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

by Patrick E. Andrews

  They pressed on as rapidly as possible. Fields wasn’t an experienced soldier. With less than a year’s service, and most of that in garrison, he could ride tolerably well, but was becoming disoriented as time passed.

  “You notice something, Lieutenant?” Wheatfall asked. “Fields is wandering off to his left, see? He don’t know it, but he’s going in a wide circle.”

  “Then it’s just a matter of time before we get him.”

  “Right, Lieutenant. Let’s ease inside the circle and see if we can pick him up quicker.”

  “Right, Sergeant.”

  They cut the trail diagonally and urged their horses into an easy canter. Wheatfall’s idea proved correct. They hit the man’s trail again late in the afternoon. Without slackening speed, the two pursuers alternated sticking to the actual path with quick cross-country dashes as the circle grew smaller.

  When they finally spotted him, Wheatfall loudly hailed the deserter. Even from that far a distance, Fields’ surprise was evident by the way he turned in the saddle.

  “We got him, suh,” Wheatfall said confidently. “Let’s go!”

  They kicked their mounts into a gallop as Fields frantically fled across the prairie. The chase lasted a scant ten minutes before the deserter knew he was riding for a lost cause. He reined up and waited for them.

  Wheatfall’s face was a mask of stony anger as they approached. “Just keep them hands in plain sight, Fields.”

  “I ain’t gonna do nothing,” Fields said sullenly.

  “Get off that horse and step away,” Wheatfall said, dismounting.

  Fields did as he was ordered.

  “Me hitting you is against the regulations,” Wheatfall said, “but so is deserting. He swung a large fist straight into Fields’ face.

  “Sergeant Wheatfall!” Pepperdine shouted.

  Wheatfall, passive as if he were having a conversation in the sutler’s store, looked up at the young officer. “I am the first sergeant of this company.”

  Pepperdine hesitated, then caught the meaning fully. “Carry on, First Sergeant.”

  “By your leave, suh.” Then Wheatfall administered his own version of company punishment until Fields was near unconsciousness. He pulled the would-be deserter to his feet, shaking him until the man responded. “You just stand there.” The first sergeant went to his gear and returned with a set of handcuffs. He quickly snapped them on his prisoner, then shoved the man toward his horse. “Mount up, Fields, you’re now under arrest. If you as much as look the wrong way, I’m gonna shoot you right offa that gov’ment animal you stole, understand?”

  Fields breathed hard, wiping at his bleeding face. “Uh . . . yes . . . Sergeant.” He stumbled over to his horse and laboriously pulled himself up into the saddle.

  Wheatfall’s anger had not abated. “You ever to this to me or Cap’n Delaney again and I’ll whup you worse’n any massa ever did.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “We gave you a home, clothes, vittles and a warm place to sleep,” Wheatfall said. “How do you pay us back? By hitting one of your company mates over the head and running off with U.S. gov’ment property. You’re no damn good, Fields.”

  Fields snuffed, he was feeling a little ashamed, but now that the beating was over he also displayed a feeble defiance. “I ain’t gonna get myself all cut up in little pieces for white folks. They’re the onliest people out here, besides them damn Injuns.”

  “Fool! You do your fighting for the regiment—the regiment! Understand? This is our step up to a better world,” Wheatfall shouted. “Maybe our young’uns won’t have to be soljers! Maybe they can just be anything they want to be, if we prove colored folks can do a good job on their own too.”

  “I don’t believe that a minute,” Fields said.

  “The only thing you gotta believe is that your ass is in my personal meat grinder,” Wheatfall said. “Ride on, Fields. I’m taking you home.”

  ~*~

  Off-duty soldiers crowded around as Pepperdine and Wheatfall returned with Fields. Several caustic comments were directed at the prisoner as he was taken to Delaney.

  The captain waited as Wheatfall pulled Fields from his horse. Then he approached him. “You’re in serious trouble, Private Fields. I can drum up enough charges to lock you away for the rest of your life. There’s assault to begin with. Or perhaps attempted murder would be better. We have a good case of desertion as well as theft of valuable government property which includes a carbine and a pistol.”

  “Yes, suh,” Fields said stoically. Being punished was nothing new to him and his acceptance of pain and unpleasant circumstances was well ingrained.

  “I figure I have three options,” Delaney continued. “I can have you court-martialed which will result in about fifty years in the Federal penitentiary, or even a firing squad since you technically deserted in the face of the enemy.”

  “Yes, suh.”

  “That would make a lot of paperwork for Mr. Pepperdine, though,” Delaney said sarcastically

  “Yes, suh.”

  “Fields, I don’t know why you’re in the army,” Delaney said. “You weren’t forced to enlist, I know that much. But you’re here and you’re one of us whether you like it or not. Perhaps you don’t appreciate what you have here, so I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt by placing you on company punishment charged with an unauthorized absence. That will mean extra duty for you at hard labor for ninety days. During that time you will also play poker on paydays with the soldier you attacked, understand?”

  “Suh?” Fields asked, puzzled.

  “And you’ll lose. So you might as well give him all your money right after pay call.”

  “Yes, suh.”

  “Sergeant Wheatfall, take charge of the prisoner,” Delaney said. He offered his hand to Pepperdine. “Congratulations on accomplishing the mission.”

  “Sergeant Wheatfall did most of it.”

  “Perhaps,” Delaney said. “But you were wise enough to let him, weren’t you? That’s enough to congratulate any second lieutenant for.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Pepperdine said, grinning. He followed his commander to the officers’ cook fire and stopped short at the sight he saw there.

  Jim Rivers was seated with a brave in full war dress. The scout waved at Pepperdine. “Howdy, Brad. C’mon over and meet Crying Buffalo.”

  The Indian merely grunted at the young officer.

  “We’ve had our own excitement,” Delaney said, getting himself some coffee. “It seems Running Horse wants to palaver. Crying Buffalo here is his envoy.”

  “Does he want to surrender, sir?” Pepperdine asked.

  “Who knows?” the captain answered. “It’s hard to judge an Indian’s intentions, Mr. Pepperdine. He might have decided he simply wants to find out what in hell we’re up to. At any rate, you, Rivers and I will meet with him some ten miles from here tomorrow morning.

  “Just three of us, sir?”

  “Yes, Mr. Pepperdine, just three of us.”

  “Well, sir, that seems rather risky.”

  “Oh, it is, Mr. Pepperdine. Indeed it is.”

  Chapter Twelve

  As Pepperdine trailed slightly behind Delaney and Rivers he noticed more and more hostiles appearing on the horizon. They would be visible for awhile, then suddenly drop out of sight. After that others would take their place until they, too, disappeared. It was more than just a little disconcerting to realize that each new appearance seemed to bring them closer to the three white men.

  By the time the trio was within three miles of the proposed meeting site, there were a full two dozen braves surrounding them. The Indians shouted and gestured their hatred, but since Delaney and Rivers seemed passive, Pepperdine did his best to pay no heed to the taunts.

  The meeting place that Running Horse had chosen was by the same river that Fields had crossed during his attempt at desertion. A lean-to shelter of branches and buffalo hides had been erected beside a cottonwood grove, and the hot stillness of the mo
rning, blending with the soft sounds of the running water nearby, made a peaceful, almost pastoral, scene.

  As soon as Delaney and his companions arrived, other Indians suddenly appeared from nowhere and crowded into the area. They were tall men mostly, void of any body fat, their bodies sinewy and tough. Pepperdine had heard various plains tribes described as handsome people, and here was the proof. Their eyes were alert and intelligent, their sharp features displaying a savage aristocracy that spoke of a race that had been complete masters of their environment; at least until the interlopers from Europe began appearing in staggering numbers.

  Pepperdine and his friends dismounted and waited patiently until a singularly tall Indian emerged from the shelter. He was painted for war, the blue, red and yellow streaks across his face and body not unlike that of the lightning bolts Pepperdine had seen during the storm. He wondered if there was some connection.

  This Indian gazed at them in silence for several long moments before he spoke. “Hello, Dah-lah-nay. Hello, Ri-vars.”

  “Hello, Running Horse,” Delaney said.

  Jim Rivers raised his hand in greeting, but he whispered to the side at Pepperdine. “Introduce yourself, Brad.”

  The young officer hesitated, then spoke out forcefully making his voice an octave lower than he normally spoke. “I am Pepperdine.”

  Running Horse acknowledged him with a curt nod. Then he abruptly sat down.

  Delaney followed suit. Pepperdine and Rivers seated themselves a couple of yards behind him. The captain looked around. “No pipe, Running Horse?”

  “No pipe, Dah-lah-nay. I plenty godamn mad.”

  “I am angry too, Running Horse. Where is the girl you took?”

  “She with the women who followed us. Unclean right now.”

  Delaney nodded. If she were menstruating at least whatever amount of rape she had endured had not left her pregnant. “We want her back.”

  “No talk about girl,” Running Horse said.

  “Then talk about something else.”

  Running Horse stood up giving indication of a long speech. “I want talk in my tongue. I no can say good talk in white man’s tongue. Ri-vars will hear me in my tongue then say you my words in white man tongue.”

  “All right,” Rivers agreed. “Speak slow and I will change your words so Delaney and Pepperdine can understand what you say.”

  Running Horse breathed deeply with closed eyes for two full minutes. Then he spoke his mind in Comanche while Rivers translated it.

  “My grandfather told me about the first white men that came to our people,” the war chief began. “They were good men who wanted no change made in our lives. They brought presents of guns, steel knives and hatchets, blankets and many other useful and good things. For these we gave them buffalo hides and life was good. The white men lived among us. Some even took Indian women for wives. They learned to speak our language and live by our customs. There was respect and trust. Life was good with those white men. That is what my grandfather said and he was a wise old man.

  “Then other white men came. They were not so good, but not so bad either. They brought whiskey that made us crazy and the guns they traded for hides did not always work. Sometimes they stole things or hurt the women when they would not do what they wanted. But we were still free and lived in our own way. Besides, if any of these white men got too bad, we killed them.

  “Then the bad white men came. Many, many, many. So many I don’t know a number to tell you. They did not want to trade. They wanted land to live on. Not like the Indian people live on land. Instead they wanted the land to be theirs forever. They would not let anybody else live on that land. How stupid! You cannot use the land that way. It is for everybody. You might as well claim the air for yourself and tell everybody else not to breathe. How stupid! These bad white men put up fences and they shot many buffalo to amuse themselves, and they would not go away. It was killing us. But if we complained they said we were bad and told us to go away. Go away? Where? This is the world. We cannot go live in the sky. We cannot go live in the lakes or rivers. Where can we go?

  “We made treaties but what good are they? The white man talks to a few Indians and makes a piece of paper. He thinks those Indians can make treaties for all of us. I do not even know what they say. But the white man knows. He says it means we Indians must go live on reservations and he will give us meat and teach us how to grow food. I do not want to grow food. I am a hunter. All my brothers are hunters. This is what we like. And I say to you now, Delaney, what is wrong with that? But they do not give us the meat they promise anyway. We grow hungry and weak. Then I know the truth. The white men want us hungry and weak so we cannot fight. That is why I left the reservation and go to war against you. I do not fight you for horses. I do not fight you for women. I fight you so I will not be hungry and weak. I am not hungry and weak now. I am strong. And I will not go back to the reservation.

  “You go to your white brothers, Delaney. Tell them that all of you must go away. We will not follow you or hurt you. We will stay here and hunt buffalo and steal horses and women from other Indians like we always did since the Great Spirit gave us this land. But you must all go away now. Go tell your brothers that, Delaney.”

  The captain sat in silence for several long moments. He lit a cigar before he spoke. “I am not going to make a speech. I want to talk with you.”

  “Then talk, Delaney.”

  “I cannot tell the other white men to go away,” he explained. “And I don’t think they would leave even if I told them.”

  “But you are a war chief, Delaney,” Running Horse said.

  “I am only the chief of my Buffalo Soldiers,” Delaney said. “I can only tell them what to do if my own chief lets me.”

  “Then you are not a free man.”

  “I definitely am not,” Delaney agreed sardonically.

  “If you whites go away there will be no more trouble. You are the cause of it all. You disgust me.”

  Pepperdine, listening intently as Rivers continued his translation, now realized that Running Horse was not an ignorant savage but an intelligent man who was seeking to preserve his way of life against a strong alien force he could not understand.

  “Come back to the reservation,” Delaney said. “It is not too bad. Strong Bear likes it there.”

  “Ah!” Running Horse snorted. “Strong Bear is an old man who does nothing but drink whiskey the agent Leighton gives him. He is not a man anymore. He is turning into a whiskey bottle.”

  “Come back to the reservation,” Delaney repeated.

  “No I do not want to talk about the reservation anymore,” Running Horse said.

  “Then let’s talk about the girl you stole,” Delaney insisted.

  “I will keep her for my woman with my two Indian women,” Running Horse said.

  “Does she like you?”

  “Who cares if a woman likes him or not?”

  “I don’t have a woman out here either,” Delaney said. “Can I have her?”

  “I give her to you for your horse,”

  “No. I have a blanket and a coat you can have for her.”

  Running Horse laughed. “Ah! She is young and strong. Not a dried up old hag. She is worth more than that. Give me your gun for her.”

  “No. I have only my blanket and coat. They are very heavy ones to keep you warm during the snows.”

  “I don’t think you want the girl very much,” Running Horse mused.

  “What will you take for her then? But not my horse and no guns,” Delaney said.

  “We are going to fight,” Running Horse said. “Not here, but before long we will fight a big battle.”

  “We won’t if you come back to the reservation.”

  “I will go away. If you do not follow me for three days, I will leave the girl at The-Place-Where-The-Spirits-Swim on the Nueces River.”

  “Bring her to me now.”

  “No. Anyway she is unclean. No man can touch her.”

  “I will no
t follow you for three days.”

  “I do not like you Delaney, but I trust you. I will leave the girl where I said. But if you lie to me or try to trick me, we will all have our way with her until she is dead. Then we will throw her away and she will be no good to any man.”

  “I will not trick you.”

  “Go away, Delaney.”

  “I will go,” Delaney said, standing up. “In three days I will come after the girl. Don’t you trick me.”

  “I will not be near The-Place-Where-The-Spirits-Swim,” Running Horse said. Then he stepped back a couple of paces.

  Rivers looked at Delaney. “He’s done palavering, Ambrose.”

  Delaney nodded his comprehension, then stood up and left without ceremony as Pepperdine and Rivers followed. They remounted under renewed hoots from the warrior onlookers, and rode away from the camp.

  Pepperdine glanced around at their uninvited escort as the three men once again headed out over the prairie. “I’m beginning to feel very nervous.”

  “They won’t do anything,” Delaney assured him. “We whites haven’t destroyed their honor yet.”

  “Godammit!” Rivers swore. “Ever’ time I hear one o’ them Injuns complain about the way things are going I die a little inside.”

  “You think we’re wrong, Jim? Pepperdine asked.

  “Yes, I do,” Rivers said. “I think what’s being done on this wild, wonderful prairie is wrong.”

  “Then why are you participating in it?”

  “Because it’s more or less destined that this area is gonna be civilized,” Rivers answered. “I think it’s important for men like me who love this place. Maybe we can soften things up some or at least keep the changes down to a tolerable level.”

  “What about you, sir?” Pepperdine asked Delaney.

  “I am a soldier,” Delaney answered. “I’ll pursue whatever policy my government chooses to follow.”

  “Right or wrong?”