Lindus paled somewhat at the thought of approaching Boyd alone. He was surely a madman who wouldn't think twice of killing him. Lindus did his best to mask his shudder, however; he didn't want to risk losing the General's approval. He was already on thin ice because his manners were more refined than those of most officers. Well, could he help it if he had attended the military academy and learned proper procedure there, rather than on the battlefield?

He nodded at the General's order. "Yes, sir." He looked towards the long building that housed both the kitchen hall and lounge. "Perhaps Martha can assist me in the kitchen." He looked at the Indian woman; she rarely spoke to him, other than to request to speak to someone else. He noted that now, all she did was nod. But the nod only came after a long pause; what was she considering in that secretive brain of hers? He wasn't sure exactly how wise it was to trust her, but then, he decided they hadn't much choice.

Perhaps that was why she felt a natural aversion to the stew; horsemeat was frowned upon by the people of her tribe. They relied upon horses for transportation and indeed, were almost an extension of one's self. She glanced at the rabbits in her bag in all their frozen glory, and knew they wouldn't be ready – or very tempting -- in time to satisfy the General's hunger. Yet she didn't like the thought of leaving General Slauson and Ives - or any of them! - alone. She was already growing nervous about allowing Lucy so much time alone in such an unsafe place.

If she accompanied Lindus to the kitchen, that would put her there ahead of Ives and the General, but only just. Surely, there could be no harm in that. And she was to do what the General and Ives requested, after all. She nodded to Lindus, and added, "We also have other things available for a proper dinner later. Horsemeat is not a good thing to keep too long. I will start on that soon."

"Yes General. It's an old family recipe. We would only have it once in a great while. When one of our horses would die, usually of old age, my old man would make us some stew. He considered it respect to the horse. I hated the poor horses to go to waste, and thought I would take my old man's knowledge and put it to good use."

Ives saw Lindus and Martha heading towards the stew. It made him a little nervous that Martha would be around the stew. Would she know what it was? Plus, would Lindus and/or Martha believe Boyd when he would most likely tell them what it really was.

"Come on General. Let me warm your stomach."

As Ives led the General to the stew he noticed Hart peering out of his old hut.

"Hart! The General is here. Come on and replenish yourself and you can tell the General your miraculous story."

He could feel Hart take a deep breath and watched and he headed out toward them. All the while, Ives kept the General walking toward the stew. He had to give the General the first taste, hopefully before Lindus and Martha got back.

~~

Martha dished up a healthy serving of stew and handed the metal bowl to Major Lindus without a word. Taking up a canteen of water, she motioned for Lindus to follow. She had never cared much for Lindus, but neither did she wish to see him die. When they reached the door of Boyd's lean-to, she warned, "Beware of him, Major. He speaks of many confusing things. Something evil has hold of him. Do not take for granted your own safety."

Lindus tried to put on a brave face for Martha. After all, it wouldn't do to have this Indian woman see a Major show signs of weakness or fear, no matter how little he was looking forward to this task. "Yes, yes, I understand. We've all heard the story, Martha. Now, please, open the door?"

Martha could see the Major's fear despite his dismissive words. She opened the door and Lindus entered with the bowl of stew. Martha tossed the canteen towards Boyd; it landed at his feet. "I need to see that everyone has proper bedding and light for the night. You will return to the general soon, and not stay here long?"

"Of course. Go about your work, Martha." Lindus held onto the bowl tightly, knowing now that what he needed to do was simply hand it over to Boyd without giving the madman an opportunity to grab him instead. "I'm quite sure I'll be fine."

Martha nodded, wanting to return to the General soon. She recalled Boyd's warning. She had duties to attend to; perhaps if she did them quickly enough, she and Lucy would have enough daylight remaining to cook up a decent dinner. One thing was certain -- she was not going to eat any horses.

Boyd blinked as the door opened and a canteen was thrown at his feet. His eyes, which had been downward turned, drifted up to seek the new arrival. Martha and Lindus. The Indian woman was not at her post and while it didn’t surprise him that she hadn’t listened to him, it did disappoint him. Everyone thought he was insane. And it would be his downfall if he didn’t do something quickly.

Lindus was clearly afraid of him. He gave that away by hesitating by the door for entirely too long. Boyd did not yet know how to use that yet. How to use it to his advantage? He needed someone besides Hart to believe in him, to trust him. In a gesture of good faith, he raised his hands up slowly to show the Major that his wrists were bound in shackles attached to a chain, which led to the wall. He couldn’t hurt the man is what he was trying to say. Now he just had to explain that he didn’t want to.

Lindus stood even straighter, if that was possible, and stepped more fully into the room after Boyd held up his bound wrists. "I'll have none of your mad ravings any longer, Captain," he admonished, stepping forward and handing down the dish to Boyd. "Here's some stew for you. The General suggested you have some. It's probably the last great meal you'll have; military prisons aren't known for their fine cuisine."

It was hard to imagine that it was such a short time ago -- had it been fall? -- that Boyd had been awarded his medal of honor. He shook his head slowly, forgetting the General's order that he not converse with Boyd. "I hate to think what drove you to such depths of madness, Captain."

Boyd stared at Lindus. He had never liked the man, but he also did not dislike him. He felt very little towards him. He hardly knew Lindus as a person, just as the man that stood behind Slauson and jumped when the General said so. How was he ever supposed to reach this man? To get him to listen and even if he did get him to listen, he knew that Lindus would go back to Slauson and tell the General anything Boyd said. That alone was not a bad thing, but if he did so in front of Ives… well, Boyd knew he would not have to worry about military prison cuisine after that.

The bowl of stew was staring him in the face. He wanted to demand Lindus take it away, just to avoid temptation, but he knew he needed some sort of leverage. He wasn’t strong enough to get out of here on his own. He needed something and if it would not come in the form of Lindus, Hart or Martha, maybe it would come in the form of Knox.

The thought turned his stomach. It was wrong. Knox was a son of a bitch and cruel to Boyd until the end, but he didn’t deserve to die. No one did. Not the way Knox had. He turned away from the stew: too weak to take it and too weak to tell Lindus to take it away. “It wasn’t me,” he offered weakly. A strong argument could have been made, he could have pleaded with Lindus, but that bowl.. Just it being around made him feel the want, the need. And he knew he would not give in.

Not unless it was to kill Ives.

No.

His mind flip-flopped, plaguing him with waking nightmares. “How?” He asked, turning back to face the man. “How do you think I killed them all? On that mountain? You know what happened in Mexico. You were there when Slauson decided to send me here. You know the whole story. I’m a coward, Lindus. How do you think I killed everyone of them: Reich? Toffler? George?”

The fact that Lindus also knew that Boyd had taken out an entire camp of Mexican soldiers on his own escaped Boyd. He didn’t think about it before he’d launched into a self-depreciating rant. It was the stew. It distracted him like nothing else did. Well, almost nothing else. It distracted him in a way that only rivaled Ives.

Lindus took in Boyd's words with what he hoped was the proper amount of distance and disdain. While he could not argue that Boyd was in many respects a coward, he knew what the man was capable of. His own opinion regarding what happened in Mexico was that Boyd, desperate to free himself, had acted more in a frenzy of panic and fear than out of any true desire to take the encampment. As for his ability to kill the others, he imagined that it wouldn't take much to overpower or kill either the simpleton Toffler or the oft-drunk Knox separately, though George and Reich would indeed be much more difficult, and some amount of surprise would have to be used.

Lindus sighed at Boyd's denials. "While I don't deny your cowardice, Captain, I do know that cowards, when pressed, are capable of carrying out many a despicable act, if only from the desire to preserve their own safety, their own integrity." Recalling the General's warnings not to tarry long or to converse with Boyd, he added, "Your innocence or guilt is not for me to comment on. That is for a judge and jury." Again, he offered the stew. "Please take this, Boyd. You'll need your strength."

Judge and jury. It was already a death sentence. The word of a Major, a Colonel and a General against him would seal his fate. Not even the fact that there were no bodies would aid him in front of judge and jury. He knew where Reich’s body was, or at least had known. He did not know if Ives had moved it. But telling anyone of its location would make him look guiltier and was he not to some extent? He had not killed Reich, but he had eaten his flesh to survive. All of this would have been so much easier if he had just laid down and died then and there, in that cave with Reich’s hollow eyes staring at him with accusation. But it was not an option. He had to kill Ives first.

Reluctantly, he reached out and took the bowl. There was no way he could do what he had to do without it. But not yet. It had to be at the right time and that meant after someone died. If he got lose now and another person died, he’d be to blame. If he was still chained, then maybe.. just maybe someone would realize it was not him. It was a slim chance and he had grown so accustom to doing this alone that he didn’t expect things to go any other way. “I’m sorry,” he offered Lindus, well aware this man would be the first to die, as he began to wonder if Lindus had a key on him for his shackles.

~~

Hart heard Ives call him over. He took a second to gather his courage and center himself before complying. It was rather like a play done without a script. He would be taking his cues from Ives as to what he needed to say to make the General believe him. Taking cues from a madman… then again, Ives was a particularly self-aware and calculated madman. Hart had to give him that at the very least. The man had a brilliant mind. It was a pity that it was so twisted.

Hart stepped out into the cold that he no longer felt and followed Ives and the General into the hut that housed the stew, that at once noxious and enticing concoction that Hart was at once repulsed and drawn to. He was starving for it to be honest. As he made his way across the camp, he saw Lindus and Martha start off in the direction of Boyd's `quarters'. Hart needed to speak to the man again, but right now it was dangerous. Maybe at night, when Ives was sleeping… if Ives slept.

Hart ducked into the hut and saluted the General as decorum demanded. He stood up straighter tan he had in years. Before, arthritis ad gripped him mercilessly which made even these simple shows agonizing. Hart reminded himself not to look so well and consciously stooped his back just a little. His eyes met Ives', wondering what story he had given to the General to explain his reappearance. No matter. They would play it by ear. After all, more miraculous things had happened.

At first Slauson was going to sit at the table and wait to be served, as he was accustomed to doing, then realized he would have to serve himself. Cleaves and Martha usually did that but...Slauson and Ives approached the pot of stew together, and then Ives stepped aside and gestured to the general to go first. Slauson scooped several heaping ladlefuls of stew into his bowl and filled a large mug with water. He turned back toward the table just in time to see Hart enter the hut. It was so strange to suddenly see someone that he had gotten used to considering dead he nearly dropped his bowl. He set his mug down and returned the colonel's salute.

"I would guess that Colonel Ives has already explained the circumstances of my return. We both had been meaning to file a report and have it sent to you, but with the situation with Ives, we thought it better to tend to that first." Hart didn't have to pretend much to look stricken over Boyd's supposed turn into madness. If only the General knew that the expression was more because he felt guilty over blaming all of this on Boyd when he was innocent…

Slauson could not stop staring at the 'miraculously revived' colonel. Not only was he alive, he looked about as untouched and far from death as he could be. One would think that a close brush with death would age a person, but Hart seemed like he'd gotten younger, impossible as that was. His hair was less gray, his face less lined and weary. It had to be a trick of the light. Or else Slauson's eyes were getting bad. Slauson was feeling his age more acutely than ever these days.

"Welcome back, Colonel Hart. Of course, you were never really gone, were you?" Slauson joked, trying to lighten the mood. "Take some stew and have a seat, and we can discuss what happened to you. Let's go back to the events at the cave."

"If you don't mind me saying General. Maybe we can talk about lighter subject for a start." Ives put on his most exhausted look he could manage despite feeling wonderfully energized. "We will most definitely get to that unpleasantness. First can't we just eat and return to any kind of normalcy even just for a short while?"

Ives saw the look flash upon the General's face like he couldn't believe that Ives had the balls to contradict what the General wanted to do. Then he saw understanding and finally silent agreement. Ives didn't want to talk anything until the General had some stew in him. He knew that any story him and Hart came up with about the caves would be meaningless in the future after Slauson had enough human stew to turn him. He didn't really want to waste the energy. He looked over at Hart who looked slightly uncomfortable. Hart was eating the stew. Ives had a bite himself. And watched as the General took his first bite. Ives smiled.

"Perhaps we can talk about the war. How's it looking General? Have we won yet?"

~~

When Martha left Boyd and Lindus in the shack, she went to see that everyone's things had been settled in, and that enough furs and blankets were in each quarters, along with plenty of oil in all the lanterns. Preparations for nightfall in winter ate up a good deal of her time, and now she found herself anxious for the horses, as well. They seemed peaceful when she checked on them, though; indeed, two were already dozing after their meal.

The henhouse was well stocked, and while she didn't like dipping into their egg-layers for food, they were starting to run a little low on meat. Martha caught sight of Lucy walking along -- cleaned up and in a fresh dress now, though who knew how long that would last -- and called her over.

Lucy started a bit at hearing her name, then saw that it was Martha. "Well, hey Martha. What's going on, you need a hand?"

Martha nodded. "I think two chickens for dinner should be plenty. They are already eating stew, but I do not like the idea of horse stew myself."

Lucy wrinkled her nose. "You know, it smelled inviting, but now that you tell me what it is, me neither. That must be why Colonel Hart told me to steer clear of it."

"You have seen Colonel Hart?" Martha's eyes widened. She had only seen him from a distance, and though anxious to speak to him about what happened at the caves, she also felt fearful for reasons she could not put a finger on.

"Yeah," Lucy sighed as she and Martha entered the henhouse. "Poor fella, he feels so responsible for being the only survivor. He looks good, though, for such an ordeal. Mighty good." She donned Cleaves' old butcher's apron, then caught Martha's wince. "Oh, I'm sorry, Martha. Force of habit from the farm. Maybe you wanna do this part? I can clean 'em and cook 'em."

"It's only that this is Cleaves'. It was his old job. I feel it is my task now." The chickens anxiously fluttered at their feet.

"No argument from me," Lucy agreed, removing the apron and handing it over to Martha. "I should go on in and introduce myself to the new Colonel." She paused, then asked, "What do you think of him? Colonel Ives?"

Martha didn't like giving her opinion on a white man to another white person, no matter how well she got along; these things could come back and haunt one, she knew. It was why she usually kept so quiet. Finally, she replied, "He seems respectable." As Lucy turned, Martha called out, "Oh, Lucy."

She turned. "Yeah?"

"When I refilled the lantern in your cabin, I noticed you left your gun in your room."

Lucy shrugged. "Uh-huh. What about it?"

"You would be wise to keep it on you." Martha returned to her work amongst the chickens.

Lucy could sense that Martha didn't wish to go into it further, and said, "All right, then. I'll see you in the kitchen."

With that, she headed over to the kitchen, where she saw the General, Colonel Hart and Colonel Ives were all enjoying some stew. It surprised her a little to see Hart taking part in it, since he had seemed so against it just a half hour ago, but she figured hunger always got the better of men, in many ways. "Pardon my interruption here. Just wanted to introduce myself to the new Colonel and let y'all know I'm here to help out."

~~

Hart tossed Ives a grateful look as he changed the subject from Hart's `miraculous' recovery to talk of the war. That should keep the General occupied for a little while at least. Hart tried to pretend to be interested as he picked at his stew. He choked down the first few bites. Not because it was disgusting, but because he was disgusted with himself. But, the more he ate, the more he knew he could not deny that he enjoyed this. He ate with more relish, reveling in the taste of flesh in his mouth, the way it seemed to satisfy his hunger in ways that no other meat ever had. How could this be wrong? How could this be bad?

But then he heard her voice and the spell was broken. A slight tremor went through his hand as he glanced towards the door, his gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. Lucy had changed into a dress and sluiced the dirt from the trail off her skin. Newly cleaned, her light hair fell like corn silk down her back, her skin gleaming clean and new. Hart thought Lucy was a pretty girl no matter what, whether she was filthy in a pair of buckskins she'd worn for weeks or clean and dressed up. Yet, seeing Lucy in a dress had always taken his breath away, as if she were wearing a ball gown of silk and velvet and not simple calico, even before when he was just a feeble old man and the whole fort came to the unspoken agreement that Lucy belonged to Reich and was therefore off-limits. Things had changed, though. He was no longer old and feeble and Reich was dead. Along with everyone else.

Hart cleared his throat and averted his eyes as he stood. He looked at Ives and said, "Colonel Ives, I'd like to introduce Miss Lucy Cort. She is a trader who travels the area." His eyes shifted from Ives to Lucy. "Lucy, this is Colonel Ives. I believe you already know the General." He offered a smile before looking away. His eyes fell on the stew that he suddenly couldn't even stomach looking at. Not in front of her…

Slauson wolfed down his stew greedily. After the grueling trip to the fort, it was a relief to finally refuel himself. He could almost feel his lost energy being restored with every bite. He chatted with Ives about the war effort in his area until the arrival of Lucy Cort, looking quite attractive in a dress.

The attention of the men was on her immediately, and Slauson himself could not help doing a double take at this sudden bright spot in the middle of the gloomy fort. He had never before seen her in anything other than her dusty trail-riding clothes. Whenever she stopped over in San Miguel, Slauson usually treated her like one of his men. But now, he was reminded, if he'd ever forgotten, that Lucy was definitely a woman. He tried very hard to remind himself that not only was he married, he was old enough to be Lucy's father. Then again, it wouldn't hurt anyone to just look.

Slauson noticed Hart was particularly affected by her presence, as he stood to welcome and introduce her.

"Hello again, Miss Lucy," Slauson greeted her.

Upon entering the room, the heady scent of the stew was the first thing that struck Lucy, and if she hadn't been told it was made of horsemeat, she would have been scooping up a large portion for herself instead of waiting to be introduced. As it was, however, she decided to steer clear of it, knowing that often that which smelled and looked tempting held hidden toxins. Not to mention it would remind her too much of her own horse, whom she imagined would somehow know what she'd been up to and never forgive her.

She caught Colonel Hart's gaze and looked away almost as quickly as he as he stood to introduce her. Though she couldn't help but return his smile, she also felt a severe twinge of guilt at her growing attraction. Though she and Reich were by no means betrothed or even openly involved, there had been an agreement settled between them that the main reason for this was he was a military man and she was not one who wished the lifestyle of a military wife; especially the wife of a Private, who would have to be shipped off to his parents while he struggled to prove to Slauson that he should be promoted back to Major. She had come to California for a reason, and it didn't involve marriage, not yet, anyway. In any event, she had cared deeply for the man, and though she had only learned of his death a few hours ago, she felt a strange and undeniable attraction to Hart that disturbed her in its suddenness. Hadn't she always thought of him more as an older man before? What had changed this outlook?

Feeling a blush spread across her cheeks and hoping no one noticed, Lucy approached, though more than a little discomforted by all the attention. She knew most of it was due to her being a woman; her brother Pete had warned her before she left home, "Luce, there's no bigger fool than a man near a pretty gal, and you clean up nicer than most. Out there on the trail, away from home, foolishness can mean something a lot worse, so you watch yourself out there." Though she had rolled her eyes at this speech given so long ago, she had since learned its harsh truth, and took it more to heart. Perhaps from a survival instinct, she found herself hovering more at Hart's side, where she felt a little more safe in this outfit which felt more a costume than a practical garment.

Lucy nodded at General Slauson; she had always considered the man fairly decent, though Reich detested him for his demotion to Private. She doubted the General knew anything about either her involvement with Reich or her knowledge of that whole affair, and enjoyed keeping it this way. It made her feel that she had a few cards hidden. Now, she found something about the man had started to change; his attitude slightly more bold, though still respectful and well mannered. She replied, "General Slauson, always a pleasure. I'm not going to bring up business here and now, but I'm happy to offer y'all some of the items I've got now if you're interested. I brought some fine tobacco, all the way in from Virginia, and the Kentucky Bourbon Major Knox used to be so fond of..." Her smile faded then, as they all likely thought of how Major Knox was no longer around to enjoy his bourbon. She felt her shoulders sag a little under the strain at keeping up such a pleasant front, but as this had always been her job -- her duty -- back home when death visited, so she felt it was her duty here. She cleared her throat and added, "A new book or two as well. It's all at your disposal, of course."

She turned to Colonel Ives. It was definitely hard to penetrate his gaze and discern what he might be thinking. "Colonel, it's very good also to make your acquaintance. I've heard good things about you from Colonel Hart here." Thinking on it now, she realized she had heard very little indeed from Hart about Ives, but figured a little flattery might ease any transitional difficulties that might be breaking between the Colonels. After all, Fort Spencer had once been Hart's realm completely, and it would be difficult for any new man to follow.

Ives was pleased as Slauson started eating the stew more and more, with each bite growing more lavish. He was trying to keep the General distracted so he wouldn't think about how much he was eating so he would eat as much as possible. It would take more than this one meal of course, but it was a start. It would start the itch that couldn't be scratched.

Then Ives noticed Slauson’s attention turned to the door. And there was the woman. This must be Hart's desire that he had written of. Ives noticed that she was attractive and with his high perception, she was not particularly comfortable with the looks Slauson and Hart were giving her. Strange thing about the Wendigo, Ives didn't particularly feel sexually attracted to her like he may have a year ago. No his attraction was more predatory. He looked her up and down quickly, his eyes sweeping up and down her body.

The last woman he had been around had been Mrs. McCready. He didn't like killing the woman, she had been kind to him but at the end she had attacked him and he had no choice. She was acting out of survival plus had just had her husband killed so her praying could only do so much of her. Ives didn't feel all out good about what he had done to her, but not particularly bad neither. Dismembering her corpse was not as hard as he thought he would be, and a woman's flesh did have a certain strength to it that a man's didn't. However, Ives couldn't deny that that is where he had totally lost himself. At that point after Mrs. McCready there was no turning back to the man he used to be. He had taken around cross to remind him of his rise to power and his humanity that he had left behind in that process.

Yes Ives though as the woman sat down and introduced herself to him as Lucy, he would have no problem killing another woman. And whatever would happen between them beforehand, so be it. He knew how to put on the charm, always had.

"Hello Lucy. I am Colonel Ives." He paused for a moment looking deep into her eyes. "I only wish I had the pleasure of meeting you under better circumstances." He swept his hand toward the stew. "There is plenty of stew if you are hungry." He smiled at her charmingly and continued eating, looking away. He had always known that if you gave a lady too much attention right away, that there would be no challenge, and if she was attractive, such as Lucy was, they were used to men falling all over them. No you had to give them somewhat of a challenge, and sometimes acting somewhat disinterested after showing them how deeply you could look into them caught their attention. He looked at Hart who was giving him a look of death. Ahhh jealousy, Ives thought, lovely. He might enjoy this a little too much.

Ives continued to eat as the others held their conversation. So Hart was in love with Lucy, but he also thought maybe his look of death was because Ives had offered her the stew. That would awful to Hart, for Lucy to end up like him. Yes he would enjoy Hart's discomfort. He caught Lucy's eye again just for a moment, and held her gazed for a moment then looked at Hart, who was glaring at him.

"Would you like some more stew Hart?" Ives asked him and smiled.

Hart noticed the way the General and Ives were eyeing Lucy. Good God, he couldn't help but notice. Slauson was eating the stew, which fit perfectly into Ives plans, which Hart had to appear to be following, at least for now. He wasn't sure if it fit into his own plans. Hell, Hart was even sure he *had* a plan. Just a goal. Keep Lucy Cort safe. Secondary goals included possibly helping Boyd if he could and killing Ives, Yet, either of those goals would be immediately sacrificed for the sake of his main one. Slauson would begin to notice the gradually building of strength and stamina as he consumed more of the stew day by day. Hart figured he would need to secretly stand guard outside of Lucy and Martha's sleeping quarters tonight.

Just to protect them of course. Just to protect them. He loved Lucy. He couldn't deny it even to himself. He had started to love her from the first moment she had asked him about his books and his journals and actually appeared *interested*. Maybe it was because she was the only woman other than Martha that he had seen for years. Maybe it was because she was a genuinely good woman who always brought a little something to the Fort with her that she knew each of them would love. Fr Knox, it was a bottle of good bourbon. For Toffler, a book of prayers. And for him, it had been leather bound journals because she was sure he had filled the pages of the one he had and oranges, one of Hart's most beloved treats. But he did love her. He knew nothing would ever come of it. Before because he was an old man and now because he was a bad man.

Lucy felt a bit odd as she found herself being....well, sized up by Ives. Not as a female, but as a person. She was a smart enough gal to be able to tell the difference. He was polite all right, and a nice-enough looking fella, but there was something about his eyes that bothered her deeply. She couldn't put her finger on it exactly; she'd seen eyes like that before, but couldn't recall just where. She remembered something Clancey "the Bullet" Barton had told her years ago, back when they ran the post in Dakota: "Don't you trust no one, Luce, not till you got a good notion of what's behind their eyes." He'd spat in the corner for emphasis, adding, "Windows to the soul an' all."

She held up a hand to the offer of stew, replying, "No thanks. But please, don't let me stop you. Martha and I will be fixing up some chickens shortly. And a generous portion of my personal mashed potatoes." She noticed that Hart looked particularly disturbed, and wondered if maybe she should go; perhaps she had interrupted important business. There seemed to be something strange in the air passing between Ives and Hart, and though she could not for the life of her figure out what was behind it all, she worried that her presence was exacerbating it. When Ives offered Hart more stew, it seemed almost a taunt to the man.

Hart sucked in a breath and met Ives' eyes, trying hard to keep from glaring at him as he said very carefully, "No. I think I've eaten my fill." He hadn't. No one who tried Ives' stew could ever eat their fill, but there was only a bite or two left in the bowl. Hart wanted it, but his desire to not let Lucy see him debasing himself by eating it was stronger just this once.

He couldn't bear the way that Ives was looking at her, drawing her in with those eyes. Yes, he was jealous, but he was also terrified. Ives had tried that with Boyd and look where he was? What would he do to Lucy? Good God, why was she here? He had to convince her to leave. Somehow. He averted his eyes again. He didn't want to look at Ives and see his malicious eyes, knowing that he was toying with him and he didn't want to look at Lucy and have her believe that he was just another set of male eyes, ravaging her with their gaze. He wanted to leave, but he would not leave Lucy alone in this room with the stew and with Ives. There was no way in hell.

So, Hart cleared his throat and looked back at Lucy with a smile. "You know, I'd like to see your wares. If you have a moment." He glanced at the General. "I promise to give you a full report, but someone really should be in the watch tower as lookout. Even though there is a… shortage of men, we cannot abandon our duties." He shot another scathing look at Ives. Ives was powerful and terrifying. Hart was afraid of him. Yet, Hart also knew that he was not powerless in their little `arrangement'. After all, Hart could corroborate Boyd's story. And who was the General going to trust more?

For her own part, Lucy was more than happy to get away. "Certainly, Colonel. You know you're welcome to, if these officers can spare you." She gave a polite smile to General Slauson and Colonel Ives, appreciative only that he was keeping his distance. She didn't realize it, but her own instincts were forcing her closer to Hart; while before, she had always felt same here because he was in charge, now she wasn't so sure of that safety, for the simple fact that Fort Spencer had slipped out of his grasp. She thought of what Martha had said about Ives: that he seemed like a respectable man. Well, that was certainly true, but she never assumed too much about anyone too early on.

Slauson couldn't help noticing sudden tension in the room, and briefly pondered the cause of it. Hart was probably (and understandably) attracted to Lucy, and was jealous that she might be more taken with the younger and more dashing Colonel Ives. Speaking of younger... In the close confines of the dinner table, Slauson had confirmed to himself that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him; Hart did appear younger and less worn. Slauson decided that Hart had known Lucy would be due for a visit soon and was simply trying to spruce himself up in order to compete with Ives for her affection. That solved, Slauson scarcely paid any more attention to the matter; he was too absorbed in his tasty supper. There was something to this horsemeat stew. If he didn't need his to get back to San Miguel, he might ask Lindus to take an axe to it and serve it up. Boyd could probably give him lessons on it. Slauson almost laughed out loud at that, but held back. His good humor was returning, but that joke was not quite suitable for the dinner table.

He made a mental note to check out the tobacco Lucy mentioned, but at the moment, emptying the contents of his bowl interested him more. It was amazing what a difference a hearty meal made in his whole disposition. He felt refreshed, energized, and clear-headed again. He even felt up to the task of confronting Boyd, whereas he'd been dreading it during the trip to the fort.

When Hart and Lucy went to leave, Slauson said, "Are you sure you don't want any stew?" He tapped his bowl with his spoon. "This is a definite improvement over Cleaves, eh Hart?" He caught himself and cleared his throat uncomfortably. His rejuvenated mood had caused his tongue to become a bit too loose. "Forgive me. That was a tactless comment."

~~

Lindus, relieved his duty here was done and that he could return once more to the sane, didn't know what to say in response to Boyd's unexpected apology. He had expected rants and raves, maybe even a jump for his throat. Instead....here was this quiet man sitting on the floor with a bowl of stew. "We'll come see to you again in a while, make sure everything's all right in here." Lindus hoped he wouldn't be the one with that particular duty, but since he was the low man on the totem pole currently, it likely would be.

With that, he exited, padlocking the door behind him with the same key that controlled the shackles. He twirled them once on his finger, intending to return them to Ives when he reached the kitchen. As he approached, he noticed Hart standing in the doorway with Lucy, who had changed since their arrival earlier. He'd had a small crush on her back in San Miguel, where she managed most of her business affairs and kept regular quarters, but he had rarely seen her in a dress. He knew that his attraction to this rough woman was merely due to his isolation from the more sophisticated ladies of the City, so he kept his thoughts to himself, though he was certain the General sensed his attention became distracted around her.

He excused himself as he entered the room. It appeared as though Hart was considering a question posed by the men at the table. He removed his hat and reporting to the General, "Boyd has his stew, sir. Shall I partake as well?"

Slauson was relieved to see Lindus back safely. "Of course Lindus. Help yourself. I think I'll have a second serving as well." Slauson managed to restrain himself and let Lindus go first, so he wouldn't seem too greedy. It was rude to have seconds before everyone else had had their firsts.

"So Lindus, how was Boyd in there?"

~~

The bowl of stew sat on the floor, staring him in the face, but Boyd managed to look away as he tugged once more at the chain that bound him to the wall. The bolt that held the chains in place hadn’t moved even an inch from the time he’d first pulled, but he was hoping that, for some strange reason, the bolt would somehow give and he’d be free.

And then what?

And then he’d figure it out from there. Ives had to die. If he got killed in the process, then so be it. He pulled once more at the chain and the shackles jerked tight across his wrist, cutting lightly into the skin and making him bleed. The smell of blood was nauseating.. and tempting. In order to turn away from the sight of fresh cuts and still-warm flowing blood, he had to turn back to the bowl of stew that sat next to him on the other side. To his right, bloody wrists, to his left, Major Knox in a bowl. There was nowhere to turn were carnage was not. Even when he closed his eyes he saw blood. Maybe just one spoonful and then he’d tug at the chain once more. Just one spoonful. And only so he could set himself free, for no other reason.

He sighed heavily, staring at the bowl like it was the devil itself beckoning him to sin. Freedom though wrongdoing or imprisonment for being a good man? Those were his only choices.

Dropping the chain, he reached for the spoon and took in one heap of stew with a heavy wince. The thought of what he was consuming almost choked him, yet he would not let the weakness take over. With out another thought, he turned back to the chain and gave it another tug, waiting to see if the bolt would loosen even just a little.

~~

Hart saluted the General and was turning to leave just as Lindus entered. He watched the man's face carefully, but he did not seem troubled or concerned. Lindus stared a few extra moments at Lucy, but every male who had come within ten feet of her had as well. It must be the dress. Hart had always admired Lucy, but it was a little harder to hide it now that she was out of her dusty riding clothes and in a dress. Very hard.

He was honest enough to admit that he was slightly discomfited by the stares that all the men seemed to be giving Lucy. It made him want to place himself between them and her. Or maybe lock her away somewhere where she could be safe. He wanted that anyway. If the way that Slauson and Lindus looked at Lucy made his slightly jealous, the ways Ives did terrified him because Ives did not look at her with the eyes of a man who wanted to bed her. He looked at her as one might a side of beef. And whereas the other men might restrain themselves out of some lingering sense of propriety, Ives had no compunctions about making Lucy into stew if it suited him.

Hart heard Slauson's joking remark dimly at first and when it dawned on him exactly what had been said. He looked away, knowing his sudden stricken expression would likely be interpreted as grief. `No, General. The meat in your stew isn't that much of an improvement over Cleaves. Knox was a drunk. But it does give him a bit more flavor…'

Hart took a deep breath and backed out. "I should… go." He offered Lucy a look to see if she was coming with him and his arm, just in case she was. He didn't like the idea of leaving her alone in here with Ives. Slauson and Lindus were harmless. Ives was not.

Lucy caught Hart's eye and nodded, as if to say, *Yes, let's get outta here,* and the two left.

~~

Lindus stepped up to the aromatic stew and ladled a large portion for himself. "He's quite collected, actually," Lindus replied. "Of course, he proclaimed the usual malarkey about being innocent and how could he have done it when we knew what a coward he was. I admit, he did have a small point there, but the fact remains that he's proven himself quite capable of bravery in the past, when properly motivated." Taking his bowl with him to the table, he added, "After all, who knows what any man is really capable of?"

He noticed the General's bowl was empty then, and asked, "Oh, sir, may I get you another?"

~~

"I've got all the things I'd brought for you gents in my cabin," Lucy told Hart, pointing the way as she took his proffered arm. She was struck then by the thought that he was probably used to the company of more sophisticated and genteel ways of proper ladies, and this made her stand a bit straighter. She could of course never compete with the likes of those kinda ladies. They never had to care for four younger siblings or scrub the floor, pitch hay or clean and dress a chicken. Their hands were clean and smooth, and had never fired a revolver or a rifle, and likely never known true fear or had to kill a man. Lucy knew she couldn't name all the authors or great thinkers whose names appeared on the books in Hart's old office, but the thought did remind her of one things that might at least prove she was paying attention during all their talks in the past. "Colonel Hart, I brought you a few special items, in particular. I think you'll be quite pleased," she smiled, opening the door of her cabin.

Martha had gotten a fire started in the wood stove in the corner, and gotten the cabin prepared for its guest with her usual attention to detail; she had left the door open a crack to air the musty room out, and piled fresh blankets on the newly-made bed. Lucy's bags were piled beside the small makeshift sofa Cleaves had fashioned out of pine boughs and thick cushions, and her gun caught her eye from where Martha had deposited it on the bureau, where her trail clothes resided. She recalled what Martha had said about keeping her weapon on her, then shoved it out of her mind once more.

Motioning for Hart to join her on the sofa near the fire, she fished through her bags and withdrew two books. She handed him the first one. "See, now, this here one's brand new and all the folks are talking about it. It's by an English fella named Currer Bell, and it's called 'Jane Eyre'. Now, I decided to read it before I gave it to you, since it was supposed to be about a gal and all. I have to say, he did a real great job writing from a ga-" She paused, wanting to speak more like a proper, fancy lady might. "--from a woman's point of view. I think you might like it, too." She paused before handing him the other book. "This is another journal, but I wanted to make this one nice, so I got one with your initials. Well, initial." She grinned, blushing as she showed him the journal with the gold "H" embossed in the corner. "I realize, I don't know your first name, so I just got the 'H'." She hoped he wouldn't think this too silly of her.

At Lucy's cabin, Hart hesitated near the door. It felt strange to enter this place with her here. Usually when Lucy was in residence at the Fort, he met with her in his office, not in the cabin. The other men came here freely, but he never did. He never felt it proper before. Now… he wasn't sure. But once she waved him inside, his hesitation vanished.

Hart took the offered seat on the sofa near the fire and watched her in near silence as she rummaged through her packs, bringing out two books. He smiled as she spoke of the first and took it in his large hands, caressing the spine of the book the way some men might caress the skin of a lover. "A book from a woman's point of view? There are so few of those done well. Most of the time men tend to write women how they believe they should think than how they really do. Not that I profess to know the female mind, of course. That is a mystery that even all my years and all my reading has not solved." Hart chuckled slightly and placed the book on his lap.

Lucy laughed a little on that point. "And you're not meant to!" she teased. "I know what you mean, about most books just not being right," she said, glad that she had something to contribute to the conversation about reading, something she had little time for in her work. "In most of those books, the ladies act like darned fools every time they got a problem to deal with, or else they decide to go on a trip somewhere to get over a bit of man trouble. Heck, if we ran off on trips every time things went a little haywire back home, we'd have lost the farm years ago," she chuckled, pleased that he appreciated the book.

The next book that Lucy presented left Hart momentarily speechless. He took it in his hands, his fingers tracing the embossed letter H slowly before he looked into her eyes. "Andrew Floyd Hart. That's my full name. When I was a boy, my father and mother called me Andy, but all of my paperwork with the army is in the name of A.F. Hart." He watched her, quite unable to take his eyes off her as she blushed so fetchingly.

Andrew. Andy. A.F. She thought he definitely looked like an Andrew, but maybe around very close friends, he could be an Andy. In any case, she felt that knowing his name gave her that much more of a personal peek into this man she so admired and cared for. Why was she acting so foolish, she wondered. She *never* blushed. That was something for schoolgirls and young maidens, not trail-worn women like herself. *Admit it*, she thought. *You're falling for this man, and fast.* She realized then that she hadn't said anything, and wanted to make some sort of smart reply. "You look like an Andrew. And I mean that in a good way. It's a good name. Solid." *You are one brilliant gal, Luce.* She could hear her brain instructing her to stop talking, and decided she'd do well to listen to it this time.

"You shouldn't have, Lucy. It's so lovely, but you really shouldn't have." Hart finally looked away, forcing himself to as he stared at the leather-bound journal once again. He didn't deserve something so nice, something that had so much thought put into it. Besides, what would he write in it? Would he write of how he had allowed his men to be slaughtered and had consumed their flesh? Would he write how he was content to stand by and let an innocent man take the blame for such crimes? Or perhaps he would write again of loving a woman that he could not have. A woman whose life was now in grave danger just by being here…

Lucy wondered then if she'd overstepped some sort of soldier-civilian bounds with this gesture; in fact, she hoped she hadn't gotten him in trouble asking him in here. No, she could see that Hart, ever the gentleman, had left the door slightly ajar, knowing that it might otherwise be improper to be here, in what could well be considered her room. Her smile faltered a little, though she could see that he was deeply affected by the journal, though she wasn't sure if it was completely positive. Was he trying to tell her to back off? Confound it, she was mighty aggressive for a gal -- at least, that was what Reich had told her. "If it ain't proper, Colonel, I can take it back," she told him, adding softly, "But I'd rather you keep it. As a gift in hard times, not as something I expect to be paid for." She hoped she'd sounded respectful enough; she so wanted to bring him a little bit of pleasure after such a dark time. She'd never felt so ... well, so damned *fluttery* around a man before. Sure, she'd had her attachments before, but....well, there was something special about Colonel Hart. He had such a kind heart, and such wisdom too, that he made her feel special just being around him. She realized then that maybe one of the reasons she was insisting on staying was for the selfish reason of wishing to be near him. She looked deep into his eyes then, and felt that perhaps he did want to be with her as much as she did him. But there was also pain there, much pain....

"I have met very few women that ever ran away from a problem. I had an aunt that used to have fainting spells whenever something upset her, but otherwise, most of the women I have met have been much stronger than these heroines you speak of in books. I believe that it is a masculine thing. A certain type of man wishes a woman to leave for a time when there is hardship, so that he might fix such things before she can return. Of course, in reality a woman rarely leaves when told to." Hart lifted a brow at Lucy, but his smile was kindly.

Lucy laughed at the Colonel's good-humored upbraiding, and added, "Well, we only stick around 'cause we know the men would make everything worse instead of fix them if we left!"

He didn't want to make her feel bad for staying. Not when he wasn't pressuring her to leave. He should have pressed harder on the issue, but in his heart of hearts, he didn't want her to leave. While Lucy was here, he remembered that he had a conscience. Something he seemed to forget when in Ives presence. With Lucy here, he had a reason not to degenerate into the madness that Ives offered him, a reason to do everything in his power to stay sane and be the man he had been before. With Lucy here, looking at him, he was still Colonel A.F. Hart, a man who loved his books and his writing and would never allow any harm to come to those under his care. Including Boyd. That was a problem that he was still chewing over. He wanted to help Boyd, but how?

When Lucy offered to take the journal back, Hart purposely placed it out of her reach and shook his head, smiling a little. "No, I want to keep it. I just-" Hart hesitated a moment before taking a deep breath and looking away. He couldn't look into her eyes too long or he would forget himself entirely. "It has been a very long time since I was given such a wonderful, thoughtful gift. Especially by such a beautiful, thoughtful woman." He stopped outright then, inwardly cursing himself. He had meant the words to sound a lot more casual than they had ended up sounding.

Lucy basked in the warmth of Hart's compliment, and tried hard to suppress a smile. She felt she should say something, but found herself becoming more nervous with each second that passed. What should she say? "Thank you, sir. It means a lot, coming from you. I know the kind of people you must be used to, and I'm not as smart as them, but...." *Oh, please someone take a rifle to me and make me stop babbling, *she thought.

To cover up his blunder, he ducked his head and said quietly, "Reich's things are still in his bunk. I did not touch them if you would like to go through them and take anything. I know you and he were… close." Hart lifted his head to gaze into her eyes again, his soft words a reminder mostly to himself that he was not Reich. That brave, handsome, daring Reich (Hart had many times thought the man half-mad) was the sort of man that a woman like Lucy wanted and needed, not a bookish man like himself. Under the spell of his newfound youth and strength, he had almost forgotten that fact.

Hart's words were like a splash of cold water in Lucy's face. Reich -- James. Of course Hart knew, and of course he must think her a brazen hussy to be practically out-and-out flirting with Hart so soon after Reich's passing. She looked away, hiding her face from Hart as she pictured Reich standing there in the doorway, smiling at her and saying in that low, teasing manner he'd had, **Well, well. I'm dead less than a month and you've already set your sights on poor old Hart. I guess you're just as finicky as any other woman, after all.**

Taking a deep breath, she looked up again, replying, "I'd like that, thank you. He was a good man, James. Ornery a lot of the time, but never mean. Least, not to me. And so protective of Toffler! But sometimes he'd get real quiet-like, and moody, and that's when I'd come visit you for a chat, or have a drink with Major Knox. James--Reich, he was angry at a lot of people, and bitter about his demotion, I think, and it just came out ... in different ways than most." She gulped a breath of air in deeply when she realized it felt good to talk about James, even if it was to Hart. After all, he was the only one at the Fort besides Martha she felt comfortable talking to. "We were close, yes. Not like marrying-close, but we enjoyed being around each other. Had a lot of the same opinions about the world. It's just my bad luck that I keep getting attached to men I shouldn't."

She wiped at her eye, trying to make the gesture seem like a casual wiping away of a dust mote. "You been so kind, Colonel Hart. I hope you don't think less of me..." She tried to think of a genteel way to put it, and couldn't; she wasn't used to having to clean up her language so much. Finally, she came up with, "...For living the way I do. It's just the path I chose a long time ago, and ain't no turning back from some decisions, you know?" She felt the weight of it all then -- Reich's death, and others before him, and felt her attempts to keep from crying. She covered her face with her hands and let the tears come.

As Lucy started to cry, Hart hung suspended between two conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he wanted to take her into his arms to hold and comfort her. Her sobs were breaking his heart. Yet, on the other hand, there was propriety to think of. And the simple fact that he did not trust himself to touch her and he had no right to anyway being that he was responsible for at least the condoning if not the actual crime of taking her friends away from her. Yet, in the end, his first instincts won. Who cared about propriety out here in the middle of the wilderness, especially when Lucy was hurting and it may be in his power to take away her pain for just a moment?

So, gently, Hart slid his arms around Lucy's shoulders and pulled her against him, murmuring as he lightly, comfortingly stroked her hair, "Hush now. It will be alright. Lucy, my dear, these people that you think I have been around all my life… I joined the army as a young man. I've mostly been around soldiers and you are a mighty improvement upon them, trust me." He chuckled softly and continued to touch her hair as he rested his cheek atop her head.

"I am the last man in the world who has any right to condemn you for your actions. You haven't done a thing to warrant my disapproval regardless. You are a good woman, a kind woman. I do not claim to have had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of many women in my life, but you are amongst the best of them in my view. The women I have met with formal manners and fancy turns of phrase have been ones whose honor and courage and sense of humor have been lacking. You do not lack, Lucy."

Hart knew he was revealing too much, saying things to her that he had only scrawled in the pages of those leather bound journals she brought for him. In a way, it had been like telling them to her when he wrote in those journals. She had brought them to him and he spilled his soul into them. It had felt like confessing his feeling right into her ear when he wrote on those pages. And now, he was giving voice to some of his thoughts, his admiration for her. Hart knew he shouldn't, but her sudden vulnerability cut through his own thoughts and hesitations. Soon she would pull away and he would likely never have a chance to hold her again. But for now, for this moment, he could be bold.

"I am sorry for your grief. I feel to blame for their deaths. I am to blame. When I meet my Lord and maker how will I explain all of this? How can I?" He sighed and closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of her freshly washed hair. For a moment, perhaps he could forget what he had done. "I am sorry, Lucy. I am so sorry."

Lucy felt calm creep over her as Hart spoke such calming words to her. She hadn’t let a man see her cry for nearly fifteen years, and now she was remembering why. It made her feel weak and stupid…like one of those women from in the novels they had talked about, who couldn’t take of herself if her life depended on it. Still, it did feel good having gotten it out of her system, and having Hart hold her close and speak so tenderly – well, it did more than cheer her. It warmed her, and she made no move to break away just yet as she wiped away her tears and got her breathing under control. She liked listening to his gentle tones, and feeling his hand gently stroke her hair. “I’m sorry to go on like such a darned fool, Colonel. Thanks for listening to me, and for making me feel like…Well, like more than just a trader.” Her fears of what he must think of her were beginning to melt away, and that too worked to dispel her gloom.

When she looked into his eyes, she could see that he felt more towards her than simple friendship, and wondered how long he had felt so. She also wasn’t sure what to do with such knowledge. She felt her heart swell up in her throat, sensing that if she wished, she could simply kiss him, here and now. But another part of her held her back, afraid he might lose respect for her if she was so bold. Taking his hand, she held his gaze and told him, “I’m sorry you feel so responsible for what happened out there, and I know there’s nothing I can say to change how you feel about that. But you’ve made me feel better, at least, and hopefully that counts for something. It does to me.”

"Oh, Lucy. You've always been much more than `just a trader' to me." Hart stared into her green eyes and did not look away as he was usually prone to do. He knew that he should not say such things to her, especially considering the blood on his hands and the fact that if she ever knew what he had done, she would surely hate him. But he found himself quite unable to help himself. He gently took her face in his hands and lightly brushed his lips against her forehead in as chaste of a kiss as he dared.

But he pulled away soon after. Hart no longer trusted himself. Perhaps it was the Wendigo that made him so bold. Perhaps it was only the fact that he had lost everything; his Fort, his men, and his honor, that made him willing to take risks that might have seemed unthinkable just a month ago. This same boldness that pushed him into saying such revealing things to Lucy also led him in other directions. It urged him to take her into his arms once again and kiss as he had dreamed of for so long. It poked at him with the surety that he would not stop at a kiss either. Even sitting so close to her reminded him that he had other urges that went hand in hand with the feelings he possessed for Lucy.

He swallowed and took a breath, trying to regain control of himself, trying to push the smell of her hair and the warmth of her body against his out of his mind just for now. Hart could not forget it, but if he wanted to remain a proper gentleman and keep his baser impulses at bay, he had to maintain control over himself.

"Being able to help you counts for a great deal. When you are here, you remind me that I am still human." He squeezed her hand with his and lightly rested his other atop it. "And please, after everything that has happened, I believe we can put such stiff formality aside. Please call me Andrew."

Lucy felt a thrill run through her as Hart placed a kiss upon her forehead; and though she sensed the distance he wished to maintain in it, she also sensed a deeper passion lay just beneath the surface. There was an undeniable magnetism there, something almost hypnotic in the way he looked at her that set her at ease and yet stirred her up all at once. If the timing or circumstances were different, she might have seized this opportunity despite the impropriety. However, she restrained herself, not wishing to push anything that might compromise his position with the military. Instead she smiled and nodded in acquiescence. "All right. Andrew it is, then. Least-aways, when we're alone." She knew the others might jump to conclusions if they used first names casually, and she knew that while military men in general were fine with calling her Lucy or Miss Lucy, the reverse was almost never true. She also knew that this implied they would be alone together again -- hopefully soon.

Though she was reluctant to remove her hands from his, she also knew what things were leading up to here if she didn't. She had much to do here, as did he, and it wouldn't be long before others would come looking. It wouldn't do to be found holding hands and looking all dreamy-eyed at each other in the middle of it all. She cleared her throat, sliding her hands away from his as she did, saying, "I told Martha I'd be along to help with the chickens a while ago. I really ought to get moving." Not wishing him to think he'd offended her, she added quickly, "Maybe we can talk some more later this evening, when the day's behind us?"

For a moment, just for a moment, Hart had allowed himself to believe. He had looked into Lucy's eyes and believed for a moment that maybe what he felt for her wasn't as unrequited as he thought. That maybe such a young, beautiful, wild thing as her could want something as aged and studious and now soiled as he was. It had only been a moment, something written about in those novels she always brought him. And then, she looked away and pulled her hands from his. The moment had passed and Hart's heart sank in his chest. Foolishness. Such things only happened in the realm of the imagination. Not in real life.

Yes, his mind whispered, yet you would also have only believed the wendigo a figment of dreams a month ago as well…

Hart stood and kept his eyes carefully averted, determined not to show his disappointment. Hart thought perhaps he had gone too far and said too much. It was typical. Only one other woman in the world had ever listened to his rambling thoughts and not been put off by them and she was the reason he was at Fort Spencer in the first place. For a moment, it made him angry. What was so wrong with him, so different about him that made women shy away from him? Why did they flock to men like Reich and Ives while he was merely looked upon as a `good listener' or a `friend'? He wanted to grab Lucy and prove that he was just as bold and just as virile as Reich or any other man.

The urge grabbed him by the throat as hard and fast as the ravenous hunger sometimes did. Hart looked at her again and advanced just an inch…

No, he could not do this. Not to her. What Hart felt was no craven lust to be soothed and forgotten. He loved Lucy. He had loved Lucy long before he had ever entertained a hope that she might care for him in turn. It was just enough to love her. Yet why did that emotion feel so hollow now?

"I am sorry to have kept you." Hart shifted his gaze to the books and gathered them in his arms as he took a step back. "Of course I would like to speak to you again. You know you can come see me anytime, Lucy." He lifted his eyes to look at her again, an unspoken offer lingering in his eyes and in his words.

Dammit, girl, she thought. You've gone and put your foot in it again, and this time it'll be tough finagling it out. She knew he'd fancied her -- it was written all over his face. And obviously he was disappointed by her reaction; perhaps he'd seen it as a stall or a put-off. In any case, it was clear she had disappointed him, though she was not certain why or how. Her mind raced as she tried to think of some nice way to smooth things out between them before he left. She came up with nothing, and finally had to drop her proper talk and return to her comfortable way of speaking. "Colonel -- Andrew," she said in a mock-scolding tone, standing and following him. "I ain't shooing you off 'cause I'd rather gut chickens, ya know. Folks out there are expecting us, is all. I got an open door and...well, I don't want to get you in trouble." Her cheeks were burning red now, as she found herself incapable of ceasing her babble. Things were happening so fast, but if he left looking so dejected...well, it would make her feel even worse than before. How could she make him understand so many conflicting emotions -- attraction (perhaps love?), guilt, fear -- without simply blurting out a string of confusing sentences?

She came closer, and placed a reassuring hand on his once more. It was almost an actual spark that time, and Lucy feared she would not be able to let go again. "When I say later, I mean ... well, I ain't just making that up. I do care for you, Andrew. I know I shouldn't be saying so like this, and I won't say I ain't confused and feeling more than a little guilty about it, but I won't have you thinking I don't." Looking into his eyes now, she was unable to stop, and kissed him gently. Smiling softly, she added, "There. That get through to you?"

Hart blinked slowly when she kissed him. Of the thousand things he had been expecting that had not been one of them. He was shocked, yet he felt himself smiling. How was it possible to feel so many things at once? Elation and fear and worry all at once. He knew then that he should tell her to run, leave the Fort and get as fast and as far away from this place as she could. Things were already ugly here and they were bound to get uglier by far. And yet, he most definitely did not want her to leave. It was a selfish desire and he knew it, but could not deny it.

He wanted to kiss her back, but knew that would no be intelligent. If he kissed her, he wasn't going to stop at a kiss. The meat had released whatever that magical property of transference was into him and he felt stronger, younger, and bolder than he perhaps had ever been. Lucy was right. People would be looking for them and right now, he didn't want anyone to know anything about Lucy and him, most especially Ives. He would not hesitate to use her against him.

So, Hart manfully repressed the desire to kiss Lucy Cort back and drag her back to that rough hewn little couch. Instead, she kept smiling and said softly, "You have most definitely made yourself clear. In a language that even a daft old man such as myself can understand." He lifted her smaller hand off his arm and brought it to his lips. It was the only kiss he dared give and even that lasted a little too long.

Hart pulled away and drew himself up as he said, "Trust me, there are far worse things here to worry about than whether you and linger for too long in each other's company. Nevertheless, we should not neglect our duties. I would bid you enjoyment in dressing the chickens, but I know from experience that such a task is onerous at best." He laughed a little, unable to choke back the sudden lightness that swelled through him induced by Lucy's kiss. "So, until later." He smiled again and bowed his head a little before making off rather quickly. The way she was looking at him… he knew he could forget himself easily.

Outside the cabin, the cold sobered him. There were other things to consider as well; darker things that he could not neglect no matter how much just looking at Lucy made it easier to push away less pleasing things. There were Boyd and Ives and now Slauson to contend with. He had to keep his wits about him and not walk around in a giddy haze. He could not push away those happier thoughts completely though and walked across the fort grounds with a little smile lingering on his lips. He hesitated just outside Boyd's cabin and tossed a glance over his shoulder. With any luck, Ives would be occupied with this first phase of tempting the General for a good long time. Maybe long enough for Hart to explain to Boyd why he could not release him. Not yet. He tucked his new books under his arm and slowly opened the door to Boyd's prison hut. "Boyd? It's Colonel Hart."

~~

Ives shot a glare over at Slauson when he offered the stew to Lindus. Although he wasn't sure what to say to Lindus when he asked if he could partake in the stew, he hated wasting the stew on him when he had other plans in store. He was thinking that Lindus might be on the menu soon. Ives soon accepted it though, maybe he would see how Lindus turned out. Sometimes you find the most unlikely of allies in the most dire of circumstances. If Slauson turned, then maybe Lindus would have to as well, especially since Slauson would wonder where Lindus disappeared to, and even when turned would probably not like the idea of eating his second in command and buttkisser parasite. Ives was not sure how Slauson felt about Lindus, but he knew that Slauson liked having him around whether he would admit it or not. Yes he would wait and search out who would be the next dish.

He watched as Hart and the woman scooted out of the cabin. He wondered how long it would take Hart to confess his love to her. Being a Wendigo tended to make you more bold. He hoped his raw emotions would not take over him completely. Turning also tended to make you more virile, and since Hart no doubt feels younger and stronger, he may become intimate with her, her choice or not. Ives smiled slightly at this. He had thought the same thing about Boyd but did not act on it. It was more about power than sex but he must favor Boyd or he would not have kept him around as long as he has. Ives was not sure what it was about that man, but he did not really want to kill him, unless he really pisses him off, then he may not be able to stop himself. No he wanted Boyd as a companion strangely enough. Although he did love torturing the man, he loved it when Boyd showed a little backbone. Weird thing, this Wendigo.

Ives snapped back as Lindus discussed his conversation with Boyd. He knew about Boyd's cowardice from Hart's journals. He did not want the General to start thinking however about that now. "Pardon me General, but didn't Boyd take out many Mexican soldiers and take over their forces as well? That is not a move of a coward. Plus he at least twice threatened my life since I arrived here at the Fort. He even once attacked me on the way to the latrine, held a knife to my throat. I was fortunate however, Martha was present. I didn't end up like Cleaves or Knox."

Little did they know they were eating Knox. Poor men. He almost felt sorry for them. Almost. He watched as Slauson ate his second bowl of stew. Yes he would need to make some new stew soon. He sighed and helped himself to his second helping as well.

Lindus looked up from his bowl. "Very fortunate for you indeed, Colonel. I hate to think of what might have occurred were it not for Martha's vigilance. Not that you're not entirely capable of defending yourself, Colonel." Lindus put on his most polite face for his host. He found Colonel Ives to be quite a gentleman as well as very well-spoken; and since the General spoke so highly of the man, he figured he should follow suit.

It was then that Martha entered, the two slain and plucked chickens in her hand. Settling in across the room from the men -- but not out of earshot -- she set about the work of cleaning them. Lucy had said she would do it, but Martha didn't see her around, and figured she had business elsewhere. She wasn't about to wait for her, nor was she about to interrupt the men's conversation to ask after her. She did note, however, that Colonel Hart was not present. Martha sighed quietly; she so wished to speak to Hart, to ask for details of her brother's death.

She and Cleaves had spent many hours in this kitchen; despite his ineptitude for it, the man did love cooking. Well, he loved eating more, along with anything that pleased the senses. She wasn't sure who was a worse influence on whom - George or Cleaves. And now, she'd been robbed of them both. She thought back to when Boyd first returned to Fort Spencer, alone and bloody. The blood on his face should have been her first clue; she sensed the change within him even then. But it was when he asked her about Wendigo that she really figured out what was involved. If Wendigo was here, Martha knew it would take more than a set of chains to bind him.

~~

Lucy nodded as Hart took his leave of her, unable to wipe the smile off of her face. He was such a gentleman -- that much she was not used to in these parts. Any other fella would have just grabbed her right there, but not Colonel Hart. *Andrew*, she corrected herself. He recognized his duties and restrained himself. She just hoped that off-duty, it might be a different story.

*Martha*, she thought, realizing that Martha was likely doing all the work in the kitchen. The thought also prompted her to take up her revolver. Martha had told her that it would be wise to keep her gun on her, and considering the circumstances -- lunatic who might escape conceivably locked up across the yard -- perhaps she should do just that. She took up the holster, realizing that there was no good place to strap it on wit this dress hanging out all over. She hadn't brought her leg holster, and frankly, under the skirt was the only place she could think of where it wouldn't stand out. So she belted on the holster at her hip beneath her skirts, just over her petticoats. It would take time to get to it in an emergency, she knew, but it would at least be close by.

Hoping it wasn't poking out all over, she headed out into the brisk air, pulling her coat around her. She hoped the chill wind might remove some of the blush from her cheek, but could not repress a smile at the memory of Hart's kiss just as she entered the kitchen from the rear, not wishing to disturb the men more than necessary.

Martha was wrist-deep in chicken gutting. "Oh," she said, looking up. "You're back."

"That I am," Lucy replied. "Sorry I took a while there. Colonel Hart wanted to look at what I brought." She looked down at the chickens as she felt her face grow red -- the curse of an Anglo background, her father used to say -- and hastily took up a knife to assist. Unfortunately, she took it up a little too hastily, for it slipped and she cut her hand a little. "Dang it!" she exclaimed, dropping the knife on the carving board and stepping back.

Holding her hand before her, she saw her finger's blood well up and spread along the slit; it was not a large cut and certainly not deep, and she figured it served her right for being so distracted. Still, it wouldn't due to let a little cut like that get infected and kill her -- she couldn't think of a sillier way to die, and having to explain that one in heaven. She tossed an apologetic smile towards the table. "Just a lil' tiny thing," she told them. "But if anyone knows where the grain alcohol is located, I'd sure appreciate it."

Slauson worked on his second bowl of stew, washing this one down with a glass of wine. "Since Knox is dead, you'll be getting a replacement army doctor soon. It should be-" He paused, not wanting to say an improvement, though it obviously would be, and insult poor dead Knox. He was still embarrassed he'd joked about Cleaves, barely 2 days dead, in front of Colonel Hart. But the fact was that the few times Slauson visited the fort he'd never gone expecting to get a decent meal, and often brought a few things to tide himself over. Colonel Ives, however, really knew his way around a kitchen. Slauson would have to work extra hard to hang on to him, especially with the unexpected reappearance of Colonel Hart.

"Well, it'll be quite a difference because the replacement will be a medical doctor instead of a veterinarian."

In Slauson's view, Ives appeared to be taking everything in stride - the deaths, the insane Boyd, Hart coming back. Nothing seemed to rattle him and he always seemed in control of himself. Slauson thought, not for the first time, how lucky he was to have found such a competent officer in such short notice. Ives showed no signs of wanting to leave the fort so far, but if he did, maybe Slauson could convince Ives that they were too shorthanded from Boyd's murders and needed him, which was mostly true.

He noticed Martha and then Lucy preparing a separate meal. Women were finicky eaters, he supposed. "Lindus, after supper we'll go and speak to Boyd. Colonel Ives, you may join us if you wish." Just then, Lucy cut herself and asked the men for grain alcohol. "Colonel Ives, do you know where Knox kept his supplies?" Slauson asked.

~~

"I'll leave you here, you should be able to find your way there," the anonymous soldier announced. A week of traveling and Miles still didn't know this man's name. "And--I'm to give you these, O'Donnel..." he muttered, pulling out of his bag a map, a small blanket, and a pouch of salted meat. Miles smiled politely out of instinct and nodded, turning his horse in what he could only assume was the right direction as the tiny map only showed two things---mountains and a small drawing of a house he could only assume was Fort Spencer.

He continued on brightly as possible in the howling wind, sporadically bringing out books to read when he thought he might be headed correctly: Homer, Swift, Grey, and occasionally Shelly. As much as he hated to admit it, one thing kept playing through his head....

//

"Have you ever been to the Sierra Nevadas, O'Donnel?"

"No, sir, but I do remember I heard various strange--"

"We have heard something interesting as well, Doctor. Not really, in fact it's a pain in the ass, but recently we have lost one of our Colonels has gone missing. Although we have many well-to-do replacements, he was only a veterinarian, therefore we don't want to...waste our good doctors. We are sending you to Fort Spencer, a little station in the mountains."

" Oh, well--"

"I suggest you pack your things immediately. Strange stories have come from around there-- many wagon trains lost in the mountains with no trace of them left. As well, word has reached us that they have a--erm--captive of sorts currently. If he's as ruthless as I imagine, you'll have plenty of work to do. But a storm's coming through, O'Donnel. Get a move on."

"Yes sir."

//

And that was it. No real debriefing or instructions, just the command to leave and play doctor amongst misfits at an abandoned army post. But what he kept remembering were the horrible tales he had heard: murders in the hills by crazed men who used the bodies in despicable ways that nobody really ever elaborated upon. And then the notion of a 'ruthless captive'. Whoever that was and whatever he did was still unknown to him.

Miles put down his book for a moment and looked out over the landscape. It was stark, really. There were some trees, but their branches hung low and ashamed with piles of snow hindering them. Other than that there was no vegetation, only rock and snow.

His eyes wandered and glazed over as he put away the book and sighed. Indeed, he was quite overdressed.

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