CHAPTER 12
Sullivan “Sully” Weatherspoon turned from his beautiful black stallion and regarded the slovenly hostler with contempt. “My stallion will have an apple, Lennox, and be sure to quarter it before you feed it to him. That horse is worth more than you’ll make in your lifetime.”
“Yes, sir,” the hostler said.
“And do keep an eye, Lennox. If you allow anyone to steal my stallion, I’ll have your hide off and nailed to the wall by sunset.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Weatherspoon, sir,” Lennox said with an irritating sigh. A year ago, the hostler had been thoroughly timid. But ever since he’d landed the contract to care for those Union soldiers, he’d lost most of his fear. Sadly, regular food and security brought out the insolence native to all underlings.
Maybe Sully would have to get Roy Gibbs to pay Lennox a visit, remind him of the natural order around here.
Of course, then the hostler might go crying to Captain Culp, and that Sully could not afford. Not now, not after the stunt his cousin just pulled.
Carter Weatherspoon, eighteen years old, had always admired Sully, almost worshipped him. To Carter, Sully could dono wrong, and ever since they were kids, Carter hung around, trying to act like Sully.
It was tiresome, sometimes, having someone follow you around and treat you like a hero, but Sully supposed it was natural enough.
After all, other than his own father, Sully was the most respected man in these parts, especially now that the war had removed so many of the low-born pretenders.
And there had been a certain satisfaction in watching young Carter Weatherspoon swagger among children his own age. Part of that was breeding, of course—and Sully believed in breeding—but mostly, it came down to Carter learning leadership from Sully.
Of course, none of that mattered now, not after the unbelievably foolish thing Carter had done coming out of the saloon the night before.
Drunk as he was, Carter had walked straight into a Union soldier and almost knocked him over.
Which would have been bad enough. But then Carter started insisting the soldier apologize.
The soldier stood his ground, also demanding an apology. Carter was the one, after all, who’d come out of the saloon and slammed into the passing soldier.
Besides, the soldier had another bluebelly with him. And this was their town now.
Voices were raised. Carter, emboldened by whiskey and the presence of his admiring friends, shoved the man.
The soldier cursed and swung a haymaker.
Carter ducked the blow and counterpunched, knocking the man out cold.
This was a colossal blunder on Carter’s part, of course. Texans were getting hung for similar altercations. But what happened next made things infinitely worse.
The other soldier went for his pistol, demanding that Carter put his hands up.
Instead of complying, Carter went for his pistol, too.
Both men fired.
According to eyewitnesses, the soldier grazed Carter’s arm.
Carter’s round punched through the soldier’s leg, breaking it, and dropped the man to the ground, where he nearly bled to death before someone applied the tourniquet that saved his life.
Carter fled and hadn’t been seen since.
The whole thing was a mess.
Sully’s father had been livid, spelling out the various ways that his nephew’s actions could destroy the family name and fortune.
So he’d sent Sully to town with a thick envelope of money to smooth things over with the new post commander, Captain Alexander Culp.
Sully headed toward the sheriff’s office to see if Rickert had any news. Probably not. The man was utterly useless. But still, Sully wanted to check before talking to Captain Culp.
