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a hasty breakfast of corn dodgers and fried buffalo steaks. 'Seen 'em and we can take 'em.'
    'I thought you were aimin' to wait and let them come at us, then hit them on the run, Sir,' said the Scottish Lieutenant, hesitantly, wiping his plate of the greasy gravy, swilling it down with a cup of the camp's best coffee. Hot enough to scold the devil's tongue and strong enough to float a horse-shoe.
    'Then you thought wrong, Mister Kemp,' snapped the Captain, spitting a spray of crumbs across the table, turning to yell for the Sergeant. 'Get a patrol of twenty men, McLaglen! And be damned quick about it!'
    'Full equipment, Sir?' asked Crow, standing from the meal, bowing his head as the tent wasn't quite tall enough to accommodate his great height.
    Menges hesitated. 'Camp's only half a day from here. Maybe a touch more. Could be we'll have to chase the bastards. Yes, go and give out that order.' He paused, sneering at the Lieutenant. 'That is if you happen to know what full field equipment is, Mister Crow?'
    Without altering a muscle in his face, keeping his voice pitched low and even, Crow ran through the details.
    'Rifle, with or without bayonet!'
    'With! Sons of bitches can't stand a touch of cold steel, Mister Crow.'
    'Sir. Blanket and ground cloth. Ammunition belt and sixty rounds per man. One canteen, with a quart of clean water. Rations for five days per man.'
    'What's that, Mister?' asked Menges, trying to catch Crow out on a detail.
    'One pound hard-tack and three quarter pounds of meat per day. Extra clothes and overcoat, though I respectfully submit that in this heat there will be no call for either item.'
    'I agree. Therefore, total weight carried per man will be... will be what?'
    'About thirty-four pounds, Sir,' replied Crow.
    'Well... I guess that's about right, Mister Crow. Glad to see that you know something about something.'
    Thank you, Sir,' he replied.
    Menges's eyes narrowed. 'You tryin' to make me look a fool, Crow?'
    'Wouldn't be for me to do that, Sir. I'm not in the line of improvin' on nature, Sir.'
    'What?' The Captain had only half heard the comment and failed to pick up on its meaning.
    'Nothing, Captain Menges. Permission to go and issue the order to the men?'
    He walked out of the stuffy tent, glad to be breathing clean air. Even that early in the morning, after being out on patrol all night, Menges's breath still reeked of the fumes of cheap whisky. It didn't make a very good omen for a chase after the Sioux.
* * *
    They rode out in column of twos, with Menges at the head, then McLaglen, then the twenty Troopers. Crow brought up the rear, eating everyone's dust. Though he resented it, he figured he'd have done the same. You needed an officer out back, just like you needed one out front. Kemp was left behind in command of the camp.
    As they walked out, Crow saw Angelina Menges standing near her tent, wearing the same cotton dress that he'd pulled off her the night before. She waved a white 'kerchief to her husband. At least it appeared to everyone that she was waving to her husband. But Crow knew better.
    Because she'd told him that morning.
    Snatching a moment as they passed after breakfast. 'My burning eagle,' she'd whispered, and he'd immediately and instinctively looked around. But there was nobody close enough to hear her. 'I shall wave to you. Oh, those fools, including Silas, will think I wave to him. But they will be wrong. My love and my body are yours, dear Crow. My breasts are for you to touch and caress and my loins for you alone to enter. Take care, my Adonis.'
    Menges had walked past as they talked and he'd paused, seeing them together. Then marched on as though he'd thought better of it. But Crow knew that they'd been seen.
    He decided there and then that Angelina was someone to keep clear of. That she was tainted with failure and perhaps with death.
    'Farewell, Angelina,' he'd said quietly as he too walked on.
    Crow had made only one attempt to warn Menges that he could be riding