Harris went back through the store to knock on the door that led into the Rands' living quarters.
Sadie Rand, all youth and blondeness and quiet prettiness, opened the door. "Dad's gone out to the saloon," she said immediately. "Do you want some coffee?"
Harris smiled. "Not on top of beer, thanks." He leaned forward, catching the point of her chin on his finger, and lifted her head for a kiss.
She seemed to notice his restraint; she came through into the store, closing the door behind her. "That was a cool greeting. Captain," she said in a playful tone. She glanced at the mug of beer in his hand and walked right past him to the counter. "Your friend left half a mug of beer," she said.
"Will Brady."
"I know. Dad told me he had something mysterious to talk to you about." She picked up Brady's half-mug of beer and put it to her lips, and drank in sips. Harris followed her forward and stood six feet distant, watching her with affection plain in his eyes.
She looked up, meeting his glance, her eyes holding his over a lengthening moment of stillness. Her gaze was too level—she had something on her mind.
Presently she said, "Captain Sutherland was in here a little while ago. He was drunk and he was talking pretty loudly. I couldn't help but overhear." She folded her hands in front of her and cocked her head to one side. "I assumed he was under the influence of a conclusion that he'd jumped to.''
"He was."
"I assumed he didn't know what he was talking about."
"Hell," Harris said, hearing the disgust in his own voice. "Now you, too. You didn't believe what you heard then, but you're not sure now. That's it, isn't it?"
He rammed his hands in his pockets and thrust his head forward, staring at the floor. After a while, Sadie's voice came to him: "I only want a little reassurance, Justin. All you have to do is tell me it isn't true."
His head came up. "Either you trust me, or you don't," he said flatly. He swung and pushed his way out of the store, with the heat of rising anger stinging his belly and throat.
Brady worked with methodical thoroughness, running the steel currycomb along the sleek hide of his horse. A single lantern hung from a nail at the end of the stall, bathing the interior of the stable in a flickering yellow glow. He gave the appearance of a very content, very mild and carefree man. But the revolver hung ready at his hip and his ears were always attuned to the many sounds of the night, so that he was aware of Captain Justin Harris's approach long before Harris came into the stable runway.
"Howdy again," Brady said mildly. "Looking for something?"
"Sutherland," Harris said in a taut voice that revealed his anger. "I want to get this settled. Have you seen him?"
Without changing expression, Brady pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. "He s in that empty stall."
"What?"
"Drunk. I guess he slipped in there to sleep it off. Didn't want his wife to see him."
Harris came forward with a determined stride and peered into the dimness of the vacant stall. Brady watched him for a moment, then returned to his task of currying the horse. He heard Harris mutter something, after which the captain came forward and stood by him, watching him curry the animal, saying nothing. Brady said, "Where to now?"
"Home to bed," Harris grunted, swinging away. His walk was stiffer than usual.
Harris disappeared into the night and Brady continued his methodical task, moving around to the off side of the horse. When he was done currying, he rubbed the animal down carefully and slipped the almost-emptied nosebag off its head. He went forward to the water tiough and filled a bucket and brought it back for the horse. Finally he patted the horse's neck and put the bucket back where he had got it.
He was coming back to turn out the lamp when something disturbed him. He stood still, frowning. Then he heard a muffled scratching issue from the vacant stall where the diunken officer was sleeping. Brady grunted and moved toward the lamp.
By the time he got to it, Sutherland was standing unsteadily in the mouth of the stall. "Brady," Sutherland said thickly.
"That's my name."
Sutherland shook himself. In the pale wash of moonlight his round face seemed cherub-like. He
Tubbed his hands up and down against the side of -lis trousers, looking around confusedly. "Did anyone •Ise see me here, Brady?"
Brady said, smiling, "I reckon half the men on the post saw you walking around tonight, Captain. You'd had a few drinks."
"Did I say anything?"
"You came into the sutler's and asked if anybody'd seen Captain Harris. That's all I heard you say."
Sutherland shook his head as if to clear it. "I was in the sutler's twice tonight," he said. "Who else was there?"
"How would I know. Captain?" Brady kept his voice and face expressionless. He reached up toward the lamp.
"No. Wait—leave the lamp burning." Sutherland looked puzzled. "Damn it, where's my saddle?"
"On your own rack down there, I'd guess."
Sutherland shook his head again, violently.
"Sure—sure. Well, thanks. Good night, Brady."
"Going somewhere, Captain?"
"A ride, I guess—clear my head." Sutherland was in pretty bad shape, Brady could see. The scout touched his hatbrim in acknowledgment. "I hope you feel better, come mornin'," he said, and walked out of the stable.
Brady waited on the porch of the adjutant's darkened oJBBce, standing back deep in the shadows, rolling a smoke and lighting it. The night sky was a velvet depth of indigos and blacks; a thin rind of moon hung a third of the way up, affording little illumination. Brady put his shoulderblades against the wall of the building.
Presently the faint splash of hght in the stable doorway was extinguished, and shortly thereafter a horseman issued from the place. Sutherland rode within ten feet of Brady. Sutherland's horse cHp-clopped across the dusty length of the compound. Dimly through the night, Brady heard a few soft words exchanged between the mounted officer and the trooper on guard; then Sutherland rode on out of hearing.
Brady pulled a last drag of his cigarette and tossed the butt out past the edge of the porch. He was about to turn down the walk when he caught the sound of muffled steps through the powder-dust. He stood still and looked back.
The shape advancing was a very tall, very thin one. Brady stepped to the edge of the porch and said, "Howdy, Emmett."
The tall man came right ahead until he was close enough to make out Brady's features.
"Howdy yourself," said Emmett Tucker, who was Justin Harris's company sergeant.
Tucker was thin to the point of emaciation; his hair, brick red, was gray in this Hght. "Scouting for Injuns on the adjutant's porch, Will?"
"Sure enough," Brady answered in a lazy tone.
"I just saw Captain Sutherland on his way out the gate. Wonder where he's off to at this hour of a black night?" Tucker spoke in an Alabama drawl. He might have been thirty-five or fifty; it was impossible to tell.
He leaned a long bony-fingered hand against the porch post and spat toward the ground. "Cap Harris said we might be doing some riding in the next few days. Up into the Arrowheads, just the three of us."
Brady chuckled. "You never get left out of anything, do you?"
"Wouldn't want to miss anything," Tucker repHed. And he added, in a tone of dry good humor, "Somebody's got to go along and wet-nm-se the captain."