Johnston called out, “Hello there, Dewey.”
Major Harold Dewey glanced over. “Well! What are you doing out in this neck of the woods, Johnston?”
“I have an administrative detail to take care of with Colonel Bennington. So what are you up to?”
“I have to deliver payrolls down to some garrisons in Texas,” Dewey replied. He pointed over at the detachment. “There’s my guard detail.”
One of the officers with the Indians rode up to Johnston. “Good morning, sir. I’m Cap’n Hawkins.” He offered his hand.
Johnston shook with him, thinking, so this is the officer I have to investigate regarding a dishonorable discharge from the service. He said, “Pleasure to meet you, Captain.”
The ambulance driver approached and picked up Johnston’s valise. “I’m supposed to take you down to Fort Lone Wolf, sir.”
“Lead on, trooper.”
The two walked over to the ambulance as the scout detachment dismounted to lead their horses into the train’s cattle car. Dewey called out of Hawkins, “detail a couple of those Indians to carry the strong box to the passenger car with me.”
“Yes, sir,” Hawkins replied. He detailed Red Moon and Tall Bear for the task.
The paymaster, with the scouts following him, walked down the length of the train. Hawkins watched him with an instinctive sense of trepidation. Something about the major didn’t ring true as if he had some sort of agenda or purpose other than delivering the payrolls.
~*~
Major Johnston, the department inspector general, endured an hour of travel before he arrived at Fort Lone Wolf. Now, with a fresh cup of coffee in front of him, he sat across from Colonel Bennington in his office. The post commander was grinning. “So you met Hawkins at the railhead, did you?”
“Yes, sir,” Johnston said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“I suppose not,” Bennington said. He reached in his desk and pulled out a thick packet of papers. “These are the records of Hawkins’s transgressions.”
Johnston opened the documents and gave them a quick perusal. He found items such as burning down a town in the Oklahoma Territory—beating up a whiskey peddler for trespassing on Indian lands—illegal forays into Mexico during the wars with the Apaches—conducting himself in an insolent manner in his dealings with superior officers—allowing a company laundress to live apart from a husband who beat her repeatedly. All these were serious breaches of military discipline.
Johnston looked up at Colonel Bennington, asking “What about the inappropriate relationship with the present school teacher at the Kiowa-Comanche Agency school?”
“All the information regarding that sordid affair is in the statement written by my wife based on her observations at the agency,” Bennington said. “I’m sure you noticed the corroborating statement from the agent Mr. Elmer Jordon.”
“I did,” Johnston said, putting the depositions in with the other documents. “I’ll take all this to my quarters and study them for the rest of the day. Then I need some appointments set up so I can interview various officers and noncommissioned officers who have served with Captain Hawkins.”
“Everything will be arranged,” Bennington promised. “How does it look right now for the captain?”
Johnston stood up with a serious expression his face. “Sir, it seems a sure bet he’s going to be dismissed from the Army.”
~*~
Second Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley sat on the hay-strewn floor of the swaying cattle car reading an unexpected letter that had caught up with him at Fort Lone Wolf. A harried mail clerk had spent a couple of days trying to locate the scout detachment to deliver the piece of mail to Ludlow. When he heard they had arrived at the garrison, he wasted no time in tracking them down to hand over the correspondence and finally be rid of it. He had caught up with the lieutenant just as the scout unit had left for the railhead.
The letter was from his mother and the young lieutenant’s happy anticipation as he opened it was soon dashed with the first words past the salutation. She complained for three pages about his not returning home as he had been told to do by his father. The next couple of pages detailed the extent of Mr. Dooley’s outburst of temper at finding that Ludlow not only displayed every intention of not returning to the family home, but had gone on to report for military duty at Fort Lone Wolf, Indian Territory.
The letter ended with the news that his father had gotten into contact with Congressman James Smithers, and the politician would soon have the administrative wheels in motion to get Second Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley out of the Army permanently and as quickly as possible.
Ludlow folded the letter and stuck it in his tunic pocket. He glanced at the horses, saddled and ready for a quick response to any emergency, then shifted his gaze toward the open sliding door where Captain Hawkins and Sergeant Eagle Heart stood. The pair looked out at the vast prairie view that rolled past the train. The lieutenant got to his feet and walked over to join them.
Hawkins nodded to him. “Been napping?”
“No, sir. I received a letter from my mother. This was the first chance I had to read it.”
The captain noticed the young man’s downcast expression. “I hope there’s no bad news.”
“No, sir,” Ludlow replied, wanting to change the subject. He pointed out the door, saying, “That’s a lot of wide empty country out there.”
The terrain that the train sped across was virgin prairie. No plow had ever split the dark rich earth; no well had ever been sunk there nor road cut through its covering of heavy grass.
“It’s vast and vacant now,” Hawkins remarked. “But the day is coming when it’ll be filled with towns and farms during the next twenty-five years or so. Then the frontier days will be over. Texas and the Indian Territory will be just like Ohio or Indiana or any other state.”
“Such as New York,” Ludlow interjected. “There are still some uninhabited areas of my home state, but they’re certainly not as immense as in this part of the country.”
Eagle Heart made a sweeping movement with his hand. “One time there so much buffalo they cover the ground as far as you can see. And many antelope and elk. Good hunting all the time. The Indians never had hungry. We rich. Our women happy. Then we give it up in treaties for farms.”
“Nothing stays the same,” Ludlow observed. “It’s progress, I guess.”
“Progress for the whites,” Hawkins said. Now it was he who wanted to change the subject. He felt a pang of sensitivity for his participation in the conquest of the once proud tribes of the plains, though he had been doing no more than his duty. “I’m going to catch a few winks. Sergeant Eagle Heart, keep a man posted here at all times for a lookout.” He glanced at Ludlow. “Don’t forget what I told you about learning to nap whenever you can, Lieutenant. A good soldier can store up sleep like a cat. That means with one eye open and ready to jump up at any time.”
“Yes, sir. Extremely good advice, I’m sure.”
Hawkins went over to the other side of the cattle car and settled down in the hay, using his bedroll for a pillow. Ludlow stayed with Eagle Heart until Swift Horse came over to stand guard. After a few moments the lieutenant went back to his own spot to follow the captain’s example.
The letter from his mother was proving to be extremely upsetting. Ludlow had taken on a monumental task by becoming an officer in a robust outfit that would be operating under the most trying and dangerous circumstances. Deep in his heart he knew he’d gotten himself into a demanding situation that had the possibility of proving too much for him. It made him sensitive to the fact that he faced more than just one moment of truth when it was obvious that many demands requiring his utmost efforts were ahead of him. He hoped he would have what it took to meet those challenges.
The young man needed encouragement, not a scolding at that particular moment in his life. On an impulse, he got to his feet and went to the door. He pulled the letter from his pocket, wadded it up and threw it out.
Swift H
orse sensed something was wrong. “Your heart heavy?”
Ludlow was surprised at the Kiowa’s perception. “Yes. I suppose that is an accurate judgment of my present mood.”
“You look for woman,” Swift Horse suggested. “Then go someplace and get drunk.”
Ludlow, who hadn’t much experience with either women or liquor, didn’t know if that would really help or not. At any rate, he didn’t have a good idea about the proper way to do either one. He was unable to enjoy watching the scenery, and returned to his place and settled down once more. After a while, between his lack of sleep the previous night and the rhythmic clacking of the train’s wheels, Ludlow Dooley drifted off.
He had some disjointed dreams that carried him into a disturbing, phantom world between West Point, his home in New York City, and the U.S. Scouts’ bivouac. He tossed and turned until the train began to screech as it came to a sudden violent stop. A glance at the door showed him the strange sight of Swift Horse firing his carbine. Now Ludlow fully realized the train was no longer moving. Hawkins, his pistol in hand, rushed to the door. He peered out, then ducked back as splinters flew from a splattering of bullets around his head.
Ludlow, responding out of instinct, drew his own pistol though he didn’t quite know what to do with it at the moment. He hurried over to join the captain.
“Keep back, Mr. Dooley,” Hawkins warned him. “The train’s being hit by a large group of bandits.”
“My God!” Ludlow exclaimed. “Oh, my God!” Here, unexpectedly, was a chance for some real action. “We must put a stop to that.”
“I agree,” Hawkins said, taking a careful look out the door. “But they’ve got this car covered. If we jump out, we’ll be shot to pieces before we hit the ground.”
As if to emphasize the point, more bullets smacked and ricocheted around the car’s exit. Hawkins ducked back and dropped to the floor. He pointed his pistol out the door without aiming and methodically pulled the trigger, firing blindly in the direction of the bandits. When he was out of ammunition, he called out, “Mr. Dooley, trade pistols with me. And load mine.”
“Yes, sir!”
The two traded guns back and forth three more times as Eagle Heart followed the same example with his Springfield carbine as he fired and exchanged it for a loaded one. The model 1884 weapons were single-shot breech-loaders, making it a bustling activity for the Indians as they had to reload and exchange carbines with each shot.
The battle peaked, then rapidly dropped off until there were no sounds except men shouting outside the train. Hawkins chanced a look. “It’s clear!” he announced.
The captain slipped out of the car and, with Ludlow and the scouts behind him, trotted up to where he could see Major Dewey standing with the other passengers. Hawkins didn’t bother to salute. “The payroll, sir?”
“The sons of bitches got it!” Dewey said through clenched teeth, not paying attention that the language he used shocked nearby female passengers. “They came straight to me and took that godamned box while you and those godamned Indians were back there in the cattle car.”
“Which is where you ordered us to be, Major,” Hawkins snapped back. “I told you we should have been up here with the money.”
“I won’t stand for insubordinate backtalk,” Dewey snarled.
“I’ll mount an immediate pursuit,” Hawkins said. He started to turn away, but Dewey stopped him.
“The hell if you will,” the major shouted. “I’m not turning a bunch of wild Indians loose on Texas. We’ll inform the post commander at Fort Richardson of the robbery. He’ll make arrangements for any pursuing that must be done.”
Hawkins’ temper flared. “Now, listen, Major—”
“No, Captain. You listen! I’m giving you an order. Now take yourself, that shavetail and those godamned Redskins back to the cattle car and reboard the train. And I mean now. Now!”
Hawkins, trembling with rage, thought about decking the major then and there. But he knew that was not the time to lose control when cool thinking was necessary. He motioned to his detachment and led them back to the car.
“This is a hell of a note,” he grumbled. “It was bad enough being stuck back here where we couldn’t any good. Now that bloated pay department bastard won’t let us go get the money back.”
The scouts, well aware they had been insulted, were stone-faced and silent.
“I say, sir,” Ludlow spoke up. “If I recall the orders we received, they stated we were to accompany the payroll and guard it. The instructions were issued by departmental headquarters at Fort Sill. Not the paymaster.”
“You could be right,” Hawkins said as he reached inside his tunic and withdrew the documents. He quickly read them and handed them over to Ludlow. “Look at ’em again and read ’em like a real smart West Point graduate. Make sure you understand the instructions completely.”
“Yes, sir.” Ludlow methodically perused the orders. “It’s like I said, sir. We don’t answer to the major.”
Hawkins laughed. “Right!” He gleefully rubbed his hands together. “Sergeant Eagle Heart, get the mounts and equipment off that car. We’re going after the bandits.”
The Kiowas whooped and began the task of unloading the animals and gear from the train while Hawkins and Ludlow hurried back to the major. This time the captain saluted. “Sir!”
Dewey looked at him and groaned. “Now what?”
“When you get to Fort Richardson, tell the post commander the Kiowa-Comanche Detachment of the U.S. Scouts is in hot pursuit of the bandits.”
“What?” Dewey roared.
“And we’ll continue the mission until we recover the money and bring back the criminals,” Hawkins said. “Have a nice trip, sir.”
“I am ordering you back to that damn cattle car!” Dewey yelled.
“Sorry, Major, but our orders are directly from the departmental commander and instruct us to guard the payroll.” Hawkins pointed across the open prairie. “And since the payroll went thataway, so will we.”
“You’ll do no such thing!”
“Sorry, sir, but those are our orders,” Hawkins said.
“You will stay aboard this train!”
“With all due respect, sir,” Hawkins said. “Piss up a rope.” He saluted and, without waiting, left the sputtering major to return to the detachment.
Hawkins went directly to his horse and got into the saddle. “Prepare to mount,” he ordered Ludlow and the Indians. “Mount! Form into a column of twos! For’d, at the gallop, yo!”
The detachment, with Ludlow Dooley hanging on to his horse, rode rapidly across the flat terrain, topped a rise, then dropped down onto a wide stretch of open country. Ludlow rode nervously, afraid he’d be tossed from the saddle each time his mount galloped over the rougher stretches of ground. He noted how easily and casually the captain and the scouts rode. It was as if they had become one with their horses.
The tracks were easy to follow at that point. The only thing the bandits had concentrated on was making good their escape. They had ridden fast and wild, leaving a tramped trail through the deep prairie grass. Hawkins finally slowed the pace to keep the animals from tiring too quickly, and he pressed on for another hour until they reached a spot where the ground was particularly torn and slashed from horses’ hooves.
Eagle Heart slid from his mount and went to the place, looking around. “They stop here, Cap’n Hawkins. Maybe have parley.”
Running Cougar joined him. He examined the area, then pointed in several directions. “They split up. Some go straight west. Not many. Others go south.”
Tall Bear, Swift Horse and Red Moon joined the two scout non-commissioned officers. They also searched the ground in the area. After a few moments Red Moon yelled out, “Ah! Blood. A little trail.” He followed it for a few yards, going into a stand of cottonwoods. “Dead man here!” he called back.
Everyone went over to take a look. When they arrived, they found a dead bandit, his shirt stiff with dried blood. Hawkins dismount
ed to take a closer look. “Well, we seem to have plugged at least one of the son of a bitches.”
Ludlow, being curious, also dismounted. He walked over and looked at the cadaver. He had seen dead people before. But that had been at funerals or, as in the case of his grandfather, on a deathbed. This was the first corpse he’d looked at that was the result of a violent end. The man’s eyes were open and his lips drawn back over his teeth. His clothes were disarranged, probably from an examination by himself or his friends of his wounds.
“He bled to death,” Hawkins said. “I’ll say one thing for him. He was a tough bastard if he held on during a wild ride all the way from the train over to here.”
“It his day to die,” Eagle Heart philosophically observed.
“Ha!” Hawkins said. “His pals took all his valuables off him.”
“Yes, “ Ludlow said. “The poor fellow’s pockets are inside out.”
“They left his boots,” Hawkins observed. He pulled one off, examined it, then tossed the piece of footgear away. “Not worth much anyhow.” He looked at Ludlow. “Make a note of this, Mr. Dooley. One dead white man, about thirty years old, with black hair, five and half feet tall, maybe a hunnerd-and-forty pounds, with—” He bent down for a closer look. “— brown eyes.”
Ludlow Dooley pulled his notebook and pencil out, writing the description as fast as he could.
Hawkins walked up to the point where the tracks split off from each other. “I’d say the majority of ’em stuck with the money. so we’ll follow the trail south.” He walked up to his horse. “Let’s mount up, Scout Detachment. This here patrol has just started.”
Ludlow finished the notes, then hurried over his horse.
“Snap it up, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“By God!” Hawkins exclaimed. “Something just dawned on me. You’re having the first real excitement of your career, aren’t you?”
Ludlow felt a stab of enthusiasm at the thought. “Yes, sir! I suppose I am.”
Crossed Arrows (A Long-Knives Western Book 1) Page 8