No Good Like It Is

  “No, Sergeant. I stood, made the peace sign and said ‘Hello, Brothers’ to them. They shot their arrows into my hat and my arm, so we fired back.”

  “You spoke in English to them?”

  “No, of course not. I spoke in Cherokee.”

  “And you thought they would understand that?”

  “I do not speak Cheyenne. They shot me before I could make any more signs.”

  “Listen, Sergeant, it wasn’t his fault,” Buck defended his companion. “It happened just like he said, and it’s a wonder he ain’t dead.”

  Bear came back from checking the downed Indians. “Both dead. Might’ve hit one or two more, but there’s so much blood from the deer, I ain’t sure. Some of their horses didn’t go with ‘em.”

  “Let’s get the horses and the deer meat, and go report. We still don’t know how close we are to Black Kettle’s camp. He has many men, and they may come against us.”

  “We need to do that, but if we do, Lieutenant Ridges or Cap’n Dobey is gonna send us right back to find that camp.” Bear was careful not to offend the old Cherokee sergeant. “Maybe we could send Buck and Jumper back with the horses and meat to report, and you and me, we could follow those scared boys right to their camp.”

  Strong Branch nodded. “That is a good plan. Ridges will like that.” He smiled. “Give us your pistols, and get busy. Take the horses, and go fast. Leave the meat. Plenty more deer around here. Tell the lieutenant that when we find the camp one of us will stay and watch, and one will come back to report.”

  ***

  Lieutenant Jimmy Ridges asked Doctor John to look at Corporal Jumper’s arm, thanked the men for a good report and signaled Dobey to ease his horse away from the others.

  “We could set up a perimeter here and wait. But since the Cheyenne ran west, I think we should keep moving, with flankers out, but close to the river. Maybe pick up those two dead Cheyenne, treat them with respect, take them to our meeting with Black Kettle. I do not think he will attack us, but he has many warriors, many more than us.”

  Dobey mused a moment. “Yeah. Good plan. He does come at us, we can set up below the high bank, have the river at our back. They come down the river, they’re channeled, and we’d slaughter them. And they sure don’t want to cross that river at us, under fire. They got many guns?”

  “Some. Not enough to face us. I think they’ll mill around, have conferences, wait for us. Black Kettle don’t want to fight. He tried to negotiate with the Yankees last year at Sand Creek, while they was shooting at him. Maybe, when we get close, we’ll spread out like regular cavalry on line, try to scare him a little. Then we’ll talk.” He looked to Dobey for approval.

  “Lieutenant Ridges, I don’t think you need any help at all. It’s a better plan than mine would have been. I’d have never thought about taking those bodies in. That’s a great idea. When we rejoin your sergeants, I’m gonna make sure they know this was your plan, that you were just being courteous to me as a captain.”

  Ridges beamed.

  Chapter Forty-two

  “Perhaps it is because I cannot keep liquor down, and perhaps it is because I have run out of cigars, but your cooking is a tonic to me. I must have gained seven pounds. My clothes actually fit. I’m sleeping well, despite that meddling wench’s insistence on attention.” Doctor John shifted in his saddle, to smile and wave to Junebug over in the other wagon.

  “Yassuh.” Big William clicked his tongue, to encourage the mule to pull Marie-Louise’s wagon on through the shallow creek and up the slight bank. He liked to listen to the dentist, even when he was contentious, and just now he was being complimentary.

  “Perhaps it is merely a miracle, but nevertheless, I choose to give your culinary skills full credit. My mother had a large Negress, Flossie, who was a magician in the kitchen, a god-damned magician I tell you, producing meal after incredible meal, and your cooking reminds me of hers. And she had a full staff, a full pantry, utensils from Europe, while you, sir, are working with scat.”

  “Sir?”

  “Mere scat. Animal droppings.”

  “No suh! Ain’t never cooked with no droppings, I promise.”

  “No, no, no, William. I meant your equipment, your few resources. A few pots and pans, almost no condiments, yet you too are a magician. If we ever reach some semblance of civilization again, I shall hire you away from those two Cossacks, and we shall open an eating establishment. Maybe whores and gambling on the side.”

  “Yassuh. What’s a Cossack?”

  ***

  Jimmy Melton trotted back to the wagons, and shouted, “Stay awake, now. We’re close to the place they fought. See them buzzards?”

  Doc nodded and waved. “Hand me one of those shotguns, please, Big William.”

  Marie-Louise reached back into the wagon bed, took one of the long guns and handed it to Big William, and put the other over her lap.

  Big William handed the gun to Doc. “Can’t see no buzzards, myself.”

  “My God, William, they can’t be a half mile up the river. Surely you are not older than I—when were you born? Or do you know?”

  “My master, he said I was born in 1820.” Big William smiled to hide his resentment. “I s’pose you didn’t think an old darky would know something like that.”

  “Well, I’ll certainly be damned. You are five years older than I am. You don’t look it. And I did not mean to be condescending about your knowledge. It’s simply that most men, people, out here, aren’t aware of their birth year.” He checked the caps on the shotgun. “Nevertheless, at forty-five years, I’m surprised at your loss of vision. Can you see up close, make out words?”

  “Yassuh. I can read. Just can’t see too far, not small things, like birds. Boss Melton, he calls me Blind William.” He shrugged and grinned.

  “Well, I may have something for you. I’ll be right back.” He trotted over to the other wagon.

  Melton rode back to join them again. “That’s the place. Scouts found the bodies. Corporal Jumper and Buck took ‘em right to it.” He smiled at Marie-Louise, who was obviously apprehensive.

  “Ever’thing, she is all right, cher?”

  “Yeah. All clear. They had to chase off a big damn bear, but that means there ain’t nobody else around.”

  “Not our Bear?”

  “No, Marie. Our Bear’s on up there somewhere, tracking them Indians, ‘scuse me, them Cheyennes.”

  “Boss Melton, that Doctor John says you and Cap’n Dobey was Russian cavalrymen. Just tole us that. Didn’t he, Miz Marie-Louise?” Big William seemed concerned and confused.

  “Yeah, well, we ain’t no Cossacks. And never was, neither. He just means it as a insult. Says they’s the most meanest cavalry in the world. Wait til he goes up against Comanche or Kiowa, he’ll see what ‘mean’ is. Worse yet, Apache.”

  Doc rejoined them, and handed his medical bag to Marie-Louise, seated beside Big William.

  “In the bottom there, you’ll find several sets of spectacles. I took them from people who didn’t survive my medical assistance. Some are just reading glasses, but some are for distant vision. Help him try some on.”

  With the fifth pair, Big William said, “Oh my sweet Jesus, Doctor, I can see them birds.”

  Melton snorted, “I guess you can. They ain’t but five feet across the wings, and less’n a hundred yards away.”

  “Nossir, Boss. Not them buzzards. I mean them two pigeons, just took off across the river.”

  Doctor John gave Melton a smile of incredible smugness. “Damned Cossack.”

  Melton flared. “Bold talk, for a skinny old bald man. I s’pose it helps that you got a twin barrel shotgun pointing in my general direction.”

  Doc carefully handed the shotgun back to Big William, who had halted the wagon. “I spit in your general direction, sir.” And to Melton’s astonishment, he did. And in the blink of an eye, that little Colt Police Model was out, cocked, pointing at Jimmy Melton’s chest.

  Melton, later, could not re
member seeing him draw it. It was suddenly just there.

  “Easy, Doc, Boss, y’all ain’t enemies here,” said Big William.

  “I know that, Goddammit. The Cossack does not.”

  Melton focused on Doc’s eyes, watching for a flinch, any opening. He saw none.

  Doc abruptly de-cocked the Colt, still staring at Melton. “You are the last man I know that I would pick a fight with. You, or your captain, either. Junebug saw your performance in Mason’s Landing, and told me. Warned me, as if I were blind, unable to see how dangerous you are. That’s what ‘cossack’ means: dangerous, tough, mean. But as you see, I am not helpless. Finally. Again.”

  Melton let out his breath. “Yeah. I did see that. I don’t think even the cap’n is that fast.” He was embarrassed.

  Doc said quietly, “ It was not an insult, Melton. You are helping me get my life back. You, the captain, Big William, that evil slut Junebug, all of you. I’m grateful. It’s as if I’ve been sleepwalking for fifteen years. But I cannot accept a slight.” In a louder voice then, for all to hear, “But even if I got off the first shot, there’s an excellent chance that you would have still killed me. Everyone here knows that.”

  Melton muttered, “You talk too much,” and rode to find Dobey.

  ***

  As the scouts finished lashing the two dead Cheyenne on horses, Jimmy Ridges turned to Dobey and Melton. “These Cheyenne, they were lucky.”

  “I’m not sure how that works,” Dobey answered. Jimmy Melton just stared as if the lieutenant was insane.

  “Lucky that the bear got here first. He kept the other scavengers away and he began to eat the deer first. It was already butchered part ways, and not wearing smelly clothes, so he had not yet chewed on these men.”

  “Yeah,” said Melton. “Pretty damn lucky. Where’s the deer?”

  “The bear took it in his mouth and ran across the river with it when our men came close. The deer was bigger than either of these dead boys, also lucky for them. He took the biggest kill.”

  “If you’re saying these boys ‘bout used up their luck, I’d agree with you.”

  “Yes,” Ridges smiled, happy that Melton agreed with him. The big Texan was intimidating to everyone. “We’ll go on a ways before we camp. All this blood will draw other animals here, and the two boys are bled out, so they won’t trail us.”

  “Lucky.”

  Shouting caused them to scramble back up the embankment, in time to see Bear ride in.

  ***

  Old Ben stepped out of the privy as he pulled up his pants and re-shouldered his suspenders. Mason’s Landing was quiet most mornings, and especially right at dawn. A couple of yards away, a rooster crowed away with great determination.

  “Wastin’ your breath,” muttered Ben. “Whole town’s made up of sporting ladies and drinking men. If’n you does wake ‘em up this early, they liable to kill you. Go make some eggs or something.” He threw a stick at the bird, then opened the back door of the jail.

  “Ol’ fool nigger,” he said to himself, “you knowed they wasn’t no way them white folks was gonna keep you as marshal. You just lucky you got this ol’ jail to sleep in. Now the war’s over, you needs to just get you a job on one a’ them down-river boats, where they is regular food. Get on back to Baton Rouge. Yessir, that’s what you needs to do.”

  As he stepped from the cell corridor into the office, the smell of cigar smoke brought him up sharp out of his reverie. A familiar face sat at the desk. A dreaded familiar face.

  “Morning, Rastus. No, no, no, now, don’t even think about leaving. No sir. I don’t want to turn this scattergun loose on your legs, least not afore we have a good talk. Just turn around there and let’s cuff your wrists to them jail bars. That’s right, face right up against ‘em. Hands up high, Rastus.”

  Ben felt the cold cuffs snap onto one wrist, then the other. “I, I’se never done nothing to you, Boss,” he stammered. A knife nicked his back as his shirt was cut away.

  “Oh, I seen you grin when that sumbitch knocked my teeth out, Rastus. Now, you just tell me all you heard about them Rebels, and where they was going, and how, and so on.”

  “Boss Fetterman, I don’t know nothing about that. You think them white folks told me nothing?”

  The knife nicked his buttocks this time, as his rope belt was cut and the blade was used to push his pants down.

  “Spread them legs, nigger. Let’s see do this help you remember.”

  Ben felt the cold steel on the inside of his thigh before he realized what was coming next. He began to scream.

  Chapter Forty-three

  When Bear reported that Black Kettle was less than twenty miles west, right on the Canadian, Lieutenant Ridges decided to cook at the sight of the fight, and press on to a dark camp afterward. Bear had picked a spot, eight miles farther on, that he thought was defendable. He ate and drank slowly and thought about each answer, as Jimmy Ridges and Dobey questioned him.

  There were thirty-six lodges, so maybe one hundred and fifty people in camp, but lots of coming and going from the southwest so there might be other camps out there, Bear thought. Didn’t seem like enough young men, so they might be away hunting or raiding. Lots of horses; they stirred up too much dust to be counted, but over two hundred. There was a lot of agitation among the Cheyenne, but mostly they seemed to be having meetings. When they would start to shout, an old black haired-man would calm them. When Bear mentioned that, Jimmy Ridges said that the old man was probably Black Kettle.

  Bear finished his report. “Anyhow, we move now, and we can make that camp ‘fore dark. We gonna strike ‘em in the morning, or try to talk to ‘em?”

  Ridges said “We’ll leave the wagons, women, and spare horses nearby and move on ‘em ‘fore daybreak. Line up, ready to charge ‘em, with the sun rising behind us. Then we’ll hold up our guns and see if they won’t parley.”

  “Good luck with that,” whispered Corporal Jumper. Buck coughed to suppress a giggle.

  Ridges turned to glare at them, then smiled. “I know. You tried it and were almost wiped out. But their wind is up now. They don’t know who we are. Everyone will put on their gray jackets tomorrow, even though it is too hot. Black Kettle should not want to fight Stand Watie’s men, but he has us outnumbered maybe three to one. We may have to kill him.” There was a murmur of approval from the Cherokee sergeants. “Finish eating quick. Bear will lead us.”

  ***

  Doc cleaned his plate with sand, stuck it in his saddlebag, and helped Junebug up into the Watson’s wagon. “Doc, honey, can I ask you a big favor?” She grabbed his hand as he squeezed her bottom.

  “Why, almost anything, Lass. You’re my savioress.”

  “I worry sick about you. There’s so much danger here already.” She paused. “Please, Doc, don’t take the Lord’s name in vain so much.”

  Doc looked at her, stunned. “Sweet God in Heaven, am I to have a whore chastise me on my language? Jesus Christ, Junebug, I am trying my very best…”

  “See, Doc, there you go again. It scares me. Indians don’t kill you, or a snake, then a lightning bolt will. Please, Doc, just try.”

  Doc mounted and rode, for once in his life at a loss for words.

  When he caught up with Marie-Louise’s wagon, he slowed to a walk, and spoke to Big William. “That cook, Flossie, she used to serve us cool tea. It was sweetened, sugar or honey, I don’t know, and crushed mint always, but there was something else. Could it have been the juice of oranges?”

  “Yassuh—sure could have been. I’ve fixed that myself. Sure wish we had some oranges. Cut up a mess of ‘em, squeeze ‘em, put ‘em inside a pig on the spit. Maybe little cuts ‘tween the ribs, so’s that juice mixes in with the meat. Ummm-um! Make your tongue slap the top of your mouth. Yassuh.”

  Doc rubbed his face. “I would kill for a God-d…, a, uh, an orange, just one, right now. Big William, I despair that I will ever see one again.”

  ***

  In the dark camp, Bear squatted b
eside Dobey as he checked his revolvers. “Myself, I still don’t know have I killed someone yet. Maybe a Cherokee at the boat fight,” he shrugged, as he looked at the caps on his Remington.

  “Don’t think I’d claim that one,” smiled Dobey.

  “No. But Cap’n, those fights, this one and back at the boat, they were sudden. No time to think. Now, I must think about the morning, no?” He paused. “That time, in Mason’s Landing. Did you know you was gonna shoot them deputies, before you got down from the horse? Did you already know?”

  “No, Bear. I meant to disarm them. But when that one went for his pistol, there was no more time for talking. Turned out they were scum, anyhow.”

  “What will it be like in the morning?”

  “We’ll try to scare ‘em, get ‘em to talk. But you have one or two picked out. If they charge, or open fire, you start killing. And don’t let up.”

  ***

  Not very far away, Black Kettle was trying to wrap up his war conference. He sent for two of the survivors of the ‘deer fight,’ and addressed the other leaders at the fire.

  “I think we must be careful here. I know our Dog Soldiers will not take a slight laying down, but maybe these young men of ours gave the slight.”

  The two young warriors approached the conference fire nervously, nodding to the older men.

  “Tell us again of how this fight happened. You have had time to think and remember. What you say will help us find the right path now.”

  Striker started to speak, but the younger Tree Bender cut him off. “We followed the Osage party for two days, and stole two of their ponies. Then we saw the deer…”

  An old fighting chief, Weasel, laughed. “Why don’t you start with your birth?”

  The laughter at Tree Bender’s expense eased the tension. Black Kettle put on a serious face. “Just start with the appearance of the enemy fighters. When did you see them? What did they say, and do, and look like? How many?”