They wondered about the potential casualties and that daunted Major Amos Peabody. Most thought a Paiute attack on the fort was imminent. The major dared not risk sending out any more troopers in the worsening weather after his dispatch of four troopers had not returned. He felt it more prudent to keep them at the fort. He had already dispatched troopers to forts to the south, east, and west, and had held off charges from both Crow and Paiute in recent months, and this meant a diminished accuracy of defense fire. Now Peabody had less than a hundred and twenty to man the walls of his fort.
‘I wish the army would send more troops before the Indians or the weather kills us all off,’ mourned Peabody. ‘We might be able to hit one or two of them Indians if they move on from the stockade and turn their attention towards us.’
Peabody turned his field glasses upon a group of mounted riders approaching the fort.
‘Who are they, Major?’ a trooper close to Peabody asked through chattering teeth.
‘They are not Indians,’ the major noted and all sighed upon the catwalk.
‘Shall we let them in?’ another trooper asked.
The major nodded and the order was relayed to the gate.
Anton Kozlov, riding double with Lucy Doniphon, along with Dave Calhoun, rode slowly inside Fort Bighorn. The Reverend Burt Roberts and the other women and the newborn twins had continued to the valley.
‘We bring news of your troopers,’ Anton said as he helped Lucy off the sorrel before dismounting himself. They were greeted by Major Peabody and several troopers, although all eyes were upon the visitors.
The major nodded and motioned the group inside. Once there, they were treated to hot coffee and some rolls to eat. The major allowed his visitors to drink and eat before he continued with the news.
‘Now,’ he supplied, ‘you mentioned that you have news of my troopers. What news do you have?’
‘I am sorry to say that your troopers . . .’ Anton began, then paused.
‘It is OK, come right out and say it,’ the major demanded. ‘They are dead, I presume.’
Anton nodded. ‘They were killed by the Paiute.’ He shot a quick look to the major. ‘But it was warranted. Those troopers raped and murdered several Paiute maidens. Their murders were justified.’
The major stood up. ‘That is not for you to decide, sir!’ He straightened his uniform. ‘How do we know that what you report is true?’
‘Why would we come here and tell you if it weren’t?’ Anton fired back.
‘It is the truth,’ Lucy added, holding her cup of coffee to warm her frigid hands.
The major grunted. ‘Still, did you see this for yourselves? And if so, how come the Paiute allowed you all to live?’
‘The Paiute aren’t evil, Major,’ Anton said. ‘Lieutenant Judd Reed and his men were not good men. They did awful things to the Paiute women and tried to do so to Lucy and the other women of Devil’s Canyon.’
‘Then it is a sad day for the US Cavalry,’ the major noted. ‘Once the weather clears, we will go and mark the graves of these troopers. I just hope their actions will not affect our relationship with the Paiute people. Chief Iron Crow is a good man, but a hard man nonetheless.’
‘Aye,’ Anton said. ‘That he is.’
‘You must be tired and cold,’ Major Peabody replied. ‘Please enjoy our hospitality for a while. It has been ages since we have had visitors here.’
‘We could use some medical treatment,’ Dave Calhoun muttered.
‘Of course, we have a fine sawbones here,’ the major said, turning to one of the troopers who stood by the door. ‘Sergeant, go and fetch Reeves.’ The trooper saluted and left to follow his order.
Later they gathered in the fort’s hospital, where not just the visitors had received treatment, other wounded men, moaned, grumbled, or simulated cheerfulness. Lucy Doniphon sat next to one severely injured trooper. Anton and Major Peabody heard her singing softly:
And there I will tell you a tale
Must be told by the moonlight alone,
In the grove at the end of the vale. . . .’
Between her hands she held the trooper’s slack, dough-pale fist. His eyes above the masking bandages watched her tenderly, she then turned to look at Anton.
‘It was my little sister’s favorite song,’ she whispered.
‘Beautiful,’ he smiled. ‘Trooper, you are on your way up again. Hang in there, son.’
The major nodded his agreement and gently patted the young soldier on his leg.
‘They fell like wheat the last time out against the Paiute,’ Peabody told Kozlov. ‘We will make out. Keep on getting well.’ And to Lucy, ‘You are just what he needs. Finish that song, he seems to like it too.’
The next morning, after breakfast was over, Anton Kozlov pulled out a cigar the major had given him, felt for a match. Then he returned the cigar to his inside pocket. He would wait until this damned cold was gone, and he could sit on the porch of his tiny cabin, after rebuilding it, of course, and relish that cigar.
Only a handful of troopers were manning the walls now, as Major Peabody was no longer concerned with an imminent attack. He was still vigilant, but his fears had subsided a little. He was in charge; he had already given the cook a growl about his bacon.
The rest of the command was pulled back to the parade ground, for a reserve to go where it would be needed most. Anton was catching a cold, Lucy heard his sneezing; he mopped his runny nose with a handkerchief. Goddamn cold.
The sun was coming up, and it was time to go home.
The major had offered a detachment to travel with the three and they accepted as they did not wish to be rude. Anton assured Peabody that he would speak with Iron Crow and try to convince him that four bad troopers did not mean all the US cavalrymen were just alike.
After exchanging handshakes with the major and mounting their horses, the three – Anton, Lucy and Calhoun – joined by four troopers, all rode through the gates of Fort Bighorn, starting their trek back to the valley where they would live, hopefully, peacefully for many years to come.
Trail to Devil's Canyon Page 12
