In the Shadow of the Hanging Tree

by Michael A. McLellan

  “I knew there was something not quite right. No uniforms, Confederate prisoners, no drills. I asked Captain Lange what Colonel Picton and his men were doing, and he said ‘keeping the trails safe.’ ”

  “Is that what he said?” John mused. “That’s the army’s work, isn’t it? Picton claims he’s been tasked to do what the army can’t.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Start a war.”

  Sergeant Campbell was silent for some time. “You said he had you sign your discharge papers because the army couldn’t be involved in what he was doing. Did he have some of his own? Is he still a colonel?”

  John sighed. “I don’t know.”

  8

  They arrived at Fort Laramie the day after Henry had stood staring in silent disbelief at the slaughtered and mutilated Arapahos. Clara was provided a room in the officer’s quarters along with a basin of hot water to wash with. Afterward her and John were given a hot meal. Around four in the afternoon they were summoned to a small office overlooking the parade grounds. Captain Lange sat behind a cluttered desk looking irritated and out-of-sorts.

  “There’s been quite a commotion over you, Miss Hanfield. Please sit down.” He motioned to a lone chair in front of the desk. John remained standing.

  “You appear to be in good health. Your family will be happy to know it. I was told that you were rescued from your Indian captors by the colored scout, Henry?”

  “Yes I was. I am in his debt.”

  “Truly—”

  “Captain Lange, we were hoping to see General Moonlight,” John interrupted.

  Captain Lange glanced at John impatiently. “General Moonlight is chasing renegades. I will have to suffice. As I was saying, Theo Brandt, your father’s…representative, has left a five hundred dollar reward for Henry to show your father’s gratitude. How was it he was able to free you?”

  “He…he killed their chief.”

  “Did he? I wouldn’t have expected that, knowing how friendly he is with them.”

  “Captain, I’d like to discuss Colonel Picton with you,” John said. “It’s a matter of some urgency.”

  “What does Colonel Picton have to do with Miss Hanfield?”

  “Nothing, but if you’re finished questioning Clara—you can see she is well—I’d like to bring some disturbing events to your attention.”

  “I’m sure your urgent matter can wait a few more minutes. Now, Miss Hanfield, I’m ordering a detachment of men to escort you and Mister Brandt to St. Joseph where you can secure transport back to New York—”

  “She’s not going back to New York,” John said angrily just as Clara was saying the same thing.

  “Corporal Harnett?” Captain Lange called out.

  The door opened almost immediately, and a young soldier with a smattering of orange freckles across his nose and cheeks hurried in. He looked at the captain, then at Clara and John. His expression went from one of mild alarm to confusion.

  “Corporal, arrest this man and get him out of here.”

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me, Corporal.”

  The corporal drew his pistol. “Your sidearm,” he said, holding his free hand out for John’s pistol.

  “You’re arresting me on what charges?” John asked.

  “Who said I’m charging you with anything? Get him out of here, Corporal. Now.”

  John glanced at Clara who was staring at him wide-eyed.

  He smiled at her reassuringly and carefully removed his pistol from its holster and handed it butt first to the corporal. The corporal shoved it in the waistband of his trousers, then used his own pistol to motion John to the door.

  Clara leaped from her chair, sending it clattering to the floor. “No!” she cried and grabbed onto John’s shirt. “He hasn’t done anything wrong and neither have I (the money she took from her father’s study flashed briefly in her mind). We are leaving.”

  Captain Lange got up, came around his desk and took Clara firmly by her arm. “Holster your pistol, Corporal. Miss Hanfield, Mister Elliot will be freed as soon as you are well on your way back to New York. You can believe me when I say that I’d rather run barefoot through a briar patch than have anything to do with your personal affairs. The way things are, I’ve been ordered to see you off with Mister Brandt and that’s what I’m going to do. Corporal, take him to an empty room in the officer’s quarters and post a guard outside. Mister Elliot, if you make trouble I’ll have you put in shackles.”

  “Clara, we were wrong to come here,” John said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Move, Corporal. And find Lieutenant Blake and send him over.”

  Corporal Harnett took John by the arm to lead him away, but John shrugged loose. He gently pried Clara’s fingers from his shirt and squeezed her hand while he leaned over and kissed her on her cheek. “I’ll come for you,” he said as he released her. He nodded to the corporal and started toward the door. The corporal followed and closed the door behind them. Captain Lange released Clara, then righted the fallen chair. He stood holding it for her, but she only stared at him with blazing eyes, her lips pursed so tightly they nearly disappeared. After a moment he walked around the desk and sat down.

  Clara moved over to the window and gazed out at the empty parade grounds, wishing not for the first time that she’d been born a man.

  Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door.

  “Come ahead,” Captain Lange said.

  A soldier in his mid-twenties with a thick, sandy colored moustache and ice-blue eyes stepped in and saluted. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  The captain returned the salute. “At ease, Lieutenant. Pick twenty men—not the ones who just came in with you, take some who haven’t been out in awhile—and ready them to escort Miss Hanfield and her guardian to St. Joseph tomorrow morning.”

  The lieutenant glanced at Clara. “Sir, I just got back this morning—”

  “Did I ask you to speak?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then close your mouth. You’re going because I trust you. It’s very important that Miss Hanfield makes it safely to St. Joseph. Ready your men, outfit a wagon, and meet me back here for supper. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

  9

  Captain Lange surrendered his own quarters to Clara and left a guard outside the door. She paced the room angrily, at one point overturning a trunk full of the captain’s belongings—mostly letters—and then kicking them across the floor. Afterward she felt childish and tired. She sat on the narrow pallet and wept. The next thing she knew she was being awakened by a knock at the door. She sat up. The knock came again, followed by a tentative voice. “Miss Hanfield?”

  Clara stood and walked to the door. She opened it a crack. It was Sergeant Campbell.

  “It’s time to go, Miss Hanfield. There’s a wagon waiting for you.”

  “Sergeant, you must know this is wrong. Can’t you help us?”

  “What I know doesn’t matter much, Miss Hanfield. I’ve got orders and I have to follow them. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

  “John said he thought you might be someone he could trust.”

  Sergeant Campbell looked down at his shoes, turned, and walked down the short hall to the stairs. Clara shut the door and stood with her back to it.

  She looked at the mess on the floor for a moment, then got down on her knees and began picking up the scattered letters and other trappings of Captain Lange’s life at Fort Laramie.

  10

  Sergeant Campbell returned as promised, and silently led Clara out to the waiting escort. It was just after sunrise. Theo Brandt sat atop the wagon next to a soldier. He flashed his winning smile; the smile she’d always distrusted when he came to discuss business matters with her father. Often he would stay for dinner, and he would sit and smile that smile at her and her mother. “Your father and mother will be happy to have you home,” he said. Clara ignored him and climbed into the wagon. Once inside, she looked out at Sergeant Campbell.

  “
The horse I travelled here on, it belonged to Henry. Will you see it’s returned to him?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  “Will you look after John and make sure he’s not mistreated?”

  “I’ll do what I can for him.”

  “Goodbye, then.”

  “Goodbye, Miss Hanfield.”

  11

  Henry rode into Fort Laramie forty-eight hours after Clara had departed with Theo Brandt and twenty-one soldiers. He corralled Harriet, and walked toward the Alden’s store anticipating a cup of coffee and hopefully some biscuits before looking for John Elliot and Clara Hanfield. He was about halfway to the sutler’s when he was approached by a red-haired corporal—Harnett, he thought his name was.

  “Captain Lange wants to see you.”

  Henry looked at the store, then back at the corporal. “Now?”

  “He said the minute you got in. He’s had the whole fort watching for you.”

  Henry raised his eyebrows. “Where is he?”

  “He’s in General Moonlight’s office. Follow me.”

  They cut across the parade grounds and into a small building adjacent to the officer’s quarters. Corporal Harnett led Henry into the same small office that Clara and John had been brought to two days before.

  “Hello, Henry,” Captain Lange said from his seat behind General Moonlight’s desk.

  “Morning, Captain,” Henry replied warily.

  “Dismissed Corporal. Sit down please, Henry.”

  Henry sat.

  Captain Lange leaned across the desk and held out a small leather sack. Henry looked at it, then at the captain. “Go ahead, it’s yours,” Captain Lange said, giving the sack a shake. It produced a musical jingling sound. “There’s a hundred dollars gold in there. The Hanfield woman’s father put it up in appreciation for what you did.”

  Henry took the offered money figuring he would give it to Clara. “I reckon they made it back here, then?”

  “Safe and sound. Miss Hanfield is on her way back to New York—where she belongs if you ask me. A woman of her upbringing has no business on the frontier.”

  Henry stood. “Well, thank you.” He turned to go.

  “General Moonlight will want a report on the Indians who captured Miss Hanfield and murdered her escorts. He’ll also want to know how you freed her and where they’re located.”

  “It was Cheyenne Dog Men, twenty-five or thirty braves. They were camped on the White River. Only chance I came on them. I traded a knife for her.”

  “A knife?”

  “That’s right. I reckon they only took her because they didn’t want to kill a woman.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s not exactly how Miss Hanfield told it. You be careful what line you’re walking. Everyone mostly leaves you alone and you’re afforded courtesies most coloreds would be envious of…just remember whose side you’re on.”

  “I’ll be mindful.”

  12

  Henry wondered where John Elliot was. Captain Lange made no mention of him, and Henry didn’t want to appear interested. After all she told him, he couldn’t see Clara Hanfield deciding to go back to New York, and certainly not without John. Something wasn’t right. He began looking for Sergeant Campbell.

  As it turned out, Sergeant Campbell found him. Henry decided to go ahead and get the cup of coffee he’d wanted, and was sitting at one of the small tables in the Alden’s store when Sergeant Campbell walked through the doorway.

  “Thought you might be here,” Sergeant Campbell said, as he removed his hat and walked over.

  “Biscuit?” Henry asked as Sergeant Campbell sat down.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  “Would you like some coffee, Benjamin?” Ruby Alden called from somewhere out of sight.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Henry had a faint smile on his face.

  “That’s my name. She calls me by it because it’s her brother’s name.” He dropped his voice to a near whisper. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I was intending to find you once I finished here. I wanted to think about a few things first.”

  “Does it have anything to do with Clara Hanfield?”

  “A good portion of it.”

  Ruby Alden arrived with a steaming pot of coffee and a tin cup. “Here you are, Benjamin. Would you like some more, Henry?”

  “No, thank you, Missus Alden.”

  “You two should really try tea. It’s quite delicious. Give me a shout if you need anything else.” She walked away and disappeared behind the counter and into the store’s small kitchen area.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” Henry asked.

  “Is it true what John and Miss Hanfield told me about Colonel Picton—who may or may not even be a colonel.

  At least not anymore. Did he really attack a Cheyenne camp full of women and children?”

  “Yes. Then he and his men attacked an Arapaho camp down near the South Platte. Killed and scalped every single one of them. Seventy-three, by my count. Twenty-four of them children.”

  “My God. And you saw this for yourself?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I thought he was telling the truth,” Sergeant Campbell mused.

  “Who?”

  “John Elliot.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I’ll get to that. Captain Lange sent me and some men out to chase you and Miss Hanfield down after I told him you’d found her. Her father has quite a reach. Well, we ran right into her and John by the Platte; that was our second day out. John told me about the Cheyenne camp and everything Frank Picton said to him. But yesterday when I told Captain Lange what John told me, he laughed at me. He said Colonel Picton and his men arrived here to resupply the same day I went after you and Miss Hanfield, and that Picton had said a Cheyenne war party attacked him and his men unprovoked. Then he said that John refused to fight, and fled the field. Captain Lange says Colonel Picton and his volunteers are doing important work—like keeping dogs around your chicken yard; a deterrent. He said Picton’s protecting settlers, and that John Elliot is a liar and a coward.”

  “You think Captain Lange knows what Picton’s really doing?”

  Sergeant Campbell paused, seeming to think the question over. “No. No, I don’t. I don’t believe he knows much about anything. This post is a calamity—a disgrace, truth be told. What with the war, and the war ending, officers in and officers out, soldiers in and soldiers out: volunteers, regulars, galvanized Yankees, Indians. I don’t like Captain Lange much—I don’t believe anybody does—but he follows orders, plain and simple, and there are a lot of orders coming from a lot of different places right now.”

  “Would he send out some men to have a look at the Arapahos?”

  “I already asked if he’d let me take some men to either verify or refute John’s claims. He said I’d have to take it up with General Moonlight when he gets back if I’m that determined to ignore the chain of command and make an ass of myself.”

  “Will the general send someone?”

  “Not on your life. He hates Indians. If anyone’s privy to what Picton’s up to, it’s him.”

  “Isn’t there someone else we could tell?”

  “I’m only a sergeant, and you’re a scout. There’s no one.”

  “Where is Picton now, and where is John Elliot?”

  “Picton moved out four days ago, north. John’s in the officer’s quarters. Captain Lange put him under arrest until Miss Hanfield and that smiling-eyed dandy, Brandt, are far enough away that he can’t catch up and cause any trouble. The captain sent a twenty-one man escort with them to make sure they reached St. Joseph safely.”

  “Who’s Brandt?”

  “Theo Brandt. He’s the one I told you about. Him and three other men have been here for weeks, camped just down the river. He’s employed by her father, and travelled all the way here to bring her back to New York. I don’t know where the other three
went. They weren’t around the morning Miss Hanfield left, and their camp’s gone. My guess is once Brandt found out he was getting an army escort, he didn’t see the point in paying them any longer.”

  Sergeant Campbell took a bite of his biscuit and a sip of coffee. He looked over his shoulder toward the counter to make sure they were still alone, then turned back to Henry. “I’m going to let him escape, tonight. I need you to take his horse and gear downriver and wait for him.”

  “I was intending to let Harriet rest until this evening, then I was going to ride north. I have to track down Colonel Picton and warn The Cheyenne before there’s more killing—if there hasn’t been already. I’ll wait a couple more hours, I suppose—no more than that—if you reckon he wants to come along, but it’s my guess he’ll go after Miss Hanfield before he does anything else. Though, if it’s like you say, I don’t see what he’s going to be able to do for her. Probably just get himself arrested again, or worse, shot. Why are you helping him? You could put yourself in some hot water.”

  “During the war I always felt I was doing what was right. Since I’ve been here…I don’t know. I have half a mind to go with you myself, only I’d be in a lot more than just hot water if I did. John got a letter, it had been waiting here for him for a week or more. He told me it says his father shot himself dead back in New York. It’s a shame... anyway, John seems like a good man. It’s not much for me to forget to post a guard on his room tonight. I can’t give him his weapons or other gear without giving myself away, so he’ll have to make do. Whether he goes with you, or goes after Miss Hanfield is up to him. He wouldn’t be doing wrong either way, would he?”

  “I reckon not.”

  13

  Lieutenant Blake called a halt. Clara climbed out of the back of the wagon, her legs stiff from the long ride. It wasn’t even mid-morning but it was already hot. Her stomach was paining her more than usual, and she was feeling particularly tired and out-of-sorts. Her mood since departing Fort Laramie the previous morning had alternated between anger and despondency. The anger re-emerged every time she looked at Theo Brandt’s face. Her father’s henchman (that was how she thought of him) attempted to spark a conversation with her on several occasions. Clara ignored him. He appeared unperturbed, even when she afforded him a blistering look before turning away. She walked up the column to stretch her legs. Soon she would have to do her necessary, and possibly vomit. For now she fought back the latter and ignored the former. To Lieutenant Blake’s credit, he’d been stopping the column in places with trees or tall brush nearby. She was supplied with a chamber pot, but the thought of using it in the wagon with men on horseback only a few feet away horrified her. She would rather endure the stares at her back as she walked off behind the trees—these from the soldiers who otherwise went out of their way to avert their eyes from her.