“Come on, boys!”
Our horses burst upon them—and the Sioux, confronted with these unexpected monsters, fled, many with arrows half-cocked but not daring a Parthian shot. I had a command decision: we could either pull up and form a firing line or plunge into the fleeing Sioux, making their panic febrile. I figured the Crows wouldn’t hear my shouted orders anyway, so we plowed ahead and were soon amidst the enemy. Some Crows fired their Winchesters, others swung them as clubs, and above all the screaming and howling I heard the gruesome pops and smacks of wooden stocks and metal barrels cracking into skulls. Personally, I rode down and shot the enemy at point-blank range.
Libbie, you are a soldier’s wife, and you know what this sort of combat means—blood and brains, jaws and eyes splattered onto our horses, the fallen pummeled beneath our horses’ hooves. The Sioux did not ask for, and the Crow did not offer, mercy. We shot and hammered and beat the enemy until we left the yellow grass littered with red, broken, bloody corpses. Crows dropped from their horses to take scalps, noses, whatever else they wanted, and I spurred Marshal Ney ahead. My blood was still up. I wasn’t done.
“Let’s give Larsen a personal message,” I shouted to Beauregard, and he followed me as I raced for the Trading Post. We pulled up in sight of it. A cordon of gunman was forming, some still strapping on their gun-belts. They’d heard our shooting. Larsen was no doubt inside, hiding behind them.
I held my Winchester aloft as a sign that I was there to talk, not shoot. “You men listen to me. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll clear out. I just left a trail of scalped Sioux behind me. My advice to you is let Larsen fight his own battles—and you tell him, next time he sees me, he better have a white flag of surrender.”
Beauregard and I turned our horses. No bullets pursued us, no shouted threats or insults, no countercharge of Sioux cavalry held in reserve. I reckoned the enemy was in shock. We trotted back to our men.
Billy Jack’s Crows were remounted and ready for action.
I asked, “Any casualties?”
“None.”
“The enemy?”
“Dead.”
“Bows, arrows?”
“Taken; knives too.”
“Good work, Sergeant. We’ll leave the Trading Post for another day. We’re done here. Let’s move out. They might need us at Bloody Gulch.”
We galloped back—and the civilians knew immediately that we were victorious. The Crows were ecstatic, yip-yip-yipping and holding out their prizes, like dogs bringing back shot ducks. The civilians, meanwhile, had things well in hand. A line of men and boys had formed an—unneeded, as it turned out—bucket brigade for the saloon. The Chinamen were standing on the hotel roof smiling and waving at us. There were thin trails of smoke, and charcoaled splotches here and there, but the hotel and saloon were safe and secure; the acrobats had performed well.
We rode up to the hotel. I dismounted and handed the reins to Billy Jack. Waiting for me on the hotel porch was Miss Saint-Jean—a mirage-like vision in a corset, Robin Hood hat, tights, and heels—this time all in pink. It took me a while to adjust to this peculiar and unsettling picture, so familiar and yet so exotic, like something out of the tales of Scheherazade. Her face had that sardonic expression I knew so well and found so provocative.
“Well, Marshal, is this our future—fire and arrows?”
“Not from them. They’re dead. Children safe?”
“Yes—and their mothers aren’t much rattled; comes from being farmers’ wives I expect.”
“Hotel and saloon?”
“Safe for now, Marshal; only minor damage. I appreciate your concern for my property.”
“Protecting your property—and you, madam—and all who live in Bloody Gulch honestly and uprightly is my duty.”
“Yes, yes, I appreciate your ‘honestly and uprightly, and duty,’ ” she said, trying to imitate the commanding tenor of my voice, before giving it up. “But my duty is to get my girls safely out of here. We will not stand as targets for flaming arrows that might destroy our costumes or set our hair on fire.”
“Do not fear, Miss Saint-Jean: Larsen is right where we want him.”
“Really? Surrounding us here, igniting the hotel, chasing the children off the streets with arrows? I expected better from you, Armstrong. I want Larsen gone. We can’t stay here forever. We need to book engagements; we need to get moving; we’re a traveling troupe—and we’re not traveling now; and we’re not making money.”
“You’re rehearsing a show!”
“For charity! That doesn’t count, Marshal. All you’ve done is gain me property that might become my grave.”
“Miss Saint-Jean, you’ll soon be traveling again—and the profits will roll in like your acrobats.”
“My profits, Marshal, are a lost cause—at least for now; and you’ve taken my acrobats for soldiers; and my girls are getting restless.”
“Restless? We’re under siege, for goodness sake; we’re fighting the enemy; we’ve liberated captives; you’re putting on a show; these are exciting times!”
“I’ll take my excitement at the cashier’s till.”
“Liberating an entire town from a villainous, evil carpetbagger surely gives your life more purpose than that, madam.”
“If I need any purpose, I’ll get it from a Sunday sermon, thank you very much. If you want to do something really useful, why don’t you repair that boarded-up church and school? If you keep us trapped here—if you keep rescuing people—we’ll need more room. But whatever you do, Marshal, just get on with it.”
“Miss Saint-Jean, we just came back from scalping Indians—isn’t that getting on with it? Bloody scalps are dripping on the parade ground, my pants are flecked with Indian blood, my horse’s hooves are coated with gore. I take your point about restoring the church and the school—and I’ll set work parties on it as soon as possible, but in the meantime, madam, do you mind if I scrape the Indian brains off my boots?”
“You don’t have to be dramatic, Marshal. That’s my business.”
“Yes—and don’t you have a rehearsal?”
“Yes, I do: another one of my many charitable efforts on your behalf; but I’d rather have performances I can take to the bank.”
And with that she spun on a high heel and ambled down to the saloon with a walk that, if I may be blunt, would have brought some men to their knees.
But not your dear Autie—and not Beauregard; he and I are made of stronger stuff. He came up beside me and said, “That, Yankee General, sir, is an extraordinary woman.”
“Yes, she is, Major—a constant reminder of duty.”
“Duty, sir?”
“We need to prepare for a counterattack.”
“No white flag yet from Larsen?”
“No, not yet, Major. But having tried bows and arrows, he’ll turn to bullets now. Pass the order to keep the women and children inside. Have you enough men for the lunettes and our perimeter defense?”
“Untrained men—and we don’t have arms and ammunition for all of them, either. I suppose those Indian bows might help for a short spell, if the Chinamen can use them, along with their swords, but we’re not equipped for a long siege.”
“Larsen will want his revenge—sooner than later. And we’ll make him pay for it. I need to draw up more plans, and I need to think things through. But for now let’s arm the farmers and put them at the lunettes guarding our front. The Chinamen will guard our rear flank, basing themselves at the farmyard. We’ll keep the Crows mobile, as cavalry.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Put Ives in command of the farmers and Fu Yu in command of the Chinamen.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Once you have our approaches guarded, come see me in the hotel parlor. I need to mull over scenarios and battle plans. We’ll have a council of war.”
“Yes, sir.”
At the hotel, I immediately set to work with paper and pen. When Beauregard joined me, I was able to illustrate, with diagrams, m
y new basic strategy: “I expect the main attack at our front,” I said. I illustrated the point with arrows pointed at adjoining rectangles labeled “Hotel” and “Saloon.” “There will likely be a diversionary attack against our rear,” I added and illustrated this with a rectangle in which I wrote, “Moo-Moo,” and, “Oink-Oink,” representing the farmyard.
“We should encourage the attack on our front,” I continued, “by only lightly defending our lunettes.” I drew our front trench and three crescent shapes behind it. “The men at the lunettes should be prepared for a fighting withdrawal to the saloon and the hotel.” I sketched stick men running away.
“The goal is to draw Larsen’s men in so that Billy Jack’s cavalry can sweep behind and cut them down from the rear. We can’t, however, let Larsen’s men advance too far or we might imperil the women and children; and I want to keep their husbands and fathers safe too.”
“Well, Yankee General, sir, if we’re going to keep husbands and fathers safe, the only dispensable men we have are you, me, Ives, Billy Jack, and the Chinamen—and I suppose the Crows, if it comes to that.”
“Precisely. The Chinamen must guard the farmyard. Billy Jack commands the Crows. That leaves you and me and Ives with a lunette for each.”
“Well, sir, that’s about the lightest defense I can imagine—in numbers, if not in quality.”
“With Winchesters, we can hold our own—long enough for Billy Jack to mount a charge anyway.”
“So, it’s death or glory, then.”
“Glory, major. We can’t afford to die; these civilians need us.”
“My sentiments exactly, sir.”
“So then, Major, I’ll defend the lunette nearest the hotel.”
“Of course, sir. Miss Saint-Jean’s showgirls will be there, won’t they?”
“Yes—and they, Major, as you can appreciate, are my special responsibility; I got them into this; I need to get them out.”
“A noble sentiment, sir; I would expect no less.”
“Also, my horses: Marshal Ney and Edward. That lunette is closest to the stables and the farmyard.”
“Exactly. And for me, sir?”
“Next one over. There’s an argument to be made, of course, to put Ives in the middle and have professional soldiers on either side, but that advantage is outweighed by you and I likely being unable to communicate across that distance once the bullets start flying. I’d rather have you nearby so that I can give you orders; you can pass orders to Ives. Ives can fall back onto the saloon, where the male civilians can support him as necessary and protect their womenfolk and children.”
“Brilliantly conceived, sir.”
“Thank you, Major. All right, then. Let’s get to work.”
So we did. Before taking up my own position at the lunette, I inspected the men, beginning with the Chinamen in the farmyard. Fu Yu was in position at the watchtower; Hercules stood ready—rock in one hand, torch in the other—to smash the whiskey bottles and fire the bridge over alcoholic waters, if necessary; and the acrobats amused themselves by reflecting the sun’s rays off their swords and into the eyes of any spying Sioux. Crow cavalrymen marched their horses like sentries along the rear perimeter of our position, ready to form up for a charge on Billy Jack’s orders.
I entered the hotel, which had a holding force of only three men, and unlikely ones at that: Smithers, Llewellyn, and Mathis, each of whom, rifle in hand, kept watch from a front-facing window. In case of emergency, they could call on reinforcements from the Chinamen or, sprinting down the corridor connecting the hotel to the saloon, from the husbands and fathers.
The saloon was the next stop on my inspection tour. If the mood in the hotel was one of expectant, somber, nervous near-silence, the saloon was boisterous with the revels of happy warriors. Of course, it didn’t hurt that, onstage, Miss Saint-Jean’s showgirls were dancing and high-stepping like manic marionettes, Miss Saint-Jean was pounding out a rousing tune on the piano, and the children were making a happy ruckus. Their mothers, meanwhile, kept redirecting their husbands’ eyes from the rehearsal to the saloon windows.
From the rowdy good humor of the saloon, I stepped out onto the dusty streets of Bloody Gulch and inspected the lunettes. Ives was in his, counting up the ammunition in his cartridge boxes. Beauregard was absent, attending to other duties; and when I looked at my own empty lunette, I had a sudden, inspired idea. It would take time to execute, but Larsen gave me that time, because, to my surprise, he did not attack—not that day; not that night.
A good dog, surprised by a snake, will fight to the death. A weak dog, once bit, will shy away, yelping, tail between its legs. That, I reckoned, was Larsen. I took him for a coward.
I decided to take advantage of Larsen’s cowardice, and tapped Billy Jack to help me execute the sudden and inspired idea that had struck me at the lunettes. Using his woodcraft skills, his talent with ax and blade, and stripping out of my clothes, we made a dummy Custer and slipped it into my lunette in the dark of night.
I reckoned I needed a disguise and, despite Billy Jack’s protests that it was unnecessary, I returned to my Indian costume of black wig, medicine pouch, and breech clout, with the added panache, of course, of my yellow cavalry bandana.
I took my stand with the Crows. If Larsen would not attack us, then our Indian cavalry would attack him. I waited impatiently through the night and early morning. By 7:30 a.m., I had waited long enough.
“Sergeant, have Sonny Sioux-Killer take command. You and I will scout the enemy—or provoke him. We’ll ride straight across the bridge to those fir trees, then we’ll arc south, riding parallel to our own perimeter. If they’ve got scouts, or a picket line, they’ll be there. If not, we’re going after them.”
We rode out. We were easy targets, but that was by intent. I wanted our enemy to show himself. Yet no sniper opened fire. Nowhere did we espy any Sioux.
If this was a shocking turn of events, it was nothing compared to what we found next. Billy Jack and I turned our mounts to the Trading Post. We rode through the tall grass and the corridor of trees that led to Larsen’s headquarters. To our astonishment, it appeared entirely abandoned. The corral was empty. There was neither horse nor man to be seen anywhere. I dropped Edward’s reins over the hitching rail.
“Sergeant, stay mounted, keep your eyes peeled, and look for tracks. I’m going to investigate.”
The Trading Post was a large, long, two-story, A-framed cabin, with two, big, front-facing windows. The curtains were drawn. Given the air of abandonment about the place, I saw no need for caution. I walked up to one of the windows, bold as you please, and took a gander: tables, chairs, a counter, but no a sign of life—no dogs looking for scraps, or cats looking for mice, or people looking for supplies. I stepped over to the front door, confident I wasn’t walking into a trap.
I opened the door, like any other customer would, and stepped inside. There was no seated gunman waiting to threaten me—nothing but wooden barrels on the ground, a few burlap sacks of salt or grain behind the counter, and shelves so sparsely stocked that I assumed Larsen’s hired army had stripped them of every provision that would fit into a saddlebag.
There were stairs in the center of the room, and I followed these up to a sort of loft that was the Trading Post’s second floor. It was partitioned into offices and, at the far end, a bedroom, but again neither mouse nor man was in attendance.
I descended to the main floor and followed it back to where it ended in a storeroom. There was a door behind the storeroom. I opened it and stepped outside. Billy Jack was waiting for me there. He looked down from his horse and said, “It looks like the Sioux have gone. I am not surprised: siege warfare is not Indian warfare. If I am right, they have abandoned Larsen, because they think your magic is stronger.”
“Apparently, the white men do too.”
“They went a different direction.” He pointed to the northwest.
“What’s there, I wonder?”
“I do not know, General. Bu
t I would say the siege is over.”
“And the war?”
“The war never ends for Crow and Sioux, but these Sioux, at least, are gone. I believe they are gone forever, and will not fight for Larsen. The white men, I’m not sure. For them, it could be a strategic withdrawal: in French, retrait stratégique; in German, Strategische Rückzug; in Beauregard’s tongue, Joseph E. Johnston.”
“Very wry, Sergeant, very wry.”
“I’m a student of the great war. I have studied the generals of both sides, including the Confederate Cherokee General Stand Watie.”
“Yes, well, let’s get back to town. I reckon the farmers—and their brides and children—can return to their homesteads.”
“Yes, I reckon so too, General. I’ll fetch your horse.”
I had a moment to wonder, again, how much this wily Indian knew about me, but as sleek black Edward appeared, all introspective thoughts fled, and I stepped into the saddle and we galloped away through the tall grass, Edward leaping the trench and delivering me back to Bloody Gulch.
Beauregard exclaimed, “By Jiminy, look what the cat brought in! Hallo, Billy Jack! Hallo, Yankee General, Big Chief, sir!”
I reined Edward in at Beauregard’s lunette. “They’ve gone. All of them: Larsen, the Indians, Larsen’s gunmen; the whole bunch.”
“Gone where, sir—or should I say, chief?”
“Don’t be impertinent, Major. We don’t know where, but the Indians are out of the way—maybe even at their reservation. According to Billy Jack, they’ve abandoned Larsen—our magic is too great. The gunmen—that might be a different story; Billy Jack saw their tracks heading to the northwest; looks like they stripped the Trading Post; so, they’ll be well-supplied.”
“Northwest? Up past the farms?”
“I assume so; we didn’t follow the tracks.”
“Yankee General, sir, I think I know where they are.”
“Well, in the meantime, Major, these people can return to their homesteads. The siege of Bloody Gulch is lifted. The rebuilding of Bloody Gulch can begin.”
Armstrong Page 19
