The Dragoons 4

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Twelve

  Captain Darcy Lafayette Hays and his companions endured a half dozen more volleys of fire into their precarious position in the small stand of boulders.

  Although no one suffered any more injuries, all knew it was only a matter of time before they were hit—one by one, two by two, or any other grouping bad luck would demand—through the coordinated shooting of the bushwhackers above them in the higher terrain.

  Tim Stephans grimly loaded powder and ball into the cylinder of his Colt revolver. He glanced at the dead men lying above them on the hillside.

  “Too bad we haven’t been able to get any more,” the lieutenant remarked.

  Hays, peering for potential targets above them, spoke through pursed lips. “I couldn’t agree more. But I fear we won’t have much more opportunity. And we can’t stay here much longer.”

  “Didn’t you accuse me of making an understatement a while back?” Tim asked, replacing the cylinder in the pistol’s frame.

  “I believe I did,” Hays said.

  “You just beat me hands down with that last remark,” Tim said. “At any rate, what exactly can we do about it?”

  “Is there really much choice?” Hays asked rhetorically. “We’ve got to make a run for it.”

  “We can’t go higher into the hills,” Tim pointed out. “That would take us straight into the midst of those killers. They could pick us off at their leisure. The only direction we can go is toward the river crossing. But it’s wide open country there. We wouldn’t get fifty yards.” He glanced up the hill, then chanced a look toward the valley. “My God! We’ll be running a gauntlet.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” Hays said testily. “I will be the first to admit that we’re caught flat-footed. But unless we can talk those scoundrels above from shooting at us, I guess we have no choice, do we?”

  “No, sir,” Tom replied, a bit chastened.

  “However,” Hays said thoughtfully. “We might just make it if we try it after dark,” Hays said.

  Tim chanced another glance in the direction of the escape route the captain suggested. “It’s wide open. Bad for safety, but excellent for fast riding. However, it’s dangerous for a gallop without being able to see clearly,” he said.

  “It won’t be as bad it could,” Hays pointed out “There’ll be a full, bright moon tonight.”

  “That might help us see those dips and unevenness in the ground,” Tim said. “But dark shadows are going to make judgment of exact distance and depth difficult, if not impossible. That means a good chance of somebody’s horse stumbling.”

  “Everybody’s horse might stumble,” Hays said. “On the other hand, our friends up there who are shooting at us will have no difficulty in seeing us. Any shadows we cast will be moving and attracting attention. That means we will make excellent targets.” Hays sighed and looked at his younger companion. “Damn! We don’t have a chance.”

  Tim shrugged. “Let’s do it.”

  “Of course,” Hays said. “Miss Campbell will ride with you, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind, sir,” Tim said. “In fact, with all due respect, I insist on it.”

  Eagle Talons, who had been chanting to himself under his breath, had his activity interrupted by a sharp shake on the shoulder. He looked over at Hays.

  The captain said, “We’re going to ride fast for the river when it gets dark.”

  Eagle Talons’ dour facial expression didn’t change, but he replied, “I go back to my death song.”

  “Well!” Hays exclaimed. “That’s a vote of confidence, isn’t it?”

  Tim forced a grin. “I’m with him.”

  “You would be,” Hays said.

  Sergeant Sean O’Murphy, who had been listening to the exchange of words, looked at his commanding officer to let him know he was ready for orders.

  Hays started to speak when another blast of gunfire swept into the area. Corporal Tom Dickson grunted and rolled over with a hole in his forehead as rock dust flew and ricochets zinged off into the air.

  Hays waited for the noise and confusion to die down a bit. Being closest to the fallen man, he made a quick inspection.

  “Dead,” the captain announced. Then he motioned to O’Murphy. “Sergeant, we’re going to mount up and ride out of here as soon as it gets dark. Everyone head down the valley toward the river. For those who make it across, wait up a bit for the rest. If no one shows up within fifteen minutes, go like hell for Fort Laramie.”

  “Yes, sir,” O’Murphy said. “Everyone listen up to the cap’n.”

  “Sergeant O’Murphy will lead, followed by Corporal Grady,” Hays said. “After that, Lieutenant Stephans and Miss Campbell will proceed. Then the rest of you. Eagle Talons and I will bring up the rear. Any questions?” He waited. “Good. Now, hunker down and try not to get hit.”

  For a few minutes the only sound was the Sioux warrior’s whispered chanting. Then a loud fusillade slammed into the rocks, followed by two more in quick succession.

  “They’re volley firing, sir,” O’Murphy reported unnecessarily.

  “Thank you, Sergeant O’Murphy,” Hays replied in a sardonic tone.

  “You’re quite welcome, sir,” O’Murphy calmly replied.

  By that time the sun was sinking into the trees on the upper west reaches of the mountains. Long shadows eased out across the valley as darkness made a quick envelopment of the area. Almost as quickly as the daylight receded, the moonlight moved in like a shallow yellow tide.

  “It’s now or never,” Hays said. “Keep the noise down. There is no sense in alerting our enemies that we are mounting up and preparing for a wild ride out of here. Or to be more candid, a stupid ride out of here.”

  “At least it’s a ride out of here,” a voice calmly remarked.

  “Is that you, Brannigan?” Hays asked.

  “Yes, sir, by your leave, sir,” answered the dragoon who had been hit in the arm.

  Hays looked over at him. “How’re you doing, trooper?”

  “Let’s get the hell outta here, sir,” the man said.

  “Watch your language!” Hays admonished him. “We have a lady present.”

  “Oh! Sure and I’m begging your pardon, Miss,” the soldier said. Even in the moonlight his face showed its blush.

  Loralie Campbell, still in shock, made no response to the dragoon’s apology. Tim gave her an encouraging smile and a pat on the hand.

  “Let’s go,” O’Murphy ordered.

  Moving slowly and keeping the movement of the horses to a minimum, everyone slipped up into their saddles. It took Tim a bit longer to get Loralie Campbell positioned in front of him. He almost forgot the danger they faced because of the pleasure in having his arms around her.

  Hays was finally satisfied that everyone was ready. “Sergeant Murphy, Corporal Grady, if you please.”

  The two went slowly out of the boulders, then kicked their mounts into a gallop as soon as they reached the grass. Tim Stephans, holding tightly onto his pretty partner, next left the area. His horse broke into a fast but heavy stride. When the two young people’s mount reached the grass, the rest of the dragoons followed.

  Then, side by side, Hays and Eagle Talons left the natural fort of rocks, going into an all-out run for the river crossing and the safety awaiting them there.

  It was at that point that the firing from above shifted into the valley itself at the escaping riders. The desperate people making a bid for freedom knew they were in plain sight of those who wished to kill them.

  Gunshots and flashes exploded in the trees above. Bullets cracked the air as the ten people rode hell-for-leather across the grass of the mountain meadow. The pounding hooves of the horses blended in with the irregular but rapid fire pouring at them from the positions occupied by the ambushers.

  A loud gasp could be heard, followed by the thud of a body hitting the grass. Still the riders pressed on with teeth clenched and wild hope dancing through their hearts.

  Suddenly a horse whinnied and wen
t down, its rider barely visible as he went through the air and slammed into the ground. Another quickly reined up beside him.

  “On ye go wit’ me, bucko!” said the voice.

  “Now, Jim, I’ll be buying you a beer at the sutler’s for this,” said the dragoon being pulled up behind in the saddle. They bounded off to rejoin the escape run.

  Behind the pack, Hays and Eagle Talons pressed on, instinctively leaning low over their horses’ necks. Bullets whipped around them and kicked up the dirt as they continued toward the far end of the valley, where now they could see the reflections of the flowing waters of the Platte River.

  The crack of incoming fire increased to a frenzy but fell short. Hays knew the ambushers had gone to their handguns to get in last volleys of rapid fire rather than use the slower-loading rifles and muskets. When he fully realized that fact, he sat up straight and grinned viciously.

  “We made it, thank the Good Lord!” he yelled out. “We made it!”

  He and the Sioux hit the shallow water of the crossing and splashed across to join the others. Sergeant O’Murphy rode forward and saluted.

  “Sir, I beg to report that we’ve lost Private Pickens,” he said. “Riley’s horse went down, but McCarey picked him up and they’re riding double.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Hays said. “Now, let’s get on our way to Fort Laramie.”

  The patrol, pathetically smaller than its original number, began a slow trek through the moonlight toward their home garrison. Loralie Campbell, sitting silently in front of Lieutenant Tim Stephans, showed no particular emotion as they traveled across Wyoming Territory.

  “You’re safe now, Miss Campbell,” Tim said softly. She made no reply, but he gently tightened his arms around her waist, wishing they were alone so he could kiss her.

  The journey, because of slow riding out of consideration for the woman, did not come to an end at Fort Laramie’s gate until just past dawn. The guards there presented arms to Captain Hays and gazed in unabashed curiosity at the strange sight of the woman riding double with the lieutenant, the Sioux warrior, and the disheveled, tired sergeant and dragoons who followed.

  Hays dismissed Sergeant O’Murphy and the rest of the dragoons with a wave of his hand. The noncommissioned officer led the troopers off toward “L” Company’s stables. The captain, with Eagle Talons beside him, went directly to Colonel Isaac Cowler’s quarters. Tim Stephans, still taking good care of Loralie Campbell, wordlessly followed his commander.

  When they arrived, Hays dismounted and went to the door of the two-story house. He knocked, then stepped inside, calling out, “Isaac!”

  The colonel, a napkin tucked into his collar and a fork in his hand, stepped out from the kitchen, leaving his breakfast.

  “Darcy? What in the—”

  The colonel’s wife, Margaret, joined him. “Why, Darcy Hays!” she cried. “You look like you’ve just ridden in all the way from Hades without stopping.”

  “I have, Margaret,” Hays said. “And I need your help with a delicate matter. We have a young lady outside who has been a captive of the Sioux.”

  “Oh, dear Lord!” Margaret Cowler exclaimed. She rushed to the door and went outside. Moments later she brought Loralie Campbell into the house, gently holding the girl around the waist.

  “Now, don’t you fret, my dear,” Margaret Cowler said. “We’ll have you right in a jiffy.”

  “This is Loralie Campbell,” Hays said, by way of introducing her.

  “You’re with me now, Loralie,” Margaret said in a kindly tone.

  Loralie turned toward her, then smiled. “Thank you.”

  “I’m Margaret Cowler,” the colonel’s wife said.

  “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance,” Loralie replied.

  Hays, glad the girl was now in good hands, nodded to the colonel. “She was one of the party the hostiles attacked.”

  “The only survivor?” Cowler asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Hays said. “I’ll be at headquarters to make a proper report as soon as I change.”

  “I’ll be there, waiting,” Cowler said.

  Hays went back outside and handed his horse over to Tim. “Miss Campbell is now under the tender care of Mrs. Cowler. See that my horse and that of Eagle Talons are turned in at the company stables, then meet me over at headquarters.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tim said.

  Hays, with Eagle Talons at his side, went down Officers’ Row to his own quarters. After heating up some water, he treated himself to a quick shave, clean-up, and change of uniform. The Sioux warrior, thinking that the white man was performing some strong medicine, sat down on the floor and patiently waited for the routine to be completed.

  Looking decent again, Hays motioned Eagle Talons to follow him. They left the house and walked rapidly over to post headquarters to keep the appointment with Colonel Isaac Cowler.

  Tim, also changed and shaved, waited for them on the porch. The three men went straight into Cowler’s office to let him know what had happened during the fateful patrol.

  The colonel was stunned by the terrible news the two officers gave him. Of the twenty-five dragoons taken on the patrol, eighteen had perished. What made the report so disturbing was that they had not died in battle against hostile Indians, but from an ambush sprung on them by an organized gang of liquor smugglers.

  Cowler shook his head. “Yet you can only report that you inflicted no more than a half dozen casualties on those brigands.”

  “Sorry to have to agree, sir,” Hays said. “We killed three during a running fight, one more when stealing whiskey to ransom Miss Campbell, and two more on the hill.” He clenched his fists. “That is a score which I intend to right as soon as I can get back out there.”

  “I am sorry to inform you that you’ll not be returning to the field, Captain Hays,” Cowler said. “That was your last bit of active campaigning, I fear.”

  Hays’s face paled and he stared in disbelief at his regimental commander. “Permission to speak to you alone, sir,” he sputtered.

  Cowler nodded to Lieutenant Tim Stephans. “Dismissed. Please take Eagle Talons with you.”

  Tim saluted, took the Sioux warrior by the arm, and both left the room.

  Hays walked forward and slammed one fist down on Cowler’s desk. “By God, Isaac! You can’t do that! I must go back out there and avenge my boys. I must!”

  “I would let you go if I could, Darcy,” Cowler said. “But I’ve received word of numerous immigrant wagon trains now approaching Fort Laramie. It will take every single dragoon on this post to provide the proper escort and protection on the Oregon Trail. As soon as that’s taken care of, I promise that a punitive expedition will go out and hunt down those whiskey peddlers and either kill them all there or bring them in for hanging.”

  “But, Isaac!” Darcy argued. “I shall be gone by then. Have you forgotten that I’ve requested retirement?”

  “No, of course not,” Cowler said.

  “In that case, I cancel the request and will leave the Army at a later date,” Hays said.

  “Sorry,” Cowler said. “The administrative wheels are already rolling. We will be transferring you to the retired list within the month.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Darcy shouted. “For once the goddamned Adjutant General’s department has to get efficient and timely in their work!”

  “I suppose,” Cowler said. “Meanwhile, Isaac, please make a thorough written report on what happened during this last patrol of yours. Keep in mind that all the details and information you supply will be most helpful for your successor when he goes to mete justice to those criminals out there.”

  Hays became so agitated and angry that he trembled. Then suddenly he calmed down. The old captain even displayed a calm expression on his face. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Permission to leave, sir.”

  Cowler’s eyes narrowed as he asked, “What the hell are you thinking of doing, Darcy?”

  “Me, sir? Why, nothing, sir,” Hays said.


  “Of course you have some plan brewing behind that poker face of yours!” Cowler snapped.

  “Oh, no, sir,” Hays insisted.

  “I know you, Darcy!” Cowler snapped. “I’ve soldiered with you for more than a quarter of a century.”

  “And every day has been a delight,” Hays said.

  The colonel ignored the sarcastic humor. “You’ve got that old gleam in your eyes again. Let me warn you! Don’t try my patience, even at this late stage in your career. I’ll make it very, very difficult for you if you do anything rash or illegal.”

  “I understand fully, sir,” Darcy said, still displaying an innocent calm. He saluted, made an about-face movement, and marched out of the office.

  Cowler groaned and leaned his elbows on his desk, cradling his head in his hands. “God! He’s probably going to ruin my career this time!”

  Thirteen

  Eagle Talons did not like Fort Laramie.

  He found being inside buildings so intolerable that he could barely breathe. The interiors seemed stifling and oppressive to the warrior who’d spent nearly his whole life in the open spaces of his native land. The only time he was inside some sort of shelter was when he sought to escape bad weather behind the buffalo skins of a tribal lodge.

  Another thing he found displeasing was the fact that the garrison was noisy and continually busy. Eagle Talons was used to the more relaxed atmosphere of a tribal village. The only time anyone became excited was if he was attacked, or when news of a nearby herd of buffalo, elk, or deer was announced.

  At the white man’s fort, there seemed an incredibly stupid amount of senseless bustling and hurrying about. It appeared as if the population of the place was made up of crazy people. No one seemed to be able to relax. Something was always going on that demanded shouting, pushing, shoving, and other unpleasant activities. Many times this was punctuated with yelling, bugle calls, and the beating of drums.

  Eagle Talons wondered why the whites didn’t simply

  stop all the nonsense and go to the river to fish or to the forest for some hunting. Or why not do absolutely nothing? That could be nice, too. If there were any unpleasant chores, let the women tend to them. That was the way the Great Spirit meant for men to live, as far as he was concerned.