Wyoming Winterkill by Jon Sharpe

we have,” Griffin said, smiling. “Mr. Fargo refused medical treatment, amazingly enough. I trust he won’t feel the same about them.”
    â€œThem?” Fargo said.
    Harrington quickly said, “We’ll discuss that later. Right now let’s have something to drink to whet our appetite for Ethel’s marvelous food.”
    The colonel wasn’t exaggerating.
    Fargo was treated to a feast the likes of which he hadn’t enjoyed in months. Elk steak, thick and juicy and smothered in onions with a few mushrooms thrown in; whipped potatoes with delicious gravy; succotash, flavored with butter and lightly salted; hot biscuits so soft, he almost felt guilty biting into them; coffee with cream and sugar. For dessert there was apple pie fresh out of the oven; it melted in his mouth.
    Harrington and Ethel bantered about army life and how wasn’t it a shame that the whites and the red men couldn’t get along and the colonel mentioned that he was afraid a lot more blood would be spilled before the West was fully settled.
    Fargo didn’t like that last part. The settling. The last thing he wanted, the very last thing, was for the wild places to disappear and be replaced by the plow and towns and cities. He knew it was inevitable. Just as every square foot of land between the Atlantic Ocean and the Mississippi River had been devoured by the locusts of civilization, so, too, would every square foot of land between the Mississippi and the Pacific. He liked to think that day was a long ways off. At least, he hoped it didn’t happen in his lifetime.
    They finished the meal and Harrington suggested they repair to the parlor. No sooner did Fargo make himself comfortable than the colonel and the doctor swapped looks and the colonel cleared his throat.
    â€œSo tell me, Skye. When do you plan to head out?”
    â€œAt first light,” Fargo answered.
    â€œMy, that’s early,” Captain Griffin said. “But I can be ready.”
    â€œSo that’s what this is,” Fargo said.
    â€œHear us out,” Colonel Harrington said. “You’re well aware of the condition those poor people must be in. They could be freezing to death. They could be suffering from starvation. They could be sick.”
    â€œOr they might be perfectly fine,” Fargo said. Provided they had plenty of food and could find firewood. He recollected another wagon train that once was stranded for longer than this train had been, and everyone lived through it with nothing worse than a few cases of frostbite.
    â€œThey might,” Captain Griffin said, “but it’s unlikely. And in that regard, my services will be sorely needed.”
    â€œI can spare him,” Harrington said. “No one is ill except for a few colds, no babies are due, and no one has been wounded since last August.”
    â€œIt’s perfect timing,” Griffin said.
    â€œHe can minister to them,” Harrington said. “He’ll take medicines along.”
    â€œHe’ll slow me down,” Fargo said.
    Griffin’s cheeks pinched. “I might not be the best rider in the world but I’m not the worst. I daresay I’ll be well able to keep up.”
    Fargo looked at Harrington. “Have you forgotten about Blackjack Tar?”
    Griffin cut in before the colonel could answer. “What does he have to do with it? I’m not offering my medical services to him.”
    â€œHe gets his hands on you,” Fargo said, “you’re as good as dead.”
    â€œWhy would he kill me for no reason?”
    â€œBecause he’s Blackjack Tar.”
    â€œNo one is that coldhearted.”
    â€œHell,” Fargo said.
    Harrington had a slightly pained expression. “I’m counting on you to keep him safe.”
    â€œI don’t need protecting,” Captain Griffin said. “I might be a physician but I’m also a soldier and I’ve been trained in the arts of