Bloodshed of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City, Denver,” Falcon said.

  “Good, good, we’ll be together as far as Chicago,” Custer said.

  May 4, 1876

  Union Station, Chicago

  At Chicago, Falcon and Custer were due to go their separate ways, Falcon to St. Louis and Custer to St. Paul. They were standing on the depot platform when an army captain, in uniform, approached.

  “General Custer?” the captain said as he saluted.

  Custer returned the salute.

  “General Sheridan’s compliments, sir, and he asks that I give you this telegram.”

  Custer looked at the telegram. “This is from Sherman to Sheridan,” he said.

  “Yes, sir. But as it pertains to you, the general asks that you read it,” the captain said.

  TO GENERAL SHERIDAN

  FROM GENERAL SHERMAN

  I AM AT THIS MOMENT ADVISED THAT GENERAL CUSTER LEFT WASHINGTON FOR ST. PAUL AND FORT ABRAHAM LINCOLN STOP HE WAS NOT JUSTIFIED IN LEAVING WITHOUT SEEING THE PRESIDENT AND MYSELF STOP PLEASE INTERCEPT HIM AND AWAIT FURTHER ORDERS STOP MEANTIME LET THE EXPEDITION PROCEED WITHOUT HIM STOP

  Custer handed the telegram to Falcon. Falcon felt a little self-conscious in reading it, but since Custer had handed to him, he thought he had no choice.

  “Am I under arrest, Captain?” Custer asked.

  “Arrest?” the captain replied, surprised by the question. “No, sir, you aren’t under arrest.”

  “So, if I told you that I intend to proceed on to St. Paul to plead my case with General Terry, you have no authorization to stop me?”

  “No, sir,” the captain said.

  Custer took the telegram back from Falcon and handed it to the captain. “Then kindly inform General Sheridan that if he wishes to see me, he can contact me at St. Paul.”

  “Very good, sir,” the captain replied, saluting once more.

  As the captain walked away, Custer bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was quiet for a long moment, and Falcon avoided looking directly at him because he was sure he could see a sheen of tears in his eyes.

  Custer blinked several times, then cleared his throat.

  “You were there, Falcon,” he said, finally finding his voice. “You saw what happened. What did I do wrong? Can you answer that for me?”

  “As far as I could determine, you did nothing wrong,” Falcon said.

  “I wonder if you would testify to that effect at my court-martial,” Custer asked. “I mean, if it actually comes to that.”

  “I don’t think it will come to that,” Falcon said. “But yes, if it does, I would be glad to testify on your behalf.”

  “Board!” the conductor called.

  “That’s my train,” Custer said. He stuck his hand out. “We’ll meet again, Falcon,” he said. “The best thing about meeting new friends is the opportunity to make them old friends.”

  June 25, 1927

  MacCallister, Colorado

  The ringing of the telephone interrupted Falcon’s story, and he looked toward the instrument.

  “I’ll get it, Big Grandpa,” Rosie said, walking over to pick up the receiver and hold it to her ear. She leaned toward the wall-mounted box so she could speak into the mouthpiece. “Hello?”

  Falcon, Libby, and Zane Grey could hear someone talking through the receiver Rosie held to her ear, but none of the words were audible.

  “Yes, I’ll tell him,” Rosie said. “Good-bye.” Rosie hung up the phone, then returned to her seat. “That was Mr. Bar-kett,” she said. “He’s finished with the repairs to your saddle.”

  “Good,” Falcon said, nodding.

  “Getting back to your story, Falcon, what happened next?”

  Falcon chuckled. “To be honest, I never did learn what happened between Custer and General Terry. I just know that as I saw him board that train, I had never seen a more forlorn expression in anyone.”

  “But somehow he got the orders rescinded, didn’t he? I mean, he obviously did join his regiment.”

  “I can fill in a few blanks here,” Libbie said. “That is, if you don’t mind my intrusion.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Libbie, it isn’t an intrusion,” Falcon said. “Where you are concerned, it could never be an intrusion.”

  “I’m not surprised, Falcon, that you saw a sheen of tears in Autie’s eyes,” Libbie said. “General Terry, as I’m sure you know, was in command of the Dakota Territory, and as such, that included Ft. Lincoln and the Seventh Cavalry. That made him Autie’s commander, so it was perfectly proper for Autie to go see him, as to see Sheridan would have been a violation of protocol by going around his direct commander.

  “Some years later, Terry told me that Autie reported to him with tears in his eyes. Autie explained to Terry that everyone in Washington who was in any position of authority had given him permission to leave. But the problem was that he had publicly attacked Grant and his administration, and Grant was not going to let him get away with it. Grant ordered Reno to take command of the Seventh. If Grant had his way, all poor Autie could do was remain at the post and watch his regiment leave.

  “Autie begged Terry to help him, and Terry didn’t hesitate. After all, Terry had never campaigned against the Indians either, nor had any of his subordinate officers. He wanted Autie to make the expedition, fully as much as Autie wanted to go.

  “Between them, they came up with an appeal that finally worked. In it, Autie sent a telegram to President Grant in which he said: ‘I appeal to you as a soldier to spare me the humiliation of seeing my regiment march to meet the enemy and I not to share its dangers.’

  “Terry added that, while he had no intent to question the president’s orders, that if reasons did not forbid it, ‘Lieutenant Colonel Custer’s services would be very valuable with his regiment.’

  “Somehow that simple, heartfelt message worked, and President Grant relented. Autie was allowed to proceed directly from St. Paul to Ft. Lincoln, there to prepare the regiment for the march.”

  Libbie was quiet for a moment, and Zane Grey leaned forward, then reached across to her. Gently, he took her hand. “Libbie, have you ever thought what might have been? If President Grant had not rescinded his orders, it is entirely possible the general would still be alive today.”

  Libbie’s eyes misted over and she took a handkerchief from her purse, dabbed at the corner of her eyes, then nodded.

  “I have thought about that, Mr. Grey, many, many times,” she said. “But knowing Autie as I did, I know he would rather have ridden into the history books with glory—than live, only to die, many years later, in ignominy.”

  There was a moment of silence; then Libbie looked over at Falcon. “Please, Mr. MacCallister. Go on with your story,” she said.

  “I’ll be glad to,” Falcon said. He took a swallow of his coffee before he continued.

  “After the general and I separated at Chicago, I went directly to Ft. Junction.”

  May 6, 1876

  Ft. Junction, Colorado Territory

  “Falcon, m’ lad, all the troops have turned out on the parade ground. They are wantin’ to welcome you back and pay their respects,” Sergeant Major O’Leary said when Falcon returned to the fort.

  “Sergeant Major, may I remind you that Colonel MacCallister is a genuine colonel now, his commission ratified by the United States War Department,” Brisbane pointed out. “You cannot refer to him as ‘Falcon, my lad.’”

  “Sure ’n I know that, Major,” O’Leary said. “’Tis forgetful I am sometimes, bein’ as I’m an old man and can’t help but think of the Falcon I knew as a boy many years ago.” O’Leary looked at Falcon. “Colonel MacCallister, it’s beggin’ your pardon I am for not showin’ the proper respect.”

  Falcon did not want to alienate a longtime friend with the appearance of being rank-happy, but neither did he want to undermine Major Brisbane, who was a valued officer, so he said nothing about it!

  “I believe you mentioned that the troops hav
e formed on the parade ground?” Falcon said instead.

  “Aye, that they are, Colonel, m’ lad,” O’Leary replied. “Uh, that is, Colonel, sir,” he corrected.

  Smiling, Falcon picked up his hat and put it on his head. “Well, we can’t keep them standing in the sun now, can we? What do you say we go outside and meet the troops?”

  “Good idea,” Brisbane agreed.

  Out on the parade ground, the flag of the United States rippled in the breeze. Although the official flag had only thirty-seven stars, this flag had thirty-eight, in anticipation of Colorado’s upcoming statehood.

  There were five companies of sixty men each in the Colorado Home Guard, and as Falcon approached, Sergeant Major O’Leary called out loudly. “Regiment!”

  The first sergeants of each company gave the supplemental commands, the five voices shouting out the word “Company!” as one.

  “Attention!” the sergeant major called, which was the command of execution.

  As soon at the regiment was formed, the sergeant major reported to Falcon.

  “Sir, Colorado Home Regiment all present and accounted for.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Major. Officers post!”

  At that command, the company commanders moved into position at the head of the individual companies.

  “Pass in review!”

  The regimental band began playing as the regiment marched by.

  “Eyes, right!” the commanding officer of the first company shouted as the company drew even with Falcon. The company commander snapped his head to the right, and brought his saber up, hilt to his chin, the silver blade sparkling in the sun as it stood at a forty-five-degree angle.

  The right guide of each rank continued to stare straight ahead, while all the other soldiers in the rank turned their head and eyes to the right. Falcon returned the salute of the company commander, then repeated it as each subsequent company passed in review.

  Later, after the parade was concluded and the soldiers dismissed, Falcon and Brisbane returned to the headquarters building.

  “I have to hand it to you, Adrian, you have done wonders with these men,” Falcon said.

  “I thank you, sir.”

  “I told Governor Routt that I intend to hold this command only until Colorado is admitted as a state. After that, I will resign, and I will strongly recommend that you be my replacement.”

  “I appreciate the confidence, Colonel.”

  “I suppose that will mean that you will have to go to Washington to get your commission confirmed.”

  “No, sir, that won’t be necessary,” Brisbane said. “I already hold a federal commission.”

  The post telegrapher came into the headquarters building then and, seeing the two senior officers in discussion, he stood quietly by, unwilling to interrupt them.

  “Hello, Mr. Potter,” Falcon said, noticing the civilian. “Do you have something for me?”

  “Yes, sir, two telegrams,” the telegrapher said. “One from Ft. Lincoln, Dakota Territory, and one from Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas.”

  “Ft. Lincoln? That must be General Custer.” Falcon reached out toward the telegrapher. “I’ll read that one first.”

  FT LINCOLN, DAKOTA TERRITORY

  SEVENTH CAVALRY

  TO COLORADO HOME GUARD

  LT COL FALCON MACCALLISTER COMND’G

  COLONEL MACCALLISTER STOP I HAVE BEEN

  RETURNED TO ACTIVE DUTY, AND NOW TAKE

  PLEASURE IN INVITING YOU TO FT. LINCOLN WHERE ON

  THE 12 TH, INSTANT, YOUR BROTHER AND SISTER WILL

  GIVE A PERFORMANCE FOR THE POST STOP

  G.A. CUSTER

  LT COL BREVET MAJOR GENERAL COMND’G

  “Major, how would you feel about taking over command again for a while?” Falcon asked after he finished reading the telegram.

  “I’m at your command, sir,” Brisbane replied.

  “Good.” He held up the telegram. “General Custer has invited me to Ft. Lincoln to view a performance given by my brother and sister.”

  “Then, by all means, sir, you must go,” Brisbane said.

  “It’s just that I hate leaving you again so soon after having been gone for so long.”

  “Believe me, Colonel, I don’t mind,” Brisbane said.

  Falcon nodded. “All right, I will go. Mr. Potter, you said there were two telegrams for me?”

  “Yes, sir,” the civilian telegrapher said. He handed the second telegram over to Falcon.

  FT LEAVENWORTH KANSAS

  TO COLORADO HOME GUARD

  LT COL FALCON MACCALLISTER COMND’G

  SIR THIS IS TO INFORM YOU THAT TWO GATLING GUNS

  ARE BEING TRANSFERRED TO YOUR REG’T STOP THE

  GUNS ARE BEING SHIPPED BY TRAIN FROM FT WALLACE

  KANSAS TO DENVER AND WILL ARRIVE THERE ON THE

  9TH INSTANT STOP PLEASE ARRANGE TO HAVE

  SOMEONE PICK THEM UP AT THAT LOCATION STOP

  CAPT OLIVER LARKIN

  SUPPLY OFFICER

  “Gatling guns,” Falcon mumbled. He showed the telegram to Brisbane. “Did you order Gatling guns?”

  “No, sir, I did not.”

  “Now why on earth would they be sending us Gatling guns?”

  “I don’t know,” Brisbane said. “But evidently, someone thinks that we need them.”

  “What about the repeating rifles?” Falcon asked. “Any more news on the Henry rifles?”

  “I’ve had Mr. Potter, the telegrapher, look into it,” Brisbane said. “Apparently, the rifles have been misdirected.”

  Falcon looked over at Potter. “Misdirected to where?” he asked.

  “I haven’t been able to find out,” Potter said.

  “Well, keep trying,” Falcon ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If we are lucky, the same thing will happen with the Gatling guns. I know I sure don’t want the damn things,” Falcon said.

  “Colonel, we can’t just leave them at the railroad depot in Denver,” Brisbane said. “I mean, we are having enough trouble trying to find out what happened to the rifles.”

  “No, I guess you are right about that,” Falcon said. He stroked his chin for a moment as he studied the telegram. “They are supposed to get to Denver on the ninth, you say?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If I’m going to be in Ft. Lincoln on the twelfth, I’ll have to leave today.”

  “I see no reason why you cannot go to Ft. Lincoln as planned,” Brisbane said. “I can see to the retrieval of the guns.”

  “All right, we will send someone to get them. I mean, you are right, we can’t just leave them there. But let’s keep this very quiet, shall we?” Falcon said. “Let’s pick the detail with great care. And I don’t want anyone to know about the guns until we actually have them here.”

  “Very well, sir, I’ll lead the detail myself,” Brisbane said.

  Falcon shook his head. “No, I don’t think you should. Seeing someone of your rank making a supply run would be absolutely sure to raise some suspicions. Send Sergeant Major O’Leary.”

  “With or without escort?”

  “We normally send an escort when we pick up supplies, don’t we?”

  “Yes, sir, we normally send four men. Two in front and two behind the wagon. Perhaps we should double the escort.”

  “No, I don’t want this to look any different,” Falcon replied. “One wagon, driven by O’Leary, and four well-chosen escorts. As far as anyone who sees them is concerned, it will be just another routine supply run.”

  When Graham Potter, the civilian telegrapher, returned to his office, he saw Willie Crawford sitting at the instrument, sending a message.

  “Here, what are you doing?” Potter demanded.

  “I was just exchanging greetings with an old pard who is a telegrapher in Denver,” Crawford said.

  “You know telegraphy?”

  “Yes, I was a telegrapher during the war,” Crawford said.

  “Well, you ain’t a telegrapher here,�
�� Potter said. “So get.”

  Potter watched as the private hurried out of his office. He was about to send a message, and he didn’t want anyone who could read telegraphy hanging around. Locking the door and pulling the shade, Potter sat down to his instrument and began tapping out a message. He did not notice Crawford standing just outside the door, listening to the taps.

  May 6, 1876 Copperdale, Colorado Territory

  A bald-headed and nearly toothless piano player sat at a stained upright, pounding away on yellowed and cracked keys. The Copper Penny Saloon was filled with customers, and smoke from dozens of cigars, pipes, and roll-your-own cigarettes gathered in a cloud just below the ceiling.

  From a table at one side of the room, a soiled dove’s squeal was followed by the loud, coarse laughter of half a dozen men.

  Clete Harris, Jim Garon, Jay Bryans, and Ken Richland were sitting on the other side of the room. There were a couple of empty chairs at their table.

  Two cowboys approached, each carrying a mug of beer.

  “’Evenin’, gents,” one of the cowboys said. He gestured toward the empty chairs with his beer. “It’s pretty crowded in here tonight. Do you mind if me an’ my pard join you?”

  “Find another place, cowboy,” Harris said gruffly. “These chairs is taken.”

  “But there’s nobody—”

  “I said find another place,” Harris repeated, his voice even harsher.

  “Come on, Boone, I don’t want to be where we ain’t wanted,” the other cowboy said.

  Harris waited until the cowboys were gone before he continued his conversation with the others.

  “There’s two of ’em,” he said. “And they’re worth two thousand dollars each.”

  “How in the world did you come up with two Gatling guns?” Ken Richland asked.

  “I haven’t come up with them yet,” Harris said. “If I already had the guns, wouldn’t need you.”

  “But you know where to get them, right?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “All right, but my question still stands. Where did you find out about them?”