”
Crowley chuckled. “Time will tell.”
But how much time did they safely have with an assassin roaming loose upon their post?
Juliet’s glance flew to the open window. It framed them in interior light where they sat at their table. Easy targets. Casually, she crossed to it and pulled the canvas curtains closed.
“I’d like to eat one meal without a seasoning of dust,” she announced upon returning to her seat. Her father stared at her but said nothing. Eventually, he returned to his food. After a moment, Juliet continued.
“The major did say something earlier which has me puzzled. Perhaps you could explain.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“He said you were withholding some information from him. He wouldn’t elaborate, so I thought you might.”
Crowley’s gaze lifted from his plate, his stare fixed and flintlike. “You thought wrong, my dear. What’s between Major Banning and me is our business and none of yours.”
Taken aback, Juliet snatched a hurtful breath. Though she tried to keep her tone light, the weight of his words tugged at her hear
t. “There was a time when you felt free to share everything with me. I’m wondering if something has happened to change that, Papa. Do you feel you have some reason to distrust me?”
He answered with the expected reassurances. “Nonsense. I trust you more than a confessor.”
Using his own claim against him, she asked, “Then what makes this business off-limits, if I’m still considered a trusted confidante?”
Realizing how easily she’d trapped him, Crowley pursed his lips ruefully. “Such a clever girl. It’s a complicated matter, Jules. All I can tell you is that Banning believes I know the identity of the man in his command whose information led to their capture.”
She leaned forward, intrigued. “And do you?”
“That’s all I can say.”
Could say or would say?
She sat back with a snort of disgust. “How unfair to lead me on with tidbits, then refuse the final facts.”
“I won’t have Banning using you to get that information should he think you have it.”
The sternness of his tone had an immediate effect on Juliet. She wondered aloud, “Do you think he would do that?”
“Banning is a man of serious convictions. I would not put anything past his doing if he thinks it will gain him what he wants.”
Juliet fell silent for the remainder of the meal. Were Noble’s flirtations motivated by something so coldly calculating? Was he hoping to worm his way into her affections to get her to betray her father’s trust? If so, what a cruel way to use her.
She told herself savagely that she should have known better than to think him driven by honest emotion. Why would a man like Banning pay special court to a prickly and ungainly woman? Here was the harsh yet completely logical truth. A painful truth, but one she would survive. Better to learn of it now than to have already lost her heart in the matter.
She blinked rapidly, using the bitterness of the coffee to explain the sudden haze of tears in her eyes.
The Men of Pride County: The Rebel Page 7
