XII
Sergeant Weatherly squirmed under Charles’ gaze. “It weren’t no accident!”
Hank spat and crossed his arms. “I think we ciphered that out already, Sergeant.”
Charles pressed forward. “The arm, Sergeant!”
“Well, you see, Doc. When we went in that barracks … I ain’t never seen anything like it, and I pray to the Almighty I never will again. Lieutenant Cox, he stood up, and he … he … We put a dozen holes in him, but he didn’t fall. It took a shot to the head to, to take him down.”
Charles crossed his arms. “So you shot him because he murdered the other officers?”
“It weren’t just that. Cox had blood all over his face, his mouth … he was … he was eating Captain Lawson!”
Charles said, “Eating! You can’t be serious!”
“Serious as my eye teeth! He was still chewing, and Lawson’s arm had the bites torn out and—”
Major Wilson’s voice roared over them, “Sergeant! That is quite enough!” The major stalked toward them. “Sergeant, you recall my direct orders, do you not?”
“I do, sir, but—”
“Consider yourself fortunate if I don’t court martial you for insubordination. How would you feel about a month in the stockade?”
Charles interposed himself between the major and the sergeant. “I need a full explanation, Major. How can I help without knowing the full story?”
Major Wilson clenched the slender cigar between his teeth and blew smoke out his nose toward Charles. “With all due respect, Doctor, you’re a civilian. I cannot, under any circumstances, allow the truth of what happened here to spread beyond this camp.”
Charles waved the smoke away, heat rushing through his body. “You ordered Lawson’s arm removed post mortem? Since when does the army mutilate the dead? Unless you’re taking scalps, that is.”
Major Wilson drew back, and his eyes narrowed. “Indeed I did order it. His family need never know that he had been cannibalized, nor will Lieutenant Cox’s family have to deal with the stain of such a heinous dishonor. This was all merely a terrible accident. I asked you for a medical examination, but what you find is for my ears only. Understood?”
Something clicked in Charles’ thoughts like gears meshing. “Wait a moment. That man in there was shot by one of his friends, last night, by a man who just went crazy. The fact that this same kind of thing happened in two places on the same night tells me they’re connected.”
Major Wilson sniffed. “Nonsense! How could they possibly be connected?”
“Oliver McCoy said something,” Charles said, “something about one of his friends trying to bite him. It almost sounds like rabies.”
Hank stepped down from the doorway and approached. His face was grim and gray under the spattering of blood. “I hate to admit it, Major, but the boy might be right. My instincts are doing a war dance. When I was carrying that kid here, we were attacked by a pack of coyotes. A whole mess, maybe twenty of them.”
Charles’ mouth fell open.
Hank shook his head. “That boy might already be a goner.”
Wilson scoffed, “Attacked by a pack of coyotes.”
“Wilson, I don’t appreciate your tone. You don’t need to tell me they don’t come after people, much less in a pack. You want me to go fetch them and throw the carcasses on your fucking desk?”
Wilson bit down on his cigar.
Charles said, “Something doesn’t fit there. Rabid animals are not social. A sick animal would want to be left alone.”
“Before you ask, I didn’t see any frothing at the mouth,” Hank said.
Charles scratched his head. “Major, could your man, Lieutenant Cox, have had any possible contact with the dead cowboys? Could he have been bitten by an infected animal?”
“Impossible. My men have been on post for the last month.”
“No one leaves? Ever? Have there been incidents among the Sioux?” Charles said.
“As I said, there has been friction among the men. But among themselves …” The major shrugged and spat a bit of cigar. “You must ask the Indians about their own affairs.”
“Then let us speak to one of them,” Charles said.