Bloodshed of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “I take it everything went all right,” Potter said. He put his hand on the envelope and drew it over to him, but didn’t look inside.

  “It went very well,” Harris said. “But now I need something else from you.”

  Potter held out his hand. “I took a big chance on setting up the rifles for you,” he said. “Everyone from the governor down is trying to find the damn things. If they ever find out I misdirected the shipment, I’ll be dead meat.”

  “How are they going to find out, as long as you are handling all the inquiries?” Harris asked.

  “So far, they haven’t caught on.”

  “If you are smart, nobody will ever catch on. And you can pick up another seven hundred dollars real easy.”

  “Another seven hundred dollars, you say?”

  “Seven hundred dollars, and it’ll be the easiest money you ever made,” Harris said.

  Potter drummed his fingers on the table for a moment before he replied. “What do I have to do?”

  “I need a couple of Gatling guns.”

  “What?” Potter said so loud that several other saloon patrons glanced over in curiosity.

  “You want to stand up on the table and make a speech, do you?” Harris asked sarcastically.

  “No,” Potter said, lowering his voice. “But you just asked for the impossible.”

  “I ain’t askin’ you to do it for free,” Harris said. “I told you, there’s seven hundred dollars in it for you. And all you have to do is locate them for me.”

  “Well, that ain’t goin’ to be all that easy to do,” Potter said. “We don’t have any Gatling guns assigned to us.”

  “Ain’t you in position to order some?”

  “Maybe,” Potter admitted. “But there’s no way I can misdirect the shipment again—not after what happened with the rifles. If we ordered Gatling guns and they never showed up, they’d turn heaven and hell upside down to locate them.”

  “All you have to do is get the guns shipped to you,” Harris said. “Then give me the particulars and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Potter stroked his chin.

  “Seven hundred dollars, you say?”

  “Seven hundred dollars,” Harris repeated.

  Potter nodded. “All right, I’ll get it all set up. But that’s all I can do. The rest will be up to you.”

  Harris laughed, then reached across to put his hand on Potter’s shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, cousin,” he said. “You just give me the particulars, and I’ll take care of everything.”

  Chapter Four

  April 24,1876

  New York

  From the New York Standard

  Amusements

  Audiences have delighted in the Edward E. Rice production of Evangeline, performed on the stage of the magnificent Niblo’s Garden, located at Broadway and Prince.

  Of particular delight to the audience is the skillful manipulation of mechanical devices representing a spouting whale and a dancing cow. Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister call upon their skills as both musical and dramatic performers to make the play the most popular in New York.

  Falcon had utilized his time in New York to visit his brother and sister and to attend, as their guest, tonight’s performance. He was seated in a private box, looking at the show bill when there was a light knock on the door.

  “Yes?” he said.

  The door opened and one of the theater ushers stepped inside. “Excuse me, Mr. MacCallister, but your brother asked me to give you this note.” He handed a folded piece of paper to Falcon.

  Falcon,

  My dear brother, I ask you to please accept as a guest in your box the person of General Custer. The gallant general has been kind enough to invite Rosanna and me to a command performance at Ft. Lincoln. And, as you know, both Rosanna and I will take any opportunity to visit the West.

  Andrew

  After reading the note, Falcon looked up at the usher. “Is General Custer nearby?”

  “Yes, sir, he is waiting just outside,” the usher said.

  “Please, show him in.”

  Falcon had expected to see Custer in uniform, but Custer was wearing mufti.

  “Mr. MacCallister,” Custer said, extending his hand. “I thank you, sir, for your hospitality.”

  “I welcome the company, General,” Falcon replied.

  As they were now within a minute of the rise of the curtain, the volume of the music increased abruptly—martial, insistent, strident, and loud. It soared above all conversation, seizing attention and making conversation in the audience completely impossible.

  The curtain rose, and the audience applauded.

  Both Falcon and Custer were invited backstage after the final curtain. Falcon had been backstage before, so the controlled pandemonium was not new to him—actors and actresses scurrying about, still in costume and greasepaint, props being moved about, sets being struck, musicians putting their instruments away, etc.

  Falcon’s brother and sister, Andrew and Rosanna, were sitting at dressing tables, looking into the mirrors as they removed their make up. The first time Falcon had ever seen his brother in makeup, to include rouge and lipstick, it had given him a queasy feeling. It was still relatively jarring to him, but he had learned to accept it as a part of their trade.

  Falcon was amused at Custer’s reaction to it all. He was taking it all in with great enthusiasm.

  “I’ve always thought that, if I were not a soldier, I would be an actor,” he said. “We have often done amateur dramatic performances at the forts where I have been posted, and people tell me that I am quite talented.”

  Andrew laughed. “You are a general. Who is going to tell you any different?”

  Falcon laughed as well, and was pleased to see that even Custer found the reply amusing.

  “Touché, my friend,” Custer said. “I will admit that being the commanding officer does give me a certain advantage.”

  Andrew removed the last of his makeup, then looked up at Falcon and Custer.

  “I have a wonderful place in mind for dinner,” he said. “I am going to take you both to the Union Club.”

  “The Union Club?” Custer replied. “Yes, that is a good place, but isn’t it restricted to men only? If we go there, your lovely sister will not be able to join us.”

  Rosanna was still removing her makeup. “I can’t go anyway,” she said. “I have a previous engagement.”

  The Union Club

  The Union Club was not only the oldest private club, it was also the most expensive. But expense meant nothing to Andrew because he and Rosanna commanded very high salaries as a result of their stage appearances.

  Falcon watched Andrew interact with the maitre d’, the waiter, and the buss boys. His manner was easy and friendly, without being patronizing. Andrew was as at home in New York society as Falcon was in the mountains and deserts of the West.

  “I always enjoy coming here,” Custer said as they waited for their meal.

  “Are you a member, General?” Andrew asked.

  Custer laughed. “No, I’m afraid the dues are a bit too high for a poor soldier. Although Phil Sheridan is a member, and I’ve been here with him a few times. I’ve been here with Grant as well, but I doubt Grant and I will ever socialize again, especially after my recent appearance before the Clymer Committee. We’re going after Belknap and Grant’s brother, Orville.”

  “Belknap has already resigned, hasn’t he?” Falcon asked.

  “Yes, he resigned to avoid being impeached. But that’s not going to save him.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what was the subject of your testimony?” Andrew asked. At that moment, their meal was delivered. “Ah, thank you, Charles, it looks very good,” Andrew said to the waiter.

  “Thank you, sir,” the waiter replied.

  Custer waited until Charles had withdrawn before he spoke.

  “It has to do with the sutler trader positions on the army posts,” Custer said. “As you know, the on-post t
raders have a captive audience with the soldiers, so it can be a very lucrative position. Because of that, they have to be appointed by the government. So what has been happening is this; Belknap and Grant will give the appointment to a middleman. That middleman then sells the appointment to the person who will actually operate the trading posts. Then, the middleman kicks money back to Belknap and Orville Grant. At Ft. Lincoln, for example, I know that the trader pays twelve thousand dollars a year for his position.”

  “When did you testify?” Falcon asked.

  “On the twenty-ninth of March, and again on the fourth of April,” Custer replied. “I’ll be returning to Ft. Lincoln soon. So, Mr. MacCallister, what brings you to New York? Visiting your brother and sister?”

  “That is certainly one of the pleasures of my trip,” Falcon said. “But I’m going to Washington to meet with the secretary of war to have my commission as lieutenant colonel confirmed.”

  “You are coming into the army?” Custer asked, surprised by Falcon’s announcement.

  “Only in a matter of speaking,” Falcon said. “I have agreed to serve as commandant of the Colorado Home Guard until statehood.”

  “Wonderful,” Custer said. “In that case, I shall regard you as a brother officer.”

  “I would not presume to put myself on par with those who are actually serving today,” Falcon said. “The army has opened up the West for settlement, guarded rail and stage lines, conducted campaigns against an enemy who is as amorphous as dust, yet as deadly as a rattlesnake. I have nothing but respect for those who go forty miles a day on beans and hay.”

  Custer laughed out loud, then applauded. “Bravo, Colonel MacCallister, bravo,” he said.

  As they left the club that night, Custer took a newspaper clipping from his pocket and handed it to Falcon. “You might want to read this,” he said. “At your convenience, of course.”

  “Thank you,” Falcon replied.

  In his hotel room that night, Falcon turned up the gas lantern to provide enough light to allow him to read the article Custer had given him. The article told of Custer’s appearance before the congressional committee.

  Dishonesty at the Highest Levels!

  PRESIDENT’S BROTHER INVOLVED.

  Committee Hears Testimony from Custer.

  WASHINGTON, MARCH 29—General G.A. Custer appeared before Congressman Hiester Clymer’s committee this morning. The noted Indian fighter is prepossessing in appearance, has regular features with a well-manicured moustache, reddish blond hair, an intelligent expression, and is rather handsome. He was attired in black coat, light pants, red vest, white ruffled shirt, and black cravat.

  The general’s testimony was given with composure and gentlemanly bearing, without any hesitation whatever. In this respect he contrasted with great advantage to the previous testimony given in a nervous and halting manner by the accused government officials: Belknap and Orville Grant. In his testimony, Custer charged both Belknap and Grant with corruption. “In the frontier swindling business, they have sold their honor for money,” Custer said.

  “So, what do you think?” Custer asked Falcon the next morning when he joined Falcon, Andrew, and Rosanna for breakfast at Delmonico’s restaurant.

  “It’s an—interesting—article,” Falcon said, not sure how Custer wanted him to reply.

  “Yes, well, to tell the truth, I wish I had never gotten involved in this nasty business in the first place,” Custer said. “I should be back at Ft. Lincoln, preparing my regiment for the scout we have planned. But I was summoned to Washington to give testimony, and I had no choice. And, since I have been released to return to my regiment, I guess it has all worked out well. The important thing is, Belknap has been forced to resign, and the army can only but benefit from that fact.”

  “General Custer?” someone said, approaching the table. It was a young boy, wearing a blue cap that read WESTERN UNION.

  “Yes?” Custer replied.

  “Your hotel said I would find you here, sir. I have a telegram for you,” the boy said, holding an envelope out toward Custer.

  “Thank you,” Custer said, giving the boy a coin and retrieving the telegram.

  As he read it, his face registered surprise, then frustration.

  “Unbelievable,” he said, putting the telegram down. “This is simply unbelievable.”

  “What is it, General?” Andrew asked.

  Sighing, Custer picked up the telegram and read aloud.

  “In the matter of the hearing against former Secretary Belknap, the United States Senate hereby summons Lt. Col. Brevet Major General Custer to reappear before the Clymer Committee to give additional testimony. Stop.”

  He put the telegram back down. “This is Belknap’s doing, I know it is,” he said. “Possibly it is even the president himself.” Custer shook his head. “I can’t be bothered with this. I have to get back to my regiment. We are going to take to the field soon.”

  “What are you going to do?” Rosanna asked.

  Custer drummed his fingers on the table. “I’m a soldier, which means I will respond to my orders. I’ll leave for Washington tomorrow.”

  “Why, Falcon, that’s when you are going, isn’t it?” Rosanna asked.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Perhaps the two of you can travel together,” Andrew said.

  “Yes, I’m sure we can,” Falcon replied.

  Custer looked over at Falcon and smiled. “Well, then, the one bright spot is that we will be able to continue our friendship.”

  Chapter Five

  Washington, D.C.

  When Falcon met Custer at the train depot the next morning, both men were in uniform. And although they were the same rank, Custer had taken liberties with his uniform. Under his tunic, Custer was wearing a sailor shirt, with wide collars that protruded over the tunic. He was also wearing a bright red scarf held together at the neck with a turquoise and silver ring. The cuffs were trimmed in gold. He was wearing a white Stetson hat with one side pinned up by a pair of crossed sabers, while the other side was decorated with a long red feather.

  “What do you think of it?” Custer asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “My uniform. I see that you have taken an interest in it. What do you think?”

  “I’ll say this for it, General. It is about the most”—Falcon paused to come up with the right word—“unique uniform I’ve ever seen.”

  Custer laughed. “Yes, unique,” he said. “That’s exactly the way I want people to perceive it. Unique.”

  Falcon had noticed, for the last several moments, that a young woman had been standing nearby, unabashedly staring at Custer. Finally, as if screwing up her courage, she approached him.

  “Are you General Custer?” she asked.

  “Yes, madam, I am he,” Custer replied a bit grandiloquently.

  “Oh, I knew it!” the woman squealed excitedly. “I told my sister that’s who you are. I’ve read all about you, General. It is so exciting to be able to meet you.”

  Custer took off his hat, made a sweeping bow, then lifted the lady’s hand and kissed it.

  “Believe me, madam, anytime I get the opportunity to meet a beautiful woman, the pleasure is all mine.”

  A uniformed official of the railroad stepped up onto a large box, around which was a fixed array of megaphones.

  “Attention, attention! The train for Newark, Philade-phia, Baltimore, and Washington, D.C., now boarding on track number nine!”

  “That’s us,” Custer said. “Come, we’ll find a comfortable seat.”

  The two men walked through the door that read TO TRAINS, and stepped out into the huge, covered train shed. Here, at least fifteen trains were gathered, some arriving, some departing, some backed up to the ends of their respective tracks. The sounds of trains in motion, the heavy rolling of steel on steel, and of engines at rest, from the puff of relief valves to the hiss of boiling water, permeated the shed, combining with the shouts and conversations of passengers and railroad
workers to create a cacophony that was only slightly below a roar. Steam that was released from the engines drifted through the shed, forming clouds that gathered under just under the roof. As the railroad industry was in transition between fuels, there was a strong, though not unpleasant, smell of burning wood and coal. Finding track number seven, the two men boarded the cars, located a seat, then waited for the train to depart.

  “The hardest thing about fighting Indians is in getting them to stand and fight,” Custer said. It was noon, and Falcon and Custer were eating their lunch in the dining car. Custer had been very talkative throughout the trip, his conversation extremely self-centered.

  “Now, you take the Washita campaign,” Custer said. “There have been some in the press who have criticized me for attacking the village in the predawn darkness, but I knew that if I didn’t hit them when they were least expecting it, they would all get away. Those who truly understand the art of warfare, and who understand the nature of the Indians, realize that the campaign was a brilliant one.”

  Custer was not at all inhibited when it came to talking about himself. He told Falcon stories of his exploits during and since the Civil War; he spoke of his writing, and he mentioned that he had been approached to give a series of lectures during the summer for the princely fee of two hundred dollars per lecture.

  “I can’t accept the offer, though,” he said. “As I mentioned earlier, the Seventh Cavalry will be making an expedition this summer, and I shall be riding at its head. I expect it’s going to make news.”

  Throughout the afternoon, as the train proceeded through Pennsylvania and Maryland, the conversation turned to politics and the upcoming conventions.

  “There are some who think I should run for president,” Custer said. “And I confess to having given it some thought, but, I have to tell you, Falcon, over this last few weeks, watching how our government operates in Washington, I don’t know if I would really want any part of it. No, sir, a horse under me and a regiment behind me is all that I have ever wanted.”

  After leaving the train in Washington, the two men ate dinner together. Custer had been invited to be a house guest of Ben Holladay. “I’m sure you know of him,” Custer said. “He has built stagecoach and railway lines. He is a fascinating man.”