Birchwood said, his face pale under his deep tan. “But I found out what happened to the relief column. For some reason Corporal Yates and twelve men made a stand on the bluff. They’re all dead and stripped of their arms. I don’t know what happened to the six others.” Stryker turned to Hogg. “Joe, I hate to ask you this with the Apaches so close—” “I’ll check it out, Lieutenant.” The scout left as he always did, silently, like a puff of smoke. “How many effectives do we have, Lieutenant?” Stryker asked. “Fourteen, sir. The wounded man, Private Stearns, you already know about.” “Where is he?” “In the hospital.” “We’ll have to move him. We can’t defend the entire post.” “Sir, his . . . Private Stearns’ left leg is black and it smells like rotten meat. I fear gangrene. It will have to be cut off if we are to save his life. I thought perhaps Mr. Hogg . . .” “Perhaps. I’ll have a word with him. In the meantime I want to look at the saloons and the hog ranch.
