Rocky Mountain Warpath (A Crossed Arrows Western Book 1)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  The chief scout was Sergeant Eagle Heart, a Kiowa. He had the look of the classic plains warrior with a natural dignity that complimented his high intelligence and incredible physical courage. Corporal Running Cougar, a Comanche, was his assistant noncommissioned officer. He was short and stocky, tough as leather and the best shot in the detachment.

  Scout Tall Bear was also a Comanche but not full-blooded. His father had been a warrior of the tribe who had taken a white woman captive as one of his wives. She would eventually be Tall Bear’s mother. He had black hair and bright green eyes that gave him an exotic look. As tall as Hawkins, the mixed-race man was heavily muscled.

  Scout Swift Horse was a Kiowa while his close friend and hunting companion Scout Red Moon was Kiowa-Comanche by the virtue of the closeness between the two tribes. It was a common practice for them to join together for battles and social activities such as ceremonial dances. Intertribal romances were common occurrences between young people at the latter activity.

  All these Native-Americans had endured that humiliation of being forced to scratch the earth as farmers. All were eternally grateful to Captain Mack Hawkins for giving them the opportunity to become soldiers and carry weapons. Eagle Heart expressed their feelings best when he said, “The U.S. Scouts good for us. We want die same like warriors with taste of blood in mouth, no same like farmers with taste of whiskey in mouth.”

  Now Hawkins urged his horse into a trot to ride down to the site of the drilling. By the time he had reached the encampment, Ludlow had dismissed the Indians for their midday meal at their lodges. He glanced at Hawkins. “What’d the adjutant want, sir?”

  “Evidently the departmental adjutant general didn’t understand why two names of wives were listed with each scout.”

  Ludlow laughed. “What’d you do?”

  “I wrote an endorsement that said bigamy was a way of life in the U.S. Scouts.”

  Ludlow threw up his hands with a shout of joy. “Does that mean I can have two wives some day?”

  “If I were you, Mr. Dooley, I wouldn’t take advantage of such an opportunity. I know a lot of men who are miserable enough with just one woman.”

  “Mmm,” Ludlow mused, “I never thought of that. By the way, Miss Kristina sent one of her students over with an invitation. She wants us to come to supper tonight. I accepted.”

  “And well that you did,” Hawkins said. He dismounted and pulled the haversack from the saddlebags. “Here’s our goodies.”

  “Did they have smoked oysters?”

  “The fates have smiled down on you once again, Mr. Dooley.”

  The two walked over to the captain’s tent to divvy up the purchases.

  Chapter Three

  Miss Kristina Halverson, the teacher at the Southern Kiowa-Comanche Agency one-room schoolhouse, had a student body made up of two dozen Kiowa and Comanche children ranging in age from six to fourteen. All lived on their family farms, and the government-appointed agent Ned Turpin made sure all Indian children attended classes as dictated by Federal Law.

  The girls took to book learning much better than the boys who still had the traits of warriors and hunters imbedded in their psyches. Quiet studious activities did not appeal to them. Truancy, particularly on warm pleasant days, was an on-going problem. But all the kids quickly picked up on English as the young are able to do when acquiring foreign languages. None of them could remember the old days when their nomadic people followed the buffalo and fought pitched battles against soldiers and tribal enemies. But they had heard glorious stories of old warriors like Hears-the-Sunrise, White Bear, Wild Horse, Kicking Bird and others.

  Their teacher and mentor Kristina was an attractive twenty-five-year-old of Norwegian ancestry who had been born, raised and educated in Minnesota. She stood two inches over five feet and had the solid, shapely body of a Scandinavian farmwoman. Her hair, always worn in a bun, was flaxen and her blue eyes were striking in their brightness that complimented her Nordic features. She was a spinster and would remain so until she and her fiancé Captain Mack Hawkins could figure out how to wed and still allow him to remain in the army.

  Her house provided by the agency was small with the front divided into a parlor on one side and the bedroom on the other. The back half of the dwelling served as the kitchen and dining area.

  Now with evening coming on, Kristina had her table set and food prepared for her two guests Mack Hawkins and Ludlow Dooley. She had just given the gravy some final thickening with flour when she heard horses approaching. She quickly took off her apron, smoothed down her skirt and left the kitchen as knocking sounded at the door.

  She answered the summons and stepped back to allow entrance to the captain and lieutenant. The latter tactfully looked away as Hawkins kissed the schoolteacher on the cheek. She gave the lieutenant a friendly smile. “It’s so nice to see you, Ludlow. It’s been a while. Has Mack been keeping you busy?”

  “Not really,” Ludlow answered. He handed her a bouquet of sunflowers tied with a red ribbon as he always did when visiting. “It’s been a while since we’ve been called to active duty, so everything we do is just a simple routine of drilling and keeping our weapons and equipment ready for whatever comes along.”

  After the two officers put their hats on the rack by the door, Kristina led them into the kitchen. She took a moment to carefully place the flowers in a vase. “I hope you two are hungry.” She looked at Ludlow. “Of course you’re always hungry, aren’t you?”

  Hawkins laughed. “This fellow eats like a famished coyote yet stays as slender as a willow branch.”

  “Well, sit down,” Kristina invited them. “We have roasted quail. One of my older boys went hunting and brought me a half-dozen of the little birds. There’s also gravy and pan-fried potatoes along with canned green beans. The bread, as usual, is sent over here to the agency from the Fort Lone Wolf bakery.”

  Ludlow eagerly asked, “What’s for desert, Miss Kristina?”

  “Your favorite. Norwegian sukrekakers.”

  “Oh!” Ludlow exclaimed. “Those sugar cookies!”

  Hawkins winked at his lieutenant. “Your cup runneth over, young soldier!”

  “Indubitably!” Ludlow agreed.

  The men sat down as Kristina put the dishes on the table. Supper began when she was seated and the food was passed around to be spooned onto plates. Since there was no wine, cold well water in mason jars was the drink of the day. The lack of wine was because the prohibition of alcohol at Indian agencies. This also included whites who worked or lived on the reservation.

  Hawkins opened the conversation by telling Kristina about the mix-up with the departmental adjutant general over the number of wives each of the scouts had. “I even had to write an endorsement to explain the situation.”

  Kristina was well aware that polygamy was the tradition of her students’ parents, and she laughed. “I find it amusing that the custom got in the way of military protocol.”

  Hawkins chuckled. “It doesn’t take too much to complicate the paperwork procedures.”

  “That’s for sure,” Ludlow agreed.

  It wasn’t long before the conversation died down as the three concentrated on the food. The two officers had little else to talk about because of the lack of activity in the detachment. Kristina also hadn’t anything unusual or outstanding to discuss either. But things picked up a bit after the table was cleared and she brought out the cookies that Ludlow craved. They were served with the hot, thick coffee which was the Scandinavian custom when baked goods were on the menu.

  With the desert finished, Ludlow went out to the well to pump up a bucket of water for washing the dishes. At that point, Hawkins prepared to dry while Kristina washed. As usual at all the suppers, that was the time Ludlow left to return to the Scouts’ camp and make sure all was in order. It wasn’t truly necessary since Sergeant Eagle Heart and Corporal Running Cougar maintained tight discipline on the scouts, but Hawkins and Kristina desired the opportunity to be alone. Ludlow made his farewe
lls and left the house with some extra sukrekakers to eat later.

  The clean up took Hawkins and Kristina a half hour before the kitchen was “squared away” as the captain described it. Kristina poured them each a cup of coffee and they went out to the living room for some quiet conversation.

  The furniture, provided by the agency, was simple but comfortable. A settee and easy chair along with a simple wooden rocker made up the furnishings. Hawkins settled down on the rocker while Kristina sat on the edge of the settee.

  The captain took a slurp of coffee, then gave her a meaningful look. “We have to make a decision, sweetheart.”

  “Yes. I know. It’s always on my mind, Mack.”

  “A full year has gone by since we got engaged. How much longer ... well, what I mean is ... when do we get married?”

  Kristina was silent for a moment. “The school and the children mean a lot to me. All my life I’ve wanted to be a schoolteacher.”

  “You’re a woman, Kristina. And like most women, there’s a time when you got to decide if you’re going to marry or finish your life as a spinster.”

  “I know you’re frustrated, Mack, but I need your understanding on certain matters that are so meaningful to me.”

  “There is a limit.”

  She gazed down at her coffee cup for a moment before speaking. “Do you remember when the full regiment was at Fort Lone Wolf? And Colonel Bennington’s wife caused all that trouble for me?”

  “I remember she accused you of being promiscuous because I would come over to visit you and we were alone in the house at those times.”

  “Yes,” Kristina replied, “but that was ignored by everyone who knew us. The worst thing she did was to criticize my teaching methods of the Indian children. She wanted me to make the boys who still wore braids cut them off. And she also complained because I allowed the children to speak their own languages outside of the classroom.”

  “I almost forgot all that. What were her reasons?”

  “She said that being allowed to speak two languages would confuse them. I told her I grew up speaking English and Norwegian as did everyone in my hometown, and we had no problems. I think the real motive behind her attitude was a desire to wipe away all aspects of my kids’ cultural history.”

  “Well, we both know the old biddy wanted to turn them into her idea of civilized people.”

  “Mack, there are Indian schools that do exactly that. And it’s a shame.”

  “I agree. I encourage my scouts to learn English so they’ll fit in better in the Army. The same goes for their uniforms. But I allow braids and feathers in the brims of their hats. And, like you, I don’t keep ’em from speaking Kiowa or Comanche among themselves.” He paused a moment. “You’re afraid that if you leave, a new teacher will instruct your little students that the traditional ways of their people are wrong and stupid, aren’t you?”

  “That’s one of my greatest fears, Mack.”

  He sat his coffee cup down, and stood up. “We’ve got to make a final decision on our own plans, Kristina. And I don’t want to wait much longer. You’re not going to be able to save the Indians from the people who want to change them. It’s an impossible task.”

  “I understand that, Mack.”

  He went to the rack by the door and got his hat. “Good night, Kristina.”

  They exchanged kisses, and Kristina went to the window to watch Hawkins ride away.

  Chapter Four

  On the morning following Hawkins and Ludlow’s supper with Kristina, the scouts went out on the prairie for their monthly marksmanship practice. The site was a small creek three miles from the Southern Kiowa-Comanche Agency. They fired twenty-five rounds each from their Model 1883 Springfield carbines. The targets were tin cans and bottles saved up for the purpose. The .45 caliber black powder weapons sent out clouds of smoke at each pull of the triggers.

  Mack Hawkins recalled Civil War veterans describing how such smoke was as heavy as fog across their battlefields. That wasn’t so bad for the Union and Confederate Armies, but as far as the Kiowa-Comanche Scout Detachment was concerned, it gave away firing positions in the small skirmishes that occurred so frequently in their missions.

  After the firing exercise, the scouts retired to their village for the collective cleaning of the carbines. They had taught their wives the proper way to scrub, scour and apply gun oil to the weapons, and they sat around and smoked while the women tended to the task. And that included the Springfields of Hawkins and Ludlow. When Sergeant Eagle Heart first suggested that the wives clean their carbines, the two officers had refused. It seemed to the white officers that their Indian scouts kept the women busy enough with countless camp chores. But when it became apparent the women were insulted by the rejection, they relented.

  Now the pair sat on camp chairs outside their tents, eating lunch. They shared canned peaches while Hawkins ate pork sausage. Ludlow’s main course was smoked oysters and the remaining sukrekakers that Kristina had given him.

  Hawkins gazed hungrily at the sweets. “Can you spare a couple of those cookies, Mr. Dooley?”

  “No, sir.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll have you court-martialed and shot at dawn,” he threatened, falling into the dark humor they enjoyed with each other.

  “I believe that would be against army regulations, sir,” Ludlow replied, stifling a grin.

  “Of course you are aware of my attitude toward army regulations, are you not?”

  “Why yes, Captain. I certainly am. And because of that I beg to offer you a couple of cookies, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dooley,” Hawkins said, taking the two that were offered to him.

  Ludlow chuckled. “Isn’t it convenient that we have such a mutual understanding, sir? It saves complications in communications.”

  Hawkins winked at him and started to say something, then stood up and looked out over the prairie. “There’s a rider coming.”

  Five minutes later a cavalryman came to a dusty halt at the tent. He gave a quick salute directed at the captain, then handed over a thick envelope. “Adjutant general’s compliments, sir. Dispatch from Fort Sill.”

  Hawkins took the documents and dismissed the messenger. Ludlow chewed on a cookie as he watched his commanding officer peruse the communication. After a few moments, Hawkins announced, “We’ve got orders, Mr. Dooley. We’re to report to Fort Sill tomorrow to arrange for transportation to ... let me see ... a railroad in northern Montana.”

  “It must be near Canada,” Ludlow remarked. “What are we supposed to do there?”

  “Protect a surveying party laying out a railroad route,” Hawkins replied. He frowned in puzzlement. “Who the hell would be attacking a worksite like that? The only people that did it in the past were Indians. And that was because they were riled by the intrusions into their hunting grounds.”

  “Surely there are troops in that part of the country who can handle such an assignment.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Hawkins commented. “There’s a lot about this mission that doesn’t make sense.” He chuckled. “Well, that goes to prove that old saying, ‘There’s the right way, the wrong way and the army way.’ There are further instructions for us to take warm clothing. I would imagine it’s a bit chilly up in the Rocky Mountains in the spring.”

  Ludlow finished off the cookie he was eating. “Shall I alert the Scouts, sir?”

  “Let ’em finish their chow. We’ll put out the word at stable call.”

  Stable call was a regularly scheduled activity in the U.S. Army when cavalry units checked the health of their mounts, made sure the stables were clean and gave attention to the horse furniture. The scouts’ encampment did not have an actual stable. A large, square corral had been constructed by a detail of soldiers from Fort Lone Wolf to house the horses assigned to the detachment. A canvas overhang that offered protection from sun and rain was stretched across one side of the structure. Each animal had its own specific area under the shelter containing straw be
dding and a feed trough. All knew which spot it belonged to, and at feeding times would go to the designated place without any urging. Their diet was the usual army allotment of hay and oats. During the Indian wars this combination of feed gave the cavalry distinct advantage over the hostile tribes. Their horses existed on grass alone, and were not up to the speed and endurance of the U.S. Army mounts.

  Since the scout detachment had no bugles, stable call was announced by Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley walking over to hailing distance from the Indians’ lodges. He took a deep breath, then shouted, “Stable call!”

  The scouts, with Sergeant Eagle Heart in charge, fell into a proper formation beside the corral with the sergeant in front and Corporal Running Cougar on the right. When Captain Hawkins walked up to the front of the detachment, the sergeant saluted and reported, “Detachment all present for stable call, sir.”

  Usually Hawkins would turn the men over to Eagle Heart to begin the modus operandi of looking after the horses, but this time he called them to the position of at ease. He did not fail to catch the expressions of anticipation on their faces at this unusual change in the routine.

  “Scouts! We have papers that say go on the warpath!”

  The happy shouts of the five men were so loud that the sound echoed across the prairie as far as Kristina Halverson’s school. The kids there knew that the yells meant their male relatives in the scouts would be going on a mission and the boys gave out war cries of their own. It took Kristina Halverson ten full minutes to quiet them down and get back to the lessons at hand.