MacCallister, the Eagles Legacy: Dry Gulch Ambush

by William W. Johnstone

  “Oh,” Scott said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes,” he said. “That was terrible.”

  “John, I know Scott was your classmate,” Holbrook said when the two men were back in the supply room, resuming their work on the TO&E. “But there is something fishy about this. You mark my words, there is something damn fishy going on here. I mean he didn’t seem at all concerned about what happened to his poor wife. I believe the rumors are true.”

  “What rumors?”

  “Some of the wives have been suggesting that Scott was a wife beater.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that,” Pershing said. “I don’t hold with anyone who would hit a woman.”

  Holbrook got up from his desk, then walked over to the door and looked outside before he spoke again.

  “Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but it’s more than just rumors,” Holbrook said. “As you know, Mary is the daughter of the regimental surgeon, and he has had to treat Mrs. Scott more than once for bruises. She’s tried to tell him things like, ‘she tripped and fell,’ or ‘she ran into a door,’ but he is absolutely certain that her injuries are consistent with someone who had been struck by a fist. And that someone could only be Clayton Scott.”

  Pershing tapped his pencil on the desk for a moment. “I can certainly see why you are suspicious of him.”

  “And to think that son of a bitch is going to get the Medal of Honor,” Holbrook said.

  “Maybe not,” Pershing replied. “Give the system a chance. It might work out.”

  “Ha. If you think that, you have more faith in the army than I do.”

  “I have a feeling that the truth will come out, somehow. Let’s don’t pin the medal on Scott’s tunic just yet.”

  “It’s not his tunic I want to pin it on,” Scott said. “I’d like to pin it right on his ass.”

  Pershing laughed, and then returned to the work in front of him. “All right, follow me with this,” he said as he began reading aloud. “‘Field Heliograph consisting of following components: One, a signaling mirror; two, a white disc; three, a small-motion screw for vertical adjustment; four, a key for signaling on screen; five, a small motion screw on tripod for horizontal adjustment; six, the tripod; seven, the sighting bar; eight, the sighting bar clamp; nine, a screw for clamping the cross wire frame; ten, the crosswire frame; eleven, a sun mirror; twelve, a black disc; and thirteen, a screen.’”

  Holbrook had said “check” after each item.

  “All right,” Holbrook said, “now how many do we authorize each regiment?”

  “I think there should be one per troop,” Pershing suggested.

  “Plus one for regimental headquarters, so that makes five,” Holbrook said. “And that means we need to go back and assign a signalman to regimental headquarters as well as each troop,”

  “Ha!” Pershing said. “Jason, my boy, do you realize that with our very hands, we are making decisions that troop and regimental commanders will have to abide by.”

  “Yeah,” Holbrook said with a smile. “Fun, isn’t it?”

  “You forget something though,” Pershing said. “The day will come when we will be company and then regimental commanders.”

  “You, maybe,” Holbrook said. “I don’t think I’ll ever even make captain.”

  “I’ll remind you of that about twenty years from now, when we’re both old, fat colonels,” Pershing said.

  Later that same day, a recovery team returned the bodies of Sergeant Caviness and the soldiers who were killed with him. They reported that they were unable to find Mrs. Scott’s body, and the consensus was that the Indians had taken her body with them.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Wind River Reservation

  Ska Luta had killed, skinned, and cleaned a rabbit, and was now spitting it over a fire. His wife, Sasha Quiet Stream, was rolling out dough for fry bread.

  “Ska Luta,” a voice called and, turning, Ska Luta saw Brave Elk.

  “Brave Elk?” Ska Luta said. He prepared himself to fight, thinking perhaps that was why Brave Elk had called out to him.

  Brave Elk held his right hand up, palm facing Ska Luta. “I come in peace,” he said.

  Ska Luta returned the gesture, “And I welcome you in peace.” He pointed to the rabbit he had spitted over the fire.

  “Eat with shi aad and me, Brave Elk,” he said.

  “You have taken a wife?”

  “Yes.”

  Sasha Quiet Stream came up to stand, warily, beside Ska Luta.

  “Miyelo ca kola, Sasha Quiet Stream,” Brave Elk said.

  “Then we welcome you as a friend,” Sasha Quiet Stream answered. “My husband has asked you to eat with us. Will you honor us in this way?”

  “I will,” Brave Elk said as he watched Ska Luta and Sasha Quiet Stream continue with preparation of the meal.

  “I thought you were with Yellow Hawk,” Ska Luta said.

  “No more.”

  Ska Luta knew that Brave Elk wanted to talk, so he waited for Brave Elk to speak.

  “I left to follow Yellow Hawk. I thought this would be a path of honor. But I learned that it is a path of shame and now, I have brought dishonor on myself.”

  “No, Brave Elk,” Ska Luta said. “You have left Yellow Hawk. And in doing so, you have left shame behind you. That is an honorable thing to do.”

  “There is more that I can do,” Brave Elk said. “But I cannot do this alone. I will need someone to help me. Will you help me, Ska Luta?”

  “Yes, I will help you.” Ska Luta made the commitment without even asking what needed to be done.

  Brave Elk smiled. “It is good that you will help.”

  “First, let us eat,” Ska Luta said. “I think the food is ready.”

  During the meal, Brave Elk began to speak.

  “With Yellow Hawk, I went to war against white soldiers,” Brave Elk said. “It was a good fight, and I was proud. But, with the soldiers was a wasicun winyan. I thought Yellow Hawk was going to kill the white woman, but he was stopped by Running Horse, Spotted Eagle, and Strong Bull.

  “We took her back to the camp, and there, while the others beat the drums and danced and sang of victory, Yellow Hawk went into the tepee where the white woman was and he did a Sicha.”3

  “Did the others not stop him?” Ska Luta asked.

  “No. And I also did not stop him. But I think if the woman stays there, he will do it many times, and then he will kill her.”

  “That is bad,” Ska Luta said.

  “Will you help me?”

  Ska Luta looked at Sasha Quiet Stream, and she put her hand on his arm. “Do what you must do, my husband. Wakan tanan kici un. May the Great Spirit go with you,” she repeated in English.

  Fort Laramie

  The disbursement officer arrived from Cheyenne with the payroll, and with the money for Duff. In celebration, Duff threw a party for the entire post, utilizing the sutler’s store to do so. Duff, Meagan, Colonel Gibbon, and his wife sat at a table in the back corner, watching the celebrants. A few minutes earlier, First Sergeant Cobb and Sergeant Major Martell had agreed to a match of Indian wrestling, which was actually arm wrestling, and now the two sergeants were sitting across from each other at a table in the middle of the floor. Both had removed their jackets and rolled their sleeves up in preparation for the match. Sergeant Havercost was to be the referee to get the match started and, as backers for each gathered behind their champions, Havercost positioned their arms, and then had them clasp hands.

  “Begin on the count of three,” he said. “One, two, three!”

  The participants started their struggle as their supporters cheered them on. They strained against each other, and the muscles on their arms popped out. First it appeared as if Cobb had the advantage as Martell’s arm started toward the table, but Martell found the strength to bring his arm back up, then he went past the upright to force Cobb’s arm down, but not all the way.

  The two men struggled against each other for two minutes with neither bei
ng able to best the other.

  “Gentlemen, shall I declare a draw?” Havercost asked.

  Neither Cobb nor Martell replied immediately, though, after another moment Martell spoke. “What do you say, Top?”

  “I say yes.”

  The two men ceased their struggle, then shook hands to the cheers of those who had watched.

  Lieutenant Pershing came over to speak with Duff.

  “Mr. MacCallister, I thank you for the party, sir.”

  “You are welcome,” Duff said.

  “And I’ve also come to tell you that we will be traveling together tomorrow.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, sir. At least as far as the depot in Douglas. You’ll be taking the train to Cheyenne, and I’ll be taking the train to Assiniboine.”

  Duff smiled. “I’ll be pleased to have your company, Lieutenant.”

  In another part of the room, Lieutenant Scott was holding court, telling and retelling the story of his great fight with the Indians.

  “I’ll tell you, boys,” he said. “I didn’t think I was going to make it out of there alive, and I still don’t know how I did. There must have been fifty to a hundred Indians, screaming like fiends, pouring lead down onto us.

  “‘Sergeant, I am in transit,’ I said to Sergeant Caviness after the attack started. ‘This is your command. ’

  “‘No, I, I don’t know what to do,’ Sergeant Caviness said. ‘I beg of you, sir, take command.’

  “So, what could I do but act as I had been trained? I immediately took charge and told the men to hold their fire until the savages were close enough that it would be impossible to miss.

  “Ah, you would be proud of your fellow troopers. They fought well, and we killed many an Indian, prevailing until we ran out of ammunition. Yes, sir, it was a glorious fight.” A huge smile was spread across Lieutenant Scott’s face.

  “But your wife was killed, wasn’t she, Lieutenant?” one of the men asked.

  The smile left Scott’s face.

  “Oh, uh, yes. And of course, the death of my wife, and those brave troopers, does add a poignancy to the fight. But it doesn’t take away any of the glory. No, sir. Those brave young men deserve to be remembered for their glory.”

  “And yourself as well, Lieutenant,” another soldier said. “You are the one getting the Medal of Honor.”

  “That is true, but the way I look at it, I will accept it, not for myself, but for those brave soldiers who gave their lives . . . in a way . . . so that I might live. That’s why I feel an obligation to tell their story.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s a shame about your wife, though.”

  “Yes, yes, it’s a shame.”

  “I wonder why they didn’t find her body.”

  Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please, I don’t want to think about it.”

  “Oh, I don’t blame you, sir,” the soldier said quickly. “I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

  The encampment of Yellow Hawk

  As night fell over the encampment, it grew quiet. The rawhide bindings were beginning to restrict the blood circulation to her hands and Sue opened and closed her fingers several times, thinking perhaps that action would help pump the blood through. She pulled at the restrictions a couple of times, hoping to free herself, but each time she pulled, the bindings got tighter.

  The flap of the tepee opened and someone came in. Because of the dark, and also the way she was lying, she couldn’t see who it was, but she feared that it might be Yellow Hawk coming to claim her again.

  “Please,” she said. “If you are to defile me again, kill me first.”

  “Do not speak,” a voice said in the darkness. “If the others hear, we will not be able to help you.”

  She had not heard this voice before. It wasn’t the voice of Yellow Hawk, nor was it the voice of the Indian who had saved her life. This voice said they wanted to help her. Dare she believe that?

  “Help me? You are going to help me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then please, take these bindings off. They are too tight, and they are restricting the blood flow.”

  She didn’t realize until then that it wasn’t one person, but two who had come into the tepee, because they squatted down on each side of her, and with their knives, cut through the rawhide thongs.

  “Oh, thank you,” Sue said. “Thank you very much.”

  For a moment it hurt more than it had earlier, because the blood started rushing back into her hands and feet. Sue sat up and began rubbing her wrists and ankles lightly.

  “Do you think you can walk?” one of the two asked her.

  “Walk? Walk where?” she asked a bit apprehensively.

  “We are going to take you away from here. We are going to take you to your people.”

  “Are you telling me the truth?”

  “Yes. When you can walk, we will go.”

  “I can walk,” Sue said. She didn’t know whether she could or not, but she intended to take the chance that was offered to her now, rather than wait until feeling came back into her hands and feet.

  One of the two men, she now knew that both were Indians, lifted the flap of the tepee.

  “Wait,” he said. “I will look.”

  A second later, he called back in, saying the words quietly so that only Sue and the one who was with her could hear.

  “Come now, there is no one to see.”

  When Sue started to walk, she realized that she had spoken too quickly about being able to walk, because her ankle gave way and she would have fallen had the Indian with her not grabbed her and held her up.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Come.”

  Sue stepped outside with him and while it had been pitch dark inside the tepee, outside with the ambient light of the moon, she could see both of them. Both looked very young.

  The coals of the night’s campfire were glowing a golden red in the dark. Because her arms and feet had been so tightly bound, she could hardly stand, let alone walk. But, despite the weakness of her ankles and feet, she made an effort to keep up with the two who had come to rescue her.

  That is, if they had actually come to rescue her.

  What if they were taking her from the camp for reasons of their own? Would she not be safer here, in the camp? There were women and children in the camp and she didn’t think they would do anything to her in front of the women and children. And, there was also the Indian who had saved her. Surely, he would save her again if Yellow Hawk wanted to kill her.

  But even as she was thinking this, she knew that any promise of safety by being in the camp was a false hope. Yellow Hawk had raped her, hadn’t he? He had raped her right in the middle of the camp, and nobody did anything to stop it.

  Of course, neither had she called out. But she had been very afraid that if she called out, he would have killed her. And, until these two had come to get her, she had been wishing that she had been killed.

  She didn’t know who these two were, or what they had in mind for her, but she believed that they were doing this for her own good. At least, she hoped they were, and with no other hope, she was determined to hang on to this.

  “Dho! Haho!” someone shouted.

  “We have been discovered,” Ska Luta said.

  “Take the woman and go!” Brave Elk said. “I will scatter their horses so they cannot follow.”

  “No, come with us,” Ska Luta said.

  “My friend, do not deny me this honor.”

  “Yadalanh ohitika ozuye!” Ska Luta said, putting his hand on Brave Elk’s shoulder. He turned to Sue.

  “Quickly, we must go.”

  “The horse has no saddle. I can’t get on.”

  Ska Luta held his hand as a cup and when Sue stepped into it, he helped her up, and onto the horse. Then he leaped on another horse.

  “Hold on to the horse, here!” he said, pointing to the mane.

  Sue grabbed the horse’s mane, and Ska took the horse’s reins, then galloped away, pulling
Sue’s horse behind him. When they reached the top of a rise, Ska looked back and saw Brave Elk waving a blanket, scattering the horses. He also saw Brave Elk go down under a barrage of arrows.

  Ska rode hard for several minutes until he knew that it was time to rest the horses. He stopped, held his hand up as a signal for Sue to remain mounted, then got down and put his ear to the ground. He listened for a moment. Then, with a smile, he stood up.

  “They do not follow,” he said.

  “What did you say to your friend?” Sue asked.

  “I said, ‘Good-bye, brave warrior.’”

  “He was brave,” Sue said. “So are you, to rescue me like that. I am more thankful than I can say. Where do we go now?”

  “We will rest here tonight,” Ska Luta said. “When it is day, I will take you to the village and to the elders’ council. They do not approve of Yellow Hawk, and they will send word to your people to come get you.”

  “Thank you again,” Sue said.

  “Rest. Tomorrow we must ride more.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Fort Laramie

  The next morning, Colonel Gibbon invited Duff, Meagan, Holbrook, and the surgeon’s daughter, Mary, as well as Pershing, and Holbrook’s sister, Clara, and Major Allison and his wife, Julianne, for a going-away breakfast. He also invited Elmer, but Elmer said that he had made arrangements to take breakfast with Sergeant Havercost.

  “Well, Mr. Holbrook, you and Lieutenant Pershing spent an entire month on the TO&E. What have you given us that it took you so long?” Colonel Gibbon asked.

  “I probably could have done a faster job if I hadn’t been burdened with John here,” Holbrook said.

  “Jason!” Clara said with a gasp. “What a thing for you to say!”

  Holbrook smiled. “I said faster, not better,” he said with a laugh. “I figured, numbers are numbers, so what difference did it make what we put down? It was John who insisted that everything be correct.”

  Everyone knew, now, that Holbrook was teasing, and they all laughed.