~ Silver Fox ~

by

Joel Goulet

Colonel Brown rose to his feet behind the desk. It had been twenty-one years since last he looked upon the broad shouldered figure which now stood in the doorway—twenty-one years in which time had etched its passing upon the darkened face of the white-headed marshal. There was no mistaking; it was indeed the Captain Boedel he had known during their fateful voyage back in the Civil War days. Even time could not wipe away the distinctive traits; the sweeping brow, the thick eyebrows above dark, sunken eyes, the thick nose above the thin-lipped mouth, and his square-cleaved chin.

Boedel knew in an instant the man behind the desk was the same officer he had known so many years past. He could not tell by the man’s physical shape, for the once lean lieutenant had put on considerable weight through the years. Boedel could not tell by the man’s face, most of which was hidden by a thick, heavy beard. A scar ran across the bridge of his nose where once the cold steel of a Confederate saber blade had run its course. The colonel had thick, bushy eyebrows, thicker than Boedel recalled him having. But there was no mistaking the man’s eyes. They never change in a man. Boedel looked into the deep gray eyes, and in an instant he knew the man.

Colonel Brown walked from behind the desk and met Boedel a few feet inside the doorway. There had not yet been any exchange of words, when suddenly, the colonel’s right arm swung from his side. With a sharp smack, his fisted hand struck Boedel squarely in the jaw and toppled him to the floor.

The two lieutenants were taken aback by the suddenness of the assault. They stood as they were with a dumbfounded look on their faces. They didn’t seem to know if they were expected to do anything to assist their superior. Secretly, they both hoped Boedel would rebound from the floor and lay into “Old Brass Guts.”

Colonel Brown stood over Boedel, content by what he had just done. “I’ve waited a long time to do that, Captain Boedel.”

Rubbing his jaw, Boedel looked up into the colonel’s bloodshot eyes. “I heard you was killed in the last days of the Civil.”

“Do I look dead?”

“No, and you’ve got a hell of a memory... as well as a punch.”

The ends of Colonel Brown’s mouth curved up. “I swore if I ever got out of Florida alive, and ever ran into you again, I’d knock you off your feet. After all these years, it felt damn good.”

“That all depends on which end you were on,” Boedel said. “You look like hell after all these years.”

“You look like hell yourself.” Colonel Brown extended a hand and helped Boedel to his feet. “Just like we both looked back then. Don’t forget we went through hell.” With a hand gesture he dismissed his two lieutenants so he could talk with Boedel in private.

“You’re one hell of a sight for sore eyes, Colonel,” Boedel said. He rubbed his chin again.

“You’re surprised to see me?”

“More like amazed at seeing you.”

“I thought someday I’d be taking care of our problem by myself. It wasn’t a pleasant thought,” Colonel Brown said, his voice trailing off in the end.

“And my being here, does it make things better?” Boedel asked. Off hand he couldn’t think of anything would make their problem any better... except maybe six feet of dirt on top of him in some forgotten cemetery.

“It increases the odds of success,” Colonel Brown said. He wanted to believe there was a chance in their favor. But after all these years, he had more doubt than confidence.

“If indeed we can even hope for success. And really, success would be coming out of this alive. Failure is not a pleasant prospect to look forward to.”

Colonel Brown forced a chuckle. “Yes, well, at any rate, I figured someday I’d run into you, Captain... or I guess I should say, Marshal.”

“There’s something strange about this town,” Boedel said with a deadly serious tone to his voice and look to his face.

The colonel went back to the desk, opened a drawer and took from it the box containing Collins’ cigars. He offered one to Boedel who, knowing they were Collins’, and would most likely go to waste in the end, closed a big hand around several of them and tucked them away in an inside pocket of his overcoat.

“I know what you mean,” Colonel Brown said between puffs on one of the long, thick cigars. “I just got here, and I can already feel it. Feels just like in sixty-one. We’re not alone. We need to do some talking about it. Perhaps we can get together later today and do that.”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”