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saved hundreds of lives, but not my eyes. That was beyond him.”
    Bishop hacked, his throat still burning, even as White Fox let him drink from a water bag. It went down cool, but there was still a taste of gunpowder and fire in his mouth and nose. That hot-metal taste brought the sound of screams and a battery of cannons back to Bishop’s ears.
    John Bishop looked at the dead men sprawled around the entrance to the cave, the light afternoon snow beginning to shroud them. But it wasn’t the memory of their screams he was hearing.
    It was the screams of Captain Creed, as he worked to remove the Howitzer shrapnel from around his eyes. Bishop slit his lids, and dabbed away each sliver of torn metal. It took hours, because Creed would stop him, and insist he help one of the other wounded, even as he cupped his hands over his eyes, to hold back their bloody wash.
    Bishop said, “The Battle of Buffington Island. You wouldn’t let me put you under.”
    â€œI was in command.”
    â€œYou were out of your mind with pain.”
    Creed said, “The pain was hellish for sure, but, Doctor, I was never out of my mind.”
    White Fox helped Bishop to his feet, and he said to Creed, “It was the infection that took your sight. You’d just been sutured; you never should have crossed that river.”
    â€œMy men needed me. I didn’t matter that I was wounded; it mattered that I lead.”
    â€œThat river was filled with bodies, disease. You slipped, and your bandages got soaked. Nothing was going to save your eyes after that.”
    â€œYou know the last thing I saw?”
    â€œYou’re going to tell me.”
    â€œThe bandages pained me, and I tore them off while I was in the bloody water. There was a body of a little girl who’d been shot in the throat, just moving with the river. I don’t know who killed her or why, but when I went under, her face was right in front of me and I looked into her dead eyes. Then mine were gone, forever.”
    â€œThen how am I to blame for what happened?”
    Creed kept his hand on Hector’s shoulder as he faced Bishop and said, “Because I choose to.”
    The gun with the head wound yelled, “What happens now? Firing squad? They took out half of us, they got it comin’!”
    Creed said, “I think I’d enjoy that, but it doesn’t serve the purpose. Doctor, tend the wounds of my men. The boy and your squaw can help. Then we march.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œA blind man can’t do much in the world. My ranch was lost, and my pension wouldn’t keep a dog fat. So now, I do what I have to do. Just as you are.”
    Bishop stood, picking up his field kit with his one hand. “And what do you think I’m doing?”
    â€œGoing after Beaudine and his gang of egg-sucking gutter trash.”
    Bishop regarded Creed for a beat, the mention of Beaudine’s name pulling him up short. Creed said, “I told you we’ve been tracking you for a while. You must remember I credit myself with knowing my enemies. I know all about it.”
    Bishop said, “Is this your get-back for your blindness? Deny me my revenge for my wife and son?”
    â€œThe world will be a better place without Beaudine’s gang. Hell, every one of them deserves to be shot, hung, and shot again.”
    â€œSo what’s your strategy, Captain? What are my orders?”
    Creed said, “You have wounded to attend to, Dr. Bishop.”
    â€œI need that device.”
    Creed threw it to Hector. “He means the breathing gizmo, not the shotgun. That rig’s mine.”

CHAPTER TEN
    Dead Letter
    â€œBrother John,
    â€œMy guess is that when you read this, I will be gone. We will have had a little talk, settle our scores, and considered what might have been if I’d taken a different road. I know you feel superior to your older brother, and probably with good reason. I have many thoughts to express,