Black Eagle

by Charles G. West

  I’m letting my imagination run away with me, she thought. After all, we’re only taking a walk. He hasn’t proposed marriage for goodness’ sake. She silently scolded herself for letting herself fantasize. In reality, she truly believed she would wilt under western skies. She did not envy her sister’s life on a frontier post. She was not sure she could love a man enough to endure the inconveniences of a cavalry officer’s wife.

  Martha seemed to be deep in thought so Thad didn’t say anything for quite some time. They did not touch as they walked past the stables but he could feel the nearness of her. Life as a bachelor officer was a lonely existence for a man as young as Thad. Some of the officers, and quite a few of the enlisted men, took Indian women occasionally. He didn’t blame them, the urge became almost overpowering sometimes, but he could not do it. Now, walking alone with a lovely young woman, his brain was almost dizzy with awakened emotions. He wanted so much to reach out and touch her but his lack of confidence was enough to prevent it. How embarrassed he would be if his advances were met with disdain. So he continued to walk in silence.

  Near the end of the stables, they paused before turning back toward the parade ground. She broke the long silence. “The sky is so vast out here in this country. Even with all the sounds of an army post, it seems so still. Don’t you get lonely out here?”

  He hesitated before answering. “Yes, Ma’am, I guess I do.” He paused again. “But I guess I didn’t realize how lonely I was until tonight.”

  “Really? What a sweet thing to say.”

  He felt foolish for blurting out such a boyish statement and wished immediately that he could take it back. He was grateful for the darkness that hid the blush he could feel on the sides of his neck. “I hope I wasn’t too forward in saying that.”

  “Oh, Thad, relax. I’m not going to bite you. You’re not being forward at all. I wouldn’t be out here with you if I didn’t want to be.” She reached over and took his hand in hers and they walked hand in hand.

  When they got back to the cottage, Thad was prepared to say good night but Martha invited him to sit on the porch for a while. “It’s too nice a night to go inside just yet. Sit down and talk to me for a moment. Tell me about the girl waiting for you back home in . . . wherever.” She pulled him down on the step beside her.

  Having been in a relaxed state of near euphoria for the last several minutes when walking hand in hand with her, he was once again flustered. “What? . . . I mean, what girl? There isn’t anyone waiting back home.”

  She already knew that. “Where is home? Robert said you are from the South.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Stop calling me Ma’am.”

  “Yes, Ma’am . . . Miss Lynch . . . Martha.”

  “I do declare,” she exclaimed, shaking her head in amazement. “I thought all soldiers were bold and naughty. I must say you’re somewhat different, Thad Anderson. And don’t go blushing all over yourself again. I mean that in a good way. I’m glad you’re different.”

  He didn’t know how to respond to her remarks so there followed a long moment’s silence while his brain settled down. After another moment, he spoke. “Virginia.”

  “What?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Virginia,” he repeated. “I’m from Virginia.”

  “Oh.”

  After some prodding from Martha, he told her about his boyhood home in the Shenandoah Valley when, as a boy too young to fight when the war came to his peaceful part of the world, he lied about his age and enlisted in the Army of Virginia anyway. He guessed he was one of the lucky ones. He had survived the entire war with only minor wounds and had advanced to the rank of captain. Unfortunately, his formative years were spent on the battlefield and consequently he had no training for any civilian vocation. When he was offered a chance to join the Union Army, he decided it was really the only choice he had.

  She listened and, as she listened, she could not help but be drawn closer to this young soldier whom she barely knew before this instant. Careful, she cautioned. Don’t let this starry night and this innocent young man stir feelings you don’t want to generate. But she could not deny the closeness she felt, and without realizing it, she found her hand in his again. She decided it was time to say good night.

  He took her arm and saw her to the door, reluctant to let her go. He felt that when she went inside, the door would be closed to him forever—that this evening had been but one lone beam of starlight in his lonely life. “Good night, Martha. Thank you for this evening.”

  “Good night, Thad.” She squeezed his hand and started to open the door. Then she paused and asked, “When are you leaving to look for the hostiles?”

  “Robert said the other troops should arrive tomorrow. I guess we’ll move out the day after.”

  She looked up into his face. “You be careful. I want to see you again.” With that, she reached up and, pulling his head down to her, kissed him, then quickly turned the knob and slid through the door. Outside the closed door, she left a totally amazed and bewildered . . . but exuberant young officer.

  * * *

  In the early afternoon, the following day, D Troop, with Lieutenant Harry Lassiter in command, and Captain Linus Blevins’ H Troop arrived at Fort Laramie from Fetterman. Riding beside Lieutenant Lassiter, with three Sioux scouts trailing behind him, Simon Bone’s bulk seemed to dwarf the size of the spotted gray Appaloosa he rode. Jason, watching the column of troopers file through the gate, was not overjoyed to see Simon Bone at any time. But he was especially annoyed to see the surly cur perched atop one of his Appaloosas. He had evidently bullied Lassiter into having his choice of the army’s mounts.

  “Well, well, looks like you’ll have one of your old sweethearts with us on this campaign,” Sergeant Brady chided as he watched D Troop ride by.

  “Looks like,” Jason answered.

  Brady roused himself from the steps of the cavalry barracks, where the two had been seated. “I reckon I better go pick up my poor orphans,” he said, referring to the replacements sent to his troop from Fort Fetterman. Jason went to take care of his horses, which he had let out to graze with the army’s mounts. He didn’t care for the fact that the herders had to take the horses out so far away from the fort to find grass. The army did it to help conserve the grain supplies. Jason preferred to feed his horses as little grain as necessary. They were Indian bred and raised and they could live off just about anything. He didn’t want them to get dependent on grain like the army’s mounts.

  Major Linebaugh called an officers meeting before the evening meal to discuss plans for the campaign the following day. The chief scouts were asked to attend. The meeting was conducted in the post headquarters by the post commander, Colonel Whitman, and after a general overview of the purpose of the campaign, he turned the meeting over to Major Linebaugh.

  Jason, always uncomfortable after spending so much time in a crowd, was anxious to get out on the prairie again. He only halfway listened to Robert Linebaugh as he briefed the other officers on the unsuccessful patrol against the renegade Cheyennes a few days before. From across the room, he could feel Simon Bone’s steely gaze, almost constantly upon him, but he paid no attention to the burly brute. He had other things on his mind, mainly a Cheyenne named Black Eagle. Simon Bone didn’t concern him at the moment.

  When the meeting was ended and the officers were filing out to go to the mess tent, the scout from H Troop walked up to Jason, who was still seated in a chair in the corner of the room.

  “You’d be Jason Coles I reckon.” The man extended his hand. “I’m Shorty Boyd. Reckon I’ll be working with you some.”

  Jason shook the extended hand. It was no puzzle why the man was called Shorty. He was a wiry little fellow, maybe five feet two or three, no taller. Jason guessed him to be sixty years of age at least. It was hard to tell with a man who had spent most of his life on the prairie. He might be a lot younger but sixty was close to his prairie age. All the man’s hair was on his face for there was not a hair
left on a pate that was a pale dome topping the otherwise sun-weathered head.

  “I heered you done fer that thar Sioux scout, Walking Crow.” Jason did not reply and Shorty continued, “He were a pretty good scout at one time. Heered he led you into an ambush.” He waited expectantly for an explanation.

  “You heard right,” Jason replied. “I guess he decided to join the bunch still holding out and maybe he wanted to give ol’ Sitting Bull a present.”

  “You done fer him?” Shorty evidently wanted his information confirmed.

  “I did,” Jason replied.

  Shorty laughed. “Ol’ Bone over thar, he ain’t gon’ be tickled to hear that. Him and Walking Crow was good friends.”

  Unmoved by the news, Jason glanced across the room where Bone was still sitting and still glaring at Jason. He looked back at the scrawny little scout before him and asked, “You and Bone big friends?”

  “Hell no. Bone ain’t got no friends, ’cept maybe them dang Sioux scouts that follows him around.” He got up to leave. “I heered some good things about you, son. We can work together.”

  Jason watched the little man as he went out, then he got up and waited by the door for Thad Anderson. Thad had signaled for him to stay for a moment while he went over some details of the patrol with the major. The briefing finished, Thad joined Jason at the door and they walked out on the porch together.

  “Major Linebaugh will be with B Troop at the head of the column tomorrow when we ride out. I’ve suggested to him that you be sent out ahead to find the hostiles since they may have moved their camp.” Jason nodded. This was how he preferred it. “You can take Little Hawk and Cross Bear with you. Is that all right with you?” Jason nodded. “How far ahead of the column do you think you should be?”

  “What time is the column leaving?” Jason asked.

  “Six,” Thad said.

  “I’ll pull out at four.” He turned to leave.

  “Jason, don’t get too far ahead of us tomorrow. We’ll be using the other scouts on the flanks but I don’t want to be out of contact with you for too long. All right?”

  “All right,” Jason said and turned to leave again, this time to come face-to-face with Simon Bone, who was coming through the door. They stared at each other briefly, eyeball to eyeball, and Jason stepped back to let Bone pass. Bone saw this as backing down and was quick to exploit his advantage.

  “You better step outta my way, Coles,” he spat.

  Jason looked at him with the same gaze he would use on any pesky varmint. He was not in the mood to play games with a bully the likes of Simon Bone. He met the man’s stare but said nothing. After a tense moment passed, Bone broke it off. Laughing scornfully, he stomped off toward the saloon off post. Jason went in search of his two Crow scouts.

  Little Hawk and Cross Bear kept to themselves, always near their ponies. They, like the other Indian scouts, worked for the army but they would never be able to work alongside the Sioux scouts. There was too much bad blood between their tribes. This suited Jason because he never liked hunting Sioux with other Sioux, just as he would prefer not to hunt Crow with Crow. It just wasn’t natural. Walking Crow had proved that to be a fact.

  When he found the two scouts, he informed them of their mission and told them to camp with him by the horses that night because he planned to leave before the troops got started in the morning. Little Hawk was openly pleased to be riding out away from the column and told Jason so. Cross Bear, a man who was named appropriately because he never smiled, was also pleased but he merely grunted.

  After talking to the Crows, Jason returned to the garrison to get some supper. Walking near the officers’ quarters, he heard his name called. Turning around, he saw Martha Lynch hurrying to meet him from the major’s cottage. “Mr. Coles,” she called, “please wait.”

  He paused and watched the slight young lady, running with tiny little steps on her tiptoes, holding her skirts up out of the dust of the parade ground. When she caught up with him, he touched his finger to his hat. “Miss Lynch.”

  She smiled brightly, looking into his eyes when she spoke. “Mr. Coles, I think I owe you an apology.” He did not reply, puzzled that she thought so. “I realize now that I rambled on like a silly schoolgirl the other evening at supper and it was inconsiderate of me to press you for stories of Indian fighting. I am sorry. Will you accept my apology for my rudeness?”

  Jason was amused. He wondered why the girl bothered. It was of no consequence to him. “No need to apologize, Miss Lynch, I haven’t given it further thought.”

  For a brief moment she dropped her flirtatious air and Jason saw a glimpse of a more likable personality. “I just don’t want you to think I’m totally without serious thought,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

  He laughed. “I’m sure you have a great many serious thoughts, Miss Lynch. Don’t bother your head about me.” Now, he wondered, are you going to tell me why you really wanted to talk to me? He didn’t have to wonder long.

  “I hear you’ll be scouting for Lieutenant Anderson’s troop tomorrow.” He nodded. “I suppose, if you find the hostiles, there’ll be fighting.”

  “There generally is.”

  “I would imagine it could be very dangerous . . . for all the soldiers, I mean.” Her face reflected a genuine concern.

  “It could be.” Jason never counted himself as particularly clever when trying to figure women out but he thought he was beginning to see where this trail was leading. “Miss Lynch, I’ll try to keep an eye on Lieutenant Anderson as best I can.”

  She didn’t answer at first, her gaze still steady on his. Then she laughed. “I would consider it a personal favor if you did.” Then, as if regretting that she had revealed too much of her feelings, she attempted to trivialize the issue. “He’s such a nice young man and I know Major Linebaugh thinks so much of him. Of course, I hope you take care of yourself too . . . and the major.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at the young lady’s attempt to extricate herself. “Miss Lynch, Thad Anderson is a fine young officer. He don’t need me to look after him in the field. But, for your sake, I’ll see that he gets back here in one piece.”

  Disarmed, she grinned impishly. “You don’t have to tell him about our conversation, do you?”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  Jason sat on Black, not more than thirty yards from the spot where B Troop had filed through the narrow ravine into an ambush on Buffalo Creek, less than a week before. Out to the north and west, Little Hawk and Cross Bear were scouting the hills for sign of any recent travel. Some three miles back, the column of cavalry trailed. They would make camp there that night, on the same site the renegade Cheyennes had made their camp. When his Crows came back, he would ride back to meet the column and lead them in.

  Major Linebaugh pushed the troops hard on the march from Laramie. His orders from Colonel Whitman were to take fifteen days’ rations, and forage and pursue Tall Bull’s village as far as the fork of the Powder. Beyond that he would be operating without sufficient supplies. Consequently, haste was a priority. If Tall Bull was successful in reaching the upper Powder, or crossing over to the Tongue, it would have to be the task of troops from Montana to do the job. Linebaugh was anxious to do the job himself so he ordered long marches each day.

  Jason turned Black loose with the army’s herd. He would ride White when they pulled out in the morning. When he was ranging far in front as well as to the flanks of the column, he would change to a fresh horse often, sometimes three times a day. But for the most part, he tried to alternate the two Appaloosas.

  When morning came, the troopers were in the saddle at sunup and back on the march again. As usual, Linebaugh sent Jason on ahead and Bone and Shorty Boyd out to the flanks, each with their own Indian scouts. The major set a standard of thirty-five miles a day and tried to better it each day. After six days out, the column had advanced to the lower Powder and the scouts were picking up plenty of fresh sign. Linebaugh ordered
the troop to make camp while Jason located the hostiles.

  * * *

  The trail had been easy enough to follow from the point where he struck it on the south fork of the Powder. A village of that size left a broad trail. Jason and the two Crow scouts followed to a point some fifteen miles upstream to a long grassy plateau, bordered on the east by the tree-lined river and on the west by a series of knobby hills. This is where they found Tall Bull’s camp.

  On a high bluff, they lay flat on their bellies and watched the activities of the seemingly peaceful Sioux camp. Counting the lodges, arranged on the grassy plain, their entrance flaps facing the east, Jason decided the band was no larger than when he had scouted it before. That was good, he thought, at least Tall Bull hadn’t picked up any additional warriors. It appeared that the Cheyennes were still with them. This suited Jason because that meant that Black Eagle was in the village. With his hand, he signaled Little Hawk and Cross Bear to withdraw and they carefully made their way back down the rise to the horses left in the draw.

  “Only fifteen miles away?” Major Linebaugh asked when Jason reported back to the column. He looked quickly at the sun, then checked his watch. “We could get there by dusk.”

  Jason glanced at Thad Anderson, who was standing by Linebaugh’s side, then back at the major. “I reckon we could . . . if we wanted to.”

  Thad spoke up. “The major didn’t mean that’s what he intended to do. Did you, sir?”

  Linebaugh seemed perplexed. He looked at Thad, surprised. His mission was to seek the hostiles as soon as possible and they were just fifteen miles away. But he also knew his friend was there to advise him so he replied, “No.”

  Thad continued to speak for Linebaugh. “What the major intends to do is rest here until dark and then make a night march upriver, then wait until daylight to hit the camp.” He looked at Linebaugh. “Is that correct, Sir?”

  “That’s absolutely correct, Lieutenant,” Linebaugh quickly replied.

  “Now, Sir, have Sergeant Brady summon the officers for a briefing . . . and no bugle calls.”