by Matt Braun
Bohannon grinned. “Well, like they say, money talks.”
Richter began counting out double eagles.
CHAPTER 9
THE CAVALRY troop was camped along the South Fork of the Loup River. As the sun dipped toward the western horizon, the river was transformed into a rock-studded ribbon of gold. A sharp wind rattled through the cottonwoods lining the banks.
There were forty troopers in Company B. Veterans of the Indian wars, their bivouac was tightly contained, with their horses picketed along the river. Four pack horses carried rations and grain, and small fires for cooking warded off the chill. Sentries were posted on the perimeter of the camp.
Cody sighted the fires just as sunset gave way to dusk. The children were lined out behind him, and Hickok brought up the rear. Katherine was mounted on a gentle mare and Augustus rode a blaze-faced roan gelding. Though they were trained to English saddles, they had fallen into the rhythm of Western rigs with natural ease. The plainsmen were increasingly impressed by the spunk of the youngsters.
Augustus was beside himself with excitement. To be rescued by Hickok and Cody, the Heroes of the Plains, was beyond his wildest dreams. To be included in a scout for hostile Indians pursued by the cavalry was an adventure that fired his imagination. Katherine, by contrast, was enthralled by the chivalry and valorous manner of the two plainsmen. She dreamily imagined herself the Guinevere of a grand quest into forbidden lands, fraught with danger. She wasn’t yet sure whether Hickok or Cody would be her Lancelot.
The troopers were squatted around fires, cooking salt pork and softening hard tack in the fatty juices. Cody wondered how the children would take to the spartan rations that sustained the cavalry on a chase. He thought Augustus would tough it out, and Katherine, too polite to complain, would subsist on nibbles. As he stepped out of the saddle, Captain Charles Meinhold, the company commander, hurried forward. Then, looking past him, Meinhold saw the children. His face set in a glowering frown.
“What’s the meaning of this, Mr. Cody? Who are these children?”
Cody ducked his head. “Cap’n, I know it’s against regulations. But we didn’t have a whole lot of choice.”
“Tommyrot!” Meinhold railed. “You made a choice, but it was the wrong one. The worst choice!”
“Well, sir, it’s a long story.”
“Give me the abbreviated version.”
Cody covered the details in a rapid-fire monologue. When he finished, he raised his hands in a lame shrug. “Like I said, we didn’t have any choice.”
Meinhold appeared stupefied. “Let me understand this. These children were abducted in New York, rescued by you and Mr. Hickok in North Platte, and now you’ve brought them on a sortie against hostiles. Did I miss anything?”
“No, sir, that pretty well covers it.”
Cody knew he was in hot water. Meinhold was a soldier’s soldier, and operated strictly by the book. A German immigrant, Meinhold had joined the army in 1851 and advanced through the ranks to sergeant major. During the Civil War, he was commissioned and awarded two brevets for valor in battle. After the war, he was assigned to the Fifth Cavalry, with the permanent rank of captain. He was widely regarded the top field commander in the regiment.
“Consider yourself on report,” he said bluntly. “When we return to post, you will answer directly to Colonel Reynolds. Do I make myself clear?”
Cody nodded. “Guess that’s plain enough.”
“Get those children settled and then report to me.”
“Yessir.”
Augustus and Katherine seemed wounded by the severity of the tongue-lashing. From the nature of the reprimand, they realized they were responsible for placing Cody at risk. He smiled, rolling his eyes, as if to say it was a matter of no consequence. With Hickok trailing along, he walked them to one of the fires, where several troopers were gathered. The corporal in charge of the packhorses agreed to look after them and get them fed. One of the troopers began slicing extra rations of salt pork.
“You should’ve laid it on me,” Hickok said as they walked back through the camp. “Tell the cap’n I’m the one that brought the kids along.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Cody said. “Wasn’t like you twisted my arm.”
“All the same, you’re the one with your tit in a wringer.”
“Well hell, it’s not like it’s the first time.”
Meinhold waited by a fire. He nodded genially to Hickok, seemingly recovered from his fit of temper. “Good to have you with us, Mr. Hickok. Another scout is always welcome.”
“Glad to be of service, Cap’n. How many hostiles we trailin’?”
“Difficult to say,” Meinhold admitted. “They stole twenty horses, all of which are shod. Otherwise, I doubt we could have trailed them this far.”
“Still headed north?” Cody asked. “Anybody check across the river?”
“Sergeant Foley rode ahead while it was still light. He found their tracks.”
“I just suspect we’ll overtake ’em come mornin’.”
“What makes you think so, Mr. Cody?”
“Cap’n, they pushed them horses real hard for a day and a night. I doubt they figure anybody’s still on their trail.”
“I see.” Meinhold was thoughtful a moment. “You think they may have stopped, is that it?”
Cody nodded. “Wouldn’t be surprised but what they took a breather. We’ll find out come first light.”
Meinhold stared off into the dark. “Do you agree, Mr. Hickok?”
“Yessir, I do,” Hickok said. “You’ll have your fight.”
“You sound quite confident.”
“Well, don’t you see, Cody and me know our Injuns. We ain’t all that civilized ourselves.”
Captain Charles Meinhold thought the statement only partially true. The presence of the children in camp seemed to him the opposite side of the coin. Though he would never say so out loud.
He preferred his scouts on the rank side.
* * *
Cody was in charge of the scouting party. Sergeant John Foley and six troopers were placed under his direct command. Hickok went along for the ride.
The detail rode out as the sky paled with the dinge of false dawn. A cursory inspection of the tracks by Cody and Hickok revealed that there were twenty-three shod horses and eleven unshod Indian ponies. The trail, as though on a compass heading, was dead north.
The main command was to follow at first light. Cody’s orders were to locate the hostiles and send a trooper back with directions. Captain Meinhold would then advance with Company B and move into position for attack. The children, secure with the pack train, would follow the main command.
Not quite an hour later the scouting party topped a low knoll in the prairie. The sun slowly crested the horizon, and below them, a tributary creek fed eastward into the South Fork of the Loup. A tendril of smoke drifted from the embers of a fire, and blanketed forms were scattered about the campsite. The horse herd was guarded by a lone warrior.
Cody signaled the men to dismount on the reverse slope of the knoll. He wormed forward on his belly, removing his hat, flanked by Hickok and Sergeant Foley. They carefully scrutinized the camp, which was perhaps a hundred yards beyond their position. The mounted warrior sat watching the herd on a grassy flatland near the creek. Cody kept his voice to a whisper.
“I count eleven,” he said. “Look to be Sioux.”
“Not Cheyenne,” Hickok added. “Likely some young bucks off on a raid.”
“Got a hunch we ought to hit ’em now. They’re liable to be on the move before we get the captain up here.”
“You got my vote. Catch ’em by surprise while they’re still in their blankets. Wouldn’t hardly be a fight.”
“Not so quick,” Sergeant Foley interjected. “Captain’s orders were to locate ’em and report back. Didn’t say nothin’ about attacking on our own.”
“First rule of engagement,” Cody said confidently. “Take the fight to your enemy before he has a chan
ce to escape. Says so in the Officers Handbook.”
Foley appeared skeptical. “You’re the one that answers to the captain. He’s gonna ream you a new asshole.”
“I’ll worry about that when the time comes.”
Cody outlined his plan of attack. Foley slithered back down the slope and began briefing the troopers. Hickok fell in beside Cody as they walked toward their horses. He arched an eyebrow in question.
“You a student of the Officers Handbook?”
Cody grinned. “Don’t recollect I ever read it.”
“Meinhold’s liable to wet his drawers.”
“Not if we bring him them horses.”
Cody led them east into the sunrise. The knoll gradually dropped off onto the flatland near the creek. His plan was to capture the horse herd and leave the Sioux warriors afoot. They rounded the end of the knoll, holding their mounts to a walk, and turned upstream. The attack would be made with the sun at their backs.
The sound of their approach was muffled by the dry grassland. They were within fifty yards before the horse guard turned, shielding his eyes with his hand, and stared into the sun. He suddenly whooped a warning cry and charged them, firing a Henry repeater on the run. Cody and Hickok were armed with Winchester ’66 rifles, and the crack of their shots was almost simultaneous. The warrior tumbled over the rear of his mount.
The horse herd stampeded. Three of the troopers swung west at a gallop and circled most of the herd back to the south. Some of the Indian ponies, terrified by the smell of white men, broke away and forded the creek. Cody and Hickok, with Foley and the other three troopers, charged the encampment. Four of the warriors fought a rear guard action, while the others splashed across the creek in an effort to catch the ponies. The four who stayed behind went down under a volley from the charging horsemen.
On the opposite side of the creek, five of the six warriors managed to clamber aboard their ponies. The one left on foot turned to fight as Cody and Hickok swerved toward the creekbank. Hickok abruptly reined to a halt, the Winchester at his shoulder, and fired. The slug struck the warrior in the chest and he stumbled sideways, collapsing onto the ground. Cody spurred ahead, fording the stream, and gave chase after the fleeing Sioux. Outdistanced, he finally skidded to a stop, jumped off his horse, and fired from a kneeling position. A warrior at the rear of the pack fell arms akimbo off his pony.
Cody mounted and rode back to the campsite. Hickok rose from inspecting the trappings of one of the fallen warriors. He indicated the painted markings on an arrow. “Oglala,” he said. “You reckon Crazy Horse was one of them that got away?”
“Tend to doubt it,” Cody remarked. “He’s the big auger of the Oglalas. Got other fish to fry.”
Hickok tossed the arrow aside. “I count seven with the one you just shot. They’re liable to give you a medal.”
“That horse herd counts more than a bunch of dead Sioux. Folks do prize their livestock.”
“Not to mention we didn’t lose nobody.”
None of the troopers had been wounded. Sergeant Foley got them busy hazing the herd back over the knoll. Hickok and Cody paused for a last look at the bodies of the fallen Sioux. Neither of them felt any great pride about the outcome of the fight. Nor did they feel remorse.
The Oglala lived by a code that sustained any warrior in battle. Today was a good day to die.
* * *
Axel Bohannon took a small brass telescope from his pocket. He extended the telescope to its full length and scanned the distant column. The troopers were dismounted, and he watched as Hickok and Cody talked with the cavalry commander. A detail of soldiers drove a herd of horses to the rear of the column.
“Turned out to be more’n a scoutin’ party.” He collapsed the telescope, nodding to himself. “Appears Cody and Hickok jumped the redsticks and took back them horses. Wonder how many they killed.”
“I’m not interested in Indians,” Richter said. “Are the children still with the pack train?”
“Yep, nothin’s changed there.”
A noonday sun stood lodged in the sky. Bohannon and Richter were hidden in a copse of trees bordering one of the many creeks that emptied into the South Fork of the Loup. Johnson and the other men waited with the horses a short ways downstream. They had trailed the cavalry column all morning.
Bohannon was a seasoned plainsman. Late yesterday, after a hard ride from North Platte, he’d found the military encampment. By skirting south, they had avoided detection and taken shelter along the wooded river. Early that morning, they had observed the scouting party ride off to the north. Richter elected to shadow the main column, rather than follow Hickok and Cody. His principle interest was in the children.
Richter was in some discomfort. He was far from an accomplished horseman, and Johnson had never been aboard a horse in his life. Their buttocks were galled from long hours in the saddle, and Richter found himself walking like a spraddle-legged duck. He watched now as the cavalry column wheeled about and turned south. He looked at Bohannon.
“Where are they headed?”
“Fort McPherson,” Bohannon said. “That’s where the soldier-boys are headquartered.”
“The question is,” Richter stared off at the column, “will Cody and Hickok go with them to the fort?”
“That’d be anybody’s guess. We’ll have to tag along and find out.”
“How far is it?”
“Well, as the crow flies, I’d judge about thirty miles.”
“Jesus Christ,” Richter groaned. “It might as well be in China.”
Bohannon chortled slyly. “Your backsides must be hurtin’ powerful bad. Sure you’re up to it?”
“I’ll manage somehow, Mr. Bohannon.”
“Mebbe we’ll get lucky. Cody and Hickok might split off from the soldiers. Head back to North Platte.”
“That would certainly simplify things.”
“Wouldn’t it?” Bohannon said, waving his arms. “There’s a half-dozen places between here and there where I could bushwhack ’em easy as pie. Everybody’d figger the Injuns done it.”
Richter exhaled heavily. “I haven’t said anything about killing them … yet.”
“No, not just yet, but you will.”
“What makes you think so?”
“You got no choice,” Bohannon said pointedly. “Only one way you’re gonna get them kids away from Hickok and Cody. You gotta kill ’em.”
A strange look came over Richter’s face. He was silent a moment, as though weighing some quandary known only to himself. Then he seemed to gather himself with grudging effort. He nodded to Bohannon.
“I regret to say we’d best get mounted.”
“You’re a brute for punishment, ain’t you? Bet you wish you’d never seen a horse.”
“All in a good cause, Mr. Bohannon.”
“Tell me that after another twenty miles.”
They walked off downstream under the dappled shade of the trees.
CHAPTER 10
FORT MCPHERSON was located on a broad plain of rolling grassland. Cottonwood Creek snaked out of the north and curled around the southern perimeter of the post. On the far side of the creek steep bluffs guarded a range of broken hills.
Company B rode into the fort shortly before ten o’clock the next morning. As the column passed through the main gate, the regimental trumpeter sounded Boots and Saddles. The troopers of the Fifth Regiment hurried into formation on the parade ground for drill call. Guidons of the assembled companies fluttered on a crisp northerly breeze.
Hickok was always impressed by the size of the garrison. One of the larger military posts on the frontier, it was spread over nearly forty acres. There were some thirty buildings, including barracks, stables, quartermaster depot, and the hospital. The regimental headquarters, a sprawling frame structure, was located on the north side of the parade ground.
Sergeant Foley and his detail drove the horse herd to a large corral at the southwest corner of the compound. Captain Meinhold brought the co
mpany on line near the flagpole in the center of the parade ground. There, he turned over command to the First Sergeant, and once the troopers were dismounted, they led their horses to the company stable. An orderly rushed to take the captain’s horse.
Meinhold swatted dust off his uniform with his gloves. He waited by the flagpole while Cody and Hickok collected the children and their horses and walked forward. Katherine and Augustus seemed no worse for their expedition with the cavalry, and they gawked round-eyed as troops wheeled around the parade ground in close order drill. Meinhold adjusted his campaign hat.
“Let’s report in, Mr. Cody,” he said brusquely. “I’m sure the colonel will be interested in hearing about these children.”
Cody winced. “I’d think he’d be more interested in the hostiles, Cap’n.”
“Yes, that, too.”
Meinhold marched off toward regimental headquarters. In the orderly room, Sergeant Major Daniel O’Meara and four clerks snapped to attention. The children were parked on a bench by a potbellied stove, and O’Meara rapped on the door of an inner office. He swung it open, stepping aside as Meinhold, Cody, and Hickok filed through. His eyes touched on Cody with a glint of amusement.
“Colonel, sir!” he barked. “Captain Meinhold, and scouts Cody and Hickok.”
Colonel John Reynolds was an austere man with chisled features and a neatly trimmed mustache. He remained seated at his desk, the national flag and the regimental flag draped from standards behind his chair. Through the open door, his gaze settled momentarily on the children. He nodded to O’Meara.
“Thank you, Sergeant Major.”
O’Meara went out, closing the door. Reynolds stared across his desk with a curious expression. “Gentlemen,” he said amiably. “May I inquire who those children belong to?”
“To me, sir,” Cody blurted. “Me and Mr. Hickok.”
“Indeed?” Reynolds said. “Would you care to explain yourself, Mr. Cody?”
Cody told him the story. As he related the odyssey of the children, Reynolds’s features ran the gamut from amazement to anger. There was a moment of leaden silence when Cody finally wound down.