“I’m serving for the honor of serving my country, Clay, not for any hope of glory or fame.”
Scott applauded slowly and quietly in a deliberately false fashion. “How very—noble—of you, John. Or, shall I call you Black Jack?”
“Clay, must you be so cynical?” Sue asked.
Scott broke into an easy smile, and then stuck his hand out toward Pershing. “I’m just teasing. Why, Pershing and I are old friends. We even did a couple of punishment walks together, right, John?”
“Just because one day we replaced the sugar with salt in all the sugar bowls in the faculty mess,” Pershing replied. “Clearly, the faculty had no sense of humor.”
Scott and Pershing laughed, and the earlier, strained, conversation was forgotten.
“Mrs. Scott, what do you hear from General Winfield? He is getting along well, I take it?” Colonel Gibbon asked.
“Yes, thank you. Both he and my mother are doing well,” Sue answered.
“He is a fine man, as fine an officer as I ever had the privilege of serving under,” Gibbon said.
“You served with General Winfield, sir?” a newly minted second lieutenant asked.
“I did indeed. Gentlemen, let me tell you about General Winfield,” Gibbon said to the other officers. “When I was a fresh out of West Point shavetail lieutenant, this young lady’s father, Major General Nathan Austin Winfield, was then Lieutenant Colonel Winfield. He was my commanding officer when we fought the battle of Sailor’s Creek.
“General Winfield was brilliant. He succeeded in collapsing the Confederate line, capturing around 3,400 men and routing the rest. Among the prisoners were 6 Confederate generals including their commander, General Richard Ewell.
“But we didn’t stop there. No, sir, we continued on, and trapping the Confederates as they were trying to cross the bridge, we attacked at dusk, steadily driving the Confederates back until we took the bridge. Within a month, Lee surrendered at Appomattox, and there are historians who said the battle of Sailor’s Creek was the one that finally broke the back of the Confederacy.”
“I believe Tom Custer was awarded one of his two Medals of Honor there, was he not?” Pershing asked.
“Yes. I saw the action that merited the award. It was during a charge made by our brigade at Sailor’s Creek, Virginia, against General Ewell’s Corps. Having crossed the line of temporary works in the flank road, we were confronted by a supporting line. It was from the second line that Tom Custer single-handedly grabbed the enemy’s colors. As he approached the colors, he received a shot in the face which knocked him back on his horse, but in a moment he was upright in his saddle. He shot the enemy color bearer, and as he was falling, Captain Custer wrenched the standard from his grasp and bore it away in triumph.”
“And you saw that, sir?” Pershing asked, impressed by the story.
“I did, indeed. And now the noble captain, who fell with his brother at Little Big Horn, lies buried at Fort Leavenworth,” Gibbon said.
There was a moment of silence, then the colonel’s orderly spoke up. “Colonel, the post singers are here, sir.”
“Oh then, by all means, show them in,” Gibbon said.
Four soldiers with great voices sang a medley, ending with “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.”
Because that was Kathleen’s name, and because she had come to America from Ireland when she was young, the song was particularly moving to her, and Sue noticed her wipe a tear away.
After the music, the officers and their wives gathered around the table for a dinner of ham and fried potatoes.
“Gentlemen, I’m sorry I can’t offer you steak,” Gibbon said, “But at the moment the army inventory is very short of beef. That situation is about to change, however. The army has recently purchased two thousand head of Black Angus cattle, and they are to be delivered here where they will be processed and shipped on to other army posts throughout the West.”
“Oh, Colonel Gibbon, have you ever eaten Black Angus beef?” Major Allison asked.
“No, I can’t say as I have,” Gibbon replied. “But I suppose beef is beef, is it not?”
“No, sir,” Allison replied. He smiled. “Compared to Black Angus beef, eating longhorn is like eating shoe leather.”
“Really? Well then, I shall certainly look forward to the beef.”
“Where is it coming from?” Kirby asked.
“The deal was made with a man by the name of MacCallister. Duff MacCallister,” Gibbon said. “He will be delivering the herd here within the week.”
“Duff MacCallister, you say?” Pershing asked, perking up at the name.
“Yes. Do you know him, Lieutenant Pershing?”
“I met him on Independence Day. I must say he is a fine, imposing gentleman. And speaking of Medals of Honor as we were, I might point out that Mr. MacCallister, while serving as a captain in the Black Watch, was awarded the Victoria Cross. That is certainly the equal to our Medal of Honor.”
“Well, then, I shall look forward to meeting him,” Colonel Gibbon said.
“Colonel, I have a proposal, if you are interested,” Major Allison suggested.
“What would that be, Phil?”
“As soon as Mr. MacCallister arrives with his herd, I think we should have an outdoor cookout, perhaps an entire side of beef, for all the men on the post,” Major Allison suggested.
“Good idea!” Gibbon agreed. He chuckled. “And since it was your idea, I shall place you in charge of seeing that it is done.”
“Gladly, Colonel,” Major Allison replied. “I’ll turn the task over to Sergeant Beck. He fancies himself, and rightly so, quite the master at barbeque.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing Mr. MacCallister again,” Pershing said. Then he smiled. “Almost as much as I’m looking forward to eating the beef that Sergeant Beck will prepare.”
“Do you think Jason Holbrook got enough of a look tonight?” Lieutenant Scott asked after he and Sue returned to their quarters that night. His voice was dripping with sarcasm
“Clayton, you are not being fair!” Sue said. “I didn’t want to wear this dress. You are the one who insisted that I wear it.”
“Yes, but it was meant as a tactical move to pique Colonel Gibbon’s interest, not to seduce Lieutenant Holbrook. Or was it John Pershing you were interested in?”
“Clayton, please,” Sue said as tears welled in her eyes.
“Oh, so now you are going to start crying again. That seems to be your most accomplished talent. You can turn the tears on and off at will.”
“Only when you say things that are hurtful,” Sue said.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Scott said in a scoffing tone of voice. Then, abruptly, he smiled.
“On the other hand, if it was your husband you were trying to seduce, you succeeded. Come to bed now.”
“Clay, you can’t be so cruel to me one moment, then the very next moment think that I might want to lie with you.”
The smile on Scott’s face was replaced by a sneer. “Maybe you don’t understand,” he said. “It makes no matter whether you want to lie with me or not. I am your husband, and I have the right to demand it.”
Martin Farm
Yellow Hawk, and six young men who called themselves warriors, approached the ranch just before dawn. With their horses staked out behind them, they moved down to the edge of a tree line which afforded them an excellent view of the house and grounds. The farm was small enough to be worked by Carl Martin and his fourteen-year-old son.
Yellow Hawk had chosen it as his target for several reasons. Because it was small there would be no resistance, and it would be an easy and quick victory for him. It also had a smokehouse filled with meat that Yellow Hawk would be able to take as rations for his men.
“Look, there is the man,” Spotted Eagle said, pointing.
Carl Martin came from the back of the house and started toward the very small house behind. This, Yellow Hawk knew, was the toilet.
Spotted Eagle raised hi
s rifle and took aim.
“No,” Yellow Hawk said. “The rifle will make noise.”
Yellow Hawk had a Winchester rifle, but he also had a bow and quiver of arrows. Fitting an arrow into the bow, he raised it, took aim, then let the arrow fly.
The arrow sped silently across the distance, and then buried itself in Martin’s neck.
Without a sound, Martin put his hand up to his neck, totally shocked and surprised, pulled at the arrow, then collapsed and lay perfectly still.
“Papa!” a voice shouted and a young boy ran out of the house to see to his father, who was now lying on the ground.
“Now!” Yellow Hawk shouted, and he and those with him swept down upon the house.
A mile away from the Martin farm, Martha Dumey was feeding chickens when she saw a column of smoke rising into the air.
“Chris?” she called to her husband. “Chris, come out here!”
Chris Dumey stepped out onto the back porch, holding his cup of coffee. “What is it?”
“Look!” Martha said, pointing. “Do you think that’s the Martin house?”
“I’ll be damned!” Chris said. “It looks like it might be on fire.”
“Maybe we’d better go see what we can do to help.”
“I’ll hitch up the buckboard,” Chris said.
Half an hour later, Chris, Martha, and their sixteen-year-old daughter, Jenny, arrived at the Martin House. Though in reality, it could no longer be described as a house. What it was now, was a pile of blackened, and still smoking, lumber.
“Where are the Martins?” Martha asked.
“Maybe they left already,” Chris said. “It could be that . . .” Chris paused in mid-sentence. “Oh, my God,” he said. “Martha, look over there.”
Chris pointed to two bodies lying on the ground.
“Is that Carl and Jimmy?” Martha asked.
“You and Jenny stay in the buckboard. I’ll take a look.”
Chris walked over to look down at the two bodies, and then gasped. Both had been scalped.
“What the hell?” he said aloud. “Scalped?”
Chris walked over for a look at the smoldering pile of lumber and as he got closer, he got a whiff of the smell of burnt flesh. Taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he held it over his nose as he moved in for a more thorough examination.
That was when he saw them, two blackened lumps. They were burned beyond recognition, but he knew that it was Rosemary and her ten-year-old daughter, Anna Jane.
Looking back toward the buckboard, he saw that Martha had climbed down.
“No!” he shouted, waving her back. “Get back in the buckboard! There ain’t nothin’ here for you to see!”
“Rosemary?” Martha asked.
Chris walked slowly back to the buckboard. “Like I said,” he said. “There ain’t nothin’ here for you to see.”
Chapter Five
Sky Meadow
Most of Meagan’s sewing over the last few weeks had been to get ready for the Fourth of July dance, and all those jobs had been fulfilled. At the moment, she had no outstanding projects so, long before daylight on the morning that the drive was to take place, she hung a sign in the door saying that the store would be closed for at least two weeks. That done, she rode through the early morning darkness down to Sky Meadow, where she intended to join in the drive to Fort Laramie. She had not informed Duff of her intention to do this, so she wasn’t sure how he would take it when he saw her this morning. But short of an actual breach in their relationship, she intended to make the drive.
By the time she arrived at Sky Meadow, it was still very early in the morning, so early that the just risen sun was still bloodred, and the mist upon the valley had not yet burned away. There was dew on the grass, and it was sparkling with all the colors of the rainbow.
Meagan smiled as she looked out over the dew, recalling the words Duff had spoken to her on the night of the dance.
“Sure m’girl, an ’tis a vision of loveliness ye be, like the beauty of a field that is arrayed in the rainbow colors of sparkling dew.”
The air was permeated with the rich smell of coffee brewing, bacon frying, and biscuits baking. That was because Elmer, who had risen quite early, was preparing breakfast for the drovers so that they would “start out on a full stomach.”
“Why, Miss Parker,” Elmer said. “Come to see us off, did you? I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Meagan chuckled. “I’m pretty sure Duff isn’t expecting it either,” Meagan said. “And I’m not just here to see you off.”
“Really? You mean you are plannin’ on askin’ him if you can go with us?” Elmer asked.
Meagan shook her head. “I don’t plan on asking him anything. I plan on telling him. Half the cows that are making this drive are mine. If he won’t let me go with his cows, I’ll just go with my own.”
Elmer laughed out loud. “Whoowee, you are a keg of gunpowder you are,” he said. “I’d love to see Duff’s face when you tell him that you ain’t askin’.”
“You’ll see it,” Meagan said, easily. “I plan to tell him as soon as he shows up this morning.”
“Well, how about a cup of coffee while you’re waiting for him?” Elmer said.
“Best offer I’ve had all day,” Meagan answered.
“Ha! Seein’ as how the day ain’t even begun, I reckon that ain’t hard to do,” Elmer said as he poured coffee into a cup, and then handed it to her.
Meagan blew on the coffee, then slurped a swallow through extended lips because it was too hot to drink normally.
“Here’s your chance,” Elmer said. “Duff’s a’ comin’.”
“Meagan!” Duff said with a broad smile. “You didn’t have to come see us off. That’s awfully nice of you, but I hate to think that you had to get up so early.”
“I’m not here to see you off, Duff,” Meagan said.
“Oh? What do you mean? Why are you here?”
Meagan took another swallow of her coffee before she answered.
“I’m going with you,” she said, matter-of-factly.
Duff looked as if he was about to argue with her, then he smiled and nodded.
“Why not?” he asked. “After all, half the cows are yours.”
“I’ll be damned,” Elmer said.
The hardest part of the drive was to get the cows moving. They were used to the area; they knew every blade of grass and they knew the water. In addition, they knew every tree and overhanging bluff that could provide some respite from the sun. That made them reluctant to leave, and this morning they showed every intention of staying right where they were.
The drovers shouted, probed the animals with sticks, and swung their ropes to get the herd underway. Eventually, their efforts paid off, and the herd began to move. Then, once the herd was underway, it changed from two thousand individual creatures into a single entity with a single purpose. The inertia they needed to overcome to get the herd moving in the first place now worked in their favor as the cows would plod along all day long at a steady clip, showing no inclination to stop, the cacophony of bawls and snorts a song that was as much a part of a cowboy’s life and as comforting as his own mother’s words.
Duff liked trailing cattle; he liked the sounds of the shuffling hooves and the whistling and shouts of the cowboys as they kept the herd moving. He liked the sight of a sea of black moving slowly but steadily across the plains, with mountains beside and behind them. There was a distinctive smell to a herd this size. The smells came from sun on the hides, dust in the air, and especially from the animals’ droppings and urine. The odor was pungent and perhaps, to many, unpleasant. To Duff, however, it was an aroma that was both familiar and agreeable.
They reached Box Elder Creek after only a few hours on the trail. The lead animals bawled and refused the ford at first, but the drovers forced them in. Then, once the herd was started across the water, it again became one entity, with all the trailing cows following without protest.
With his leg
hooked across the pommel of his saddle, Duff sat astride his horse on the south bank and watched as the stream of animals moved down into the water. Their hooves made clacking sounds on the rocky bank of the stream as the cows, like a black, moving stream, flowed across in an unbroken line.
Late in the afternoon of the first day of the drive, Meagan couldn’t recall when she had been so tired. It was a bone-aching, backbreaking tired, and yet there was an exhilaration that transcended the tiredness. The exhilaration came from the excitement of the drive and from meeting the challenge. Even though she had made a big thing about participating in this drive, she was not really sure she would be able to. She had told herself this morning that if the drive became too grueling she would go back to Chugwater. But, as it grew later and later in the day, she began to have more confidence that perhaps she could do this. At least, she was willing to give it another day, and if she got through the next day, another beyond that.
The yellow glare of the sun-filled sky mellowed into the steel blue of late afternoon by the time the herd reached the place where they would be halted for the night. The sun was low in the western sky, and behind the setting sun, great bands of color spread out along the rim of the Laramie Mountains. Those few clouds that dared to intrude on this perfect day were under-lit by the sun and they glowed orange in the darkening sky.
After supper that evening, when most of the others had bedded down for the night, Meagan saddled a horse and rode away from the camp. Swallowed up by the blue velvet of darkness, she could feel the night air caressing her skin like fine silk, while overhead the stars glistened like diamonds. Meagan was aware of the quiet herd, with the cows lying down, but just as many standing motionlessly at rest. An owl landed nearby and his wings made a soft whirr as he flew by.
Meagan came to a small grass-covered knoll, and, on the other side, she could hear the splashing, bubbling sound of the Chugwater. She dismounted and climbed to the top of the small hill so she could look down at the water. Here, the creek was fairly swift, and it tumbled over the rocks, causing white eddies that were luminescent in the moonlight. The contrast between the dark water, and the white swirls made the stream even more beautiful at night than it was by day.
MacCallister, the Eagles Legacy: Dry Gulch Ambush Page 4