“I wouldn't send out any patrols tonight,
Sergeant,” he said.
The sergeant looked at him. “Why?”
That was one bad thing about scouting for
the army, somebody was always wanting to know the reasons. And a lot of times
there wasn’t any reason, except for that vague intangible thing called hunch or
intuition that most white men mistrusted blindly, and wild animals and Indians
and some few white men, very few, stake their lives on. And a lot of times even
the tangible things were ignored, or never seen.
A solid novella of a cavalry operation selected as one
of the 100 Best by Mr. Lewis.
It hews to “lone patrol in the desert” form and offers
a “B-plot” on the true value of the fairer sex.
It resembles a mix between James Warner Bellah and
Ernest Haycox, and that is a fine hybrid to be.
No new ground is broken, but what ground covered is
welcome earthy soil.
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