MacCallister, the Eagles Legacy: Dry Gulch Ambush

by William W. Johnstone

  “By the law of the Great Spirit, and the spirits of our honorable ancestors, I have become your wife. Whatever promises I have given you I have spoken them with a pure heart. All the spirits are witnesses to this fact. I shall never deceive you, nor will I let you down. I shall love you forever,” Sasha Quiet Stream said.

  Using his knife, Standing Bear cut a lock of hair from both Ska Luta and Sasha Quiet Stream. In front of everyone assembled, he tied the two locks of hair into a very tight knot, and then he gave the bundle to Jumping Rabbit, who was Sasha Quiet Stream’s fifteen-year-old cousin.

  “Go,” he said to Jumping Rabbit. “Hide these locks of hair and let no one see where you hide them. Tell no one where you hide them.” Jumping Rabbit took the locks of hair and ran off.

  “Now,” Standing Bear said to Ska Luta and Sasha Quiet Stream. “As long as the hair stays as one, you will both be as one. If you wish to break the marriage, you must find the locks of hair and, in front of witnesses, untie the hair. Go, as one. Start your lodge together.”

  Immediately, the drums began to beat in celebration and the entire village prepared for the marriage feast that was to follow.

  Fort Laramie

  By now every woman on the post knew that Meagan had sewn the dress she wore to the dance, finishing what Mary Meacham had only started. And, because of that, every woman on the post of Fort Laramie now knew that Meagan was not only an accomplished seamstress, but that she owned a dress shop. Mary, Clara, and Colonel Gibbon’s wife, Kathleen, asked her if she would give them some tips on sewing and she agreed. But, she told them that would require a trip into the nearby town of Millersburg in order buy the material they would need.

  The three ladies who had expressed an interest in learning to sew were always ready to go into town, and took every opportunity to do so. This opportunity was not different.

  One of the problems with allowing the women of the post to go into town was that most visits into town required an army escort, and there was simply never enough men available to make up the escort. But Meagan believed she had a solution to that problem.

  “I’ll get Duff to go to town with us,” she offered.

  Not only Duff, but Pershing and Holbrook also went as well, the two lieutenants being off the normal duty rosters due to their dedicated assignment of writing a TO&E. They made the trip into town by a buckboard that had been fitted with three seats. Once in town, the women went off on their own while Duff, Holbrook, and Pershing decided to visit the Three Bell Saloon. There was a drunk passed out on the steps in front of the place and the three men had to step over him in order to go inside. The place smelled of whiskey, stale beer, and sour tobacco. There was a long bar on the left, with dirty towels hanging on hooks about every five feet along its front. A large mirror was behind the bar, but imperfections in the glass distorted the reflected images.

  Behind the bar there was a sign which read: THIS IS AN HONEST GAMBLING ESTABLISHMENT. PLEASE REPORT ANY CHEATING TO THE MANAGEMENT.

  In addition to the self-righteous claim of gambling integrity, the walls were also decorated with heads of game and pictures. One of the pictures was of a train rushing through the night, sparks spewing from the smokestack and every window of every car glowing with light. Another was of a sternwheeler steamboat, and yet another was of a three-masted sailing ship which could have been the Hiawatha that had brought Duff to America.

  But the picture that was the pièce de résistance was one called Custer’s Last Fight, a large lithograph that doubled as an advertisement for beer. Duff stopped to study it.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard of Custer,” Holbrook said. He pointed to the picture. “Here it is, a moment of history.”

  “Yes, of course I’ve heard of him,” Duff said. “My cousin, Falcon, was there.”

  “Your cousin was killed with Custer?” Holbrook asked.

  “No, I believe he was with the men who were not a part of Custer’s final patrol.”

  “That would be Benteen or Reno,” Pershing said. He pointed to the picture. “I will admit that this is a dramatic portrayal, though, quite fanciful. I took a special interest in this particular battle while I was at West Point. The Indians are not dressed properly, and Custer’s hair wasn’t long as it is here in the picture. He had it closely shorn before leaving Fort Abraham Lincoln; also, though he is wearing a red scarf in the picture, he was not wearing one on the day of the battle. But, the most egregious error is the location of the battle.”

  “What do you mean the location is wrong? It’s at Little Big Horn. This is Little Big Horn, isn’t it?” Holbrook asked.

  “Yes,” Pershing said. “But they are on the wrong side of the river.”

  Holbrook laughed. “John, did anyone ever tell you that you are a wiseass?”

  “As long as the emphasis is on the ‘wise’ I will accept that as a compliment,” Pershing said.

  There were several large jars of pickled eggs and sausages on the bar.

  Over against the back wall, near the foot of the stairs, a cigar-scarred, beer-stained upright piano was being played by a bald-headed musician, and a young soldier and one of the bar girls were standing alongside the piano, swaying to the music. There were at least six soldiers in the bar, but as neither Pershing nor Holbrook was in uniform, none of the soldiers in the bar noticed them.

  Out on the floor of the saloon, nearly all the tables were filled. A half dozen or so bar gals were flitting about, pushing drinks and promising more than they really intended to deliver. A few card games were in progress, but most of the patrons were just drinking and talking.

  The three men stepped up to the bar.

  “What’ll it be?” the barkeep asked as he moved down to greet them.

  “Gentlemen, it would be my pleasure to buy the drinks,” Duff offered.

  “I never turn down a free drink,” Holbrook said.

  “Barkeep, would ye be for having any Scotch, now?”

  “A Scotsman, are you?” the bartender replied.

  “ Aye.”

  “Well, you are in luck, sir, for one our neighboring ranchers is a Scotsman by the name of Brian McDonald, and Mr. McDonald insists that we keep a supply of good Scotch.”

  “Then if ye would, we’ll have three drinks, and keep the bottle where you can get to it handily so that we can have a bit more if we are of a mind to.”

  “Yes, sir,” the bartender said, and putting three glasses on the bar, he filled them with the pale gold liquid.

  Duff picked up his glass and held it out toward the other two men. “Drink up, m’ lads, and then I’ve no doubt but that ye’ll be tellin’ me,’tis the finest thing ever ye’ve tasted.”

  The three men had just tossed down their drinks when Clara came into the saloon.

  “Clara! What are you doing in here?” Holbrook asked. “Little sister, this is not a place for you.”

  “It’s Mary,” Clara said, her voice high pitched and full of fear.

  “Mary? What about her?”

  “There’s a man holding her. Meagan is with them, and she sent me to you, Mr. MacCallister. She said you would know what to do.”

  “Where are they?”

  “They are in the mercantile store. We were just in there, looking at patterns and material, when a man came in with a gun and grabbed Mary. He’s holding her there now.”

  The three men didn’t wait for any further explanation, but moved quickly out of the saloon, then ran down the street toward the mercantile. When they got there, they saw several people gathered around in front of the store, one of whom was wearing a city marshal’s badge.

  “Marshal, what’s going on in there?” Duff asked.

  “It’s Harley Mack Jenner,” the marshal said. “He’s a mean drunk and I was about to put him in jail until he sobered up. I didn’t think he’d give me any trouble, so I wasn’t paying that much attention, but he grabbed my gun and hit me over the head with it. Next thing I know’d, he run across the street from the jail, and went into the s
tore. He’s got a couple of women that he’s holdin’ an’ he won’t let anyone else come in.”

  “Is there another way in?”

  “Yes, there’s a back door, but it’s locked,” someone said.

  “Who are you?”

  “The name is Waters. Charles Waters. This is my store, but he run me, my wife, and my clerk out.”

  “Do you have a key to the back door?”

  “Yes, sir, but it’s in the store.”

  “What about windows?”

  “There’s a window on the side.”

  “Is it open?”

  “Yes, sir, it is, bein’ as it’s so warm I got it open to catch the breeze. But he’s standin’ so close to it that if you try ’n’ crawl in through it, he’ll see you for sure. And he’s holdin’ a pistol to that woman’s head. I’m afraid if he sees someone tryin’ to come in, he might shoot the woman.”

  “How close to the window is he?”

  “He’s real close. Not more ’n ten feet, I’d say.”

  “Ten feet?”

  “Yes, sir, maybe closer. For sure he’s no farther.”

  “What do you have in mind?” the marshal asked.

  “I dinnae know for sure, but I plan to have a look and see if I can come up with an idea. What’s your name, Marshal?”

  “Emerson.”

  “Well, Marshal Emerson, ye just be ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Just be ready,” Duff said.

  There was a narrow passage between the mercantile store and the apothecary, which was next door to it. Duff went up the passageway to the window and then, very carefully, looked inside. As he did, Meagan saw him, and he held his finger across his lips.

  “Why don’t you let her go?” Meagan said to Jenner.

  “Why should I let her go?” Jenner replied. “Long as I got her, there ain’t nothin’ nobody can do to me.”

  “Let her go and I’ll stay here with you,” Meagan offered.

  Good girl, Duff thought. As long as you keep him talking, he’ll nae be paying any attention to me.

  “Nah, that won’t do no good,” Jenner said. “There don’t nobody in town know who you are, so there won’t nobody care what happens to you. I know this here girl is the daughter of the army doc, and ever’one in town knows her.”

  “What do you plan to do with her?”

  “I don’t rightly know. I ain’t made up my mind.”

  “You haven’t thought this through very well, have you?”

  “I’ll come up with somethin’.”

  Duff pulled his pistol, then aimed, very carefully, at the pistol Jenner was holding.

  “You can’t stay here forever,” Meagan said. “You’ll get tired, you’ll get hungry, and you know you can’t stay here forever.”

  “I can stay here long enough. Besides I—”

  Whatever Jenner was going to say, he didn’t finish, because Duff pulled the trigger. His Colt .45 boomed, and the pistol Jenner was holding flew out of his hand.

  “Ahh! Son of a bitch!” Jenner called out loud and grabbed his bloody right hand with his left. Quickly, Meagan picked up the pistol he had dropped.

  “Marshal!” she called. “You can come in now!”

  Emerson rushed in through the front door then, his pistol drawn. Half a dozen others came in behind him, propelled more out of a sense of curiosity than anything else.

  “I need a doctor!” Jenner said. “My hand’s been shot off!”

  “No, it warn’t,” Marshal Emerson said. He chuckled. “But you sure lost the tip end of your finger.”

  “That ain’t funny!”

  “Come on across the street to the jail,” Emerson said. “You was just goin’ to spend the night till you sobered up. But I reckon you just bought yourself a little more time by what you done tonight.”

  “I wasn’t really goin’ to do anything to her,” Waters said. “I just . . . I just got over here and the next thing you know I grabbed her without thinkin’.”

  By now Duff had come around the building and he was inside, along with Pershing and Holbrook.

  “Damn!” Holbrook said. “That was quite a shot you made.”

  “Not for him,” Pershing said. “I’ve seen him shoot before.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Three days later, the colonel’s orderly came up to Lieutenant Scott, who was overseeing a riding drill. The orderly came to attention and saluted, but Scott, who was examining a stirrup, took an inordinately long time to acknowledge the young soldier. Finally, he turned toward him and gave him a very casual salute.

  “What do you want, Private?” he asked, as if irritated that a mere private had approached him.

  “Beggin’ the lieutenant’s pardon, sir, but Colonel Gibbon wants to see you in his office.”

  “What does he want?”

  The private’s eyes opened wide in surprise at the question. “Sir, I don’t know, the colonel didn’t tell me nothin’ but to come fetch you.”

  “No, Private, he did not tell you to ‘fetch’ me,” Scott said. “I scarcely think that a private would do anything other than deliver a message.”

  “Yes, sir,” the private said. “And that’s what I done, sir. I just give you the colonel’s message.”

  “Sergeant Caviness. Take over the drill,” Scott ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” Caviness replied.

  Scott started toward Old Bedlam, but the private overtook him. “By your leave, sir,” the private said, saluting, and hold his salute until he was well beyond.

  What did Colonel Gibbon want, anyway?

  Sergeant Major Martell stood as Scott stepped into the orderly room. “Just a minute, sir, I’ll tell the colonel you’re in,” he said. He came back a moment later. “Go right in, sir.”

  Scott stepped up to the desk and saluted.

  “Scott, it looks as if you are going to get your wish,” Colonel Gibbon said.

  “What wish is that, sir?”

  “You’re being transferred away from Fort Laramie.”

  A big smile spread across Scott’s face. “I’m going to Washington?”

  “Washington?” Colonel Gibbon replied. “No, what in the world makes you think you’re going to Washington?”

  The expression on Scott’s face turned from happiness to confusion. “But, I thought you said I was being transferred away from Fort Laramie.”

  “You are. You are going to Fort Huachuca, Arizona.”

  “Oh.”

  “The commander of D Troop there is Captain Lindell. He will be leaving in three months, and you are being assigned as his executive officer. You will, more than likely, take command of his troop once he leaves.”

  Now Scott smiled again. “Yes, sir!” he said.

  “How soon can you be ready to leave?” Colonel Gibbon asked.

  “I can be ready by tomorrow morning.”

  “Very good. I’ll make a spring wagon available for you and your wife, and I’ll send a four-man detail to accompany you to Douglas. You can catch the train there.”

  “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir.”

  “My own command, Sue! Do you realize what this means? With my own command, I’m sure to get promoted. And once I command a troop, why other command positions will come available.”

  “I’m very happy for you,” Sue said.

  “Happy for me? Why, you should be happy for both of us. And you should also be happy that I won’t be asking you to contact your father anymore. I got this on my own, Sue. General Winfield didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

  “I’ll be watching every move Captain Lindell makes while I’m his executive officer,” Scott was saying to Duff, Pershing, and Holbrook that night in the officers’ bar at the sutler’s store.

  “That’s a good idea,” Pershing said. “That way it’ll be a smooth transition when you take over.”

  “Ha! There won’t be anything smooth about it,” Scott said, topping off his comment by tossing down his shot of whiskey.

>   “What do you mean, it won’t be smooth?” Holbrook asked. “I thought you said you were going to be watching Captain Lindell.”

  “Oh, I am going to be watching him,” Scott said, pushing his glass across for a refill. “But that’s just so I can see all the mistakes he’s making. Then, as soon as I take command, I’ll adjust those mistakes.”

  “I know Captain Lindell,” Pershing said. “I think he is a fine officer. The army must as well. He is being promoted to major and is going to the Cavalry School at Fort Riley. If I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to jump in and change everything.”

  “Well, that’s the difference between you and me, John,” Scott said. “I’m the kind of officer who is willing to take the initiative. You, obviously, are not. That’s why I will make general officer one day, while officers like you will be lucky if you retire as a captain.”

  “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it, Clay?” Holbrook asked.

  “Sometimes the truth is harsh,” Scott said.

  “Leftenant, I’ve had young officers like you in my command,” Duff said. “And speaking as one who has held command, let me say that, while I admire your enthusiasm and self-confidence, I would look askance at one who would make such a jarring transition.”

  “What army would that be, Mr. MacCallister?”

  “I was in a Scottish regiment in the British army.”

  Scott tossed down another whiskey before he answered.

  “Ah, yes. And that would be the same British army that we defeated in two wars, would it?”

  “Och, lad, but ’tis two mistakes ye’ve made there. ’Twas before our time, which means I was nae in the army that was defeated, and ye were nae in the army that won.”

  “Ha!” Holbrook said, laughing out loud. “Looks like Mr. MacCallister got you on that one, Clay.”

  Scott drank still one more whiskey. “Laugh if you want,” he said. “But I’ll have command of a troop while you two”—he took in Pershing and Holbrook with a wave of his hand—“will still be counting blankets, saddles, and such.”

  “It seems to me, Clay, that you might want to be nice to Jason and me,” Pershing said with an easy smile. “We’re writing the TO&E for all cavalry units. Why, with a stroke of the pen, we could take twenty men from your troop roster.”