Ride to Valor

by David Robbins

  From a rise nearly three miles away, Jack Shard surveyed the bluffs and the woods with his spyglass. “There’s no smoke or any other sign, but they’re there.”

  Captain Pemberton was using glasses of his own. “You’re absolutely certain?”

  “I’d be a hell of a poor scout if I wasn’t.”

  “Don’t take offense,” Captain Pemberton said. “They might have left in the time it took us to get here.”

  James and Sergeant Doyle were a few yards away, attentively awaiting orders.

  “I’ll ride on down and see,” Shard offered. “Cowlick and me.”

  “And have them spot you and run?” Captain Pemberton shook his head. “Not on your life. They’ve butchered their last settler. We’ll do this by the book.”

  “There will be upwards of thirty,” the scout said. “They won’t go down easy.”

  The captain divided his command. He planned to send Lieutenant Finch to the south with a third of the column and Second Lieutenant Myers to the north with another third.

  Sergeant Heston was to accompany Myers. James noticed a slight downturn of the first sergeant’s mouth when Pemberton told him.

  Carbines were checked. Cinches were checked. Anything that would clatter or jingle was made sure it wouldn’t.

  Second Lieutenant Myers went down the line, inspecting his men. A trooper with dirt on his Spencer received a rebuke.

  Another was taken to task for his slovenly uniform.

  James had gotten to know Sergeant Heston well enough that he could tell when Heston was out of sorts. “If you don’t mind my asking, Sergeant,” he quietly said, “why do you look like you swallowed arsenic?”

  “There’s a time and a place for dressing down the men,” the noncom said. “Right before a battle isn’t it.”

  “Why don’t you say something?”

  “It’s not our duty to second-guess a superior, Doyle. Myers is a bit of a glory hound, but he’s a good officer, overall. So long as he doesn’t endanger the men, I’ll keep my mouth shut and so will you.”

  Captain Pemberton chose to attack at noon. At the appointed time, Finch and Myers broke from the main body.

  Sergeant Heston was behind Myers and James was alongside Heston, his Spencer in front of him.

  A degree of dread crept down James’s spine. There was a lot that could go wrong. The plan called for them to loop around to the bluff on the north side. They were to quietly work their way around it and into the timber. At the blast of the bugle, the three forces would link up and sweep in, ideally taking the hostiles by surprise and decimating the war party.

  “How’s your head?” Sergeant Heston asked.

  “I’m fine,” Doyle said. Other than a twinge now and then, he was his old self.

  “If it acts up you’re to fall back. Captain’s orders.”

  James would be damned if he would. Especially when his three friends were in Myers’s column with him. Twisting, he caught Dorf’s eye. Dorf grinned. Cormac and Newcomb were behind Dorf.

  “I didn’t hear a ‘yes’ out of you,” Sergeant Heston said. “I want your word.”

  “You have it,” James said.

  The bluff was a quarter of a mile long. On their side it presented a sheer rock face that couldn’t be climbed on foot, let alone on horseback.

  James was scanning the rim when he received a shock. He thought he saw a face. It was there and he blinked and it was gone. It didn’t reappear. “Sergeant, how easy is it to climb to the top from the other side?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Why?”

  “What if the hostiles have lookouts posted up there?”

  “Then we lose the element of surprise and a lot of us will die.”

  They proceeded at a walk around the bottom of the bluff. Quiet was essential if they were to take the hostile force unawares.

  James knew he should concentrate on the matter at hand, but he kept thinking of Peg. He’d never missed anyone so much.

  Back when he fled Five Points he had missed his mother for a while but not nearly as much as he thought he would. They’d drifted apart after he became a Blue Shirt, although he never stopped caring for her. How could he? She was his mother.

  A lot of the Blue Shirts had girls they were fond of. There had been a couple of girls he liked but not to where he pined to be with them and couldn’t stop thinking about them.

  A sudden whisper brought James out of himself. Lieutenant Myers and Sergeant Heston had stopped. He drew rein. Behind him, the rest of the men did the same.

  Heston moved up next to Myers and the pair consulted in low tones. They were at the point where the bluff curved to the south. From here on they must be doubly careful. Myers motioned and the column advanced.

  James was on edge. His previous clashes had taught him how suddenly violence could strike.

  Lieutenant Myers stopped at the south end of the bluff. Green woodland spread before them, the contrast of sunlight and shadow lending an aura of menace to the undergrowth. The eyes played goblin tricks.

  Quickly, the troopers spread out. If all went according to plan, they would fall into formation with the end of Captain Pemberton’s line.

  They moved on at the ready. James had Sergeant Heston on his left and a soldier named Carns on his right. Dorf and his other friends were farther down.

  James wasn’t a woodsman, but it seemed to him that these woods were unnaturally quiet. He didn’t hear a single bird, didn’t see a single squirrel.

  A variety of trees flourished: oaks, a few pines, cottonwoods. Briars had to be skirted, as well as dense thickets where their horses would make too much noise. Fortunately it wasn’t autumn or there would be so many fallen leaves, the crunch of heavy hooves would give them away.

  To the left of their line, a second line appeared and the two became one. Captain Pemberton was midway down. At that same moment Lieutenant Finch’s men should be linking up to the other end of Pemberton’s line.

  D Troop was in place. The plan was working.

  James curled his thumb around the Spencer’s hammer. Any moment now they should spot the hostiles. He wasn’t the only trooper rigid with anticipation.

  The trees thinned. Beyond was a broad open area. Through it flowed the ribbon of water. It was an ideal campsite. Recently used, too, as the blackened circles of campfires testified. But of the makers of those fires, there was no sign.

  Captain Pemberton signaled and the line came to a halt.

  “Where are they?” Private Carn whispered.

  James was wondering the same thing. Their absence, combined with the ominous silence, compounded his unease.

  Captain Pemberton signaled and D Troop moved out of the trees into the open. Pemberton stopped and motioned, and Jack Shard and Cowlick climbed down and roved about, reading the sign.

  Pemberton broke the silence. “I was afraid of this. They’re long gone.”

  Shard came to a black circle and sank to one knee. He pressed a hand to the charred bits of wood, and stiffened. Suddenly rising, he glanced sharply at the surrounding woods. “Captain, these are still warm.”

  “Then the hostiles were here just a while ago,” Pemberton said.

  “Maybe they still are,” Jack Shard said. “Maybe we’ve waltzed into a trap.”

  The words were barely out of the scout’s mouth when the air pealed to war whoops. From out of the woods on all sides burst hostiles. Far more than the twenty to thirty Jack Shard had said they would find.

  To James there seemed to be upwards of a hundred. He was one of the first troopers to bang off a shot. Many were in shock. Arrows began to rain and lead to fly, and D Troop retaliated with a ragged volley that sent warriors and horses crashing to the ground. Some of the hostiles stopped but others kept coming.

  Captain Pemberton bellowed. The lieutenants and sergeants shouted for the troop to form up, but they weren’t give the time.

  At a gallop hostiles smashed into their line and men in blue went down.

  James jacked the
Spencer’s lever, curled the hammer, fixed a bead on a buckskin-clad chest, and fired. Next to him Private Carn threw out his arms and shrieked, a feathered shaft through his throat.

  Chaos erupted. Troopers and hostiles were intermixed in fierce combat. Guns blasted and arrows whizzed. The din rose to a crescendo of rabid bloodletting. A stocky warrior came at him with a lance raised to hurl and he cored the warrior’s brain. Another bore down on him and he narrowly reined aside to keep from being rammed and shot the warrior in the back as the man went past.

  Men were screaming, yipping, cursing, dying. Out of the wild melee came tinny notes. It took James a few seconds to realize the bugler was sounding retreat. He saw troopers breaking away and slapped his legs. Fearful of arrows, he bent low over the saddle. A heartbeat later a shaft cleaved the space above his head.

  Around him flew troopers. Among them was Dorf, his hat gone, blood on the big farm boy’s brow. Newcomb was fiercely lashing his mount.

  D Troop burst out of the woods onto the prairie.

  Inexplicably, the hostiles weren’t giving chase.

  The bugler began blowing for them to rally. With a speed born of long practice, the cavalrymen marshaled. Gaps were closed. Carbines were reloaded.

  Captain Pemberton and Finch and Myers were in urgent converse. When Sergeant Heston moved to join them, James went along. He had been ordered to stick close to the first sergeant and that was exactly what he would do.

  Second Lieutenant Meyers was saying, “. . . seventeen, at a rough count, sir.”

  “That leaves us seventy-seven,” Captain Pemberton said. “And how many hostiles, would you say?”

  “I made it out to be a hundred to a hundred and twenty,” Lieutenant Finch said. “We took a high toll. Thirty or more, possibly.”

  “Damn Shard, anyway,” Meyers said.

  “We can’t blame him.” Captain Pemberton looked around. “Where is he? And the Crow?”

  Sergeant Heston spoke up. “The last I saw of them, sir, they were cut off and fighting for their lives.”

  From out of the woods wavered a scream.

  “They’re torturing the poor devils they took alive.” Lieutenant Finch stated the obvious.

  “We haven’t another moment to waste,” Captain Pemberton said. “Fall in. We’ll charge through them, wheel, and charge again. With any luck it will break them and they’ll scatter.”

  From a walk their horses were brought to a fast walk, from a fast walk to a trot. By then they were in the trees and their formation was less compact but still in good order. Piercing yips warned they had been spotted. Arrows sailed at them.

  Clear and loud rang out Captain Pemberton’s “Charrrggge!”

  Most of the Indians had dismounted. Some were mutilating soldiers. A lot were gathered around a fallen warrior.

  A chief, James suspected.

  The command came to fire. James did so, doubtful he hit anything. It was next to impossible to score at a full gallop even with lots of practice. Still, some hostiles fell.

  The counterattack disconcerted the Indians. A few stood their ground, but the majority vaulted onto their painted ponies and lit out in all directions.

  D Troop swept across the open area, stopped short of the woods, wheeled in perfect order, and thundered down on the hostiles who remained. Another volley crackled and the troopers were past. Once again D Troop wheeled, but this time Captain Pemberton called for them to halt and the bugler sounded the cease-fire.

  James was covered in sweat, his uniform more brown with dust than blue. He was ungodly thirsty. His horse pranced and he patted its neck, awaiting orders.

  Captain Pemberton didn’t waste a second. “Lieutenant Myers, take a sergeant and twenty men and make sure the hostiles are gone while we see to our fallen. They might take it into their heads to circle back and try us again.”

  “Yes, sir,” Myers said briskly.

  “Under no circumstances are you to engage them,” Captain Pemberton ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” Myers said, less heartily.

  To James’s amazement, Myers then pointed at him and said, “I pick Sergeant Doyle, there.”

  34

  James couldn’t understand why Second Lieutenant Myers had picked him. Of all the sergeants he had the least experience. He learned the answer shortly after they entered the woods.

  “This is a stroke of luck, Doyle,” Myers said excitedly. “A chance for us to shine.”

  “Sir?”

  “I pray to God we find hostiles. Nothing leads to a faster promotion than exterminating these vermin. And no one knows that better than you, eh?”

  “Sir?” James said again.

  “A nice little skirmish will benefit my career greatly,” Myers said.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” James said, “but the captain ordered us not to engage them.”

  Myers grinned and winked. “But what if they engage us? We can’t be faulted for defending ourselves.”

  James didn’t like the sound of that. “We only have twenty men,” he reminded him.

  “Hell,” Lieutenant Myers scoffed, “we can lick five times our number. Redskins have no backbone. You saw yourself. They tucked tail and ran.”

  “It was smart of them,” James said. “We caught them by surprise. Sir,” he remembered to add.

  Myers’s face pinched in a scowl. “What the hell is the matter with you? I thought of all the noncoms, you would share my sentiments.”

  James tried to think of what he had done to give Myers that idea.

  “You made sergeant because of one fight. Imagine what another might do for your career.”

  James glanced over his shoulder at the other troopers. Most were like him, young and almost as green. Only a handful were worth a damn with a carbine. Yet here they were, hunting enemies who could ride rings around them and shoot them from the saddle while doing it. “Sir, I must object.”

  Lieutenant Myers went on as if he hadn’t heard.

  “The captain was clear as can be,” James said.

  “I’m in charge of this patrol and you’ll damn well follow my orders or I’ll have you brought up on charges.” Myers muttered something. “And I must say, Sergeant Doyle, that you’re a disappointment.”

  They were on the westward loop of their sweep. A wide swath of pockmarks showed that at least part of the war party had come this way.

  Lieutenant Myers bent low and said, “Where’s Jack Shard or that Crow when we need them? Can you tell how many hostiles there were?”

  No, James couldn’t, but judging by the number of tracks, it was a lot. To his consternation, Myers uttered a laugh and reined after them.

  James wished First Sergeant Heston was there. Heston had impressed on him that a sergeant’s paramount duty was to follow orders, but he doubted the stolid sergeant would agree to this. Heston had also said the welfare of the men came first.

  “Look!” Lieutenant Myers exclaimed, and pointed.

  A pair of hostiles sat their horses in plain sight a quarter of a mile away.

  “Stragglers, by Jupiter,” Myers said. “We’ll take them prisoner and make them tell us where the rest are heading.” He turned and yelled, “At the double, men!”

  Reluctantly, James goaded his animal. He didn’t like how the pair were just sitting there, or how they continued to sit there as the patrol swept toward them. To him it smelled of a ruse.

  Some of the troopers whooped and hollered.

  James did as he thought Sergeant Heston would do. He shouted over his shoulder, “That’s enough of that!”

  Lieutenant Myers was intent on the hostiles. When the two warriors reined to the northwest, he shouted, “After them, men! We can’t let them get away.”

  Swirls of dust rose in the hostiles’ wake. They were making for a series of bluffs that reared like giant tombstones.

  James held the Spencer close to his side so it didn’t flap on the sling. His horse was holding up, but it was tired.

  One of the cardinal rules
they were taught early on was that a cavalryman’s horse was his salvation and to never, ever exhaust their animal unless their lives depended on it.

  Lieutenant Myers didn’t care about his horse. He didn’t care about anything but the two warriors. Now and again he laughed, as if this were great fun.

  James had to say it. “This could be a trap!” he shouted, and was again ignored.

  The pair of hostiles reached a bluff. They looked back, and James would swear money they were grinning. His every impulse screamed at him that Myers was making a terrible mistake and he should do something.

  The next instant it was too late.

  From around the bluff poured more hostiles. There had to be sixty, painted furies voicing war whoops and brandishing weapons. Many controlled their horses by their legs, leaving their hands free to let loose shafts or shoot rifles. Whatever else was said about Indians, one fact was undeniable: they were superb riders.

  Outnumbered as the troopers were, there was only one sensible recourse: get the hell out of there. But to James’s bewilderment, Second Lieutenant Myers waved his revolver and yelled, “Charge, men! At them, I say!”

  Through James’s head flashed the thought that the man was unhinged. For his own part, he drew rein so abruptly that his animal came to a sliding stop. Automatically, he raised his arm to bring the column to a halt. All but three troopers followed his example. Those three galloped after Lieutenant Myers, heedless of the insanity of his attack.

  James reined around. “Retreat, men!” he roared. “To the woods! To the woods!” As he went past each pair, they turned and flew on his heels. James glanced back.

  Lieutenant Myers had realized few troopers were with him and drawn rein. His features were a study in baffled rage.

  He looked at the onrushing hostiles and common sense finally prevailed. Snapping an order at the three soldiers who had followed him, he wheeled and raced to rejoin James and the others.

  James had a new worry. They might make the woods; they might not. It was over a quarter of a mile and their horses were lathered with sweat and at the limits of their endurance. It could be the hostiles would overtake them before they reached cover. He glanced back again. The Indians were rapidly overhauling them. Lieutenant Myers was using his reins and legs with great vigor, but his horse was slowing. The soldiers with him pulled ahead.