MacCallister, the Eagles Legacy: Dry Gulch Ambush

by William W. Johnstone

  There were three tables set up for the officers, and they were covered with tablecloths, and set with china, crystal, and real silver, supplied not only from the household treasures of the married officers, but from the officers’ open mess as well. Elmer was invited to eat with the officers of the post, but Sergeant Havercost had given him a special invitation to eat with him, Caviness, First Sergeant Cobb, and the rest of the unmarried NCOs. And because Elmer felt a sense of guilt over having once robbed Havercost, he agreed to join them.

  The soldiers were on their best behavior, standing in line to present their plates to Sergeant Beck, who carved generous portions of the meat for them.

  “Whooee, Beck, what’d you do to this here beef?” Sergeant Caviness asked, putting into words what everyone was thinking. “This here’s the best tastin’ meat I ever ate.”

  “It’s the sauce,” Sergeant Havercost suggested. “What kind of sauce are you usin’?”

  “The sauce is nothing but vinegar, lemon juice, brown sugar, and some ground cayenne,” Sergeant Beck said. “That’s the same sauce I always use.”

  “Well, you’ve done somethin’ different.”

  “Ask him,” Sergeant Beck said, pointing to Elmer.

  “Did you do something to this meat, Mr. Gleason?”

  Elmer shook his head. “It’s not how it’s cooked,” he said. “It’s what is cooked. The beef you are eatin’ came from a Black Angus.”

  “The hell, you say,” Caviness said. He looked at the meat on his plate. “And this here is what you and MacCallister brought to us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ll be damn. Whoever thought the army would be eating this good?”

  After the meal, there was a baseball game with players from A and B troops playing against C and D troops. Meagan was sitting beside Duff, and she realized that as he was watching the game, he had absolutely no understanding of it.

  “Why is it that sometimes they hit the ball and run, and other times they hit the ball and don’t run?” Duff asked.

  “Because if the batted ball is caught, it is an out,” Megan explained.

  “An ‘out’?”

  Meagan laughed. “Most of the time it is the men who must explain a sport to the women. I’m having a great time reversing the roles.”

  Sherman, Ford, and Bates, the cowboys who had brought the herd down, remained for the barbeque, then stayed around to watch the baseball game. Elmer was staying at the fort with Duff, so the three men would be taking the chuck wagon back to Sky Meadow. After the game, the three came over to see Duff and Meagan.

  “Mr. MacCallister,” Sherman said, speaking for all of them. “We’re goin’ to get on back to the ranch now. We’ll keep an eye on things till you get back.”

  “Don’t spend all the money afore you get back home now,” Ford teased. “Keep enough of it back that you can make the payroll.”

  “Don’t you worry any about that, Mr. Ford,” Meagan said with a little laugh. “Half the money is mine. If Duff spends all his money, I’ll have enough to make the payroll.”

  “That’s right, ain’t it?” Ford said with a broad grin. “Well then, Mr. MacCallister, you just don’t mind what I said. If you want to spend all your money on a glorious drunk, why, you just go right ahead and do it.”

  “Well, ’tis thanks I’m giving ye for the permission to spend m’ own money,” Duff said.

  Ford got a distressed look on his face.

  “Oh, law, Mr. MacCallister, I din’t mean it like that. Why, I ain’t got no right to say what you do with your own money.”

  Meagan laughed. “Mr. Ford, I know it’s hard to tell because he’s a Scotsman, and Scotsmen are hard to understand sometimes, believe me I know. But he is teasing you.”

  Not until Duff smiled did Ford realize he was being teased, then he laughed easily as well.

  “You had me goin’ there for a moment,” Ford said.

  “Jory, Jimmy, Jeff, ye boys be careful going back home. Dinnae get into any trouble anywhere. ’Tis good lads ye are, and I’m honored to have ye working with me.”

  The three cowboys nodded their good-byes. Then with Jimmy Sherman driving the wagon, Jory Bates, and Jeff Ford on horseback alongside, the three started toward the gate. Sherman had left his horse behind for Elmer to ride when it was time for Duff, Meagan, and Elmer to leave.

  Duff watched them until they passed through the gate, then he turned to Meagan.

  “Meagan, would ye be for taking a bit of a stroll down to the river?”

  “Why, I would love to,” Meagan replied, taking his arm.

  A moment later, as they stood there looking out over the water, Meagan began to sing.

  “The water is wide, I cannot cross o’er

  But neither have I the wings to fly

  Give me a boat, that will carry two,

  And both shall row, my love and I.”

  Her voice was a pure, sweet soprano and Duff looked at her in surprise as she continued.

  “There is a ship, and she sails the sea

  She’s loaded deep, as deep can be,

  But not as deep as the love I’m in.

  I know not if I sink or swim.”

  “Why, Meagan, and were ye for knowin’, lass, that it is a Scottish tune ye be singing?”

  “‘O Waly, Waly,’” Meagan said. “But I don’t know what that means.”

  “You sang it, Meagan. The water is wide,” Duff said.

  As Duff looked at her, Meagan saw a smoldering flame in his eyes, and she felt a tingling in the pit of her stomach. He moved toward her, paused for a moment and, encountering no resistance, entangled his hand in her hair and pulled her lips to his. The kiss began innocently enough, no more than the brush of lips they had shared on that night at her apartment, when he first told her that he had sold some cattle to the army. It was soft and tentative, as if he were exploring the bounds. But when she offered no resistance, the kiss deepened.

  Meagan lost all control of herself then, becoming a creature who was totally subservient to Duff’s will and demand. She could no more break off this kiss than she could fly, and though a weak cry far back in her mind warned her against going too far, every emotion and sensation in her body silenced that voice.

  It was Duff who established the boundaries. “I think perhaps we should return to the fort,” he said.

  With all that was in her, Meagan wanted to ask, why? But as he put his hand gently on her arm and turned toward the fort, she acquiesced without comment.

  It began to rain.

  Chapter Twenty

  Argonne Forest, October 3, 1918

  The Germans had a piece of artillery they called “Big Bertha,” a huge gun that fired 1,800 pound shells for a distance of seven miles. Occasionally, they would launch one in the direction of the Château de Chaumont, where General Pershing had established his headquarters. Fortunately, none of those shells actually struck the castle. But often they would land close enough, within less than a quarter of a mile, that the concussion of the explosion would rattle the windows.

  Sergeant Duff Tavish MacCallister, Jr. had been invited by General Pershing to spend the night at Château de Chaumont castle, and at the moment, he was the general’s guest at the dinner table. Tavish felt very awkward, being served by the same orderlies who were serving the general. And though Tavish was but a sergeant, these orderlies were serving him with as much care and respect as they were showing the general.

  Pershing chuckled. “You seem a little self-conscious, Sergeant,” he said.

  “I’m not used to dining with generals,” Tavish replied.

  “Maybe not. But you have dined with Governor Brooks, Governor Carrey, and President Roosevelt. I believe, in fact, that you were President Roosevelt’s guide on a hunting trip he took.”

  “Well, yes, sir, but they were my dad’s friends.”

  “I consider myself a friend of your father.”

  “It’s not the same. I was a civilian then. Now I’m a sergeant
in the army, and you are a general.”

  “Let’s put that aside for a moment, shall we?” General Pershing asked.

  “General, that’s easy for you to say. But I haven’t been in the army all that long and respect for officers has been drilled in me . . . respect for a general officer? Well, to be honest with you, that’s not anything I ever even thought I would have to deal with. And now, here I am, having dinner with one.”

  “I haven’t always been a general, Sergeant.”

  “No, sir, but you’ve always been an officer.”

  Pershing chuckled. “Evidently, you have no idea what it is like to be a plebe at West Point.”

  “No, sir, I don’t know what it’s like.”

  “Trust me, Sergeant, as plebes we had to put up with such things as: ‘What is the definition of leather?’”

  “Leather? You mean like my boots? From a cow?”

  General Pershing chuckled. “It’s been a long time since I was a plebe, but I still remember all the inane questions we were asked, and would have to remember, or walk punishment tours. You think of leather as your boots, but this is what leather is.” Pershing cleared his throat, and began to speak. “‘If the fresh skin of an animal, cleaned and divested of all hair, fat, and other extraneous matter, be immersed in a dilute solution of tannic acid, a chemical combination ensues; the gelatinous tissue of the skin is converted into a nonputrescible substance, impervious to and insoluble in water; this is leather.’”

  Tavish laughed out loud. “General, if you don’t mind my asking, what does that have to do with making a man a good officer?”

  “Sergeant, you are asking the very same question I asked thirty-six years ago. And the answer I gave myself then is the same answer I’ll give you now. It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with making a man a good officer.”

  Tavish laughed again.

  “Tell me, Sergeant, are you enjoying the beef?” General Pershing asked.

  “Yes, sir, it’s quite good.”

  “Do you recognize it?”

  Tavish got a surprised look on his face. “Do I recognize it?”

  Pershing laughed. “I thought perhaps that you might, being that it’s your father’s beef,” he said. “I approved the purchase by the army of ten thousand pounds of beef from Sky Meadow Cattle Company. And, as you know from the story I’ve been telling you, this isn’t the first time your father has supplied beef to the army.”

  “I know that while I was growing up, my dad supplied beef not only to the army, but to the Indian Agencies,” Tavish said.

  “It’s too bad he didn’t supply fresh beef to us during the war in Cuba,” Pershing said. “A parsimonious Congress provided the army with the cheapest meat possible, and what we received in Cuba was so poorly preserved, chemically adulterated, and spoiled, that it not only tasted awful, it was actually quite toxic and dangerous to eat. The meat caused an ungodly number of illnesses and death from dysentery. In fact, food poisoning wound up killing twice as many men as were killed in battle with the Spanish.”

  “Yes, sir, I was but a boy at the time, but I remember my dad talking about it. He thought it was disgraceful.”

  “It was disgraceful, but at least as a result of that, the army gets better treatment when it comes to the food supply. Like this,” he said, holding up a piece of just carved steak.

  “When I get back to A Company, I’ll have to tell the rest of the boys where their meat comes from. Heck, General, who knows, when I was still helping at the ranch, I may have prodded this very steer in the ass.”

  General Pershing laughed out loud, laughing so hard that he had to grab a napkin to catch the meat he was chewing.

  “You may have indeed,” he said. He wiped his mouth, and carved off another piece of steak. But before he lifted it to his mouth, he looked over at Tavish. “You don’t have another gem like that, do you?”

  “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir,” Tavish said.

  “Sergeant, may I ask why it is you aren’t an officer? With your contacts, you could certainly be an officer.”

  “It’s just not anything I ever considered, General. I have been perfectly content to help my dad run the ranch.”

  “As well you should be. I know that it is one of the most productive ranches in the nation. And I know that you are a very wealthy man, which is why I asked the question how you wound up here, and as an enlisted man.”

  “General, I volunteered to come into the army because I thought it was the patriotic thing to do. I don’t intend to make a career of it, though I certainly have learned to honor and respect those who have made it a career.”

  Again General Pershing laughed. “That is a very nice recovery, Sergeant, seeing as I have made it a career.”

  “Yes, sir, thank you sir,” Tavish replied with a chuckle.

  “You say you came into the army because you thought it was a patriotic thing to do?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then if I give you a very difficult job to do tomorrow, one that will require a great deal of skill on your part”—Pershing stopped for a moment and stared directly into Tavish’s eyes before he continued—“and, I might add, one that will put you in a great deal of personal danger, would you be willing to accept the challenge?”

  “We are all in danger, General.”

  “No, Duff,” General Pershing said, and it didn’t escape Tavish’s attention that the general had called him by his first name. “I mean you, personally, will be put into an extremely dangerous situation in order to carry out the mission. And, I’m asking if you will accept the mission, because it isn’t something I feel I can I order you to do.”

  “There is no need for you to order me to do it, General. If it is something that you believe is necessary for us to accomplish what we are here to accomplish, and if it is something you feel I can do, I volunteer to do it.”

  “It will require a marksman of exceptional skill. That’s why I had you perform for us this afternoon.”

  “Yes, sir, I thought it might have something to do with that.”

  “Tomorrow, I’m going to ask you to make a very difficult shot. In a way, it won’t be all that different from a shot that your father once had to make. Come out onto the terrace with me.”

  General Pershing and Tavish sat out in the darkness, looking to the east. More than 2,700 guns of the American and French armies continued to exchange artillery barrages with the Germans. The flashes from the muzzle flames of the big guns were so frequent that there appeared to be one continuous, but flickering, light across the western horizon, while the guns made a constant, rumbling roar, like distant rolling thunder.

  “Where was I in the story?” General Pershing asked.

  “You had just had your first taste of Black Angus beef,” Tavish said.

  “Oh, yes. I’ve had it many times since then, such as tonight, of course, but I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything any better than the beef that Sergeant Beck cooked for us that night, so long ago, in that distant, and now abandoned post.”

  “Are you talking about Fort Laramie, General?”

  “Yes. Your father has told you about it?”

  “Actually, Mr. Gleason is the one who told me about it.”

  “Gleason?”

  “Elmer Gleason. He and my father have been friends for a long time, ever since my father came to America.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember Elmer Gleason. He was sort of a, well, how can I put it? A curmudgeon then.”

  Tavish laughed. “If you think he was then, you should see him now.”

  “You mean he’s still alive?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s eighty-seven years old, and he has his own house on the ranch.”

  “As I recall, he was quite a colorful character,” General Pershing said.

  “Yes, sir. I believe Elmer Gleason may be just about the most colorful character I’ve ever met. He was an officer, you know.”

  “Mr. Gleason was?”

  “Yes, sir, he was a lieutenant.”
>
  “I didn’t know that. I don’t believe he mentioned it while he was at Fort Laramie.”

  “No, sir, he probably wouldn’t have, being as he was in the Confederate army. Sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

  “He rode with Quantrill.”

  “Oh, my,” General Pershing said. “Quantrill was quite a bad one.”

  “I made the mistake once of saying that to Mr. Gleason. But I only made the mistake once. I must say, he gave me a different perspective on the man.

  “Before the war, Quantrill was a schoolteacher who was highly respected by everyone who knew him. When the war started, he organized and led up to four hundred men in what has become the best-known band of guerrilla fighters in our history, often winning battles against Union forces with far superior troops. The people supported him, entrusted their sons to him, and some served him as spies. Wives and mothers willingly tended his wounded. Mr. Gleason said that the victors have written the history, and that’s why Quantrill has come down to us as such a monster. But he asked me a question that I couldn’t answer. How was Quantrill able to get decent and righteous people to follow him, if he were, as he has been pictured, a depraved, degenerate, psychotic killer, devoid of the slightest tissue of humanity?”

  General Pershing took a swallow of his wine before he responded.

  “Son, you should teach military history at the Point. Or at least, give a guest lecture there on the subject of guerilla warfare. I’ve never heard a more succinct defense of Quantrill.”

  “There wasn’t a very high bar for me to pass, was there, General? I mean, how many defenses of Quantrill have you heard?”

  Again, General Pershing laughed out loud. “You’ve got me there, Sergeant. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Quantrill defended.”

  “In all fairness, I must confess that I was but repeating the words of Elmer Gleason.”

  “I should have gotten to know Mr. Gleason better,” General Pershing said. “Obviously, there was much more to the man than I was aware. But, back to my story. Barbecuing the beef that day did more for morale than just about anything I had ever seen, and I must confess that I stole the idea, and have used it many times since then. I mean, the soldiers didn’t even appear to mind when it started to rain. They just—”