The Rushers by J. T. Edson Page A

the troop, which meant he did not waste time. From the men in camp he’d organized a detail to off-load, under guard, a large, stout and well locked iron chest from one wagon. In this chest lay the pay for the battalion for the next month. The other wagons were parked behind the buildings, their teams being cared for. Men scattered and scurried about and from the guardhouse came the sound of the scrubbing brushes working on wood.
    ‘I’ll be in my office if you want me, Hogan,’ Dusty said. ‘Bring the payroll in when you’re able.’
    ‘Yo!’ Hogan replied, for the box was made to make easy transport a slow and tedious matter.
    To one side of the orderly room, with a door opening on to the square as well as in the office, lay the fort commander’s office. Dusty turned the handle and stepped in. He shoved the door closed and stepped forward. A soft footfall came behind him and two hands came around, warm, soft hands, covering his eyes and a woman’s voice said:
    ‘Guess who, Dandy?’
    Gently Dusty removed the hands then turned. The woman gasped and staggered back a couple of steps, her face reddening in a blush as she gasped, ‘You’re not Dandy van Druten!’
    ‘No, ma’am,’ Dusty replied. ‘What’re you doing in my office?’
    He studied the woman. She was not tall, five foot two at most, with a rich plump little figure and a cheap gingham dress cut a trifle more daringly than one might expect. Her hair had a mousey brown tint and her face was passable pretty but her eyes were inviting, bold, teasing and her lips looked ready to smile, or laugh encouragingly at any man she saw.
    ‘But—but I—we——!’ she began.
    Not only did Dusty’s office have a front door to the square and party door to the orderly room, there was a third entrance at the rear, leading to his quarters instead of his having to go around the front. This third door suddenly burst open and a red-faced sergeant burst in. He stopped just inside the door, a middle-sized man with the light spring of a sword fighter in his poise, the sabre in his hand gripped like its owner knew how to handle it, the blade bare. To Dusty’s eyes the man was a tough professional non-com and not the kind to burst unannounced into the office of his Commanding officer Without the stress of some emotion.
    On recalling his greeting as he entered the office Dusty could guess what the emotion might be.
    For a couple of seconds the sergeant, woman and Dusty stood without a word.
    ‘Get out of here, Noreen,’ said the sergeant.
    ‘Sergeant!’ snapped Dusty, then heard a knock and Hogan asked if he could come in. ‘Wait!’ Dusty barked and looked at the sergeant as the woman almost ran by him to the door. ‘I’d like—’
    ‘You’re not Dan—Captain van Druten, sir.’
    ‘Did I say I was?’
    ‘No—no, sir. But orders reached us that—’
    ‘Does the Department of the Interior inform you if they make a change of orders, Sergeant?’ snapped Dusty. ‘Why did your wife, I take it she is your wife, come in here just now?’
    Smartly, too smartly for a frontier trained soldier, the sergeant came to a brace and brought his sabre up in a salute.
    ‘No excuse, sir.’
    A half smile flickered across Dusty’s face and went before the sergeant could see or put meaning to it. Everybody in Fort Tucker appeared to have no excuse for their conduct.
    ‘Your name, Sergeant?’
    ‘Kallan, sir. Acting as D.I. for the battalion.’
    ‘You’ll have a chance to show me how well you’ve done your work in the morning, Kallan. In future don’t be in such a hurry to see me that you come from sabre practice without sheathing your weapon. Open the door and allow Sergeant-major Hogan to come in.’
    The sergeant rested his sabre against the wall and stepped forward, saluting. ‘I’d like to apologize for my wife’s behav—’
    ‘If the lady is industrious enough to get here first and try to arrange for my washing to augment her allowance it’s to be