Breakheart Pass. Alistair MacLean

said: ‘So possibly there are no more than fifteen fit soldiers left to defend the Fort?’

      ‘Possibly’

      ‘What a chance for White Hand. If he knew about this.’

      ‘White Hand? Your bloodthirsty chief of the Paiutes?’ Pearce nodded his head and O’Brien shook his. ‘We’ve thought of this possibility and discounted it. We all know about White Hand’s obsessive hatred of the white man in general and the United States Cavalry in particular, but we also know that he’s very, very far from being a fool. If he weren’t, the Army or -’ O’Brien permitted himself a slight smile - ‘our intrepid lawmen of the West would have nabbed him quite some time ago. If White Hand knows that Fort Humboldt is so desperately under-manned, then he’ll know why and will avoid the Fort like the plague.’ Another smile, but wintry this time. ‘Sorry, that wasn’t meant to be clever.’

      Marica said shakily: ‘My father?’

      ‘No. Clear so far.’

      ‘You mean -’

      ‘I’m sorry.’ O’Brien touched her arm lightly. ‘All I mean is that I know no more about it than you do.’

      ‘Fifteen of God’s children taken to their rest.’ Peabody’s voice emerged from the depths of the sepulchre. ‘I wonder how many more of those poor souls will have been taken from us come the dawn.’

      ‘Come the dawn,’ Claremont said shortly ‘we’ll find out.’ Claremont, clearly, was increasingly of the opinion that the padre was a less than desirable person to have around in circumstances such as these.

      ‘You’ll find out?’ Again the millimetric raising of Pearce’s right eyebrow. ‘How?’

      There’s no magic. We have a portable telegraph transmitter aboard. We clamp a long lead on to the railroad telegraph wires: that way we contact the fort to the west of Reese City - even Ogden - to the east.’ He looked at Marica, who had turned away. ‘You are leaving us, Miss Fairchild.’