The Indian seemed completely at ease, untroubled by the fact that Nathan had started to draw on him. But he had an air of alert competence to him as well, which seemed to say that he would have done more than just stand there if Nathan had continued his draw.
Nathan felt himself trembling inside as his gaze locked with the dark, deep-set eyes of the Indian. The urge to kill raged inside him. With an effort, he controlled it. He allowed the Colt to slide back down into its holster, but he didn’t release his grip on the weapon.
Ledbetter was on his feet. “By God, Stark, you can’t just burst into my office like this, and you certainly can’t threaten this man.”
“This ain’t a man,” Nathan said through clenched teeth. “It’s a redskinned heathen. Not much better than an animal.”
“You are the one called the Indian Killer,” the man said unhesitatingly, in excellent English. “In other words, a madman.”
Nathan’s hand tightened on the walnut grips of his revolver. As it did, the Indian turned more toward him, which swung the Henry’s barrel in his direction. The strong-muscled red hand slid up the stock toward the trigger.
“Both of you, at ease!” Ledbetter bellowed.
“We’re not in the army, Colonel,” Nathan said.
“We follow orders only so far,” the Indian said.
“You’re both insubordinate wretches! Cahill! Corporal Cahill!”
The aide nervously poked his head through the open door and said, “C-Colonel?”
“I want you to summon the sergeant of the guard. I intend to have these two men clapped in irons!” Ledbetter tapped a fingertip on top of his desk and glared at Nathan and the Indian. “Unless you’d both prefer to listen to what I have to say.”
Nathan didn’t take his eyes off the Indian. “I’m listening, Colonel, but I don’t know what in blazes you can say to explain the way this red devil is standing in your office like he belongs here.”
“He does belong here. His name is Moses Red Buffalo. He’s one of the new Crow scouts who has signed up to help us deal with the Sioux.”
Nathan had already seen enough to tentatively identify the stranger as a Crow. To most people, all Indians looked alike, and they couldn’t tell one tribe from another. Nathan had spent years studying the savages, though—the more you knew about your enemy, the easier it was to kill him—so he’d learned the small but significant differences in the way the various tribes wore their hair and decorated their clothing set them apart.
“I haven’t heard anything about using hostiles for scouts,” he said.
“As I just told you, it’s a new development. The Crow are traditional enemies of the Sioux. They would like to see the Sioux brought under control. What more natural way to accomplish that end than to work together with us? We have a common goal, you see.”
“There’s no way white men and redskins can work together,” Nathan said. “You can’t ever trust them. All they want to do is kill us. If the Crow say they’re on our side, it’s a trick. They’ll lie and then betray us. Lead us into a damn ambush!”
Moses Red Buffalo kept his eyes locked on Nathan. “Red men have been lied to by whites much more often than the other way around. And white men and Indians have fought on the same side many times in your country’s past.” A smug smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps you never went to school to learn these things, Stark.”
“You sound like you went to school somewhere.”
“Mission school. The missionary’s wife taught us.”
“I expect you raped and murdered her as soon as you got the chance.” Nathan practically spat the accusation.
Red Buffalo moved half a step toward him. “She was one of the finest women I have ever known,” he grated. “How dare you—”
Ledbetter slapped a palm on the desk. “Enough! I can still send for the sergeant of the guard.”
“You don’t need to do that, Colonel,” Nathan said. “Just tell this heathen to go back where he came from. He can sit in the dirt with the dogs and the worms, where he belongs.”
“This man is a murderer,” Moses Red Buffalo said. “If there was any truth to the so-called justice you white men profess to believe in, he should be hanged.”
“If I hang anybody, it’ll be both of you!” Ledbetter threatened. “I need to know where Hanging Dog is, how strong his forces are, and what he plans to do with them. Lieutenant Pryor’s job is to find out, and I expect the two of you to accompany him and do your utmost to see that he carries out his mission successfully!” Spittle flew in front of the colonel’s face. “Do you understand?”
“If the job needs two scouts, send Bucher with me,” Nathan said. Hard to believe that he would seek out Dietrich Bucher’s company, but even a German was better than an Indian. Nathan sure wished that Cullen was still there. The two of them could have done a bang-up job on the assignment.
Ledbetter turned back to his desk and picked up a piece of paper that he waved toward Nathan. “Do you know what this document is, Stark?”
“You are assuming he can read, Colonel,” Red Buffalo said.
“I can readjust fine,” Nathan snapped, “but not with you slinging it around like that, Colonel.”
“This document is a dispatch from the War Department informing me of the new Crow scouts and instructing me to make full and proper use of them immediately. As it happens, Moses Red Buffalo is the first one to arrive, so it falls to him to carry out the first assignment. Mr. Bucher went with the last patrol, so it’s your turn, Mr. Stark.”
That comment momentarily distracted Nathan from his anger at Red Buffalo’s very presence that close to him. “You’ve only given Lieutenant Pryor a short rest. Shouldn’t someone else lead this patrol?”
“The lieutenant volunteered. Very insistently, I might add. I won’t hold back a man who seeks to do his duty.”
“All right. I don’t know Pryor, but I haven’t heard anything bad about him while I’m here. If he wants to go, I reckon that’s his business.” Nathan looked at Moses Red Buffalo. “But not with this... this . . .”
“I believe I can come up with more creative insults than you,” the Crow said coolly, “if you wish to waste time trading them.”
“Nobody’s wasting any more time,” Ledbetter said. “I’ve made my decision, and it’s final. You’re both going.”
Nathan knew the colonel’s overbearing pride wasn’t going to allow him to back down now that he had declared himself so plainly. Ledbetter would have both him and Red Buffalo thrown in the guardhouse if they continued to defy his will. He might even have them put in the same cell, just to aggravate them.
But there might be a way to bring the colonel around to his way of thinking. Nathan said, “Are you gonna let some paper pusher in Washington tell you what to do, Colonel? You’re the one who’s out here on the frontier, risking your life every day to pacify those savages, not some fella sitting at a desk in the War Department who’s never been west of the Potomac!”
The veiled flattery—telling Ledbetter he was risking his life when so far he hadn’t done any such thing, as far as Nathan knew—appeared for a second that it might work. Ledbetter lifted his head and jutted out his chin, looking for all the world like he was posing for a statue that would go on the town square back home, honoring the local hero.
Then reality set in, and Ledbetter said, “There’s such a thing as the chain of command, Stark. Even a former Rebel like you ought to know that.” He sneered. “I have no choice. My orders are clear. Both of you will accompany Lieutenant Pryor’s patrol and assist him in locating the hostiles and obtaining the information required. That... is ... all.”
Nathan and Red Buffalo glared at the colonel, not at each other.
“Dismissed!” Ledbetter shouted.
At that moment, Nathan came mighty damned close to quitting. He wanted to tell Ledbetter what he could do with those orders from the War Department, then tell him to go to hell and stalk out of the office. But before he could do any of those th
ings, he saw the self-satisfied smirk on the face of Moses Red Buffalo and realized that if he quit, it meant the Indian won. Red Buffalo would still go along on the patrol, and Dietrich Bucher would be forced to ride with him.
Bucher was an idiot. He wasn’t nearly smart enough to catch on to the tricks that Red Buffalo would no doubt try to pull. He would go along without any objections while the Crow led the soldiers into a trap and would die along with the others when the heathens massacred them. Nathan didn’t care all that much what happened to Bucher, but Lieutenant Pryor and the other men on the patrol didn’t deserve that fate.
Nathan reached a decision. “All right,” he said, tight-lipped. “I’ll go.”
The surprise on Moses Red Buffalo’s face was almost worth putting up with the stinking savage.
CHAPTER 15
Lurking near the door so he could listen to what was going on in Ledbetter’s office, Corporal Cahill scuttled back to his desk as Nathan and Red Buffalo emerged and headed for the outer door. Neither scout looked at the other or acknowledged his presence in any way. Each acted as if he were alone.
“Ah... Captain Stark?” the aide said.
Nathan stopped and wheeled toward the desk. “What?”
Cahill flinched from the curt tone, but he held out a piece of paper. “Would you mind giving this to Lieutenant Pryor?”
“His orders for the patrol?”
“That’s right.”
Nathan took the document. “All right.” He started again to leave, then paused. “Corporal, how long has the colonel known about the”—he looked around and saw that Red Buffalo had gone on outside—“savages being forced on us?”
“You mean the Crow scouts?” Cahill swallowed. He glanced at the door to the colonel’s office, which was closed. “The dispatch rider came in two days ago. Mr. Red Buffalo arrived late yesterday afternoon.”
Nathan grunted. He wondered how he had missed seeing an Indian ride into the fort. Sitting around this place with nothing to do must have dulled his senses.
“It never occurred to Ledbetter to let the real scouts know what was going on?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Nathan realized what a ridiculous question it was. Ledbetter would never feel that he had to share anything with anybody unless it suited his own purposes. Nathan waved a hand. “Never mind. And don’t call that heathen mister. He’s a redskin, not a human being.”
That was funny in a way. Most tribes’ name for themselves translated as the human beings. They considered themselves the only true people, with everyone else being lesser somehow. The irony of what he had just said without thinking put a scowl on Nathan’s face as he left the building.
That scowl deepened when he saw Moses Red Buffalo standing on the porch of The House, one shoulder leaning against a post holding up the roof.
The Crow said, “Perhaps I should deliver the orders to Lieutenant Pryor. An uneducated man such as yourself might forget what they are and use the paper to wipe when you visit the privy.”
“Not that it’s any of your damn business, redskin, but I was educated just fine. My pa was a schoolmaster.”
Red Buffalo raised an eyebrow. “A surprise. I took you for a brute who could not read or write.”
Nathan started past him to go down the steps. “Stay the hell out of my way,” he said without looking over. “The colonel wouldn’t like it if I killed you, but push me too much and I’ll do it anyway.” He paused. “From here I could make it to Canada without any problem. It’s a big country up there. Nobody would ever find me if I didn’t want them to.”
“Exactly the sort of threatening bluster I would expect from a man such as yourself.”
Nathan blew out a disgusted breath, clattered down the steps, and started along the edge of the parade ground toward the area in front of the quartermaster’s storehouse where the patrol was assembling. He didn’t look around to see if Red Buffalo was following him.
Lieutenant Alfred Pryor was a medium-sized young man with curly dark hair. He had grown a mustache, probably in an attempt to make him look older, but if that was true, the effort wasn’t too successful. He still looked like he was barely out of West Point. Nathan didn’t know it for a fact, but he suspected Fort Randall was Pryor’s first posting.
The lieutenant was inspecting the packs on the mules as if he knew what he was doing. Maybe he did.
Nathan waited until Pryor finished then extended the orders when the lieutenant turned toward him. “From Colonel Ledbetter, Lieutenant,” he said coolly.
“Thank you, Captain Stark,” Pryor said. “I’m told that you’ll be accompanying us on this patrol.”
“Yep.”
Pryor looked past him. “As well as, ah ...”
“Just call me Red Buffalo,” the Crow said as he stepped up beside Nathan. “Christian name’s Moses, but only my friends back at the mission ever use it.”
Pryor’s eyes widened in badly concealed surprise. “You’re a Christian?”
“I am,” Red Buffalo said simply.
Nathan wouldn’t have believed he could hate Red Buffalo more than he already did, but hearing the man profess a belief in the Christian faith accomplished that very thing. Nathan’s own faith had been gutted by the tragedy that had shaped his life. Still, he found it deeply offensive to hear such a claim from a redskin. Nor did he believe for a second in its sincerity. Deep down, all Indians were heathens. That was just a fact.
“Well, I see that you’re going to be riding with us as well,” Pryor said as he glanced over the official orders Corporal Cahill had written up. “I’ll be very grateful for any assistance you and Captain Stark can provide.” The lieutenant’s jaw tightened. “I failed to locate the hostiles the last time. I will not fail this time.”
Nathan understood now why Pryor had volunteered to lead this patrol. The young man’s pride was at stake. Not many things were more important to an ambitious young officer than his pride. Nathan had ridden with many of them. He knew it was his job to temper that overarching self-importance with a healthy dose of reality now and then, just to keep them all from getting killed.
“What the devil is this?” a new voice demanded harshly from behind Nathan. He thought he recognized it but looked over his shoulder anyway and saw Sergeant Seamus McCall standing there with bulky fists planted on his hips and an angry glower on his flushed face.
“These are our scouts, Sergeant,” Pryor said. “I believe you know Captain Stark, and this is Moses Red Buffalo.”
“I know Stark, all right,” McCall said. “And an Indian? Where the hell’s Bucher?”
“Mr. Bucher isn’t coming with us this time.” Pryor’s voice sharpened. “And watch your tone, Sergeant. I won’t tolerate any insubordination.”
“Sorry, sir,” McCall muttered, obviously not meaning the apology. “I just ain’t sure—for the good of the patrol, I mean—that we ought to be relyin’ on these two ... scouts.” He made the last word drip with venom.
“We have our orders, Sergeant. Are the men ready to ride?”
“Yes, sir. Whenever you give the word.”
Pryor looked at Nathan and Red Buffalo. “Gentlemen?”
Nathan said, “Give me ten minutes to saddle my horse.”
“I will be ready, as well,” Red Buffalo said.
“Very well. Ten minutes.”
Nathan headed for the stables to get Buck. He knew Red Buffalo was going in that direction, too, but he didn’t say anything. He was going to ignore the redskin for the entire duration of the patrol, but it wouldn’t be easy.
He waved off the hostler who came toward him when he entered the stable, preferring to see to Buck himself. He went to the stall where the big, rangy buckskin was, unlatched the gate, and swung it open. Buck tossed his head in greeting.
“Yeah, I know,” Nathan said. “You’ve been getting stale hanging around this blasted fort, too, just like me. Well, we’re gonna be back out on the prairie soon, and I’ll bet you get a chance to run some while we’re gone.”
Buck let out a little whicker of what Nathan took to be agreement.
He threw the saddle blanket over Buck’s back and adjusted it precisely the way both of them liked it. He didn’t know where Red Buffalo had gotten off to and didn’t care. He heard some horses stomping around elsewhere in the cavernous barn and assumed it was because they smelled an Indian.
Nathan had just lifted his saddle into place when he heard a soft footstep nearby. He glanced around quickly, his muscles stiffening in alarm. It would be just like one of those damned red heathens to try to sneak up on him and knife him while he was busy with something else—
Delia Blaine stood there, one slender hand resting on the stall gate. “Nathan, I heard that you are going out on patrol with Lieutenant Pryor.”
He jerked his head in a nod, glad to see her but at the same time wary after what had happened the last time they were together. “That’s right. We’re supposed to locate Hanging Dog and the rest of the Sioux.”
She moved a little closer. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Figured that was what you wanted.” He looked away from her as he tightened the cinches on Buck’s saddle. “We didn’t exactly part as friends.”
“Nonsense. Just because we disagreed doesn’t mean we’re not still friends. And speaking honestly, as your friend, I was hurt when you chose to stay away from me.”
Nathan frowned. He bristled a little at the chiding tone in her voice, but at the same time he felt an unexpected surge of relief at knowing she wasn’t angry with him. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Just didn’t want to cause any more trouble.”
“Why don’t we just put that behind us?” Delia suggested. “You’re leaving, and I . . . I wouldn’t want any hard feelings between us . . .”
“In case I don’t come back?”
“Don’t say that!” she cried softly. “Of course you’re coming back. You’re Nathan Stark. You’re... indestructible.”
He finally turned to look at her. “I used to think the same thing about Stephen. Seemed to me like he’d always be around... with you.”
“I felt the same way,” she whispered. “But fate . . . fate doesn’t always pay attention to our feelings, Nathan. It just goes ahead and does what it pleases, and we’re left to pick up the pieces.” A sad smile curved her lips. “You’re one of the pieces left in my life. I don’t want to lose you.”
Nathan Stark, Army Scout Page 10
