by Tony Roberts
He paused and looked out of the window at the driving snow blowing past. “Clearly we cannot proceed at the moment while we are experiencing blizzards. But we will move off once the weather turns, so I want everyone to be ready at a moment’s notice. In the meantime, training will continue as best we can. Our own regiment will be divided into three battalions, and we will be part of Custer’s along with companies C, E, I and L. We will begin mounted maneuvers with these other companies as soon as we are able to.”
With that they were dismissed to their barracks. The bad weather hampered their preparations but everyone knew sooner or later it would clear and then things would quickly begin to develop.
As it happened, the blizzards abated after a few days and they began to ride out along with the others in the battalion, riding in column, then cantering, stopping, dismounting and practising shooting. Every fifth man would hold the horses’ reins while the others knelt and fired. Then they’d mount up and ride off, get into formation and repeat again.
April came. Casey spent as much time with Lisa as he could whenever he was off duty. He had something to ask her. “You got a day off Sunday?”
“Sure,” she said, rolling onto him. She was well pleased. He was satisfying her and she was doing well in her job. Things were looking good. “You want to go to church or something?”
Both laughed. They each knew the other would avoid church as much as possible; Lisa because she had a gutful of it from her mother, and Casey, well he said he was an atheist and she took it at face value, but Casey had an aversion to religion for other more personal reasons. Something to do with his Curse. He was damned if he was going to pray to a prophet who had damned him for eternity.
“No. I want you to come to the fort. You’ve never been there, and I’m off-duty in the day but am on the guard roster at night, so I won’t be able to come here.”
“Oh,” she frowned for a moment. Then she brightened. “But that’s nice you want me to come see you. You’ll show me the fort, will you?”
“Yes, but I want you to confirm something for me.”
“And what’s that?”
Casey gave her a level stare. “I think I’ve found Stoneleigh.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
May 17th. The regiment rode out of Fort Abraham Lincoln and began heading west. The weather had improved in the second half of April and General Terry had decided to gather his strength and supplies before setting out. Casey and the others had fretted behind the walls and tempers were becoming frayed.
He had at least gotten confirmed that the man he had thought was Stoneleigh was indeed his quarry. Lisa had agreed that the man now calling himself Leigh was the man. He was in L company, part of Lieutenant Calhoun’s command. They were in the same battalion so at least Casey wouldn’t be too far from him. Leigh, as he should now be called, hadn’t made himself known because he had been on a charge of drunken and disorderly and had spent some time in the fort cells.
Casey had kept his distance as soon as Lisa had identified him. It had been a hard task once he knew this was the man he was after. On campaign there might be an opportunity to deal with him, but he had no wish to shoot the man in cold blood, at least not unless there was no other way. If there was a fight, then maybe the chance to do him in would present itself.
They were all riding out with the thought of what had happened to Crook’s raid in March along the Powder River. A short but vicious skirmish had ended with no resolution and a few dead on either side. Crook had been forced to retreat to resupply, and one of the converging pincers of the grand plan had been withdrawn. It was clear to both sides that nobody was going to step down. War was inevitable.
Colonel Gibbon’s column had set off a few weeks earlier and had run into trouble. Apparently, so the word had gone around, they were under constant harassment. Musson asked Casey what he thought about it all.
“Think we’re in for a tough time,” the scarred veteran replied thoughtfully. The natives would be fighting in territory they were familiar with, and their hit and run tactics would be well suited to the hills of Montana.
They rode to the stirring tones of Garryowen, the tune Custer had adopted as his signature. The man himself rode at the head of the column alongside the other senior officers. He was dressed in his yellow buckskin outfit, astride his chestnut horse, and his brothers Tom and Boston rode with him. His wife was with him, too, for the first day. When they camped at the Little Heart River, she was left behind.
Casey kept one eye on L company. Leigh was amongst those men and he was determined to get his hands on the bastard, sooner or later. For the moment he just concentrated on the job in hand, that of contributing to the moving of the natives back to their reservations, peacefully if possible, but he knew that it would probably end in bloodshed. He just knew it.
The column moved slowly west, their speed slow because of the huge wagon train they had. It stretched back miles and as it got drier and warmer, the dust began to become a problem to those further back. There were, in addition to the hundred and fifty wagons, three of the new Gatling guns which many hoped would be decisive should any combat occur.
They crossed the Little Missouri River at the end of the month. Casey was wondering where the hostiles were. The terrain was changing and hills were becoming much more frequent. Rivers and creeks began to appear more and more but this wasn’t too bad; the engineers made sure that the wagons could cross safely, and there was always the steamer Far West escorting them with more supplies that kept up with them.
Incredibly, the next day after crossing the Little Missouri, a snowstorm hit them. They had to take cover while it lasted. Casey was reminded of the weather he’d experienced in Russia when part of Napoleon’s invasion some sixty-four years previously. He calmed one or two of the men down who were a little scared of the unexpected weather change. “It’ll be fine,” he reassured them while they camped around a fire, sheltered by a circle of wagons. “Storm won’t last forever. It’ll be gone pretty soon, you’ll see. Just got to ride it out.”
He got up, as much to get his circulation flowing as any other reason. The fire was comforting, but he had a good reason to be off and moving out away from his comrades. Stoneleigh. Or Leigh. L Company was close by, because they were in the same battalion, and Custer wanted the battalion companies to get used to one another. The falling snow wasn’t too bad – it may be summer but that didn’t stop the occasional freak weather – but it was chilly and many soldiers were seeking the comfort of the fires or their blankets rather than be brave enough to walk about.
A few were morosely trudging about the perimeter on guard duty, stamping their feet, rubbing their noses and blowing into their hands. None had really expected such weather but it was a case of just having to get on with it. Casey had known far worse and this was nothing. He walked, head down, as if deep in thought, his carbine slung over his shoulder as per standing orders. Custer had made it clear all had to carry their weapon with them at all times, or else. Nobody knew exactly where the hostiles were, so best be safe than sorry.
L Company were on the edge of the wagon circle and Casey stopped by the edge of one of the wagons that formed the inner section where the supply train was safely sited. This gave a little more cover for him to look over the company. He lit a clay pipe he carried after fitting it with some tobacco and idly watched as L company came and went or sat around their fires. He blew a plume of smoke into the air and allowed his eyes to roam over group after group. Eyes that had seen far too much in eighteen hundred years carefully looked at each face and body. Many were discounted, but there were three whom he was interested in.
Once again he went over the three ahead of him. One by the camp fire to the right. Hmm, maybe. Needed to get a little closer to be sure. A second off to the left, stirring a pot of stew. His head was bowed a little too much but he could be the one. The last was sat half with his back to Casey so it was difficult to be certain, but he had the general look. Spotting him in camp and now
on campaign were two different things. Everyone was dressed differently and he had to be absolutely sure of his quarry before he took any action.
After ten minutes, a time in which his toes got colder, he discounted the one stirring the stew. Nose too big. The one to the left turned once to talk to someone walking past. Casey blew out a plume of smoke again and tapped his pipe against a wagon wheel rim. Normally these pipes were thrown away but there was a shortage of them so he would reuse it. He pushed away from the wagon and wandered across to the right and glanced twice. Nope, not the man there; it was the one to the left. Stoneleigh. Casey turned around and returned to his company. Now he was absolutely certain it was him. No doubt. He would have to find a way to isolate him and then deal with him.
The next day they rode on with the weather improving. They rode along through wide open plains with the occasional rise in the land here and there, following a low ridge that would then end and suddenly the land would roll back to reveal an open expanse of grassland, with more rises in the distance, browns, yellows, the occasional green speck, and greys and blacks of rocks that were dotted about here and there.
On horseback, Casey looked left and right with interest. This was a huge expanse of land, something similar to the Steppes of Russia. The column was a splash of color to the land, blues, yellows, bits of red. Most of the column were now in their more comfortable attire, the army issue jackets and hats having been replaced by straw hats and greys and browns of the various shirts that each individual preferred.
A long ridge stretched across their path in the distance and they topped it towards the end of the day and then on the other side saw a small watercourse running from left to right. It wasn’t deep or wide and was easily fordable. It was marked with a line of greenery, bushes, small trees and so on. Foxes ran off as they approached and overhead soared a few birds, eagles and other birds of prey.
General Terry rode off with an escort after they stopped. Travers came back after taking a leak and spat into the dirt, squatting next to the boiling pot. “General Terry’s rode off to find Gibbon, so I hear. Wants to locate him and co-ordinate the columns. Custer’s back in charge here.”
McFaddean grunted. “There goes the careful approach then. Expect us to go charging off into the hills any day.”
Some of the others nodded in agreement. One of the others laughed. “About time we got to grips with these damned Indians; hiding out in the wilderness and killing women and children. Custer’s the right man for the job.”
There were rumbles of support from a number of them.
“Tactic’s normally to go after their women and children and take them prisoner and force the braves to surrender that way. After all, there’s a lot of them out there,” Casey said, “and we don’t want to face all their might with our small numbers.”
“We’ve got the Springfield,” another pointed out. “And what have they got? Bows and arrows!”
“They’ve got Springfields too,” Musson pointed out. “And those Winchester repeaters.”
“The Springfield’s got twice the range of those things,” another soldier objected, “and we can pick them off at range before they get close enough to use those pop guns.”
“Not if there’s enough of them,” Casey said. What’s our normal tactic, to form skirmish line?”
“Yeah, with another company behind to give support. Why?”
The Eternal Mercenary shrugged. “Skirmish line of fifty won’t hold off a determined Indian attack.”
“Ah, you’re giving them too much respect; we have the Gatlings and Custer. They’ll run away, mark my words,” one of the others predicted.
Casey grunted. Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn’t. The terrain favoured the bigger force. If they picked a spot that the superior numbers didn’t matter, then it might be possible to win. He glanced at Musson who puffed out his lips and cheeks in a classic Gallic manner.
The next few days they carried on west, getting to the Powder River. They stopped and rested here, a depot being formed with plenty of supplies. General Terry returned after contacting elements of Gibbon’s column. They still hadn’t found the hostiles but the location where they could be was shrinking all the time. With columns moving in on them, it would only be a matter of time.
F Company was ordered, along with Companies B, C, E, I and L to go on a reconnaissance patrol to see if they could locate the natives. Major Reno was given command of this scouting expedition, but Casey was interested for another reason; perhaps he might be able to get Stoneleigh at last.
They rode out south up the Powder River, a wide but shallow watercourse with muddy bluffs here and there that went up at times to about fifty feet, but the banks were mostly flat grassy plains with trees and shrubs. The horses could be watered regularly. Casey kept his eyes on L Company, riding ahead, and he thought he spotted Stoneleigh. He made a mental note of the horse the man was riding, one with white fetlocks.
The first few days it wasn’t possible, because they were kept rigidly to their positions, but once they left the Powder and turned west he knew there was a better chance. The column became more ragged and strung out. The Gatling they had taken with them was slowing things down, and the scouts ranged further and further, bringing back reports to Reno continuously.
Casey’s chance came one evening as they stopped close to the Rosebud creek. Reno had decided to push on there because of further reports of many Sioux and Cheyenne lodges and they had stumbled across a huge trail left by countless men, women and children. The scouts were excited and spoke of a huge number. Reno decided he’d done enough to confirm that the Indians were heading up the Rosebud towards the Little Big Horn and was to return to Terry.
As camp was struck, a number of men went to collect water from the Rosebud, and Casey noticed Stoneleigh was one of them. Quickly volunteering to go from his group, he made sure he had his saber strapped on, and his carbine slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t intending to use his gun; it would be too noisy. A saber, however, well that was different, and he was an expert in blades.
The Rosebud had carved a slight depression in the land and there were pockets of undergrowth where the plains winds hadn’t scoured them. At a bend in the creek the soldiers were taking water, putting fresh amounts into their canteens, or leading a few horses to drink. Stoneleigh had a couple of canteens and was crouched by the creek’s edge when a shadow was cast over him. He felt the muzzle of a pistol grind into his ribs, partially covered by a canteen. “Get moving across the creek, now.”
The soldier slowly stood up, his face white with shock. “You’re dead,” he said. “How the hell…”
“Shut up and move.” Casey didn’t want to remain there like that with others no more than thirty feet away. The two splashed across into thicker undergrowth, Casey prodding Stoneleigh on, one arm around his shoulder as if they were buddies, his pistol pressed into Stoneleigh’s side. As they passed out of sight from any possible onlooker, Casey jerked Stoneleigh’s carbine off his shoulder, unfastened his pistol holster and threw the Colt and carbine to the ground.
“Now, you sonofabitch,” Casey growled, facing the silent and still white-faced Stoneleigh, “I don’t care who you call yourself. You’re one of Duggan’s unlovely gang who gang-raped that girl back in Idaho. I’ve been after you for a long time and finally I’ve found the last of you scum. You’re going to pay at last for what you did.”
“Is this what this is all about?” Stoneleigh asked, confused. “I thought you were getting even after I shot you!”
“That, too, but I was after you, Duggan and the other one for the rape of that girl.”
“She was only a whore, for Christ’s sake! All this over a stupid prostitute?”
Casey tightened his jaw. The urge to blow this evil piece of shit to pieces was almost too much. “She is a woman; it makes no difference what she does for a living. A man who does that to a helpless woman is no man. Now, asshole, defend yourself.” He tossed his pistol onto the ground, along
with his carbine. Slowly, he drew his saber out and stood there, waiting. “Come on, or are you too scared to fight because I’m a man?”
“Never,” the soldier said, drawing forth his own blade. “Big mistake, whoever you are; you should have shot me just now. I’m gonna chop you into little pieces.”
Casey snorted, then slashed hard, from left down across his opponent’s chest. Stoneleigh swatted the blow aside, but clumsily. Casey felt disappointed. All too often these days those whom he met blade on blade proved to be complete beginners. Was there nobody in the world left who was adept with a sword? Casey stepped forward, blade striking up from low to his right. Stoneleigh was too square with his stance and almost got his right arm sliced open. They circled, seeking an opening. Stoneleigh was worried; the two blows from his enemy had been so fast, so accurate, that he was now concerned about the next one.
Casey wanted this over with as fast as possible. Another attack but this one was a feint. Stoneleigh’s counter struck thin air, putting him off-balance. Before the former enforcer could react, Casey’s real attack cut through the man’s neck, almost severing his head. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Wiping his saber, he retrieved his pistol and carbine, then threw Stoneleigh’s into the creek. He may be found, he may not. Casey just had to be away and back with his comrades double quick. He got to the spot where he had crossed and saw a couple of men filling up so he moved upstream to the bend, then crossed over, keeping in the shelter of the undergrowth on both sides.
He reappeared in no time at all where the others were, filled up his canteens and returned to his unit. Nobody asked any questions and they all bivouacked down for the night.