Black Eagle

by Charles G. West

  Watching the soldiers as they filed by was a somber man with a jet-black beard and piercing blue eyes that stared out from under a broad sombrero. Leaning against the porch railing, he seemed to be interested in only one of the columns and when Jason dismounted, he casually strolled over to greet him.

  “Jason Coles?” the man asked.

  Jason turned when he heard his name called. He had never met the man addressing him but he had a fair idea who he was. “Yessir, I’m Jason Coles.” The man extended his hand and Jason took it. “I reckon you’d be Jim Baker.” Jason knew Baker by reputation. He had never had the opportunity to ride with him although he had been the chief scout at Laramie for more than a few years.

  “Colonel told me you was riding scout for Colonel Fleming over at Fetterman. Figured they’d send you over here fer this little party. I’d go with you but I’m taking a wagon train out in the morning.”

  “I’ve heard plenty about you,” Jason said. “Sorry I haven’t had the chance to ride with you.”

  Baker squinted his eyes as he studied the tall scout before him. “I’ve heared some things about you too. I could fix it so’s you’d be riding for me over here at Laramie. Whaddaya say?”

  “Why, that would be real fine—and I appreciate it—but I don’t know how long I’m going to scout for the army. I’ve got some personal business that needs tending.” Jason was flattered that a man of Jim Baker’s reputation would want him to work for him. In truth, Jason didn’t particularly like the idea of working for anybody. By nature, he was a loner and he could tolerate working for the army only because he operated as a private contractor.

  “Another time then,” Baker said.

  “Maybe.”

  They shook hands again and Baker turned and walked back to the headquarters building.

  * * *

  Jason was invited to share a tent with Sergeant Brady, which he accepted because he preferred to sleep near his horse. There was some room for most of the men in the cavalry barracks but Brady, like Jason, chose to sleep outside.

  After about an hour, Lieutenant Anderson returned and gave Brady instructions for feeding the men at the post mess. As for Jason, he had other plans. “Mr. Coles, Major Linebaugh has invited you and me to take supper with him. His wife’s sister is visiting from St. Louis and he wants us to join them.”

  Jason was stunned. “He does? Why?”

  Thad couldn’t help but laugh. So this is what it took to bring fear in the scout’s eyes. “Well, the major’s a friend of mine. I used to be assigned here.”

  “That explains why he wants you to come to supper but what does he want with me?”

  The lieutenant wore a wide grin. “I guess he wants to show his sister-in-law what a real Indian scout looks like so she can tell the folks back in St. Louis.”

  Jason frowned. “I don’t think so, Lieutenant. I thank you just the same though.”

  “Come now, Mr. Coles,” Thad teased. “You’re not afraid of a little female company are you? You won’t get a chance to get a better meal. Florence Linebaugh is a pretty good cook.”

  “Lieutenant, I ain’t fit to dine with ladies. I ain’t got no evening clothes. I don’t have anything but buckskins till my money comes in for the horses.”

  Thad was persistent. “They don’t expect you to show up in anything but buckskins. Believe me, they’ll be real disappointed if you don’t come . . . and I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d do it.”

  Jason finally gave in. He was reluctant to do it and he could not understand why he was in such demand. The lieutenant had insisted that Major Linebaugh was very keen to meet him because he had heard about his work from Colonel Holder. He still didn’t feel right about going but, as long as he had agreed to, he tried to make himself as presentable as he could manage under the circumstances. He put on the one spare shirt he carried and dusted off his pants. He shaved his whiskers off and combed his hair as best he could and at six o’clock he met Thad Anderson and they walked to the major’s quarters.

  Major Robert Linebaugh met them on the front porch where he was sitting and smoking a cigar. “Thad, glad to see you and I see you persuaded Mr. Coles to come along.” He extended his hand toward Jason. “Welcome, Mr. Coles. I’ve heard a lot about you. You’ve got quite a reputation around here.”

  Jason was flabbergasted. “I have? Reputation for what?” He took the major’s hand and shook it. Already he was beginning to think he had made a mistake in coming.

  The major just laughed and replied, “Indeed!” Then he turned back to Anderson. “Thad, how the hell are you getting along? You like it up there at Fetterman?”

  Thad and his friend talked for a few minutes, recalling some of the experiences they had shared before Thad was transferred to Fort Fetterman. Jason stood by politely and waited patiently, but at that point in the evening, he was thinking fondly of the enlisted men’s mess. After a bit, there was a female voice from inside that called the men in to supper. Jason followed the two officers inside.

  It was small but it was neat. Since Major Linebaugh was the colonel’s adjutant, he rated a small bungalow. It was a short distance from the bachelor officers’ quarters, which were above the headquarters building. Florence Linebaugh, all smiles and dimples, waited inside to greet her guests. She was very gracious in greeting Jason and she gave Thad an enthusiastic hug. Without the advantage of examining her teeth, Jason guessed she was about thirty-five years old. Standing next to her, a younger, prettier version of her sister, was Martha Lynch. When introduced, she favored Jason with a polite smile but her eyes never left the face of Thad Anderson.

  Thad had been straight with him about one thing. Florence Linebaugh set a fine table and Jason took advantage of it. He tried to remember his manners as best he could and he figured he didn’t do too badly for a man who lived in the wild most of the time. Everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves with light conversation, mostly about times when Thad was stationed at Laramie.

  Along about dessert, Florence shifted the conversation to focus on her sister. Martha, it seemed, was on her first visit west of the Mississippi and, according to her, she found the country overpowering, it was so raw and vast. She would be going back east in two weeks where she would begin her second year as a teacher in a private girls’ boarding school and she so hoped to be able to bring back authentic tales of the western frontier. Jason couldn’t figure out why anybody would want to do that. The young lady seemed to be talking directly to Thad the whole time. It was fairly obvious to Jason the main purpose of the supper was to let Martha meet Thad. Well, he thought, they’d make a handsome couple and he finished off his slice of apple pie and nodded yes to another cup of coffee.

  After coffee, all eyes turned toward Jason and his worst fears were realized. Martha started it. “So, Mr. Coles, I understand you are an Indian fighter.”

  Jason didn’t answer at once, then, “Ah, no, ma’am, I’m a scout.”

  She glanced at her sister, disappointment evident in her face. Thad read her expression as well and quickly spoke up. “Miss Lynch, Mr. Coles might be a little modest. He doesn’t mean he hasn’t fought Indians, he’s fought plenty and he’s killed some.”

  The young girl’s face brightened again, the disappointment gone. She turned back to Jason again, oblivious to the stoic countenance now displayed on his face. Had she been more perceptive, she might have surmised that the scout preferred not to talk about killing Indians. She pressed the issue.

  “Have you killed many Indians, Mr. Coles?” Her smile was as innocent as a precocious young child.

  Thad was bright enough to read the discomfort Jason was exhibiting and realized it was not a topic the scout considered fit for suppertime conversation with young ladies. He tried to steer her away from her query. “To be sure, Mr. Coles has, Miss Lynch, but that might be too delicate a subject to discuss.”

  “Nonsense, Lieutenant, I’m not that delicate. My friends back east will be thrilled to hear Mr. Coles’ stories about th
e wild frontier and his fights with the savages.” She gazed at Jason expectantly.

  Jason glanced at Thad and then back at the young lady. He realized that there was a purpose beyond being neighborly for his supper invitation after all. It was twofold, the major’s wife wanted to get her sister together with the young, single lieutenant and Jason was invited along to be the dog and pony show. He didn’t care much for the idea. There was a long moment’s silence before Jason spoke.

  “Miss Lynch, when it could not be avoided, or when it was necessary, I have taken a life. Since the folks we are fighting out here are Injuns, I have killed Injuns. It ain’t something I’m proud of, it just happened to be my job to do . . . just like it’s the major’s job and Lieutenant Anderson’s job. It ain’t no different for me just because I’m wearing buckskins. I don’t want to disappoint your friends back east but there ain’t nothing glamorous about killing a man, red or white.”

  There was a long silence when Jason finished. Martha Lynch appeared to be stunned. Jason drained the last from his coffee cup and pushed his chair back. “Now I reckon I’d better go and make sure my horses are all right. Ma’am,” he said, addressing Florence Linebaugh, “I do thank you very much for a fine supper.” He nodded in Major Linebaugh’s direction. “Major, thank you, Sir.” Without pause, Jason left the bungalow.

  In his wake, Jason left a speechless dinner party. Martha and Florence exchanged embarrassed glances. Finally, Major Linebaugh spoke. “Well, anyone else want more coffee?”

  “Do you think we insulted the man?” Florence Linebaugh wanted to know. “My goodness, he seemed downright surly when he left.”

  Thad spoke up. “Oh, I don’t think so, Florence. Jason is just a serious man when it comes to his profession. I haven’t known him but a few days myself. He’s probably just been in the field too long to be comfortable in polite company.”

  Major Linebaugh seemed to sum it up for all of them when he spoke. “Mr. Coles is an unusual man. I think he’s not the typical loudmouth, hard-bragging, whiskey-drinking loafer like so many of the civilian scouts we employ. Mr. Coles goes a lot deeper than most men.” He turned to his young friend and added, “Thad, if you find yourself in a tight place, stick close to Jason Coles.”

  * * *

  Shortly after breakfast the next day, the column left Fort Laramie and headed for the Red Cloud Agency and Camp Robinson. Lieutenant Anderson made a casual reference to the supper the previous evening and said he hoped Jason was not uncomfortable with the conversation. Jason responded that he had not given it further thought after he left to take care of his horses. That was all that was said about the entire evening.

  About five miles out from Laramie, Thad sent the scouts out and Jason went out in front of the column. An easy day’s march would put them on the Sioux reservation and Jason’s main concern was to look out for hunting parties. The lieutenant wasn’t expecting any trouble but there was always the possibility. They made camp once before reaching the agency. The day after that the column made the march to Camp Robinson where Thad ordered a stand-down to set up a bivouac area alongside the troops permanently stationed there.

  According to Major Walter Gaston, commander of the troops at Camp Robinson, he had his hands full just trying to keep the reservation Sioux in line. He was grateful for Anderson’s help in trying to find these renegade Cheyennes who had been reported by some of his scouts. Jason asked to talk to one of the scouts who had reported the Cheyennes and Major Gaston sent for him.

  That afternoon, a short, solidly built Sioux, wearing faded blue cavalry trousers and boots, rode into the bivouac area and asked for Jason Coles. Jason saw him coming and walked to meet him. He said his name was Walking Crow.

  “The major says you saw the Cheyennes from the other reservation.” Jason spoke in the Sioux tongue.

  “That’s true,” Walking Crow responded. “They are camped two days ride from here at the fork of Buffalo Creek.”

  “Did you talk to them?”

  “No. My wife’s brother, Lame Deer, talked to them. He said they came here from Camp Supply in the Oklahoma territory.”

  “Why did they come here? Did they tell your brother-in-law where they are going?”

  “They say they are tired of the reservation. They wish to go back to the old ways. They are going to join Sitting Bull’s people in the Powder River country. They say that if they, Cheyennes, are going, then Lakotas should also go to join Sitting Bull.” Walking Crow paused, a solemn look upon his weathered face. “I think some will go.”

  Jason nodded, thinking. “I reckon you’re right,” he said. “How many Cheyennes?”

  Walking Crow indicated ten, holding up both hands. To Jason this meant there were at least ten, probably a few more, maybe as many as fifteen or twenty. “Who is the leader? Do you know his name?”

  Walking Crow nodded. “My sister’s husband said his name is Black Eagle. He did not come with the others. He came alone but the others now follow him.”

  Black Eagle, this was the news Jason wanted to hear. Black Eagle was camped on the Sioux reservation, and only two days away from where he now stood. Lieutenant Anderson’s orders were to hunt the renegade Cheyennes down and bring them back to Laramie. They might succeed in hunting them down but Jason had a feeling that Black Eagle would not willingly be captured, he would die first. Jason was counting on this and he wanted to be the one to put a bullet through his brain.

  Jason relayed Walking Crow’s information to the lieutenant and Thad ordered Sergeant Brady to ready his men for a march first thing the following day. Major Gaston loaned Walking Crow to them to lead them to the reported campsite of the renegades.

  It was a bright sunny day when the column moved out of the bivouac area at a brisk trot. The few thin clouds that had appeared over the horizon had dissipated before the troop was in the saddle an hour. There was a gentle breeze that toyed with the pennant on the guidon mast and the men seemed to be in good spirits. Jason rode about a quarter of a mile out front with Walking Crow. At midday, they stopped for the noon meal and to rest the horses. Aaron Brady sauntered over and sat down by Jason.

  “You say this feller you’re looking for, this Black Eagle . . . he’s with this band of Cheyennes?”

  Jason nodded. “That’s what they say.”

  “How come you got such a powerful interest in him?”

  Jason took a long moment before answering. “Well, I guess you could say there’s bad blood between us. I expect he’s looking for me about as hard as I’m looking for him.”

  It was plain to see that Brady had hoped for more detail than that but just as he was about to press the issue, the lieutenant called him to get the column mounted and under way again. Jason was just as happy to keep the details to himself.

  The column camped at the end of the day by a small stream that Walking Crow said was the only water before they reached Buffalo Creek the next day. There were only a few trees for shade but the sun was low in the western sky by the time the men settled in for the night. Jason rode out with Walking Crow to scout the trail ahead for a few miles. There were many trails of large and small parties traveling the rolling prairie but none fresher than several days. Walking Crow said these were probably hunting parties from the agency. The game was scarce and the parties were forced to travel much farther to find meat to supplement the scant rations provided by the Great White Father in Washington. Satisfied that there was no one else in their vicinity, the two scouts returned to the camp.

  The column was in the saddle before sunup the following morning. They splashed through the shallow water of the mist-covered stream and filed up the low bank in single file, following the trail Walking Crow had pointed out. According to his reckoning, they would reach the fork of Buffalo Creek before noon. Due to the near treeless terrain, Jason and Walking Crow rode out four or five miles ahead of the troops. Surprise was critical. If the column was spotted, the Cheyennes would scatter and vanish long before they were even in rifle range.

>   There had been some discussion the night before regarding the wisdom of waiting for an early dawn attack on the band. That would have been preferred by Thad and Jason. But Walking Crow said the party of Cheyennes had been camping at the fork of the creek for over a week and he wasn’t sure how long it would be before they moved on toward the north. He felt the only reason they had stayed this long was to try to persuade more of the reservation Sioux to join them. Thad had weighed that information heavily and decided it best to find the band as quickly as possible even if it would cause the column to risk early detection by the renegades.

  As they approached a low line of hills some three miles before them, Walking Crow said that the creek was just on the other side. From that point on, they would have to be very careful. Both men scanned the prairie before them, looking left and right, as they made their way to the hills. Jason wanted a close look so he dismounted at the base of the hill and crawled up to the top where he could get a good view of the creek on the other side. Walking Crow followed his lead and was soon up beside him. It was just as he had told them. Below them, not more than one hundred fifty yards away, the camp was cradled between the forks of a wide creek.

  Jason surveyed the camp carefully. There were no tipis, only lean-tos, fashioned from hides. He counted twenty-seven of them. He turned to Walking Crow and whispered, “There are no women.”

  Walking Crow nodded, agreeing. “No women came, only warriors.”

  This was unusual. This was not a hunting party or a raiding party. These warriors were moving to join Sitting Bull’s Sioux, never planning to return to the reservation. Jason wondered why there were no wives and children with them. Walking Crow told him the warriors were all young and fiery, maybe too young to be burdened with women. Jason and Walking Crow lay there on the hilltop for almost an hour, watching the camp. There was not a great deal of activity and no more than five or six warriors in the camp. It was plain to see that if Thad mounted an assault on the camp at midday, he would be hitting it when most of them were gone. He decided they had seen enough. He nudged Walking Crow and the two of them scurried back down to the horses and rode back to advise the lieutenant.