Rocky Mountain Warpath (A Crossed Arrows Western Book 1)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “You’re forgetting the Wounded Knee Massacre at the Lakota Pine Ridge Reservation last December,” Pleasence said. “Things are still unsettled there and neither troops nor scouts can be spared.”

  Now the situation was clearer to the officers, but Sergeant Eagle Heart and his men had only a sketchy knowledge of the incident on the reservation. They remained quiet as they slurped down their coffee and smoked cigars.

  Pleasence took note of Eagle Heart because of the chevrons on his arm. The railway man nodded to him. “What do you think, Sergeant?”

  “We no understand all words that you say,” Eagle Heart responded. “We not know about Lakotas. We not care. What we want is no more talk. We want go and kill enemy!”

  The other scouts let out such a loud yell that Pleasence’s face paled with fear from the Indians’ outburst of bloodlust. He took a gulp of whiskey to settle down his uneasiness. “It appears to me that this problem is going to be solved.”

  Ludlow, who had experienced the same emotion when he first met the scouts a year before, grinned. “Consider the mission completed. Just tell us what will be happening until we’re at this Haute-Prairie Gap.”

  “Certainly. These two cars are going to be coupled to a northbound train. You will be taken to Bismarck, North Dakota. There you will board a steamboat for a river cruise to Fort Terral. This garrison I’ve already mentioned is located at the base of the front range of the Rocky Mountains. I take it you’ve received the two hundred dollars in eagle coinage. This has been supplied by the railroad in case you need funds to maintain yourselves. By the way, you may keep whatever is left over.”

  “Must we purchase anything before starting the mission?” Ludlow asked.

  “No. The quartermaster at Fort Terral will provide you with provisions and ammunition prior to riding up into the mountains to the surveying site. When —”

  Hawkins interrupted. “We know what to do after that, Mr. Pleasence.”

  The railroad man turned his eyes on the scouts. “I have no doubt of that, Captain. Indeed I don’t.”

  The train trip began the next day and was a lot more comfortable than the trek from the railhead north of Fort Sill to Wichita. The bunks were comfortable for napping and the black porter did his job well, refreshing his larder at each stop through Kansas and Nebraska. During those lulls in the journey, the detachment went to the horse car to check on their mounts.

  The individual that Pleasence had identified as a stable boy was actually a leathery old galoot who had spent his working life as a wrangler on cattle drives from Texas up to Wichita, Dodge City and Abilene in Kansas. His handle was “Pete” with no surname, and he loved horses more than people. Consequently the detachment mounts were well fed, watered regularly and comfortable. Pete even frequently changed the straw in the stalls to maintain the sanitation so important to equine health.

  The train crossed South Dakota during the night and entered North Dakota at dawn, reaching Bismarck on the Missouri River at noon. The two cars holding the detachment’s men and horses were uncoupled and pulled onto a side track by a small yard locomotive.

  James Pleasence stayed for an hour until a stranger appeared. He looked first at Pleasence then at the white officers and Indians. He spoke in a gruff voice. “This is them, huh?”

  “That’s right,” Pleasence replied. He introduced him to Hawkins and Ludlow as Ken Plummer the boss of the surveying team. He shook hands with a firm grip, then glanced at the scouts. “Why are those Indians dressed like soldiers?”

  “Because they are soldiers,” Hawkins informed him. “They’re enlisted in the United States Army.”

  “I was told Indian scouts were coming and I thought ... well, never mind what I thought. From the looks of ’em, they’re exactly what we need.”

  Being so close to their destination made Hawkins impatient. “I take it we can unload the horses and mount up.”

  “That’s the idea,” Plummer said. “We’ll ride through Bismarck to the river dock. A steamer will take us down the Missouri River to Fort Terral. It’s roughly a day’s journey.”

  Ludlow was also raring to go. “From that point on we will a ride up into the mountains. Correct?”

  Plummer grinned. “It’s just like you had a crystal ball and saw the future, young feller.”

  Hawkins turned to Eagle Heart. “Unload the horses, Sergeant.”

  Eagle Heart turned to the scouts and barked some words in the combination Kiowa-Comanche patois. They gave out a shout and rushed toward the car.

  Chapter Seven

  Sergeant Eagle Heart and his scouts were usually blasé unless the likelihood of a battle was in the offing. But their first sight of the steamboat Far West on the Bismarck riverfront totally boggled their collective minds. It seemed so overwhelming in size to the scouts that each wondered what kept it from sinking. There were already people and cargo aboard and they couldn’t figure out how it could be rowed down the river.

  When it came time for the detachment to go aboard, Ken Plummer led the way to the stern of the boat where the paddlewheel was located. The scouts looked at the strange device and talked excitedly among themselves, squinting at it and shaking their heads in bewilderment at what the strange contraption might be.

  Sergeant Eagle Heart summed up their astonishment by uttering in their native patois, “That is white men’s big medicine.”

  Corporal Running Cougar agreed. “Perhaps it is bad medicine for Kiowas and Comanches.”

  “The white race is strange,” Swift Horse remarked. “This giant canoe is a good example. Why complicate one’s life with such puzzling contraptions?”

  “I am of the same opinion,” Red Moon stated. “Traveling is best done on horseback.”

  The officers and Ken Plummer, observing them, didn’t understand a word they were saying. The surveyor gazed at them for several long moments. “Your scouts seem sort of skittish, Captain.”

  “Well, this is the first steamboat they’ve ever seen.”

  A few more minutes passed, and the Indians were becoming noticeably more nervous. When the rumble of steam began building up in the engine room, it caused a slight shuddering of the boat. The scouts glanced over at their white companions to see what effect it had on them. The trio were conversing in quiet voices, and the sight calmed Eagle Heart and the others somewhat.

  A half hour later when the paddlewheel started moving, the scouts’ apprehension spiked once more as the boat eased away from the dock. The mechanism picked up speed and the paddles hit the water with a slap-splash, slap-splash, slap-splash that increased noticeably. Suddenly the scouts laughed. They could see that the rotating contraption was pushing the boat through the water.

  Sergeant Eagle Heart waved at Hawkins, then pointed to the paddlewheel. “Same like wheel on wagon, eh?”

  “Exactly. All the same,” the captain replied. “And it can go very slow or very fast.”

  The connecting rods attached to the cogwheels moved back and forth, and the scouts quickly reckoned that was what made the paddlewheel turn. They didn’t know the source of power, however, and Swift Horse suggested that a group of men were operating the machinery with sheer muscle power somewhere on the boat. There were expressions of mutual agreement, and the Indians turned their attention to observing the scenery along the river. They weren’t too impressed by it.

  Red Moon shook his head in dismay. “The land here is flat just as it is back home. But the grass seems inferior and the dirt is too dry.”

  “Aw! There is a desolation about this place,” Corporal Running Cougar announced. “Perhaps there is no other water available except for the river.”

  Tall Bear shrugged. “It appears to me the white men here have killed all the buffalo like they did in our land. Thus, it is empty and lifeless.”

  Eagle Heart sneered. “I think the white men like it here because they can have farms.”

  The statement brought the discussion to an abrupt end.

  The arrival at the Fort Terral
dock came in the early evening. The Kiowa-Comanche Scout Detachment was the first to disembark. The passengers at the bow now got a good look at the Indians dressed as soldiers.

  A flinty old frontier woman took the pipe out of her mouth and spat, saying, “Ain’t that the god-damnedest thing you ever seen?”

  Her companion, a heavily-bearded oldster, simply shrugged. “I reckon army pay ain’t increased much since my day so they cain’t hardly git no white fellers to join up no more.”

  “I don’t think so,” the woman countered. “They’s still lots of white soljers over there to Fort Terral.”

  The detachment walked their horses across the dock, with Plummer and the two officers leading the way toward the garrison. As they moved along, the Indians turned their gazes to the west. The Rocky Mountains — majestic, snow-capped and towering — dominated the entire horizon from the north to all the way south.

  Tall Bear looked at the sun beginning its evening descent. “It appears to me that the sun is going to collide with those mountains!” the mixed-race scout exclaimed, his green eyes opened wide with apprehension.

  The other scouts, all used to flat prairie country with no obstacles in the distance, stopped. Hawkins noticed they were no longer following him and his two companions. He glanced back. “What’s the matter?”

  Corporal Running Cougar replied, “We wait to see sun hit big hills. Bad to see, I think.”

  Ludlow instantly understood. “It will not hit the mountains, but will quickly disappear behind them.”

  “Aw!” Red Moon said. “What on other side?”

  “The back of the mountains,” Ludlow replied, hoping that would satisfy their inquisitiveness.

  But the scouts’ curiosity did not lessen. Swift Horse asked, “Then what more on other side?”

  Hawkins wanted to end the chatter, pointing to the east. “Same like there.”

  “Will we see other side?” Sergeant Eagle Heart asked.

  “If we go far enough,” Hawkins replied.

  The detachment walked through the garrison gate to post headquarters. The Fort Terral soldiers were as amazed by the sight of Indians wearing uniforms as the boat passengers. They watched the small column, and some of the local troopers even approached them for closer looks. A few nods of greetings were exchanged before Hawkins ordered a halt.

  The surveyor and officers entered the building and went to the adjutant’s desk where Plummer announced their arrival. From there they were directed to the office of Colonel William Nolan the commanding officer. A quick rapping on the door elicited an invitation to enter, and both scout officers walked into the interior, rendering salutes. Plummer was close behind them.

  “Welcome to Fort Terral,” the colonel said. “We have been expecting you.” A first lieutenant stood beside him. “This is Lieutenant Graham our quartermaster. He will be your liaison officer.”

  Graham shook hands with Hawkins and Ludlow. “I’ll do my best to fulfill any logistical needs you may have. The Dakota Military Department has shipped rations and ammunition for you. It’s stored in our warehouse.”

  “That’s good,” Hawkins said. “We’ve been told that some generous funding from the Northern Plains Railroad is involved in all this.”

  “That’s true,” Colonel Nolan interposed. “The Army doesn’t have the resources for heavy spending.” He turned his gaze to Plummer. “How does everything look?”

  The surveyor spoke enthusiastically. “I think we’ll have this thing wrapped up mighty quick, Colonel Nolan. The captain and lieutenant here have some tough-looking Indian scouts.”

  “Excellent!”

  “One thing,” Hawkins said. “We won’t be packing any forage, of course. How are the grasses up there in the mountains for horses?”

  “I’ve good news on that account,” Graham replied. “Your mounts will be able to get along quite well on the Rocky Mountain varieties. Although I would advise you to provide your mounts with an feed of oats anytime an opportunity arises.”

  “Will it be possible to give ’em an extra large feed before we leave Fort Terral?”

  “I’ll see to it,” Graham promised. “By the way, there is Campbell’s Trading Post north of the Gap. The proprietor deals mostly in furs from the trappers in the area, but he’ll have some merchandise you might find useful.”

  “The railroad gave us two hundred dollars in eagle coins for incidental expenses.”

  “That’s exactly what you’ll need at the trading post,” Graham informed him. “You can also buy foodstuffs there.”

  “We’ll get by then,” Hawkins commented. “Another important necessity is a pack animal. Preferably a mule.”

  “Not to worry, Captain. We have mules that can be lent to you for the duration of your mission.”

  “Good,” Hawkins remarked. “Mules are better than horses.”

  “Right,” the colonel agreed. “How do you intend to carry out your deployment?”

  “As simple as possible,” Hawkins replied. “I want to go up into the mountains and stay until we’ve overcome those snipers or whatever the hell they are. That will require a thorough exploration and investigation of the area. I’m particularly interested in the local inhabitants.”

  “They’re a strange bunch,” the colonel warned him. “All have an instinctive mistrust of normal society or civilization. Those trappers and hunters can be most unfriendly, Captain.”

  “So can I, sir.”

  Ludlow joined the conversation. “We could use some maps.”

  “The army’s topographical engineers haven’t been up in that mountain area yet. Our hunting parties have made some rough sketches, but I don’t think they’ll help you much.”

  Hawkins thought a moment. “Surely there are some towns or settlements where the shooters camp out or live.”

  “Probably,” Plummer said. “But nobody knows where.”

  “Okay then,” Hawkins said. “We’ll have to make some final decisions on how to handle the situation once we’re up in the mountains.”

  “I have a corner of the warehouse available for you to bed down in,” Lieutenant Graham said. “I’m sorry but we’ve only field rations available for your chow.”

  “That’s fine,” Hawkins replied. “We’ll purchase a few items at that trading post.” He exhibited a wry grin. “When and where we find it.”

  “Perhaps your Indians could get a deer or two for you in the mountains,” the colonel suggested.

  Hawkins shook his head. “We’re going to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. There’ll be no shooting of game.”

  Plummer offered his hand to the two scout officers. “Best of luck. Take care of yourselves up in the high country.”

  “Thanks, Ken,” Hawkins said. He motioned to Ludlow. “Let’s go. We can settle in that warehouse for tonight then start doing some mule packing tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They walked out to where the scouts waited in front of headquarters. Ludlow looked up at the Rocky Mountains, impressed by their craggy magnificence. “It was disappointing though, wasn’t it?”

  Hawkins frowned in puzzlement. “What was disappointing?”

  “That we didn’t get to see the sun crash into the mountains.”

  Hawkins laughed. “It sure as well would have taken care of those goddam snipers.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sergeant Eagle Heart woke everyone early in the warehouse per Captain Hawkins’ orders issued the night before. They flung their blankets aside, then turned to dress in the field garb they had stuffed into their saddlebags. This was their favorite attire for campaigning that was not affected by army regulations. The garb was pretty similar among the scouts, being no more than older, faded uniform shirts and trousers. Their headgear were wide-brimmed issue hats that were decorated with feathers stuck in the brim. Captain Mack Hawkins and Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley were clad about the same, the only difference being civilian hats instead of government issue. And they sported no feathers.

/>   Tall Bear went outside to the warehouse yard to build a fire for boiling water to make the morning’s coffee. This was a chore considered the most important of the day throughout the United States Army. The scouts, addicted to caffeine through agency rations, were of the same opinion.

  The rest of the detachment took the horses to a nearby feed trough. The animals were saddled while munching on a mixture of hay and oats, then taken to be watered. This included Hawkins and Ludlow’s mounts. The two officers were inside busy making plans for the day’s coming activities.

  Tall Bear, with boiling water ready, now tended to himself and his mount. When he finished, he joined the rest for a quick snack of cold rations followed by swallows of hot coffee. The sparse meal was over quickly and Sergeant Eagle Heart formed them up for duty call.

  Hawkins took the senior NCO’s report of all present and accounted for, then addressed the scouts. “This morning we’re going to receive a pack mule to carry the ammunition and rations. This means we’re going to have to prepare the load. This will be new for all of you, but I’ve had a lot of experience with it.” He decided to dispense with military custom and said, “Ever’body follow me back inside the warehouse.”

  The scouts, with Ludlow watching, gathered around as the captain led them through the procedure of properly organizing the bundles. This was a process he had learned well as a sergeant during the Apache campaigns in the Arizona Territory.

  The boxes and crates of .45 caliber bullets and rations consisting of salt pork, hardtack, sugar, and coffee were stacked on one side of the warehouse. Hawkins ordered the items to be divided into two equal parts. After that, a pair of tarpaulins were stretched out on the floor, and the split cargo was placed evenly on them. Hawkins folded the canvas over the materiel, then buckled leather straps around both packs to hold everything together.

  By the time that chore was finished and the ammo and rations were carried outside to the warehouse yard, the bugles in the post sounded duty call. Moments later, Lieutenant Graham made an appearance. “Good morning,” the quartermaster greeted. “I believe you fellows are in the market for a mule.”