would have a powerful weapon to wave in the faces of his critics.
Patriotic fervour had not prompted Hoffinger’s actions. He had seen a way out of his difficulties and means to start a profitable career. Up until the meeting with Dusty Fog, everything had been satisfactory. As well as collecting the horses, he had made useful contacts and picked up some easily-sold merchandise. So he had hoped for further missions, with the Army paying his expenses and providing an escort to ensure his safety. At least they had on the first trip. He could not see there being others if he failed to deliver the horses.
‘This’s about what I’d figured it’d be,’ Dusty drawled, folding the paper and placing it with the other ‘authorization’ in his tunic’s inside pocket, ‘You’d show it to any Yankee officer who wouldn’t accept your “Society” story, I’d say.’
‘That is correct, sir,’ Hoffinger agreed. ‘I might have needed proof that we aren’t deserters or guerillas.’
‘Likely General Trumpeter reckoned if a civilian could bring in his horses, it’d show his men that us Rebs aren’t so all-fired tough or smart after all.’
‘I couldn’t say about that,’ Hoffinger answered tactfully.
‘Did you figure anybody’s fall for that story you told me?’
‘I’ve always found the more unlikely the story, if it is backed by documentary proof, the more likely it is to be accepted. You might have accepted it yourself if I’d thought to have the wagons turned to face west when we halted.’
‘Could be,’ Dusty admitted. ‘Not having pickets out helped your story, soldiers would have. I’d’ve thought twice before taking horses from civilians when they’d got what’d read in a Yankee newspaper like a real good reason for needing ‘em.’
‘What’s in the wagons, Billy Jack?’ Red asked, seeing the sergeant-major ambling disconsolately towards them, a large buckskin bag trailing in his hand.
‘Food, bed-rolls ‘n’ such in the first ‘n’. I’ve had all their ammunition put on the hosses, T’others toting buffalo hides, Injun moccasins and such—’
‘They’re mine, Captain Fog!’ Hoffinger interrupted. ‘And so is that money—’
‘This here, Cap’n Dusty,’ Billy Jack went on, holding out the bag. ‘Found it hid in the second wagon.’
‘It’s mine!’ Hoffinger insisted. ‘All I have in the world. I staked all my savings on this collecting mission and that’s all that remains.’
‘Give it to him, Billy Jack,’ Dusty said. ‘We don’t rob civilians. Let’s go take a look at the horses.’
Why not share a meal with us first, Captain?’ Hoffinger suggested. ‘We’ve enough food for you.’
‘Thanks for the offer,’ Dusty replied. ‘That’s what we’ll do.’
During the meal, Hoffinger studied Dusty and revised his previous ideas. The earlier crude flattery had been aimed at a naive youngster holding rank by family influence. Now Hoffinger knew better. Young he might be, but the small Texan controlled those hard-bitten veterans by virtue of his personality and achievements.
Looking around, Hoffinger noticed that the Texans continued performing their duties with the minimum of supervision. While he entertained the officers by the wagon carrying his property, Hoffinger saw Billy Jack and Kiowa seated talking amiably to Glock and Corporal Mullitz. Staring at the latter, Hoffinger felt the start of an idea. A long chance, maybe, but infinitely better than no chance at all. Quickly he turned back to his guests, not wanting them to become aware of his interest in Mullitz. During the rest of the meal, he put together the details of his scheme.
‘Thanks for the food, Mr. Hoffinger,’ Dusty said at last, coming to his feet. ‘Have the men get ready to pull out while I look at the horses, Cousin Red.’
‘They’re all good stock,’ Hoffinger put in. ‘Except for the bay stallion, that is. He won’t be any use to you.’
‘Why not?’ Red inquired with
Patriotic fervour had not prompted Hoffinger’s actions. He had seen a way out of his difficulties and means to start a profitable career. Up until the meeting with Dusty Fog, everything had been satisfactory. As well as collecting the horses, he had made useful contacts and picked up some easily-sold merchandise. So he had hoped for further missions, with the Army paying his expenses and providing an escort to ensure his safety. At least they had on the first trip. He could not see there being others if he failed to deliver the horses.
‘This’s about what I’d figured it’d be,’ Dusty drawled, folding the paper and placing it with the other ‘authorization’ in his tunic’s inside pocket, ‘You’d show it to any Yankee officer who wouldn’t accept your “Society” story, I’d say.’
‘That is correct, sir,’ Hoffinger agreed. ‘I might have needed proof that we aren’t deserters or guerillas.’
‘Likely General Trumpeter reckoned if a civilian could bring in his horses, it’d show his men that us Rebs aren’t so all-fired tough or smart after all.’
‘I couldn’t say about that,’ Hoffinger answered tactfully.
‘Did you figure anybody’s fall for that story you told me?’
‘I’ve always found the more unlikely the story, if it is backed by documentary proof, the more likely it is to be accepted. You might have accepted it yourself if I’d thought to have the wagons turned to face west when we halted.’
‘Could be,’ Dusty admitted. ‘Not having pickets out helped your story, soldiers would have. I’d’ve thought twice before taking horses from civilians when they’d got what’d read in a Yankee newspaper like a real good reason for needing ‘em.’
‘What’s in the wagons, Billy Jack?’ Red asked, seeing the sergeant-major ambling disconsolately towards them, a large buckskin bag trailing in his hand.
‘Food, bed-rolls ‘n’ such in the first ‘n’. I’ve had all their ammunition put on the hosses, T’others toting buffalo hides, Injun moccasins and such—’
‘They’re mine, Captain Fog!’ Hoffinger interrupted. ‘And so is that money—’
‘This here, Cap’n Dusty,’ Billy Jack went on, holding out the bag. ‘Found it hid in the second wagon.’
‘It’s mine!’ Hoffinger insisted. ‘All I have in the world. I staked all my savings on this collecting mission and that’s all that remains.’
‘Give it to him, Billy Jack,’ Dusty said. ‘We don’t rob civilians. Let’s go take a look at the horses.’
Why not share a meal with us first, Captain?’ Hoffinger suggested. ‘We’ve enough food for you.’
‘Thanks for the offer,’ Dusty replied. ‘That’s what we’ll do.’
During the meal, Hoffinger studied Dusty and revised his previous ideas. The earlier crude flattery had been aimed at a naive youngster holding rank by family influence. Now Hoffinger knew better. Young he might be, but the small Texan controlled those hard-bitten veterans by virtue of his personality and achievements.
Looking around, Hoffinger noticed that the Texans continued performing their duties with the minimum of supervision. While he entertained the officers by the wagon carrying his property, Hoffinger saw Billy Jack and Kiowa seated talking amiably to Glock and Corporal Mullitz. Staring at the latter, Hoffinger felt the start of an idea. A long chance, maybe, but infinitely better than no chance at all. Quickly he turned back to his guests, not wanting them to become aware of his interest in Mullitz. During the rest of the meal, he put together the details of his scheme.
‘Thanks for the food, Mr. Hoffinger,’ Dusty said at last, coming to his feet. ‘Have the men get ready to pull out while I look at the horses, Cousin Red.’
‘They’re all good stock,’ Hoffinger put in. ‘Except for the bay stallion, that is. He won’t be any use to you.’
‘Why not?’ Red inquired with
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