The Men of Pride County: The Rebel (17 page)

“You’ve no idea?” He studied Noble with a penetrating glare.

“None, sir.”

“We’ll wait until the others arrive. At ease, Major. Jules, some coffee, please.”

Noble wasn’t prepared for the odd lurch in his emotions when Juliet entered the room. It was almost as if he’d been anticipating her appearance, and now that she’d arrived, he was inexplicably content, an unsettling notion he dismissed as fatigue.

“Coffee, Major?”

“Yes. Black, thank you.”

He took the cup from her, noticing that she purposely avoided eye contact, not only with him but with Miles as well. He’d expected her awkwardness but sensed that this was something bigger. Her tension increased his anxiety one hundredfold. Juliet often mirrored her father’s moods, and if she was this tightly wound, something terrible must have occurred while he slept. He could do nothing but wait and wonder as he sipped her strong brew appreciatively.

His captain and lieutenant arrived, and Crowley wasted no time cutting right to it.

“Four of your enlisted men disappeared between lights out and reveille with fresh mounts and all they could carry. What do you know about this?”

Noble received the news like a rifle blast to the gut. Deserted! After they’d given him their word that they would stand fast and serve well!

“Who are these men, Colonel?”

“Bright, Colvin, Worth, and Rogers.”

He knew them, each one of them. Family men, honorable men, not the types to sneak out in the night.

Noble looked to his two seconds and demanded, “Do you know anything about this?”

Both answered with negatives, but Bartholomew was a bit slower in his reply. Noble looked from them to his impatient commander.

“What are your orders, sir?”

“I want them found and returned.”

“To what end, sir?”

“Whatever I decide. They left this post with three hundred dollars of army provisions apiece. They are costing me the time and manpower to hunt them down. Right now, I’d say they’ll be dragging around twenty-five-pound balls for the remainder of their service. That should slow them down some in future.”

Noble said nothing. Desertion couldn’t be excused under any circumstances, and the penalty for such an act was always severe. He guessed he should be thankful the price wasn’t execution.

“I’ll mount a detail, sir, and have them back by nightfall.”

“I’d expect nothing less, Major.”

“And lest you be tempted to join them,” Miles interjected coolly, “I’ll pick the men you’ll be leading.”

Noble looked to the colonel in protest, but what trust Crowley might have felt before was strained by the events of the past few days. Noble, and now his men, had failed to carry out their sworn duties. Crowley couldn’t be blamed for his lack of faith.

Noble snapped off a salute. He risked a glance at Juliet, but from her remote expression he could read no clues of what she was thinking.

The minute he and his junior officers left the building, Noble turned on them in a cold fury.

“What do you know?”

George Allen was clearly in the dark, but Bartholomew’s gaze dropped away.

“Don? Did they come to you first? Did you know what they meant to do? Tell me!”

His gaze darted up, filled with fiery righteousness. “Yes, I knew and I applauded them for it. If it hadn’t been for Maisy, I’d probably have joined them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you? And what would you have done? Trotted right in there to your little toy-soldier colonel and informed on them, that’s what.” His fierceness took Noble aback. “You’ve lost sight of who we are and who they are. We’re not like them, Noble. They’re still our enemies. They’re still killing our friends and family back home.”

“I gave my word—”

“Good for you. And I’m sure you’ll keep it come hell or high water. Well, some of us just aren’t as honor-bent as you are. Some of us just want to get home. Some of us are wondering what the hell we’re doing out here letting these Yankees push us around.” He took a breath and glared at his superior. “So what are you going to do? Bring me up on charges?”

Noble swallowed back his first answer, then said stiffly, “I’m going to go find those fools before the Indians do. And God help you if I’m too late.”

The small detail left the fort with little fanfare, its purpose a grim one. Noble led the way with Tom Folley at his right hand. Pauline stood tall and dry-eyed next to Juliet on the porch, waving her handkerchief gaily until her husband was out of sight. Then she sagged against Juliet, shaking with sobs. Putting a fortifying arm about her, Juliet shooed away the children, sending them to scatter feed to the chickens, a job they coveted.

To Pauline she said gently, “Come inside with me awhile. I’ve been wanting to get that recipe for those sourdough biscuits my father raves over. Do you think you could help me beat up a batch?” At the other’s teary nod, Juliet gave her a hug. “Wonderful. I’ll put on some tea.”

But as they crossed the threshold, Juliet’s
gaze went to the dust cloud growing ever smaller, her own heart twisting anxiously.

Don’t you dare get yourself killed, Noble Banning
.

Then a more somber thought occurred to her.

Keep your word and come back
.

They moved hard and fast. The heat soared, but the lack of air movement had preserved the trail they now followed—a trail left by men Noble had a difficult time calling traitors.

How could they have been so stupid? Why hadn’t they come to him instead of Bartholomew? He would have given sound counsel, not the fervid rhetoric the captain had most likely filled them with, fiery words that could well be sending them all to their death.

By midday, they had picked up more tracks, these crossing and recrossing those made by the fleeing Confederates, tracks of unshod horses moving in single file to disguise their number.

Apaches.

Even though he urged the patrol to a greater pace, Noble knew with a sick certainty that they’d never make it to the men in time.

But nothing could have prepared them for what they found. Not the ravages of war. Not seeing men blown to pieces by mortar shells. Nothing was as indescribably brutal as the sight of four poor souls who’d been staked
spread-eagled in the broiling sun to be leisurely skinned alive.

Several men fled the ranks to heave up their scant noon meal. Noble sat unflinching, a cold weight of horror and guilt settling low in his gut.

“Cut them free and wrap them for transport.”

His men hesitated to obey the emotionless order, unwilling to approach what was left of their friends, now unrecognizable as human beings.

Wordlessly, Noble dismounted and drew his own knife. He hobbled to the first of the four and bent to cut the rawhide bindings. He didn’t try to avert his eyes but instead studied the carnage with a dispassionate care.

This
was Indian fighting.

He’d killed these men by bringing them west, and this was a memory he’d carry with him for the rest of his life.

The patrol made good time returning to the fort. They saw no sign of the enemy, though several nervous enlisted men swore they’d noticed flanking shadows skimming the horizon. None of them drew an easy breath until within the compound. They were too haunted by what they’d seen to ever feel safe again.

“Take them to the infirmary and have Lieutenant Allen meet me there,” Noble called as he dismounted outside the Crowleys’ home. By the time he’d forced his game leg to support him, he turned to see the colonel and his
daughter waiting in the deep shade to hear his report, a report that tore the heart from him to deliver.

“They must have been ambushed sometime early this morning.” He didn’t elaborate on their condition. What words could adequately convey it? “I know they are considered deserters, but they served me well in the war. I hope you’ll allow them to be buried with dignity, because they sure as hell didn’t die with any.”

“As you wish, Major. See to it.”

Noble gave a half-hearted salute and led his horse across the parade ground. Both man and mount were slowed by exhaustion.

And in the shadows of the porch, Juliet blinked her tears away.

George Allen stood in the midst of the covered bodies praying for their souls. Noble waited in the doorway, listening to the words that should have given some comfort but didn’t. All he could think of was how much these men must have suffered before going to that better place George spoke of.

The chaplain paused in his final benediction when he saw Noble, waving him inside as he continued. Noble joined him for the concluding amen.

“Maybe you can give the poor fools some peace in heaven, because they sure endured a hell on earth.”

George knew him too well not to comment
on his words. “And you? Are you finding any peace with this?”

Noble walked away from the four draped figures, moving to stand by the window, where the fading daylight still refused a cooling breeze.

“Colvin’s wife was expecting their first child right after New Year’s. He wanted to see that baby more than he wanted to take his next breath. Worth, he was planning to marry his second cousin as soon as he got home. We used to tease him about how few branches were on his family tree. Rogers was a dirt farmer with six kids to feed and clothe and see raised properly. Bright was just a kid. A kid. They just wanted to get back to the things they loved. No harm in that, no wrong. I told ’em it was the right thing to do, coming out here. I told ’em it was the best way to get home to their loved ones safe and sound. Why didn’t they listen? They stopped believing in me, George, and they died. For what?”

“For what was important to each of them, Noble.”

“I promised to take care of them and they promised to follow me. Who broke their promise first, George? Answer me that. Am I to blame for the four of them lying there like that, with nothing left that their families could identify?” His words fractured, and he waited, hoping George could find some miraculous means to erase his sense of responsibility.

“If you’re looking for someone to blame, blame me.”

Noble turned, surprised by that fierce claim. Apparently just as startled, George continued hurriedly, “Blame Donald for encouraging them. Blame Jeff Davis and Abe Lincoln for pulling the country apart and us from our homes. Blame those ignorant heathens. Blame the heat for slowing them down and making them careless. Blame the stars, the moon. But it won’t make you feel any better. Only time can do that. And only God can forgive any of us.”

Amazingly, Noble chuckled. “Do you want to know what’s the very worst about this, George? The very worst?”

“What, Noble?”

“When I heard they were gone, I didn’t sympathize with them for caving in to the need to go home. I didn’t despise them for being weak. I didn’t even think of the danger they’d be in. You know what I felt, George? I was angry with them for making me look bad. Can you believe it? I was furious with them because they made me look like a liar. If Crowley planned to slap a twenty-five-pound ball on one ankle, I was going to chain a twenty-five-pounder to the other. What kind of a leader does that make me? One who values his pride over the welfare of his men.”

George looked beyond them, then placed a consoling hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It makes you human and too tired to think
straight. You have been through enough of an ordeal. Go get some rest. I’ll do what needs to be done here and write letters to their families.” He paused, then added thickly, “It’s the least I can do.”

Too weary to argue, Noble nodded and turned toward the door, startled to see Juliet posed within that open frame and even more surprised by the tender empathy in her expression. He didn’t need that now. He didn’t want absolution or soothing sympathy. He wanted someone to understand the heinous wrong he’d done and why he needed to be punished for it, not Juliet’s melting gaze and tear-moistened cheeks.

He meant to push by her without a word, but that wasn’t her plan.

The instant he was within reach, she put her arms about him, tightening them when she felt him balk. She was stronger than he’d suspected, strong enough to embrace his shame and guilt without condemnation. He’d always been the strong one, the one to carry everyone else’s doubts and fears and woes. He’d never turned to another human being to ask for relief from that burden. But Juliet held him, offering ease, and for once in his life, he relented, surrendering his resolve with a shaky exhalation and letting her guide his head to her capable shoulder.

She didn’t say anything. He couldn’t have borne words just then. All would have rung as empty as his soul. In her silence he found
support. From her gentle toughness he drew courage and comfort. But only for a moment. And when he straightened, she stepped back to let him go.

In that gesture, with her show of quiet wisdom, Juliet earned a place in his heart forever.

After he’d gone, Juliet turned to the somber chaplain.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Pray for them and their families.” He glanced at each covered shape in turn, his own features twisting in unvoiced sorrow. He swallowed hard, then added, “That’s all any of us can do right now.”

It didn’t seem enough when there was so much pain weighing down their commanding officer.

“You knew these men, Captain. Why did they run?” Suddenly, she had to know. “To get back to the fighting in the East?”

“No, ma’am. These men saw only one thing worth fighting for and that was their homes, their families. That’s where they were going. Home.”

She studied the shrouded shapes, thinking wistfully of a place one would risk death to return to. She’d never known such a place. She’d never had anywhere she could call home.

“I wish there were some way we could have them buried in familiar soil.” She sighed heavily. “Do what you can to ease their way, Captain.”

“And you need to do what you can to ease the major’s conscience.”

Juliet couldn’t meet the man’s eyes. There was too much intuitive knowledge there ready to see right behind her facade. “He doesn’t need me for that.”

“He needs someone, ma’am, someone to make him understand that he’s not to blame.” Allen’s voice trailed off in anguish. “He’s not to blame.”