Hawk’s firing caused an awkward silence among the troopers. John Hawk had proven himself the most capable scout at Fort Ellis in the estimation of every soldier who had ever ridden with him. That opinion was shared by most of the other scouts who rode out of Fort Ellis. Soon the silence was breached by several whispered discussions about the unexpected firing, as several small fires were built to boil coffee. Off in his exile, Hawk decided a cup of coffee would taste pretty good right then as well. He gathered some dead limbs and soon had a fire going. He was down by the creek filling his coffeepot when he heard Ben Mullins behind him. “Put enough water in it for me.”

Hawk looked over his shoulder and smiled. “All right, I’ll fill it up, but ain’t you worried the lieutenant will see you drinkin’ coffee with me?”

“Well, he didn’t order me not to,” Ben said, “and me and you share a campfire most of the time, anyway.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe he’ll fire me, too. Then he can scout for himself.” He picked up a few sticks for the fire on his way back with Hawk and the coffeepot. Getting serious then, he said, “Damn, Hawk, that was a raw deal that son of a bitch just gave you. What the hell did you do to deserve that?”

“I don’t know, Ben. Some folks just have a natural dislike for other folks. Meade and I ain’t ever got along real good.” He paused to think about it. “And there was that time on the Yellowstone when I told him he was a damn fool for givin’ up on a patrol.” The thought of that brought a chuckle from him. “Meade don’t take criticism too well.”

Ben shook his head, still finding it hard to believe. “Can he fire you from your job like that? Without goin’ through Major Brisbin or anybody?”

“I reckon so,” Hawk said, placing the coffeepot on the edge of the fire, so it wouldn’t boil too fast. “He’s in command of all the scouts at Fort Ellis, so you’d best mind your p’s and q’s when you ride with him.”

“Maybe you can still scout at one of the other forts,” Ben suggested, genuinely worried for Hawk.

“Maybe I could,” Hawk allowed, “but I ain’t sure I even want to. I might just decide to give up scoutin’ for a livin’.”

“And do what?” Ben scoffed, thinking Hawk was born to be a scout.

“I don’t know, rob banks, I reckon.” He appreciated Ben’s concern over his loss of a job, but he was not greatly upset about it. He’d find something else to do—he always had.

* * *