The Golden Princess

by J. R. Roberts

“That’s right,” Clint said. “I think the fewer white faces there are the better.”

  “I don’t really care what your reasons are,” Pershing said. “I just want you to know we’d be honored to accompany you, so to answer your question, I’ll say or do whatever I can to talk you into doing this.”

  “How many men are in your troop?”

  “Thirteen,” Pershing said. “I assume we’d be taking Tom Horn along?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And some of his Indian scouts?”

  “I’d have to talk that over with Tom, once I make my decision.”

  “So you haven’t made it yet?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” Pershing said. “Then I have a chance to influence it.”

  “I think I have enough information to base my decision on, Lieutenant,” Clint said.

  “Well, then,” Pershing said, “I suppose I’d better let you turn in—or return to the saloon, whichever you prefer to do.”

  “Oh, I think now that I’m here I’ll just stay here,” Clint said.

  Pershing stood.

  “The bed is very comfortable,” he said. “Please don’t feel guilty about having a good night’s sleep in it.”

  “All right,” Clint said, also standing.

  “Well, good night.”

  “I’ll be presenting myself to General Crook very early in the morning with my decision,” Clint said.

  “Good,” Pershing said. “I’ll be there.”

  At the door Clint said, “Good night, Lieutenant.”

  “Good night, Mr. Adams.”

  After Pershing left, Clint poured himself another glass of brandy. He didn’t usually like it, but this particular version appealed to him.

  He took the glass to the front door and stood there with the door open, sipping it. Soldiers stumbled back from the saloon after a while, quieting down as much as they could as they passed the officers’ quarters.

  Clint looked left and right. There were quarters on either side. He wondered if Captains Davis and Crawford were asleep in their beds. Had they already made their pitches to Crook? It wouldn’t make much of a difference. If Clint wanted the buffalo soldiers, Crook would give them to him.

  He finished his brandy, closed the door, and went back inside. Time to turn in. In the morning, even before he went to Crook’s office, he wanted to go and check on Eclipse, make sure the Darley Arabian had, indeed, been well taken care of. He should have done it already, and he felt bad about it.

  He put the two glasses—his and Pershing’s—on the sideboard and went to see if the lieutenant’s bed was as comfortable as he claimed it was.

  SEVEN

  By the time Clint got to the door of General Crook’s office, he had made his decision. He gave his name to the soldier on guard duty and was allowed to enter. The general’s aide sprang to attention.

  “The general is waiting for you, sir.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Clint said. “Is there anyone else in there with him?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good.”

  The lieutenant knocked and took Clint inside. Crook came around from behind his desk.

  “Nice and early. Only just got here myself,” Crook said.

  “I wanted to get an early start.”

  “On what?”

  “On getting things together,” Clint said. “Horn, Pershing, the buffalo soldiers, supplies—”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Crook said, holding up his hand. “Am I to understand that you’ve decided to do this?”

  “I’ve decided I can’t afford to pass it up, General,” Clint said.

  “Excellent, excellent!” Crook said. “I’ll have Horn and Pershing brought in.”

  “I spoke to both of them last night.”

  “Did you tell them of your decision?”

  “No,” Clint said. “I hadn’t decided yet. But they said they’d be here early this morning.”

  “Well, I might as well still send—”

  There was a knock on the door at that point. When it opened, Tom Horn walked in.

  “Just in time, Mr. Horn,” Crook said. “I was going to send for you.”

  “Just in time for what?”

  “Mr. Adams has decided to help us,” Crook said. “That means he’ll need your help.”

  “He’s got it, sir,” Horn said. “I’ll get my Indian scouts ready.”

  “We’ll have to talk about that,” Clint said.

  “Why?” Horn asked.

  “I’m not sure tame Indians will antagonize Geronimo and his people any less than white soldiers,” Clint said. “That’s why I want Pershing and his buffalo soldiers.”

  “Okay,” Horn said, “we can talk about it.”

  Another knock and Pershing walked in—tall, straight, impeccably dressed. He was a credit to his West Point background.

  “Good morning, sir,” Pershing said. “Gentlemen.”

  “All we’re missing are your captains,” Clint said to Crook. “They’re not going to be happy with your decision to send Pershing, are they?”

  “No,” Crook said, “they aren’t, but that doesn’t matter. I give the orders.”

  “We’re going, then?” Pershing asked.

  “You’re going,” Crook said.

  “When?”

  “As soon as we formulate a plan,” Clint said. “And pick the men that will accompany us.”

  “That’ll be up to you, Horn, and Pershing, Mr. Adams,” Crook said. “But there’s something you have to understand first.”

  “What’s that, General?”

  “Even though you’ve agreed to help us, you’re still a civilian.”

  “I think I know where you’re going with this, General,” Clint said. “I understand that Lieutenant Pershing will be in command.”

  “Fine, then. You three gentlemen can remain here and use my office for your planning. I’m going to talk to my other officers.”

  He grabbed his hat, strapped on his gun and saber, and headed for the door.

  “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  After he left, Clint looked at Pershing.

  “How many other officers besides the captains?” he asked.

  “Besides Captain Crawford and Captain Davis, there’s Lieutenant McCreedy,” Pershing said.

  “Tom?” Clint asked. “Can you get by with one Indian scout?”

  “If I have to, I can get by with none,” Horn said. “I’d rather not, though.”

  “I understand,” Clint said. He explained to Pershing his logic about the Indian scouts.

  “That seems sound logic to me,” Pershing said. “Also, don’t worry about who’s in command when we get out there, Adams. I’ll bow to you or Horn if one of you comes up with more sound logic.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Clint said. “All right, let’s figure out what we’re going to need to get this thing done.”

  EIGHT

  They decided to go with less than twenty men—Clint, Horn, one Indian scout, Pershing, and his thirteen buffalo soldiers. Seventeen in all, and supplies for that many.

  “I say we don’t take any pack animals,” Clint said.

  “Then how do we tote our supplies?” Horn asked.

  “Give every man a gunnysack with some of the supplies,” Clint said. “We’ll travel lighter that way, and faster.”

  “Makes sense,” Pershing said. “Do you need us to deliver you a cavalry mount, Adams?”

  “Are you kidding?” Horn asked. “Have you seen his horse?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “I have to go check on him,” Clint said. “Come with me and see for yourself.”

  “I’ll go and pick my scout,” Horn said. “After I order the supplies from the quartermaster.”

  “After I take a look at your mount, I’ll go and talk to my men,” Pershing said.

  “Will they be happy about this, Lieutenant?” Clint asked.

  “Mr. Adams,” Pershing said, “they’ve been itching for a c
hance to prove themselves. They’ll be ecstatic.”

  When Pershing laid eyes on Eclipse, he said, “Well, I can see what Mr. Horn was talking about. This is a magnificent animal.”

  “Yes, he is,” Clint said, walking around the horse. “And he looks like he’s been well cared for.”

  “This is Private Decker,” Pershing said, indicating the soldier standing by. “He knows his way around horses. Decker, this is Clint Adams.”

  “We ain’t got nothin’ on the post that’s gonna be able to run with this big boy,” the private said admiringly. “Nothin’ even close.”

  “We’ll just have to do the best we can,” Pershing said. “My boys are going to need their horses, Private Decker.”

  “For when, sir?”

  Pershing looked at Clint.

  “Tomorrow too soon?”

  “Tomorrow morning sounds about right to me,” Clint said. “As long as we can get all our supplies by then.”

  “We won’t have any problems with the quartermaster,” Pershing said. “The fort is well stocked.”

  “If you don’t mind,” Clint said to the private, “I’ll come by in the morning and saddle my horse myself.”

  “Whatever you say, sir,” the man said. “He’s your horse.”

  “Thanks for taking care of him.”

  Pershing and Clint left the livery and headed for the quartermaster to catch up with Horn. Halfway there Pershing said, “I’m going to go and talk to my men.”

  “Why don’t you come to the quartermaster with me,” Clint said, “and then I’ll come with you and meet your men?”

  “Very well,” Pershing said.

  At the quartermaster’s office Pershing and Clint joined up with Horn and selected the supplies they’d be taking with them.

  “No pack horses,” the quartermaster said to Pershing. “That’s what Horn said. Is that right, sir?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Pershing said. He then explained to the man Clint’s plan for all the men to carry some of the supplies.

  “Never heard of such a thing,” the sergeant said. “But I guess I can learn somethin’ new even after fifteen years in the army. I’ll have it all ready and sorted out by tomorrow mornin’.”

  “Good man,” Pershing said.

  He, Clint, and Horn left the quartermaster’s office and stopped just outside.

  “I’m taking Mr. Adams to meet my troop, Mr. Horn,” Pershing said.

  “Well, since I know ’em all already,” Horn said, “I’ll go pick out my scout.”

  “Let’s meet back at Crook’s office,” Clint said. “We can fill him in on our progress.”

  They agreed, and split up.

  “I’ve got a sergeant, a corporal, and eleven privates,” Pershing said on the way.

  “I noticed when you were naming Crook’s officers that there’s no major,” Clint said.

  “We had one,” Pershing said. “Major Webster. He’s dead.”

  “The Apaches?”

  Pershing nodded.

  “Last month,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons the general decided to send for you.”

  “I hope I can live up to his faith in me.”

  “Don’t be fooled, Mr. Adams.”

  “By what?”

  “It’s not so much what the general hopes you can do,” Pershing said. “He is hoping that Geronimo will react to your reputation.”

  “I see.”

  “After all,” Pershing said, “even the Apaches have heard of the Gunsmith, right?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Don’t be so modest,” Pershing said. “I’ve heard the stories about you and Quanah Parker. If the Comanches know you, so do the Apaches.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I’ll do whatever I can do with whatever I have at my command.”

  “I’m just glad you agreed,” Pershing said.

  “Thanks for telling me, though,” Clint said.

  “My men will be happy to meet you,” Pershing said, “and happy that you’re on our side. Here we are.”

  They entered the barracks of the buffalo soldiers.

  NINE

  “Ten hut!” somebody yelled and thirteen black men jumped to their feet.

  “At ease, men,” Pershing said. “I want you all to meet Clint Adams.”

  “Clint Adams?” one man asked.

  “Ya mean, the Gunsmith?” somebody else asked.

  “That’s right,” Pershing said. “We’re going to be riding into the mountains with him tomorrow. He’s agreed to try to help us find Geronimo’s camp.”

  “When dem Apaches hear we got the Gunsmith on our side,” a man said, “dey gonna jes’ up and surrender.”

  “That’s a nice thought,” Clint said, laughing, “but I doubt it.”

  “Clint, you’ll get to know all the men on the trail,” Pershing said, “but this is Corporal Jefferson and that’s Sergeant Washington.”

  Clint knew that many of the men were probably ex-slaves, which was probably how they had come to be named after presidents.

  Washington and Jefferson both approached Clint and shook hands. The sergeant was older, probably the man in the room closest to Clint’s own age, with some gray in his close-cropped hair. The corporal looked as young as most of the privates in the room, although two or three of the buffalo soldiers looked to be in their thirties.

  “We’re going to be riding out tomorrow morning, so I want you all to see to your horses, and be ready to carry some supplies. We’re making this trip without pack animals.”

  “No supplies?” one man asked.

  “We’ll have supplies,” Pershing said. “I’ll explain it all to you later. I just wanted you to meet Mr. Adams.”

  “Suh,” a young private said.

  “Yes, Moses?”

  “Is we really goin’ out on patrol?”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “And who else?” another man asked.

  “Just Tom Horn and one of his scouts.”

  “Das it?”

  “That’s it,” Pershing said. “We’ll be traveling light and fast, and we don’t want to have too many white faces as targets for the Apaches.”

  “Dat leaves pretty much you and Tom and Mr. Adams as de targets,” young Moses said.

  “That’s right,” Pershing said, “and it’ll be all our jobs to see that we stay alive, Moses.”

  “We does our best, suh.”

  “Clint,” Pershing said, “I want to talk to my men alone for a few minutes.”

  “Sure, Lieutenant,” Clint said. “I’ll see you back at the general’s office.”

  “And seeing as how you’re a civilian and I’ve already started calling you Clint, you might as well call me Jack.”

  “Okay, Jack,” Clint said. “See you later. See you, boys.”

  The buffalo soldiers shouted his name and said they’d see him later.

  TEN

  Clint returned to General Crook’s office. When he entered the outer room, he heard loud voices from inside. He looked at the aide, Lieutenant McCreedy.

  “Captains Crawford and Davis?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” McCreedy said. “They came in a few minutes ago. They had already heard.”

  “I guess they’re each looking to make major, huh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can I go in?”

  “The general said to send you in as soon as you came back, so go ahead.”

  Clint opened the door and went in without knocking first.

  “Do you mind?” Captain Davis shouted, turning on him.

  “Captain!” Crook said. He didn’t shout, but there was more iron in his tone. The captain turned to face his superior.

  “This is my office,” Crook said, “my command. Remember that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you all set?” Crook asked Clint.

  “We’re getting there,” Clint said. “Tom has to pick out his scout.”

  “Good,” Crook said. “The captains and I were j
ust discussing the situation.”

  “Sir, you can’t seriously—” Crawford started.

  “But we’re done here!” Crook said. He walked around behind his desk and stared at the two captains. They wilted beneath his gaze, turned, and stormed out.

  “One of them major material?” Clint asked.

  “Not likely,” Crook said. “How about you? Want to sign up? I’ll give you a battlefield promotion to major.”

  Clint laughed.

  “No, thanks. How about Pershing?”

  “He’ll have to go through channels, make captain first,” Crook said. “This assignment might do it. Have a seat, please.”

  Clint sat.

  “I need to tell you exactly what I expect of you.”

  “All right.”

  “I don’t expect you to kill anyone,” Crook said. “I would like you to convince Geronimo to come in and speak with me—at the Canyon de los Embudos, or Canyon of the Funnels. That’s all.”

  “And you think he’ll do it because of who I am?” Clint asked.

  “I’m hoping,” Crook said. “I’m sorry that I’m trying to use your reputation, but I tried to think of a man who would be known, recognizable, on both sides. Your name was the only one I could come up with.”

  Clint studied the man for a few moments, then said, “I understand, General.”

  “Thank you for that,” Crook said. “Now, by the same token I don’t expect you to get killed out there. If you have to use your gun to make your point, use it. If you find Nachite first, or Many Words, I’m not sure they’ll listen to you.”

  “What about Golden Princess?”

  “She’s a myth.”

  “Really?” Clint asked. “Tom Horn seems to think otherwise.”

  “I know, so do his scouts,” Crook said. “I’ll believe in such a creature when I see her. Female Apache warriors are few and far between, and Lozen already exists.”

  “Victorio’s sister,” Clint said. “Is she involved here?”

  “I don’t think so,” Crook said. “We haven’t heard anything about her.”

  There was a knock on the door then and Crook called out, “Come.”

  Tom Horn came in, followed by an Apache scout wearing buckskins and a sombrero.

  “Clint, this is Reynaldo,” Horn said. “It’s not his Apache name, but the name he chose when he joined the scouts.”