Free Apache Moon by Len Levinson Page B

that he'd behaved stupidly when he'd met the former Miss Vanessa Fontaine one day, married her a week later, and split apart from her approximately ten days after that. He'd probably laugh if someone had told him the same story about another officer.
    Lieutenant Dawes felt humiliated by what he'd done. He came from a distinguished old army family, but he had behaved like a madman. The former MissVanessa Fontaine had appeared when he'd been lonely, and in his deluded vanity, he'd thought he swept her off her feet. But now he knew that it was the other way around. Basically, she'd figured he was the best ticket in town.
    Lieutenant Dawes passed a smirking trooper polishing his boots, and he looked vaguely like a Gypsy. The frontier army got all the world's rejects who couldn't or wouldn't find ordinary careers. It was rumored that a substantial number were wanted for committing crimes. Lieutenant Dawes believed that he was losing his grip on them. They don't respect me, soon they'll defy me, and possibly one of them will try to shoot me—all because I married that crazy woman.
    He felt as though he should exact vengeance, although he knew that she hadn't done anything wrong except act in her own self-interest. I should've been more sensible, but I was unhappy and she was so lovely. He remembered burning nights in her arms, with her elegant legs wrapped around him. They'd got on fairly well in their ordinary domestic life, except she wouldn't stop praising a certain sadistic little killer. That was when Lieutenant Dawes had realized that his golden goddess had feet of clay. How could she not see through the facade of the Pecos Kid? Dawes had disliked Duane Braddock from the moment they'd first met, but every woman wanted to mother him, and older men tried to play big brother, choosing not to see his destructive spiteful nature.

    But Braddock was still on the loose, as dangerous to the citizens of Texas as the Apaches. Maybe I should take the men out on a scout and see if we can track the little bastard down. The odds are that the Apaches have killed him, but maybe not. I'd love to see the look on Vanessa's face if I could bring back Duane Braddock in shackles and chains.
    He altered his direction and made his way toward the tent of Sergeant Mahoney. That gentleman, a former resident of the notorious Five Points neighborhood in New York City, reclined near his fire, smoking his corncob pipe. He had a thick, drooping red mustache, a red nose, and a chin like the prow of a ship. Upon hearing footsteps, he raised himself to a sitting position.
    â€œYou don't have to get up,” said Dawes, dropping to one knee beside him. “We're going out on a scout tomorrow morning after mess. Bring enough food and supplies for an indefinite period.”
    â€œBut we just came back from a scout, sir!”
    â€œAnd now we're going on another one. I've just given you a direct order, Sergeant.”
    Sergeant Mahoney grimaced as he puffed on his pipe. “Sir, there's somethin’ that you don't understand. You been a-pushin’ the men pretty hard, and there ain't a damn thing to do in Shelby ‘cept get drunk. I think you oughtta let ‘em rest awhile, otherwise yer liable to have a problem on yer hands.”
    Lieutenant Dawes raised his eyebrows. “Rest?” heinquired. “This is the Fourth Cavalry, not a resort. Our mission is to keep the Apaches under control, and the best way to do that is to go where they are and let them know that we're not tolerating their foolishness.”
    â€œBut, sir,” Sergeant Mahoney pleaded, “even soldiers got to sleep, refit, and let the horses fatten a little. Mark my words—if you take the men on another scout so soon, you'll have a rebellion on your hands.”
    â€œI'm still in command here, Sergeant. See that you carry my orders out, unless you're ready to give up those stripes.”
    Lieutenant Dawes walked back toward his tent, hands clasped firmly