In my term with the army, there were three unspoken rules you learned quickly out in the field. Number one: You’re friendly with your superiors, not friends. Fraternizing is a good way to get yourself into deep shit, and you can count the officer to throw you under the wagon. They’ve got more to lose than you if the allegations hold.

  Number two: If the Quartermaster is running from the Powder-Magazine, you’re running with him. If possible you’re running faster than him.

  Number three: Unless you’re in the Cavalry, don’t mess with the riders. That’s a rule you could account for any division, from the engineers to the artillery. We all got our own ways of settling accounts, should the need arise. But the Cavalry were a special kind of trouble. It takes a certain kind of madness to charge headlong at the enemy on horseback. All the while taking fire from cannons, grape, and gatlings. It was the kind of madness you learned to avoid.

  Especially when, if there was one cavalryman, you could guess there were more of them waiting to show.

  Damn shame that some people never understood that.

  At the back of the hall, near the bar, was a small group of people. I could pick out the uniforms of the Cavalrymen in the gloomy and smoke filled air. They weren’t all that different from mine or Rob’s. Difference of lacking a jacket, or trading a cap for a campaign hat. Enough to distinguish them from us. But not so much that the layman wouldn’t assume they were a business worth trifling in. They were there, in their campaign hats, at the bar, crowded about some poor sap. From the distance I could not make out the specifics, but I could tell that the sap was on the ground, hind end first. His clothes were rough and dirtied, broken in through hard use and wear. An array of browns, tans, and wooly gray. Mixes of homespun cloth and the rough hides of tanned leather. He didn’t stick out too much from the rest of the crowd, or otherwise shouldn’t have. He was dressed in the sort of cape I’d seen a lot more of to the south. The patterning and designs of it, woven in strange patterns and shapes.

  The commotion had drawn the attention of the surrounding tables, and it’d spread like wildfire. Everyone, the gamblers, the drinkers, the hucksters and prostitutes, everyone was paying attention. The only one who didn’t seem to pay any mind to the situation was the Piano man. Though their kind could keep playing through the middle of a hurricane most times. They were paid peanuts and lived on tips and drinks. The only time they stopped was when someone made them.

  There was something strange about it. Knowing a fight was about to start while someone played ‘She’ll be Comin’ ‘round the Mountain’. Funny even. Funny for the rest of us, not for the dude sitting on the ground. Even with his strange dress, he seemed a bit out of sorts. Couldn’t rightly say it was wrong to feel so. Perhaps he just hadn’t realized he was bumping into. But there was something else about him that I knew would set things to worrying. His skin wasn’t the right complexion for the sort of establishment we were in. A touch too much of an earthy red for the pale sheets that filled the room. I personally didn’t much appreciate the notion, that a man couldn’t afford himself a drink where he saw fit. I felt it a notion of a different class of people to say it the limit, that a man’s skin dictated such. I felt it was the place of old money, in their private parlors and fancy airs, to make such assumptions. Very much the manner of place Denver was making itself to be.

  Regardless of what was to come next, I watched intently. In similar to the way everyone else turned their heads, to see the Native who’d picked a fight with a Cavalryman. A tension rippling through the hall with the same fervor as any other bloodsport, like boxing or bullfights.

  A tense pause filled the air as it did. As they all waited to see what would come of it. In that span of time, I could see the man at the table beside us shift in his seat. He cast a long eye to the back of the room. His hand sliding beneath the tabletop, as the Cavalryman bent over, his own hands clasping the collar of the Native.

  Before the matter could escalate further, Rob found himself and acted with the authority I knew him to be practiced in.

  “Excuse me.” Rob said to the clerk, adjusting his hat as he stepped away from the table. Without another immediate word, he began to march deeper into the hall.

  The man behind the table waited a moment, watching before casting his eye towards me. A curious gleam in them.

  “Shouldn’t surprise you we’re of some relation to them.” I said, scratching at the stubble growing from my cheeks.

  “You gonna join him?” The man asked

  “Nope.” I told him “Officer’s duty, not mine.”

  The man nodded, turning his eye back to the far end of the hall. Better to let Rob manage the trouble than join him and deal with the trouble that’d come of that. ‘Lest things started coming to blows, among the Cavalry and him, I was better off not.

  If it did come to blows, I doubted it would end well for anyone at all. Especially the Cavalry boys. Who seemed intent to take the side of their confederate, as he hauled the Native upwards by his collar.

  “What in the sam-hill is this!?” Rob barked, his voice ringing through the quieted hall like a gunshot.

  All at once the Cavalrymen rounded on Rob. The effect was akin to watching wind whipping through a field of grass. They turned to him with the same anger and displeasure they’d been showing the Native. Half a breath from coming to blows with him. But as they realized who it was that was speaking to them, they snapped to attention. Hostility vanishing like a whisper in the wind. Not one of them spoke, as they furtively looked at one another. Just their luck, perhaps, they chose the same place as their commanding officer.

  “... Well?” Rob asked, motioning to the native “Care to explain why a band of enlisted men, in my company, are assaulting this man?”

  Again, the men remained silent. I would put names to faces later on, but at that time there was only one among them whose appearance would put to name.

  Sergeant Theo Walker stepped forward from among the line. He was a shorter man, shorter than me. Would’ve looked at home as much in a Kentucky derby as he did in the Cavalry. He had the lean and whipcord build of someone who spent his time saddled to horseback. His hair was black with a stripe of gray going through it, and a thin mustache on his upper lip. The kind born from poor growth and bad grooming.

  “Apologies, lieutenant.” Walker spoke, voice drawling over the words in the southern way “Me an’ the boys didn’t come here looking to make trouble.”

  Rob focused on Walker like a hound and his quarry. “Sergeant, care to explain why your man just assaulted this one?” He motioned to the Native, now set back onto his feet. He cautiously stepped back from the cavalrymen, slowly. The appearance of him said he was a man not much older than I was. The hair on his head was a shade of charcoal and gray ash. Beyond that, he was just a touch too far away for me to get a better make.

  “I was just about to be askin’ that myself.” Walker drawled smoothly, looking towards another of the cavalrymen. A burly one who I assumed threw the punch in the first place. “Jens, do you mind explainin’ yourself for the lieutenant?”

  A moment passed as the burly man, Jens, looked between Walker and Rob. As this went, the Piano man was still playing his tinny tune. The song changing over to ‘Oh Sussanah’ as the mess continued. The player truly oblivious to any of what was going on behind him. It had earned him the long eyes of more than a few people for failing to read the room. Or maybe for being the jester of the room and trying to make a joke of it.

  Jens stuck a thick finger out to the native. When he spoke, his voice was heavy “That one started it, I was just minding my own with the boys here and he wouldn’t leave us be.”

  “That hardly seems a reason to go and strike the man.” Rob said, sternly

  “If you’d heard some of the things he was saying, you’d have put hands on him yourself, lieutenant.” Jens answered

  “And what did he say to you?” Rob asked

  To this, Jens didn’t answer. He licked his lips for a moment, looking at the other cavalrymen, Walker. But he couldn’t summon himself to repeat what had been said to him that earned the younger native a punch to the face. Which spoke that either what had been said was so meaningless that Jens realized his anger was an ill response. Or, that whatever the native had said was so heinous even a Cavalryman wouldn’t repeat it. The odds of the latter being true were less than believable, if you’d ever heard one speak. Which Rob almost certainly had.

  “Your silence does not fill me with confidence, private.” Rob spoke

  “It was something a might queer, Lieutenant.” Another of the Cavalrymen spoke up “He was speaking all manner of strange to us. None of us are versed in injun neither. But he was gettin’ a touch too personal. We warned him t’ back off.”

  “As Haversom says.” Walker added “We were all here for it, if you’d been here, you’d hardly blame Jens either, Lieutenant.”

  “But I wasn’t. As such, all I can see is your subordinate has assaulted this man while on leave.” Rob continued

  Walker did not respond to that. Wouldn’t expect him to either, all that need be said had been on their behalf. With that, Rob turned towards the Native. “I’d suggest carrying on with your business, and leaving my men be. You’ll be happy that this didn’t go any further than it has. Am I understood?”

  The native said nothing in response, his head merely moving between Rob and the cavalrymen. There was some small look of confusion in his motions, before he seemed to take the gist and leave. He fixed the hem of his cape and made his way to the front door, moving angrily. As he made his way, he drew a hood up over his head, covering his dark hair. Being as I was by the door, however, I got a better look of him as he passed. He was a young and lean fellow. Cheeks sunken, but the bones of his face were strong and rounded like river stones. They drew his face up with a strange curve, and gave him a peculiar look. His eyes were a mossy-brown color, something else that didn’t look quite right.

  He cast his eyes on me as he reached the door. Close as he was, I got a better look of him. My distant assessment had been right. Younger man with graying hair. There was something about him that didn’t look quite right, but I couldn’t place what. I could see a lot, that close. He was tired, probably hadn’t slept for some time, or hadn’t slept well. His cape and boots were covered with trail dust and fleks of dried mud. His hands had scars on them, old burn marks and the calluses of work. As he passed me, our eyes met.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  I knew the look that was in them. Anger, frustration left to simmer for a long time.

  Without a word spoken, he passed through the batwing doors onto the city streets. Leaving the mess behind him. It was easy to see, he’d some business on his mind. I could only wonder what it had to do with the Cavalrymen.

  “As for you, Sergeant-” Rob said, as I turned back towards him and the men “I would suggest you and your subordinates find someplace different to wet your whistle. Preferably some place less public. Where I won’t have to court martial your men for inciting violence.”

  Walker looked around the room briefly, surveying it, and I took that as my cue to take a look out the window. Would hate to give Walker something he could use to undermine Rob like Fraternizing. Walker, Jens, and the lot of them could get into a heap of trouble if Rob pushed it. Just the same, I liked being able to sit down and have a drink with Rob without it being an issue. The rule was there to keep friendships from complicating official matters of command. Keep things as ‘Friendly’ not ‘Friends’. You could have it be a friendly matter of getting a drink with someone as well. But once there was a stink raised about it, there was a tendency for it to linger in the air. Would hate to sour the taste of whatever we’d have.

  “I expect there to be no more of this. Am I clear?” Rob asked

  “... Yes sir.” Walker agreed “We dismissed?”

  There was a pause from Rob, then a short nod of his head.

  Walker motioned to his men “C’mon boys, let’s see if we can’t find ourselves a better class of establishment.”

  The Cavalrymen excused themselves and began to make their way back to the front. Only pausing briefly to recover their pistols from the table. There was a bit of trouble as one of them struggled to find their ticket, but he got his piece back all the same. Watched them from a distance as a bit of wall decoration. Did alright by my own estimate, they didn’t pay me much mind. At least not until Walker cast his eye up at me. He smirked and inclined his head at me, but said nothing. Bastard.

  Far as I could tell none of the other Cavalrymen realized I was there. They left without any further noise or incident. As they went, the excitement and hope that things would devolve into further spectacle vanished. The patrons, drunks, and gamblers went back to whatever they considered their own sport. The man at the gun counter relaxed, and set his hands back on the counter. Off the scattergun he’d probably had under it. Without much reason for further delay, I began to make my way towards the back of the hall to join Rob. When I reached him, I found him in the midst of speaking with the keeper behind the bar.

  “I apologize for the actions of my subordinates.” Rob said “We’ve been on the trail for a spell and it’s got them wound tighter than a drum.”

  “Ain’t the first to come in here and start swinging.” the barkeep answered “Lot of cowpunchers and rail workers that come in off the range can be a bit ornery. Almost have it house policy to let ‘em punch it out, put money down on who gives up first.” The barkeep ran a gray looking cloth through one of the beer mugs. “Would’ve made for a more interesting day.” He looked Rob and I over as he cleaned. “Still could be. They were saying something to the effect of you boys being with the army. I’m guessing there’s some truth to it?”

  “For a measure of it.” Rob answered, nodding “Official orders have it we’re to establish a fortification some-twenty miles outside city limits.”

  “Hm, ‘bout time.” The barkeep nodded “Been some public concern for quite a while about having a roving band of Natives come and raid the city. Ain’t happened yet, but someone’s worried ‘bout it.”

  “There’s a precedent.” Rob agreed, grimacing

  “Wouldn’t have put much stock in it until a second ago.” The barkeeper said, before leaning in “‘Tween you and me, I’d be more worried ‘bout the ones really running the city. Ain’t got much fear for the ones like Geronimo now, eh?”

  “Hm.” Rob nodded, smiling tightly

  “By any means, I’m rambling.” The barkeep said, pressing on “What can I do for either of you? Got cocktails, liquor, beer, even a bit of champagne if you’re feeling fancy.”

  “Too rich for my pay.” Rob chuckled, putting a pair of nickles on the counter “Two beers, if you could.”

  I copied his action and set another pair down. “You can throw two slugs of whatever coffin varnish you’ve got on top of that.”

  The barkeep nodded, and set the mug he’d just been cleaning under the tap. “You want the named bottle, or the rotgut we make out back?”

  “What’s the price difference?” I asked

  “Named bottle would be a penny more each.” The barkeep said, scraping the head off the mug and moving to the next “Rotgut you take your chance.”

  “I’ll stick with the Varnish.” I told him “I don’t make an officer’s pay.”

  Got another chuckle from Rob for that.

  “Not much of a bad choice anyway.” the barkeep nodded “Ol’ Chuck what runs the ‘still’s got a good blend for the stuff. Make you blind after long enough, but she’s just as strong as any other varnish.” He set the mug down and pulled out a bottle that at one time or another had probably held some other spirit. He set a pair of shot glasses on the counter and poured the liquor into them. Spilled some of it on the counter and I was surprised it didn’t start eating through the wood. As good a sign it was safe enough to drink as anything there. He set both pairs of glasses in front of us, then motioned off to the side. “Free lunch table’s over there, Seventy-five cents could net either of you a bowl of oyster soup, or something similar if you're interested.”

  “Salted meat and beer’ll work fine.” Rob said, nodding “We’ll let you know otherwise.”

  The barkeep nodded and we took our drinks, sidling a short way down the bar. Took a quick whiff of the liquor in my shotglass. Had a putrid smell to it that could’ve been woodspirits for all I knew. We stopped at the table and collected ourselves a few plates stacked with the much-vaunted luncheon. Slices of ham, cheese, bread, assorted salted and stinging pickled vegetables and garnitures. Enough that either of us could make a sandwich as thick around as our fists. We slapped the pieces together and smeared them with mustard before setting back against the bar.

  I took a small nip off my shot to get the taste of it. Almost made me sneeze. The taste of it was like they’d reach into the horse’s grain bag and thrown whatever was in it into the still. Tasting of everything from oats, corn, and rice to wood chips and sawdust. Might’ve been better licking the varnish off a coffin after all. Rob and I dumped the shots into our beers anyway. Wasn’t going to waste the nickel either of us spent on it by tossing it. Hopefully the beer would do better to hide the taste of it. Failing that, a healthy slathering of mustard on my sandwich would.

  “I suppose this is gonna be the place for drinks, when we get leave.” I said

  “This and places like it.” Rob nodded, then shrugged “Suppose we could do worse than free lunches and cheap beer.”

  “Didn’t feel cheap.” I told him

  “Bet it’ll taste like it.” Rob countered cocking a brow at me.

  We both chuckled and knocked back our mugs.

  He was right.

  …

  Rob and I didn’t stay for more than the one drink, but we nursed it while we were there. Took our time picking at the free lunch. Was personally mindful of how much I ate of it. Too much salt makes a man drink, and I knew well enough that was the barkeep’s ploy. Instead we enjoyed the time with small talk, watching the events going on in the hall around us. Plenty of card games and entertainment to be had. Especially in some of the company I noticed traipsing up the stairs. Not even a hair past noon and some were looking to do more than dance.

  We stuck around long enough that the Barkeep started to give us the side-eye. Hoping he could coax us into more drink or better food. Wouldn’t be for then though. Another time, if we were to be visiting this place for leave. As it was, we were pressing our luck by hanging around there. Had some other business I needed to handle while we were in town. Stop off at the Pony Express, send some things back east. Then see if I couldn’t pick up some extra essentials before we started the last leg of the trip. Would be nice to have a few vittles and things to choose from rattling around in my pack. Anything other than what Walsh had in the chuck wagon. The man had been trained how to cook, but there were times we’d have been better foraging for toadstool and nightshade. At least then we’d die with dignity, instead of crapping ourselves to death on the march.

  Rob went out ahead of me, owing to the fact that he had his own business to handle. As it was, we didn’t want to be caught fraternizing any more than we already were. So we called things good for the time being and went our separate ways. Not long after he left, I went to do the same. Stopped off briefly at the table by the door and collected my pistol before heading back onto the street. Was pleased to get my pistol back in the same shape I’d left it. I was sure more than a few people had handed theirs over and never recovered them.

  Stepping back out onto the street, I surveyed my surroundings quickly. Needed to make sense of where I was and where I needed to be in short order. Wouldn’t have long before I needed to regroup with the company. Wouldn’t be good for me to not be with them when the time came, gotta come when called or they send the dogs after you. Or stuck you on bread and water for a week. Wasn’t much of a punishment given Walsh’s cooking.

  Picking a heading, I started off back towards the station. If there was any chance of getting a bearing, it would be from where the most of everything came in.

  “Read your fortune, stranger?” A voice called

  I turned towards it and found myself looking down the alley beside the gambling hall. Not far from the mouth of it, stood the man in a yellow suit. Fine tailored, like the kinds you’d find in the cities back east, worn by dandies and well to-do robber-barons.

  “Or perhaps I could interest you in something else?” He offered, smirking at me “Talismans, remedies? Perhaps the secrets of the universe?”

  “Don’t put much stock in the like.” I asked, feeling around in my pockets for a quirley. Would have more of them back in my bag. Luck would have it, didn’t have any on me at the time.

  “Not putting much isn’t the same as nothing at all.” The Dandy said from his spot on the wall.

  “My Nan would have my head, and my mother’d be in stitches.” I responded “No good comes from taking wood nickels and the advice of shysters.”

  “I’ve a gift for reading people.” The Dandy said, almost seeming to ignore me “You seem the type of man to pay attention to the bigger picture, and not get caught in the little one.”

  “Sounds like a fancy way of saying I don’t get my hands dirty.” I countered “This conversation going anywhere?”

  “Only where you want it to my friend. Even if that’s nowhere at all.” The Dandy said “I’ve offered my services to you, all you would need do is make use of them.”

  “An’ why would you do that?” I asked “Knowing the grand mysteries of who-gives-a-shit, then going around and spilling the beans to anyone who asks?”

  The Dandy shrugged “Some things are meant to be told. Your answer?”

  I looked at the Dandy for a moment longer. Won’t lie and say I wasn’t curious. Always had some small amount of curiousness to myself, even when I was a boy. Hadn’t gone away, despite the tongue lashings of my mother. But that didn’t mean I was a dummy either. You don’t get far listening to shady half-made charlatans hanging out in dim alleys.

  “... I’ll pass, thanks.” I said “Ain’t got coin to be wasting on the mysteries of the universe anyhow.”

  “They’d be for free, if that were to be of some difference to you.” The Dandy said “But, as you wish. Perhaps now is just not the right time. There will be others. The trail between here and the destination is a long one.”

  “Well unless you’re going to Fort Sheridan, I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again anytime soon.” I told him, and began walking again, turning away from the alley.

  “The destination is more than a location, my friend.” The Dandy said

  I let out an annoyed breath and looked back down the alley. “An’ just what is that-”

  My eyes fell on the alley and found the Dandy was gone. Not a sign that he had been there, nor that he’d ever left. I let my eyes hanging over the alley for a moment, confused and blinking. Trying to make sure I hadn’t missed something, or suss out if I’d merely imagined it all. As that time passed, I blinked and shook my head.

  “Blasted wood spirits.” I muttered. Damn stuff would make you blind, or leave you seeing and hearing things.

  Tightening my cap down a bit, I pressed on down the street as though I hadn’t seen anything. For all I knew, and hoped, I hadn’t. I’d keep it that way for as long as I could.