by J. R. WRIGHT
There wasn’t time to be wasted looking for a friendly face, not that he expected there to be one, among these youngsters. This time he ran down the hill and boarded the stallion with a leap from the hillside ten feet away. Reacting to the panic of the situation, the red horse near ran out from under him before he was fully seated in the saddle. And then there was the matter of the bay mare not getting off to as quick a start. This lag cost valuable time until Luke finally cut the rope that bound her to the saddle of the stallion, setting her free.
Unencumbered now, the leggy red horse was just as anxious to put some distance between him and the yelping Indians behind as Luke was to have him do it. Crouched in the saddle now, he heard bullets whining overhead. One even nicked a sleeve of his buckskins, the heat from it stinging his arm. However, that went ignored for the time being, with the more important task of escape at hand.
Luke soon found he was boxed in by hills ahead. And with the warriors so close behind, he saw no choice but to go over them, knowing all the while the Sioux villages lied on the other side. He thought to draw the Winchester, but then thought better of it. Killing an Indian now, especially a Sioux, wouldn’t serve him well if he were eventually caught, regardless of his friendships among them.
Going over the crest, Luke glanced back and saw his pursuers a mere two hundred yards behind. Plenty close enough to be struck, even by arrows. The longer legged red stallion would eventually outpace the smaller ponies, he knew. But what he needed to accomplish that was open spaces, and he saw that below in the form of a quarter mile wide gap between villages. What lay ahead of that was a rather narrow, still water river and open prairie beyond. If he wasn’t caught, or worse, shot, before emerging from the river, then there was a good chance of him making it. But what he hadn’t counted on was another group of two dozen warriors, these Cheyenne, coming his way on the far side of the river.
Taking to the river at a full gallop, the stallion jumped at the last available touch of solid ground and landed with a huge splash, fully in the middle of it. It was deep, as Luke figured it would be, judging by the stillness of its surface at this spot.
But that was the least of his troubles now. Just as the horse took the plunge, something struck Luke’s left shoulder blade with such force, he fell off. Releasing the reins, he reflexively grabbed the cantle of the saddle with his right hand once in the water. He then hung on with all the strength he could muster, considering the pain that partially paralyzed the left side his body.
Allowing the horse to drag him to the opposite bank, Luke managed to remount. With no reins in hand, it was entirely up to the stallion now to save them both. Hunkering low, he wrapped his right arm around the horn, then braced for whatever may come, as both warrior groups chased after him now.
Reaching high ground, the stallion, neck full out, broadly circled to the east. And before long the Indians gave up the chase. What a relief that was for the both of them. The horse, nearly winded, slowed his pace and Luke straightened in the saddle.
Luke then attempted to figure out what had so painfully struck him. Reaching back with his right hand, his fingertips could just touch the arrow shaft protruding from the shoulder blade. No way could he remove it alone, nor did he want to at this point, for fear of excessive bleeding. It would just have to remain there until he reached the soldier camp, wherever that may be now.
The horse, however, was moving in the right general direction of which Luke had seen the fires the previous night. He thought to stop and recover the reins, but for all the additional pain that would cause, dismounting then remounting, he figured it best the stallion continue to navigate. Certainly the horse had a better nose for locating groups of people than his self. The red stallion had done it numerous times while Luke dozed in the saddle, leaving the horse to follow his senses.
And, as it were, the horse did find the soldiers some five hours later. They were on the move, strung out for miles, heading directly for where Luke had come from. By this time, however, the throbbing pain from the arrow had become excruciating, and he was anxious for some relief from it.
The uniformed major out in front halted the regiment as the red horse, with Luke hunched in the saddle, approached at a walk. Several Arikara scouts on horseback circled about him, their rifles fully trained on this mysterious buckskinned white man, out for a ride with an arrow protruding from his back. All of them must have thought there was something very humorous about it, because they laughed hysterically throughout.
“Go away!” the major shouted angrily to the scouts as he rode up. Seeing that Luke was in no condition to be interrogated, the major then turned to a sergeant, who had come forward with him. “Get this man medical attention. Order the column to fall out. We’ll noon here.”
The sergeant, while leaning from his horse to collect the dangling reins, got a better look at Luke’s face and said with surprise, “It’s Tom Hill, Major.”
“Are you sure?” The major studied the pain stricken face before him.
“Yes, sir. I was along with General Harney in fifty-six. This is him, sir.”
“Then move along, Sergeant. I’m sure General Custer will want to speak to him as soon as he returns from his hunt.”
Barely conscious, Luke was surprised to hear Custer’s name mentioned. He was expecting to meet with General Terry, if this was the regiment sent down the Yellowstone from Dakota Territory Bordeaux had mentioned.
“Fall out...! Fall out…! Fall out…!” the robust sergeant bellowed as they loped along the miles in length column, toward where the medical detachment was sandwiched between the artillery company and the countless supply wagons that trailed it.
Luke was offered Laudanum (opium) once they got him down from the horse, and this time he readily took it. Shortly thereafter he was face down on a cot as two surgeons cut away the buckskin shirt and then worked to remove the arrow. Several times Luke groaned and bit into the folded layers of rawhide that had been placed between his teeth before the arrow came free of the bone it was lodged in. And then, a half hour later, pain came again as the bleeding wound was cauterized with a red hot iron.
CHAPTER FORTY
It was nightfall when a buckskinned man with a cinnamon colored beard entered the hospital tent and marched up to the only man there not in a military uniform. “So we finally meet, Mister Hill.” Custer removed his hat and sat on an adjacent cot. “Why did I have a feeling, years back, you and I would cross paths someday?”
Luke lifted his head enough, from where he lay chest down, to get a look at the man. “General Custer, I presume.” He was still groggy from the opium, but remembered hearing from Chaska the man wore buckskins all the while he was in the Paha Sapa, during that expedition of 1874.
“In the flesh!” Custer extended a hand, which Luke had no intention of taking, because of the pain that would surely cause.
“Where are you heading, General?”
“My orders are to travel to the Bighorn River. There I’m to rendezvous with General Crook’s and General Terry’s commands, on or about the twenty-sixth of June, three days hence.”
“I wouldn’t be counting on that happening exactly as planned, General.”
“Why so?” Custer cast his full attention to Luke.
“Two reasons. First off, Crook’s command was attacked by the combined warrior forces of the Sioux and Cheyenne tribes six days ago, or thereabouts, and got badly stomped. They were last seen retreating back toward Fort Fetterman…”
This news brought Custer abruptly to his feet. “Now, that I find preposterous, Mister Hill! The Cheyenne and the Sioux are bitter enemies…”
“Apparently not anymore. They have united. I’ve seen this with my own eyes,” Luke said, only able to see Custer’s mid-section now, from how he was forced to lay on the cot. “Sit down, General, and allow me to continue!”
Custer not only didn’t sit, he began to pace. “That’s absurd, Hill! Crook could not have been overrun by the few hundred savages reported to be i
n the Powder River country. Crook has in his command a thousand men. And that’s not taking into account the three hundred Crow scouts, armed as well.”
“Few hundred? Try six or seven thousand, General! I saw them with my own eyes, just today. And that isn’t even counting the two or more thousand warriors out there somewhere.”
“We have it from the mouths of the Indian Agents themselves. Combined there are no more than eight hundred missing from the reservations, as of spring.”
“This may come as a surprise to you, General, but it isn’t spring anymore.”
“Mister Hill, it’s no secret you have, over the decades, befriended these savages. General Harney told me that himself at some point, while I served under him during the Great Civil War. Could it be that you cooked up this story for the sole purpose of convincing me, or perhaps all of us, to turn back?”
“No doubt, I believe you should turn back,” Luke said. “But not for the reason you think. Send your scouts to look things over for themselves, if you don’t believe me. The camp is on the Little Big Horn not far south of the main river. I assure you, General, you won’t want to tangle with that bunch once you know for sure that what I’ve told you is fact.”
“So you’re denying you have friends among those people?”
“Not at all, General! In fact, I have a strong feeling my son and his family may be among them.”
“Ahaa!” It came back to Custer now and he tossed his arms in the air. “The white chief of the Lakhota! Now I remember! He took me to the gold at French Creek. He’s your son! At least my scout thought so. Chaska, I believe his name was?”
“That’s correct, General… But like I said…”
“Eureka!” Custer said, rolling his eyes as if he had just made a huge discovery, and near ran from the tent.
“General!” Luke shouted after him, but to no avail.
The next he saw of him was the following evening. Luke was sitting on the bunk. The medical aides had just gotten him into a new buckskin shirt and put his left arm in a sling when Custer entered in a rush.
“We move out at dawn. I plan to keep my rendezvous with Terry and Crook regardless of what you’ve told me, Mister Hill. My scouts assure me there’s not a lick of truth to what you have told me. The village is small, just as we were told to expect. And not a Cheyenne in sight!” Custer said, triumphantly.
“It may appear that way, until you venture further up the valley. Around that dog leg in the river valley is the main body. They must have missed it, General!” Luke said, insistently.
“Balderdash!” Custer shouted angrily and stormed from the tent.
Some hours thereafter a uniformed officer entered the hospital tent. He looked around a bit at the few patients there, then marched up to Luke where he still sat on the bunk, praying for relief from the perpetual ache in his left shoulder.
“Tom Hill?”
“Yeah!” Luke looked up to the tall mustached officer with captain’s bars on his collar.
“I’m Frederick Benteen. May I speak with you, sir?”
“Pull up a chair, Captain,” Luke said and cast his eyes to the next bunk over.
“It’s about General Custer. I just don’t think the man has a firm grasp on the situation here.” Benteen came around the cot, hitched up his trouser legs, and sat. “At that Indian camp on the Little Bighorn… are you sure you saw what the general said you saw?” Benteen’s bulging eyes glared.
Even with the pain, Luke managed a chuckle. “If you mean by that, did I see a couple thousand tepees… that’s exactly what I saw.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Benteen rubbed his face and nervously got to his feet, then sat down again. “He’s refusing to listen to reason. I volunteered to go myself, for a looksee. But he refused me that also. What can we do, Mister Hill?”
“If you have any scouts that can be trusted in your command, then I suggest you send them now, Captain,” Luke said. “Then, once you’ve confirmed what I’ve said is true, if Custer still won’t listen, I suggest you hog tie the man, and put that major in charge.”
“Well, I don’t know as Major Reno will go along with that,” Captain Benteen said, rubbing his face again.
“Well, then you have another choice, Captain,” Luke said, doing the glaring now.
“And what might that be, sir?”
“This one is kinda simple,” Luke said, grimacing from the pain. “You can do the right thing and run for your life. Or you can do the stupid thing and follow that crazy man. One way you live, the other you die. It’s that simple.”
Without another word, then, Benteen quickly rose to his feet and stormed from the tent.
When daybreak came Luke’s bunk was loaded onto a wagon. He didn’t plan to be there long, however, and demanded his horse be saddled and tied behind the wagon that hauled him closer and closer to potential disaster.
For hours on end, the wagon rumbled along at a snail’s pace. And as it bounced over the prairie, shook and vibrated, the pain came back to Luke’s shoulder, with intensity. Having resisted for as long as he possibly could, Luke reached for the bottle of Laudanum somewhere on the cot next to his leg. Twisting to see forward, two blue coated solders appeared on the driver’s seat, jerking to and fro and bouncing as well. Casting his eyes then to the rear, through the arched opening, other wagons followed near and far, he saw as they crested a hill. Removing the cork with his teeth, Luke tipped the bottle and drank around it. Replacing the cork in a reverse fashion, he fell back, glared up at the dusty canvas overhead, and waited for the alcohol laced tincture of opium to work its magic.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
When Luke awoke, the wagon no longer rumbled; no longer jarred. It became clear after rising to a sitting position and looking about, they were at a stand-still. How long they had been stopped, he had no way of knowing. Noticing the teamsters were gone from the seats of all the wagons around, he assumed they may have been stationary for a while. Sitting up on the cot, his head spinning, he tried to stand but found his knees too weak and unstable for that. He lay back down a moment longer, hoping to regain his senses. No doubt the effects of the Laudanum still had a hold on him. Something now told him that he needed to shake this feeling and soon. Reaching a canteen on the floor, he toothed the cork out and allowed the remaining water from it to pour over his face and hair before casting it aside.
Then, after a few minutes more of struggling for consciousness, he threw his legs off the cot and tried again to stand. Unable to do that, he crawled to the tailgate, leaned over, and literally fell out onto the ground. After laying there a moment, Luke crawled to the red stallion, latched onto the stirrup, and pulled himself up until he could gather onto the saddle horn with the right hand. Then, kicking up his left boot, he made three attempts at the stirrup before the toe finally slipped through and he, with one mighty lunge, swung onto the saddle. Feeling happy with his accomplishment, he then realized the reins were still tied to the wagon. He figured he could get them untied, but how would he get the left one up with that arm in a sling? Angry then and feeling little pain now, he removed the arm, pulled the sling over his head, and tossed it to the ground. That was when he realized he had left his hat in the wagon.
It was then that Captain Benteen came along.
“Mister Hill, you’ll need to get back into the wagon! We’re moving out, sir.”
“Where to?” Luke was slow to ask.
“We’re going on to the rendezvous point on the Big Horn River, sir. The medical unit and the supply wagons will travel with us.”
“Where’s Custer?”
“He and Major Reno moved out over an hour ago to engage the enemy,” Benteen said, regrettably.
“Is the man daff?”
“He wouldn’t listen to reason, sir. I tried. I sent my scouts as you said, but the General wouldn’t wait for their return. He thinks the savages have spotted us and will escape if the attack is not carried out today.”
Luke pulled up the reins and tur
ned the stallion. “What’s his plan of attack?”
Benteen shrugged. “General Custer and Major Reno discussed that privately.”
“Well then, you’d best get going, Captain. I assure you once those warriors get the scent of blood in their nostrils, they won’t be stopping with just Custer.”
“I’ll take your advice, sir.”
With that, Luke nudged the stallion toward the head of the column and took to the trail left by Custer’s troops thereafter. He traveled slowly at first until the wind in his face brought him more alert. He then kicked the red horse to an easy lope. Off to his right, a small herd of antelope hopped like jack rabbits as they bounced over the low lying hills. In the mid-day sky, a flock of geese winged it north. It was just another day where they were concerned. And Luke was in no hurry to see the carnage that was about to take place ahead of him. He just hoped Chaska and Tom Too had the good sense to stay out of this one, if in fact they were even there. He never had located any Lakhota or even Dakotah tepees among any of the villages. But then, being chased with a painful arrow in his back left little time or incentive to be gawking about for a few familiar markings on tepees among thousands there.
Two hours further and Luke heard gunshots ahead. It had begun. Reining to the right, he kicked the stallion to a gallop. A high plateau over there would provide a better view of what was going on in the valley, once he reached it. More gunshots forced him to look left as he rode. These seemed closer, but any activity was still out of sight. Something did catch his eye in the valley to the south, though. A large pony herd was being driven at a gallop toward the river. With the villages on the other side, it appeared as though someone had already ordered a move, even with the battle just beginning. But then Luke had always thought Indians resembled ants when it came to instinctively knowing what each one’s duty was in the face of danger, and they often did it without question or command.