Chapter SixThe snow fell again, perhaps the final blast of the winter. Simms hoped so as he dismounted at the fort livery stable and led his horse to cover. The stable-boy did not speak, merely grunted when Simms pressed a coin in his hand. Swinging the saddlebags over his shoulder, the detective tramped over to the line of wooden buildings set against the far wall of the fort. Soldiers milled around, many of them cleaning equipment and, in the square, a burly sergeant harangued a young, red-headed recruit. Simms paid them little heed and strode towards the officer's mess. A sentry on duty brought himself to attention, right arm barring Simms's path through the door.
“Sorry, sir, but you'll have to state your business.”
“Name's Simms. I'm a Pinkerton Detective. Colonel Johnstone knows me
