Madora said, "You remember him?"

"Three-cents," Flynn said. "He worked with me awhile."

"That red son's better than a bloodhound," Madora said.

A sign marked the adobe headquarters. Black lettering on a whitewashed board to the right of the door: TROOP E-SIXTH U.S. CAVALRY.

A trooper who had been at parade rest by the door took their reins and they went inside.

By the left wall, an officer, holding a kepi in his hand, came up quickly off the bench that was there and Flynn knew that this was Bowers. He glanced at the sergeant seated behind the desk and nodded, then looked back at the officer. A young man-no, he looked more a boy-above medium height, red hair cropped close and a pinkish clean-lined face with a serious set to it. His dark brown eyes held the question, though it was plain he was trying to seem incurious.

"Bowers?"

The young man nodded.

"Dave Flynn. You know Joe Madora."

The officer nodded again, taking the outstretched hand. His grip was firm and he returned Flynn's close inspection as they shook hands.

"We had a divisional commander named Bowers."

"He was my father."

"Good soldier."

"Thank you."

Then Flynn beckoned to the door leading into the post commander's office. "Is Deneen in there?"

Bowers nodded. "With Lieutenant Woodside."

"Have you seen him yet?"

"Only for a few minutes."

"He hasn't explained anything, then."

"I don't see the necessity of an explanation," Bowers stated. "I've already received my orders."

"May I see them?"

Bowers hesitated.

"Look, I'm on your side."

He drew a folded paper then from inside his jacket. "You are mentioned here," Bowers said quietly. "I assumed, though, that this would be discussed in a more private manner."

"I won't tell a soul," Flynn said. He glanced at Bowers' serious face and wanted to smile, but he did not.