Free Longarm and the War Clouds by Tabor Evans Page B

horse’s ears as he swayed easily on his McClellan saddle. He seemed to be trying to find the exact words. “She is a beautiful painting of a delicate flower.”
    The captain continued to stare off for a few seconds before turning to Longarm and then blushing, as though suddenly embarrassed. He glanced to his other side, at War Cloud, who was studying the captain with probably much the same, vaguely incredulous expression as Longarm.
    Kilroy then glanced behind him, as though wondering if the sergeant or any of the other men had heard him, and then he turned forward again in his saddle.
    â€œWhat I’m saying is, Marshal Long—Mrs. Belcher is a beautiful woman. It’s no big secret. Everyone knows it’s true.”
    Longarm glanced across the captain’s horse’s bobbing head at War Cloud, who returned the look, slightly hiking his left shoulder.
    â€œAnd the major . . . ?” Longarm asked.
    â€œWell, I reckon you’ll see for yourself soon,” Kilroy said as they followed the trail to the top of a low hill. Beyond, along the near side of a dry wash, lay the adobe-brick buildings, brush jacales, and cottonwood stables of Fort McHenry. “There it is now. You’ll also be able to see for yourself just what Mrs. Belcher is like.”
    Longarm arched a puzzled brow.
    The captain glanced at Longarm, cocking an oblique grin. “Mrs. Belcher’s twin sister, Leslie, is visiting. She came down from Prescott after her sister ran off, and she’s been here ever since, waiting to receive Mrs. Belcher when she returns.”
    As the horses started down the hill toward the sorry-looking fort nestled on a flat stretch of sage- and cactus-stippled ground, hemmed in all sides by rocky hills in addition to a tabletop mesa in the north, the young captain shook his head as though in appreciation for the images floating around just behind his eyes. “Spittin’ image, Miss Leslie is. The spittin’ image of her sister. They’re twins, don’t you know.”
    â€œTwins,” Longarm said, half to himself. “No kiddin’.”
    â€œShe’s staying with me and my wife. Wouldn’t be right, of course, to have her rooming with the major without another woman around.”
    â€œOf course not.”
    At the bottom of the hill, Longarm’s horse pricked its ears and gave a whinny. A couple of the other mounts beside him did the same, as they were probably smelling the fresh water and hay likely emanating from one of the large barns standing on the far side of the fort, where a small herd of cattle crazed the sparse brown grass. Longarm and the others followed the trail past a brush arbor guardhouse set up beneath a large cottonwood where two privates stood on guard duty.
    Both privates stood at attention and saluted as Kilroy rode past, their incredulous gazes raking the strangers, eyes narrowing curiously at the girl who didn’t so much as offer them a passing glance.
    There was no stockade around McHenry, but Longarm could see a couple of Gatling guns set up on knolls around the side of the fort facing the wash from which any attack from one of the roaming bands of hostiles was most likely to come. The guns were tended by two soldiers each, sheltered from the unforgiving sun by lean-to tents that flapped in the wind and flashed in the sun.
    The patrol stopped where the trail curved off to the west of the parade ground, near the sutler’s store and the enlisted men’s barracks.
    Kilroy glanced at Longarm, “Shall we see the commander, Marshal? I’m sure you’d all like to freshen up, but Major Belcher has been rather antsy for you to get here . . . since he hasn’t been allowed to go after his wife himself.”
    â€œWhy not?” Longarm said, swinging down from his saddle.
    Out of habit, he shucked his Winchester from his saddle boot and set it on his arm. As War Cloud and Magpie dismounted,