The Unflinching Collection

Chapter 12

The tented village sprawled across the land in ordered rows, white canvas sparkling like new fallen spots of snow. He wished it was snow, for then he might find something to drink. To reinforce his despair, he lifted his final canteen to his ear and shook it. Empty. Perhaps some kind soul below would allow him a mouthful of water. Down in the camp. Down in the gathering of armed men settling around Fort Bridger.

Simms entered the camp at a measured pace, leading his horse, trying his best to ignore the many upturned faces of the curious soldiers. Guards stopped him, and when he presented his papers, they waved him on, bored, apathetic. They appeared drained, the heat making every movement an effort.

He tended to his horse first, as every good traveler should. A trough, hewn out of a split log, stood in the center of the encampment and two men in uniforms obscured by layers of grey dust, nodded when he asked. After the horse put its nose into the trough, the desperation overcame him and he threw back his hat and plunged his face into the warm water beside his animal, splashing his face, hair, neck. It felt like the most glorious thing he had ever experienced.

Nearby soldiers laughed, but Simms didn"t care. He raised his head, eyes closed, water dripping down onto his chest, basking in the sensation as the liquid cooled his flesh, brought life back to his limbs.

“You come a long way, mister?”

Simms blinked, running a hand over his face, and forced a small smile. “Farther than I care to think about.”

The soldiers exchanged a look. “It can"t have been easy, crossing the range. We got food too if you"re hungry, over at the canteen. It"ll cost you, though.”

“I"ve got money.”

“Well that"s something, at least. Not many drifters have.”

“I"m not a drifter.”

“No,” said the other, burlier of the two, “I can see that.”

“You a bounty hunter?”

“Lawman.”

Both soldiers gaped at that. The burly one recovered first. “Well, if you"re here to arrest the Mormons, you"d best be quick about it. We"re going to kick a*s right soon.”

“It"s not Mormons I"m after. A kidnapped girl, daughter of a retired general in the Federal Army. A man of some distinction. The girl was taken by two desperadoes, so I need to speak to your commanding officer and learn what he might know.”

“Well,” the smaller one scratched the side of his nose, “not sure he"d be of a mind to talk to you, given all the plans and preparations he"s a-making. He"s not the most amiable of gentlemen, it has to be said. Best find yourself somewhere to rest up until this hullaballoo is settled.”

“And when might that be?”

Another exchange of looks. The burly one shrugged. “When they"re all dead.”

“Who?”

“The Mormons. That"s why we"re here, mister, to bring law and order to the Territories and teach those righteous bastards a lesson they won"t forget.”

Simms"s breath trailed between his lips. Nothing he saw or heard so far filled him with confidence at finding Elisabeth Randall, or the two men who took her. Previous warnings about what was occurring around Bridger prepared him for the sea of trouble he was entering into, but even so, the reality concerned him.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked beyond the rows of tents, to where Fort Bridger had once stood, its cluster of buildings now charred, burned out shells. Men crawled like ants across the blackened remains, removing timber, clearing the area. “What is it they"ve done, exactly?”

The smaller one hawked and spat into the dirt. “Enough. They burned down the old fort, that was one thing. Lucky no one died.”

“I"ve heard it said someone was selling liquor to the natives. That"s against federal law.”

“Law don"t count for much out here. Besides, them Mormons, they want the right to make their own laws, to live the way they want to live. Government don"t like that, no sir-ree. Either way, the reasons we"re here don"t much matter.”

“I guess they might to the Mormons.”

“Well, the talking is done, mister.” He frowned. “You ain"t one of them is you?”

“I"m as God-fearing as the next man,” Simms winked, “even you, private, but I ain"t no Mormon.”

“A marshal, is that what you is?”

“Kind of. A detective. From Chicago. I"m here to find the General"s girl like I said, and I really do need to speak with your commander.”

The soldiers both shrugged and, after some dithering, led him between the neat rows of tents, past surly looking soldiers who glowered and snarled, towards a group of three larger tents, the main one in the center sprouting a Union Flag and guarded by two soldiers bearing rifles. The burly soldier spoke to one of the guards who, after shooting Simms a dark look, dipped inside. After a moment, he returned and gestured Simms to enter.

The smaller one touched his arm. “You be careful, mister. Colonel Johnston don"t take kindly to strangers.”

Simms nodded his thanks and went inside.

Three officers, one crouched over a large map, gathered around a feeble-looking trestle table. The one in the center, thinning hair swept over his pate, looked out from under heavy, threatening brows, weasel eyes narrowed, uncompromising.

“You"re a detective?” he growled. Simms nodded. “What sort of damned detective might you be?”

Simms reached inside his coat and pulled out his threadbare wallet, the one he always kept close to his heart. He opened it and turned it towards the assembled officers. Inside was his badge, and personal details. All the army officers squinted. “Pinkerton. My name is Simms. I"m on the trail of two desperadoes who kidnapped the daughter of General Randall, former expedition leader in the Mexican War, under whom I served with great pride and devotion.”

Johnston held up his hand. “I don"t want no sermon, boy. Just tell me what it is you want. You may have noticed, but we"re up to our necks in s**t right now, so if it"s help you"re seeking, we ain"t got it.”

Simms pressed his lips together and slipped his wallet inside his coat. “I want information, Colonel, nothing more. These two men are loathsome, murdering sons of bitches. It is my job to bring them to justice and save the girl.”

“If they"re as bad as you say,” interjected the officer crouched over the map, “why don"t you simply kill "em?”

“I may well have to, sir.”

“Then gets to doing it,” the officer continued. He straightened himself, wincing with the effort. “We"ve been here for weeks, getting ourselves ready for an expedition into the heart of Mormon territory. It"s a wild, empty space where people simply get gobbled up. They disappear. We sent two groups of messengers out across the dirt, and neither have been seen or heard of since. I doubt if the ones you seek are still alive. However, there is a place, a ranch, the only one for miles. They are Mormons, but have not involved themselves with the hostilities and they have made some sort of pact with the natives, so they are free from most dangers.”

“Where is all this leading, Calhoon?” demanded Johnston.

“There might be an outside chance the men you seek went there, so it"s worth a try. However, it"s a dangerous trek. I"ll give you men, and you can track those varmints down, even kill them if you"ve a mind to. But before you do, you might want to consider a little proposition I might have for you.”

Johnston"s fierce gaze blazed with greater intensity. “What the hell are you talking about, Calhoon? What proposition?”

“We need a message delivered to Lieutenant Ives on the steamboat "Explorer". As I said, we"ve already tried to send him two, but with no success. You make sure the note gets to him, Detective and you can have a platoon to help you bring in your quarry.”

“And what makes you think I can succeed where your others have not?”

Calhoon shrugged. He slowly took a fat cigar from the top pocket of his uniform jacket, bit off the end and spat it into the dust. “I"ve heard about you Pinkertons. You"re resourceful, clever. You"re also not frightened to use a gun.” He pointed to the carbine in Simms"s grip. “I reckon you fit the bill, mister. You"ve already crossed the wilderness, so you must be tough. Tougher than the greenhorns we have here, for sure. You deliver this note; we help you get your men.”

Johnston blew out his cheeks. “That"s a fine proposition, Lieutenant Calhoon. It might just work, too. What do you say, mister?”

“The name is Simms. Detective Simms.”

“Well, all righty, Detective, what do you say to this proposal?”

DetectiveSimms rubbed his chin. “I"m thinking I could find this isolated ranch myself.”

“I"m thinking I might just throw you into a hole, in chains,” said Johnston. “For all we know, you might be a Mormon infiltrator. Make your mind up.”

Simms did, in less than two heartbeats. “Seems I have little choice.”

“Choice has got nothing to do with it,” growled Johnston. “We"re here to get a job done, just like you. We"re all on the same side, Detective, but just for now, I"m the one giving the orders.”

“When do you want me to leave?”

“As soon as you"ve cleaned up. Get yourself some food, Detective, restore your strength. You"re gonna need it.”

Simms believed the Colonel"s words were, unfortunately, true.