“I’ll include her in the correspondence, my dear.
“Thank you,” Daphne Bennington said. She turned to her meal. “I feel better already.”
Chapter Five
The ambulance wagon bounced across the holes of an abandoned prairie dog village making Second Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley almost lose his place on the seat. There was one particularly nasty jolt when he came close to pitching forward onto the horse’s rump.
“Hang on, Lieutenant!” the soldier-teamster driving the vehicle warned. “This here open country has got all sorts of holes and hidden dips.”
“Oh, yes,” Ludlow said. “It seems quite rough.”
His personal gear, in the back where patients usually rode on stretchers, could be heard caroming and bouncing from side to side. Ambulances were used for passenger transport when available, since their shock absorbers and heavy framing offered slightly more comfortable rides.
~*~
The new second lieutenant had arrived at Fort Sill late the night before after a long, tiresome rail journey from West Point. It seemed as if he’d changed trains at almost every station before he finally arrived in Guthrie, Oklahoma Territory. From there he made his final leg of the trip to the small rail depot north of Fort Sill. He caught a ride on a quartermaster freight wagon that had picked up some crates to be taken out to the garrison.
When Ludlow arrived at the post he needed a place to stay until morning. An irritated post quartermaster sergeant, grumpy at being rousted from his bunk to tend to the needs of a brand new second lieutenant, had given him overnight quarters with an infantry officer. This gentleman was also annoyed at the arrival of the disheveled subaltern; the last thing he wanted was an overnight guest. However, he was anxious for first-hand news from back east, and kept the recent academy graduate up all night asking him questions. Newspapers from civilization—as troops in frontier garrisons called the eastern United States—were always a month old when they arrived in the mail. Ludlow, although heavily fatigued from the long journey, accommodated the man by answering his inquiries of current events in spite of nodding off to sleep now and then.
Early the next morning, Ludlow, feeling even more exhausted than when he arrived, was able to begin the final phase of the journey to report to his first duty station. The same quartermaster sergeant, still upset, secured the transport of an ambulance wagon to take him out to the U.S. Scouts’ bivouac at the Kiowa-Comanche Agency.
~*~
Now, bouncing precariously in his seat, Ludlow Dooley endured the trip across the open country with his slightly amused enlisted companion. “So you’re gonna serve under Cap’n Hawkins, hey, sir?” the driver asked with a flip of the reins across the horse’s back.
“Oh, yes,” Ludlow answered. “That’s what my orders said.” He coughed a bit from the dust bellowing up from the dry ground.
“He’s a hellraiser, that Cap’n Hawkins,” the teamster said. “Have you met him before?”
“No, I haven’t,” Ludlow said. “Actually, I’m only recently commissioned.”
“Why I wouldn’t have believed that, sir,” the soldier said, turning his head and subduing a laugh.
“Oh, it’s true, believe me,” Ludlow assured him. “Just a few weeks ago I was a cadet at West Point.”
They hit a particularly nasty bump causing the ambulance’s front wheels to bounce clear of the ground. The driver quickly grabbed the young officer’s arm. “Careful, sir! You’re gonna get throwed off that seat.”
“I’ll hang on tight,” Ludlow said. “Yes, I will.”
“Good,” the soldier said. “I can’t be delivering you to Cap’n Hawkins all busted up. He’d do the same to me.”
Ludlow grinned weakly. “The lieutenant I roomed with last night gave me a brief description of the captain. He must be quite exuberant.”
“Exuberant?” the driver asked, guffawing loudly. “Pardon me for saying so, but he is a holy terror, sir. Why, you know what they said he done down over in the Oklahoma Territory when he found out a town was harboring deserters?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on. “He burned the place down. Yes, sir! Then he whipped all the men in town and had his way with all the ladies; if you know what I mean.”
Ludlow, who didn’t have the slightest idea what the soldier meant, nodded nervously. “So he is the commanding officer of the U.S. Scouts? The very man to whom I must report?”
“Yes, sir,” the soldier said. “He’s been transferred out of his regiment and has set up camp with his new unit. The job he took calls for a tough hombre, all right. Why do you know that ever’one of them Injun scouts he recruited has scalped at least a hunnerd white men?”
“No, I wasn’t aware of that,” Ludlow answered with an audible gulp.
“Yes, sir! They’re Kiowa and Comanche warriors and they ain’t to be trifled with.” The soldier shook his head. “You’re starting out your army career in a hell of a fix, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir.”
“I don’t mind,” Ludlow said, grabbing on the seat rail once more time as the ambulance lurched first to one side than to the other. He glanced up and saw dark shadows on the distant horizon. “Is that the scouts’ bivouac?”
“Yes, sir. Your new home, Lieutenant.”
Twenty minutes later they rolled into the camp. Ludlow glanced around in wonder at what he saw. He had expected a normal military establishment, but instead there were three army tents; that wasn’t unusual, but behind them scattered helter-skelter, were five teepees. Several Indian women and children involved in various activities moved around and among the latter.
A glance to the other side of the bivouac showed Ludlow another strange sight. An army officer, identifiable as such only because he was wearing a regulation tunic along with buckskin trousers, was standing in front of the strangest soldiers that Ludlow could have imagined. They were a dark-skinned bunch garbed in cavalry uniforms with slouch hats. But their hair was worn in long braids and each had an individual arrangement of one or two feathers stuck in the hatbands of his headgear.
“My Lord!” Ludlow exclaimed.
The soldier grinned. “Welcome to the Kiowa-Comanche Detachment of the U.S. Scouts, sir.” He stood up and hollered. “Cap’n Hawkins, sir! Cap’n Hawkins!”
The officer turned to see who had hailed him. When he spotted the ambulance and the slim young officer perched on the seat, he left the Indian soldiers and walked in rapid strides toward the conveyance. Hawkins took the salutes of the two men on the vehicle. “Yeah?” he asked, puzzled. “What’s going on?”
Ludlow stepped down on the wheel to lower himself to the ground, but his foot slipped on the metal rim, and he fell to the dirt. Red-faced, he quickly got to his feet and saluted again. “Second Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley reporting for duty, sir!” he squeaked loudly.
“Glad to know you, Mr. Dooley,” Captain Mack Hawkins said. “But what duty?”
Ludlow pulled a sheaf of papers from his tunic. “I’ve been assigned to the Kiowa-Comanche Detachment of the U.S. Scouts, sir,” he said, handing over the documents.
Hawkins studied the papers. “I wasn’t expecting a new officer. Where the hell did you come from?”
“West Point, sir. I graduated a couple of weeks ago.”
The soldier interrupted. “I got the lieutenant’s gear in the back. Where should I put it, sir?”
Hawkins pointed to one of the tents. “Put it there. He can use that one for his quarters.”
“Oh, am I going to live in a tent, sir?” Ludlow asked. “That’s exciting. We only did that at West Point during summer encampments.”
“Mr. Dooley, as a member of the U.S. Scouts you’ll soon consider yourself lucky anytime you have a roof over your head. Even a canvas one. The quartermaster at Fort Lone Wolf is supposed to provide lumber and a work detail to construct some buildings for us, but he’s yet to receive any of the materials.”
“I see, sir,” Ludlow remarked, taken aback by the situation. Everything at West Point always happe
ned on schedule and were tended to properly.
“Anyway, there’s a cot and some camp furniture in the tent already. Meanwhile, I’ll give these orders a good going-over.”
“Yes, sir!” Ludlow Dooley said. He saluted again, then turned and followed the soldier who lugged his footlocker into the tent. The man had to go back three times to get all the new lieutenant’s belongings. When that was taken care of, Ludlow inspected the habitat. He found a cot, some blankets, a footstool, camp table and chair, and a frame on which to hang his uniforms.
Hawkins joined him in the tent. “The ambulance is on the way back to Fort Sill. I’ll introduce you to the men, then you and I are going to have a bit of conversation.” He looked at the skinny young man. “Are you sure you were picked for the U.S. Scouts?”
“Oh, yes, sir!”
“Can you ride?” Hawkins asked.
“A horse?”
“Of course a horse, godamn it!” Hawkins snapped. “The U.S. Scouts isn’t a bicycle brigade!”
“Of course not, sir. Excuse me, sir.”
“Well? Can you ride a horse?”
Ludlow bit his lip, glancing over at a corral where seven cavalry mounts were confined. He turned back to the captain, saying, “I completed my equitation courses at West Point. I even received a passing grade, but I’m afraid I must confess I am not considered an expert rider. I need a lot of practice.”
“We’ll take care of that when the time comes,” Hawkins said, looking irritably at the large amount of personal property Ludlow had brought with him. “You can finish settling in later. Let me introduce you to the detachment.”
“Oh, yes, sir!” Ludlow said, following the captain out of the tent and over where the five Indians stood in formation.
Ludlow took a deep breath to fill out his narrow chest as he threw his shoulders back. He wanted to display a commanding countenance when he met the detachment. But he suddenly felt a stab of nervousness as they drew closer. The Indians were tough-looking men with an ambience of savagery about them in spite of the army uniforms. Ludlow decided it was the braided hair and feathers that kept them from appearing as one hundred percent soldiers. They seemed to regard him with a bemused sort of curiosity.
“Now listen up, scouts,” Hawkins told them. “This is Lieutenant—” He looked down at the set of orders in his hand. “—Ludlow Dooley. He is second-in-command under me.”
Tall Bear stepped out of the formation and walked up to Ludlow for a closer look. The half breed circled the new officer, giving him an appraising study, then he removed the lieutenant’s cap, revealing the shock of blond hair. Tall Bear pointed and laughed. “Ha! Ha! Him look like him got straw for hair.”
The other scouts joined in the laughter, and even Hawkins grinned. “Get back into formation, Scout Tall Bear. You’re forgetting your drill. Remember what I taught you? You’re not supposed to step away until you’ve been properly dismissed.”
Tall Bear saluted and walked back to his place.
“I want the lieutenant to get to know you,” Hawkins said. “When I call your names, raise your right hands. Do you remember which is your right?” The Indians immediately stuck out their right feet to show they knew the correct side of their bodies. “Well, done,” Hawkins said. “Sergeant Eagle Heart!”
Eagle Heart held up his right hand and nodded to the lieutenant.
“Corporal Running Cougar!”
The other noncommissioned officer did the same.
“And here we have Scout Tall Bear, Scout Swift Horse and Scout Red Moon,” Hawkins said. “All right. Sergeant Eagle Heart, take charge of the men and dismiss the formation.”
Eagle Heart marched up to Hawkins and saluted. Then he made a passable about-face. “Detachment!” he called out. “Dis-missed!”
The Indians broke ranks and walked off toward their lodges where their women and children waited for them. Hawkins motioned to Ludlow. “Let’s go to my quarters and have a chat.”
They walked over to the captain’s tent and went inside. Ludlow settled down on a chair in front of the desk. Hawkins went around to the other side and took a seat. “So you’re recently graduated from West Point, hey?”
“Yes, sir. I was wondering what class you were in, sir.”
“I never attended the academy,” Hawkins said. “I was commissioned from the ranks. I was an honest sergeant earning my pay the hard way; then one day they slapped straps on my shoulders and here I am.”
“Yes, sir,” Ludlow acknowledged. He found the captain’s appearance intimidating. This was obviously the type of man who could be physical and rough if he wanted to be. Hawkins reminded the young lieutenant of the schoolyard bullies he’d known as a boy.
“Well, Mr. Dooley, what do you think of the detachment?”
“I’ll speak frankly, sir,” Ludlow responded. “I don’t know what to think. I wasn’t prepared for this. I am in complete ignorance as to what the U.S. Scouts are supposed to do. I saw a report at West Point which spoke of chasing deserters, enforcing the law, acting as escorts and the like.”
“Basically, they’re supposed to do what they’re ordered to do,” Hawkins said. “But you’re correct in what you said. Our main duties are exactly those. You can be sure there will be some danger and action involved.”
“Fine with me, sir. I’m hoping to find some excitement since I’ve come out west.”
“I like that attitude,” Hawkins said sincerely. “But let me speak straight out. Are you sure you’re ready for the kind of life you’re going to find in the scouts?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean, you aren’t a real strong-looking fellow, Mr. Dooley,” Hawkins said. “Wouldn’t you be happier in the adjutant general or quartermaster general’s departments?”
“I want active duty, sir,” Ludlow said. He hesitated, then added, “I have something to prove.”
“Oh you do, huh?” Hawkins remarked. “There’ll be some danger involved from time to time in this unit. By that, I mean exchanging gunfire during the performance of our duties.” He read some more of the young officer’s scant records, shaking his head. “You didn’t do real good there at West Point, did you?”
“No, sir,” Ludlow admitted. He sighed. “The only reason I managed to get a cavalry commission was for assignment to the U.S. Scouts. If it hadn’t been for that I’d have gone to the infantry. I’m sorry I don’t come more highly recommended.”
“Don’t be sorry, Mr. Dooley. This might turn out to be a blessing. By the way, if you’d checked your papers closer, you’d see that your commission in the cavalry isn’t necessarily a permanent one anyhow. It’s only in force as long as you’re assigned to the U.S. Scouts. Which, as you know, isn’t exactly as good as a straight out posting to a cavalry regiment. Hell, you might end up in the infantry after all. But I don’t hold any of that against you. I wasn’t much when it came to book learning myself.”
“I just donned my army blues and came out here,” Ludlow said. He almost mentioned his father’s objections to the whole thing but decided against it. However, he felt he had to speak candidly to his new commanding officer. “I got in a lot of trouble at the academy, sir. I tried my best, but things just seemed to get out of hand now and then. But I’m determined to be a good officer.”
“All right then, Mr. Dooley, as far as I’m concerned you have a clean slate. You make what you can of this assignment. If you do well, you’ll fit in. If not, then I’ll take care of the situation. And what the hell? I’m here because I got into a lot of trouble too. My regimental commander used the establishment of the U.S. Scouts as an excuse to get rid of me. I tell you what. Let’s work together and turn these untrained Indians into a fine military unit.”
“Yes, sir!” Ludlow said, suddenly feeling better. He could see there was a side to Captain Mack Hawkins that showed he led by example and was quick to praise success. Of course that also meant he would be just as quick to damn failures.
Hawkins settled back in his chair. “
Let me bring you up to date. I’ve spent the last week instructing the scouts in the rudiments of drill. They’re highly intelligent fellows and learn fast. Teaching them basic sanitation, customs of the service, proper care of weapons and equipment will also be easy.”
“Have you had any problems at all with the Indians adapting to the Army?” Ludlow asked.
“Only where weapons are concerned,” Hawkins replied. “During the campaigns, the Indians often modified their pistols and rifles with decorations. The evening after they received their Springfield carbines, I heard some tap-tap-tapping sounds in one of the teepees. When I investigated I caught them decorating the stocks with brass tacks they had purchased at the trading post. I made them pry out the unauthorized adornments, which they did reluctantly.”
“The soldier that drove me out here said they fought against the Army,” Ludlow remarked.
“He was exaggerating quite a bit,” Hawkins replied. “These fellows were barely old enough to be warriors when the treaties with their tribes were signed. But they saw the war against the Army first hand by participating in a few minor skirmishes, so they inherited the warrior traditions of their people. The problem we have is changing their style of fighting from seeking individual glory to working as a disciplined team of soldiers.”
“I’ll do my best to help, sir.”
“You be damned sure you do, Mr. Dooley,” Hawkins said. “I’m going back to drill them some more this afternoon. You go on and settle in and be ready to report for duty first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, sir!” Ludlow replied. He stood and saluted.
The lieutenant left the captain’s tent and headed back for his own. On the way he spotted the outhouse latrine between the army tents and the teepees. Since the bumpy ride out in the ambulance had given his kidney’s a good shaking, Ludlow decided he needed to use the facility in the worst way. Noting the door of the structure was ajar, he figured it empty. When he pulled it open, he was startled to see an Indian woman, her calico skirt hauled up around her waist, relieving herself. Rather than sitting on the hole, she was squatting over it.
Crossed Arrows (A Long-Knives Western Book 1) Page 5