Bloodshed of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “What could you possibly sell that would pay that much money?”

  “Rifles,” Harris answered.

  “Rifles pay that much?”

  “Sure they do,” Harris said. “If you are willing to go where you need to go to find the right customers”

  “And where would these customers be?”

  “In Montana.”

  “Montana?”

  Harris lifted his mug and smiled before taking a swallow. “We’re going to sell rifles to the Indians,” he said. “For twenty dollars apiece.”

  “Are you crazy? I don’t cotton to doin’ business with Injuns in the first place, but even if I did, why would we sell them rifles for twenty dollars apiece when they are going to cost us that much or more?”

  “I already got the rifles,” Harris said. “And they didn’t cost me nothin’.”

  “Really? Where did you get them?”

  “Let’s just say I have a contact in the Colorado Home Guard. These rifles were supposed to be shipped to the armory in Denver, but a simple rerouting of the shipping order caused them to go to a warehouse in Rapid City, in care of Harris Farm Implements. They’re waiting there for me now. All we have to do is pick them up and deliver them to Cut Nose.”

  “Who is Cut Nose?”

  “He is a subchief for the Oglala Sioux. The Sioux are off the reservation now, and they need rifles for hunting and such.”

  “Hunting? Do you really think they will use them for hunting? If they are off the reservation, you know what they will use those rifles for,” Garon said.

  “Do you care? As long as we get our money?”

  Garon was quiet for a moment; then he shook his head. “No,” he said. “As long as we get our money, I don’t care.”

  March 22, 1876

  The Governor’s Office, Denver, Colorado Territory

  Governor John Long Routt stood at the window of his office watching the snow come down. Although it was cold outside, the office of the territorial governor was toasty warm, kept that way by a wood-burning stove that snapped and popped as it pushed heat out into the room.

  “Will this accursed winter ever end?” the governor asked.

  “I think we’ll have an early spring,” Falcon said.

  “I certainly hope so,” the governor responded. He turned away from the window to study the tall, muscular man who was sitting on the other side of the room on a leather sofa that was against the wall. A rack of deer antlers hung from the wall just above the sofa.

  “I hope you are right,” the governor said. He came back across the room and sat in a chair across from Falcon. “Now, where were we?”

  “I was saying no,” Falcon replied.

  The governor chuckled. “I’ll give you this, Falcon. You are not a man who wastes words. But I wish you would reconsider. I’m offering you a state commission of lieutenant colonel. Why won’t you take it?” the governor asked.

  “I did my time in the military, Governor,” Falcon MacCallister replied. He smiled. “And, seeing as you served as a captain in the Illinois infantry, I suppose that, from your point of view, I was on the wrong side.”

  The governor waved his hand, dismissing Falcon’s response. “That’s all ancient history,” he said. “We are one country now, and from what I know of you, there is no more loyal or dedicated man in the entire territory.”

  “I’m not the military type,” Falcon replied.

  “Falcon, please, just hear me out,” Governor Routt said. “You know what Chivington did to the peaceful Cheyenne at Sand Creek, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know what happened,” Falcon said. “Chivington’s men fired rifles, pistols, and cannon loaded with canister. White Antelope held up a white flag, calling out in English that they were peaceful, but it made no difference. Several women took refuge in a cave, and sent out a six-year-old girl with a white flag. She was killed on the spot. Then the women were dragged out of the cave, killed, and scalped. Babies had their brains bashed out against rocks, a pregnant woman was killed, and her unborn baby cut from her womb.” Falcon was quiet for a moment.

  “That pregnant woman was my sister-in-law, Governor. So, yes, I do know what happened at Sand Creek.”

  The pregnant woman Falcon spoke of had been the sister of Falcon’s wife, Marie Gentle Breeze. Like her sister, Marie was now dead as well, killed, not by white men, but by renegade Cheyenne.

  “I have always considered Sand Creek a great tragedy,” Governor Routt said. “And now, knowing your connection to it, it is even more so. But that makes it all the more imperative that we have someone of your standing serve in such a position. This year, Colorado will become a state. That is the fulfillment of the dreams and hopes of everyone in Colorado. Our territorial Home Guard will become a state militia, recognized as such by the United States Department of War. I do not want to take a chance on another Chivington. That’s why I’m asking you to take command.”

  “Why don’t you ask one of my brothers?” Falcon asked.

  Governor Routt chuckled self-consciously. “Well, now you force me to confess that I did ask your brother first.”

  “Wise choice,” Falcon said. “I take it he turned you down.”

  “He suggested that I ask you.”

  “He suggested that, did he?”

  “Yes. He said he thought you would make a fine commandant, and I agree with him. Falcon, I’m appealing, not to your vanity, but to your honor and sense of duty. It is only until the first of August. On that date, Colorado will be admitted to the union as the thirty-eighth state. Then, if you wish, you can resign. I cannot force you to serve as commandant of the Colorado Home Guard, I can only ask, but that I do, with all sincerity.”

  Falcon was silent for a moment; then he smiled. “John, has anyone ever suggested that you should be in politics? You can be quite persuasive.”

  The governor laughed out loud. “You think so? Hmm, maybe I should try it.” The governor got serious. “Is that a yes, Falcon?”

  Falcon nodded. “It is a yes.”

  “I thank you, Colonel,” the governor said. “In fact, all of Colorado thanks you.”

  April 7, 1876

  On the Big Knife in Dakota Territory

  Clete Harris and Jim Garon waited alongside the river. Their horses and five pack mules were tied to low limbs from a cottonwood tree.

  Harris was chewing on the end of a twig, and Garon was tossing rocks into the water.

  “How long we goin’ to wait?” Garon asked.

  “As long as it takes,” Harris answered.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t particular want to be out here after it gets dark.”

  Harris chuckled. “Scared, are you?”

  “I ain’t scared now—but would be, if we was still out here after dark. And you would be, too, if you had any sense.”

  “Injuns don’t attack at night. Ain’t you ever heard that?”

  “I’ve heard it,” Garon replied. “I don’t know as I’m willin’ to put that much faith in it. Especially if it’s my hide.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t worry. I don’t reckon we’re goin’ to have to wait much longer.”

  “How do you know?”

  Harris pointed. “They’s some dust comin’ up out there, and I figure that, more’n likely, it’s Cut Nose and his boys, comin’ to trade.”

  At that moment one of the pack mules pulled away from its ground hobble and moved down to the edge of the water.

  “Keep an eye on that mule,” Harris ordered. “Don’t let him go wandering off. He’s carryin’ twenty rifles, and at twenty dollars apiece, that’s four hundred dollars I don’t intend to lose.”

  “That mule ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Garon replied. “He’s just thirsty, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, well, go get him and bring him back,” Harris said.

  Garon walked down to the edge of the river and stood there for a moment until the mule had drunk its fill. Then he led the animal back up to the others, tying him off just as several India
ns rode up.

  “Well, Cut Nose, you made it, I see,” Harris said.

  “You have guns?”

  Harris chuckled. “You ain’t much for the small talk, are you? Yeah, I have guns.”

  “Let me see guns.”

  Harris walked over to the pack mule, opened the canvas pouch, pulled out one of the lever-action rifles, and handed it to Cut Nose.

  Cut Nose jacked the lever down and back up, then lifted the rifle to his shoulder. He sighted down the barrel and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell on an empty chamber.

  “Does gun work?” he asked.

  “Hell, yes, it works. Why would you ask that?”

  “Some white men have sold guns which do not work. They take out—” He put his finger down in the chamber to show what he meant.

  “Don’t worry, the firing pins are still there,” Harris said. He handed Cut Nose a single bullet, and the Indian put it in the chamber. Once again, he cocked the rifle, aimed, and pulled the trigger. This time he was rewarded with a loud bang as the weapon fired.

  “Hoolah!” he shouted, thrusting the rifle high over head.

  “You like?” Harris asked.

  “I buy. I buy all you have.” He pointed toward the pack mules.

  “I have one hundred rifles,” Harris said. “At twenty dollars a rifle, that’s two thousand dollars. Just like we said.”

  “I have white man’s gold,” Cut Nose said. He nodded to one of the other Indians, who handed a cloth bag to Harris. Looking inside, Harris saw several gold double-eagle twenty-dollar pieces. Quickly, he counted one hundred of them.

  “All right, Cut Nose, the rifles are yours,” Harris said.

  The Indians began emptying the packs until they had taken all the rifles.

  “Can you get more guns?” Cut Nose asked.

  “I don’t know, it isn’t easy.”

  “I need many, many guns,” Cut Nose said.

  One of the other Indians said something, and Cut Nose nodded.

  “I want gun that shoots many times,” Cut Nose said.

  “These are all repeating rifles, every one of them,” Harris said. “They all shoot many times.”

  “No. Big gun, many barrels, shoot very fast, many times.” Cut Nose made the motion of turning a crank.

  “Damn!” Harris said. “A Gatling gun? Are you talking about a Gatling gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know, Cut Nose. Something like that is going to be very hard to get. And if I can get it, I would have to charge you a lot of money.”

  “Many Indians are coming together at the place of Greasy Grass,” Cut Nose said. “We have left the place, the reservation, where the white men say we must stay. The long knives do not like that we have left and soon, I think, they will come to tell us we must go back. But we will not go back. When they come, we will fight them. Gun that shoots many times very fast will give us much medicine. I think the Long Knives will not be able to make us go back to the place where they say we must stay.”

  “Yeah, a Gatling gun will give you a lot of medicine all right,” Harris said.

  “You get for me?” Cut Nose asked.

  “You have more money?”

  “We have much money,” Cut Nose said.

  Smiling, Harris nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll get a Gatling gun for you.”

  April 10, 1876

  Ft. Junction, Colorado Territory

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, Colonel, you cut quite a fine figure in army blue,” Major Adrian Brisbane said. Brisbane was Falcon’s executive officer.

  “The last uniform I wore was gray,” Falcon answered.

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it, Colonel. Eventually, everyone sees the error of their ways,” Brisbane, who had served in the Union Army, replied with a laugh.

  “I don’t denounce my service with the Confederacy, Major,” Falcon replied. “Nor do I hold any animosity for those who served for the North. My brother wore blue.”

  “There were good men in blue and gray,” Brisbane said. “I just thank God that the madness is over.”

  Falcon picked up some papers that were on the desk and glanced through them.

  “What is this about missing rifles?” Falcon asked. “Do we have weapons missing from our arsenal?”

  “Well, if you mean have we had rifles disappear from our armory, the answer is no,” Brisbane replied. “But they are missing, in that they were supposedly shipped to us, but have never arrived.”

  “What have you done to locate them?”

  “We’ve telegraphed messages back to Jefferson Barracks in St. Louis, asking for an accounting of them. According to Jefferson Barracks, the rifles were sent out in early January. We also have a report that they passed through Ft. Leavenworth, but we have not been able to track them beyond that.”

  There was a knock on the door and when Falcon looked up, he saw the Regimental Sergeant Major.

  Falcon had asked Sean O’Leary to act as his sergeant major. O’Leary, who was old enough to be Falcon’s father, was one of the first to settle in MacCallister Valley in 1845, having come to America from Ireland to escape the Great Potato Famine.

  “Yes, Sergeant Major O’Leary, what is it?” Falcon asked.

  “Sure an’ the mail just come in, Colonel, m’ lad,” the sergeant major said. “And there is a letter for you from himself the governor.”

  “Thanks,” Falcon said, taking the proffered envelope. Inside, there were two pages. The first page was from the governor.

  Office of Governor

  Territory of Colorado

  April 5, 1876

  Lt. Col. Falcon MacCallister

  Colorado Home Guard Cmnd’g

  Colonel, enclosed is a letter from Sec’y of War Taft.

  Please respond accordingly.

  John Routt

  Governor

  Falcon put that letter aside, then looked at the second page.

  United States Department of War

  Washington, D.C.

  March 30, 1875

  Governor John Routt

  Dear Governor Routt:

  In order that the Colorado Home Guard receives due recognition and validation from the Department of War, it is requested that the commanding officer present himself to this office soonest.

  Once he reports to me I will, after a short interview and with the constitutional authority vested in my by my office, enter his commission into the rolls of U.S. Army officers.

  Alphonso Taft

  Secretary of War

  “Well, it would appear that I am to go Washington,” Falcon said after he read the letter.

  “Aye, laddie, and it’s your train tickets I have in m’ office now,” O’Leary said. “’I’ve taken the liberty of sendin’ you to New York first so you can be visitin’ with your brother and sister. From there you’ll be goin’ to Washington, D.C., to be meetin’ with all the highfalutin muckety-mucks there. Falcon, m’ boy, I hope this meets with your approval.”

  “Sergeant Major, you don’t call a lieutenant colonel by his first name. And it’s for certain that you don’t call him ‘laddie,’” Major Brisbane said.

  “Aye, Major, ’n ’tis right you are,” O’Leary said. “But I’ve known the colonel here since he was but a wee lad, and by his first name I’ve called him all these years. Sure ’n ’tis hard for an old man to be for changin’ his habits now.”

  “You are fighting a losing battle, Adrian,” Falcon said with a chuckle. Then to O’Leary: “You already have my train tickets? You work fast, Sean.”

  “Aye, after I read the letter, I saw no need to tarry,” O’Leary said.

  “You read the letter? It was addressed to me, wasn’t it?”

  “If I brought you everything that was addressed to you now, lad—uh, ’tis Colonel I’m meanin’ to say—sure ’n you’d have no time to do anything but read,” O’Leary said, feeling no sense of guilt over having read Falcon’s mail.

  “Taft is Secretary of War?” Brisb
ane asked after reading the letter. “What happened to Belknap?”

  “He got caught up in some scandal and resigned a couple of weeks ago,” Falcon said.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Colonel, m’ lad, but I’ve taken the liberty of having your horse saddled,” O’Leary said. “Your train leaves from Denver in two days, and you’re going to have to get started if you are to make it in time.”

  “Brisbane, take command,” Falcon said.

  “Yes, sir,” Brisbane replied, saluting Falcon.

  Falcon chuckled, then looked over at Sergeant Major O’Leary. “That is, if this old horse thief will allow it.”

  “Now, Colonel, m’ boyo, you’ve known me for a long, long time. I ask you now, have I ever stolen a horse unless it was an absolutely needful thing for me to do?”

  Falcon laughed, then left the headquarters building. He saw a private standing out front, holding the reins to Hell, his horse. Instead of the normal saddle blanket, Hell was now boasting a blue blanket, outlined in gold. An oak leaf denoted Falcon’s rank.

  “Well now, Hell, aren’t you all gussied up?” Falcon said as he approached the horse. The private handed Falcon the reins, then snapped a sharp salute.

  Falcon returned the salute, then mounted his horse and started the two-day ride to Denver. As he passed through the gate, both guards brought their rifles up in present arms.

  Falcon smiled as he returned the salute. Major Brisbane had been a West Point graduate, and Falcon had to give him credit. Very quickly, his executive officer had taught a bunch of farmers, ranchers, and town clerks how to dress, salute, and stand at attention. Falcon had no idea how effective they would be if actually called upon to fight, but at least they looked like soldiers.

  As soon as he cleared the gate, he urged Hell into an easy but ground-eating lope. He would back off after he was out of sight of the fort, but the truth was, Hell could easily maintain this gait for an hour.

  April 15, 1876

  Denver, Colorado Territory

  “Five hundred dollars,” Harris said as he slid a brown envelope across the table in the Lucky Strike Saloon. “Your share.”