“I reckon,” Jason replied and dismounted. “Where’s the lieutenant?”
“He’s having a powwow with Major Gaston.” He held the coffeepot up. “Hand me your cup and I’ll pour you some coffee.” When Jason did so and Brady filled his cup, he went on. “You got back just in time. We’re going back to Fetterman.” He paused to refill his own cup. “Did you follow them hostiles?”
Jason nodded. “I did. They joined up with a whole village of Lakota Sioux on the south fork of the Powder. I figure the major would be right interested to know he’s got about a hundred and fifty well-armed warriors about two and a half days’ ride from here.”
“Uh-oh,” Brady grunted. “That don’t sound like anything he’d want to hear. You think they’re looking for a fight?”
Jason shrugged. “Can’t say. More’n likely they’re probably going to move north to the Big Horn country to link up with Sitting Bull. But they’re damn sure getting supplied with plenty of rifles from somewhere. I don’t have to tell you how good that bunch of Cheyennes was armed. I didn’t have a lot of time to find out how many rifles the Sioux had. I had to leave kind of sudden-like. Black Eagle’s Cheyennes may be the only ones with a source for all those repeating rifles and they may have nothing on their minds but going north with the Sioux.”
Brady stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That could be. And on the other hand, they might be thinking about raiding this reservation to persuade more warriors to join ’em.”
“That’s a possibility,” Jason agreed, “but I doubt it.”
When Thad returned, Jason and the sergeant relayed Jason’s findings to him. He immediately went back to Major Gaston with Jason and Brady in tow. Gaston questioned Jason extensively regarding the strength of the Sioux village camped almost on the borders of the reservation. His concern was great; faced with the responsibility to police the Red Cloud Agency, he was in sore need of additional troops. He didn’t have the men to spare to mount an offensive against heavily armed hostiles. He decided it best to confer with Red Cloud himself before telegraphing Laramie for support.
They found the old chief at the agency when they arrived. Red Cloud seemed surprised to see them, thinking that the Indian agent had summoned the soldiers because he was complaining about the shortage of beef promised to his people. The agent was quick to explain that the soldiers were not there to chastise him but, on the contrary, to seek his counsel.
“Gaston,” Red Cloud addressed the major, more concerned with feeding his people than giving counsel with the soldiers. “I did as the Great White Father in Washington asked. I put down my weapons and came to the reservation. The white soldiers promised to provide my people with food and clothing. Where are the cattle that were promised? My women and children go hungry in this place.”
“We do allow your men to hunt for extra food,” the Indian agent reminded him.
Red Cloud favored him with a brief look of disdain before turning back to the major. “There is little left to hunt in this land. The antelope are gone. There are no buffalo. Our hunters come back with prairie dogs and rabbits.”
Major Gaston was at a loss as to how to respond to the chief. It was not his responsibility to feed the Indians. That was the agent’s area. Still, he thought it prudent to give it lip service. “I hear your words, Red Cloud. I will contact my superiors at Fort Laramie to see if something can be done to help your people.” He glanced at the agent and was met with a sour expression, silently letting Gaston know that this was not his area of authority. The major continued, “We are all here to see that your people are taken care of.”
Red Cloud only grunted in reply, then, “We have been given many promises. The white man is very generous with promises. But my children do not get fat on promises.”
“We’ll do the best we can to help you,” Gaston replied, anxious to leave the subject and get to the purpose of his visit. “I know that Red Cloud’s scouts bring him news of other bands, both from other reservations and from those bands who have not come in. I have come to ask a favor. Can you tell me what band of Lakotas is now camped on the south fork of the Powder . . . and what their intentions are?”
Red Cloud listened to the questions but ignored them. Instead, he looked from the major to the tall scout behind him. “You are Jason Coles, I think.”
“I reckon,” Jason acknowledged, somewhat surprised that the chief knew him since they had never met.
“I have heard many things about you, Jason Coles. I have heard that you are the man who killed the Cheyenne, Stone Hand. Is this true?”
Jason nodded. “I reckon.”
“You have killed many of my people also.”
“Some,” Jason replied, “but not as many as the soldiers you have killed. In war, men must die on each side.”
Red Cloud formed a thin smile. “This is true. I have heard you are a warrior with a brave heart. I am glad to meet you face-to-face.”
He abruptly turned back to the major. “Why do you come to me with questions about Lakotas who still make war? I am at peace with the soldiers. The warring Lakotas do not listen to me anymore. They hear their own minds.”
“We hope to gain any information that will prevent further bloodshed. Already, blood has been spilled at Buffalo Creek. We want to talk to this band of Lakota, to avoid more war. Can you tell me who is their leader?”
Red Cloud seemed reluctant to do so, but he finally told them. “My scouts tell me it is Tall Bull’s camp.”
“Do you know how many rifles they have?”
Red Cloud responded with a stern expression and Jason told himself that the old chief wouldn’t tell the major that even if he knew. “I have told you all I know. I have kept my promise and told my young men to remain on the reservation.” He thought for a moment, then, “Why don’t you ask your scout Walking Crow. He is on your payroll.”
Jason responded in a soft voice. “Walking Crow ain’t talking, he went under.” His remark was met with surprised looks from both Gaston and Brady.
Riding back from the agency, Gaston discussed the situation with Jason and Thad. They agreed that it was doubtful the Sioux had any intention of attacking Camp Robinson. They were in all likelihood on their way to join the other free Sioux with Sitting Bull. But a force of hostiles that size had to be reckoned with and it was important to prevent them from reinforcing an already large number of Sioux under Sitting Bull. The major ordered Thad to cancel his plans to return to Fort Fetterman and to report to Fort Laramie instead to await orders. He felt certain an offensive would be formed from Laramie to seek out and punish Tall Bull’s band.
CHAPTER VII
Major Robert Linebaugh, grinning broadly, strode out to greet his young friend when B Troop filed into Fort Laramie after a hard day’s march. “Hello, Thad, glad to see you back. Looks like we’ll be riding together again. The old man has given me command of an expedition to chase down those Indians you reported on the Powder.” His smile faded as he realized the reduced number of troopers B Troop returned with. “I heard you ran into a hornets’ nest over at Buffalo Creek. What happened, Thad?”
“It was pretty bad, Robert. We got sucked into a nice little trap . . . got chewed up right smartly. I lost nearly half my troop, either dead or wounded.”
“How did it happen?” He glanced in Jason’s direction and nodded solemnly. “Didn’t you scout the camp first?”
Thad followed Linebaugh’s glance and hurried to defuse the thought. “Oh, it wasn’t Jason’s fault. If it wasn’t for him, I might have lost almost all the troop. That damn Sioux scout, Walking Crow, led us into it. He was in cahoots with the hostiles. We ran into a solid wall of repeating rifle fire. I swear, Robert, I thought they were going to overrun us for sure.”
Linebaugh stepped back from Thad’s horse. “Well, we’ll settle that account straightaway. I’m taking five cavalry troops out after them. We’ll be ready to take the field as soon as D and H Troops get here from Fetterman. There’s also some replacements for your troop comin
g with them. We’ll have two troops from here as well. That ought to be enough to deal with them.” He gave Thad’s horse a pat on the rump. “Go on and get your troop in bivouac. I’ll expect you tonight at supper.” He grinned. “Seven o’clock sharp. That’s an order, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, Sir!” Thad responded smartly and returned Linebaugh’s grin.
After seeing that the troop was settled in, Sergeant Brady made out the duty roster and posted the horse guards. On his rounds through the bivouac area to see that the wounded were taken to the post surgeon, he stopped to talk to Jason. Jason was in the process of making coffee. He had just finished grinding the beans between two rocks, Indian style, and was dusting the last of the grounds off his hands over the pot.
“Set yourself, Brady, and have a cup of good coffee for a change.”
“Well, if them Injuns couldn’t kill me, I s’pect your coffee can’t. I’ll chance it.” He walked over to his own tent and fetched his cup. Jason rolled his saddle blanket out for Brady to sit on. “I noticed you didn’t get invited back to supper with the major and his ladies. What happened last time? You didn’t fart at the supper table, did you?”
Jason laughed. “I think I just wasn’t enough entertainment for Miss Lynch. I guess she just wanted to meet a real by-God Injun fighter and I disappointed her.” He swirled the coffee around in the pot to mix the grounds good, pulling it off the fire just as it started to boil and setting it on the edge to let the grounds settle. “I ain’t ever seen an honest-to-God Injun fighter myself except, maybe, another Injun.”
Brady grunted and held out his cup when Jason offered the pot. “The lieutenant says we’re going out after that bunch you seen on the Powder soon as troops from Fetterman get here. That’ll probably be tomorrow. Hell, I reckon that bunch will be long gone by then, you think?”
Jason shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. They most likely won’t be on the south fork of the Powder, where I saw ’em. But I expect they’ll be somewhere north of there. This time of year, a village that size moves ever’ so often, following the game. I doubt if they’re concerned much about the army bothering them. They most likely won’t be in any hurry.”
* * *
Later that evening, across the parade ground near the officers’ quarters, Thad Anderson dined on stewed chicken and dumplings. Seated to his left, Martha Lynch captured his rapt attention with her girlish enthusiasm for the gallant officers of the U.S. Cavalry. While he genuinely appreciated the opportunity to enjoy chicken, a rare treat on a frontier post, he was finding it difficult to maintain the sophisticated and gallant image he strived to impress upon the young lady. It might have been easier if Florence had fried the chicken. As it was, he found it difficult to attack it with a knife and fork and he hesitated to pick it up with his hands for fear of getting them covered with dripping grease and gravy. Martha seemed to have no trouble with her nice slice of breast, cutting it into neat little pieces and nibbling away without interrupting her conversation. Drumstick and thigh were another matter and Thad struggled to shear off a few bites from the bone.
Florence Linebaugh finally came to his rescue. “For goodness’ sake, Thad, you’re going to starve to death. Pick it up in your hands.”
Thad blushed and mumbled his thanks. He picked up the thigh and quickly chewed the flesh from the bone. Martha smiled her approval and, after he had duplicated the maneuver on the leg, she took her napkin and gently mopped the gravy from his cheeks. Thad felt like a child and his blush deepened in color. She, realizing the effect she had upon him, smiled coquettishly, delighting in her ability to reduce the young lieutenant to a schoolboy.
When the dishes had been cleared away, the men retired to the porch to enjoy a cigar. The major was anxious to talk about the hunting expedition coming up. Thad could understand his friend’s excitement. Robert was the colonel’s adjutant and, as such, his duties had been strictly confined to the administrative operations of the post. Partly because Robert had continuously requested field experience and partly because Colonel Whitman thought his adjutant should have that experience, he was given this command. Although they were several steps apart in rank, Linebaugh knew his young friend had a good deal more experience in the field. For that reason, and because they had become close friends, the major fully intended to consult Thad whenever he had doubts regarding any decision. This was a privilege he could not afford to take with any of the other officers who would be under his command on this patrol.
Thad was fully anxious to be of assistance to his friend but he also realized his limitations regardless of the number of campaigns he had ridden. His foremost advice to Linebaugh was to trust Jason Coles because, when in doubt, he himself would consult Jason.
“Then what you told me earlier, about Coles . . . that was how you really feel? That he was not to blame for leading you into that ambush?”
“Absolutely not,” Thad quickly replied. “If we had known what we were riding into, we would never have charged into that camp like that. We were told we could rely on Walking Crow’s advice. If anyone is to blame, it might be Major Gaston. After all, he sent that damn Judas goat to us with the idea we could trust him.”
“Good.” Major Linebaugh rose and stubbed his cigar out on the porch post. “We’ll have a glorious campaign and show those red savages what it means to defy the U.S. Cavalry.” He turned to look his friend in the eye. “You know, if this campaign goes well, it might go a long way in getting me a field command.”
“I’m sure it will, Robert.” Thad followed his host’s lead and stubbed out his own cigar.
“It’s a beautiful night.” Robert winked as he said it. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Martha might enjoy a walk.” He led the way back inside to join the ladies.
“Thad was just remarking that he thought it a beautiful night to take a walk, Martha, and wondered if you might enjoy taking the evening air.” The major exchanged glances with his wife and received an approving nod.
“Really?” Martha responded and looked up into Thad’s astonished face. “Did you really make that remark, Lieutenant, or did Robert just put the words in your mouth?”
Thad was flustered, not knowing whether to be angry or grateful to his friend. “Why yes . . . I mean, no . . . I mean it would be a nice night for a walk.” He looked down at her beaming face and could feel the crimson creeping around his neck. Her expectant expression should have reassured him. Instead, it fostered a feeling near panic. “Maybe it’s too cool for you. I wouldn’t want to . . .”
She didn’t let him finish. “Why, Lieutenant, are you retracting your invitation?”
“No . . . no, Ma’am.” He flushed totally to the delight of Robert and Florence. He glanced their way for help only to be met with wide grins. He looked back at the young lady still smiling up at him but offering no absolution from his shyness.
“Then you do want me to go for a walk?” she finally asked.
“Yes, Ma’am, I sure do.”
“With you, I presume.” She knew it was mean to tease him but she couldn’t resist it. The man was shy beyond belief.
“Yes, Ma’am, with me.” She turned to get a shawl and he stammered, “Unless I’m being too bold.”
She abruptly turned around to face the flustered young officer. “I declare, have you changed your mind again?”
“Oh, no,” he stammered.
She laughed and patted his hand in an attempt to put him at ease. “I’m going to get a wrap to cover my shoulders. You stand right there and don’t move till I get back.”
Within a few minutes, she returned and he jumped to open the front door for her. Florence Linebaugh gave her sister a knowing nod as she passed through the doorway. Her husband winked at Thad. When they had closed the door, husband and wife looked at each other and laughed. “I certainly hope Lieutenant Anderson is a sight more bold facing the Indians than he is with a woman,” Florence said with a giggle.
* * *
A soft breeze from the prairie drifted across the packe
d dirt of the parade ground, bringing the lingering aroma of coffee and fried bacon from the mess tent. They had walked in silence after an initial exchange of pleasantries about the weather and the supper just enjoyed. Martha’s step was light and her face seemed to shine in the fading light as, one by one, the stars appeared, soon to take over the night sky. Thad, still recovering from an acute case of sudden awkwardness, walked beside her—rather stiffly—as if his feet were asleep. He was taken with the younger sister of his friend’s wife but he feared his shyness and lack of polish would not see him in good stead with a lady of her obvious breeding. In truth, he would have been equally as shy if walking beside the bawdiest saloon girl in Laramie.
To Martha Lynch, this was an interlude to file away in her scrapbook. The whole adventure was exciting, from the train trip from St. Louis to the rough frontier of Fort Laramie. She would not have missed it for the world. But the visit was becoming dreadfully boring and she was of a mind to return to St. Louis. That is, until the appearance of this young lieutenant a few days before. She had to admit she was attracted to him from the first night when she had evidently offended his friend, Jason Coles. She made a mental note to apologize to Mr. Coles if she had the opportunity. Tonight, she was almost reluctant to acknowledge a growing fondness for Thad Anderson. She must warn herself not to become too infatuated with the handsome young officer, so dashing in his blue uniform trimmed with the yellow cord of the U.S. Cavalry. There could be no harm in an innocent flirtation. She just had to guard against becoming too attracted to him. She had no plans to become attached to a cavalry officer, serving on the western frontier. Her life was back east where she taught school and lived with her parents. She had no desire to complicate her life at this point. Still, he was disarmingly charming in a boyish way and totally guileless.
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