Kilrone (1966)

by L'amour, Louis

  He had been through this at Camp Date Creek, a t Fort Riley, at half a dozen other posts. Not that he ha d ever left anyone behind … and that was the worst of it.

  Some of the men here tonight would be leaving no on e behind. He knew how that felt. You sat in your saddl e while the women said good-bye, clung to their husband s for that last moment, reluctant to let them go. You sa t straight, looking right across your horse’s ears and yo u knew nobody really gave a damn if you came back o r not … unless it was the sergeant who kept the dut y roster.

  It was going to be rough out there. If Paddock wa s thinking of anything at all except a quick, crushin g victory, he was thinking of Egan or Buffalo Horn. Well, i t would be neither of them. Egan was a peace-lovin g Indian who did not really want to fight; and Buffal o Horn had his head full of the reputation Chief Josep h had made, and wanted to beat it.

  Anyway, Buffalo Horn was busy up in Oregon, an d this action was the inspiration of Medicine Dog, and yo u had to live close to the Indians to understand abou t Medicine Dog.

  Kilrone saw the lone horseman riding toward him , coming up through the shadows from the stables, a ma n who did not ride like a cavalryman. The rider drew up a dozen feet off and deliberately lit a cigarette to le t Kilrone see his face.

  It was a long, horse face with a drooping mustache , and the man was a civilian in nondescript dress. Th e horse was a good one, a mustang, but long-legged an d solidly built.

  “Howdy,” the man said. “Seen you ride in. You’r e Xilrone, ain’t you? Seen you one time down to Cheyenne.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Ben Hayes. Scoutin’ for this outfit.”

  “I came in from the southeast,” Kilrone offere d “You’ve got trouble coming.”

  “I told him.”

  ““You know who they’ve got with them down there?”

  Kilrone took a cigar from his shirt pocket. “Medicin e Dog,” he said.

  Hayes stared. “You’re sure?”

  “A short, stocky Indian with bandy legs, a deep sca r through his upper lip.” , ‘

  That’s him.” Hayes swore slowly, viciously. “He’s mea i … pizen mean. And smart, real smart.”

  “Tell Paddock, will you? I tried.”

  Ben Hayes was silent After a moment he said, “Th e more I think on it the more I wonder. Medicine Do g would like to get Mellett… be a big feather for him.”

  Barney Kilrone spoke abruptly. “Medicine Dog is a realist, Hayes. Mellett would be an important scalp fo i any Indian. But Medicine Dog doesn’t want a scalp—h e wants the food, the horses, most of all the ammunition.

  “Think, man,” he went on. “If the Dog takes thi s camp, where can Mellett go? He’s riding about a hu n dred rounds to the man. He’ll have a fight up on Nort h Fork and hell use some of it … say half if it goes as I b elieve it will. The Dog will have this camp. He’ll hav e guns, plenty of ammunition, food. Hell have som e uniforms, too.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “The Dog is only half Bannock, remember. The oth e half is Sioux. As a boy back in Dakota he dressed in a uniform, along with a couple dozen others, to trap an d kill some scouts who thought they were joining an Arm y command. Using the same trick, he led a party into a stage station down Wyoming way. I think he’d try i t again.”

  “Ill talk to the Major.” Hayes sounded doubtful. “I go t no use for a desk soldier,” he added.

  “Don’t take this one lightly, Hayes. I know him. He wa s one of the best troop commanders I ever knew when h e was younger.”

  For several minutes neither man spoke, each bus y with his own thoughts. The parade ground was beginnin g to empty, and a few lights had gone out. There wa s time for a couple of hours of sleep before the colum n moved out. With no place to go, Kilrone laiew he woul d return to Paddock’s quarters, and he would be expecte d there. Yet he felt a curious reluctance to return, althoug h if that girl was there … what was her name? i He turned his thoughts to her seriously for the firs t tone. She was pretty—beautiful in her own special way—i but it was her quiet competence that had impresse d him. He had a vague recollection of her examining hi s wound.

  “Hayes,” he said suddenly, “I’m new at this post. If a man had to leave here, with a party of women an d children, is there any place he could go? Some place i n ; the hills, I mean? A place a man could defend?”

  * “You’d need time. You ain’t a-goin’ to have it.” Haye s looked straight at him. “You stayin ‘ here?”

  “They’ll need me.”

  “Good luck.”

  Ben Hayes rode across the grounds toward the stables.

  He would be catching some sleep himself.

  “Mr. Kilrone?” he turned his head and saw Bett y Considine standing beside him. “You should be resting.

  You’re suffering from exhaustion and from the results o f your wound.”

  “And you?”

  “I am tired.” She spoke quietly, with, no plea fo r sympathy. “It has been a long day.”

  He started back toward Paddock’s quarters, keepin g pace with her. “I often wonder who chooses the locations for these posts,” he commented. “They are alway s in the hottest, driest, windiest, or coldest places.”

  “I heard you tell Ben you were staying.”

  “Well, you said I need rest. This is as good a place a s any for that. I always swore when I left the Army I’d find a place near an army post where reveille woul d wake me up … and then I’d turn over and go to slee p again.”

  She laughed. “And did you?”

  “No. I found that I missed the Army too much.

  There’s always the temptation to go back, you know , because it’s safe.”

  “Safe?” She sounded incredulous.

  “Of course. If you’re an enlisted man your decision s are all made for you. If you’re an officer there’s th e regulations, and the fact that everything has to g o through channels. If things go wrong or you make a mistake, you can always find somebody else to blame.

  You don’t have to worry about where you will eat o r sleep, or how you’ll pay medical bills, and the margin s within which you can operate, so far as behavior i s concerned, are well laid out.”

  “So why did you leave the service? Or have you?”

  “Oh, I left it, all right! A situation developed with a n Indian agent of whom I didn’t approve, but it seemed i t was not my business to approve or disapprove, so I wen t to work and gathered evidence. I built a very carefu l case, affidavits, physical evidence … everything.

  “My commanding officer warned me that the India n agent was a personal friend of a very important man i n the War Department, and if I persisted my career wa s very likely at an end.”

  “You persisted?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “My carefully built case was lost somewhere in transit , and I was given the word that promotions would b e nonexistent for me … at least until there was a chang e of administration.’*

  “You resigned?”

  “Yes … and then I went to see the Indian agent. We discussed the situation, and then he resigned, too. An d left for a healthier climate.”

  They stood outside the door. “And then?”

  “I went down into Mexico looking for a lost gol d mine, rode as a shotgun messenger for a stage company , ramrodded a cattle drive, staked a mining claim i n Colorado until I was starved out, fought through a revolution in Central America, went east guarding a gol d shipment.”

  “And now?”

  “Drifting … looking for a place to light.”

  She was disappointed, although what difference i t could make to her she did not know. It seemed a pointles s existence. Of course, many men were doing jus t what Kilrone was doing, but for him it seemed wrong.

  He had been a young officer with a future.

  They still stood there outside Paddock’s quarters.

  “You’re staying with Mrs. Paddock?” he asked.


  “Only tonight. I live over there.” She indicated a house two doors away. “Dr. Hanlon is my uncle. He is th e post surgeon.”

  “Carter Hanlon? Wasn’t he stationed at Fort Conch o for a while?”

  “Yes. Did you know him?”

  “He plugged up a couple of holes for me, one time.

  He’s a good man.”

  He looked at her thoughtfully, and then said, “She’s a wonderful person, Denise Paddock is. She left a lot fo r him.”

  “I don’t think she has ever been sorry,” Betty said.

  “Sorry for him, I think, but not for herself. She has a rar e quality of making a home wherever she is, and o f folding the beautiful in every place.”

  She kept her eyes on his. “That was an Indian dressin g on your wound,” she said.

  He was amused. “I’m not a renegade or a squaw man , if that is what you are thinking.”

  In the light from the open door he could see that sh e flushed. “I was thinking nothing of the kind.”

  Denise came to the door. “Unless you want to sleep , come into the kitchen. Frank has gone to bed.”

  Barney Kilrone dropped into a chair. He was tired , dead-tired, but he did not feel like sleeping. And ther e was something he needed to know.

  “Have there been many Indians around the post in th e past few weeks?” he asked.

  “No,” Betty said, “none at all. In fact, Ben Hayes ha s been going around muttering because of it He alway s says when you see no Indians, look out.”

  “Why do you ask?” Denise said.

  “Because Medicine Dog knows everything about thi s post. He knows how many men are fit for service, h e knows about the store of ammunition and supplies, h e knows about the extra horses. Within a short time afte r Major Paddock rides out with his command, he wil l know that too.”

  They were both looking at him now. “Do you mea n there is somebody here, somebody on this post, who i s giving him information?^ Betty was incredulous.

  “That’s hard to believe,” Denise said.

  “It always is,” Kilrone said dryly. “That’s why it’s s o easy. Nobody is ever willing to suspect someone the y know, someone who sits down at the table with them.

  But a traitor can be anybody.”

  “Not anybody,” Denise protested.

  “The fact remains that everything is known. I mus t talk to Frank again, Denise, or you must He has t o realize that.”

  “What would you have him do?”

  “Try and get a messenger to Mellett, recalling him.

  Meanwhile, ride out from the post as he plans, but g o only a few miles, then return and go into hiding nea r here.”

  “What about Captain Mellett?”

  “The man’s an experienced Indian fighter, and I kno w that unless he is surprised he can fight off any India n attack he is apt to meet. The real attack will come here , at the post.”

  “Frank doesn’t think so,” Denise said.

  Barney Kilrone was silent. An attack by Paddock a t the critical moment could well be decisive. And it woul d read well in dispatches, while a defensive action agains t Indians, no matter if successful, would be dismisse d without comment either by his superiors or by the press.

  Major Frank Bell Paddock, who might never have anothe r such chance, was going to take this one.

  Only the lives to be risked were those at the post—th e men, women, and children who would be left behind , unprotected.

  Chapter 4

  Captain Charles Mellett, who knew the challenge o f command, rode up the low hill in the late afternoon an d halted his troop where the land fell away on all sides.

  Just below the hill’s highest point there was a sand y hollow. No doubt the buffalo had begun it, rolling in th e sand to rid themselves of ticks or fleas, but the wind ha d scoured the hollow, making it wider and deeper.

  Just over the highest rise of the hill there was a staggere d cluster of junipers that formed a windbreak, a s well as a screen for the camp’s activity. On the sout h side, runoff water had cut a small ravine that joined a larger one at the base of the hill. Where the two joine d there was a cluster of huge old cottonwoods. The strea m itself was a few inches deep, a few feet wide. The wate r was clear and quite cold.

  Mellett turned in his saddle to speak to Dunivant.

  “Sergeant, water your stock. Let them graze for on e hour, then take them to water again. After that, put you r picket line close in. Establish the guard posts at once.”

  Again he checked the country around. There was a good field of fire on three sides and, except for the smal l ravine, no available cover for at least a hundred yards i n that direction.

  “Corporal Hessler,” he directed, “when the horses hav e been watered for the second time, I want that brus h dumped into the ravine. Arrange it so that we cannot b e approached up that ravine without a disturbance bein g created.”

  Dr. Hanlon dismounted. “You’re expecting a fight?”

  This is Indian country,” Mellett replied. “I alway s expect a fight.”

  The men of M Troop, who knew their commander , were already busy shaping the camp into a crude bu t effective temporary fort, dragging a fallen log into positio n here, throwing up a modest breastwork there.

  Mellett’s rules were few but definite. Every camp a defensive position, all cookfires out before twilight, al l horses picketed close in by sundown, each camp chose n not so much for their own comfort as to deprive a n enemy of cover or concealment.

  Captain Mellett had fought the Sioux and th e Cheyenne, the Arapaho, Kiowa, and Comanche, the Ne z PereiS, and the Apache, and he knew what an India n was like. The Indian he knew was a wily and dangerou s warrior, a first-class fighting man who had his own set o f rules and his own ideas of bravery.

  As the camp was settling down for the night, Dr.

  Hanlon commented over coffee, “We’ve seen no Indians.”

  Mellett took out a cigar and lit it. “I never like t o argue with my superiors, and Webb knows this busines s as well as I do, but at a time like this, with Buffalo Hor n out, I think he had too small a force for a patrol.”

  Tou think he’s in trouble?”

  “I doubt it, but it’s taking a chance, Cart. You kno w that yourself. Oh, I’m not particularly worried abou t Buffalo Horn. The last we heard, he’s away up north an d west from here … he’s Hamey’s problem. But there’s something else in the wind, and I don’t like the smell o f “Jim Webb knew that when he was sent up here fro m Halleck. We’ve had no burned ranches, no settlers kille d in this area, though there’s been a lot of it over west.

  That argues that somebody is keeping them from it, an d the question is—why?”

  “They may be taking a spoke from Washakie’s wheel.

  He’s avoided any sign of trouble with the whites.”

  “I know. This is something else, because those Indian s south and east of here have turned mean. Mean, bu t quiet, and that’s not their way. Webb’s theory is tha t somebody who carries a lot of weight with them i s holding them back for something really big.”

  “What, do you suppose?”

  “I don’t know.” Mellett looked at his cigar tip. “Jus t the same, I’m glad that K Troop is back there at the pos t with Paddock.”

  “A drunk.”

  “Basically a good soldier, Cart. He’s been drinking, allow, but the man knows the way of things, and whe n the chips are down, he knows what to do.”

  “Did you know Kilrone?”

  “Served with him. He never went by the book, but h e was good. Maybe the best I ever served with, unless i t was Paddock himself.

  “We used to talk about Indians, and believe me, nobod y ever knew them better than Kilrone. He said somethin g once that I’ve never forgotten. We’d been talkin g about the way the Mongols banded together under on e man after all their tribal wars, and swept over most o f Asia and part of Europe.

  “Kilrone commented, *You can just thank the Goo d Lord that the Indi
an never developed such a man.’ Hi s theory was that the only thing that saved us from bein g swept away was the fact that the tribal thinking of th e Indian kept them from uniting.

  “Suppose Tecumseh—and he had the idea—had bee n able to weld the tribes together under some such leade r as Crazy Horse or Chief Joseph? We’ve never whipped a well-armed Indian force, you know. They never had a s many rifles as they needed, and never enough ammunition , and fortunately for us the Indian’s idea of war wa s based on a one-battle, one-war tradition. Joseph ha d arrived at the idea of the campaign, but he was fightin g a rear-guard action with only some three hundred-od d fighting men, and all his women and children along.”

  “I’d never thought of it that way.”

  “We’ve been lucky, Cart. Genghis Khan found th e Mongols split up, living a life not too different from tha t of the Indians, and busy with tribal warfare and triba l hatreds. He brought them all together, and look wha t happened.”

  “You don’t think anything like that is developing now , surely?”

  “No, I don’t. But suppose there was somebody dow n there in the mountains who could keep the Bannocks an d . The Paiutes together and disciplined. Suppose he coul d iaiake a feint that would draw us away from the post?

  ‘We’ve got several hundred thousand rounds of ammunitio n at the post now, and five hundred new rifles.”

  “You make me feel that we should turn right aroun d and head back for the post,” Dr. Hanlon said. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. Or I think I don’t. And as for Kilrone’s theory … it’s too late now. Moreover, there isn’t a n Indian anywhere who could do it.”

  “Not that we know of.”

  Mellett drew on his cigar and looked at the glowin g end. “That’s right… not that we know of.”

  Down the line a few of the fires were already out.

  Mellett leaned over his fire and pulled back the bigges t of the sticks, then scattered dirt over the small blaze.