Glory's Guidons (The Long-Knives US Cavalry Western Book 3)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Pepperdine came to attention. “Honored, sir.”

  “Likewise, Lieutenant,” Morrow answered. “You two come into my office and fill me in on this unexpected pleasure.”

  He led the way into the room and sat down behind his desk while Pepperdine and Delaney stood in front. The captain gave a quick, but thorough report of the patrol’s mission and the reasons behind it.

  Morrow nodded. “Fine. I’ll telegraph the department commander and see what his pleasure is.” He called to the adjutant and dictated a quick message. After the officer left, Morrow pulled out a desk drawer and produced a bottle of rye. He indicated some tin cups on a shelf and Pepperdine, taking the hint, set three of them on the desk.

  “I heard you took a commission in a colored regiment,” Morrow said pouring the liquid.

  “That’s right,” Delaney said. He raised his cup. “To the Army.”

  “Hear! Hear!” Pepperdine exclaimed without thinking. He reddened under the surprised gazes of the two older officers.

  “Mr. Pepperdine just graduated from West Point,” Delaney explained.

  “And you’re in a darkie regiment too?” Morrow asked. “What did you do at the Academy, rape the commandant’s daughter?”

  “Oh no, sir!” Pepperdine said. “I didn’t even know her.”

  Morrow laughed aloud as Delaney almost spilled his drink. The major winked at his old friend. “I think you have a real eager beaver there, Ambrose.”

  Pepperdine blushed as he realized he had missed the joke. “Sir, it’s a long story about my commission in this unit.”

  Morrow, obviously not interested, turned his attention back to Delaney. “How many of those coloreds do you have with you?”

  “Around sixty,” Delaney answered. “There’s also a civilian scout.”

  “Is he white?”

  “Yes,” Delaney answered.

  “You, Lieutenant Pepperdine and the scout can billet in the garrison. But you keep those brunettes out on the edges of the post.”

  “If you have a vacant barracks I’d like the opportunity to let my men have a little comfort,” Delaney said. “We’ve been out a few days now.”

  “I don’t want my troops getting upset,” Morrow said.

  “There should be no problems, sir,” Pepperdine said brightly. “I noticed several of your men approaching ours asking for tidbits of information on what we were doing and…” He let his voice trail off under the dark glare of the major.

  “As I stated,” Morrow said. “There are quarters available to you white people in the cantonment area.”

  “We’ll be bivouacking with the company,” Delaney said.

  “Suit yourself,” Morrow said. “You’re probably used to them anyway.”

  “I suppose I am,” Delaney replied. “I’ll see to my troopers now.” He stood up and saluted. “Until later, Johnny.”

  “Fine, Ambrose. Good day, Mr. Pepperdine.”

  “Good day, sir,” Pepperdine said. He also saluted, then turned and followed his company commander out of the office. They left the building and remounted their horses.

  “Let’s get our people settled in,” Delaney said. “It may be a day or two before we get an answer to that telegraph.”

  “Is there a chance they’ll have us give up the chase?”

  Delaney shrugged. “I can’t tell.” He looked at his junior officer, puzzled. “Sounds like you’re anxious to press on.”

  Pepperdine nodded. “Yes, sir. I would like to see L Company conclude this affair. It started from our garrison after all.”

  “Well, Mr. Pepperdine, you seem to be the sort of fellow who doesn’t like to stop in the middle of things.”

  “I certainly don’t.”

  “Since you’ll be back at the War Department pretty soon, I imagine you’ll be able to pursue the various paperwork campaigns from start to finish,” Delaney said. “But we poorer relations who must perform our duty in the field find many interruptions in our endeavors. Not to mention picking up another unit’s mission smack dab in the middle of things.”

  “Captain Delaney, sir, I would like—“

  “Never mind, Mr. Pepperdine,” Delaney said. “As long as you’re on active service you’ll just have to bear up under the burdens and disappointments in store for you.”

  Pepperdine, with a headache and fever growing worse, didn’t feel like continuing the conversation.

  ~*~

  Sergeant Wheatfall supervised a carefully laid out camp that bordered a small creek. Each separate section of soldiers pitched their shelter tents in neatly aligned rows with sergeants and corporals occupying the end of the canvas ranks. That way, should there be need to turn out a specific detail, the first sergeant had only to go to the outer edges of the small bivouac to let his needs be known to his subordinate leaders.

  Delaney, Pepperdine and Sergeant Wheatfall each had their own personal pup tent while the men slept two to each one. Jim Rivers, scoffing at such displays of softness, continued to sleep out under the stars. The only concession he made to civilization was a poncho he kept handy to throw over himself in case of rain.

  Pepperdine arranged his tent to his satisfaction, then joined Delaney at the cook fire prepared for the officers. The captain was addicted to coffee and his men were well aware of the fact. Whenever there was the opportunity or time, they knew that a strong brew of the army issue stimulant would keep their commander in a good mood. They hadn’t wasted time that day either. Delaney was already contentedly sipping their latest efforts as Pepperdine joined him.

  “You still look under the weather, Mr. Pepperdine,” Delaney remarked. ‘How are you feeling?”

  Pepperdine sniffed. “A little stuffy, sir. I must have caught a cold in that storm.”

  “I want you to check in with the post surgeon in the morning.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary, sir.”

  “It is necessary,” Delaney said. “Suppose we’re ordered to press on after Running Horse and your cold gets worse. You could end up hacking and coughing so much you’d be a threat to the success of our mission.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that, sir. I’ll report to the post dispensary right after reveille.”

  “Damned right you will, Mister!”

  After evening chow and the guard detail was organized, the company settled into its night routine. This was their first bivouac in a secure area and Delaney relaxed the noise and fire discipline he had been imposing. The cavalrymen formed into their individual mess groups and the inevitable singing began.

  Pepperdine, in the shelter of his tent, was even more feverish now. He laid back and closed his eyes as he listened to the black men’s music. They sung old spirituals or sad songs for the most part, but the words had something in common—hope—hope of better days, deliverance from misery, and the glories and grace that waited over the River Jordan. The sounds were beautiful and inspiring, and despite his illness, Pepperdine drifted off to sleep feeling soothed and at ease.

  The young officer’s slumber was soon disturbed by both a fitful noise interrupting the soldier’s singing as well as several sharp nudges in his ribs. He finally awoke and sat up.

  “Take care of that, Mr. Pepperdine,” Delaney said.

  “Of what, sir?” Pepperdine asked dazed.

  “That!” Delaney was pointing in a direction out of the camp.

  Pepperdine looked and saw another fire. It was about thirty yards off, but he could easily see several figures moving around it. There was also an insistent shouting coming from the area, and he recognized this as what had been disturbing his sleep. “What is it?”

  “It’s a hog ranch,” Delaney said. “And I want it moved away from here.”

  Pepperdine decided that the captain’s mood overrode any further questions on his part. He got to his feet, slipped on his cap and strode in that direction. After crossing the creek, he drew closer and could see several soldiers who had wandered over to the vicinity.

  There was a dila
pidated wagon parked near a fire. A portly middle-aged man, sporting a top hat, was trying to entice more soldiers over. “C’mon boys, you can have a good time. Whiskey and good-looking women. Whataya say?”

  At that point Pepperdine took notice of two middle-aged ladies standing by the wagon. They were dressed in faded gaudiness and their wrinkled faces were heavily made up in crimson rouge and lipstick.

  The man continued talking. “Them’s beautiful white women, boys, just awaiting for yez. Yes sir, yes sir, prob’ly be the first and onliest chance y’all will ever had to take one. Don’t waste time, boys, and we got good likker too.”

  “You’ll have to move on,” Pepperdine said. Now that he was by the fire, he shuddered at the sight of the aging prostitutes.

  “I don’t have to move anywheres, sonny,” the man said. “I’m about twenty yards outside Fort Durham proper. You got no authority here. So you’d best skedaddle afore I get the law on you.”

  Pepperdine, who would have preferred facing the Supreme Court of the United States rather than Captain Ambrose Delaney, was not in the least impressed. He was also feverish and in a bad mood from having been awakened. “I’m simply going to repeat myself one more time: Move on!”

  Sergeant Wheatfall suddenly walked into the firelight. “First Sergeant reporting, suh.”

  “Sergeant, get a detail of men and turn this gentleman’s wagon over, run off his horses and shoot him!”

  “Are you crazy?” the man shouted.

  “I’ll take care of it right away,” Sergeant Wheatfall said. He called out to several of the nearby men who obediently trotted over, all grinning. Then the first sergeant drew his pistol.

  The flesh peddler backed away holding out his hands in a gesture of submission. “Now hold on, soljer boys, I’m leaving now. Right now!” He stumbled, then turned and sprinted to the wagon.

  “What’s going on, Orville?” one of the women asked.

  “Shut up and get on the wagon,” he said.

  “Best hitch up them horses first,” Wheatfall called over.

  “I reckon you’re right,” the man said in his confusion and fear. “Just hold off now. I’ll be gone directly.” He worked rapidly, harnessing his team in fearful haste, all the time keeping a nervous eye on Wheatfall who still held his pistol, ready to shoot.

  “Don’t forget the fire,” Pepperdine said.

  “No, sir!” the pimp replied. He rushed over and kicked dirt over the flames until they were smothered. Then he went back to his wagon and climbed aboard. He drove across the dirt prairie regardless of the dark as the whores inside the wagon yelled at him.

  “So that’s a hog ranch, huh?” Pepperdine asked.

  “Yes, suh,” Wheatfall replied. “Least that’s what is was.”

  The two walked back toward the camp. They were joined by Jim Rivers who had witnessed the whole episode. “By God, Brad, that was the damndest thing I ever saw,” the scout said, laughing.

  “At least we’re rid of them,” Pepperdine said.

  “He’ll just go over to the other side of the post,” Wheatfall said. “Them Fort Durham boys’ll spend some money with him.”

  “At least none of our men seemed interested.”

  “That’d be one big differ’nce ‘twix us and them white soljers,” Wheatfall said. “They’re cut off from their people and looked down on in general. But we got bonds in our regiment, Lieutenant Pepperdine. We got wives, daughters, sisters. Our boys don’t have to go to sick ol’ whores and get drunk outta their minds. We got a society and certain ways we got to act, understand, suh? If we want a woman we got to be nice to her and mind our manners. We marry the women we know. That’s something them white boys can’t.”

  “You’re right,” Rivers said. “Them poor white soljers can’t even get nice Injun women like the mountain men and trappers used to. Ever’thing’s damned near ruined out here now.”

  “And none of us colored soldiers get diseases either,” Wheatfall added.

  Rivers cast a glance at Pepperdine. “Say, Brad, would you have let ol’ Wheatfall shoot that hog ranch operator?”

  “Of course not,” Pepperdine answered, turning toward his tent. “I’d have done it myself.”

  Chapter Ten

  Sick call was still an hour away for the soldiers of the garrison when Pepperdine arrived at Fort Dearborn’s small post hospital. The surgeon and his steward, sitting at the former’s desk, were drinking coffee liberally laced with whiskey. The doctor was a bit befuddled as he tried to place Pepperdine’s face with a name. “What company are you with?” he asked.

  “I’m with the visitors,” Pepperdine mumbled. “We’re staying out by the edge of the reservation on this side of the creek.”

  “Ah, yes!” the surgeon said. “The colored outfit, hey? So what can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

  “I’ve come down with a cold,” Pepperdine said. “I was wondering if there was anything you could give me. We might have to travel on farther in pursuit of the hostiles from Fort Proviso.”

  “Let’s have a look,” the doctor said. “By the way, my name is Markham.”

  “Lieutenant Pepperdine, sir.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Markham said. He placed a hand on Pepperdine’s brow. “Oh, yes, indeed. You do have a fever.” He turned to the steward. “Put your hand on his forehead, Johnson. What do you think?”

  Johnson got to his feet to comply, feeling just above Pepperdine’s eyes. After checking the lieutenant, he sat down again. “Oh, yeah. That’s a fever all right.”

  The doctor nodded his agreement, and stepped back. “How’s your breathing?”

  “Just my nose is stuffed up,” Pepperdine said.

  “Turn around,” Markham said. He placed an ear on Pepperdine’s back. “Now breathe deep…again…again.”

  “I can take good breaths through my mouth.”

  “Yes, it seems your lungs are clear, but you’ve caught one hell of a head cold.” He gestured to the hospital steward. “Get a couple of doses of blue mass pills.”

  “We’re out,” the soldier replied. “How about Epsom salts?”

  “I don’t need a laxative,” Pepperdine said. “In fact, my bowels have been somewhat loose since we went into the field.”

  “A good purging never hurt anyone,” Markham scolded.

  “We ain’t got a lot,” the steward reminded the doctor.

  “How’s the quinine?”

  “Quinine and whiskey should fix him up.”

  The doctor was in accord with his steward. “Let’s dose him good and turn him loose then.”

  After the medicine, Pepperdine left the hospital feeling a little dizzy. The whiskey on an empty stomach made him lightheaded and he felt the visit to the surgeon had been a waste of time. As he walked across the parade ground, he noted the post sutler was open so he detoured for a trip into the store.

  The sutler, a civilian, was sweeping out his establishment when Pepperdine entered. “You’re the young officer from them brunettes, ain’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I got ever’thing you need, Lieutenant,” the man said, abandoning his broom and going behind the counter. “All sorts of canned delicacies from back east…sardines, fruit, meat, even oysters…got likker, beer, wine… got little odds ‘n ends to comfort a soljer in the field…got patent medicine to cure anything. I mentioned that because it sounds to me like you got a cold.”

  “I do.”

  “You ain’t been over to our quack, have you?”

  “You mean the surgeon? Yes, I’ve only just left his hospital.”

  The sutler shook his head in dismay. “There ain’t nary a solitary reason to see him when I got the latest cold remedy right here.” He reached over the counter and produced a bottle adorned with a fancy label. “This here is Doctor Lester’s Vegetable Consumption Medicine. Guaranteed to cure all sorts of illnesses connected with a man’s ability to breathe. Here, see for yourself.”

  Pepperdine read the label that promis
ed the buyer instant and permanent relief from a myriad of respiratory illnesses. “I’ll take a bottle,” he said. “Maybe some sardines too. And a can of those oysters.”

  “From New England, are you?” the sutler said.

  “Yes, and I miss my seafood.”

  “Happy to fix you up. How about some whiskey or beer? I have some 10-gallon kegs them soljers o’ yours would light up at the sight of.”

  Pepperdine thought a moment. “Can you take three of the beer kegs out to our bivouac?”

  “Sure thing. I’ll take care of it personal, Lieutenant.”

  Pepperdine suddenly remembered his headgear problem. “You don’t happen to have any broad-brimmed hats, do you?”

  “Sorry. I got some on order, but they ain’t arrived as of yet.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to get by with this forage cap for the entire patrol,” Pepperdine surmised. “Add up my bill, please, and see that the beer gets out to us before evening.”

  “I’ll do it, Lieutenant,” the man said. He took a pencil, wetted it with a lick of his tongue, then laboriously began adding up the charges.

  Pepperdine, swaying at the counter, was beginning to feel even more feverish and weak.

  ~*~

  “Brad! Wake up!”

  Pepperdine opened his eyes and looked out the opening of the tent. Jim Rivers squatted there, holding two large bottles of whiskey.

  “What do you want?” Pepperdine asked. He felt bad; much worse than before.

  “C’mon out, Brad, we’re gonna cure that there cold of yours.”

  “No thank you.”

  “Come on out, Mr. Pepperdine!” Delaney’s voice was loud and clear.

  Pepperdine scrambled out of the tent. Delaney had been the one who insisted he retire despite the fact it was only late morning. Now, as the lieutenant shakily got to his feet, he could see it was only a little past noon.

  Rivers whistled. “Brad, you look like you been drug down a dry creek bed.”

  “It’s evident that you’ve become quite ill, Mr. Pepperdine,” Delaney said, “and obviously not improving.”

  “I figgered that damned army sawbones wouldn’t do you no good,” Rivers commented.