No Good Like It Is

by McKendree R Long III

“Oh, yes sir. Served with him as a private and as a sergeant. Hell of a soldier, Mac was.”

  “I guess you didn’t know Mama. She’s five foot two.” Dobey finally relaxed enough to grin, and the two others had a good laugh.

  “Wasn’t that Sergeant Reid who brought you in?” Major Caskey got serious again.

  “Reid. Yessir.”

  “And what did you think of our Henry Reid?”

  “Well, sir, I guess he had some fun at my expense.” Dobey smiled at McCabe. “Probably the same sort of things my father would have said to a new lieutenant.”

  McCabe shrugged without smiling, but Major Caskey stood suddenly and said, “No, I doubt it. I knew your father too, and he was more like Jack McCabe here. No, Reid’s a problem. Probably told you that I’m an asshole. Well, you’ll have to judge, Walls, because I can be one.”

  Sergeant Major McCabe snorted and rolled his eyes.

  “Reid’s got ‘L’ Troop, now, with no officer for several months,” continued the Major. “We got other troops without officers, but ‘L’ Troop has morale problems.”

  “Reid’s the problem, Major, and you and I know it, and Lieutenant Walls needs to know it, if you gonna send him there. He’s a bully and a backstabber and a cheat, and I’d shoot the sonuvabitch, you just let me.”

  “And let Corporal Potter run it? ‘Cause he’s senior to Melton, and he ain’t as good as Reid. No, Reid ain’t no Mac Walls, nor no Jack McCabe, but he’s been around for twelve years, and he don’t have much discipline problems, and he’s seen some fighting.”

  “So he says. But you’re the boss.”

  Caskey turned back to Dobey. “Now, tell me how you got a nickname like ‘Dobey’. That must have come at West Point. Hamburger didn’t mention it.”

  “Yessir. Weren’t many Texans at the Academy, so they pegged me as ‘Adobe Walls’ right away after those mud houses back home, then just cut it to ‘Dobey’.”

  “Well, despite my sergeant-major’s concerns, I’m gonna assign you to ‘L’ Troop. Reid’s your troop sergeant. Potter has one section, Melton the other. Melton’s a good man. Let’s see can you pick things up down there.”

  ***

  Dobey tried to blow the flies away from his sweating nose as he knelt to replace a rat trap. He stood and waved off the flies with his hat as Corporal Melton walked up.

  “Afternoon, Corporal Melton. Why so dressed up?”

  “Corporal Potter didn’t feel good this morning, so Sergeant Reid substituted me as Sergeant of the Guard today. I was just checking ‘em over before inspection. You be doing that too?”

  “No. Lieutenant Albert’s the Officer of the Day.”

  “Hmm. Well, sir, he’s sick too. Thought I heard that you was his replacement. Gotta be you. Lieutenant Adams is at Fort Smith, and Captain Morrison’s on patrol, and Lieutenant Boswell had the duty last night. That leaves you.” He bit his lip. “Guess you’d better clean up, sir. Only got fifteen minutes ‘fore Guard Mount. Major’s likely to be there, ‘specially with a new officer performing it.”

  Dobey started walking toward his quarters. “How’d you hear this? How’s I supposed to know? Bad enough the major sees me like this, after I’ve been crawling around in horse manure checking rat traps, but think what the men on guard would think. Jesus. Them cleaned for inspection, and me in shitty stable clothes.”

  Melton started to answer, then thought better of it. He saluted and said, “Yessir. See you in a few minutes. Front of the guard house.”

  Eleven minutes later, Dobey rushed out of his quarters with clean fatigue pants, jacket brushed, pistol belt, gloves, and saber in place, and ran squarely into Sergeant Reid.

  “Jesus, Lieutenant, where you been? I been looking for you for over an hour. You got Officer of the Day, and you got Guard Mount in about five minutes…” Reid’s happy face turned to surprise, then sour, as it became apparent that Dobey was ready.

  ***

  At the completion of the inspection, Dobey turned and saluted Major Caskey, who waited to the side and watched the procedure. “Would you like to address the guard, sir?”

  Major Caskey returned the salute. “I would. Thank you, Lieutenant Walls.” He strode to the front of the tight formation of sixteen men, hands clasped behind him.

  “You all been told how, if you don’t stay alert on your posts, wild injuns might slip by you and murder us all.” He smiled. So did the men. “Been a while since we was attacked here, so I know it’s hard to get excited ‘bout walking a guard post here. Out on patrol, hostiles around you, no problem staying alert. But back here? Tough, ain’t it?” The men smiled and nodded.

  “So let’s put it in a different light for you.” Same even voice. “Tonight, somebody is gonna be checking on you. Corporal Melton, Corporal McDowell, Lieutenant Walls, maybe me. I find you dozing, or learn that you relaxed, I will have Sergeant Major McCabe whip your ass. To a frazzle. Carry on.”

  Dobey snapped him another salute. As Major Caskey faced him to return it, he gave Dobey a broad wink and marched away.

  ***

  “Let me guess. Reid was supposed to tell me about the change in duty, right?” Dobey and Melton watched as Corporal McDowell marched the guard formation off to eat.

  “I don’t know about that, sir. This sort of thing happened before?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “You don’t mind, I could tell the sergeant major that his choice of messengers ain’t always working where you’re concerned. He’ll fix it, best he can.”

  This man knows more than he’s telling me, Dobey thought. He couldn’t help wishing that Melton was more senior, and could be his troop sergeant. He knew the twenty-six year old man had enlisted here five years earlier, and rose rapidly to corporal because of his size, fighting skills, intelligence, and leadership ability. He was widely believed to have had prior military service, but there must have been a cloud. Why else wouldn’t he claim that service, for pay and promotion eligibility?

  “’Nother thing, Lieutenant. Why the hell are you mucking around with rat traps in the first place? I can have some of our men do it.”

  “I feel that I ought to learn these jobs for myself, if I’m gonna order others to do them. You know that’s why the junior officers at a post always get these extra duties.”

  Dobey was the rodent control officer, the venereal disease monitoring officer, and the stable officer. When he gained experience, or when a more junior officer arrived, he might become supply officer, mess officer, marksmanship officer, or morale officer.

  “Alls I know is, my daddy was a horse breaker, spent a lot time around barns and stables. Always kept some cats there. Didn’t really need no traps, and with the rats gone, didn’t see so many snakes neither.”

  Two days later, Dobey bought two cats off a steamer on the Arkansas, and asked Melton if he had any ideas about getting rid of the whores that lived in the tent city outside the fort.

  “Ain’t gonna happen, sir. And if it did, the men would go to Fort Smith or to an Indian village.”

  “How am I expected to cut down the pox, then? I send the men to the medicos, they get dosed, then they go get it again. I’ve tried scaring them. They say, yessir, yessir, then go right back.”

  Melton thought a minute. “Was a deserter off a English boat, a marine, come through here a year ago. Heading for California, gonna get rich. Said the English had whores on the ship, and with their army, and their doctors treated the whores as well as the men. Said it helped. Couldn’t hurt. Hell, it ain’t no good like it is.”

  Chapter Three

  “Walls, I want you to know that the sergeant major keeps me posted on your doings. Says the cats are helping, and multiplying.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Says having the medicos treat the whores has cut way back on sick time for the pox. Says the whores is paying for the dosage?”

  “Yessir. We told them we’d run ‘em off unless they submitted for treatment and paid. You reckon you could get the commander at
Fort Smith to try it? Our men still catch it over there. They say the whores are prettier.”

  “I’ve already sent the sergeant major over there to talk to their top sergeant. We’ll see. You got any more ideas for me?”

  “Major, both those ideas come from Corporal Jimmy Melton. Soon as he can be promoted, he should be. But I do have another idea, maybe two.”

  “Go ahead. I thought you might.” Caskey leaned back and smiled.

  “I don’t know ‘bout the other troops, but my men ain’t in good shape. Can’t run up a short hill. Some of ‘em can’t ride worth a tinker’s dam. Maybe we could have some contests. Riding and foot races, boxing, even wrestling. Some short foot marches. Make ‘em appreciate those horses?”

  “Who in hell would teach ‘em boxing or wrestling?”

  “I learned some about it at West Point. Lieutenant Boswell knows some too, and Melton says there’s a couple of non-coms was prize fighters.”

  “All right. Was that one idea, or two?”

  “No sir. I mean, just one. The other one was on marksmanship.”

  “Goddammit, you think I don’t know that’s a problem? Walls, we don’t have enough Sharps cartridges for our basic load—not enough to fight with. You think we can burn half of ‘em for target practice? ‘Cause that’s what it would take, to get this cross-eyed outfit halfway ready to qualify with their carbines. And forget about the pistols.” He yanked open a drawer, pulled out a flask, took a swallow, and slammed it back into the desk. “No cartridges. No money. That’s all I hear from regiment, and district, and dammit, Walls, they ain’t lying.”

  “Yessir. But here’s the thing. Melton says…”

  “Melton says. Melton says. Jesus Christ. What else does Melton say?”

  Dobey took a breath. “Sir, there’s this trader, Boissineau, that trades in the Indian Territory. Mostly legitimate. But he also buys a lot of powder and lead off the boats here, and not all of that goes to buffalo hunters and to the peaceful Indians.”

  “By peaceful, you mean the Five Tribes?” Caskey asked.

  Dobey started to let that pass, but couldn’t. “The who?”

  Major Caskey smiled. “The Five Civilized Tribes. Choctaw, Cherokee, Seminole, Creek, Chickasaw. They was forcibly moved here maybe forty years ago from the southeast. Got their own governments and police forces.”

  Dobey nodded. “That was the Trail of Tears I heard of.”

  It was Caskey’s turn to nod. “Just so. And now this trader is selling to the Comanche and Kiowa?”

  “Yessir. And Cheyenne and Arapahoe. So Melton says. Says we could trail him, trap him, confiscate it. Ought to at least get enough for basic training, and a contest, maybe.”

  “Another contest,” Caskey snorted, but now he was smiling. “What do you and Melton think we should give as prizes? Furlough to Saint Louis for a week? Free whores?”

  Sergeant Major McCabe had eased into Caskey’s office during his tirade, and now spoke. “Bragging rights, Major. Won’t need no rewards. You know, just so’s they can say, ‘My troop is better’n your’n,’ or hear you tell everybody at parade.”

  “Mmm. All right, I’ll cogitate on this. Dismissed.”

  With Walls gone, Sergeant Major McCabe brought in two cups of coffee, and stood, waiting.

  “You know about this? I mean, these ideas?”

  “Melton just briefed me this morning, Major. Did the lieutenant take credit for the cats and dosing the whores?”

  “Nope. Gave Melton full credit. Matter of fact he gave credit for about everything to Melton.”

  “Thought he would. He’s Big Mac’s boy, all right.”

  Chapter Four

  “At ease, Captain Morrison, Lieutenant Walls. Messenger from the colonel says he just sent a wagon train toward us from Fort Smith. Be here tomorrow. Wants us to escort ‘em through the Territory to the far end of the Big Bend of the Arkansas, put ‘em on the Santa Fe Trail. Eight wagons, plus livestock. I plan to send your two troops. How many you got, Bob?”

  Morrison was taller than Caskey, thinner, but almost as old. “Fifty-two, John. Maybe forty-seven can ride.”

  “Walls?”

  “Forty-nine assigned, forty-six for duty, Sir.”

  “At least until we announce this little ride, huh? Well, you ain’t going up the Arkansas River. You’re to follow old Nathan Boone’s path in reverse.”

  “Sir, I don’t know Nathan Boone or his path.” Dobey smiled sheepishly.

  Morrison answered, “Daniel Boone’s son. One of ‘em anyhow. Took a ninety man company of the old First Mounted Rangers sort of northwest from here, up to the Trail, along it a ways west, then straight south to First Fort, then sort of followed the Canadian River back to here. That about right, Major? Twelve, maybe thirteen year ago?”

  “Fifteen year, Bob. Summer of ’43. Took us two and one-half months. But you’ll go and come back the southernmost route, swinging a little farther west here to the far tip of the Big Bend, so’s you won’t go so far north. And you won’t be exploring, as we was.” He sketched it with his finger on a wall map.

  “Jaysus, Johnnie, that’s got to be three hundred, three hundred-fifty mile. It’s the fifth of September, for Chrissake.”

  “It’s four hundred, if it’s a foot. And I want you back in a month. You got to make twenty-five miles a day, steady. What do you think—two wagons, ten extra horses, each troop?” The major looked at Dobey.

  “Sir, I’d have to go with Captain Morrison’s judgment, or yours. This’ll be my first long patrol.”

  Morrison knocked the ashes out of his pipe onto the major’s floor. “Yeah. That’ll do. Walls, let’s you and me go talk to my supply corporal. He’ll tell us what we need for them wagons. John, is there some special reason for us to be back here in a month? That’s pushing it.”

  “Yeah, Bob. I can’t lose two troops in the snow. You’re overall in charge. See you in the morning.”

  ***

  Morrison suggested they do a joint briefing for their non-coms, which Dobey thought was kind. There would be plenty of questions he couldn’t answer, and more that he wouldn’t know to ask.

  Morrison ran a no-nonsense briefing, leaving room for few questions, and was nice enough to let Dobey field some of the easy ones. As he wrapped it up, he commented that, thanks to some of Lieutenant Walls’ health and welfare ideas, each troop was able to field five to ten more men than usual, and they’d have plenty of ammunition. “That won’t hurt when it comes to sharing out guard duty, and some of the men can actually hit a damn mule at forty yards now. Let’s do it.”

  As the non-commissioned officers filed out, Dobey thanked Morrison for handling the briefing, and for his comments. “You don’t owe me thanks, son. But I’ll let you pick any two of my corporals for your Corporal Melton, anytime. Just don’t repeat that.”

  ***

  As Dobey hurried back to his quarters to pack, he was cut off by Troop Sergeant Reid. Corporals Potter, Melton, and McDowell stood nearby.

  “Well, you’ll finally get to see what real soldiering is about. Probably have to do some fighting,” Reid almost sneered, “Sir.”

  “Yes. I guess I’m lucky to have good non-coms to look to, if that happens. What time should we inspect the troop?”

  “Oh, don’t you fret over that, Lieutenant. Me and the other old soldiers will take care of it. We been doing this for years, before you was even in school.”

  “Nevertheless, I’d like to learn how you do it, so just tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll watch.”

  “Sure, sir, we can do that. Thing is, though, there was s’posed to be a fight tonight.”

  “Jesus, I forgot.” Reid had pushed for a boxing match between Potter’s section and Melton’s, and it was to be that night. Dobey suspected Reid had generated a lot of outside interest in it, for gambling reasons. “Who was supposed to fight?”

  “Well, Lieutenant, Corporal Potter is representing his own section, and since Melton don’t choose to hurt his hands, Co
rporal McDowell’s representing them.”

  “Tell them I’m sorry, and we’ll reschedule after the patrol.”

  “What I’m trying to suggest here, sir, is if we gets the men ready, and they meets your approval,” Reid turned his head to spit, “we’d like to go ahead with it tonight. What with all the preparation and all.”

  Dobey looked to Melton, who shrugged. “All right. After the troop is inspected.”

  ***

  Both troops were ready to move by dawn the next day. As the wagon train was coming up the far side of the Arkansas and wouldn’t arrive until late in the day, Morrison won approval to cross the river immediately. They’d head southeast, meet the wagons and turn west, saving a half-day of backtracking later. He saluted Major Caskey, and they rode out, with Morrison’s ‘M’ Troop leading.

  As ‘L’ Troop started to file out, Major Caskey walked close to Dobey and grabbed his harness. “Pay attention to Morrison. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. Officers don’t get to carry carbines in the cavalry, and I never liked that. If they’s a fight, though, generally they’s also carbines laying around. Anyhow, you might need to do some hunting, so I had McCabe put my shotgun in your wagon.” He walked along with Dobey as he eased toward the gate. “You ever handle a Paterson shotgun?”

  “Yes, sir, I did. Major Hamburger gave us one, when my dad was killed.”

  “Thought that’s what he said. Well, it’s there, with all the fixings. Loaded with buck-and-ball, but there’s a spare cylinder loaded with birdshot too. Be careful, son.” And he was gone.

  As Dobey waited to cross the river, Corporal McDowell nodded to him while leading his half section past. Both eyes were black, his nose was crooked, and his jaw swollen.

  Melton trotted up beside Dobey, and pointed toward McDowell. “Sorry ‘bout that, sir. I bet on him, and I ain’t a betting man. Potter, I didn’t think he was no pushover, but he beat McDowell like he was a redheaded stepchild. From the first lick. McDowell just failed to quit is why he’s so black and blue.”