On the ride back to the fort, Vance outlined what had happened.
“Seems like the ones we didn’t find came back, climbed the walls and broke into the jail.” The wind lashed against them, forcing them to bend low over the necks of their horses. Vance was shouting to make himself heard, but Cole managed to get the gist of the story. Two guards had been knocked down, but not killed, a point not lost on the army scout. Even so, when they came into the parade ground, Captain Fleming was standing waiting, with a face like thunder. He hadn’t had time to dress correctly and appeared somewhat comical in long-johns, riding boots and hat. Behind him, sprawled out in front of the jail, two troopers were being tended by a subaltern who cleaned their bleeding heads.
“You took your time,” growled Fleming
