Fort Bent

The three sat there, drinking coffee. Trebec was looking hard at Hendrick. Hendrick knew he was but still wasn’t saying anything or looking in Trebec’s direction unless he thought the tinker wasn’t looking at him. But Trebec’s gaze remained on him.

“Have any foodstuffs in that wagon of yours—or ammunition?” Anderson asked, trying to avoid an argument with the tinker over who had the right to be here—he was just a soldier, doing the job he was assigned to do.

“Not much,” Trebec answered. “Not enough to extend whatever you have for more than a few days. How many soldiers you got here? I didn’t see many comin’ out for my arrival.”

“Fifteen, including Bob and me,” Anderson answered.

“Not many. If the Apaches knew . . .”

“We’re doing what we can to keep them from knowing.”

They were silent for several minutes, each lost to his own thoughts. Anderson was thinking of their predicament. Hendrick was thinking of the last time he’d been fucked by Trebec. Trebec was thinking of both.

“You’re gonna have to try to get word to Sumner,” Trebec said at last, in a low voice. “They know there’s trouble, but they don’t know that it’s here. For all they know, you were supplied and the wagon trains ran into trouble farther down the line.”

“I know,” Anderson said. “I’ve been thinking we need to try to get word to them for a couple of days now. I’ll go pick out a couple of men. I’m senior here. I’ll be the one to make the try.”

“No, George, you can’t,” Bob Hendrick said, suddenly coming awake and pulling at Anderson’s arm as George stood from the table. “You can’t make it. I’m a better horseman. Sorry to have to say it, but I am. I’ll go.”