The Dragoons 4

by Patrick E. Andrews

  The small group mounted both animals and wagon, then began the slow trek to the northwest. The two dragoons went far enough ahead to be able to speak in private.

  Hays and Tim had to choose an easy route to allow the vehicle to follow after them. As they rode along, Tim reached in his pocket and pulled out the small photograph of Loralie Campbell. He glanced briefly at the likeness of the lovely young woman, then replaced it.

  Hays looked over at his young friend. “You are really infatuated with her, aren’t you?”

  “I love her,” Tim said. He rode on for a few moments and asked, “You loved your wife, didn’t you? You’ve only mentioned her briefly during the five years I’ve known you. But from the way you spoke, I know you loved her deeply.”

  “My feelings for my wife have never lessened in all these years. The way you feel about Miss Campbell is nothing to the way I love Chandra,” Hays said. “We lived together and had children. We shared a home, even if it was only officers’ quarters. We had a life and—”

  “I understand,” Tim interrupted.

  “No, you don’t,” Hays said. “I mean it when I say I still love her. I never use the past tense when I speak of the affection I hold for her in my heart.”

  “In all those years, you’ve never had interest in another woman, have you?” Tim asked.

  “Not for an instant,” Hays replied. “But, young fellow, you’ll have other maidens who’ll steal your heart. Don’t worry about that.”

  “Don't be so sure,” Tim said.

  They were silent for a few moments, then Hays laughed softly to himself. Tim glanced his way.

  “Why are you laughing, sir?” he asked.

  “We must be good friends,” Hays said. “We’re two men who have just bared what's in our hearts to each other.”

  “I suppose we are good friends,” Tim agreed. He gestured toward the rear. “I think we're also speaking frankly because those two scoundrels with us are out of earshot.”

  “I suppose,” Hays said. “Tim, I'm sorry if it didn't work out between you and Miss Campbell. I wish it had. I truly wish it had.”

  “I'll bear up,” Tim said. “It hurts like hell, but I'll survive this particular heartbreak.”

  “Sure you will!” Hays said with enthusiasm. “And I spoke the truth when I said you'd meet other young women to take your fancy.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tim said. But there was no conviction in his voice.

  The trek continued with many detours as the steepest and most forested areas were avoided to allow the wagon to continue with them. Warm weather had moved with a vengeance into the Black Hills, bringing an oppressive mugginess with it. The still air within the trees offered no relief from the invisible vapor that caused heavy sweating, yet did not allow the evaporation of perspiration necessary to cool the men’s or animals’ bodies.

  When they reached a creek, Hays called a halt to fill canteens and give the horses deep drinks. O’Dell and Walton unhitched the team to let the draft animals rest a bit.

  “They seem blown,” Hays remarked as he inspected the horses with the practiced, professional eye of a dragoon officer. “You should take better care of your animals.”

  “They been working long and hard,” O’Dell said. “If’n they don’t get a few days to graze and catch they breaths, we’ll have to find another team.”

  “You’re right,” Hays said. He motioned to Tim. “Take a look at these horses.”

  Tim made his own inspection and came up with the same conclusion. “One or two more days without rest, and they’ll be done in,” he said.

  “I hate to delay things,” Hays said. “But I don’t think we have much choice.”

  “Unless you want to give up that liquor,” Tim said. “If it was unloaded, the burden on the animals would be lessened a great deal.”

  “We need that liquor for the same reason we need those three extra horses,” Hays said.

  O’Dell horned in, saying, “I want to talk to you about that whiskey.”

  “What about it?” Hays asked.

  “You say you’re gonna use it for a bribe, right?” O’Dell said.

  “I didn’t say a bribe,” Hays countered. “I said I would use it as a gift to get information from Indians.”

  “Ever’thing I got in the world is tied up in that stock,” O’Dell said. “I’d hope to get something out of this.”

  “The only thing you’re going to get is your freedom,” Hays said. He sensed rebellion growing in the smuggler. “I’ve given you my word on that.”

  Norb Walton said, “That’s good enough for me.”

  “Shut up, you son of a bitch!” O’Dell said. “You ain’t got nothing to lose. All you’re gonna do is get back to your rivertown taverns and stay drunk.”

  “You bet!” Walton agreed.

  Hays felt a cold anger coming on. O’Dell was going to try to change the bargain, and the captain would have none of it. However, he wasn’t worried, because he knew it was the sort he could control O’Dell to any extent he wanted. “It seems you’re getting upset, O’Dell. I won’t stand for it.”

  “I’m helping you, Cap’n,” O’Dell said in a softer voice. He sensed the other man’s temper about to flare. “I appreciate you letting me off scot-free, but I’d like something to take back with me.”

  “You’ll have your freedom,” Hays said. “Nothing else.”

  O’Dell turned and walked away. Tim watched the smuggler go back to the wagon. The dragoon lieutenant said, “There’s potential trouble there, sir.”

  Potential trouble!” Hays said. He laughed. “We’re both away from our posts without leave, we’re heavily outnumbered in an isolated wilderness, we have no plan of action, and now you’re talking about potential trouble. Young man, there is no potentiality about it. We have trouble, and we have it in a big way. I thought you understood that.”

  “I am talking about dissention in the ranks,” Tim said a bit testily. “I well appreciate the difficulties we face, and I am more than willing to see them through.”

  “Don’t get upset,” Hays said.

  “Why shouldn’t I be upset?” Tim asked. “My life as an army officer is through, I’ve been disappointed by the most beautiful girl in the world, and I’m out here with a morbid old goat like you.”

  Hays glanced toward O’Dell and Walton. “Our two companions seem very interested in us.”

  “Yes,” Tim said. “I notice they watch us very closely. They can’t hear what we’re saying, but I’m sure they’re assuming we are arguing about something.”

  “I am going to do something very strange,” Hays said. Tim suppressed a grin. “Please tell me when you’re not going to do something very strange.”

  “Stop the sarcasm and listen,” Hays said. “I want you to do exactly what I say and go along with whatever I do.”

  “Certainly, sir,” Tim said. “But what the hell for?”

  “I want to impress Messieurs O’Dell and Walton in a way that will help us control them,” Hays said.

  “Yes, sir,” Tim said. “Whatever you want.”

  “Go get a cupful of whiskey from one of those barrels,” Hays said in a voice loud enough for O’Dell and Walton to hear.

  “Sir?”

  “I said go get a cupful of whiskey from one of the barrels in the wagon. Bring it over here,” Hays repeated. He lowered his voice. “Make sure those two can see exactly what you’re doing.”

  “Whatever you say,” Tim said.

  The lieutenant went to his horse and retrieved his tin cup. After going inside the wagon, he reappeared and walked back to his captain. “Here you are, sir.”

  Hays pulled his revolver and pointed it straight at Tim’s head. Once more he spoke loud enough for O’Dell and Walton to plainly hear him. “Take a drink of that whiskey.”

  Tim was confused by both the order and the fact he had a Colt shooting iron pointing straight at his head. But he went along with whatever scheme Hays had dreamed up. He responded in a loud voice. �
��You want me to take a drink of this rotgut liquor?”

  “Do it,” Hays snarled. “If you don’t, I’ll blow your goddamned head off.”

  O’Dell and Walton, nervous as hell about their army companions, who seemed to have lost their reason, stood in silent apprehension as they watched the drama play out in front of them.

  “Don’t shoot, for the love of God!” Tim said. “I’ll take a drink.” He treated himself to a sip, and immediately coughed. “My God! That is absolutely the worst whiskey I have ever drunk.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Hays said. He grinned and handed over the pistol. “Now you make me take a drink.” Laughing now, Tim took the Colt and pointed it at the captain who forced down a swallow of the bad liquor. Hays asked, “Feel better?”

  Tim was also laughing. “Captain—I feel—a lot—better.”

  “I thought you would,” Hays said.

  “Sir, may I respectfully state that you are a son of a bitch?” Tim said. “Here, take your revolver back.” O’Dell, his eyes narrowed in fear, called out, “Both you soldier boys is crazy as hell, you know that?”

  “Crazy mean!” Walton added.

  “Sure,” Tim replied. “Our insanity is the only source of pride in our failed lives.”

  “I reckon y’all just think you’re real funny,” Walton said nervously. “Frankly, I’ll be glad to be shut o’ you both.”

  “Me, too,” O’Dell said.

  “Then don’t you try to cross me,” Hays warned. “Don’t worry,” O’Dell said. “Hell! Getting caught by Kenshaw don’t seem so bad now.”

  “Or even wild Injuns!” Walton added.

  The last remarks cause the two dragoons to renew their guffawing. They leaned on each other and continued to laugh as tears rolled from their eyes and ran down their cheeks.

  “You drunk!” came Eagle Talons’ shout from the nearby trees.

  The four white men looked up as the Indian rode into the clearing by the creek. He had a dead deer slung across the horse in front of him.

  Hays held up the cup, then poured out the remainder of the whiskey in it. “No more whiskey, Eagle Talons. Don’t be mad at us.”

  “Just a swallow a piece, that’s all, Eagle Talons,” Tim said. “We’re not drunk.”

  “Uh!” Eagle Talons said, to display his disapproval. “Be straight. Buffalo Horn come here soon. He will talk to you about whiskey peddler.” He dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby tree. He pulled the deer free and dropped it to the ground. “We make fire and eat. Not see Buffalo Horn for another sleep.”

  “That’s fine,” Hays said. “I want to talk to you about him.”

  “Good idea,” Eagle Talons said. “You tell me what you want to do.”

  “First, I want Tim to get O’Dell and Walton to set up camp here,” Hays said. “Have them pick up this deer and get a cook fire going and let them know we’re settling in to wait for our visitors.”

  “I’ll take care of it, sir,” Tim said. He walked to the wagon to get the two men working on the task. The smugglers wasted no time in hurrying over to get the deer. The idea of fresh venison put them in a better mood as they struggled back with the burden.

  After they left, Hays, Tim, and Eagle Talons squatted down. The captain took out his pipe and filled it. He asked, “How are Buffalo Horn and the rest of the Wolf Society?”

  “They trap for whiskey,” Eagle Talons said. “Not drunk for some time now. They want to find Rollo Kenshaw. I not tell them we have whiskey.”

  “That’s good,” Hays said. “When they find out we have some, it’ll be a nice surprise.”

  “Make them stupid sumbitches heap happy,” Eagle Talons growled.

  “Do you think they’ll be happy enough to give us information we need?” Hays asked.

  “You got whiskey, the Wolf Society be your friends,” Eagle Talons said.

  “We have horses, too, don’t forget,” Tim reminded him. “We can use them for presents as well.”

  “They talk to you,” Eagle Talons said. “What will you ask of them?”

  “I want to find out how Kenshaw gets his whiskey into the Black Hills,” Hays said. “That’s the most important information. If I find that out, it will be easier to stop him or anybody else from bringing in more. Do you think they know how he gets it in here?”

  “I think they know,” Eagle Talons said. “But why not just kill Kenshaw?”

  “Because there will only be another fellow coming along later,” Hays said. “Haven’t you Indians learned that killing a few white men does not keep others away from your lands? There are many white men.”

  “Uh!” Eagle Talons grunted. “We know!”

  Tim was tempted to go into a conversation to enlighten the Sioux warrior on just how numerous whites really were, but he decided there was nothing to gain by it.

  Eagle Talons said, “But if Wolf Society think you are going to chase away whiskey sellers, they be mad.”

  “Then they’re going to get mad as hell,” Hays said. Eagle Talons nodded. “Rollo Kenshaw is enemy, then Wolf Society is also enemy. There will be a big fight, Dar-Say.”

  “We might all get killed,” Hays said.

  “I will fight with you against the whiskey sellers to keep it away from my people,” Eagle Talons said. “Maybe I will die with you. We will both have honor.”

  Hays was thoughtful for several moments. “That just may be the best thing I’m going to get out of life.”

  Tim patted his pocket that held Loralie Campbell’s photograph. “I guess I don’t have a hell of a lot to live for, either.”

  Eighteen

  When the warriors of the Wolf Society and their families arrived in the vicinity of the white men’s camp, they did not make immediate contact with Hays, Tim, Eagle Talons, or the two smugglers O’Dell and Walton.

  The Sioux set up a small village farther down the creek and tended to whatever business they wanted to for a couple of days. The men did some hunting, fishing, and relaxing, while the women worked at the chores necessary in establishing and maintaining the new habitat.

  From his experience in dealing with Indians, Hays knew better than trying to rush the powwow. Without schedules or timepieces to govern their lives, the Wolf Society people would tend to business as it was convenient to them.

  Finally a few of them passed by the white men’s camp. This at least showed they were aware of its existence and that eventually there would be a meeting, although the only attention they gave Hays and company were a few glances of curiosity before going on to other activities.

  After even a short while without getting drunk, the hardy people had begun getting back the lean, handsome demeanor that made them among the most attractive tribes of the plains Indians. Clear-eyed and graceful, they were truly a superb race of human beings.

  Their fierce appearance was not lost on Chet O’Dell. He rubbed his hand over his mouth in a nervous manner.

  “Them Injuns don’t appear like they been drunk lately,” he observed. “As a matter o’ fact, they’re right feisty looking. You don’t suppose they might decide to jump us and take the liquor, do you?”

  “Have they ever done that before?” Hays asked. “Nope, I reckon not,” O’Dell allowed. “But then, I ain’t been out here lately on account o’ the unfriendly way Rollo Kenshaw acts toward me. Them redskins mighta changed their attitudes some since I seen ’em last.”

  “Don’t worry yourself. The Indians will conduct themselves in an honorable manner, as usual,” Hays said. “They’re here to strike a deal with us, and it’ll be done without lying or stealing on their part.”

  Norb Walton wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as he could. As a city-dweller, he felt completely out of place.

  “How long is this gonna take?” he asked “Being this close to wild Injuns don’t exactly put me at ease.”

  “When they’re ready to powwow, they’ll just walk over and we’ll get started,” Tim said. “Haven’t you participated in any trading activitie
s with Indians?”

  “I sure ain’t, Slim,” Walton said. “And I don’t much care to try for a lot o’ experience in that particular field. The riverfront in St. Louie is dog-ugly in places, but it sure seems like a paradise to me right now.”

  “You were in more danger from treachery by another whiskey smuggler than you were from the Indians,” Tim said.

  “Hell’s bells!” Walton said. “I think I got to worry more ’bout you and that cap’n than ever’ damn Injun and liquor smuggler in this whole country put together!”

  “And don’t you forget that for an instant,” Tim said coldly.

  “No, sir, I sure won’t,” Walton promised. “I never seen two pards pull a gun to make each other drink bad whiskey before.”

  One more day passed. Then, a few hours past the next dawn, Buffalo Horn and his three closest associates, Flying Hawk, Wild Bull, and Iron Hatchet, appeared on the creek bank opposite the camp.

  Eagle Talons walked up to the narrow waterway and conversed with them for a bit. Then the two visitors departed and the Sioux warrior walked back to where Captain Darcy Hays reclined on his blanket, calmly smoking his pipe.

  “Buffalo Horn say he come to see you after sun start down to west,” Eagle Talons said. “He say he talk straight to you, Dar-Say.”

  “Fine,” Hays said. He knocked the tobacco from his pipe and stuck it back in his pocket. Then he stretched out to take a nap.

  “Hey!” Chet O’Dell said, from where he leaned against the wagon. “How much longer is this gonna take?”

  “Relax, O’Dell,” Hays said sleepily. “You’re going to be out here awhile.”

  The rest of the morning eased by. The noon sun, barely visible overhead through the thick branches of the forest trees, finally began to dip toward the sunset side of the horizon. The sound of the hooves of several horses making heavy thuds on the ground could suddenly be heard. Hays sat up and opened his eyes in time to see four Sioux warriors ride up to the edge of the camp and dismount. Several women were with them who took the mounts and led them a few yards away.

  Hays, Tim, and Eagle Talons wasted no time in walking over to greet the visitors. Blankets had already been spread out on the ground for everyone’s convenience. The six men settled down after the initial exchange of salutations.