Ride to Valor

by David Robbins

The rest of the war party sat their horses well out on the prairie.

  “We did it,” James marveled, and smiled and turned. His smile faded.

  The front of Two Bears’s shirt was dark with blood. The feathered end of an arrow protruded from his side, the feathers slick with red.

  “God, no.” James bounded down and squatted. “I didn’t see you take the arrow.”

  “Me see,” Two Bears said. He laughed and blood trickled from his mouth.

  “What can I do?” James anxiously asked, knowing even as he did that the wound was mortal.

  Two Bears didn’t answer. Instead he stared at the arrow.

  His mouth curved in a grin and he touched the tip of a finger to James’s cheek. “Buffalo Shit,” he said, and died.

  30

  The sun blazed low on the horizon. Half an hour more and it would set.

  James Doyle lay with the Spencer in his hands and the Yellow Boy beside him. Flies by the score were crawling over the bodies and buzzing about. He was constantly swatting at them.

  The six hostiles were seated in a circle. Every now and again one or another glanced to the west.

  James didn’t stand a prayer. He could flee but they would overtake him. It occurred to him that they might try to take him alive so they could torture him. He’d rather die. “God, I hate this.” He glanced at Lean Wolf, who to his surprise had lain quietly near the horses all this while.

  A peculiar sort of serenity came over him. Since he was damned if he stayed and damned if he went, he accepted the inevitable. Closing his eyes, he rested his chin on his forearm. He was tired. What he wouldn’t give for a couple of hours of sleep.

  In his mind’s eye Peg shimmered, golden and lovingeyed, his ring on the necklace around her neck. They would have been happy together. It figured, he told himself, that here he was on the verge of happiness and he wouldn’t live to enjoy it.

  “Life,” he said sullenly.

  A sound came from below.

  James snapped his head up. Lean Wolf had moved a little.

  He gazed toward the hostiles. They were on their feet and moving to their mounts. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Again James heard a scraping sound. He spun. Lean Wolf was where he had been. “I’m a damn bundle of nerves,” he chided himself.

  The hostiles were on their horses. Half reined to the east and brought their animals to a trot. The others rode to the west.

  “What the hell?” James said. He didn’t for a second believe they were leaving.

  A third of the sun had been devoured and the sky had gone from blue to gray.

  James was finding it harder to stave off near-numbing fear.

  Two Bears had warned him they would attack right before the sun went down. In the muted light of dusk, they’d be a lot harder to hit. He set down the Spencer and picked up the Yellow Boy and then set down the Yellow Boy and picked up the Spencer.

  “Stop it, damn you.”

  James heard yet another scrape but didn’t think anything of it. He looked down but not because of it; he was looking at the horses and contemplating riding for his life. That he caught Lean Wolf in the act of stalking toward him with a knife in his hand was pure happenstance. He rolled and brought the Spencer to bear, but Lean Wolf was on him and swatted the barrel as he was squeezing the trigger. The Spencer went off and the slug missed.

  Lean Wolf slashed at James’s jugular. He turned his neck and felt a sting. Lean Wolf cocked his arm to stab and James smashed the Spencer into Lean Wolf’s face. Teeth crunched, and Lean Wolf leaped back, spitting blood. James let go of the Spencer and scooped up the Yellow Boy. It already had a round in the chamber; he fired.

  The top of Lean Wolf’s head exploded.

  Suddenly hooves pounded. Warriors were sweeping down the wash from both directions.

  James jammed the Yellow Boy to his shoulder. He fed a round, fired, fed another round, fired. Turning, he sent two more shots at buckskin-clad centaurs. Slugs pockmarked the ground around him. Then his head seemed to burst and he fell as if from a great height into a well that wasn’t water but a liquid pitch. He feebly tried to reach the surface and was sucked into near nothingness. Dimly, he was aware of rough hands, of being jostled, of a topsy-turvy world with him on his back and painted visages floating in misty ether. Iron fingers gouged his neck. The tip of a knife wavered before his eyes.

  Teeth gleamed in a vicious sneer.

  This was it, James thought. He tried to resist but he had no strength. His vitality was leaking out his head. The black pitch sucked him down and he was on the verge of going under when a harsh martial blare fell discordant on his ears.

  The blackness claimed him.

  31

  An uncomfortable itch was James’s first sensation. Pain was his second. The pain told him he wasn’t dead. A spurt of nausea made him wish he was. He opened his eyes and shut them again.

  “He moved!” a familiar voice exclaimed.

  “You sure?” someone replied.

  “Yes, by God. He’s coming around.”

  “Not so loud, Dorf,” said a third. “He’s bound to have a headache.”

  James forced his mouth to move. “God, do I!” A whoop of joy set his head to pounding worse. He blinked, and got his eyes open even if they did water, and looked uncertainly about. He was in a tent on a cot. Hovering over him were his three friends.

  “Welcome back, pard,” Newcomb said. “You had us worried.”

  “You’ve been out for two and a half days,” Cormac informed him. “The sawbones said it was fifty-fifty whether you’d pull through.”

  “Gosh, I’m happy,” Dorf declared.

  The itching was abominable. James reached up and found half his head swathed in bandages; the itch came from under them.

  “The bullet creased you,” Cormac said. “A couple of inches deeper, the doc says, and you wouldn’t be here.”

  “How did you find me?” To James’s way of thinking, it had been a miracle.

  “You can thank your Maker that the captain heard shots,” Cormac said.

  “We got there just in time,” Dorf said.

  Even though he had only been conscious a few minutes, James was growing tired. “What about my horse and my carbine?”

  “Your animal is fine and your carbine is under the cot,” Dorf said. “The Injuns who were about to kill you skedaddled when they heard the bugle.”

  “The captain is making you out to be a hero,” Newcomb mentioned.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We found eight dead redskins not counting the Crow. The captain is going to put in a request for you to get a medal.”

  “You’re joshing.”

  “As God is my witness,” Newcomb said.

  “But Two Bears . . . ,” James began, and sank in the black well once again.

  A warm wetness was spreading down his throat. James coughed, and winced, and attempted to sit up. He tasted broth reminiscent of chicken.

  “Whoa, there, hoss,” Dorf said, gently pushing on James’s shoulder. “You’re not to get up. Not for another couple of days.” He was perched on a folding stool, a bowl of soup in his lap, a spoon in his other hand.

  “You’ve been feeding me?”

  “We have to keep you alive, don’t we?” Dorf grinned and dipped the spoon in the bowl. “Cormac and Newcomb and me have been taking turns.”

  A different sort of warmth spread through James. “You went to all this trouble?”

  “What are pards for?” Dorf wagged the spoon. “Open up. You have to eat this whole bowl.”

  James was famished. He was only half done when profound drowsiness washed over him and it was all he could do to stay awake. “Wait,” he said as Dorf raised the spoon to his lips. “What about Jack Shard and Cowlick?”

  “The captain sent a patrol out with Lieutenant Finch, but they haven’t come back yet.” Dorf sighed. “All we do is sit around and wait for something to happen and nothing does. Army life ain’t as exciting as th
ey make it out to be.”

  Images of the hostiles converging on him in the wash sparked James to say, “I’ve had my fill of exciting for a while. Give me peace and quiet.”

  He finished eating. Another wave of drowsiness gripped him, and snuggling under his blanket, he let it sweep him away. The last thing he heard was Dorf.

  “Doyle? I almost forgot. The captain was in here today and he said that you—”

  When next James woke it was night. The tent was dark save for the glow of a lantern hanging from a tent pole. He raised his head to test how much it hurt, and a shadow took on form.

  “I was just about to leave.”

  “Sergeant Heston?” James licked his dry lips. “I sure am thirsty, Sarge.”

  Heston brought water. He slid the stool next to the cot and straddled it. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Sergeant Doyle.”

  James gratefully chugged. He finished and started to lie back down, and stopped. “Wait. What did you just call me?”

  “Sergeant Doyle.”

  “I’m a corporal.”

  “Not anymore. Captain Pemberton has promoted you. It’s called a battlefield promotion. A lot of them were done during the war, and it still is from time to time.” Heston smiled. “Congratulations. You’ve gone from private to sergeant faster than anyone I know.”

  “It’s not right,” James said.

  “You’re promoted and you complain?”

  “I didn’t do anything to earn it.”

  Heston folded his arms. “You and that Crow fought a war party all by yourselves. You were outnumbered and nearly lost your life. That’s an act of bravery if ever I heard of one.”

  “Two Bears did as much as me, if not more. He’s the one who deserves praise.”

  “He’s dead. You’re not.” Heston considered a bit, then said, “Whether you agree or not, you deserve this. But it’s not just for your sake that the captain gave you the promotion. He did it for the men, as well.” Heston held up a hand when James went to speak. “You’ve become a hero, Doyle. And the men need heroes. A lot of them are young like you. They’re green and scared and haven’t been tested in a fight. That’s where you come in. They hear about someone like you, someone who is one of them and was put to the test and lived through it, and it gives them the courage to face their own test and maybe live a little longer.”

  “I’m not a hero,” James said.

  “Have it your way. But word of what you’ve done will spread. Not just through our troop but everywhere. A few months from now, the whole army will have heard.”

  “God, I hope not.”

  “What harm can it do? It’ll open doors, that’s for sure. You might think of becoming an officer. There are worse careers.”

  James lay back and stared at the top of the tent. He was looking forward to the end of his enlistment in five years. To stay in for twenty seemed impossibly long. What would Peg say?

  “What I like about you, Doyle, is that you’re not a cocky bastard,” Sergeant Heston said. “You don’t act like you know it all. Which is good, because when it comes to the army, you don’t know a thimble’s worth. But we’ll change that. The captain asked me to make you a personal project, as he called it. I’m to teach you how to be the best soldier you can be.”

  “So I won’t embarrass him over making me a sergeant. I understand,” James said.

  Heston displayed rare annoyance. “Like hell you do. It’s not him he’s thinking of. It’s the men who will be under you. Sloppy noncoms get their men killed.”

  “Oh.”

  “Damn right, ‘oh,’ ” Heston said. “Before I’m through, you’ll be able to hold your own, and do it well.”

  “I suppose I should thank you, then.”

  “Don’t jump for joy.” Heston stood. “I thought it best you hear this right away. To put your mind at ease.”

  “Thank you.”

  “First lesson,” Heston said. “Good sergeants always put their men first. You’re their teacher, their nursemaid, their protector. Half our purpose in life is to keep them alive.”

  “What’s the other half?”

  “To follow orders as if they were the Ten Commandments. Those two are everything in a nutshell.”

  “God, I hope I don’t mess up.”

  “For your own sake and the sake of the men,” Sergeant Heston said gravely, “I hope so, too.”

  32

  James recovered his strength. His head hurt a lot less, but the army doctor insisted he keep the bandage on for another week to ward off infection.

  He was feeling cooped up, and he’d taken to walking about the tent to stretch his legs. One warm evening he was pacing and pondering and the tent flap parted in and in came two visitors.

  “Good to see you alive, Doyle.”

  “Shard!” James impulsively shook the scout’s hand. “Same here. I was worried the hostiles had gotten you.” He thrust his hand at Cowlick, and the Crow stared at it and then grunted and shook. James sobered and said, “I take it you’ve heard about Two Bears?”

  “Captain Pemberton and Sergeant Heston filled us in,” Shard said. “But I’d like to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

  Reluctantly, James gave a brief account. He concluded with “I’m sorry about Two Bears. He deserves a medal.”

  “Cowlick and me appreciate that,” Shard said. “A lot of whites wouldn’t give a rat’s ass that he died fighting at their side.”

  “Isn’t that a little harsh?”

  “No,” Shard said, “it’s not. There’s enough hate on both sides to choke a mule. If more folks lived in both worlds, like I do, there’d be a lot less.”

  “I don’t hate anybody,” James said.

  The scout motioned at the Crow. “We noticed that early on. Were you raised religious? All men are your brothers? That sort of thing?”

  “My mother went to church a lot,” James said. “But no. I learned my lesson the hard way.” He hesitated, unsure how much he should reveal. “I was part of something once. It had to do with hate and a lot of innocent people were hurt. Ever since, I’ve thought that hating people for no reason is stupid.”

  The scout smiled. “You’d do to ride the river with, Sergeant James Marion Doyle. And we’ve got a lot of riding tomorrow if you’re up to it.”

  “Us three?”

  “All of D Troop. I found where the hostiles are holed up. They look to be there awhile, so if we move fast, we can catch them with their leggings down.”

  “I’d sure like another crack at them.”

  “Then talk to Pemberton. He made it sound as if you would be laid up for another month yet.”

  The moment the scout and the Crow left, James made himself presentable. He stepped from the tent and breathed deep of the cool night air. Seldom had he felt so grateful simply to be alive.

  Pemberton, Finch, and Myers were in chairs in front of the captain’s tent, drinking coffee. They were so engrossed that James had to clear his throat to get the captain’s attention.

  “Doyle!” Pemberton exclaimed, and rising, he clapped James on the arm. To the junior officers he said, “Gentlemen, I give you the hero of the hour.”

  “You did fine, soldier,” Lieutenant Finch said.

  “I wish it had been me,” was Second Lieutenant Myers’s comment.

  “What are you doing here, Sergeant Doyle?” Captain Pemberton asked. “You’re supposed to be on bed rest until I say otherwise.”

  “I’ve heard the troop is heading out tomorrow to engage the hostiles. I want to go, sir.”

  “I’m sorry, son, but no.”

  “With all respect, sir,” James pressed him, “I have as much right as anyone. More, since the hostiles nearly killed me. And I’m fit enough now. I no longer get light-headed and I can ride.” He stopped. “Please, sir.”

  “I can’t afford anything to happen to you,” Captain Pemberton said.

  “Sir?”

  “You’re worth more to the army alive.”

  “Does th
is have anything to do with—” James tried to remember what Sergeant Heston had said. “—me being an inspiration to the men?”

  “It has everything to do with it,” Pemberton confirmed. “If I have my way, you’ll become an inspiration for every soldier on the frontier.”

  James digested the revelation with unease. “I don’t like this, sir. I don’t like it even a little bit.” He continued in a rush. “I’m a soldier like any other. I don’t deserve special treatment. Treat me different, and I’ll raise a fuss. I’ll go to the colonel or over his head if I have to. But I’m part of D Troop and I’ll damn well fight with them. Sir.”

  The captain was quiet for a while. Finally he said, “You feel strongly about this, I gather.”

  “As strongly as I’ve ever felt about anything.” James was a little surprised that he did. After all, he’d been forced into enlisting. Why did he care so much about being with his fellow soldiers? He put the question aside for later consideration.

  “Very well, then,” Captain Pemberton said. “You may rejoin the men.”

  A spike of elation made James grin.

  “However, now that you are a sergeant, your duties have changed. Since you’re new at this, I’m assigning you to ride with First Sergeant Heston until further notice. You’ll be in his charge, you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m doing this against my better judgment,” Captain Pemberton said. “Don’t make me regret my decision, Doyle. Don’t go and get yourself killed.”

  “I’ll try not to, sir,” James said.

  33

  When most people east of the Mississippi River thought of Kansas, they imagined flat prairie from one end to the other. They were unaware that Kansas rose in elevation. From a low of seven hundred and thirty feet above sea level in the southeast, the land climbed to its highest point of over four thousand feet in the west.

  Beyond lay broken country. Rugged country. It was there, in a wooded tract between two bluffs, that the hostiles had camped. Bisected by a stream, it was an oasis of life and shade.