by Jake Logan
“Hell, mister, she warn’t nothin’ but a damn Injun in the first place.” It was the sergeant who spoke. His muscles tensed and he swung around to make a grab for Slocum’s gun hand.
His remark was all it took to send Slocum into action. With all the strength he possessed, he smashed the barrel of his gun down onto the soldier’s cavalry hat.
The sergeant groaned and sank to his knees. Slocum quickly turned his Colt on the others. “Any other sumbitch want to give me a try? I warned this fool, and I told him I’d give him a chance to tangle with me without a gun. But he wasn’t smart enough. His big mouth and bad intentions got him a split skull.”
The corporal sat up holding his head. He glared across the fire at Slocum. “I’ll have you put in the guardhouse for hittin’ a member of the United States Army. That’s a federal crime, in case you didn’t know, mister.”
Slocum’s blood was at full boil. He strode back around the fire to Corporal Sims. “If I’m facing charges for one or two counts of striking a so-called member of the U.S. Army, I might as well make it a dozen.”
Before the words had even left his mouth, Slocum swung his gun across the corporal’s cheek. This time, the noises of by shattering teeth accompanied Sims’s shout of agony. He fell over on his back groaning, spitting blood and chips of teeth.
But Slocum was nowhere near finished with these men. He took aim at the others. “Every son of a bitch unbuckle your gunbelts and leave ‘em right here, ’cept for the loud-mouth who calls himself Sims. We’re walkin’ back to Fort Sill tonight, only there’s one more thing about it you ain’t gonna like.
“What’s that, mister?” a young private with pink cheeks asked as he began unbuckling his army-issue flap holster.
Slocum chuckled mirthlessly. “You’re also gonna pull off your boots.”
“Our boots?” another soldier cried. “There ain’t nothin’ but cactus an’ thorns all the way to Cache!”
“Sounds like you’ve got two choices, soldier. You can show up at the fort a little sore-footed, or you can make me mad. Now, you already seen what I do when I get mad. On top of having sore feet, you’ll have a few bumps on your skullbone.”
“You’re plumb crazy, mister,” the sergeant said, sitting up and holding his bleeding head.
“That’s what I’ve been told,” Slocum replied, his voice even, emotionless. “My mama used to say I was the craziest child ever raised in Calhoun County, Georgia. Never was anybody in that whole part of the state argued with her. Now get up and take off that gun, or I’ll smack around on your head again till you understand I ain’t just fooling around.”
“What’ll we do with our horses?” another soldier asked as his gun and holster fell to the ground.
“You’re gonna turn ’em loose. All but one. Get to that picket line and bring me one. Saddle it for me and put a blanket over the saddle. That other Indian girl Corporal Sims and the other two of you tied up is hurt real bad. She’s riding back.”
“You can’t do this to the U.S. Cavalry,” the sergeant said as he rose unsteadily to his feet.
“You’re dead wrong,” Slocum replied. “Because I am gonna do it, unless you think you and your soldierboys here are men enough to stop me.”
“I’ll give the major a full report.”
“So will I,” Slocum said. “And when I tell him what you did to those women, I expect you’ll get to know the insides of that guardhouse real well.”
“We didn’t do nothin’ but fuck a couple of ‘em. The rest of ’em run off.”
“After you screwed the girl I found earlier, you crushed her skull with a rock. That’s murder, Sergeant.”
“Not if it’s a goddamn Injun it ain’t.”
“Another lesson you’ve got coming, soldierboy. Indians are people. And to tell you the truth, shithead, I’d rather know just about any kind of Indian than know any more about you than I already do. You’re a yellow chickenshit hiding behind a uniform, and the same goes for the rest of you who took any part in what happened to those Comanche girls.”
“I’ll go get that horse,” the private said, walking away from the fire with his head lowered.
Slocum addressed the others. “Start pulling off those cavalry boots, boys. If they ain’t off by the time I count to ten, I’ll start shootin’ holes in their soles while your feet are still in ’em.”
In dead silence, the dejected soldiers began pulling off their high-topped boots in the firelight. One man muttered, “I’ll be a cripple the rest of my life by the time I get through pickin’ all the cactus thorns outa my feet.”
Slocum kept a keen eye on the seven men while he listened for the return of the private with a saddled horse. Moments later, after the last soldier was in his stocking feet, Slocum heard hooves coming through the darkness at a walk.
“All saddled up an’ ready, mister,” the private said, handing Slocum the reins on a sorrel gelding.
“Get your boots off,” Slocum snapped. He turned to the rest of the soldiers. “You boys start walking toward Fort Still. I’ll be right behind you. The first son of a bitch who tries to double back to catch one of those loose horses is gonna get shot for his trouble.”
The eight uniformed men took mincing steps away from the firepit without their weapons or boots, soon disappearing into the dark. Only then did Slocum’s rage begin to cool. There was more important business at hand. He had to get Senatey to the post surgeon before the blood in her lungs killed her.
10
He piled the troopers’ boots onto the campfire and stood there for a few moments watching them burn. Then he picked up their pistol belts and tossed them into the dark brush. Next he tossed their Remington army-issue rifles out of sight behind the bushes and trees.
In a ravine only a few yards from the solders’ campsite, he found seven tethered horses. One at a time, he turned them loose to wander and graze, waving his arms in the air to send them southward, away from the march of the bootless soldiers.
Satisfied that he’d done all he could to keep the troopers afoot, he returned to Senatey, leading the sorrel cavalry horse. She was still unconscious. It would take precious time to fashion a travois from cut poles with his blankets stretched between them. By the blood on the front of her dress he guessed time was running short for the Comanche girl.
He tied the cavalry animal to his saddlehorn and gently lifted Senatey in his arms. In the starlight he saw her eyelids flutter once, but she slipped back into unconsciousness as he mounted the Palouse.
He’d made up his mind, regardless of the girl’s wishes. He was taking her to the post doctor. Her injuries were too severe to leave him any other choice.
Traveling by starlight, he headed toward the fort with the girl nestled against him.
False dawn grayed the eastern skies as he rode slowly through the gates of the fort. He could hear the dogs barking at his approach. The sentries gave him curious stares when they saw the Comanche woman in his arms, but they waved him through as if he were a familiar figure at Fort Sill.
He guided his stud to the post hospital. An orderly half-asleep on a wooden bench stumbled to his feet, blinking in the haze of the pale light.
“What’s the post surgeon’s name?” Slocum asked as he brought his horse to a halt at the hitchrail.
“Major Green, sir.”
Slocum stepped gingerly to the ground with his lovely burden balanced in one arm. “Get him for me. This girl needs medical attention right away.”
The orderly blinked. “But she’s an Indian. Doc Green don’t work on sick Indians.”
“He’s gonna work on this one.”
“Pardon me fer sayin’ it, sir, but you ain’t no officer an’ no civilian is gonna tell Doc Green what to do. Besides, he’s asleep.”
“Then wake him up, soldier, and do it real quick before I lose my temper.”
“It’s against orders, sir.”
“I’m giving you new orders.”
“But you ain’t a soldier, if you’ll
pardon me makin’ the observation.”
“Wake him up anyway,” Slocum demanded, carrying Senatey up the steps. “This woman was almost killed by three of your goddamn soldiers, and I assure you Major Thompson will give Doc Green the authority to work on her. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to send General George Crook, a personal friend of mine, a telegram explaining how you and Doc Green and everybody else on this military post refused to help an injured woman.”
“Doc ain’t gonna like it,” the orderly objected. But as he said it, he started toward the darkened barracks across the parade ground.
“I don’t remember asking you if he’d like it, soldier. I said to wake him up and get him over here.”
Horace Green bent over Senatey in the light cast by a coal oil lantern next to the bed where she lay. Despite what the orderly said, Major Green seemed willing enough to examine the girl after Slocum told him about the nature and cause of her injuries.
“She was kicked in the stomach,” Green said, looking closely at a dark purple bruise below her ribcage. “Probably ruptured a few blood vessels. May even have caused some damage to the blood vessels in her lungs or throat. You can see the marks here where someone tried to choke her.”
“He gave his name as Corporal Dave Sims.”
“Don’t recall a soldier by that name here.”
“I expect he lied to me. He and the other two, a couple of privates, ran off when I asked them to bring me a horse to carry her here. But I found them again. Along with a few more who crushed the skull of another Indian girl after they raped her.”
“Crushed her skull?” Green asked, peering over the tops of his wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Tied her to stakes buried in the ground. Then they raped her and bashed in the top of her head.”
Green made a face. “If you can prove that, and you tell our post commander, Major Thompson, about it, those men will be severely punished.”
“I gave ’em a little punishment of my own, Doc. But the army doesn’t need men like them.”
“By your Southern drawl I assume you were a Confederate, Mr. Slocum?”
“I was born in Calhoun County, Georgia.”
“Whatever side they took in that bloody conflict, men who do this sort of thing to a woman don’t deserve to wear a uniform. It’s a disgrace to every man who serves honorably.”
“We see it the same way, Doc.”
Green lifted one of Senatey’s eyelids. “She’s in a deep coma. Probably the result of shock. I’ll give her an injection of morphine for her pain and wrap her ribs. For now, that’s about all I can do.”
“When she wakes up she’ll holler like a stuck pig, Doc. She told me she wouldn’t go to a white man’s doctor.”
Green nodded. “These Indians have their own belief systems, and the Comanches are the hardest to convince when it comes to medicine. They still believe in their medicine men and the old ceremonies.”
“I’ll appreciate anything you can do for her,” Slocum said in a quiet voice. “She’s too young to die, and when I saw all that blood coming from her mouth, I knew she needed a real doctor to take care of her.”
“I’ll do everything I can. Internal injuries are very hard to diagnose.”
“I understand. I’m headed over to see Major Thompson, to give him a report of what happened. You can reach me at the Grand Hotel if you need me for anything.”
“When she wakes up, if she insists on leaving, there isn’t much I can do besides let her go.”
“Do as much as you can for her until then, Doc. I’ll be back to see how she’s doing after I talk to Major Thompson and get a change of clothes at my hotel room.”
“Bruce Thompson isn’t going to like what you tell him, Mr. Slocum. I assure you of that. The major is a soldier first and foremost. He won’t tolerate that kind of behavior from any of the men in his command.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Slocum said, turning to leave the tiny room where Senatey lay. “I would think the Indian agent would be just as upset.”
Green gave a humorless chuckle. “Then you don’t know Mr. Tatum,” he said.
Slocum paused near the door. “What do you mean by that, Doc?”
“George Tatum is about the worst excuse for an Indian agent I’ve ever run across. He hates all Indians. It’s just a nice, comfortable job for him, being Indian agent at Fort Sill. If it were up to him, he’d starve every Indian on this reservation to death.”
“I’ve heard about the wormy beef and the moldy flour.”
“It’s far worse than that, worse than bad food. I shouldn’t be talking about it to a civilian, I don’t suppose, but if you hang around Fort Sill any length of time, you’ll soon see what I mean.”
“Conas, one of the Kwahadie warriors, told me about starving, sick children.”
“It runs even deeper. But I’d better keep my mouth shut.”
“If, like you say, it’s more serious than bad food, why does the army tolerate it?”
Green covered Senatey with a thin bedsheet and turned down the lamp. Then he looked at Slocum. “Crooked politics can run deep into the military, Mr. Slocum. That’s about all I’ll say in that regard.”
“Does Major Thompson know about it? He doesn’t seem like the type to tolerate that sort of thing.”
“Knowing about it is one thing. Being able to prove it is quite another.”
When Slocum realized that the post surgeon was not about to offer any more opinions on the subject, he nodded and left the room.
Crossing the parade ground, he arrived at the headquarters building to ask for Major Thompson just as the sun was rising above the horizon.
“He ain’t here, sir,” a guard at the door said. “He went out to look for one of his patrols that was late comin’ back to the fort. Someone over at the Indian agent’s office said there’s going to be big troubles from some of the Comanches here. He rode off last night to check into it.”
Slocum bristled. “Tell the major John Slocum asked for him. I need to talk to him about the behavior some of his soldiers are guilty of. Tell him I’ll be at the Grand Hotel for an hour or two. After I get a bite to eat, I’ll be back here.”
“Yessir. I’ll tell him. Only, what sort of behavior was you talkin’ about that some of his soldiers are guilty of?”
“How does murder sound? Or rape? Killing horses too. Is that enough?”
The private swallowed. “Are you real sure of that, sir? I don’t think any soldier from this fort would commit honest-to-goodness murder or nothin’ like that.”
Slocum shook his head. “I saw it for myself, Private. And I intend to inform Major Thompson as soon as possible.”
“Them’s real serious charges ...” “You’re goddamn right they’re serious charges, soldier, and I’ll take ’em all the way to Washington if I have to.”
He was bone-weary by the time he got his Palouse stabled at the livery and returned to the hotel. As he started to climb the stairs to his room, the hotel clerk signaled to him.
“There’s a red-haired female been askin’ ‘bout you, if you got back an’ all, Mr. Slocum. Said her name was Fannie Brice, an’ that you knowed her.”
“I know her,” he said in a tired voice.
“She wanted me to send our shoeshine boy over to her boarding house soon as you got back, so’s she’d know you was okay.”
“No need of that. I’ll tell her myself after I get a bit of rest. I just spent a long night in the saddle, and I could use a few hours of shut-eye.”
“She give me two bits to send the shine boy, Mr. Slocum, so I figure I owe her. She said to send the kid over soon as you got back in town.”
“I don’t suppose it matters,” he said, continuing up the stairs.
He was lying in bed naked, almost too tired to move, when a knock came at the door. Slocum sat up quickly and slipped on a pair of pants, wondering if it could be someone from Fort Sill sent by Major Thompson.
When he opened the door he found Fannie standing there.
/>
“I was afraid you’d run out on me,” she said, “the way Clyde did.”
“I’m not the same type of man as your gambler. Come on in. I’m so tired I can hardly think straight.”
Fannie came in and perched on the bed. “Can you tell me what happened?” she asked.
“I found the tracks of the killers just like Major Thompson asked me to,” he began, slumping onto the mattress beside her. “I also found two Indian girls, Comanches. One of ’em was nearly dead and the other has serious injuries. I brought her back to the fort to see the doctor. She was unconscious most of the way back.”
“What happened to them?” Fannie asked, as she attempted to close the front of her bright yellow dress. Two of its buttons were missing, and a large expanse of her bosom was exposed.
“Some soldiers shot their horses and raped them. They weren’t doing anything wrong, just out hunting for game. There’s gonna be trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“When I tell Major Thompson it was his soldiers who did it to those women.”
“Almost everyone in Cache hates the Indians,” she said in a distant voice, gazing out his window. “The worst of the lot is that Indian agent, George Tatum. He shouldn’t be in charge of any program having to do with Indians. I’ve met him a few times.”
