Hard Country by Michael McGarrity Page A

the ground was soggy, and at times his horse sank above its fetlocks in the mud. He passed by a low butte with snow still clinging to the sheer south face, and soon the village of Ryado faded into a blur behind him.
    It would be slow going to Fort Union, but Kerney didn’t mind; he rode with the wind at his back and a wee bit of renewed hope that he still might find Patrick.
    * * *
     
    A cold camp and a clear, freezing night got John Kerney up and back on the trail long before dawn. He made good time on the hardened trail, which in places was more than a hundred yards wide, and by first light spotted the fort in the distance, the buildings harsh against the horizon, in stark contrast to the rolling, snow-covered prairie. He arrived early enough to find mule teams and freighters in the wagon yard readying to leave to take advantage of the improved conditions.
    The fort was a huge compound, far bigger than Fort Stanton, with rows of company barracks, officers quarters, married enlisted quarters, stables, shops, sheds, quartermaster storehouses, offices, and a hospital. Constructed out of adobe, fired bricks, milled lumber, and dressed stone, it was the finest set of buildings Kerney had seen since coming west. At the headquarters building he introduced himself to a company clerk and asked to speak to an officer. The corporal escorted him to another office and introduced him to Lieutenant Hendricks, the regimental adjutant, a stocky, bearded man with a clipped eastern accent.
    He started to explain his purpose and the lieutenant quickly cut him off.
    “Your name, sir, is enough to tell me why you are here,” Hendricks said sternly. He remained seated behind his desk and did not show the slightest courtesy. “Straightaway I can tell you that your son is with the post surgeon, Dr. William Lyon, and his wife. Dr. Lyon is on a leave of absence but asked me to advise you—if you presented yourself—that he and his wife wish to adopt your son. Your consent to allow them to do so would be most welcome. Virgil Peters told the doctor that the child was never in your care since his birth and you would likely welcome the opportunity to see the boy adequately cared for and properly raised.”
    Kerney looked at Hendricks in silence, trying to take in and size up what he’d been told. All he could hear was the ticking of the wall clock. He reckoned he’d been marked as a no-account who had abandoned his son, and nothing he might say to this officer, or the good doctor and his wife for that matter, would change that opinion.
    He felt no pleasure or relief, knowing Patrick was alive and safe. What circled around in his brain was the singular fact that Patrick had a chance for a good home and future, things Kerney held in short supply.
    “Mr. Kerney,” Lieutenant Hendricks prodded, his tone harsh.
    Kerney thought about his dead brother and young Timmy, about Ida, who—barmy or not—had cared for Patrick as her own, and Mary Alice, whom he should have loved better. “Patrick’s my son and I will not give him up,” he finally said.
    “I see,” Lieutenant Hendricks said flatly. “Do you read and write?”
    Kerney nodded.
    “Good.” From a desk drawer Hendricks took a paper, wrote on it, and gave it to Kerney. “That is the address of the War Department in Washington. You may write to Dr. Lyon there, if you wish to do so. Use the sergeant major’s desk in the outer office, but make haste, as the mail leaves at noon.”
    “You have no other address for him?”
    “I do not,” Hendricks replied. “The doctor and Mrs. Lyon are traveling extensively, visiting family throughout New England and Maryland. If you write to him at the War Department you are assured he will receive your correspondence.”
    “When will the doctor be coming back to Fort Union?”
    Hendricks shook his head and stood. “He won’t be returning. He is on leave pending new orders.”
    “What are his new orders?” Kerney asked.
    “I wouldn’t know,”