Buffalo Soldier

by Tanya Landman

  As the weather got colder the world shrunk right down until it was just the stove in our quarters. Was the only place you could feel anything like human. Trouble was, when you was stuck in there what you had to fight was the boredom. That was just about enough to kill a man stone dead. I ain’t never known minutes crawl by so slow. Listening to Elijah’s stories been pleasant enough to begin with, but he didn’t have an endless supply of them. By the time you heard him tell the one about the tar baby for the fiftieth time you got so you wanted to yell. As for Isaiah – he had this goddamned awful habit of cracking his knuckles, one by one. He’d sit there, nights, and you’d be waiting for that sound to come and the more you waited and the longer he went without doing it the more you wanted to lay him out flat when he did.

  Times like that I’d take myself off, go be with Abe. Sit with him, that was all. If I had one of them monthlies I’d wash my rags through in his bucket. Didn’t no one think twice if I had to keep fetching him fresh water. That horse was so clumsy! He just kept kicking that old bucket over! There goes Charley again, filling it up.

  When Abe was done eating he’d lean his head up against my chest, let me rub his ears. Or he’d hang it right over my shoulder, let me wrap my arms around his neck. There was a spot halfway down he liked me scratching. I’d get my fingers in there under his mane and when I got the place just right his top lip would start twitching, flicking from side to side, and pretty soon he’d start rubbing my shoulder back. Or he’d lift his face to mine, blow clouds of sweet hay-smelling breath all over me. There was a peace and a calm being there with him that used to soothe me right down. Was only the cold ever drove me from there back to quarters. Figure I’d have spent the whole winter in with him if I could have.

  Abe was stalled right next to the pony Captain Smith had bought for Tiberius. He’d got the animal off a passing trader – a tired old pack pony that wasn’t gonna go running off with him. Wasn’t going to go running anywhere much at all, truth be told. But he needed brushing and feeding and talking to and he kept Tiberius out from under everyone else’s feet. Tiberius give his pony the name Mighty Spotted Warrior but that animal didn’t have no fight in him. Thing he liked best was eating his head off. I guess him and Abe had a lot in common.

  They couldn’t find no saddle small enough to fit, and in any case them stirrups would have been way too long for Tiberius’s legs. So Captain Smith had give him a blanket, Indian-style, and fixed it firm with a strap around the animal’s middle. Trouble was, with no stirrups the boy couldn’t get up on his own. For the first few days he was happy enough for his pa to lift him up when school was done and he’d sit there most all the afternoon imagining he was leading a charge of braves across the prairies. But then he started to think being lifted up was undignified for a chief of his standing. He needed to figure out his own way on and off.

  Didn’t take him long to discover Mighty Spotted Warrior’s fondness for food. One afternoon I see Tiberius come out the stable with a handful of hay. He put it on the ground in front of Mighty Spotted Warrior. As soon as that pony’s head go down to eat Tiberius swing his leg across its mane just behind its ears. When its head come back up, Tiberius is lifted in the air. He slide down its neck and into place. It looked so darned funny I had to bite my lip – I figured Tiberius wouldn’t like being laughed at no more than I ever did.

  Tiberius come over once in a while to talk to Mighty Spotted Warrior when I was there with Abe. If he come in, I went right on out even if Abe start whickering after me. But one time Tiberius block my way. He stand there, right in front of me so I can’t get past and he put his hands on his hips and look up at me and them Jonas-eyes of his is troubled.

  “Don’t you like me?”

  “Oh hey, no. It ain’t that.”

  “Did I do something bad again?”

  “No.”

  “Then why’d you run away every time I come in?”

  “I ain’t running away.”

  “You are. You do it every time.” There’s a catch in his voice. He sounds like he might start crying. And I can’t stand to see him cry. That boy brings out the woman in me and I can’t allow that.

  I says, “You put me in mind of someone is all.”

  “Who?”

  “Just someone.”

  “Someone who was mean to you?”

  “Yep, I guess.”

  “But I wouldn’t ever do that. I promise,” Tiberius says, serious and solemn. He turning me inside out again. “Whoever it was must have been a bad person. Ma says it’s our Christian duty to be kind to the poor Negroes.”

  “Does she now?”

  “Yep. We got to be kind to the heathen Indians too because they don’t know any better.”

  “That so?” I keep my mouth shut. I ain’t saying that maybe she wouldn’t feel so kindly if they scalped her husband or stole away her boy.

  Lucky for me, Tiberius has done with moralizing. “I saw your horse rubbing your shoulder. Would Mighty Spotted Warrior do that to me?”

  “Maybe. If you scratch him right.”

  “Could you teach me?”

  I showed him how to find his pony’s ticklish spot and we spent the time pleasant enough. But I couldn’t be easy with him. He could promise all he liked. But if I was remembering things right – not dreaming them up – there’d been a time when Jonas had liked me too. Something had changed him. Didn’t know what. But if it changed Jonas it was like to change Tiberius too. I didn’t want to look at him one morning and see hate in that child’s eyes.

  Aside from Abe the only other thing that kept me from going crazy that first prairie winter was that one of General Michaels’ men had bought himself a pair of bear cubs to tame. I don’t know where they was from or how he come by them or what he was planning to do when they grew up. He kept them chained near the stables. Every time I went to see to Abe I had to walk on by. I took to taking some jerked beef, some hard tack, any bits of food I could find to put in my pocket. Made me smile to see the way they stand on their hind legs and take that food in their paws real delicate, like they was folks in fur coats.

  But they didn’t last long. They got big and they got strong. One time they cuffed a whitey and damned near ripped his leg off. Didn’t matter none that he’d been poking them cubs with a stick at the time. The General give the order to get rid of them and they was chased out onto the prairie.

  Now, one of the problems the army had in winter was carrying the mail from fort to fort. The prairie’s mighty big. It goes in every direction, right up to the horizon. And over it all there’s that great dome of sky. In the winter, when the snow lies thick, every single feature gets buried beneath. If you lucky you can just about make out where the river is, but in places it’s frozen over and snow come piling in so you can’t see its shape. Trails are all wiped out and it ain’t like there are roads or signs to follow.

  So taking the mail wasn’t exactly a popular job. But me and Abe got ourselves something of a reputation for sheer plumb doggedness when it come to doing our duty. One week, I get picked for the task and I ain’t none too pleased. I don’t know if Abe picked up on my reluctance to go on that ride or if he made up his own mind on the subject. He never was what you might call a natural born leader. Always liked to have at least one horse in front of him. When we was attacked he had the speed of a racehorse, but he kept a neck’s length behind the leaders so they was first in the firing line. He had a level of cunning which saved my life on more than one occasion.

  We was supposed to ride out but Abe just wasn’t having none of it. I strung the mailbag across my chest, but when I click my tongue and urge him on, Abe digs his heels right in. He ain’t going nowhere. And me and Abe got an agreement: I wasn’t going to use no spurs and I wasn’t going to whip him. So I try a little persuasion. Then I try encouragement. I talks to him real nice, and I try moving off again. All Abe does is run backwards so fast he nearly knocks down Captain Smith, who has to jump aside real sharp.

  That gets Tiberi
us stepping forward, offering to do the job himself on Mighty Spotted Warrior. Captain Smith salutes him, thanks him for his brave and courageous offer, but politely declines. Then Thomas volunteers to take my place. Which was lucky, or not, depending on whether you was me or Private Thomas Walker.

  Thomas was one hell of a good artist. But he was one hell of a good soldier too – one of Company W’s finest. The result was to get himself subjected to a whole heap of them side-splittingly-hilarious jokes, same as me. But whereas I kept my head down and let it slide like rain off a duck, Thomas took it hard. I seen him crying with frustration sometimes. He was busting to prove he was good as them. Figured if he kept excelling himself, sooner or later they was gonna have to give him some respect. So it’s Private Thomas Walker who rides off across that snow. It’s Private Thomas Walker who don’t come back.

  Like I said, he been subjected to a whole heap of abuse. Not just words neither. He been given a bloody nose on more than one occasion and he couldn’t never fight them troopers back: one of us fighting one of them was always in the wrong. Captain Smith knew the score. It was his opinion that Thomas couldn’t take no more. After two weeks, when he don’t show up, we’re sent out looking for him. But there been more snow so we don’t find nothing, no tracks, not even a body. The Captain is real sad, but he lists him as a deserter.

  He didn’t consider them bears. None of us did.

  Maybe Abe had got wind of them. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to set foot outside. I guess Thomas’s horse didn’t have the same urge towards self-preservation.

  When the spring come and the snow melt me and Reuben found them lying within thirty feet of each other. Thomas was face down in the river. Guess he drowned. Or froze. Maybe both. His horse been half eaten but it wasn’t enough to keep them bears alive. They didn’t know how to take care of themselves. They starved. Or froze. Maybe both.

  I seen some pitiful sights in my time but that was one of the worst.

  24.

  When the weather warmed and the Indian trouble started up again, it come as a welcome distraction. We was able to get out in the field, away from that fort and leave General Michaels and his men behind.

  Now, which particular tribe was causing the trouble or why they was doing it I didn’t know and I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned they was all savages: it was in their nature – they just couldn’t stop themselves. Word come in of attacks here, attacks there, ranches burned, women violated, children stolen. Seemed the whole of the plains was in uproar. The marks them chiefs made on them pieces of paper didn’t count for nothing. They was all liars. Cheats. Thieves. Wasn’t none of them to be trusted.

  That whole summer them Indians kept us real busy. We lost sixteen men, one after the other in a dozen different fights. In between, there were the long days and weeks of boredom when we had to find our own ways and means of amusing ourselves. Sometimes Reuben would take a stick and stir up a pair of ants’ nests. He’d get the red ones fighting the black. We’d all be laying money on which side was gonna win.

  Heck, we’d lay money on anything: whose horse would cast a shoe first; whose britches was gonna give out next; how long I could last without needing to relieve myself. The parlous state of my bowels been something of a joke in Company W ever since I gone running off the parade ground.

  Towards the fall we was posted back to the same fort as General Michaels. There was a bunch of new recruits waiting for us there who’d come from out east so Company W was back to full strength. Mrs Smith had herself a new baby girl and Tiberius had grown some. Made me smile to see how tender that boy was with his baby sister. He’d carry her around like she was a doll, lift her up onto the back of Mighty Spotted Warrior, hold her there because she was too small to sit up by herself.

  The days had been roasting hot, but then there come a sudden change. For a time the air was deathly still, hanging so heavy you could hardly breathe. Then a cold wind starts blowing from the east and big angry clouds gather on the horizon. It was plain to see one hell of a storm was on its way. I was off duty, so I figured I’d go talk to Abe because he didn’t care for thunder and lightning no more than I did.

  I cross the parade ground but when I get to them stables I see there’s a white man in there giving his horse a rub-down. A stranger. Wearing a coat made out of buffalo hide and looking like he been in the saddle for weeks on end, he’s one of those frontiersmen who’s seen everything there is to see under the sun and don’t nothing surprise or scare him. He’s come in just ahead of the storm looking for shelter, I guess. Or maybe he’s got business with the General. Either way, I don’t want to go talking to no whitey so I turn on my heel.

  But Abe’s seen me. He lift his head and whicker. When I don’t come over right away he stamp his foot and squeal, real indignant. The man looks at Abe, he looks across at me and then he does the most surprising thing: he smiles. His mouth splits wide apart in a friendly grin as if I’m just a regular trooper.

  “Opinionated devil, ain’t he?” he says. “You’d better get on over before he breaks his stall down.”

  I figured Captain Smith was the only white man on God’s earth who could act clean and talk decent but here’s this rough-looking fella dealing with me straight. Like it ain’t even unusual.

  I don’t know how to answer him, so I don’t say nothing. I don’t move neither. Abe stamps again. He’s getting mad, and that makes me recover the use of my legs. Soon as I get to him he start nosing in my pockets. He’s so eager for a treat he’s near ripping my coat apart and that man start laughing at him, but it ain’t unkind.

  “He’s no beauty,” he says. “Guess he’s fast enough, though, ain’t he?”

  “Sure is. Got me out of a tight spot more than once.”

  “I’ll bet. Horse like that can turn on a dime; run all day if he needs to. That’s what you need in your line of work.”

  We might have talked some more, but then who should come on by but one of General Michaels’ troopers.

  Private Creech was fresh out from east and he got golden curling hair like Angel Face. Like Jonas. Turned me inside out the first time I seen him. I’d had to go running for the latrines again.

  He been picked on guard mount this morning as the General’s orderly for the day. My heart sinks right down into my boots. He’s giving me one of them looks: like he’s trod in a heap of hog shit.

  I’m about to go sliding out of there, back to quarters. But then I see that if Private Creech is giving me that look, he’s giving it to the man I been talking to as well. And the man in the buffalo-hide jacket ain’t remotely happy about being looked at like that. I can see he’s planning on doing something about it.

  Now whoever he is, that man is smart. He don’t say nothing that will lead to a fight. Leastways, not directly. He just carries right on talking to me. But his words is aimed careful as arrows and they go thudding into Private Creech.

  He give me a wink and a smile and then he says to me, “Been out in the field long, trooper?”

  Now I’m treading careful, but I can’t help but catch some of his mischief. “Couple of years or so.”

  “Seen a lot of action?”

  “Some.”

  “Bet you’re a fine shot, ain’t you?”

  “I get by.”

  “You’re too modest. Why, I’ll bet you could show some of those raw recruits a thing or two.”

  He takes a long, cool look at that trooper’s new uniform and squeaking boots so it’s plain as day who he means. Private Creech give a squawk. Sounds like he swallow a whole chicken without plucking it first.

  Now the private has come to the stables for a reason but it takes him a while to remember what it is. He’s standing there looking like a fish that been pulled from the river. His mouth is opening and closing and he’s mad as hell, but he can’t think of nothing to say. Finally it comes back to him that he been sent over to deliver a message. “Mr Cody? The General would like to see you.” It’s taken him so long that by now the G
eneral himself is on his way over to see what’s going on.

  Seeing the General crossing the parade ground, Private Creech and the buffalo-hide man leave the stables together, but that trooper still looks like he’s choking on feathers. He’s so red in the face that General Michaels asks, “Is there something wrong, Private Creech?” He don’t reply because the buffalo man – Mr Cody – gets in first. “I apologize, General. I think I’ve just about scared the pants off your orderly. I was just saying I figured that trooper there could outshoot him.” He points back at me so the General can’t mistake his meaning.

  “That’s bullshit, William, and you know it.”

  “Care to make a wager?”

  I don’t get no say in the matter. The next thing I know, I’m about to have a shooting competition with Private Creech. Word gets around in a heartbeat and every man in the fort – white, black, on-duty, off-duty, officer, trooper, scout – the whole damned lot of them, is pushing and shoving to get themselves a look. The officers’ wives has come out too, and all their children. Bets is being made and money’s changing hands and I’m carried along on the wave of excitement until we’re standing there by the corral and the fear takes me and starts shaking me like a leaf.

  This is Mr Cody’s show. He give the order for me and Private Creech to go back fifteen paces. He put an empty whisky bottle on top of the corral post and stand back. Private Creech takes aim and fires and the bottle shatters so Mr Cody puts up another. It’s my turn.

  And I pick up my rifle and it’s then that Mr Cody sees what I’m proposing to shoot with. Before I can fire he come over and look at it and he says, “You can’t aim right with that. Use mine.”

  Well, it’s true that my rifle ain’t what you might call a fine weapon. Along with us getting the old worn-out horses, we got weapons that been discarded by the rest of the army on account of not being up to standard. When that patrol brought back Henry’s body they brought my rifle back too. Even them thieving Indians hadn’t had a use for it. But I was used to firing that rifle, like I was used to Abe being so funny-looking, and used to wearing dead men’s clothes and boots that didn’t fit. And I didn’t feel comfortable taking something off a white man. So I says, “I’ll use mine, sir.”