“It ain’t likely they’d be settin’ right next to an army fort if they was hostile, is it?” Preacher said.
“No, I reckon not.” Lomax’s shaggy brows drew down in a frown. “I just don’t trust redskins, that’s all.”
“You don’t like dogs, neither, but I don’t hold that against you . . . too much.”
Jamie explained, “There was a big peace treaty council here last year. A lot of different tribes attended . . . the Lakota Sioux and the Cheyenne, the Shoshone and the Crow, and some of the smaller tribes. They all smoked the pipe and promised to keep the peace, and so far they’ve done it. Several times a year, they come in to trade with the army and with each other.”
“Not the Blackfeet, though,” Lomax said.
Jamie shook his head. “No. The Blackfeet haven’t smoked the peace pipe.”
“And I wouldn’t hold my breath waitin’ for ’em to do it, neither,” Preacher put in.
Grave-faced men with feathers in their hair and blankets draped around their shoulders watched as the party rode past the lodges. The Indian women and children hung back, but they were interested in the newcomers, too. Dogs capered around and barked, although they all kept their distance from the big, wolflike cur that paced alongside Horse.
Lomax scowled at the Indian dogs, his dislike for the animals obvious. None of them came close to him, either, which was a good thing, Jamie reflected. Lomax might have kicked at them and stirred up resentment and trouble.
The watch towers still remained. Jamie knew the soldiers on guard duty should have spotted them approaching. One of the dragoons carried an American flag on a staff and rode right behind Jamie, Preacher, and Colonel Sutton, so the occupants of Fort Laramie would know they were friends.
The old adobe stockade was still there, too, although a number of other buildings were scattered around it and a large parade ground was directly in front of it. Colonel Sutton’s party rode around the parade ground and went through the stockade’s open gates. Inside were the buildings housing the fort’s headquarters, the officers’ quarters, and the sutler’s store.
Entering the large courtyard inside the walls, they saw not only quite a few American troops but also a dozen or so men dressed in dark blue jackets trimmed with bright red collar and cuffs, white trousers, and tall leather helmets made even taller by the metal spikes that topped them. They were easy to tell apart from the American dragoons with their flat black caps, blue trousers, and no bright red decorations. Jamie recalled what the colonel had said about representatives of the Prussian military accompanying them on their mission, and he supposed those fancy-dressed fellows must be part of that group.
Preacher drawled under his breath, “What in blazes is a circus doin’ all the way out here on the frontier?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep comments like that to yourself, Preacher,” Sutton said. “I’m not overly fond of being saddled with that bunch, but since we are, we might as well try to get along with them.”
Preacher chuckled and said, “You know me, Colonel. I get along just fine with durned near ever’body. I’m a peaceable man.”
Jamie grinned when he saw the look on Sutton’s face at that bold-faced statement from the mountain man. Then he grew more serious as he asked, “Who’s that fella?”
He nodded toward the headquarters building, where a tall, brawny man in one of the fancy red and blue uniforms had just stepped out onto the porch. He towered over the shorter, stockier American officer beside him, presumably the commander of this post.
“I don’t know,” Sutton said in reply to Jamie’s question, “but by his attitude and the fact that he’s with Colonel Wheeler, I suspect he’s the commander of the Prussian delegation.”
Soldiers, American and Prussian alike, drifted toward the headquarters building to get a better look at the newcomers. Jamie, Preacher, and Sutton reined to a stop.
Sutton turned in his saddle to call to the dragoons with him. “You men are dismissed, once you’ve seen to your horses and the pack animals.”
Jamie looked at Lomax and said, “You go with them and give them a hand.”
The bullwhacker nodded in agreement.
Jamie, Preacher, and Sutton dismounted and turned their reins over to an orderly who hurried forward to take them.
Preacher said to the young soldier, “Careful of this stallion, son. He’s friendly enough, as long as you don’t give him any reason to get annoyed with you.”
“How will I know if he’s annoyed, sir?”
“Oh, he’ll let you know,” said Preacher. He turned to the big cur. “Dog, stay with Horse.”
The orderly eyed Dog and Horse warily, obviously wondering what he had gotten himself into by volunteering. He led the horses out of the stockade toward the stables. Dog padded along beside them.
With Colonel Sutton leading the way, Jamie and Preacher followed him up the steps and onto the broad porch. Sutton traded salutes with the American officer, then said, “Colonel Wheeler, allow me to present Jamie Ian MacCallister and Preacher. Men, this is Colonel Alonzo Wheeler, the commanding officer of Fort Laramie.”
Colonel Wheeler’s gray hair and beard and weathered face testified that he was a long-time veteran of command. He stuck out a hand to shake with Jamie and said, “Welcome to Fort Laramie, Mr. MacCallister. Needless to say, I’ve heard of you. You’ve rendered invaluable service to the army on numerous occasions in the past.”
“I try to help out the country when I can,” Jamie said as he clasped Wheeler’s hand.
“And, ah, Preacher,” Wheeler went on as he turned to the mountain man. “A legend among the Indians and the frontiersmen, and that goes without saying as well.”
“You know what legends are, Colonel?” Preacher asked as he shook hands with the officer. “Tall tales that get told well enough some folks start to believe ’em.”
Wheeler chuckled. “Are you saying you haven’t had all the thrilling exploits attributed to you?”
“Well, no . . . but some of ’em might’ve been the least little bit exaggerated.”
Jamie laughed and said, “Don’t believe him, Colonel. He’s done everything they tell stories about, and more.”
The other man on the porch cleared his throat impatiently.
Wheeler said, “Of course, Baron, I beg your pardon. Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Baron Adalwolf von Kuhner.”
The Prussian stepped forward, stood rigidly at attention, and clicked the heels of his high-topped black boots together. He bowed slightly, not much more than a token movement of his head that tipped the spiked helmet toward them. Jamie didn’t know if the baron expected them to bow in return to him, but he hoped not, because that wasn’t going to happen.
Colonel Sutton took the lead, giving Baron von Kuhner a salute, which the Prussian returned stiffly. Then Sutton extended his hand and said, “It’s an honor to meet you, Baron.”
For a second, Jamie thought von Kuhner was going to ignore the colonel’s hand. Then he grasped it and said, “I look forward to joining you on this expedition, Colonel.”
The man’s voice was harsh and guttural, almost as if he had a mouthful of gravel. He spoke English fluently enough, but with a fairly thick accent.
Von Kuhner was around forty, Jamie estimated, with a florid, heavy-jawed face. Under the tall helmet he wore was no sign of hair. Evidently he was completely bald. Or, given his age, maybe he shaved his head. Jamie had never seen the appeal of that, but some men seemed to like it, especially Europeans.
Sutton turned and gestured toward Jamie and Preacher. “These two men are coming with us as guides and experts on dealing with the Indians.”
Von Kuhner’s eyes narrowed. “They are not soldiers?”
“No, they’re civilians, but they’ve worked with the army on many occasions. This is Jamie MacCallister, and the other fellow is known as Preacher.”
Von Kuhner stared at Preacher and snapped, “You have no other name?”
“Oh, I reckon I’ve
got a name. A couple of ’em, in fact. I wasn’t born bein’ called Preacher. But that’s what I’ve gone by for a heap o’ years now, so it’ll do.”
With a contemptuous grunt, von Kuhner said, “Very well. It means nothing to me what you are called.”
The Prussian hadn’t offered to shake hands with either of them once he found out they were civilians, Jamie noted. Somehow, that didn’t bother him overmuch.
Von Kuhner turned back to Sutton and said, “Now that you are here, Colonel, we will waste no time in departing on our expedition, ja?”
“We should be able to leave first thing in the morning,” Sutton replied. “We can sit down with you this evening and go over our proposed route.”
Von Kuhner waved away that offer. “There is no need. Whatever you and these . . . gentlemen . . . believe best will be how we proceed. I simply wish to reach the area where my countrymen met their fate with all due speed and put an end at last to the annoying speculation about what tragedy might have befallen them.”
Jamie spoke up. “You understand, Baron, it’s a big country up here. We only have a very general idea of where they were headed. It may take us a while to track them down.”
“And to tell the truth,” said Preacher, “there’s a good chance we won’t ever find out for sure what happened to ’em. Sometimes the frontier just sorta swallers folks up.”
“That is unacceptable,” barked von Kuhner. “We will find the truth and put an end to the rumors that persist in my country that Peter von Eichhorn may still be alive.”
With that, he nodded curtly to the two officers, went down the steps, and stalked away from the headquarters building. Jamie wasn’t sure where the baron was going, but he wasn’t particularly sorry to see him go.
“So that’s who we got to go off into Blackfoot country with,” Preacher mused as he watched von Kuhner depart.
“That’s right,” Sutton said. “Wishing now that you hadn’t agreed to come along, Preacher?”
“No, no,” said the mountain man. “I was just wonderin’ who was gonna be the biggest problem we have to deal with, Stone Bear or ol’ Baron Stick-up-his-rear-end there.”
“I’ve never run into Stone Bear,” said Jamie, “but I’ve got a hunch it’s going to be a pretty tight race.”
Chapter 15
Jamie, Preacher, and Colonel Sutton ate supper that evening with Colonel Wheeler in the post commander’s quarters, then headed back over to Wheeler’s office to discuss the plans for the expedition.
As he’d indicated earlier, Baron von Kuhner didn’t join them for either the meal or the discussion afterward.
“The baron stays to himself for the most part,” Wheeler said as the four of them walked along the edge of the parade ground toward the headquarters building.
“A mite stuck-up, is he?” said Preacher.
“I don’t know if that’s it . . . well, yes, that’s what it amounts to,” Wheeler admitted. “He’s what they call a Junker. Some sort of nobility, I guess you’d call it, and many of the men in that class serve as army officers. He doesn’t really associate with us or his own men, except for a man named Becker, who’s his . . . sergeant, I suppose you’d call it. I don’t know what the Prussian word for that rank is.” Wheeler shook his head. “Von Kuhner’s attitude isn’t something that makes much sense to Americans like us, who regard pretty much everybody as equal, but those folks over in Europe really go in for it.”
“I hope such arrogance and corruption never infests our country,” Sutton said.
“Amen to that,” Jamie agreed. “But it’s too pretty an evening to think about that.”
Even though, officially, the season was still late summer, the air had an autumn crispness to it. As Jamie drew in a deep breath, he told himself that they wouldn’t have a lot of time to waste once they headed north. Within a month or so, six weeks at the most, the weather might change. Winter would be filtering into the north country. A sudden blizzard would be unlikely, but such a thing couldn’t be ruled out entirely.
Tonight, however, was beautiful, just as Jamie had said. The sky was clear, and millions of stars were visible overhead in a dazzling carpet laid across the heavens.
The four men paused as they came up to the headquarters building and saw someone sitting on the steps.
“Who’s there?” Wheeler asked.
The man on the steps stood up and took off his broad-brimmed hat. Jamie had recognized him already from the smell of the shaggy coat the man wore.
Roscoe Lomax said, “It’s just me, Colonel. Want to talk to MacCallister for a second.”
“All right. We’ll see you inside, Jamie.”
The two officers went up the steps and into the building.
Preacher lingered and asked, “Want me to hang around for a spell, Jamie?”
“No, that’s all right,” Jamie told him. “Lomax isn’t going to make any trouble. He gave his word on that. Isn’t that right, Lomax?”
“It sure is,” the bullwhacker declared.
Preacher nodded and said, “All right, then.” He followed Sutton and Wheeler into the building.
“What do you want, Lomax?” Jamie asked.
“Thought I might see if you’d come over to the sutler’s store with me. I wouldn’t mind buyin’ you a drink, now that we’re back in what passes for civilization out here.”
“I appreciate that, but I have to talk to the colonels and Preacher for a while. Why don’t you go on, and maybe I’ll be over there later.”
Lomax nodded. “All right, but don’t forget. I owe you a drink.”
Jamie wanted to tell the man that he didn’t owe him anything. He had come to believe that Lomax genuinely wanted to set things right between them, but sometimes he carried it farther than necessary.
Jamie just said, “See you later,” then headed inside. Lomax drifted off toward the sutler’s store, which was as much a saloon and gambling den as it was a mercantile.
When Jamie had joined the others in Colonel Wheeler’s office, Colonel Sutton stood at a map hanging on the wall and used the tip of his index finger to trace the blue line representing the Missouri River.
“The Prussians were traveling by wagon and horseback,” he said, “but they followed the river for the most part, anyway. There were reports of them being seen here.” He tapped a spot on the map. “But that’s the last place they were that we know of. Somewhere beyond that, they disappeared.”
Jamie said, “You mentioned there have been reports of white captives among the Blackfeet, Colonel. Where do those reports come from?”
Sutton moved his finger over to an area some fifty or sixty miles west of the spot he had just indicated. “We’ve been told by two different individuals that captives were seen in this region. This is right in the middle of the area used by Stone Bear’s band as their hunting grounds.”
“Are the fellas who brought that word trustworthy?” asked Preacher.
Sutton looked at Colonel Wheeler, who said, “Both men are fur trappers. You’re aware that the fur trade is merely a shadow of what it once was, I’m sure.”
Preacher nodded. “Yeah, I haven’t bothered goin’ after furs for the past five or six years. Not enough money in it to make it worth all the trouble.”
“Most of the trappers have given up, and the ones who persist at it have to take quite a few chances and venture into areas that aren’t very safe, such as this one where Stone Bear and his people roam.”
“Trappin’ was always great sport,” said Preacher, “but it was never exactly safe.”
“No, of course not. The profession was always fraught with risks, I realize that. But these days, it’s even worse. Men still do it, however. The two who brought in the relevant reports are well known to me. You may be acquainted with them, too, Preacher. Their names are Severs and Perry.”
The mountain man nodded and said, “Yeah, I know ’em. I’d say they’re honest. And level-headed enough that it ain’t likely they’d just make up some story about seein
’ captives amongst the Injuns.”
“That’s what I think, too. However, we’re talking about the Blackfeet. Those men weren’t able to get too close. They didn’t want the Blackfeet to spot them.”
“Can’t blame them for that,” said Jamie. “What did they claim they saw?”
“Women who appeared to be white,” Wheeler replied. “Blond women.”
“But no men?” Sutton asked.
Wheeler shook his head. “No, just the women. But if some of the women from the Prussian expedition survived, some of the men could have, as well.”
“That ain’t damned likely,” Preacher said. “They might’ve kept the women as slaves, but any of the men who got took prisoner instead of bein’ killed outright was likely tortured to death or burned at the stake within a few days of bein’ captured.”
Sutton nodded solemnly. “We’re aware that’s a strong possibility, Preacher, but our orders are to investigate anyway and determine the truth if we can.”
“Oh, I ain’t sayin’ we shouldn’t go have a look around. It could be Stone Bear’s holdin’ some of them Prussian gals. If he is, and if we can get our hands on ’em, they ought to be able to tell us what happened.”
“That’s our best bet,” Jamie agreed.
“So here’s what we’re going to do.” Sutton moved his finger on the map to rest on Fort Laramie, where they were. “We’ll head northwest from here and follow the shortest route to the area where the captives were seen. We should be able to cover that distance in a week or so, which ought to give us time to locate the prisoners, free them from the Blackfeet, and return here before the weather starts to get bad. With any luck, my men and I can take word back to St. Louis, along with any prisoners we recover, before winter sets in on the plains.”
“You’ll be cutting it close if you do,” Jamie warned. “Honestly, it would be better to wait until spring to start on a mission like this.”
“I know,” Sutton replied, “but that wasn’t what my orders from the War Department said. Our government wants to cooperate with the Prussian government and move ahead with this mission as quickly as possible.”
When All Hell Broke Loose Page 10