by James Marvin
'Denied, Mister. Mister Crow.'
Crow felt a bitter anger swelling through him, filling his throat with a blind rage that threatened to choke him.
During his time with the U.S. Cavalry he was constantly coming against fools. Men like Menges who had no talent for anything but who were, nonetheless, his seniors, whose dirt he had to eat. But he wanted only to kill the fat little Captain. To take his face between his thin powerful hands and rip the skin from the skull. To press his thumbs into the sockets and squeeze the eyes out like bruised grapes. To leave Menges a raw head and bloody bones in the dust at his feet and spit on him and walk away. But that wasn't possible. Not to stay in the Army and try to make a career in a legitimate manner.
Crow swallowed hard.
'As you wish, Sir,' he said.
'You can go to your quarters when I have finished with you, or you might perhaps prefer to spend your nights somewhere out there...' waving his hand to the bleak country around them in such an extravagant gesture that he nearly knocked over his glass. Out there with the rest of the Crows. And the Sioux.' He bellowed with laughter at his own joke, lips curling back from the jumbled graveyard of stained teeth. But the smile never got too close to the little eyes.
Kemp did his best to ease the moment. 'Perhaps I could inform Mister Crow of our problems, Sir?'
'Yes. You do that, Mister. I shall go and take a leak and I warn you both that I will hang any man... or officer... I believe guilty of any attempt at subversion of my authority.'
Both Lieutenants rose as their commanding officer lurched unsteadily from the tent. Crow sat first, careful to school his face to impassivity, not sure on which side Kemp was prepared to pitch.
He didn't have to wait long.
The young Scot spoke quickly and urgently, keeping his voice to a bare whisper.
'I believe that man is mad, Mister Crow, but there is nothing that you or I can do. I have tried three times to secure a release to another unit but every time the dog bars me. The men hate and despise him, but for a few fawning toadies. Twice he has been nearly struck by bullets in a stray skirmish against the Indians. But...' the voice dropped even lower and Crow had to lean across the table to catch the words. 'I believe that the shots have come from the rear and not from the front. Too few of the local Sioux have rifles to do such shooting.'
It was no great surprise. Crow had heard of unpopular officers who had died in mysterious 'accidents'. Even murdered in their quarters at night with the blame, as usual, being laid on the Indians.
'There has been a deal of trouble here. We need wood and several times the train has been attacked by a mixture of Sioux and Cheyenne. Never more than two or three dozen, but I fear there may be more coming north now the weather has changed for the better.
'Does Menges not use sufficient guards?' asked Crow.
Kemp shook his head. 'He believes the Indians are an enemy unworthy of too much consideration. He speaks more and more of putting out the entire force he has here in one grand sweep that will wipe the Sioux for ever from the map of this land.'
'Then he is a damned fool. I know something of the Oglala, even speak a little of their tongue. If the tribes of the Plains ever combine together they would be able to put three or four thousand warriors into the field against us.'
The Scot whistled through his teeth. 'As many as that! I had thought perhaps a thousand...'
'No. When they attack the wood train do they sometimes withdraw as if in disarray?'
Kemp nodded. Indeed they do, Mister Crow. It is that very matter that causes Captain Menges to believe he can one day surprise them and pursue their retreat, thus coming on their camp by surprise and slaughtering them all.'
Crow sighed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 'That is their plan. It is one greatly loved by Crazy Horse. He will lead Menges and our command into the jaws of a trap.'
'Then you must warn him,' said Kemp.
'No. I think that he would take no heed at all of me. Perhaps you, as you have been with him longer?'
'Good Lord Almighty! You have no... I could not say that to Menges. He would say that I was a coward and make sure the men knew of his thoughts. No. We are trapped here, Mister Crow, with a man who is the devil himself. And there is nothing we can do about it. Obey commands and wait for Captain Menges to die or drink himself into an early grave.'
'If he goes against Crazy Horse in the way you've said, then we won't have long to wait.'
Kemp poured himself another drink. 'My God! You know when he intends to try this scheme?'
'No.'
The young Lieutenant coughed as he drank, then recovered himself. 'In the next three days, Menges has said. Within the next three days.'
But much was to happen in those next three days...
Chapter Four
The next day passed quickly with Crow riding his black stallion around the area, familiarizing himself with the terrain, looking out for the obvious ambush spots. Sergeant McLaglen rode along with him, careful to control his opinions in front of a new officer, but pointing out where most of the trouble came.
'That draw, Sir. Slopes away to the east, about three and a half miles from the camp. That grove before it is where the wood comes from, and there's good water at the stream at the bottom of the draw. Sioux sit up there and wait, just over the rim. We can't see how many there are until we get there. Means it's a hell of a gamble each time the wood train goes. We lost nine Troopers in all, Sir. I think...' he hesitated as if he wanted to go on but was stopping for a reason that Crow didn't immediately understand.
'Go on, Sergeant,' he urged.
'Beggin' your pardon, Lieutenant, but...'
'Come on, man. I can't believe someone of your experience is frightened to say what he thinks.'
The grizzled face turned away from him as the Sergeant spat in the dusty grass. 'You stay long enough with this unit Lieutenant and see if you still think that.'
'If you mean Captain Menges, then I will say only that I have met him and heard him talk. He is the senior officer here, as we both know, Sergeant.'
'That's it, Sir. If I can speak freely to you without...'
'Fear of it getting back to the Captain,' finished Crow. 'Long as it's not goin' to bring us all to a summary court-martial, then talk away, Sergeant.'
'Sure is, Sir.'
'Go on.'
Reassured, the big non-com pushed his cap back off the front of his head and sniffed. Glancing around the rolling grasslands as if he expected Captain Menges to pop up like a child's demon.
'Most of the men fear the Captain.'
'Fear him?'
'Aye, Sir. Fear him. I've been with the Cavalry longer than I can recall. I got me only another two years to go until I can retire. I seen officers that was bad. Some was mad. Some yeller clean through to their asses. Some that was so damned brave you'd wake sweatin' just to think on them. But I never seen a man like Menges that had all of those things.'
'Go on.'
'Times he seems terrified of his own shadow. Times he leaps around like a peppered jack-rabbit screamin' how he's goin' to ride through the Plains from east to west and wipe out every Indian from here to... to China, the way he puts it. Men don't know what to make of him, and that's a fact. Mister Kemp's too young to do anything.'
'You wonder if I can stop him?'
'I didn't say that, Lieutenant,' replied McLaglen, turning to look at the officer as the soft voice gave no clue to what the tall man was thinking.
'You don't have to lay it out to make it clear, Sergeant. That's what you meant.'
'Yeah. Short of a bullet in the back I don't see a lot of hope for us riddin' ourselves of Menges.'
'Maybe the Sioux'll do it for you. Way I hear it, the Captain's plans are likely to lead him in that direction real soon.'
McLaglen nodded. 'Could be you're right, Sir. Captain Menges leads from the front, most of the time. Yeah, I guess it could be that you're right.'
They didn't discuss the topic again on
the ride back to camp, and Crow didn't mention it to the other junior officer, Kemp. There wasn't any point.
* * *
That evening Menges told Crow and Kemp that he was going to take out one of the Cheyenne scouts for a couple of hours. To try and find some idea of where the Indians' camp was located. Crow offered to go as night-time scouting was something that he excelled in but Menges refused him with a twisted joke about Crow being the kind of bird that might vanish in the darkness. They sat together With Mrs. Menges in the dining-tent and heard the jingle of harness as her husband rode off into the night, followed by the scout and a small patrol of four men.
After his departure the conversation languished. Kemp was clearly shy of Angelina Menges and limited himself to offering her further helpings of the inevitable buffalo stew or passing her the water. Crow had never got on well in the company of women and held his peace. Women were a vastly inferior race of beings in his opinion. Only one use for them. From the way that the short-sighted lady kept smiling at him, Crow wondered whether she had that kind of use on her mind.
Kemp made apologies and left them as soon as the meal was over muttering something about having to write a letter to his mother for the mail-train from Fort Buford the following afternoon. It left Crow and Mrs. Menges alone together.
'You have been in the Army long, Mister Crow?' she asked him, wriggling round in her seat so that she could look directly at him in the poor light of the one guttering and smoking oil-lamp.
'Long enough, Ma'am,' he replied, wondering how soon the minimal good manners might permit him to leave. Wishing he'd had the sense of Kemp to get out early.
'My husband has it as his life. His whole life.'
'I believe so, Ma'am.' Suddenly, with her now facing him and sitting that bit closer, Crow's sensitive nostrils caught the scent of liquor. It seemed that the Captain wasn't the only member of the Menges family with a fondness for alcohol. Angelina was distinctly several paces along the road to being drunk. Not yet out of control, by any means, but on the way there. She had been drinking from the green carafe of water that the Captain normally used, and Crow wondered whether it was always laced with whisky.
'I am plagued by being a little short of seeing, Mister Crow.'
'So I have heard, Mrs. Menges.'
'You have a most beautiful voice, Mister Crow. More like a poet than a soldier.'
'Thank you, Ma'am.'
'From what I can make out, you are well-favored in your looks as well.'
'Thank you again, Ma'am, but I am not sure if this is proper conversation for a lady when her husband is absent.'
Angelina Menges giggled at him, laying her head sideways on the table and grinning up at his concerned face.
'Do not worry about poor dear Silas. He loves to go out with those dirty Indians for a night's hunting. I doubt he will return before dawn's rosy fingers brush at the eastern hills.'
'Even so, Mrs. Menges...'
'Even so, Mister Crow,' she mocked him. 'I have heard you are not a fool, Mister Crow, so I will not take you for one. Kindly do not take me for one. I know how the world pities me for the way Silas treats me. And let them. I had a choice in my marriage and I will stay with that choice. I do not come from a family who give up because the bed they have chosen for themselves turns out less soft than they had once hoped.'
Despite her brave words Crow caught the glimmer of tears unshed in the corners of her beautiful eyes and the way her soft lips trembled with her sadness.
'I can say nothing to you, Ma'am,' Crow replied, standing. 'But I can escort you to your tent. I think perhaps...'
'Perhaps I might be less trouble to you...!'
'That was not what I meant.'
'No,' she sighed. 'I believe you, Mister Crow. Pray forgive me, but it is rare to see a new face in these parts. And your voice is so soft and kind and gentle.'
'Things aren't always what they seem,' he said to her, taking her arm and helping her to rise. Surprised at the way in which she clung to him with the desperation of someone finding themselves drowning.
'Yes. Yes, help me to my tent, Mister Crow. That would be a kindness to me.' She had enough self-control not to raise her voice so that those outside the tent could hear her, but there was a note of bitter desperation that she could not and did not control. 'It would be a greater kindness if you were to run that saber you wear through my breast and thus end my misery.'
'You are tired, Ma'am,' he said, leading her past the table. Reaching up to open the flap of the tent.
'Oh, Blessed Mary!' she said, her voice breaking. 'If you knew how tired, Mister Crow, you would do me that favor and help me to a sleep. An eternal sleep.'
The guards on the dining-tent presented arms as Crow led the woman past them, letting her hand remain on his wrist. Trying not to make it appear that she was leaning as heavily on him as she was. Angelina Menges was silent during the short walk, but he could feel her whole body shaking as if she was in the grip of some ague.
'We are here, Ma'am,' he said to her, repeating the words when she made no sign that she had heard him.
Captain Menges's tent was near the centre of the camp, close to the horse corral. The night was pitchy black with only the thinnest sliver of moon to light the darkness. Though Crow could hear the steps of the men on sentry duty around the camp perimeter, and the muttered challenges and responses, he couldn't see any of them. And he gad exceptional night vision.
He tried to ease Angelina Menges off his arm but she still clung to him. 'I must bid you goodnight, Ma'am,' he insisted.
'No.'
'Yes, Ma'am. I have done my duty as an officer and now I must leave you here. You are quite safe.'
'Please come into my tent.' The words came in a rush; 'Please do. I know that's a most dreadful thing to say and you will surely not respect me and think me a wanton and fallen soul but I need someone who will...'
Crow knew what she wanted and realized that he must do something to silence her. If the camp got word that the Captain's wife had begged him to bed her then that word would swiftly pass through to Menges's toadies and Crow would be finished.
He lowered his face to hers, finding it upturned towards him, her lips already parted. As he pressed his mouth against the woman's she probed with her tongue, licking at him, pressing so hard against him that he could hardly breathe. Apart from the pretended passion of saloon girls, Crow had never encountered such desperate need in a woman. Her hands were fumbling at the buttons at the front of his breeches, sliding inside them and grasping at his body, feeling him swell into readiness at her touch.
'Oh, Crow, my darling,' she gasped, pressing fluttering kisses all over his face, taking his hand and holding it against her breast. Crow could feel the soft material of the dress and her body beneath it, the nipple peaking under his touch like a living animal governed by her need.
'The Captain may return,' he whispered to her, trying to restore her to sanity, knowing the terrible risk they ran.
'He is safe away, my proud lover,' Angelina replied, hands still fondling him.
'Man I knew called Jed Herne. Top gun,' said Crow, hoping she would listen to him and calm down.
'What of him, my eagle?'
'Used to say about being safe. Folks thinking they were safe. Used to ask whether you was ever stung by a dead bee. His way of saying that there's no such thing as safety.'
'Of course,' she panted, releasing her hold on him, but staying pressed close against his body. 'You are so wise. There is a danger that we might be seen here. Quickly. In the tent, my beloved, and let me feel within me that great engine of war.'
Crow didn't have a whole lot of choice in what to do.
The drink was hitting Angelina Menges badly, and she was near collapse. If he stayed outside or tried to leave her she was quite capable of rousing the camp with her outcry.
If he got her inside he could find a way of quieting her. If necessary he could smash his fist into her face and shut her up that way.
'Come then,' he whispered, leading her into the warm darkness of the tent. Feeling her hands still groping for him, her body sweating with the tension as it squeezed against him.
'You have no wife?'
'No.'
'No girl to whom you are betrothed?'
'No.'
'I would have thought you... Oooooh...' she gasped as he finally allowed himself to enter into the game, reaching up beneath her long skirt and probing with his fingers between her moist thighs. 'That is... Yes... You would be the most wonderful beau for... for any young girl.'
'Well, I'm not. Shall we lie down, Angelina?'
It was the first time that he had risked using her given name and she melted against him, kissing him, sliding down to her knees on the trampled grass, caressing his maleness with her hot fingers and with her wet lips.
'Oh, Mister Crow... It's so very... Mmmmmmm... so very big. I have never... Have you no other name Mister Crow? This is... is so formal.',
The. thought and her situation made her giggle again, clamping her mouth close shut on him, making his body stiffen.
'I am called Crow, Angelina. Nothing else.'
'There have been other women for you?' she asked, anxiously, still working on him with her mouth between questions. The interrogation was irritating Crow, as he absently stroked the back of her head, feeling the long curling hair springing under his hand.
'If we are to make love, Angelina, then let us do it without these requests about my past life.'
'Yes, my proud one,' she sighed.
'The past's a book I never open. Not ever,' he said with a cold finality that even penetrated through her drunken lust, making her pause and stand still in front of him her outline barely visible in the darkness, silhouetted against the amber glow of one of the camp-fires outside the tent.
'Then let us share this present moment, my love,' she whispered to him.
'Yes.'
He stood still and allowed her to undress him, feeling the building tension in himself. The feeling that lay so close to blind rage. Or to the excitement in a gunfight when you knew there was going to be no walking away from the conflict. The knowledge that it was going to happen.
