Edge: Killer's Breed

"I am telling you this, Hedges, because the more senior the officer in my regiment, the more he must understand my thinking. I am promoting you to captain and putting you in command of D Troop—replacing Jordan. I am not a puritan, but there are some facets of the darker side of human nature which revolt me. You will convey to the men under your command that any trooper discovered engaging in unnatural practices, will receive the severest punishment it is in my power to impose."

"Does that mean you'll shoot them, sir?" Hedges asked.

McClellan allowed the tiniest smile to angle up the corners of his mouth. "You catch on quick, Captain Hedges. Any questions?"

"No, sir."

The general delved beneath the papers on his desk and held out the insignia of the new rank. Hedges took them without changing his impassive expression. "That's all, Captain."

"Obliged." He saluted; executed an about-turn and left the commander-in-chief's tent. Outside he glanced down at the blanket-draped form of the dead Jordan. "It's an ill wind," he muttered before he moved away, thinking that Jamie would be able to put the extra money to good use at the farm.

*****

"I OUGHT to go and get the sheriff, mother," Grace Hope insisted. It was midday and the rain was still lancing from a low, slate-grey sky, exploding into beads against the windows, screening their view of the yard and the surrounding plainsland which had been turned into a sea of mud by the incessant downpour. The girl was at the stone sink, peeling vegetables while her mother stoked the range fire to roast the meat.

The elder woman sniffed. "If there's a horse in the country couId haul a buggy through a storm like this, we ain't got it, child," she answered.

"But you do agree that he's Josiah Hedges?" Grace asked.

"Not you nor me can be sure of that, Grace," came the reply. "Neither of us ever saw a wanted poster for that feller. All we know is that the stranger keeps rambling about Jamie and a farm."

"He's wanted in two states, mother," Grace pointed out. "He killed a man called Rhett in that very yard out there and then he shot a man named Tombs in Kansas."

Margaret Hope was sweating as the fire burned hotter and she drew the back of her hand across her shining forehead. "I ain't disputing that a man named Hedges done that," she said. "And you could very well be right that the stranger is that very man. But he ain't in no fit state to cause any more trouble for awhile. He ain't even been through his crisis yet."

"But he's getting better."

Margaret nodded. "Yes, he is, child. Nature will have her way and try to drive him to his limit when she figures he's least likely to fight it. But he's stronger already and he'll win."

Grace sighed and went to the window, rubbing at the smear of condensation with a clenched fist. By pressing her face hard against the damp pane she could just make out the oak tree with the mound and grave marker beneath it. When she had last looked, the rain had veiled every feature more than a few feet from the cottage.

"I believe it's brightening a little," she opined.

"About time it did," her mother answered.

"As soon as it stops, I'm going to town." The girl's tone was brittle, challenging.

"We'll see. Now get those peas shelled, child. Then attend to the bedroom fire."

Grace took a final look out into the yard, feeling that the tree and the grave beneath it became sharper in outline as she watched. Then she returned to the pre-mealtime chores. She wanted desperately for the stranger to be taken away from the house, for every second he remained, naked and helpless a few feet from her, she felt her emotions drawn towards him with a powerful, invisible force.

In the next room, unaware of the ambivalence his presence aroused in the mind of Grace Hope, Edge approached the high point of his fever as the angels of death gathered. It was not the first time they had hovered above him.

CHAPTER SIX

HEDGES was heading a six-man patrol over the Blue Ridge, out of the Shenandoah Valley. It was mid-July now and the Virginia summer was proving it could be as hot as that which turned the wheat from green to gold in Iowa. The men who rode in a column behind Hedges—Forrest, Douglas, Bell, Scott, Seward and a youngster named Haskins—were valuable, if in a muttering key, in their low opinion of the heat and the harsh pace set by the newly promoted captain. Hedges chose to ignore their complaints, recognizing the need for them to express their discontent and deciding that harsh words provided a harmless outlet for their resentment.

And resentment there was in full measure among the men comprising D Troop for although they saw in their new captain qualities of leadership far superior to those Jordan had possessed, he had proved just as much a disciplinarian as his predecessor. More so, in fact, because he was not content simply to insure the men were smartly turned out. Hedges insisted on regular attention to the horses and supervise daily drill parades and target practice.