Free Straw Men by J. R. Roberts

Farelli?”
    â€œHe won’t be coming with us, sir. Actually, I think he’s still asleep.”
    Lowering his voice a bit, Clint asked, “Kind of a late sleeper, huh?”
    The private chuckled and nodded. “Nobody’s ever seen him any earlier than ten o’clock. Some of us call him Cold Brew on account of he’s never in the canteen until the coffee’s cooled off.” Suddenly, the private’s grin faded and he straightened up. “But…um…it wouldn’t be a good idea to…I mean…”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Clint assured him. “I won’t let Cold Brew know he’s called anything but Colonel.”
    â€œI appreciate that, sir.”
    â€œIf you’re riding with me today, you might as well call me Clint.”
    The soldier grinned again, which made him look more like a kid than anyone suited to wear a uniform and carry a rifle. “Clint, it is. Are you really Clint Adams, sir? The Gunsmith?”
    â€œThat’s what some folks call me.”
    â€œWe’ve heard about some of the things you’ve done. That is, me and some of the others stationed here. Some of the stories are pretty impressive.”
    â€œMost stories are. And I don’t appreciate people telling stories about me,” Clint said sternly. “Especially when they don’t even take the time to introduce themselves properly.”
    At first, the private seemed taken aback by Clint’s change of tone. Then he relaxed when he realized what Clint was truly after. “I’m Private Biggs,” he said as the spark came back to his eyes. “Emory Biggs.”
    â€œNice to meet you,” Clint said amicably. “Feel free to tell all the stories you want.”
    Biggs turned and headed for the front of the bunk house. “Yes, sir. You know where the stable is?”
    â€œSure do.”
    â€œThe rest of us will be there and intend on leaving as soon as possible.”
    â€œI won’t hold you up,” Clint said as he hefted his saddlebag onto his shoulder and left his bunk behind. “I’m ready to go.”
    Biggs was a tall kid who walked as if he didn’t truly know how long his legs were. His head naturally bowed to nearly every other soldier he passed, since only a few of the buglers and drummers were below him in the military pecking order. Despite his mannerisms, Biggs never seemed timid. He already spoke to Clint as if they were old friends.
    â€œSome of us didn’t think it would really be you that came along for this,” Biggs said. “We figured ol’ Cold Brew was just trying to get our spirits up by saying he was sending the Gunsmith along with us and then he would throw in some hired gunfighter at the last second.”
    â€œIs that something he does a lot?” Clint asked.
    Biggs paused for a second and then replied, “No, but it’s the sort of thing he’d be likely to do. One time he sent out a patrol and told them they’d meet up with another infantry unit. There wasn’t no infantry out there. It was all just smoke to get us to where we needed to be.”
    â€œI’ll bet you came back pretty quickly after that.”
    â€œHell yes, sir,” Biggs said. Seeing that he was getting closer to a bunch of other men, he lowered his voice and said, “We sure did. I suppose that was the point. I’ve never heard of a commanding officer doing things like that, but I suppose it worked.”
    â€œYeah.” Clint sighed. “I suppose it did.”
    The stable felt crowded, but that was mainly because hardly any of the stalls were filled and most of the other space was filled. Several men and their horses were packed into the aisle between the two rows of stalls, going through the last bits of preparation before saddling up. When Clint and Biggs walked into the stable, every last man stopped what they were doing so they could get a look for