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

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “He gave me some quinine,” Pepperdine said. “And I bought this at the sutler’s store.” He showed them a bottle of Doctor Lester’s Medicine.

  Jim Rivers took the remedy and uncorked it. He sniffed the contents, then took a deep swallow. “Say! This ain’t bad. Bring it along too.”

  “Where are we going?” Pepperdine asked as he stumbled after Rivers and Delaney.

  “We built a sweat lodge,” Rivers said.

  “What’s that?” Pepperdine asked, trying to get his breath.

  “It’s a cure-all the Injuns and trappers use,” Rivers said. “I spent my share of time in ’em. I recommend the treatment for what ails ya.”

  “But what exactly is a sweat lodge?”

  “There it is,” Rivers said, pointing proudly.

  He had taken some saplings and built a round frame that stood nearly five feet high in the center. This had been covered with boughs and then caked solid with several thick layers of mud until it was air tight except for a small hole at the very top. A thin but steady stream of smoke flowed through the opening. They stood before the contraption and Rivers began taking off his clothes.

  “Well! Strip down, Brad. I’m going in there with you.”

  “Must I take off my clothes?”

  “You heard him, Mr. Pepperdine,” Delaney said. “I want that cold out of you before morning.”

  “We’ll have him weak but cured by dark prob’ly,” Rivers opined.

  Moments later both naked men crawled into the interior as Delaney sealed the opening shut. Pepperdine gasped against the sudden, enveloping heat that seemed to suck the breath out of him. He swallowed hard and crawled over to the space indicated by Rivers. The lodge was outfitted with blankets for comfort and the two settled down on them. Hot stones were piled on glowing coals in a scooped area of the dirt floor. A bucket of water was within easy reach, and Rivers dipped a tin cup into it and threw the contents on the rocks. Instantly, clouds of steam rolled up filling the small space the two men occupied.

  “It’s awfully hot,” Pepperdine complained.

  “Not yet it ain’t, boy, not yet,” Rivers announced gleefully as he continued building up the hot vapor. “Here, suck on this whiskey, young’un, you’ll soon be drifting off to a world you never dreamed existed.”

  Pepperdine forced himself to sip the liquor as the steam rolled over him. He had never been a heavy perspirer and the only moisture on his skin was that from the steam. This, plus the fever, was beginning to make him feel like he was frying inside.

  Rivers took a sip of the medicine the younger man had bought at the sutler’s. “Hell, this stuff’s got as good a kick as the whiskey.”

  “God! I can’t stand it!”

  “Hang on, Brad boy, we’re just starting,” Rivers said. “Can you chant?”

  Pepperdine looked incredulously at his friend. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Injuns chant magic things to themselves in sweat lodges,” Rivers explained. “It helps their minds drift off to the spirit world.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t know any magic chants,” Pepperdine asserted.

  “Then how about some sayings or anything that might mean something to you?”

  “How about the West Point motto? Duty, Honor, Country?”

  “Sure sounds like the perfect chant for you, Brad. Take a healthy sip of that likker and let ‘er rip.”

  Pepperdine drank deeply of the fiery liquid, then felt it start back up. He fought for control, managing to stifle the nausea. He closed his eyes and began repeating “Duty…Honor…Country…Duty…Honor…Country…Duty…Honor …”

  When the sweat finally broke loose it eased out of his pores unrestrained. His mind whirled until a frightening dizziness alarmed him. He blinked hard and shook his head trying to regain his previous clarity.

  “Don’t fight it, Brad,” Rivers said gently. “I’m right here, ol’ feller. I ain’t gonna let nothing happen. Take another swig of that likker and start chanting again.”

  Pepperdine did as he was told. He felt better now and once again settled into the routine. His mental faculties sensed some dizziness just as before, but that passed and soon he was in a fog that was denser than that of the ever-growing steam. Pepperdine had gone far back into himself, farther than he had ever imagined he could. And he was unaware of it, but his chanting had not ceased as he floated through this strange world.

  “Duty … Honor … Country … Duty … Honor … Country … Duty … Honor Honor … Country … DutyHonorCountryDutyHonorCountry…”

  The sweat lodge no longer existed for him. Instead he was in the midst of a large cloud, its immensity so extreme that he feared to attempt to gauge it. The thick mist swirled and ebbed around him causing an eerie, white blindness as if he had been staring at sparkling snow. A figure of a man emerged in the distance and appeared to be walking toward him. He drew closer, closer until the facial features were plain.

  It was his father.

  In his present state of mind, Pepperdine was not a bit surprised to see him. The old man sat down, pulling out a pipe and lighting it as he gazed at his son. “Hello, Bradwell.”

  “Hello, Father.”

  “Well! And how is everything going for you today?”

  “I’m afraid I’ve caught a cold, Father.”

  “Mmm, I see. I suppose that’s what comes from galloping around on a prairie, doesn’t it?”

  “We have a mission to perform. Quite a serious one too.”

  The elder Pepperdine nodded as he smoked his pipe. “I suppose,” he conceded. “Is there any particular reason that you’re stark naked.”

  “I’m sorry, Father, but Jim Rivers made me undress.”

  “So! Some uneducated, uncivilized oaf tells you to strip to the buff and you cheerfully do so?”

  “Jim is curing my cold, Father.”

  “A cold doesn’t seem too bad in light of the fact that you’re facing death, mutilation and even torture if you continue this dangerous chase after those Red Indians. Don’t you remember that happened to that unfortunate farm family?”

  “Yes, Father, I remember.”

  “Of course your Uncle Robert purposely sent you out here on the frontier as well as to a regiment of colored soldiers. Do you remember why?”

  “Yes, father. Since Uncle Robert is adjutant general of the army, he didn’t want to give any hints of nepotism or favoritism in my first duty assignment.”

  “Exactly. After you’ve proven yourself, he’ll be able to have you transferred back east to a more favorable garrison to carry on your career. There will be no criticism because of the arduous posting you endured beforehand. The discomforts and dangers of fighting Indians will take care of that problem.”

  “Yes it will,” Pepperdine agreed.

  His father stood up. “I’m off now. I have things to do. Goodbye, son”

  “Goodbye, Father.”

  Pepperdine watched as the old man moved off to be swallowed up by the swirling, clinging clouds of fog. It was still warm, terribly warm. But suddenly the warmth was swept away by icy stabs of intense cold. It seemed that he was suddenly caught in a frigid blast of wind.

  “Are you awake, Brad?”

  He was sitting in the shallow creek outside the sweat lodge as Jim Rivers and Sergeant Wheatfall poured buckets of cold water over him.

  “Sweet Lord!” exclaimed Pepperdine. “I’m freezing to death.”

  The two men immediately pulled him from the water and carried him to the creek’s bank. As he stood there they rubbed him down so vigorously with blankets that his skin turned red.

  “You’re dried off, Lieutenant,” Wheatfall said. “You’d best get into your duds quick.”

  “Your pores was opened up wide in the lodge,” Rivers said. “So we flung you in the crick to seal your skin back up.”

  As Pepperdine dressed, he appreciated the warmth his uniform afforded him. “What time is it?”

  “Late evening, Brad, the sun’s going down.�
��

  “How do you feel, Lieutenant?” Wheatfall inquired

  Pepperdine straightened up and took a deep breath. “I feel light and airy, but a little weak.”

  “Them hours of sweating drained the poison outta you,” Rivers said. “It’s only natural for you to feel wrung out. But you’ll get over that quick, believe me.”

  “My God!” Pepperdine exclaimed. “I was talking to my father in there.”

  “You was in a dream-trance, Lieutenant,” Wheatfall said. “I had it happen to me too.”

  “You drunk dang near a whole bottle o’ whiskey while you was there a-sweating and a-chanting,” Rivers said. “Did you see anything in the future?”

  Pepperdine shook his head. I saw both the present and the past. My father came to visit me, then discussed a conversation we’d had awhile back.”

  “That’s pretty normal,” Rivers told him. “Sometimes the Injuns get messages from spirits who give them guidance about things to come.”

  “Nothing like that happened to me.”

  “Well, we’ll get you back to your tent. A good night’s sleep’ll bring your strength back.”

  “I’m hungry,” Pepperdine said.

  “It’d be best if’n you waited ’til morning to eat,” Rivers advised him. “A short fast’ll keep you cleaned out longer.”

  The three men headed back to the bivouac. Pepperdine walked unsteadily at first, but by the time they reached the camp he was feeling stronger. Delaney was seated on a blanket at the officers’ fire, sipping a cup of coffee. He raised it in a toast. “Looks like you survived the sweat lodge, Mr. Pepperdine.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  “Think you can ride tomorrow?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s good. The department commander has answered our wire. He wants us to continue the pursuit of Running Horse. So it seems your adventures in the Indian Wars aren’t over yet.”

  “Duty, Honor, Country, Sir,” Pepperdine said saluting.

  “Beg pardon?” Delaney asked.

  Pepperdine, ignoring Delaney’s puzzled look went directly to his tent. After crawling inside, he settled down on the blankets and almost instantly slipped into a deep, dreamless, natural sleep; the most refreshing rest a tired man can experience.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was still dark when Pepperdine awoke. He felt completely rested and strangely energetic. He lay quietly for some moments listening to the soft murmurings of conversation coming from the guard fire not too far away. Then, feeling too good to stay in his blankets, he flung them aside and slipped into his boots.

  The night was warm and the weak but persistent glow of the dawning sun barely showed on the horizon, but gave promise of a blazing hot day to come. Pepperdine strode to where the off-duty relief slept. The corporal in charge stood up and saluted as the young officer approached.

  “Any coffee, Corporal Jones?”

  “Yes, suh, Lieutenant Pepperdine. Let me get you a cup.” The NCO poured out a generous measure of the thick liquid. “We appreciated the beer you sent over, suh. It tasted mighty refreshing after all these days of riding.”

  “You’re entirely welcome,” Pepperdine said.

  “How’re you feeling, Lieutenant?”

  “Quite well, thank you.” Pepperdine answered. “I guess Jim Rivers cured me.”

  “There’s a lot of things to learn out here,” Jones conceded. “I think ol’ Jim’s picked up about ever’thing he could from them Injuns.”

  “I must admit the sweat lodge was quite an experience,” Pepperdine said. ‘Have you ever been in one, Corporal?”

  “No, suh, I never been sick. But Sergeant Wheatfall knows a lot about ’em.” Jones glanced toward the sky. “Say! It’s about time for me to post my relief. I’d best be waking ’em up.”

  Pepperdine was puzzled. “How can you tell what time it is?”

  “The Big Dipper tells me, suh. He says it’s four o’clock,” Jones explained. “Look up at him, Lieutenant. See that bright star up above there? That’s the North Star. Well, just notice how the dipper’s on an even keel a ways under it, see? When we start out posting the night guard, that handle is sticking straight up. We know how to tell when two hours pass by how far that handle has sunk down.”

  Pepperdine checked his pocket watch. “Well, it’s nearly four o’clock all right,” he said. “Yet the sun is glowing over on the horizon.”

  “The prairie sky is the widest in the world, Lieutenant. But that old sun is still a ways from poking above the skyline.” He turned his attention to kicking at the sleeping figures around the fire. “Let’s go, soljers! Now look lively, the lieutenant’s here.”

  The men moaned, stretched and sat up. It is any soldier’s moral duty to wake up promptly for guard posting. It was a consideration they showed for the men who awaited relief from the two hours of walking post. They would expect the same treatment from the next corporal and his men.

  Within ten minutes the corporal had completed the quick, informal guard inspection. When he was satisfied his men were ready to properly assume their posts, he marched them off.

  Pepperdine squatted down and helped himself to another cup of coffee. It was strangely peaceful now. But he knew that miles away the Indian enemy was camped. He wondered how this adventure would conclude. A glorious victory with Running Horse and his band brought back under guard? Or would Delaney’s command return to Fort Proviso empty-handed after weeks of fruitless pursuit? Perhaps there would be a sudden ambush and the entire company would end up lying dead on the prairie as their mutilated flesh rotted under the broiling sun.

  Pepperdine involuntarily shuddered, but his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet. One of the guards rushed past him to Sergeant Wheatfall’s tent. Pepperdine followed the excited man.

  “What’s the matter, soldier?”

  “At the horse picket, suh?” the man said. He shook Wheatfall’s tent and hollered, “Sergeant Wheatfall! Sergeant Wheatfall! Corporal Jones wants you out to the horse picket.”

  Pepperdine dropped his coffee and, after a quick rush to his own tent to get his carbine, he ran out to where the horses were picketed.

  “Corporal Jones!”

  “Over here, suh.”

  Pepperdine found Jones and the others gathered around a fallen soldier. Even in the faint light of pre-dawn it was easy to see he was badly beaten.

  “Indians?” Pepperdine asked.

  Wheatfall appeared and appraised the situation quickly. “Corporal Jones, turn out the company.”

  “Yes, Sergeant!”

  “I’ll get Captain Delaney,” Pepperdine said, spinning on his heel and once again running off toward the commander’s tent.

  But Delaney was already outside when Pepperdine arrived. “What’s the problem, Mr. Pepperdine?”

  “It appears we’ve been attacked, Sir,” Pepperdine said.

  “Godamn it! Bugler! Bugler!” Delaney cried.

  Suddenly the sound of First Call blared over the camp. Delaney cursed and called out for Wheatfall. “Sergeant Wheatfall, sound To Arms!”

  Wheatfall returned to the camp and reported to his captain. “No need for To Arms, suh.”

  “Mr. Pepperdine has informed me we have been attacked.”

  “No, suh,” Wheatfall said. “One o’ the guards is beat up and a horse stole. I’ll take a roll call.”

  “Who is the injured man?” Delaney asked.

  “Private Lee, Cap’n,” Wheatfall said. “I think he’ll be fine after a while. I’ll see to that roll call now. By your leave, suh.”

  Pepperdine watched the first sergeant hurry away to attend to his unexpected chore. “I don’t quite understand what’s happening, sir.”

  “Relax, Mr. Pepperdine,” Delaney said. “It appears we have a deserter. He attacked a guard and took a horse. Probably his weapons as well. We’ll find out who it is a soon as Wheatfall takes a quick muster.”

  “I didn’t think the first sergeant could
read, sir,” Pepperdine said.

  “He can check with the squad leaders and they’ll know if any of their men are missing,” Delaney explained. “And the next time you report we are under attack, you be damned sure of your facts, Mister!”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Pepperdine said.

  Wheatfall was back again. “Private Fields is gone, suh, and has taken all his gear as well.”

  “Very good, Sergeant. I want you and Mr. Pepperdine to mount an immediate pursuit and bring Fields back with all stolen government property.”

  “Will you wait for our return before resuming the mission against the hostiles, sir?” Pepperdine asked.

  “No, Mr. Pepperdine, you’ll have to catch up with us later.”

  Wheatfall turned to the nearest troopers and barked quick orders for them to fetch his and Pepperdine’s horses. Then he went to this tent and began preparing his gear for their mission.

  Pepperdine followed the first sergeant’s example.

  ~*~

  The deserter Fields had walked his horse for almost a mile before continuing his flight mounted. The trail was easy enough to follow through the prairie grass as the morning dew kept the trampled blades from rising.

  “I don’t recall Fields,” Pepperdine said as they plodded along the track.

  “A troublemaker, suh,” Wheatfall said. “He’s been locked in the guardhouse twice for fighting and drinking Most of the troopers don’t pay him much mind. He’s got no friends.”

  “He was rather a short fellow, wasn’t he?” Pepperdine asked, suddenly remembering him. “Always off to one side by himself?”

  “That’s Fields, Lieutenant. Got a big moustache too. He was whipped plenty in the old days. Got lots of scars on his back.”

  “What old days?” Pepperdine asked.

  “Before the Jubilee,” Wheatfall said. “I mean to say before we was set free.”

  “Ah, slavery,” Pepperdine said. “Maybe that’s why he’s such a bitter man. Perhaps he suffered mistreatment from a cruel master.”

  “He can be bitter anywhere he wants, Lieutenant,” Wheatfall, “but not in my company.”

  They reached a small, shallow river with rocky banks. Here the trail was lost. The two split up and each man ranged far down the river trying to pick up where the deserter had emerged from the water. It was Pepperdine who discovered the place. By the time he had ridden back and hailed Wheatfall, a good hour had gone by.