Glory's Guidons (The Long-Knives US Cavalry Western Book 3)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “That should give everyone concerned a sense of stability,” Pepperdine opined.

  “It does at that,” Delaney agreed. “I imagine that a good number of these men’s sons will enlist in this unit and spend their careers here. The daughters will marry soldiers until whole families will have two, three or possibly four generations having served in our ranks.”

  “Certainly not that way in most regiments,” Pepperdine remarked.

  “These colored outfits might just end up surprising the hell out of a lot of people.”

  “At any rate, I’m glad you’ve detailed Jones to help me out on these scouting trips. Maybe tomorrow I’ll prove less of a burden to him.”

  “I’m not detailing Jones to go out with you again, Mr. Pepperdine,” Delaney said. “Corporal Taylor will take over that dubious honor.”

  “But, sir,” Pepperdine protested. “I’m sure Taylor is a good man, but Jones and I are fast learning to work together.”

  “Mr. Pepperdine,” Delaney said glaring at him through the cigar smoke that hung around his head in the still air. “I don’t mind driving you until you shrivel up and blow away, but I’ll be damned if I’ll do the same to one of my NCOs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Delaney pointed ahead. “Well! Here comes Jim Rivers to rejoin us. Now we’ll bivouac for the night.”

  ~*~

  The evening camp routine had begun as Jim Rivers, stretched out on the ground, chewing on a piece of jerky as he leaned back on his saddle. Delaney, Pepperdine and he were resting around their campfire. The scout winked at the young officer, and nodded over at Delaney. “This old fart been making your life miserable, Brad?”

  Pepperdine smiled weakly, not wanting to participate in a conversation that was referring to his commanding officer in a vulgar way. “I’ve been busy,” he admitted.

  Rivers laughed aloud. “By God, you sure as hell have!”

  Delaney didn’t smile. “He’s going to be up to his ears again tomorrow.”

  “You’re hell on lieutenants, Ambrose,” Rivers said. “Prob’ly cause you cain’t remember when you was one. When was that? ‘Bout a hunnerd years ago?”

  Delaney grinned despite himself. “Just about.”

  “It’s all pretty new to me,” Pepperdine said. “I can hardly believe I’m really out here fighting Indians.”

  “Hell!” Delaney snorted. “You haven’t fought any yet! You haven’t even found a single one!”

  Rivers’ booming laugh burst out again. “Don’t let him get to you, Brad.”

  “He has no choice,” Delaney said. “I can get to him better than any man in the world right now.”

  “Why you boys want to go for soljers is beyond me,” Rivers said. “I kin see some poor son of a bitch who’s two steps away from starvation—or these buffalo soljers—but why fellers like you two with all that book learning would put on them blue suits and take all them orders and pushing around is something I cain’t understand.”

  “A military career is an honorable one,” Pepperdine said.

  “Maybe for an Injun,” Rivers stated. “But his way of soldering has lots of individual stuff to it. He can be hisself and fight just about any damn way he pleases. You white soljers don’t do that.”

  “They don’t have our organization,” Pepperdine explained. “We have supplies, administration and whole bureaus just to see that the army is operating properly.”

  “Which is exactly why a bunch of them uncivilized warriors is leading us on a merry-go-round chase that’s getting them farther and farther away,” Rivers declared.

  “We’ll catch them,” Delaney said.

  “We’d catch ’em a damned sight quicker if the army would foller yer suggestion,” Rivers said.

  “What suggestion is that?” Pepperdine asked.

  Rivers bit off another piece of jerky. “Ol’ Ambrose here wants the army to form up special detachments of fellers to fight Injuns. They’d dress for the field, travel light with a bare amount of vittles and essentials and do away with bugle calls, formations and other military stuff.”

  “Sounds like Rogers’ Rangers in the French and Indian War,” said Pepperdine.

  “That’s what he wanted to call ’em,” Rivers said. “And—“

  “That’s enough!” Delaney interrupted. “It’s bad enough I’m a captain with thirty-five years in this army without having to listen to some grizzled old son of a bitch expound on another of my military failures.”

  “It’s still a damned good idea,” Rivers insisted.

  Delaney started to reply, but Sergeant Wheatfall appeared suddenly at the fire. The captain looked up. “Yes, Sergeant?”

  “Pickets is posted, suh.”

  “Fine, Sergeant, take the Officer-of-the-Day on rounds.”

  “Yes, suh.”

  When Pepperdine didn’t move, Delaney reached over and poked him in the ribs. “There are only two officers here, Mr. Pepperdine, which means one of them is the Officer-of-the-Day; and it sure as hell isn’t me!”

  The lieutenant leaped to his feet and set his cap straight on his head. “I’m ready to go.”

  “Yes, suh,” Wheatfall said. The lanky NCO led his company’s junior officer to the perimeter where the sentries were posted. The first guard saw them coming.

  “Halt! Who goes there!”

  “Officer-of-the-Day and First Sergeant,” Wheatfall answered.

  “Advance and be recognized,” the guard said. They walked closer and the soldier once again called out. “Halt!” He looked at them carefully and presented arms to Pepperdine.

  The young officer returned the salute. “What are your special orders on this post, Trooper?”

  “To be especially watchful for Injuns trying’ to sneak up on us, suh.”

  “Very good. And what would you do if you spied a hostile?”

  “I would shoot to kill and call the Corporal-of-the-Guard, suh.”

  “Excellent,” Pepperdine said.

  But Wheatfall was not so favorably impressed. “Pull your belt around so’s the buckle’s in front,” he said. “And lock them heels.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” the sentry responded.

  Wheatfall gave the man another close look before he and Pepperdine moved away. After the round of the guard posts, the horse picket was given a thorough inspection as Pepperdine made sure each and every animal was secure. The whole affair had taken an hour before he and Wheatfall started back toward the fire where Delaney and Rivers waited.

  “Don’t let ’em bother you much, suh,” Wheatfall said as they walked slowly through the darkness.

  “You mean Captain Delaney and Jim Rivers?”

  “Yes, suh. They’re just teasing you.”

  “I deserve to be the butt of jokes, Sergeant Wheatfall. I stumbled around quite a bit today.”

  “No, suh,” Wheatfall said. “You’re doing’ right good for a new officer. Fact, the cap’n tole me so hisself today”

  Pepperdine stopped. “Really?”

  “Yes, suh. You done them scouting forays right quick and smart like. That’s what he said too.”

  “I can hardly believe it,” Pepperdine said as they resumed their walk.

  “Corporal Jones said you catch on quick,” Wheatfall said. “It’s important for an officer to have the men’s respect. I think you got it, Lieutenant.”

  “I’m very pleased to hear that.”

  “Lieutenant Pepperdine, suh.”

  “Yes, Sergeant?”

  “Counting my time in the big war in the South, I got over eight years in this army.”

  “Yes?”

  “I know a lot about soldiering, suh,” Wheatfall said.

  “I see.”

  “If you got a question regarding something or other, I could prob’ly answer it for you.”

  Pepperdine appreciate the generous offer. “Thank you, Sergeant Wheatfall. Thank you very much.”

  Chapter Six

  Pepperdine, Delaney and Rivers stood with a very angry ranch
er, gazing at the sight of what was left of his barn. Wisps of smoke drifting from charred lumber were all that was left of the structure. The expression on the man’s face was contorted with rage as he turned to the three men. “What the hell’s keeping you fellers from catching them Redskins?”

  “We’re tracking them, Mr. Greer,” Delaney explained. “It takes time. Particularly when they keep laying false trails to throw us off.”

  “Aw, damnation!” Greer the rancher exclaimed. “The goddamned army’s always a day late and a dollar short. Look at that barn! And the son of a bitches stole all my horses too.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” Delaney said patiently. “But at least none of your family or ranch hands were harmed.”

  “No thanks to you,” Greer fumed.

  “I beg to differ,” Pepperdine interjected. “Our aggressive pursuit has been the motive behind the hostiles’ haste. Thus they took only enough time to do you no more harm than steal your horses and set the barn afire. If they had the leisure, I’m sure they would have destroyed your entire ranch and killed all of you.”

  “You’re still too damned slow!” Greer insisted. He pointed to the soldiers a few yards away. “And look what you bring. A bunch of dumbass darkies to catch some of the wildest damn Injuns that ever raised hell.”

  “They’re good soldiers,” Delaney said.

  “Don’t tell me nothing about soljers,” Greer said. “I was a soljer myself in the war. Twenty-Fourth Michigan Volunteer Infantry of the Iron Brigade. Ever hear of us? Damned bet you did! We stood fast at Gettysburg and was near wiped out to the man, let me tell you! And what for? To free a bunch of slaves that ended up practically helping Redskin renegades massacre me and my family. I swear I don’t know what I was fighting for!”

  “That’s something every soldier wonders after the fact,” Delaney said. His voice was controlled but trembling slightly from anger. “Now I’m going to wind up this conversation by telling you that Mr. Pepperdine was correct. If it wasn’t for the fact we were chasing that band, they’d have burned down all your buildings, killed you and your men and right now would be raping your wife and daughters! Good day, Mr. Greer.”

  “Now you see here, soljer-boy!”

  “Sergeant Wheatfall, mount ’em up.”

  “You can’t walk that way about my womenfolk, you son of a bitch!” Greer yelled trailing after Delaney.

  Delaney, with Pepperdine and Rivers following his example, swung up into his saddle.

  “Get off’n that horse and put up your damned dukes!” Greer yelled.

  “Sergeant Wheatfall, move the company out,” Delaney ordered, ignoring the challenge.

  “By God, I’m gonna tell somebody about this!” Greer said, continuing his tirade.

  “Forward, yo-oh!” Wheatfall called out.

  L Company’s column turned back toward the trackless prairie as Greer, gesturing and waving his arms, continued his furious bellowing.

  ~*~

  Running Horse no longer utilized false trails in an effort to slow down Delaney and his men. The Indian knew there was a chance that more soldiers might be joining the pursuit, so speed was now essential for him. At least for the next few days.

  L Company left Kansas and entered the Indian Territory where Jim Rivers correctly surmised the situation. “They’re hell bent for Texas, Ambrose, and I’ll bet my best rifle they won’t stop ’til they’ve crossed over into Mexico.”

  “What’s the point of Mexico?” Pepperdine asked. “Are they planning on staying there permanently?”

  “The plains Indians don’t settle anywhere,” Delaney explained. “They’ll just use Mexico as a place to catch their breath and rest up.”

  “They need room and lots of it to follow their way of life,” Rivers informed the young officer. “Take all that area the whites want to divide up and fence, for example. The Injuns need that space to survive; just to survive. I wonder what’s going to happen when they fully realize that the fighting they’re doing is not for glory and coups, but to save the lives of their tribes; mainly their women and children.

  “Lord help us if the plains tribes ever band together,” Delaney said. “But, at any rate, we have to speed up or Running Horse will have had time to go all the way to the tip of South America if he wants to. I’m going to put you two and Sergeant Wheatfall on the point. I’ll expect haste, but tempered with just the right amount of caution, until we make contact with the hostiles.”

  Pepperdine and Wheatfall each took a flank as Jim Rivers moved slightly ahead of them. They passed the early afternoon riding slowly forward through the heated stillness, keeping eyes and ears alert for some sign of potential ambushes. The trail was as plain to Rivers as if Running Horse had been leaving written notes. Aside from pony droppings, Pepperdine could make out absolutely nothing and Wheatfall caught about half the sign. But every broken twig, bent blade of grass or other unnatural changes in the vegetation leaped out to Rivers, allowing him to stick to the track that was proceeding due south.

  ~*~

  Jim Rivers spotted the Indian in the afternoon and held up his hand to halt the others. They looked at the scout as he pointed toward the object that held his attention.

  Pepperdine strained his eyes, then remembered what he had learned about glancing in quick darts at distant objects over the vast distances of the prairie. He spotted a dark shape on the ground a hundred yards ahead.

  Both Rivers and Wheatfall had drawn their long arms, and Pepperdine responded by going to his own carbine. They approached slowly as the scout and sergeant stood in the stirrups scanning the horizon for sign of a trap. Finally, they arrived and found the object of their attention. An Indian, obviously wounded, impassively gazed back at them.

  Rivers looked down at the warrior and raised a hand. “Hello, Many Elk.”

  The Indian returned the greeting by raising his own hand as far as he could. A ghastly chest wound that appeared to have severed the pectoral muscles on his right side prevented him full movement. Yet his voice was calm. “Hello, Jim Ri-vars.”

  “Did you get shot at the ranch where you stole the horses?”

  “Yes,” Many Elk replied.

  Pepperdine was fascinated. Here was a real hostile, right out in the middle of the plains, and he tried to conceal his fascination with the warrior. “Looks like we have a prisoner, hey, Jim?”

  “I don’t think so, Brad,” Rivers replied. “They left him here to die. Plain as can be he cain’t travel no more.”

  “Maybe he can tell us exactly where the others are heading,” Pepperdine suggested.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why not?” Pepperdine asked. “Isn’t he angry about being left out here at the mercy of the elements?”

  Wheatfall interjected, “He wouldn’t expect nothing else, Lieutenant. These Injuns do the same thing to their old folks.”

  “My God! Just abandon them?”

  “That’s it,” Rivers said. “If the old’uns slow ’em down, they’re left behind.”

  “Who is the pale-hair one?” Many Elk asked.

  “Delaney’s man,” Rivers answered.

  Many Elk spat. “Dah-lah-nay! Old man should die soon.”

  “Not as soon as you,” Rivers said.

  Many Elk laughed weakly at the poor humor.

  “Where is Running Horse going?” Pepperdine asked getting quickly to the point.

  Many Elk answered by turning his face to the ground.

  “Tell us where he is going,” Pepperdine insisted.

  But the Indian remained staring downward.

  “He won’t answer,” Rivers said.

  “You’d think he’d make up something to throw us off,” Pepperdine mused.

  “Not hardly,” Rivers said. “These Injuns don’t know about lying in situations like this. Never would occur to ’em. If they don’t like a question, they just ignore it.”

  Wheatfall dismounted. “Want some water, Many Elk?”

  “No. Want whiskey.”


  “I ain’t got any,” Wheatfall said. “All I got is water.”

  “You got whiskey,” Many Elk insisted.

  Wheatfall chuckled. “He thinks I might lie though, don’t he?”

  “If you ain’t an Injun, he figgers you might,” Rivers said.

  Many Elk pointed to Rivers. “Whiskey.” Rivers shook his head, so the Indian turned to Pepperdine. “Whiskey.”

  “I don’t have any,” Pepperdine answered.

  Rivers dismounted and pulled an oily cloth sack from his pocket. “Tobacco,” he said. “You got a pipe?”

  “I got white man’s pipe,” Many Elk said proudly. He tried to reach his medicine pouch but couldn’t do it.

  Rivers knelt down and sifted through the buffalo skin container. “Look at all the shit in here,” he said, looking for the pipe. He pulled out a few pieces of wood that had obviously been hacked from a tree trunk. He held them up for Pepperdine to see. “These come from a tree that’s been hit by lightning,” he explained. “Big medicine.”

  “Magic, eh?” Pepperdine asked.

  There were beads and other odds and ends that Many Elk somehow regarded as special items to be cherished in his religious practices. Rivers found the pipe and filled it with tobacco before sticking it in the Indian’s mouth. After lighting it, he stood up. “We’re going now, Many Elk. We will catch Running Horse.”

  “He kill you, Jim Ri-vars. And Dah-lah-nay too, you bet.” He puffed on his pipe, glancing at Pepperdine. “He kill you too, Pale Hair.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Pepperdine countered.

  “Running Horse won’t make it to Mexico,” Rivers said. “We’ll catch him. That’s what’ll happen.”

  “You go now. I want to sing,” Many Elk said.

  “Goodbye, Many Elk, you son of a bitch,” Rivers said, swinging back into his saddle.

  “You sumbitch too, Jim Ri-vars.”

  The scout led his two companions away as Many Elk began chanting to himself. His voice had grown noticeably weaker and hoarser since their arrival.

  Pepperdine looked back at the pathetic figure of the dying man. “What did he mean he wanted to sing?”