“Yes, sir, I’m sure we did.”
“Do you have any idea how many?”
Scott shook his head. “No, sir. As I point out in the report, the Indians had the advantage of high ground and cover, so we were never able to reconnoiter the area and, of course, we had to leave the three troopers who were killed.”
“I just hope there’s enough left of those poor devils to bring home,” Kirby said as he took a drink of coffee.
“Captain Kirby, you aren’t blaming me for leaving those three men there, are you?”
“No. From what I have read in this report, under the circumstances, I think you did exactly the right thing. You had no choice but to get out of there when you did. The enemy held the high ground, and you had no room for maneuver. The wonder is that you didn’t lose more men.”
“I thank you, Captain, for your understanding.”
Chapter Twelve
Colonel Gibbon had turned out the entire regiment to see A Troop off this morning, and ordered the Fifth Cavalry Band to provide music. The band played a bouncy rendition of “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” To the accompaniment of the music, A Troop, in mounted columns of two, rode around the parade ground of Fort Laramie as it performed its departure parade. Despite the fact that only one troop was deploying, there was a surprisingly large turnout of spectators to watch, as well as those who watched from the windows of the houses of the married officers and the soap-suds row quarters of the noncommissioned officers.
A short while later, as the troop rode through Millersburg, the small town that was just outside the gates, the citizens of the town were gathered on either side of the street to wish them well. They, like most of the civilians in the area, had been frightened by the marauding Indians, and were anxious to see peace restored.
“Take care of them Injuns!” one man shouted.
“Hang ’em! Hang ’em high!” another yelled.
The concerned citizens weren’t the only ones who had turned out. As they rode by Maxine’s House of Delight, there were several young women in attire that could only be referred to as risqué standing on the upper balcony of the two-story edifice. They leaned over the banister to look down on the passing body of men, and in doing so, unashamedly displayed their cleavage for the enjoyment of the soldiers.
As they recognized some of the soldiers, they would call out to them, causing some of the younger troopers some embarrassment.
“Trooper Canfield, don’t you go getting your thing shot off now! Me ’n’ you have been having a lot of fun with that,” one of the girls shouted, and the soldiers riding closest to Canfield began to tease him.
“Well now, Canfield, just what have you and that girl been doing with your thing?” someone asked, and several of the soldiers laughed.
“At ease in the ranks!” First Sergeant Cobb called. “This ain’t no church picnic we’re goin’ on!”
“First Sergeant, I don’t think church picnic has anything to do with whatever Canfield and that doxie was talkin’ about,” Sergeant Caviness replied, and the men, including even Captain Kirby, laughed out loud.
Leaving Fort Laramie, they approached the spot where Scott had been ambushed, reaching it by mid-afternoon. There was no question as to whether the bodies would still be there, because long before they actually got there, they saw dozens of ugly, black buzzards making circles in the sky.
“Damn,” Kirby said. “I hope the buzzards and the animals have left us enough to recover. Where were you, exactly, when the Indians attacked?”
“We were following the creek bed,” Scott replied. He pointed. “We were there, in the draw between the two bluffs.”
“My God, Scott, you took your command into a confined space like that?” Kirby asked, surprised by Scott’s response.
“Yes, sir, I deemed it necessary to fulfill the mission.”
“How was that necessary?”
Scott grew defensive under the questioning and he looked back toward the troop of men who were following them. The bugler was right behind Scott and Captain Kirby, First Sergeant Cobb, and the guideon bearer were next, then Sergeant Caviness was riding in the first rank of the troop. He didn’t think anyone had heard the captain’s question.
“Lieutenant Scott?”
“Sir?”
“You were going to tell me how it was necessary for you to lead your command into a restricted area like that in order to fulfill your mission.”
“Yes, sir. Well, my mission was to find the renegade Indians, and we did that, Captain. We had spotted the Indians and I saw that they were retreating. I believed that the best way to overtake them was to take the most direct route, and that led me up the creek bed.”
“Didn’t you say there were fifty Indians? What on earth would make you go into an area like that when both terrain and enemy forces were against you? Didn’t you learn anything about tactics at the Point?”
“Yes, sir, and I also learned that sometimes a commander has to be flexible and take the initiative if the mission is to be accomplished. With all due respect, sir, you weren’t there.”
Captain Kirby took his hat off and ran his hand through his graying hair. “You’re right, Lieutenant,” he said with a sigh. “I wasn’t there. And Sergeant Caviness and Trooper Jones were, and I know they would not have let you go in if they didn’t think it was all right. I’ll not sit in judgment over you.”
“Thank you, sir. As I said, I was only trying to fulfill the mission in what I thought was the best way possible.”
“Truth is, Scott, I guess you should be commended for not losing any more men than you did. You were smart, once you were engaged by superior forces under such conditions, to leave the battlefield.”
They saw the three bodies as soon as they entered the draw. It was easy to see them, because all three of the cavalrymen had been stripped naked. Their naked bodies were very white against the dark sand.
“Oh!” Scott said, turning head aside as they approached.
All three of the slain soldiers had the top of their heads removed, not just the scalps, but the entire cranium. The brains of the three men were spilling out onto the ground. The chest cavities were open as well, and the hearts of the three men had been cut out. They had also been emasculated, though their penises were nowhere to be found, probably having been eaten by wild animals.
“Oh, my God!” Scott said. He dismounted quickly, then stood beside his horse with his head pressed hard against the saddle.
“Are you all right, Clay?” Captain Kirby asked, concern in his voice.
For a long moment, Scott didn’t answer.
“Lieutenant Scott?” Kirby asked, even more concerned now.
“Yes, sir,” Scott finally said, his voice weak. “Who in heaven’s name would do something like that? And why?”
“Indians do it to keep their enemies from going to heaven,” Kirby said.
“Savages,” Scott said, spitting the word. “Bloody, ignorant savages.”
“Cap’n,” Sergeant Caviness said. “May I suggest that we put men on top of both bluffs, keepin’ an eye open?”
“Yes, good idea, Sergeant, thank you,” Captain Kirby said.
Lieutenant Scott perceived that Caviness was looking at him, no doubt in judgment, as if pointing out that a good officer will recognize a good idea, when it is proposed by an experienced NCO.
“Get some tarpaulins out, and get these men wrapped up,” Captain Kirby ordered.
“Wrapped up?” Scott said. “Do you mean you plan to take them with us?”
“Of course, I intend to take them back with us. Why do you think we came here, Lieutenant?”
“Well, to recover the bodies, yes, sir. But I didn’t think we would be taking them back.”
“What would you do with them, Lieutenant?”
“We came across a family of settlers that were massacred, and we buried them where we found them,” Scott said.
“You buried the whole family?”
“Yes, sir.”
/> “Well, there you go, Lieutenant, they were buried with family. We can do no less for these men. They are our family, and we are going to take them back to the post and give them a decent burial.”
“Yes, sir,” Scott said. He nodded. “Yes, you are right, of course. That is exactly what we should do.”
“I’m glad I have your concurrence,” Kirby said. His reply was sarcastic, but Scott just nodded, as if not recognizing the scorn.
“First Sergeant,” Kirby called, and First Sergeant Cobb hurried over and saluted. “Yes, sir?”
“Select ten men to take these bodies back to the post.”
“You want them to start back today, Cap’n?”
“No, we’ll leave this confined area and make camp on high ground somewhere. The detail can start back tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. If it’s all right with you, Cap’n, I’d like to send Sergeant Caviness back in charge of the detail. I mean, bein’ as him and Jones was such good friends, and all.”
“Of course, it’s all right,” Kirby said.
“Captain Kirby, if you send ten men back, it will decrease our strength while we are in pursuit,” Scott said.
“How many Indians did you see, Lieutenant Scott?” Kirby asked.
“I . . .” Scott looked back toward Caviness, and saw that Caviness was waiting for him to answer. “I’m not sure, Captain. We were under fire at the time, and the Indians were holding the high ground, which made it difficult to ascertain their strength.”
“We will have ninety men remaining, even after we send the burial team back to the post,” Captain Caviness said. “If you are uncomfortable facing the Indians with ninety men, I can put you in charge of the burial detail and you can return to the post, while we continue our scout.”
“No! No, sir, I didn’t mean that at all!” Scott said, quickly. “I’m quite certain that we have enough men to deal with any Indians we might find.”
“I’m glad to see that you feel that way,” Captain Kirby said.
As it was now nearly five o’clock, the troop made camp for the first night on the high bluff. Lieutenant Scott and Captain Kirby bivouacked in a Silbey tent. The Silbey tent was twelve feet tall and eighteen feet in diameter at the base. It was held up by a single pole in the center. The front door was eight feet, nine inches tall, with a rear ventilation doorway that was five feet high. The base of the tent was secured with reinforced brass spur washer grommet, which made the tent quite comfortable.
In contrast to the tent the two officers occupied, the rest of the soldiers stayed in small, two-man tents, each soldier carrying a “shelter half,” or one side of the tent. For supper that evening, Captain Kirby and Lieutenant Scott sat at a field table that was laid with china and silver, as comfortable with this familiar setting as if they were in their own dining room.
“Would you like some jam?” Kirby asked.
“Yes, thank you, sir,” Scott replied, taking the jar of jam from Kirby. He spread it on a piece of buttered bread.
“I hope the men are enjoying their supper this evening,” Kirby said. “For the rest of the scout, we’ll be dining on hard tack, bacon, beans, and coffee.”
“Captain Kirby, have you been in battle before?”
“A few times,” Kirby said. “I was with Colonel Gibbon during the Little Big Horn fight. If Custer had followed orders—if he had waited until we, and General Terry joined up with him, we would have had four thousand soldiers at the site of the battle, and the Indians would have been trapped between us.”
“We studied Custer’s blunder in tactics at West Point,” Scott said. “I must confess that, when I encountered the Indians the other day, and realized that we were in an untenable position and facing superior numbers and firepower, the idea that I might wind up like Custer passed through my mind.
Kirby chuckled. “Well, I think that if we encounter any Indians during this scout, they will not constitute such a threat. From the information we have received from the chiefs at Wind River Reservation, Yellow Hawk’s band has grown since he first left the reservation, but supposedly he doesn’t have more than fifteen or twenty warriors with him.”
“I think that number is very wrong,” Scott said. “I am sure that I counted more than that. I counted at least forty.”
“You may have thought so,” Kirby said. “But the Indians are very good at deception. If you were in the draw, and they had the high ground on each side of you, it would be easy for them to appear in one place, and then quickly appear again, to make it seem as if there were more.”
Scott shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m sure I counted more than forty.”
“Well, no matter. As I said, even after we dispatch the burial team, we’ll still have ninety men,” Kirby said. “So even if Yellow Hawk does have forty men with him, I doubt that he will attempt to engage us. Indians don’t like to fight unless they have an absolute confidence that they have the advantage. No doubt our biggest problem will be in locating them.”
“I want to find them, and I want to do battle with them,” Scott said.
Kirby chuckled. “I understand. You want to record some experience to enhance your chances of promotion.”
“Yes,” Scott said.
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that, I guess. After all, that’s why we have an army.”
“Captain, when we engage the enemy, you will give me an opportunity to prove myself, won’t you?”
“Prove yourself ?”
“I mean, uh, well, if there is an opportunity to be awarded the Medal of Honor, I want to take it. I know that if I were to receive the Medal of Honor, it would make a big impression on my father-in-law.”
“You know, Clay, I’ve been in the army a long time,” Kirby said. “I’m still a captain, though some of my classmates from the Academy are majors and lieutenant colonels now. And I have seen my share of battle. I’m not sure that being in battle is all that it takes.”
Outside they heard the bugler blow “Taps,” and Captain Kirby leaned over to extinguish the candle.
“We’d better get some rest. We’ve a long ride tomorrow.”
Chapter Thirteen
With the cattle drive
Mercifully, the yellow glare of the summer sky mellowed into the steel blue of late afternoon by the time the herd reached the place where it would be halted for the night, and Meagan and the other drovers were refreshed with a breath of cool air.
To the west, the sun dropped all the way to the foothills, while to the east evening purple, like bunches of violets, gathered in the notches and timbered draws. Behind the setting sun, great bands of color spread out along the horizon. 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.
“All right, folks, supper’s ready,” Elmer called.
“Damn, that looks good, Mr. Gleason,” Jimmy Sherman said, checking out the fare.
“Ha! Sherman, you are such a chow hound that if he cooked up a pot of cow dung, you’d be the first one in line,” Jory Bates said.
The others laughed, then Bates remembered that there was a lady in their midst.
“Beg your pardon, Miss Parker, for sayin’ cow dung,” he said.
“Mr. Bates, considering what you could have called it, I think no pardon is needed.”
The others laughed.
That night, Muley Harris and Ira Adams could smell the herd before they could hear it, and they could hear it before they saw it. Because the cattle were black, the herd looked like a large shadow within a shadow.
“Let’s move in real quiet, and take off about a hunnert cows from the end that’s the farthest away from where they’re a’ campin’,” Harris said.
“How we goin’ to do that? We goin’ to count ’em, or what?” Adams asked.
“No, we ain’t goin’ to have to actual count ’em,” Harris said. “I figure we can purt’ nigh guess at how many there is. Then, what we’ll do is, ride in real slow and real
quiet, and just kind of start ’em movin’.”
“What about the nighthawk? What if he sees us?”
“Well, if he sees us, there ain’t no need to be quiet no more, so we’ll just shoot the son of a bitch, then take our cows and maybe stampede the herd. They’ll be so busy tryin’ to save the rest of the cows that we’ll get away with what we’ve took.”
“All right,” Adams said.
“Quiet, now. No more talkin’.”
The two men rode down the ridgeline toward the herd of cattle that were bunched alongside the Chugwater. Harris pointed to the place in the herd where he thought they could go to carve out about a hundred head.
As they cut the cows from the herd, the cows passed over a layer of rocks that lay alongside the stream. When they did so, there was a clacking sound of hooves on rock.
Duff was riding nighthawk when he heard the faint sound. Since the herd was at rest, he looked around to find the source of the sound and saw a long dark line moving away from the main herd.
It took him a moment to realize exactly what was happening, but once he figured it out, he reacted quickly.
“Cattle thieves!” he shouted. “Everyone up! We’re being robbed!”
Duff’s shout awakened Elmer and the drovers, but it also alerted the thieves, and one of them fired a shot toward him. Duff saw the muzzle flash, then heard the bullet whiz by, amazingly close for a wild shot in the dark.
Duff shot back, aiming toward where he had seen the muzzle flame. The sound of two guns in the middle of the night didn’t disturb the main herd, but it did set the pilfered cows to running.
Duff looked through the dust raised by the swirling cattle, trying to find one of the thieves. He saw a horse, but its saddle was empty, and he believed he may have scored with the shot he had directed toward the muzzle flash. Then another horse appeared, this time with a rider. The rider fired at Duff, and Duff returned fire. The rider fell from the saddle, and the horse galloped off, to join the other riderless horse.
MacCallister, the Eagles Legacy: Dry Gulch Ambush Page 10