Wrath of the Savage by Charles G. West

in silence for the colonel to arrive.
    It was not a long wait. In less than twenty minutes, Colonel Grice stormed into the office with two armed privates right behind him. Bret and Oakes jumped to their feet to stand at attention. Grice, a short man with drooping shoulders and a potbelly, glared up into Bret’s face. “Well, by God, you’ve got your nerve showing up here at this post,” he fumed. “I was hoping to hell you were dead.”
    â€œSir?” Bret responded, stunned by the unexpected outburst.
    â€œI have no patience for cowardice in any man, and especially in an officer,” Grice ranted on.
    â€œCowardice?” Bret questioned, baffled by the colonel’s attack. “What are you talking about, sir?”
    â€œCowardice!” Grice repeated in emphasis. “The cowardice of running to save your hide when your patrol was attacked by hostiles.” He literally roared the accusation. “That, mister, is unforgivable of an officer under my command.”
    â€œWhoa!” Bret responded. “Wait a minute. Where did you get an idea like that? Didn’t Private McCoy return with the horses and the bodies of my patrol?”
    â€œYes, he did. He and Private Weaver brought the bodies of their comrades back to be buried, after you ran away from the massacre of everyone but the two of them.”
    â€œI sent McCoy back to report on the attack,” Bret insisted, hardly able to comprehend what could have given the colonel the idea that he had deserted in the face of combat. “Did you say Weaver? Weaver was missing.”
    â€œHe wasn’t missing when he and McCoy loaded the bodies on their horses and brought them back here,” Grice charged. “And neither man had any idea what had happened to you.”
    â€œNo, sir,” Bret replied. “That’s not the right of it. I sent McCoy back to tell you. The scout, Coldiron, and I went on to try to catch up with the hostiles in hopes of rescuing two women who were kidnapped.”
    â€œIs that your story?” Grice demanded. “You went after two captives?”
    â€œIt’s not my story. It’s what happened.”
    â€œThen where are the women? I suppose you were never able to catch the renegade Indians who stole them. For that matter, if Coldiron went with you, where the hell is he? Why isn’t he here to corroborate your story?”
    â€œHe went home to his place on the Gallatin,” Bret said, aware then that he had been so thoroughly demonized and realizing the guilty parties were McCoy and Weaver. “Sir, surely you’re not going to take the word of two malcontent privates like McCoy and Weaver over that of an officer.”
    â€œAn ex-officer,” Grice responded, cooler now. “You were tried in absentia for your treason and found guilty of desertion under fire.”
    â€œI was what?” Bret gasped in protest. “On the word of a cowardly soldier who fell asleep on guard duty? I came back, didn’t I?”
    â€œYes, you did,” Grice replied unemotionally, “and that’s the other mistake you made.”
    â€œSo you’ve tried and sentenced me without ever hearing my side of the story? I don’t even get my day in court to defend myself?”
    Grice hesitated, then said, “I’m not an unreasonable man. I’ll give you your trial. Ordinarily, since you were an officer, I’d leave you free on your own cognizance until your trial. But you’ve got a history of running, so you’ll await your trial in the guardhouse.” He nodded to Lieutenant Oakes. “March him to the guardhouse.”
    â€œThis is all a mistake!” Bret protested as he was taken into custody by the two soldiers who had come with Grice.
    â€œYou’ll get your day in court,” Grice said, done with him for the time being.
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    Grice let him sit in the guardhouse for two days