Like a small child caught doing something he’d been told not to, Boyd dropped his chains, which fell slack and dropped his limbs to the floor. His deep blue eyes blinked innocently as he raised his brow as if to inquire what was now required of him or rather who had come to abuse him further. He wasn’t sure if he was pleased or disappointed to see Hart. He just knew he couldn’t let on he had been doing anything. The stew was partly eaten and the tell tale watermark-like line it had left at the top of the bowl revealed as much. The stew level sat much lower now. His wrists were also slightly blood, but he hid them under the sleeves of his worn sweater. The bolted steel panel the chains were connected to was partially loose from the wall and he prayed Hart did not notice if his noticing would led him to report to Ives. He couldn’t be sure who’s side Hart was on now and that is what it had come to – choosing sides. Boyd didn’t have anyone. Ives had Hart and probably Slauson soon. The rest were all lambs to the slaughter if he didn’t free himself in time.

Hart stepped into the building, still grinning, but that expression soon faded as he stepped further inside. Many men might think that Hart was a silly old man, too wrapped up in his books to notice the world around him, but Hart knew that was far from the case. He was observant. And as he stepped closer to Boyd, he noticed two things that disturbed him.

First, that Boyd had obviously eaten some of the stew. Hart didn't know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. Disappointed because Boyd had given in. Some part of him had wondered if Boyd ever would or if he would become a martyr of sorts, holding out valiantly against Ives' temptation. Yet, Hart supposed that it would be for the best if Boyd gave in. If Boyd wanted to kill Ives, he needed to be as strong as he was or else damned lucky. That Boyd was here at Fort Spencer meant that he wasn't likely the luckiest man in the world, so he would need strength. Besides, it would make Ives happy and a Happy Ives hopefully wouldn't go around killing people for his stew pot. And if he did… well, Hart hoped he ate that kiss-up Lindus first.

Boyd had also started to work on the bolt that held his chains to the wall. Hart sighed and walked around Boyd to re-secure the steel. Hart was both surprised and pleased to notice that it didn't take much effort. Not at all. He walked back around and looked calmly into Boyd's guileless blue eyes. "Not now, Boyd. You will get your chance, but first you must wait. We need a plan. If you go off half-cocked now, Ives will kill you or put you in a prison far worse than this. I'm sure you don't want either, so, right now, you have to trust me."

Hart looked over his shoulder and kept his voice low, "You have no reasons to trust me. I know that. There are complications now. Reasons for me to do things differently than I have. I want to help you Boyd, but first we must think of a way to do so. Without a plan, we and everyone else here are dead. Do you understand? I can't speak long to you. Ives is with Slauson right now, but I imagine they will come to see you soon." Hart glanced out the window. Still no sign of them yet. He stepped a little closer to Boyd and started to reach out for the stew bowl. "Are you finished with this yet?"

Boyd watched Hart reattached the bolt and undo all the work he’d just harmed himself to do. He’d torn up his wrists to do loosen that bolt and did what had been nearly unthinkable: ate more of that stew. “Yes,” he muttered, looking down shamefully. He wanted to beg Hart just to take the stew away and make sure no one brought more. He needed it, and he hated it. He didn’t want it, but he did and every time he thought about it, he realized he was clenching his teeth until they hurt. “How do I know what to do?” He asked, bringing his steel blue eyes up to meet Hart’s once more. “I do not even know you anymore. Complications? Do you mean this woman you spoke of?”

Well, Hart had confessed to a weakness for women to Boyd shortly after the Captain had arrived at Fort Spencer. It was the reason Hart was sent here. Boyd sighed lowly realizing his only ally wasn’t an ally at all anymore. If it came down to saving Boyd or this ‘woman’, Hart would help this woman. Boyd was, once more, on his own.

Hart somehow thought talk death or a worse prison was a threat, but Boyd was ready for both. No hell could be worse than this and in either of those cases, that is where he was going: hell. “You said it yourself, Hart. There is nowhere else to turn. We are all alone out here on this mountain. Even if I ran away, I would not get far. So why wait? If I can kill him, I do not care if I die in the process.”

Hart gripped Boyd's shoulder, likely harder than he intended, and hissed in a low, dangerous voice, "Why wait? Because you are no longer the only one that is at risk here, Boyd. You and I, we are not innocent in this. Not at all. We've both eaten that meat. We'll never be the same. But there are innocents outside there. Innocents who had no part in this mess and don't deserve to die because –you- are impatient!"

He released Boyd and reached for the bowl still half-filled with stew. He stared down at the meat floating in the broth and felt familiar hunger once again rise in him. He sighed with regret and looked back at Boyd, his tone a bit gentler now, still low and soft. "This woman, Lucy, is one of them. Martha as well. Neither of them deserves to be hurt in this. Give me a few days. I'll convince them to leave the fort and then I will come here and release you. I promise you that. If you are patient, I will help you, Boyd. But if you are not, you are alone in this." He stared intently into Boyd's dark blue eyes, his own hard and determined.

"All I am asking for is your patience." Hart looked back at the door. "General Slauson will be here to see you soon." His eyes drifted back to Boyd's face. "You don't stand a chance alone. Think about that before you consider betraying me to Ives." Hart was not a stupid man. If Boyd chose to tell Ives of this conversation, Ives would kill him. Hart didn't think Boyd had any reason other than pure spite to do such a thing, but he knew it was a risk. He left it at that as he started to back out. "I should go. Think on what I've said, Boyd. Ives will be pleased to see that you've finally eaten."

Boyd swallowed, realizing Hart was going to tell Ives that he had eaten. Maybe that was right, maybe that was wrong. Who knew with Ives? If the man thought Boyd was one of them, he’d keep him alive but at the same time, he might think Boyd eating was a trick and kill him in order to save himself. Ives wasn’t dumb. Neither was Hart.

“I ate it to break these chains,” Boyd offered, feeling the need to explain. He felt guilty. Unclean. When Hart had reminded him of exactly how ‘not innocent’ he had become, it hurt. It hurt because Hart was right. “No other reason,” he concluded, shifting his gaze from one of Hart’s firm eyes to the next and then back. He wondered if the former Colonel realized that Boyd probably didn’t have ‘a few days’. If Slauson was angry enough he might haul Boyd back today and hang him tomorrow. Then Ives would be free to complete his plan. “It is not about me, Hart. Even if I survive, I am still going to end it. I ate because someone has to stop him. I…” he paused, shaking his head. This was probably the most he’d spoken to Hart in one sitting.

“What is his plan, Hart? I know he wants Slauson in and Lindus dead, but how does he think this will end? If he thinks I have joined you Slauson can go back and say that they were wrong, that I was innocent but then who is guilty of the killings? Who is he going to blame the deaths on?” He asked, almost breathlessly although he showed no clear signs of panic.

~~

"ah..."

Miles, who had been marking his supposed trial to the fort with the color of a pricked finger, spotted the tower easily from his spot, looking to be only a mile away. He felt relieved to finally not be traveling any more. Relieved and extremely tired, of course.

His mind wandered---warm, down feather beds with thick sheets, a warm, crackling fire that wasn't destructive any more--just....cozy. All the brass waiting around to welcome him kindly as someone who was needed and thankful for his service, however poor they might rank it, and as if made especially for him--a hot dinner: stew, potatoes, and perhaps some whiskey. The cheery smoke rising from the heavy wooden buildings seemed to beckon seductively with the promise of all these and more.

A home, perhaps?

After half of his lifetime being spent going from place to place, sleeping in the streets without work, begging for food in various homes, relying on his teachers for more than their lessons--a resting place was more than welcome.

He dropped off his horse, left her in the rather empty stables, and strolled outside to look around.

....It wasn't exactly that it was bleak...only...colder than he thought it would be. More...icy...and he wasn't thinking temperatures. His eyes scanned the area he found to be a little less than welcoming, and a little more than spooky. Nevertheless, he looked past it for the moment, opening what he could only assume was the main door carefully as possible.

He looked over the site, wooden walls, dirty floors, not a decoration in sight besides the normal furs hung as makeshift coverings. Altogether, not exactly charming, but reminding what a fop he looked in this rural setting: hair brushed back, starched collar and tie, uniform pants and a jacket with only one medal, cleanish short boots. Sitting in the chairs, however, were 3 men with their surprised eyes on him. He pushed a polite smile, eyes still scanning, then sniffed the air, smile broadening.

"Mmm...Stew?" he thought.

~~

Hart looked back at Boyd evenly. "That is how it starts, Boyd. You eat to survive at first, and then you eat because you think if you eat enough, it will make you strong and you can stop him, and then, in the end, you eat because you can't not eat. Because the hunger consumes you." Hart looked into the bowl of cooling stew in his hands mournfully. "There is no shame in it, Boyd. None at all. To be frank, I am surprised that you lasted this long. I did not."

He looked back up and sighed faintly. How to answer Boyd's last question when Hart didn't even truly know Ives' plan. Ives had shared bits and pieces with him, but nothing concrete. The only person that truly knew Ives' mind was Ives. For instance, Hart could not fathom why Ives kept Boyd alive at all, as if he were desperate to turn him. What was so special about Boyd? Yet, seeing Ives with him, seeing the sick way Ives seemed to enjoy toying with Boyd… Hart could almost see it. Ives wanted to conquer Boyd. Boyd was not necessary to his plans from what Hart could see, yet Ives seemed almost obsessed with him.

Hart shook his head and said softly, "As far as I can tell, he intends on turning Slauson to gain power. Slauson is of fairly high rank and reputation in the military. Turn Slauson and use him to turn others until there is a mass of us. If Ives succeeds in turning you, they will likely blame the killings on the savages. That is commonly the scapegoat used when the army is trying to cover up the misdeeds of a white man." Hart laughed without humor before meetings Boyd's eyes again. "You have not consumed enough of the meat to understand yet, but once it is in your veins and in your soul, you feel so strong, so bold. Like anything you will can be yours." His thoughts flitted briefly onto Lucy before he shoved them away. "Ives wants power. Plain and simple. And he will be ruthless in attaining it."

“No,” Boyd offered, shaking his head. He didn’t want to hear another sales pitch for cannibalism. He hated it when Ives tried to convince him. He couldn’t bear to hear Hart now as well. And the way the same said ‘lasted this long’? Lasted. As if he was one of them now. “I am not like him. I will never be like him. I do not care how it feels, it’s wrong. I can not even…,” he winced, knowing he had so little choice at this point. Ives was keeping him alive because he needed a scapegoat. If Slauson found someone else to blame for the crimes and Boyd had lost his usefulness, would Ives just kill him?

No. Ives had several chances to kill him. And now he realized they had a back up scapegoat all the time: the Indians. So why was he still alive? He looked back at Hart, wondering silently what the man was not telling him. Or was he telling him everything? It was difficult to watch. Hart was against their murderous acts one minute and for them the next. What had happened to the man he knew? His only friend. “If I ever become like that – like Ives – will you kill me?”

Hart closed his eyes and turned his face away a little. How many times had he thought those same things that Boyd voiced? He could never be like Ives. He was still a good man. It hadn't been his fault he had eaten the meat offered to him after Ives stabbed him. He had been weak and hurt… yet what of after? Hart had killed and continued to eat what Ives gave to him. He had always assumed that even though he committed these acts, he was still good. Yet was he?

Maybe not for the past little while, but Hart knew he could be good again. After all, Lucy cared for him. She had made that clear in the cabin just moments again with her kiss… Hart knew he could be good for her, even if being good meant getting her out of this place and letting Boyd kill Ives and all the rest of them. Yet, there was a voice in the back of his mind that wondered… what Lucy felt… was it real or just a result of the Wendigo? After all, he had eaten Reich. Maybe she saw something of her former lover in him. Maybe that was the cause of the sudden shift in her feelings…

No. He refused to believe that. He opened his eyes and rested them on Boyd's face, murmuring wearily, "I do not think it will come to that. I have faith in you. But, if it does, I will. Just like… once you are freed, once you kill Ives, I want you to kill me. I can't come back from this. My hands are stained with the blood of our comrades. My only hope for salvation is to save Lucy and Martha and make sure that Ives dies. Beyond that… I know I must die. I would rather it be at your hands than his, Boyd."

Boyd closed his eyes. A silent yes. He turned away as Hart left. He didn’t know who to trust, who to cling to and who to run from. The only person he knew for sure he could trust was himself and now, he did not even have that security. He had not needed the stew. He had wanted it. And taken it.

He frowned. Never. He would never be like them. He would never relish in the murders or the flesh the murders reaped. No.

~~

Ives felt the presence of a new soul arrive and looked over to see a man at the door. He was not expecting this. He knew that Knox would more than likely have a replacement but he did not think it would be so soon. He watched as the man started to smell he air. He knew he smelled the stew.

Ives cursed inside. He had wanted to test this man out before he tasted any inch of the stew. Plus, he was a candidate for the next meal. Yet he couldn't tell him that it was all gone, for there it sat, in the big pot waiting for consumption. Hell, Ives thought, why don't you and Lindus just sit down and eat the whole damned pot. It mad him more than a little angry. He kept his face straight though and the monster down.

Miles' eyes traversed the room quickly, catching a disapproving and irritated gaze from the man sitting with dark hair. Normally he'd ignore it and continue with formalities, but the man's eyes stopped him dead; they, despite their obvious and baffling hatred for him held a sort of seduction and darkness uncommon for anything he'd ever seen. His breath caught and he pulled himself away, looking over at the familiar Slauson.

"Ah, Lieutenant Miles O'Donnel--we weren't expecting you so early.You remember Lindus. This is Colonel Ives," he mentioned, gesturing to the man who had caught Miles's eyes.

"Er--Pleasure to meet you," O'Donnel mumbled uncertainly.

"...Pleasure's all mine, Lieutenant."

"Eh, would you care for some..." Slauson began, moving towards the pot with a ladle and bowl, casting a sidelong glance to Ives.

Ives waited as the man introduced himself and waited as Slauson invited him over. He watched as Slauson headed over to the stew to obviously serve some up the man, after first asking if it was ok with him. Ives nodded, he couldn't exactly say no, but did decided to add "unless you have an objection to eating horse meat sir. A little unconventional, but unfortunately in light of recent effects, not exactly avoidable." Ives decided to remain quiet and see how things panned out. He knew that they would be going to see Boyd soon and Ives was actually sort of looking forward to it. He also wanted to see if Boyd had eaten any of the stew.

Right after that thought he watched as Hart walked in with a half eaten bowl of stew. Ives felt himself smile, he couldn't help it. Hart gave him a look and nodded slightly. So Boyd had eaten. Ives was a little disappointed that it wasn't the whole bowl, but it was a start. He couldn't wait to throw that in Boyd's face, when they were alone of course. He also noticed a look that Hart and the woman exchanged as he walked across the room. Ives wasn't surprised but somewhat irritated. He hadn't planned on this either. Ives turned his attention on the new arrival and kept any of the other thoughts out of his head. He had other matters to deal with first.

"Oh, no thank you, Colonel. Not very hungry for--erm--horse meat. Thank you very much for offering," Miles replied, giving a warm smile which was only returned with a small smirk and a 'tut'. Truth be told, he was starving, but the scent was not of horsemeat. He had eaten horse numerous times, not entirely of his own volition, and knew the smell by instinct. No, that was not horsemeat...That and he could tell if he said yes, Ives would be upset. For some reason, that stew was not for him...

Lucy spotted a bottle of bourbon on the mantle – likely one of Knox’s – and waved away the General’s kind request. “Oh, this’ll do, thanks,” she smiled, returning to the rear of the kitchen, sucking the blood from the wound quickly. She poured a bit of bourbon sparingly (she hated to waste it) first on her finger directly, then on a small bit of clean rag that Martha had silently proffered. Lucy fought back a small smile as she held the bottle out towards Martha in a Want some? gesture. She thought she saw the beginnings of a hint of a small smile as Martha shook her head. Nonetheless, Lucy poured a healthy helping into a coffee mug for them both…just in case.

As she wrapped her finger swiftly, her attention turned to the door, and she looked up quickly, fully expecting it to be Colonel Hart. Instead, another man entered. Could this be the lunatic who’d killed the others, escaped? Had he hurt Hart, too? But judging by the other’s calm reactions – they were surprised, but not afraid – she quickly cooled her heels. She looked at Martha, who merely looked up once before motioning with her head towards the chickens, as if to say, Finish up – that’s not our business.

Still, Lucy could not help but cringe when she overheard the General encourage this new man to help himself to the stew. By the look on his face, she thought maybe even Ives had apparently realized that this wasn’t such a wonderful delicacy, and had likely only tossed it together because he was incapable of killing a chicken without Martha to help. She offered, “Pardon me saying so, sir, but we’re fixing up a proper chicken dinner for later, if you’d rather wait.” She placed the bottle of bourbon on the table. “And o’course, refreshments.” Colonel Hart entered the room then with a half-empty soup dish then, and she realized he must have been with that….that man. He seemed to convey something to Ives first before looking at Lucy, and she smiled briefly at him before they both returned their attention to the stranger. Hoping to hide anything she gave away in her look to Hart, she looked back to Martha, who she saw was sneaking a gulp from the mug.

"Oh, well, thank you. I'm sure I'd enjoy that very much," Miles replied kindly, but rather uninterestedly, feeling quite sick to his stomach. All the odd, tantalizing smell and the very idea of horsemeat and the thoughts it brought back to him sent his stomach reeling. "Um--I'm sorry--where am I staying?"

"Oh, just out to the left, you can't miss it."

~~

"Jesus..."

Miles stood doubled over in nausea and pain outside near the latrine. It was one of the worst feelings in the world to not be able to...er-- lose your lunch when it wants to be lost. Then again, he hadn't eaten for days, so the only thing there would be is air...and maybe he already lost it. Nevertheless, he tried to pull himself straight as he walked back to his room holding his torso. His mind seemed to be broken, old memories kept flashing through the scenery, his feet not following the trail he intended.

He found himself in a matter of moments leaning against the outer wall, breathing heavily, still clutching his shirt.

"Maybe this was an awful idea...."

~~

Lucy returned to the back of the kitchen, only to hear the door closing -- Martha had exited the room in what looked to be something of a rush. Well, no matter. It was her turn to get the rest of this cooking, and then she would see to Reich's things. Pushing that out of her mind for the moment and rolling up her sleeves, she returned to dressing the chickens.

~~

Outside, Martha breathed in the icy air; already, the temperature was dropping as evening approached. She hadn't wanted anyone to see her shock at Colonel Hart's change. He was....different. In appearance and demeanor. She had planned to quiz him on what happened at the caves, of what exactly became of her brother, but now she knew this was not be wise. The one white man at the Fort whom she felt was truly trustworthy, she no longer could trust.

But why couldn't Lucy see it? She didn't seem fazed by Hart's change at all, and she'd seen him before. General Slauson as well. No one seemed to care how a man approaching sixty could suddenly spring backwards in time twenty years. Perhaps it was a trick of the light? No, the color of his hair...it was reddish blond now, not gray. And his glasses, they were gone. It all spoke of devilry. She now felt she had to do two things -- let Lucy know something was not right so they could both be on their guard, and watch to see how Hart interacted with the others. Boyd and Ives in particular.

She tried to think back to when Boyd had asked her about the Wendigo. *I'm sorry about your brother, Martha,* he had said, *But I did not kill him.* Perhaps this was true. But there was something inside him -- and possibly Colonel hart -- that was making them into more than they appeared to be. She would have to bide her time and wait for the right chance to speak to Lucy.

~~

Ives couldn't help but smile inside at everyone's disgust of the "horse stew". If only they knew what it really was. Good ole' Sous Knox.

Ives wasn't sure what to make of the new arrival. He seemed too young to be a doctor, and he wondered what possible thing that he did to be sent here. And something had happened to the man. A lot of somethings. And the man had seen something in him as well. He wasn't sure what but he sensed something. He could tell by the way that he suddenly left.

Ives wanted to get going outside, he surely didn't want the new man to find Boyd without knowing what was really going on.

"Well General, are you ready to talk with Boyd and get this nastiness out of the way?"

"Yes, we may as well get this over with. I was hoping the new doctor might join us to observe and give his opinion on Boyd's mental health, but he's probably getting settled."

Slauson was pleased with the new doctor so far. Not military material perhaps, but then that wasn't why he was here. He was young, intelligent, alert, pretty much everything Knox wasn't. A definite improvement, Slauson thought again, though he kept his mouth shut this time. The three went outside into the chilly night air with Ives leading the way.

"The way I see it," Slauson said, "there are only two scenarios - the first being Boyd did all the killings at the cave and then Fort Spencer for whatever reason. The second is Hart's party was attacked by savages and the trauma triggered some mental breakdown in Boyd, and when he got back to the fort he snapped and killed Cleaves and Knox. Either way, Boyd is a murderer and he's going to face a military trial. The jury will most likely either convict and execute him immediately, or if his mind has truly gone he could be sentenced to spend the rest of his life in an institution for the criminally insane. Though personally gentlemen, with the things that I hear go on in there, Boyd might be better off dead."

They reached Boyd's quarters then. To Slauson's disappointment, Ives and Lindus waited for him to go first. For once, Slauson didn't want the privilege of his rank, but a general had to lead his 'troops'. Hoping he appeared calm, Slauson imperceptibly took a deep breath and pushed open the door. As the torchlight illuminated Boyd's room, Slauson was surprised at what he saw. There was no snarling, no raving. Just Boyd slumped, defeated, on the floor looking the same as Slauson last saw him, except for the chains. He looked up as they entered and his expression didn't appear fierce. But it was his eyes that affected Slauson the most. They looked sane. Frightened.

Innocent.

For a moment Slauson felt pity, but then he thought of Cleaves and Knox and hardened himself again. The pathetic innocent act was probably what Boyd used to trick Cleaves and Knox into dropping their guards so he could kill them.

"Well, Boyd, you are in very serious trouble. You killed Cleaves and Knox, and it's quite possible you could be executed for that. Thankfully Colonel Hart survived, and while I haven't been able to get his version of what happened at the caves yet, I have a feeling whatever he tells me will make you look even worse. Why did you do it Boyd? You weren't in Mexico anymore. What drove you to kill innocent people?"

Boyd’s eyes dropped to the floor almost immediately when Slauson began to speak. The man had already made up his mind that Boyd was guilty and of course he had. Why wouldn’t he? He had Ives and Hart confirming the story, which was a hideous lie.

When Hart stood in front of him, made promises that he’d see this through, Boyd believed him. Now, however, when reminded that Hart was allowing his own evil deeds to be pinned on Boyd, he wanted to choke the life at the man.

Shaking his head, Boyd looked back up and inhaled sharply. “I did not kill anyone,” he confessed, turning his eyes on to Ives. The ‘Colonel’ was probably elated presently. Ives knew that no matter what Boyd said, the Captain would only make himself look more insane. More than that, Ives knew that Boyd was well aware of that fact. Boyd watched him, just waiting for that sick smile to take hold of his features.

"That's right, Colonel Ives killed everyone, didn't he? That's what you said last time." Slauson shook his head in exasperation. "Lindus, will you please get Colonel Hart over here? I need him to confirm whether or not Boyd was the one who attacked the others and left him for dead at the cave."

Something wasn't right. Boyd had never seemed like a madman to Slauson, even now. But then Slauson remembered what Boyd said during Lindus' interrogation months ago: "Something changed." Was that the beginning of his downward spiral? And why had Boyd been so intent on blaming Ives and causing trouble for him when they'd never met before? It was obviously more than just a problem with authority. Slauson felt there was something important he was missing, and hopefully Hart would be the one to fill in all the blanks.

After Lindus left, Slauson turned to Ives and said in an exaggerated tone that suggested they were both humoring and condescending Boyd, "Colonel Ives, did you go up in the mountains with Hart's party and attack everyone?"

Boyd sighed, shaking his head. His hands were tied, both literally and metaphorically. He couldn't very well say 'No, you are wrong. Ives killed those on the mountain. It was Hart that killed Cleaves and Knox.' Ives also knew Boyd he couldn't say that. Slauson would laugh. And it was utterly ridiculous, which is why it was so utterly frustrating. No one would believe Boyd and the more he told the truth, the worse he looked to everyone else.

The General was going to ask Hart to confirm that Boyd killed those people and of course Hart would. Boyd did not have any faith he would do other wise as long as Ives stood right there in front of him and that is when it hit him.

"Ask Hart alone," Boyd requested, cutting in with shorten breath. "Make Ives leave…" He nearly begged the General, not able to look directly at Ives as he spoke for fear of seeing something there that would make him back down. "Makes Ives leave the room and then ask Hart alone. Please."

~~

Hart had left quickly after Boyd agreed to kill him and visa versa should the situation arise. That was not the sort of request one made and then lingered afterwards to deal with it. He made his way quickly across the yard and back into the kitchens. With a pointed glance at Ives, Hart showed him the bowl, silently saying that Boyd had eaten stew. Even if he hadn't, Hart would have eaten some to make it look like he did. For his plan to work, Ives needed to be lulled into a complacent state, one where he believed that all of his plans were going according to schedule. This meant Boyd had to eat or appear to be eating.

Hart smiled tightly at the new man, a doctor he overheard, but he otherwise kept quiet and to himself, listening more than talking. And of course stealing glances at Lucy. He couldn't help but smile a little bit every time he looked in her direction. It was madness, pure madness, but Hart couldn't turn away, not with the memory of her kiss so fresh on his lips, seared into his mind. He dumped the remainder of Boyd's stew into the pot and stirred it again. Before he could offer his own greetings to either Martha or this new man, they both rushed out and Ives and the General followed shortly after. He stood uselessly in front of the stewpot for a moment.

He was having a hard time becoming resigned to the fact that this was no longer his fort. For years and years, he had been the boss here except for those rare times that General Slauson felt it necessary to deign them with his presence, which wasn't often. He was not a hard man or a man prone to giving orders willy-nilly. In fact, Hart had been content to let his men mostly do as they pleased as long as the place was clean and there was food on the table. It was too cold to manage anything more trying than that. Yet, it had always been a tacit agreement between all of them that Hart had the final word in everything, Hart was the boss. Even Reich had respected him.

Now they looked right past him. They hadn't even asked him to accompany them to see Boyd. Of course, he would have turned them down, but the fact that they had not even asked rankled. Yet, Hart supposed it was fitting. After all, -his- men, the men that had looked at him in some ways like a father and in others like a benevolent old uncle were dead. None of –his- men remained. Except for Boyd. Poor Boyd…

Hart pushed the thoughts of Boyd away for now. He was going to help him. He felt compelled to. But he couldn't rush things. There had to be a time and a place for everything. He straightened his shoulders and smiled across the cabin at Lucy, where she sat dressing the chicken. Martha had rushed out, which was a pity for Hart had wanted to speak to her, but he couldn't say he wasn't happy for the time alone with Lucy. He hesitated moving to her side, afraid that she might think him unmanned now that his fort was obviously not in his hands anymore. He looked away from her pretty profile and at his boots as he said in a soft voice, "Alone again, I see. Do you need any help or will Martha be returning?" He looked back up, more than mere curiosity in his eyes as he asked his question.

Lucy was just finishing trussing up the chickens when Hart approached. Trying to bite back a smile and appear casual and failing miserably, she replied, "Nah. These two chicks are ready for the oven. Me and two of my sisters used to have contests to see who could get a chick ready for the oven the fastest, and I came in a close second usually." She smiled, picturing Pearl standing in the kitchen with mother's timepiece, Maggie next to her with her arms crossed and trying to disarm Lucy with her stern looks. "The potatoes will likely take a while before they're done boiling, so I reckon I can sit down a moment here and take advantage of the quiet." After putting the chickens in a pan in the oven, She wiped off her hands and gestured towards the table.

Taking a seat at the table with her mug of Bourbon, she said, "I don't know where Martha run off to. She did have a look on her face, though. Maybe she don't like the idea of the new man; seemed like an okay sort to me, just not real talky. I'm guessing he's all tuckered out after that ride."

Sitting there with Hart so close by, she found herself wanting to know everything about him. What had he been like as a boy and what had his younger days been like? She tried to picture him as a young soldier. Had his grandfather been a rebel soldier? Where was he from? Realizing she was gazing into his eyes and not saying anything, she tried to gather herself by taking a gulp of Bourbon and asking, "So, you went to check up on that man, the one that...did all those things?"

Hart sat across from Lucy at the crude little table. It was hard to sit in this room and not remember the men who used to lurk here, especially in the coldest days of those long mountain winters when the kitchens seemed to be the only warm place in the entire Fort. How many times had they all gathered here to listen to one of Knox's drunken, rambling stories or listened to Toffler's songs? For a moment, as Hart started over Lucy's shoulder and at the hearth, he could almost see them all there, shrouded in warm light, trying to make the best of circumstances.

He blinked and that warmth was gone, replaced by a frozen emptiness. He slid his eyes back to Lucy and couldn't help but smile. She would think he was smiling at her story about her and her sisters, but he would have grinned even had she not said a word. Just looking at her seemed to warm those cold places in his heart and breathe a gust of warm air through his icy veins. She was like the incarnation of summer, come into the winter of his life.

He ducked his head, just a breath from laughing at himself. Composing poetry for her. If only this woman knew what she could do to him with a smile. His cheerful expression faded a little as Lucy spoke of the new doctor and then of Boyd. He blew out a breath and said, "At first the Fort can be a bit intimidating. I do not blame him for his reticence. I had wondered about Martha's abrupt departure as well. I feel I should speak to her. She did not know of my survival before she left." He looked down at the table and his large hands splayed over the wood.

"Yes, I spoke to Boyd. May I tell you a secret, Lucy?" He looked up into Lucy's eyes, his own fixed in a heated gaze, a gaze that bordered on the brink of confession…

~~

Miles sighed and looked up to see the Native American woman walking out of the room, followed shortly by Slauson, Lindus, and Ives, who strolled over to another building. They talked amongst themselves about this and that 'Boyd' and 'madman' with the occasional mention of 'murder', opened the door, and went in, shutting it tightly. Recognizing the name 'Boyd' as the second reason he was sent so urgently to Fort Spencer, he quickly stood up straight, pulling his jacket tight and rebuttoning it, attempting to look as professional as possible with a weakened state.

The second Miles took a step forwards, Lindus had walked out of the room.

"Oh, Dr. O'Donnel, there you are."

"Yes--I'm sorry, I just needed to--"

"We'll be needing some evaluation on a...case we have. I'm afraid I must go find Colonel Hart, but if you will just go in that cabin over there---General Slauson will be expecting you," Lindus stated officially, promptly continuing on his way. Miles nodded and, without knowing exactly what evaluation he could perform or who this person was, strolled as calmly as possible to the cabin, debating whether or not to knock, finally ending on 'no, don't knock."

"Ask Hart alone. Make Ives leave! Make Ives leave the room and then ask Hart alone. Please," a new voice pleaded from inside. Miles opened the door in the middle of it, once more a spectacle. He looked over at Slauson and Ives, then with difficulty at the man on the floor, shackled and bleeding with his eyes both scared to death and intensely innocent and fragile.

"Er---General, I um--Lindus asked me to come in..." Miles began.

~~

Lucy found the warmth of the kitchen and the deep timbre of Hart's voice both relaxing and comforting. She couldn't help but lean in towards him as he spoke of the new doctor, finding it tempting to lean closer still. How was it possible that she could be feeling this way so soon? Was it all just some transference of emotions -- did she miss having someone in her life so much that she just turned to the closest available person? No -- Lucy couldn't believe that was it. Hart was different from Reich, and what she felt for Hart was entirely different from the type of relationship she shared with Reich. She couldn't help but examine him now, in the firelight: his broad shoulders spoke of one with strength, and arms that might hold her close...

She broke off from these thoughts at Hart's inquiry, and realized the serious nature of his question. A confession? "Of course," she told him, a more somber look stealing across her features. "You can tell me anything, Andrew."

Just then, the door opened, and Lucy sat back, as if caught doing something wrong. It was Lindus, who entered and gave the two a brief apprising look before speaking. "Oh, pardon me. Colonel Hart, General Slauson wishes you to report to the shack where Captain Boyd is locked up. He'd like to get your exact version of what happened."

Martha slipped in past Lindus, getting a closer look at Hart as she entered and continued on to the rear of the kitchen. She looked at he and Lucy for just a moment before wordlessly taking up her knife and setting about chopping the carrots.

Lindus looked to Colonel Hart to lead the way back. "Sir?"

~~

Hart had been staring deeply into Lucy's eyes, a hundred confessions lingered on his lips, but they choked in his throat when he heard Lindus enter the kitchen and address him. He swallowed a sigh and said softly, "We will finish this later, Lucy." He fixed her with another piercing stare before slowly standing and straightening his uniform. He caught Martha's eyes, her wary expression and frowned. That was to be added to his growing list of things to be attended to.

"I figured this was coming eventually," he said to no one in particular. Hart walked through the kitchen, resisting the urge to wink at Lucy at he passed. Despite his rank as a Class A Kiss-Ass, Lindus had sharp eyes and ears. And everything he saw and heard was reported back to General Slauson. Given Hart's previous history, he didn't figure that Slauson would take too well to knowing that he was flirting with Lucy. So, he offered her a tight smile before moving for the door. Yet, despite his determination not to be caught, Hart risked running the back of his fingers over Lucy's chair as he passed, lightly touching her hair as he did.

Outside, the cold air again sobered him and he barely looked at Lindus who wandered just a few steps behind him. Lindus had good manners and seemed like a well-read man, but there was something snaky and slippery about him that Hart neither trusted nor liked. He couldn't put his finger on it even now, but it made him loathe the man. As he walked across the yard, Hart saw the new doctor slip into Boyd's hut. Ah, a psychiatric evaluation then. Slauson really was doing this by the book. Hart almost wanted to laugh. Boyd was saner than the lot of them right now. His story was just too fantastic and telling others made him sound crazier than he was.

Hart was about to help him with that.

Without another look behind, Hart ducked into the hut and stopped just inside the door. He didn't even look towards Boyd, afraid that even a glance might betray him. "General? You wanted to see me?"

~~

Lucy silently cursed the interruption, but then realized it was probably for the best. Personal discussions like these were best held in private quarters, not the kitchen. The look Hart gave her reassured her that there would be further talk – and more – and she gave him as cordial a smile as she could without letting it beam. The touch of his hand on her hair did give her goosebumps, and she sat straighter, shivering as the two men left.

Lucy rejoined Martha at the kitchen once Hart and Lindus left. “I put the chickens in to cook,” Lucy told her, helping with the carrots. “Potatoes will be done in a while.” Martha said nothing in reply, only looked up at her briefly with what seemed like a reproachful manner. “What’s wrong with you, girl? My daddy used to say, if you got something up your nose, you oughta blow it out. You’ll feel better and likely, so will I.”

Disarmed by the comment, Martha sighed and gestured with the knife towards the door. “He is different. Changed.”

Lucy squinted. “Who? Major Lindus?”

Martha shook her head, uncertain how to explain. Certainly she couldn’t bring up the Wendigo and Boyd with Lucy; she was a practical person and wouldn’t consider it, not from Martha. “No, Colonel Hart. Haven’t you noticed? It as if he is … younger. Stronger somehow.”

Lucy clucked her tongue at the comment. “He said you’d be surprised to see him. That you thought he was dead before you left to get General Slauson.”

Martha narrowed her eyes at the inference. “You think what I tell you is some crazy Indian idea?” Lucy didn’t answer, uncomfortable now that she had offended Martha. Their relationship had always been comfortable before. Still, Lucy knew that any implications calling Hart’s intentions into question had to be sheer malarkey. Martha continued, “I tell you this, the man who sent me and Cleaves into town that day wore spectacles and a blanket most of the time, like an old man. His hair was almost completely grey. Am I the only one here to see what is clear?”

Lucy grumbled, more than a little defensively, “Just what’s so dang clear, if you’re so smart?”

Martha was a little taken aback by Lucy’s protectiveness of Colonel Hart. Why was she suddenly such a champion on the Colonel’s behalf? Was whatever had infected Boyd also infected Hart, and if so, was it perhaps working the same sort of calming spell over her that it had the others? She decided to let the subject lie for now. Looking down at the vegetables as she sliced, she replied, “I don’t know anything for certain. But I keep watch, and so should you.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Lucy replied sarcastically, though her tone contained more of a friendly chiding in it than before. Perhaps Martha was just worried about their safety after all. “I got my gun on me, don’t worry, just in case that Boyd should get out. I’d love an excuse to fire.”

With a wry smile, Martha replied, “I do not think it is Boyd we should worry about. It is what has hold of him that concerns me.” Martha didn’t want to keep on about Boyd too much, but she was glad that she had at least pointed out what was disturbing her about Hart. Whether Lucy chose to see it or not was her decision; Martha had done all she could do there.

“What do you mean?” asked Lucy, putting down her own knife and removing her apron, done for now. “You think this guy is innocent? Or rabid-like?”

Martha, finally looking up, replied, “I do not think Boyd is innocent, not the way you think of innocent. But I do not think he’s gone loco, either. Somewhere between the two lies the truth, and it frightens me.” Martha tossed the carrots into the oven, to cook alongside the chickens. “That’s all I have to say about it. And as for work, there’s none left for you right now. Spend your time as you wish. I’m going to see that the new doctor has everything he needs in his cabin.” She exited, tying her shawl tightly about her and leaving Lucy to ponder her words.

~~

On the way to Boyd's shack, Lindus pondered what he had seen in the kitchen. Now that Hart was in front of him, Lindus glared at the man's back -- did Hart think him so stupid that Lindus wouldn't notice what was going on? The officer was clearly flirting with Miss Cort, something she could not possibly wish from a man of his age. She could only want a younger man, someone closer to Lindus' age. While she did not appear disturbed by by the Colonel's flirtations, Lindus could only assume the poor girl was simply being polite. Well, General Slauson would hear of this disgraceful behavior, if not today, then first thing tomorrow.

Back inside the shack with Boyd and the others, his attention returned to the broken man who sat before them. He had to admit, he was interested to hear how Hart's story compared with Boyd's.

~~

Lucy let Martha go her way, hoping that she had not deeply offended her. Was it just that she’d stepped on Martha’s toes, coming into her kitchen like this? She knew some women were peculiar that way, though personally she never understood that. Lucy had always been happy for help in the kitchen back home. And what the deuce had Martha meant about Colonel Hart and that Boyd fellow? Sure, Andrew appeared younger than she recalled, but Lucy assumed it was because all that trudging around in the mountains recently had renewed him somehow, invigorated him. In any case, she preferred not to think too heavily on it just then. Andrew had nothing to do with what went wrong out there, Lucy was certain of it.

It was getting late, and daylight was starting to fade. If she was going to have any time today to go through Reich’s things, she figured she should get to it now. She’d done this sort of thing before; when her mother died, it was she and Pearl who had to go through the wardrobe and divide up what should be saved from what should be passed on to the church, and figure out which of the other children should get what and at what age. Likewise, when Buddy Starling had died when they were both 17, his mother told Lucy she could come over and take something of his, since they’d been sweethearts and likely would have married, had he not taken ill and died so suddenly. She still had that item -- a silver belt buckle with a snake in the shape of an “S” that she wore when riding. Walking over to the bunkhouse now, Lucy wondered if it was Buddy’s death that helped make up her mind about leaving home. There was no one else there she’d even consider marrying, and at home she was just another mouth to feed….

She shook herself out of this reverie inside the bunkhouse, its musty odor hitting her abruptly and pulling her back to the present. Reich had made up a separate little area away from the others with a makeshift wall out of a blanket; he liked at least some modicum of privacy, she recalled him saying once. His footlocker lay at the base of his bed, a spare coat and shirt flung across it as though he had only stepped out a moment ago, and would soon be returning. Lucy picked it up and inhaled; she could smell him then, and the memories came back then. Not just of Reich, but of all the loves before. None of them quite right for her, none of them quite working out, but all of them involving heartache nonetheless. “Aw, James,” she sighed softly. “You ornery old bastard. Why’d ya have to go and get your fool self killed? You shoulda known better.”

Sinking to the floor beside the footlocker as she opened it, she set the shirt and jacket aside. Digging beneath the clothing that lay on top, she found herself searching for one item she knew would be there: his flask of whiskey. He wasn’t a drinking man, but she could use a belt right about now, so she helped herself and opted to keep the flask as well. Next, she found some photographs of people she could only assume were his parents, and possibly a sister and brother. She found one with him and set it aside with the flask. She saw some letters as well, which also appeared to be from various relatives, mostly his mother and sister. There were some from last year from a woman who appeared to be his fiancée, but a Dear John letter quickly explained why there were only three of those (“After your very unfair demotion, I regret to inform you that Father has insisted I sever our agreement, and accept Major Winters’ proposal instead.”). Lucy rolled her eyes at that one, saying to an invisible Reich, “Sounds like you dodged a bullet there, sugar, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.” She could almost hear him chuckling in agreement as she tossed it in with the other letters, which she figured could be returned to his family by the military.

Digging deeper still, Lucy found something that looked familiar: a leather-bound journal, not unlike those she had brought for Colonel Hart. Why hadn’t he ever asked her to bring one for him? Lucy wondered. Well, he probably didn’t want her to know he was the writin’ kinda guy, she figured. He preferred that she think of him as more of the action sort. The grabbin’ and doing sort. “Mission accomplished,” she nodded, wondering if she should open it and read it, or if she should just destroy it. She knew if it were her journal, she wouldn’t want anyone looking at her writings after she was dead. Then again, if she were dead, she likely would be beyond caring. Once again addressing the specter she felt lingering all around her, she sighed, “Sorry, James. I promise not to show anyone else, okay?”

So, with a trembling hand, Lucy opened the journal and began to read...

~~

O'Donnel turned to see a slightly off-put man come through the door, the same man he only glimpsed with a bowl before leaving straightway due to his stomach. Manners controlling his abhorrently British personality forced him into submission.

"Hello," Miles muttered, reaching to shake the man's hand. "Miles O'Donnel."

"Hart," he mentioned briefly, giving an air of kind irritation.

Miles nodded, recoiling his arm and turning back to Slauson, his breath shaken slightly, eyes moving over to Ives, who's gaze was fixed between Slauson and the man on the floor--Boyd. Why was he being asked to leave before 'Hart' would tell his story? What story was there? Why was he being interrogated and analyzed if everyone was so set on Boyd being a murderer---come to think of it, what the bloody hell were the circumstances in general? Miles felt entirely in the dark and decidedly confused, a flicker of dismay traveling through him at the thought of even being sent to this place where he was entirely uneducated in everyone's ways. He felt like grabbing Slauson, bringing him outside, and demanding the entire story. Then again, he also felt like just watching the scene--watching Ives. Watching Boyd. Something was going on, the air was heavy with it, almost chokingly. But Miles cast out everything in his head and cleared his throat mildly, silently digging his thumbnail into his palm, waiting anxiously for the story--for some bloody explanation, even if bloody had to be taken literally

At Boyd's request, Slauson sighed. "Colonel Ives, I apologize, but would you mind waiting outside while I talk to Boyd? If it'll get the truth out of him..."

Boyd heaved in air, finding it suddenly harder to breathe as Slauson asked Ives to step outside. Reprieve? A rest from this madness was in sight if only Hart would explain the truth, or at least part of the truth. Boyd wanted a full confession, but he was not so foolish that he thought Hart would incriminate himself this early or this easily. And yet, in the deepest corners of Boyd’s soul, there was fear…

There was always fear, wasn’t there? He was a coward and even now that the tides seemed to begin to turn in his favor, he was fearful: fearful to see what Ives would say or do to make the situation worse and fearful that someone might believe him, set him free and he would be left with the task of killing himself.

He was also fearful Ives might be taken prisoner instead of killed. The new ‘Colonel’ was smart and had a wicked silver tongue. If he could talk Hart into turning, then he could talk Slauson in to it as well. And he had no doubt that Ives could talk himself free from any situation and then there would be no pause when Ives thought about killing Boyd and no reason to spare Boyd – Ives would kill him for this.

He suddenly felt sick with fear and wanted nothing more than to be left alone once more in silence. Lindus, Slauson, Hart and Ives.. all these eyes were on him as well as those of a face he did not know. His deep blue eyes shifted from face to face of the men before him as he realized even though he had just gotten his wish, he was in no way in control of the situation. Ives still was. It seemed, in the Captain’s irrational fear-filled mind, that Ives would always be in control. Even now, he was still afraid of Ives and what whispered promises the Scottish man had made that night by the fire. They would set up camp here, kill those that passed by year after year, growing stronger.. it was a nightmare and daydream all at the same time. But more than anything, it was wrong. Murder was wrong, eating the flesh of another was wrong. Lust, want and greed were all sins. All sins he was guilty of.

He cowered, looking down to the floor as he awaited Ives’ reaction.

Only when he heard of Boyd's request to the General did Hart chance a glance in the man's direction. Bold of him to ask that Ives leave the room. Very bold. And it worked perfectly into Hart's plan. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling and didn't look at Ives at all, instead keeping his gaze fixed to the ground. Of course, Ives would not be happy with such a turn of events. How could he be? The way the cards played now, Ives would need to trust Hart to tell events as he had been instructed. As far as Hart could tell in his short acquaintance with Colonel Ives, trust was not the man's strong suit.

And Hart, of course, was going to give the man no reason to change his mind.

He slid his eyes from the floor to glance at the new doctor before looking again to Slauson, "I presume since you have brought in the doctor that you wish to give Boyd some sort of examination. Will you commence with this before or after my interview?" He looked again at Miles. He did not look like any psychiatrist that Hart had ever seen, if that was indeed what he was. He had never seen one for himself, of course, but Hart had met them when he still traveled amongst learned men. Before he had been banished to this outpost wilderness for the high crime of becoming enamored of another man's wife.

Hart's gaze again went to Slauson. He ignored Lindus altogether as he said in calm, collected tones, "I assure you that no injury has been done to Captain Boyd. The only harm that has been brought upon him has been at his own hand." Hart looked at Boyd, a moment of sympathy showing in his gaze. Boyd was afraid. Hart could see that. He was afraid and he thought he was alone in this. In a way, he was. Hart was on no side now but his own.

As Ives entered with Slauson and Lindus he immediately saw how pathetic Boyd looked on the floor, all chained, innocent blue eyes looking up. Even he would have a hard time believing that Boyd was the killer of all these men with him like that. He kept a steady gaze on Boyd as Slauson asked him why he had killed those people. He was pleased that Slauson seemed to believe the story, but that suddenly changed as Hart was brought into the picture. Ives did not fully trust Colonel Hart, especially after he had overheard the conversation earlier between the two while they had been plotting to kill him. He gave Lindus a glare as he left to go fetch.

He then was struck as Boyd asked the General to have him leave and for them to speak to Hart alone. He turned to Boyd, feeling the anger in his eyes rising and tried to keep it down. He could not take his eyes off of him. Even as another man entered, he barely paid attention. He was not even aware that he was in the room until he heard him speak softly to the General. Ives was in a bind, he did not trust Hart, he was not sure whom the General would believe, and did not count of Boyd being so bold. He kept his glare steady on Boyd until he heard Hart enter the room.

He kept quiet as the conversation continued. He watched as Boyd snuck a glance at him then looked away quickly. He then focused back on Slauson as he waited for his answer of his leaving.

He managed a smile. "No, no General, that would not be a problem." Then he turned to Hart pointedly, looked him straight deep in the eyes. "I reckon that Lucy needs help in the kitchen. While you tend to this business, I shall be there helping her with anything that she may need, and keeping her company." At this he gave a wide wicked smile at Hart, and then finished it with a look that let Hart know that if he betrayed him to Slauson right now, that Lucy would suffer for it. He would make sure of that. And with the look that Hart gave him back he knew that he understood that he meant it. With that, Ives gave one more look at Boyd, and walked out, heading for the kitchen and Miss Lucy Cort.

After Ives left, Slauson looked around the room with a wan smile. The attention of the whole room, which now included Colonel Hart and Dr. O'Donnell, was on the pathetic scene of Boyd forcing Slauson to annoy the new colonel yet again. Slauson thought to himself, 'First you practically make me strip-search the man, now I have to run him off to get some answers out of you. You'd better make this worth my while, Boyd.'

"Colonel Hart, Dr. O'Donnell, I'm glad you could come," Slauson greeted them. Aside to Dr. O'Donnell, Slauson said, "This is Captain Boyd, who is being imprisoned for killing at least 2 people, possibly more. I'd like you to observe him during his questioning, and let me know your medical opinion on his mental health afterwards." Slauson lowered his voice so Boyd wouldn't hear the next part, but with the room so dead quiet and expectant it wasn't likely. "I hope you have some kind of tranquilizer available doctor, just in case he becomes violent."

Then to Colonel Hart, Slauson said, "Colonel Hart, when Boyd first came back to Fort Spencer after your rescue party went to the cave, he claimed that some Colqhoun character killed everyone and Boyd just barely escaped. I could have believed that by itself. But then, when we brought in Colonel Ives to replace you, he claimed Colonel Ives was Colqhoun. We even checked Colonel Ives for a gunshot wound Colqhoun was supposed to have sustained, but there was none. Is there any truth at all to Boyd's version of events?"

Lindus shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other while Ives left and Slauson continued his questioning. He wasn't certain if he ought to stay, or if the General would like him to depart as well, and he certainly didn't wish to bring displeasure to General Slauson. He assumed, however, that if General Slauson wished him gone, he would give him his patented "step outside" look. In any event, it would be an improvement on the looks he was used to receiving. He decided to make himself as invisible as possible during these proceedings, and respond only as called upon.

Miles watched as Ives walked out, eyes darting from the crumpled, trembling man on the floor to Hart beside him, and finally to the outside. He merely stepped aside, eyes averted for fear of everyone noticing that O'Donnel had the very big problem of staring. Slauson smiled slightly and addressed those left.

"Colonel Hart, Dr. O'Donnell, I'm glad you could come," Slauson greeted them. Miles smiled weakly and bowed his head briefly, standing straighter as Slauson pulled him over, explaining, "This is Captain Boyd, who is being imprisoned for killing at least 2 people, possibly more. I'd like you to observe him during his questioning, and let me know your medical opinion on his mental health afterwards." Slauson lowered his voice to below a whisper--not that it mattered, everyone was watching and listening intently anyway--but for some reason Miles felt it was more of an insult to Boyd than a real warning: "I hope you have some kind of tranquilizer available doctor, just in case he becomes violent."

Miles turned towards Boyd as Slauson began to talk to Hart. He wasn't exactly sure this was his calling--he was not entirely as schooled in psychology as other topics. He could manage--but with the look of things, it wasn't going to be the easiest or most common case he could find. Boyd's eyes moved across the floor pathetically, searching for something, it seemed. Miles sighed, noticing he was staring again--but perhaps in this case it would be excused. He couldn't be what they said he was, this Boyd. He was definitely haunted, definitely in danger by some force...but insane? Deranged? A ruthless murderer? Miles had no clue. He thought it safe only to hear all versions of the story--even if he had to ask Ives. If all the stories didn't correlate.. then one person is telling the truth. If 2 did, well--so on and so on. All he had to do now was gather evidence.

"..oh hell...I'm playing mental detective," Miles thought.

Hart stared after Ives as he left. He had not missed the man's inference. In fact, he felt rage boil through him as Lucy's very name passed Ives' lips. If he harmed her, if Ives touched one hair on Lucy's pretty head, Boyd wouldn't need to worry about killing Ives. He would do it himself without compunction. He had to get Lucy out of here. That was just the long and the short of it. He could not act freely with his worries over her safety constantly hanging over his head. He loved her and wanted her near him more than anything, but he loved her enough to know that she was not safe at his side. Not at all.

As the General spoke, he finally shifted his eyes away from the door where Ives had exited and looked at Slauson, steely rage still apparent in the depths of his eyes before he swallowed it back to become the civilized Colonel once again. He paused as if considering the man's question. Hart didn't dare chance a glance in Boyd's direction. He knew he could say nothing to Slauson about the fact that Colquhoun and Ives were one and the same. Not unless he wished to be chained right next to Boyd.

"I must confess, General, that with the injury I sustained on that fateful outing, I do not recall much of what transgressed during its course nor do I recall many of the events that transpired immediately prior and subsequent to it. I fell to a rather severe blow to the head, sir, which seems to have wiped clean the slate of my memory for that brief period of time. I barely recall this Colquhoun. I can dimly remember such a name in the annals of my mind, but I have no face or feature with which to associate it."

Hart straightened and looked Slauson evenly in the eye. "Therefore, I can neither confirm nor deny Boyd's accounting of those events until my memory sees fit to relinquish those images to my use once again. I somewhat recall what befell me, but other than that, I am afraid I am of little use to you." He cast his eyes downward, as if ashamed of his failure to remember what had happened. This would buy them all a little time.

"If I might be so bold, I would request a favor from you, General. I believe that my memory will return. I gather images that I had thought lost to me day by day. As a fellow man of civilization and learning, I know that you will feel the same reluctance to prosecute a man based upon a faulty accounting. If you would but stay any punishment that might befall Captain Boyd until I remember the events upon which his very life hangs more clearly, perhaps with the aid of good Doctor O'Donnell here, I think it would serve the cause of justice well."

Boyd had been holding his breath, looking downward as Ives spoke. He had been so fearful of what the bastard might come up with next and it seemed he had every right to be. Now, the ‘new Colonel’ was going to go after this Lucy now in order to control Hart? Boyd wanted to scream at Hart, give him hell for being so stupid as to allow Ives to see that he cared for that woman. Ives would kill her and cook her without a second thought.

When the Scottish mad man finally left the room, Boyd noticeably went slack, relieved to be out from under Ives’ heavy gaze. He found it suddenly easier to breath again, but only for a short time as Slauson went on and on about Boyd’s mental state and it’s need for inspection by a man who did not seem to want the role presently being offered to him. Boyd could relate.

Talk of tranquilizers horrified him. To be in a sedated state around Ives was to be dead. The captain was still uncertain as to why Ives was keeping him alive or how to maintain his present alive status. And so, he would not accept being put under the influence of medication without a fight.

He raised his gaze as Hart began to speak and watched the man with pleading eyes, but Hart wouldn’t even look at him. And Boyd understood why when Hart began to lie. It was not as bad of a lie as it could have been, but it still did not grant Boyd his freedom… which he would use to promptly kill Ives. Or Colqhoun. Whoever that man was. All Hart’s lie gave Boyd was time, which he’d take considering he had little else. His sulking eyes shifted from Hart and onto Slauson to see if the General would agree.

Slauson barely hid his disbelief as he listened to Colonel Hart. The general was old and crafty enough to know bull when he heard it. He'd seen the look Hart gave Ives at the mention of Lucy. Was Ives teasing Hart? It was difficult to read the new colonel, but Slauson thought he seemed too mature for that. Was Hart's supposed memory lapse just an excuse to leave and keep Ives from flirting with Lucy? It had to be more than that. Hart wouldn't do something so childish as to brush over the deaths of his men just to stop Ives from stealing his woman, if Lucy was indeed Hart's woman. She seemed a little too young for him, in Slauson's opinion. On the other hand, Hart had been kicked out of the military for getting too close to the wrong woman. Perhaps being stranded here was making the man desperate for female companionship.

Slauson had also seen the pleading look Boyd gave Hart, as if silently begging him to say whatever would save him. Almost as if it was some kind of scheme the two were in on together. Or three? What if they were all in on it? What exactly was "it" anyway, and what did each have to gain or lose from it? If Boyd had killed his men, Hart certainly wouldn't be protecting him, would he?

Maybe Hart really had lost his memory. After all, Boyd had told Slauson that Hart had been stabbed, and surely Hart would have mentioned such an incident if he'd remembered it. It was reasonable to believe Hart might have blocked out such a traumatic memory. Hart had never before given Slauson trouble since he was here at Fort Spencer. Because of that, Slauson decided to give Hart the benefit of the doubt for now, until Hart had gotten his story straight, which he was apparently buying time for. Though why a story was necessary at all instead of the truth was still a mystery to Slauson.

"Very well, Colonel Hart," Slauson replied, his tone and expression making it clear he knew Hart was feeding him a line of bull and he'd want the real explanation later.

~~

Martha went about seeing that Dr. O'Donnel's quarters had all that a cold winter night would require -- heavy blankets, fire, and an oil lamp, and hoped this was the last visitor to arrive for the day. The day was starting to take its toll, and Lucy's blindness to what was going on around her was frustrating. While Martha couldn't put a name to it exactly, she felt there lingered at the Fort a dark presence...something, which perhaps had something to do with her brother and Cleaves' deaths.

As she returned to the kitchen, she noticed Lucy heading towards the bunkhouse, her back to Martha. She had known about Lucy and Reich, and her anger with Lucy softened when she considered she, too, must be having a hard time making sense of all this. But Martha still could not make sense of Hart's appearance. Had the journey strengthened him somehow, invigorated him?

It then occurred to her -- what if George was still alive, wandering out there on the mountain? If Hart came back, than why hadn't George, unless he was killed? That had been the story she heard, but what if it was not true? Her heart sank a little, though, when she realized that if George were alive, he certainly would have found his way back to the Fort by now. And besides, she felt in her heart that he had been dead for weeks now.

All this was on her mind as she re-entered the kitchen and checked the chickens. Her stomach grumbled -- passing on the stew didn't mean she hadn’t been hungry then -- and she looked forward to supper. A good night's rest would do them all good....if only they could get it! She recalled the last night she spent at Fort Spencer was anything but restful, and weariness was setting in.

Well, no matter what happened, Martha knew it would be best to keep an eye out for Colonel Ives. He had nearly been murdered last time, and she was going to see that he remain safe. In fact, they would all feel Martha's watchful eye to some degree, silent though it was.

~~

Lucy opened Reich's journal, noting by the date that it began last winter, shortly after Miss Priss gave him his walking papers. Though it tended to rant and ramble on topics ranging from Cleaves' questionable cooking skills to Reich's own demotion, she found herself smiling as the journal recounted the mundane yet entertaining life at Fort Spencer ("Today, Toffler decided it was time to create a new Saint's day, so I convinced him that St. Hector was a good choice – I told him he was the Patron Saint of Utter Boredom.") There was mention of Cleaves bringing back a "bushel of whores" from town, and Reich's combination of disgust and anger ("I have nothing against whores in theory or in person; it's the sheer number of men who've trod before me that keep me from that path. Poor Toffler went as red as beet. Damn Cleaves – it's not as if he can do anything with a woman anyway, with all that peyote he smokes.")

She had to admit that she was looking out for her own first appearance on the scene, and was surprised to find he made no mention at first, likely to cover his own tracks. But slowly, she was able to pick out her visits from the text, especially last summer, when she had reason to pass through more often: "Colonel Hart has been having me follow Lucy when she leaves the Fort. Glad he asked me to, or else I'd have to bring it up myself. Not that she can't handle herself on the trail, but even the best of shots can use back-up sometimes."

Following her around? She had no idea Colonel Hart had left such instructions, or that Reich had followed them. Another pang of guilt hit her; she felt both her feelings deepen for Hart at this, while the knowledge of what Reich had done for her ate away at her.

Lucy read on, trying to find more telling passages, and finding few. The only real reference to herself – and she was painfully aware of how self-involved it was to be looking for them in the first place – came when Reich wrote, "I sometimes wonder if I chose my career practically. Lucy's life appeals to me, indeed, much more than mine. She can come and go as she likes, while I am but a prisoner with men who serve as a reminder that I have failed in all my endeavors." She wondered then if that was why he often groused at her so when the time came for her to end a visit; perhaps it was not that he was sad to see her go, but because he was angry that he could not leave.

But what brought tears to her eyes above all else was a small passage hidden among all the others from the previous summer. Reich had written, "Lucy Cort is a good woman, a lively spirited creature that I doubt any man could tame, nor should they. While I know she and I are not for each other, I do wish my friend every happiness, and shall always think kindly on her."

Lucy sniffed back her tears, wiped at them with her sleeve and silently cursing her emotions as weakness. "You were a good friend, James," she muttered, realizing that this was really the best word to describe what they were. She had not loved him, though she had been his lover, and perhaps this was a portion of the guilt she now felt. But it didn't lighten the sadness of losing a friend. "I'll miss you."

She sifted through the footlocker, and the only thing she found she thought she might keep was Reich's hunting knife, still in its leather sheath. It had an excellent blade and handle, definitely made in the city. Perhaps it was a gift from his family before he left; she couldn't say. Anyway, she wanted to keep it and just wear it in his memory, the same way she kept Buddy Starling's belt buckle. Lucy often felt that it had brought her good luck and safety on the trail over the years; maybe this would too. Yes – the flask, the journal and the knife were all she would take away. The remainder should rightfully go to his family.

She picked up the silver flask and took another swig, cheeks flushing red as a sudden spurt of anger ran through her veins. Who was this Captain Boyd, anyway? Who was he to have taken the life of so many of her friends? And why didn't they just take him out back and shoot him like the wild dog he was? She had a gun – hell, she had Reich's knife now, too, and wouldn't that be justice? -- and wasn't afraid to use it.

No, she told herself, Andrew said the General had to take him back and try him for it. But dammit, she wanted her time with that bastard. He deserved to know he wasn't getting off easy after killing Her friends. And she was certainly going to do something about it. She gathered up the things and stood, trying to think of what to do next.

~~

Miles watched Boyd as Hart spoke, recalling that he could not recall anything at all. At the mention of his name Miles turned to Hart and smiled, not even registering what he had said but that he required time to gather his memory. He could just about kiss Hart---the idea of time thrilled Miles. He couldn't very well have come up with a decision by the end of the night, which was fast approaching according to his biological clock.

Miles ventured a bit, "I agree entirely, sir. If it's all the same, I would like very much to have a little while longer---just to gather information. I cannot very well go on one story alone--if it would be at all proper for me to...erm---investigate the claims of all those left from the original party as well as Ives, if he may indeed be this...Colqhoun, I believe it was?" Miles paused for a moment, his daring getting the better of him in front of men he didn't even know. "And I was wondering if I may inquire with them all privately...starting tonight?"

To Dr. O'Donnell, Slauson said, "That sounds like a fine idea doctor. Since you will be stationed here indefinitely, it will help you get to know who you'll be living with."

~~

Lucy found the cold air outside the bunkhouse ineffective in cooling her temper as she took Reich's things with her into her own cabin. Noting the gun she wore only distracted her, she removed it, hanging it over the bedpost out of habit – she liked having it nearby at night. She took up the sheathed hunting knife she'd removed from Reich's footlocker, taking it out and examining it closer – it would make a better weapon to keep on her. She could comfortably strap it to her leg and it wouldn't be so bulky, so she tied it on and slipped the knife back into its sheath.

She knew she was putting off thoughts of what she would really like to do, though: go into that shack and make Boyd really sorry for what he'd done. And it wouldn't be just to make her own self feel better, though that certainly factored into it. No, it would be because she owed it to Reich and the others. Reich had looked out for her on the trail, and while she couldn't be there to help him out when he needed it, she knew she had it in her to do something now.

She thought of poor Toffler – the kid didn't have a mean bone in his body. The fact that he wouldn't wasn't able to properly defend himself against this maniac, and Reich's probable distress at being unable to save his friend, only made her angrier. She took a swig of whiskey, hoping this might settle her down, but it failed. That was it – she had to do something.

Forgetting even to put on her coat, she stormed out towards the shack. Maybe she wouldn't kill this bastard, but she sure was gonna give him something to think about. Whoever he was, he was going to regret the day he crossed the friends of Lucy Cort.

Upon opening the door to the shack, she saw Hart and Slauson standing with Lindus and the new doctor around a man in shackles on the floor – the man who must be Boyd. They looked as if they were in deep conversation, but she dismissed it, too focused on Boyd. His hair was a mess, his face somewhat battered, and a few days' growth of beard. He looked miserable, in more ways then one. Lucy knew he'd soon be a lot more miserable.

"You son-of-a-bitch." Before anyone had a chance to say or do anything, she crossed to Boyd and gave him a powerful right fist to the jaw that forced him to his side. "That's for Reich." She then delivered a stern kick to the side before taking out her knife and holding it to Boyd's throat. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't do everyone a big favor and use this thing right now."

Back