Novel 1972 - Callaghen (v5.0) Read Online Free Page B

determine.
    Thoughtfully, Callaghen went over in his mind the questions the lieutenant had asked, and what implications there were in what he had said. The one comment that stuck in Callaghen’s mind was one about horse thieves needing water and grazing for their stock, and the difficulty of finding it.
    On their march north they had skirted the Owl’s Head Mountains, and had stopped briefly at the springs called the Owl Holes. The water there was not very good, but on the lieutenant’s orders the catch basin was cleaned out and left in fine shape.
    At daylight they reached Ibex Spring, drank deep, refilled their canteens, and found shade in which to rest. The day dragged on, but before nightfall they started south, keeping the mountains on their right. When they had been walking a little more than an hour a faint trail appeared, and they left the one they had followed and crossed over a low saddle and marched down the western side of the mountains.
    It was a short march, but Callaghen knew the men’s condition and insisted on stopping. At the springs at the southern tip of the range they camped until night came. Then they marched south once more, again only a short march—no more than ten miles to Cave Springs. But the march was uphill, and much of it was on soft sand.
    At Cave Springs they bathed their feet, rested, and thought of food.
    “How far to where we can get help?” Croker wanted to know. “I’ve had enough of this.”
    “You’ve got a tough pull ahead of you,” Callaghen answered. “It’s twenty miles to Bitter Springs, and that’s our first chance. We might find somebody stopping there. And then there’s a long trek back to Camp Cady.”
    Croker swore, and Walsh stared at Callaghen, then looked down at his boots. “I got a notion to stay right here,” he said. “I don’t think I can make it.”
    “You’ll make it,” Callaghen said cheerfully. “No use to waste all the steps you’ve taken.”
    Walsh looked thoughtful as he saw the way Croker’s eyes remained on Callaghen. Walsh was keenly sensitive to the strengths and weaknesses of other men. A coward himself, he had no envy for the brave, although in his own way he respected them, and he feared them as willing to do things he might hesitate to do.
    There was something in Croker’s eyes now that puzzled him, some peculiar intentness that set him to wondering. Croker had no reason for hating Callaghen, and Walsh was quite sure he did not, but had someone less perceptive seen that look they might have suspected that he did. And there was something else. That look of Croker’s had been an estimating, measuring glance…and there was greed in it.
    Walsh could think of no reason why that should be so, but he sensed suddenly that Callaghen might be standing between Croker and something he wanted.
    Shortly before midnight on the third day after that the four men walked into Camp Cady.
    The shelters were miserable hovels built of logs and brush, but there was water there, and there was food, and there was rest.
    “Private Callaghen?” The voice of the soldier who spoke was brisk. “The captain would like to see you at once.” He turned and pointed. “Right over there. At the end of the line.”
    Chapter 4

C APTAIN HILL WAS seated on a camp chair in his undershirt, suspenders hanging, when Callaghen entered. He was unshaven and he looked tired.
    “You wished to see me, sir?”
    “What happened out there?” Captain Hill asked.
    Callaghen’s report was brief and concise. Hill listened, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. Then he got to his feet and swore softly.
    He took a map from a group of several that leaned against the side of his bed. He spread the map open on the table. “Can you show me, Callaghen, just where you were when attacked?”
    “Yes, sir.” Callaghen put his finger on the spot and stepped back.
    “What in God’s name was Allison doing away up there? Did he say anything to you about it, Callaghen? Did he give you any idea