It got so, James couldn’t get enough of her. At night he’d toss and turn and think of her and break out in a sweat. He didn’t put a word to his yearning until one bright and gorgeous day when they were walking on the riverbank and out of the blue she looked at him and asked a question that startled him even though it shouldn’t have.
“Do you ever think you’ll love me, James Marion?”
She liked to call him that. Usually, he’d noticed, when she brought up something important. He looked at her, trying to read her feelings in her face. “What kind of thing is that to ask?”
“Seeing as how you’re courting me, I’d say a natural one.”
“All this time, I should think it would be obvious.”
“Nothing is ever obvious. And since rumor has it the companies will be moving out soon—”
“What have your heard?” James interrupted. Rumors were always going through camp, but nothing had ever come of them.
Peg was uncommonly serious. “That orders have come down and all of you will be heading off on a campaign. I can’t say if it’s true, but if it is I’ll miss you and I’d like to know now that you’ll miss me.”
“I’ll miss you more than anything.”
Peg stopped and faced him. “My question still stands. Do you ever think you’ll love me?”
James tried to speak, but his throat wouldn’t work. He coughed and watched a fish jump out in the water and coughed again. “I think I already do.”
“You think?”
“I’ve never been in love before, so I have nothing to compare it to. But I feel for you as I’ve never felt for anyone.” James stopped.
“You can say the words. And if you won’t, I will.” Peg leaned in and her lips touched his ear. “I love you, James Marion Doyle.”
James tingled all over and grew light in the head. Yet at the same time his every sense was acute. He felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, smelled the lilac scent of her perfume, saw into her eyes as if into the depths of life itself. He barely heard himself say, “I love you, too.”
Peg kissed him.
To James it was miraculous. He’d kissed women before, a lot of women, but none had ever affected him as this did. A bolt cleaved him in half, and his heart jumped and everything that he was seemed finer than it had ever been. He wished the moment would last forever.
Peg looked at him expectantly.
James figured she wanted him to kiss her, so he did and would have kissed her some more except she put a finger to his lips and laughed.
“I’m like cookies, am I?”
“Sorry?”
“I’ve talked to my ma and my pa and they have no objections to us taking the next step.”
“The next what?”
“Think, James Marion. What comes after the courting? I grant you that most courtships last longer, but we don’t have that luxury, do we?”
James was baffled by what she was alluding to. He needed a clue, so he said, “No, we don’t.”
“Not when there’s no telling when you’ll be back. It could be months,” Peg said sadly. “I say we make it official. We become engaged.”
“Engaged?” James repeated.
“Yes. Some couples do that. I pledge to become yours and you pledge to become mine. I’ll wear your ring proudly and stay true until you return, and after that, well . . .” Peg stopped and smiled and blushed.
James would gladly buy her the moon and the stars, if he was permitted. “I’d have to buy a ring. What if I can’t get into Topeka before we head out?”
“We’ll hope for the best. Now say it outright. I want to hear you.”
“Say what?”
“Honestly, James Marion.”
“Oh.” James’s mouth was suddenly dry. He took a deep breath and got it out. “Would you like to become engaged, Peggy Craydon?”
“I thought you would never ask.”
19
Topeka was young and still being put together. A lot of the buildings sat apart so that you had to do a lot of walking to get around. Back in New York the buildings were jammed so close that the streets were narrow canyons and you couldn’t see from one to the next. Here, James could stand in the middle of a street and gaze out over the expanse of prairie to the horizon.
His friends came with him. He had confided what he was doing and they were eager to help him pick. That, and to get into Topeka, was rare treat.
It was Dorf who said James should go up to Sergeant Heston and just ask. “What harm can it do? The worst he’ll say is no.”
But Heston had said yes and now here they were, taking in the sights before they got down to it.
The statehouse was the talk of the territory. It dwarfed everything else. When James stood at the base of one of the giant columns and craned his neck to see the top, the column seemed to go on forever. A lot of folks were unhappy with it. Money squandered, they complained. That didn’t stop the politicians from squandering it, though.
Topeka had a few wealthy citizens and another of the sights was an L-shaped mansion.
Dorf insisted on visiting one of the churches. Stained-glass windows and a high steeple made it stand out. He insisted they go in, too. They stood at the back, grateful for the coolness, in a quiet so deep they could hear themselves breathing.
“I miss going to church regular,” Dorf said, and his voice seemed to boom.
It had been years since James was in a house of worship. His mother and father used to take him, but after his father died she went less and less and finally stopped altogether. He turned his hat in his hands and was glad when Dorf led them back out.
“Can we get to it now?” James impatiently asked.
Cormac grinned and nudged Newcomb. “Sounds to me like someone has it bad.”
“That he does,” Newcomb agreed.
The general store bustled with people, if six could be called a bustle. On hearing what James was after, the proprietor led them to a glass case. It held two dozen rings: misses’ rings, baby rings, rolled gold-plated rings and gold-filled rings, and silver rings.
The proprietor was watching James. “You’re Irish, aren’t you? I could special-order a Claddagh if you were of a mind.”
James remembered that his father had given his mother a traditional Irish engagement ring, and she treasured it above all others. “How long would it take to get here?”
“Oh, usually in under a month but sometimes it takes more.”
“Too long.” James tapped the glass. “I’d like to see the one with the heart.”
The proprietor opened the case and set it on top. “The band is gold and the heart is a ruby. Any young woman would be proud to wear it.”
James gingerly picked it up and held it so the ruby caught the sunlight. “How much?”
“Fifty cents. And that’s as low as you’ll find one like it anywhere.”
“That’s not true,” Cormac said. “I saw one for thirty cents in Kansas City, and the ruby was bigger.”
The man glared at him and then smiled at James. “Your friend is mistaken. No one could possibly charge that little for a ring of this quality.”
“I don’t know,” James said. But he really didn’t have much choice. D Troop could be sent off into the wilds any day now.
“Tell you what I’ll do,” the man said. “Just for you I’ll lower the price to forty-five cents.”
“Make it forty,” Cormac said.
“Listen, my young friend,” the proprietor said stiffly. “That merchant in Kansas City doesn’t have the extra expenses I do. Shipping, for instance. That alone adds pennies and cuts into my profit. Forty-five cents is a fair offer.”
“I’ll take it,” James said.
“A wise decision.” The man reached under the counter and brought out a sheet of paper. “Now I’ll need your name and her ring size and in a few weeks you can pick it up.”
“What?” James said.
“Rings come in sizes like most everything else. I need to know your lady’s s
o we can have the ring adjusted to fit.”
James almost slapped his forehead. He had forgotten about the size business. “I don’t how big her fingers are.”
“Oh, my,” the man said. “Can you guess?”
James debated. He might get it wrong and have to go through this whole thing again. “No, and I don’t have time to have it fitted, anyway.”
The proprietor gnawed on his lip. “How about this idea? You take it with you and buy a gold chain for her to wear it around her neck. The chain is only ten cents. Later, at her or your convenience, you can have the fitting done.”
“The chain should be five cents,” Cormac said, “him buying it because you can’t fit it for him here and now.”
The man shot Cormac another irritated look. “Very well. Five cents, because I have a generous nature.”
“And you’ll wrap them for him?” Cormac said.
James had never been so nervous about paying for anything in his life. The enormity was sinking in. Giving that ring to Peg was the same as saying he was willing to be hers, now and forever.
The amazing thing was, he didn’t mind one bit.
20
DTroop was gathered near the river. Captain Pemberton stood with his hands behind his back and somberly regarded them. Pemberton was flanked by Lieutenant Finch and Second Lieutenant Myers.
Pemberton began. “I don’t believe in keeping my command in the dark. No purpose is served by uncertainty and camp gossip. As many of you have no doubt heard, we have been ordered into the field. We leave the day after tomorrow. It’s customary for departing troops to parade through Topeka and Colonel Exeter informs me we will follow the custom.”
The captain paused to let them absorb the news.
Dorf poked James with an elbow and whispered, “About damn time.”
“Don’t be in such an all-fired hurry to take an arrow,” Newcomb said.
Captain Pemberton cleared his throat. “You’ll naturally be anxious to know where we are bound. A rumor has it that we’re being sent to Arizona to fight the Apaches. The rumor is wrong. Our orders are for us to head west and north across the plains and to subdue any hostiles we come across.”
Several troopers let out whoops and yips.
“Ours is no easy task,” Captain Pemberton said. “The hostiles are formidable fighters.”
Behind him, Second Lieutenant Myers smirked.
Captain Pemberton went on. “Washington has tried to talk reason, and the Indians won’t listen. They refuse to be put on a reservation even though it’s for their own good. We’re left with no choice but to take the field and round them up against their will.”
From among the men someone hollered, “We’ll teach the red heathens, sir!”
Others laughed.
Second Lieutenant Myers smiled and nodded.
Raising a hand, Captain Pemberton instilled silence. “I must warn you. It’s a mistake to take them too lightly. While we are in the field, you must always keep your wits about you.”
James heard chuckles and remarks to the effect that the Sioux better watch themselves, D Troop was on the way.
The next morning the bugle for reveille woke them at four a.m. Sergeant Heston called the roll. The men tended to their horses and ate a quick breakfast. Their bedding was piled in the company wagon and they were ready to head out by seven but they sat around talking until almost ten. The order was given to form up and D Troop fell in with the other troops.
Topeka gave them a fine send-off. Men and women lined Grand Avenue, the men doffing hats, some of the women waving brightly colored handkerchiefs. Peg was there, her mother at her side. As James came abreast she called his name and touched the ring that hung from her necklace.
James was supposed to ride facing front, but he couldn’t resist glancing at her and returning her smile.
“Someone is in love,” Dorf joked.
James swore he blushed. He smothered an impulse to twist in the saddle and stare after her and presently they were out of Topeka and off across the prairie.
“At last we’re going to kill some redskins,” a man happily declared.
“If’n they don’t kill us first,” said another.
“Quiet back there!” Sergeant Heston bellowed.
James was thinking of Peg—and if he would ever set eyes on her again.
RISE IN THE WEST
21
James thought he had seen a lot of prairie, but he hadn’t seen a drop in a bucket. The prairie went on and on, and just when you thought it had to end it went on and on some more.
He could tell north from south and east from west, but he still didn’t know where he was. In the middle of nowhere was the best way to describe it, but even nowhere was somewhere to those who lived there. To the Indians it was their home and they knew the land as well as they knew anything.
Few whites knew the plains as well, which was why the army relied on those who did. They were ten days out of Topeka when Colonel Exeter sent for Captain Pemberton. Word had it that they were to stay in camp a few days, waiting for their scouts to arrive. James had learned not to trust rumors, but in this case it was true.
About the middle of the third morning, a party of frontiersmen and Indians came riding hard out of the heat haze and were ushered to the colonel’s tent. It wasn’t an hour later that Captain Pemberton was sent for, and when he came back one of the frontiersmen and two Indians were with him.
D Troop was abuzz. Some said they were to take part in a campaign against the Kiowa. Others said that they heard the regiment was going to fight the Cheyenne.
As Colonel Exeter revealed in a short speech the next morning, it was both.
The Solomon and Saline valleys were red with blood. Bands of Cheyenne and Kiowa had gone on the rampage, burning farms and killing settlers and attacking wagon trains. Two white women had been taken captive. The army was mustering forces from all quarters to deal with the crisis.
The men of D Troop were keen for revenge. Hunkered around their fires, they vented their emotions.
“Those redskins took white gals, by God,” Dorf declared. “That ain’t right.”
“Who knows what those poor women are going through?” a trooper said.
“We all do. They’ve been violated,” Cormac said.
Shortly before taps Captain Pemberton put in an appearance. With him were the frontiersmen and the two Indians.
Pemberton had the ninety-four men of D Troop gather close around, and introduced the newcomers.
“Men, I’d like you to meet our scout. Some of you may have heard of him. His name is Jack Shard.”
The captain introduced the two Crows, too, but hardly anyone heard their names. The troopers were excitedly whispering back and forth about the celebrated Jack Shard. James had never heard of him, but he soon learned the particulars. Shard was barely thirty, but he had packed a lot of living into those years. Born in Illinois, he was brought west by his parents when he was twelve and four years later left an orphan when Blackfeet swept down on their cabin. Shard fled south on horseback with the Blackfeet in pursuit. He eluded them, only to promptly fall into the hands of the Sioux. From the frying pan into the fire, some would say, but the Sioux spared him and for the next eight years he lived as one of them. He even took a Sioux wife. Then something happened and Shard signed on to scout for the army. His quick thinking during the Battle of Beecher Island saved the patrol he had been guiding and earned him a mention in the newspapers and ultimately his own dime novel, Jack Shard, Scout Supreme, or the Lovers of the Plains.
To hear the men talk, Shard was Hawkeye and Hercules rolled into one. Shard had killed more Indians than anyone could count. He could outshoot and outride practically everybody, and could drink anyone under the table.
The murmuring became so loud that Captain Pemberton had to impose quiet and impart other news.
“Tomorrow we break away from the main body. Our orders are to sweep the country west and south of Emporia for sign of a small band of
Kiowas who have gone on a killing spree and left a bloody swath of death in their wake.”
Later James lay on his back and stared at the stars. He wasn’t like most of these men, who joined the army to wage war on the red man. He had no personal grudge against Indians. They never did him any harm. But he didn’t like all the killing they did, and the other.
His thoughts drifted to Peg. They had only been apart a short while, but he missed her. He wished he was free to marry her and start a home and a family. Five years seemed like forever.
James wasn’t the only trooper who didn’t sleep well that night. A lot of them tossed and turned or got up and couldn’t get back to sleep.
Reveille came too early.
James had rolled up his bedding and thrown it on the wagon and seen to his horse and was sipping a welcomed cup of hot coffee when Sergeant Heston materialized.
“The captain wants to see you, double quick.”
“What did I do?” James asked as he hustled after the iron-muscled noncom.
“What did I do, Sergeant.”
“What did I do, Sergeant?”
“Nothing.”
Captain Pemberton was outside his tent. With him were Jack Shard and the two Crows. All three had on buckskins, but the famous scout’s were by far the fanciest, with beads and long whangs. Shard wore a broadbrimmed hat, one side curled at a rakish slant. In a holster on his right hip, worn butt-forward, was a pearl-handled revolver. On his left hip was a bowie. His face was wide and handsome, with a thick mustache and short trimmed beard. His eyes were the same green as the prairie grass.
“Here he is, sir,” Sergeant Heston announced.
“Ah, Corporal Doyle. At ease.” Pemberton motioned at the scout. “You know who this gentleman is, of course.”
“Yes, sir,” James said, puzzled beyond measure over why they had sent for him.
“Are you ready to ride, Corporal?” Shard asked.
“I was eating breakfast,” James said.
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