Bloodshed of Eagles

Chapter Twelve

May 14, 1876

Missouri River Flats

All twelve companies of the Seventh Cavalry had made camp alongside the banks of the Missouri River. A cold rain fell upon the tents, which were laid out in precise military order, creating puddles of water and large expanses of mud to turn the flats into a quagmire.

The largest tent of the encampment belonged to the regimental commander. Libbie and Lorena, who had come to watch the regiment depart, were in the tent, listening to the sound of the rain drumming against the canvas.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Libbie asked. “I think it has brewed now.”

“Yes, on a cold, damp day like this, I think a cup of tea would be lovely,” Lorena replied.

Libbie picked up the silver teapot.

“Oh, what a beautiful teapot,” Lorenea said.

“Yes, isn’t it? It was given to Autie by General and Mrs. Sherman,” Libbie replied. “We have so many nice things. Some think it out of place to bring such things into the field, but there have been many times when Autie and I had to live in a tent, much like this one, for months on end. And I always felt that if little things, like this teapot, could give those experiences a little more civility, then why not use them?”

“Oh, I agree. Libbie, I thank you very much for inviting me to come out with you to watch the regiment depart,” Lorena said as Libbie poured cups of hot tea for the two of them. “I can’t imagine anything more exciting.”

“The general and I are pleased to have you as our guest,” Libbie replied. She smiled. “But I don’t think anyone is as pleased over it as Tom is.”

“I have been working for the War Department for more than two years,” Lorena said. “Until I came out here, I didn’t realize what the soldiers in the field actually go through. I mean, right now, General Custer is somewhere outside in the cold rain when he could be dry and warm in here with us.”

Libbie smiled. “Oh, don’t you worry about the general, my dear,” she said. “Believe me, he is in absolute heaven. He loves the army.” Libbie got a wistful look about her. “Sometimes, I even think he loves the army more than he loves me.”

“Oh, that’s not possible,” Lorena said. “I’ve only been here for a few days, but I have heard the way he talks to you, and about you, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you. All women should be so lucky.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I should be so lucky.”

“Maybe someday you will be,” Libbie suggested. “I know Tom certainly seems taken with you. Though you may be more interested in Falcon MacCallister.”

“Falcon? No, I—I don’t think so,” Lorena replied. “There is something about him, a deep sadness in his past. I’m not sure what it is, but sometimes, in an unguarded moment, you can look into his eyes and see all the way down to the scars on his soul.”

Libbie shivered, then pulled a shawl about her shoulders.

“Are you cold?” Lorena asked.

“Yes. No,” Libbie said. “For some strange reason, I am very apprehensive about this scout. More so than any previous scout he has ever made, and what you said just now, about a deep sadness, seemed to resonate with me a little more than such a comment would normally.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lorena said. “I had no wish to cause you melancholy.”

Libbie laughed, then reached over and patted Lorena’s hand. “Don’t be silly, dear. I’m a soldier’s wife. Apprehension and unexplained bouts of melancholy are part of it.”

Outside Custer’s tent, most of the soldiers were staying in their own tents, out of the rain. The soldiers and civilians who were attached to the supply train had no such luxury, though. They were working with wagons that were sometimes hub-deep in mud, trying to move them to more solid ground.

As Lorena pointed out, Custer had eschewed the relative comfort of his tent so that he could be personally involved in getting the regiment ready for departure. At one point, he had the men tie a rope on front of the wagon, then he pulled, helping to extricate it from a particularly difficult mud hole.

Falcon, who the day before had gone to the railroad depot in Bismarck to see his brother and sister off, had delayed his own departure until after the Seventh left on their scout. He had come to the field with them, and was sharing a tent with Mark Kellogg, who was a reporter for the Bismarck Tribune and the New York Herald.

Kellogg was sitting at a small field table, writing. “Colonel MacCallister,” he said. “What do you think of this?”

Picking up the tablet, Kellogg began to read. “General George A. Custer, dressed in a dashing suit of buckskin, is prominent everywhere. Here, there, flitting to and fro in his quick eager way, taking in everything connected with his command, as well as generally, with the keen, incisive manner for which he is so well known. The general is full of perfect readiness for the fray with the hostile red devils, and woe to any of the scalp-lifters that come within reach of himself and his brave companions in arms.”

Kellogg looked up from his table with a broad smile, eager for Falcon’s response.

“Sounds like you think the Indians will be easy,” Falcon said.

“Oh, come on, please, Colonel MacCallister,” Kellogg said. “Against General Custer and the mighty Seventh? I’ve no doubt there will be some difficult times on the march, but as to any actual fighting? The Indians will scarcely give battle, I think.”

“Mr. Kellogg?” someone called from outside the tent. “May I come in, sir?”

“Yes, yes, of course, Johnny, come in out of the rain,” Kellogg replied.

The person who stepped into the tent was a boy, no older than fourteen. He was wearing a slicker against the rain, but his face was wet and the hat, which was a billed cap rather than a hat with a brim, had done little to keep his hair from getting soaked.

“Colonel MacCallister, this is Johnny McVey. He works for Western Union,” Kellogg said. “What brings you out here, Johnny? Do you have a telegram for me? Or a message from my editor?”

“Neither one, Mr. Kellogg. This is a telegram for Colonel MaCallister.”

“I’m Colonel MacCallister,” Falcon said.

“You’re not in uniform.”

“No, I’m not.”

“How do I know you are who you say your are? I’m only supposed to give this to Colonel MacCallister.”

“I will speak for him, Johnny,” Kellogg said. “This is Colonel MacCallister.”

“All right,” Johnny said. “If you speak for him, Mr. Kellogg.” The boy handed the telegram to Falcon. “This is for you,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Falcon gave the boy half a dollar, and took the telegram.

COLONEL FALCON MACCALLISTER FT LINCOLN DAKOTA TERRITORY FROM MAJOR ADRIAN BRISBANE FT JUNCTION COLORADO TERRITORY

COLONEL IT IS WITH REGRET THAT I INFORM YOU THAT SERGEANT MAJOR SEAN O’LEARY CORPORAL DARREL BATES AND PRIVATES DEACON MORGAN AND SMITH WERE KILLED WHILE ATTEMPTING TO DELIVER GATLING GUNS TO FORT JUNCTION STOP

IT WASN’T UNTIL AFTER THEY WERE KILLED THAT PRIVATE WILLIE CRAWFORD REPORTED OVERHEARING SOME OF A TELEGRAPH MESSAGE SENT BY GRAHAM POTTER IN WHICH POTTER WAS TALKING ABOUT THE GUNS STOP I IMMEDIATELY PLACED POTTER UNDER ARREST AND QUESTIONED HIM STOP

FROM WHAT WE HAVE BEEN ABLE TO GATHER, THE MAN POTTER DEALT WITH WAS CLETE HARRIS STOP WE BELIEVE HARRIS IS GOING INTO THE MONTANA TERRITORY TO SELL THE GATLING GUNS TO INDIANS AND IS THERE EVEN NOW STOP WE HAVE ALSO LEARNED THAT THE RIFLES WE BELIEVED LOST IN TRANSIT WERE IN FACT DELIBERATELY SENT TO A FALSE LOCATION BY PORTER SO HARRIS COULD ACQUIRE THEM STOP IT IS BELIEVED THAT HARRIS SOLD THOSE GUNS TO THE SAME INDIANS THAT GENERAL CUSTER WILL BE CONDUCTING HIS EXPEDITION AGAINST STOP

I HOPED TO GET EVEN MORE INFORMATION BUT SOMEHOW POTTER HAS MANAGED TO ESCAPE STOP

IN THE MEANTIME GOVERNOR ROUTT REQUESTS THAT YOU EXTEND HIS APOLOGY TO GENERAL CUSTER FOR ANY PROBLEM THESE REPEATING RIFLES MAY CAUSE HIM AND HE ASKS YOU TO ATTEMPT TO FIND THE GATLING GUNS STOP

ADRIAN BRISBANE

MAJ COMND’G OFFICER (ACTING)

COLORADO HOME GUARD

“Damn,” Falcon said, when he finished reading the telegram.

“What is it, Colonel? Trouble?” Kellogg asked.

Falcon folded the telegram up and put it in his pocket. “Yeah,” he said. “In fact, it could be a lot of trouble. I need to talk to Custer.”

Although Custer had been out and around through the company area most of the day, Falcon found him back in his tent. Standing outside and calling, Falcon was invited in by Libbie.

The tent was actually a double Sibley tent, which was twelve feet high and thirty-six feet in diameter. Its large size allowed it to be divided into rooms by use of canvas walls. The tent was also well furnished with folding tables and chairs.

“Colonel MacCallister, how nice of you to call,” Libbie said. “Won’t you have a cup of hot tea? It will help to push away the gloom of this cold, rainy day.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Custer, but I need to speak to the general if he is here.”

“Yes, he is here. He is in the back putting on some dry clothes. I’ll get him. Lorena, you don’t mind entertaining Colonel MacCallister for a few moments, do you?”

“Of course not,” Lorena said. “I would be happy to entertain the colonel.”

“Lorena,” Falcon said after Libbie left them alone together. “I’m sorry that such awful weather is spoiling your adventure.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Falcon. Weather like this is part of the adventure,” Lorena replied. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some tea?”

Falcon smiled and nodded. “All right,” he said. “Perhaps some tea would be nice after all.”

Lorena poured a cup of tea and handed it to him.

“Thank you.” As Falcon took a swallow of his tea, he looked at Lorena over the edge of his cup. “Am I like the weather?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Am I a part of your adventure?”

Lorena laughed, a rich, throaty laugh. “Why, Falcon MacCallister, how clever you are,” she said. “Is that what you want to be? A part of my adventure?”

“Colonel MacCallister,” Custer said, coming from behind the canvas wall and speaking, thankfully, before Falcon had to answer Lorena’s question. “Are you staying dry?”

“I am, yes, thanks to Mr. Kellogg generously sharing his tent with me,” Falcon said.

“Libbie said you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, I do,” Falcon replied. He showed Custer the telegram he had received from Major Brisbane.

Custer read it, then nodded. “Am I to understand that this man, Porter, is responsible for supplying the Sioux with repeating rifles?”

“I’m afraid so, General,” Falcon answered.

Custer stroked his mustache as he contemplated the telegram. Finally, with a sigh, he handed the telegram back to Falcon.

“You were right to come to me with this,” he said. “What are you going to do now?”

“Well, General, as you can see from the telegram, Governor Routt wants me to find the Gatling guns before they, too, wind up in Indian hands. So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m afraid I’m going to have to borrow a horse from you.”

“Yes, yes, of course, see the saddler sergeant. Tell him I said to let you pick out any horse you want.”

“Thank you, General.”

“Do you have any idea where to start looking for these guns?”

“Not exactly.”

Custer chuckled. “You aren’t going to just go out hither and yon, searching for your Indians like Diogones, carrying his lantern in search of an honest man, are you?”

“Whatever works,” Falcon replied with his own chuckle.

“Well, I do have an idea—that is, if you are amenable to it,” Custer said.

“At this point, General, I am open to any suggestion.”

“You could come on this scout with us,” Custer said.

“I don’t know,” Falcon replied. “I don’t know how much looking I would be able to do if I stayed with you.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. You don’t have to stay with us,” Custer said. “As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t want you to. You would be acting as a scout. That way you can break away from us anytime you want, go anywhere you want, but always have a base to which you can return. And you would be able to perform double duty—looking for the Gatling guns while, at the same time, helping us look for the Indians.”

“If I agree to do that, General, you will have to know that my first duty will be to find those two guns.”

“That’s fine,” Custer replied. “I, for one, would not want to have those Gatling guns in the hands of the Indians. So—in that respect, you would be serving me, even as you serve yourself.”

“All right, General. I’ll go along with that,” Falcon agreed.

“Good, good, and I have just the scout to work with you.”

Falcon held up his hand. “There’s no need for that, General. I would not want to take one of your scouts away from his regular duty.”

“Believe me, Falcon, if there is any chance that there may be a couple of Gatling guns out there, helping you find them would be a part of his regular duty. I think you will find him very helpful. He used to live with the Indians, he speaks the language, and he knows the area.” Custer stuck his head out and called to his messenger. “Trooper!”

“Yes, sir!” the soldier replied.

“Find Isaiah Dorman. Tell him I wish to see him.”

“Yes, sir,” the trooper said, hurrying off on his errand.

“I think you’ll find Dorman an interesting fellow,” Custer said. “He has been a mail carrier—no easy job out here where you have to travel hundreds of miles in a trackless wilderness all alone. And he was a guide and interpreter for the builders of the Northern Pacific Railroad. Mr. Dorman also acted as an interpreter for me on a few occasions.”

A moment later, the messenger called from outside the tent. “General Custer, I have Dorman here, sir.”

“Send him in,” Custer called back.

The flap to the tent parted, and Dorman stepped inside.

“Gen’rul, you wanted to see me?”

Falcon was surprised to see that Isaiah Dorman was a black man.

“Yes, take Colonel MacCallister to see the saddler sergeant. Tell Fitzsimmons I said he is to make a horse available for the colonel. The colonel has some looking to do, and I want you to go with him. He’ll fill you in.”

“All right, Gen’rul,” Dorman said. He looked over at Falcon. “You want to come with me, Colonel? We’ll get you that horse.”

“I like the looks of that horse,” Falcon said, pointing to a buckskin.

“Sorry, Colonel, but you can’t have that one,” Sergeant Fitzsimmons said. “That one don’t belong to the cavalry. That there horse is the personal mount of one of the officers.”

“Comanche, come here,” Dorman called, and the horse, shaking his head, came over to Dorman and began nuzzling him.

“This noble beast belongs to Cap’n Keogh,” Dorman explained as he patted the horse on its nose. “He puts so much store in him that he bought him from the army just so’s no one else would ever ride him.”

Falcon reached up to tug on Comanche’s ear. “I don’t blame him,” Falcon said. “This is a good-looking horse, and you can tell by looking at him that he has spirit.”

“That’s a good horse over there,” Dorman said, pointing to a bay.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Falcon replied.

“I’ll get him saddled for you, Colonel,” Sergeant Fitzsimmons said.

May 17, 1876

Ft. Lincoln, Dakota Territory

The sky was overcast and a fog crept up from the river itself, but that didn’t alter Custer’s plans for a grand departure. With wives, children, and post personnel who were staying behind making up the audience, Custer readied his command for a parade.

The regimental band formed in the middle of the parade ground, just in front of the flagpole. The songs “Garryowen” and “The Girl I Left Behind Me” provided stirring martial music for the occasion. Falcon was given the honor of standing by Custer as the regiment rode by, led for this occasion by Major Reno.

Reno rode by first. A flag bearer rode immediately behind him carrying the blue and gold regimental standard on the same pole as Custer’s personal pennant, which was red and blue with crossed white sabers. The twelve companies of the Seventh came after that, the troopers all mounted on matching horses for each company, and riding in columns of fours.

As each company passed in review, the company guidon in front of each company would dip and the company commander would render a salute to Custer, who proudly returned the salute.

“Look at that,” Custer said. “I ask you, Falcon, have you ever seen a finer body of men anywhere in the world?”

“It is a fine-looking regiment, General,” Falcon replied.

“The world will take note and long remember what we will do on this scout,” Custer said. “From this day forward, the Seventh Cavalry will live in fame. I will lead them to glory.”

When the last of the regiment paraded by the flagpole, Custer turned to Falcon. “You can wait here for Dorman. I told him to come back for you after the parade.”

“All right,” Falcon agreed.

“And you, my dear, come ride with me,” Custer said to Libbie.

Libbie was wearing a blue shell jacket with a double row of brass buttons, which presented a very military appearance. Custer’s horse, Vic, and Libbie’s horse, Dandy, were tethered just behind the flagpole, and the two mounted, then raced to the front of the column, where Custer relieved Reno. Libbie rode by his side as Custer then led the regiment by the enlisted barracks, where those soldiers who weren’t going for one reason or another stood outside, watching their comrades and shouting encouragement to them.

“Johnny, mind you don’t leave your scalp out there, you ain’t got all that much hair to begin with!” one of the infantrymen shouted to a friend in the cavalry. Those around him laughed.

Once beyond the enlisted barracks, the column passed by the married NCO quarters, also known as “Soapsuds Row” since so many of the NCOs’ wives were laundresses.

“Billy, you’ll be comin’ back to me now, you hear? You’ll be comin’ back to me,” one woman shouted.

“There’s your daddy. Wave to your daddy, boys, wave to your daddy,” another woman said, holding one young boy in her arms while a second clung to her skirt.

Finally, they rode past the officers’ quarters, where a cluster of wives and children stood together, watching anxiously. Once they were beyond the officers’ quarters, Custer led them at left oblique toward the front gate. As he did so, Falcon heard gasps and excited voices from those who were staying behind . At first he didn’t know what they were reacting to. Then he saw several of them pointing up.

There, just over the long column of mounted troopers, was a very vivid mirage. In the mist above was a mirror image of the long row of riders so that the Seventh Cavalry was marching, not only on the ground, but in the sky. Some of the wives, seeing their husbands ride off to do battle, shivered in fear, certain they had just seen a sign from heaven.

The band continued to play, the notes bouncing back now from the walls of the nearly empty post. The band director, seeing that the regiment had left, finished the song, then ordered the band to mount and ride quickly to take its place in the ranks.

Falcon saw Isaiah Dorman riding toward him at a fairly rapid trot. “Have you watched all the soldier boys go by, Colonel?” Dorman asked.

“I have.”

“Then, if you come with me, we’ll get to scoutin’.” Dorman was chewing tobacco, and he punctuated his comment with a brown, wet spit. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips.

As the regiment was now moving very slowly to match the pace of the wagons, Falcon and Dorman caught up with them quickly. The scouts were led by Lieutenant Charles Varnum, and he came back to speak with Falcon.

“Colonel, I’m not exactly sure what the protocol is here,” Varnum said. “Clearly, you outrank me. But I—”

Falcon interrupted Varnum with a raised hand. “Lieutenant, as you can see, I am not in uniform,” he said. “This is your command. You do whatever you planned to do without regard to me. For the most part, I’ll just be coming along for the ride. But in fact, I plan to go out on my own quite a bit, to try and locate those two Gatling guns before the Indians get them.”

“Yes, sir,” Varnum said. “Well, if there is anything I don’t want, it is to have Indians with Gatling guns, so please, do whatever you have to do. And, if you need me for anything, just let me know.”

“How about letting Isaiah Dorman ride with me?” Falcon asked. “He knows the lingo. If we run into any friendly Indians, he might be able to help me find the guns.”

“Right, the general said to make him available to you,” Varnum said. “Dorman, you ride with the colonel.”

“Whatever you say, Boss,” Dorman replied.

As the two men rode away from the rest of the Seventh, Falcon looked back in time to see how Custer had organized his line of march. He’d divided his command into three battalions, taking the center battalion himself, giving the right wing to Major Marcus Reno, a junior major, and the left wing to Captain Frederick Benteen, a senior captain.

“Mr. Dorman,” Falcon said. “What do you think of Reno and Benteeen?”

Dorman leaned over and squirted out another quid.

“If you ask me, the gen’rul is just askin’ for trouble with them two,” Dorman replied.

“What do you mean?”

“If you was to give a boot full of piss to Reno, he wouldn’t have sense enough to pour it out,” Dorman said. “And if you was to give it to Benteen, why, that evil sum’ bitch would more’n likely pour it out on Custer.”

Falcon chuckled. If Dorman was that observant, then he was just the kind of man Falcon would need if he was to have any chance of finding the Gatling guns.

May 17, 1876

Little Heart River

Custer and the Seventh Cavalry reached the first crossing of Little Heart River at about two o’clock in the afternoon. Here, the entire expeditionary force was brought together under General Terry. The force consisted of the Seventh Cavalry, commanded by Custer, with twenty-eight officers and 747 men; two companies of the 17th Infantry and one company of the 6th Infantry, comprising eight officers and 135 men; one platoon of Gatling guns with two officers and thirty-two men; and forty-five scouts. In addition, the wagon train had 114 six-mule teams, thirty-seven two-horse teams, and seventy other vehicles, including ambulances, with eighty-five pack mules, all manned by 179 civilians. Included in that number were Boston and Autie Reed Custer.

Although the expedition was commanded by General Alfred H. Terry, one would scarcely know that to see Custer. Custer was constantly on the move, not only seeing to his own command, but issuing orders to the other commands as well, seeing to the placement of the advance guard, the rear guard, and the flanks.

Once they reached their encampment on the Little Heart River, Custer’s orderly, Private John Burkman, erected the double Sibley tent for him as Custer continued to move around the campsite…Mary Adams, Custer’s cook, began preparing their supper.

Libbie, Maggie Calhoun, and their houseguest, Lorena Wood, had all three accompanied the regiment this far, and they began helping Burkman pitch the tent.

As the regiment settled in for its first night’s encampment, Falcon and Dorman started out on their first scout.

They rode out about ten miles, but saw nothing of particular interest until Dorman pointed out an elk.

“If I’m goin’ to be ridin’ with someone out in Injun territory, I’d like to have me an idee as to how he can shoot,” Dorman said. “It’ll be a good shot if you can bring him down. And a little roast elk is a heap better than skillgilly.”

“Roast elk doesn’t sound bad,” Falcon said, pulling an army carbine from the saddle sleeve. Raising the Sharps, Falcon took aim and fired. Even from there, they could see a little mist of blood erupt from the elk’s head.

“Damn,” Dorman said, impressed with the shot. “You hit his head plumb center. Colonel, you can ride with me anywhere.”

Falcon and Dorman returned to join the regiment just as the Seventh was going into bivouac.

Benteen was standing beside one of the wagons with his shirt off and his gold-colored suspenders down along his sides, hanging in such a way as to make a loop across the gold stripe on his pants. The captain had lather on his face, and he was looking into a mirror that was propped on the side of the wagon. He looked around as Falcon and Dorman returned to the camp.

“Colonel, if you’ll excuse me, I’m goin’ to look up Bloody Knife,” Dorman said.

“Sure, go ahead,” said Falcon.

“Did you find anything?” Benteen asked as Dorman moved away.

“No,” Falcon replied.

“Uh, huh, I didn’t think so,” Benteen said, and he reached one hand up to pull his cheek taut, then lifted the razor, returning to the task of shaving. “You aren’t likely to find anything as long as you have that nigger with you.”

“Oh?” Falcon said. “I don’t know why you would say that. Mr. Dorman seems quite capable to me.”

“It’s not a question of his capability,” Benteen said. “It’s a question of his loyalty.”

“Why would you question his loyalty?”

“He turned Indian out here,” Benteen said. “They call him ‘Black White Man,’ and he is married to a squaw from Inkpaduta’s band of the Santee Sioux.”

“I thought he had been working for the army for some time now,” Falcon said.

Benteen took a towel and wiped the rest of the lather from his face. “Oh, he doesn’t mind taking money from us,” he said. “But this will be the first time he has ever had to go up against his own.”

“What about Bloody Knife? Are you worried about him?”

“No,” Benteen said, reaching for his tunic. “Gall killed Bloody Knife’s two brothers. Bloody Knife hates the Sioux.”

At that moment, a bugle call was sounded and some of the men cheered.

“What is that?” Falcon asked.

“Pay call,” Benteen said. “Custer decided to withhold the soldiers’ pay until after we left the fort. He was afraid there would be too many hangovers and too many desertions if he paid before we left.”

Within minutes after the soldiers were paid, several dozen card games began. The soldiers sat on the ground with an army blanket laid out between them to hold the cards and the money.

Shortly after pay call, Falcon and Dorman were getting ready to go out again when Lieutenant Cooke came up to them. Falcon was adjusting the cinch strap on his saddle.

“Hello, Cooke,” Falcon said.

“The general’s compliments, sir, and he asks if you would join him and Mrs. Custer, Captain and Mrs. Calhoun, Captain Custer and Miss Wood for a picnic lunch. The ladies will be leaving with the paymaster as soon as he starts back to Ft. Lincoln.”

“Captain Custer and Miss Wood?”

“Yes, sir,” Cooke replied. “Uh, Colonel, I wonder if I might have a word with you, sir,” Cooke said.

“Sure, go ahead,” he said.

Cooke looked over at Dorman. “Alone, sir.”

“I’ll just move over there and you two can talk all you want,” Dorman said, leading his horse away.

“What is it?”

“The way you questioned me when I said Captain Custer and Miss Wood. Did that bother you?”

Falcon chuckled. “No, it didn’t bother me. I just found it rather funny the way you said it in the same way you said General and Mrs. Custer and Captain and Mrs. Calhoun.”

“Yes, sir, I sort of meant to say it that way,” Cooke said. “And that’s why I wanted to talk to you alone. Tom—that is, Captain Custer—wants to know your intentions toward Miss Wood.”

Falcon chuckled. “Couldn’t he ask me that question himself?”

“I reckon he could,” Cooke replied. “But when it comes to women, Tom is sort of shy.”

“You don’t say? Well, now, that’s funny. I never would have figured Tom for the shy type.”

“Well, he’s not exactly shy,” Cooke replied. “Except around women. So, what can I tell him, Colonel? About your intentions toward Miss Wood, I mean.”

“I have no intentions toward the young lady, Cooke,” Falcon replied. “I do think she is a very nice person who could probably be hurt quite easily. And I wouldn’t like to see that happen.”

“What do you mean, sir?” Cooke asked.

“You tell Tom Custer what I said. I think he will know exactly what I mean,” Falcon replied.

“And as to the general’s invitation to lunch? What shall I tell him?” Cooke asked.

“What time?”

“Oh, I expect within the hour, sir,” Cooke said.

“All right. Tell the general I will be happy to accept his invitation.”

“Very good, sir.”

As Cooke walked away, Dorman returned. “You’ll enjoy the picnic with the general,” he said. “Like as not he’ll have some sort of fancy thing from back East. Mrs. Custer sets a lot of store about such things.”

“You heard the conversation, did you?”

“I’m a scout, Colonel. A good scout uses his ears as well as his eyes.”

“Speaking of scouting, I’d like to go back out again, right after lunch,” Falcon said.

“Yes, sir, I’ll be ready.”

When Falcon walked up to Custer’s double Sibley tent, he saw that a large square of canvas had been spread out on the ground in front of the tent. The canvas square was filled with viands of every description. There was a basket of fried chicken, a ham, beans and rice, smoked oysters, tinned peaches, biscuits, butter, and jam. There were also a couple of bottles of wine, but Custer, who was a teetotaler, was drinking lemonade.

The entire party was sitting on the canvas around the food. Mary Adams, Custer’s black maid and cook, was standing nearby.

“Falcon, I’m glad you could join us,” Custer said. “Pull up a piece of the canvas and have a seat.” He augmented his invitation by a wave of his hand.

“I don’t mind if I do,” Falcon said. “Where are Boston and Autie Reed?” he asked.

“Boston is earning his keep as a member of the trains,” Custer said. “He and Autie Reed are with the wagons.”

“You must try the beans and rice, Colonel MacCallister,” Tom said. “It’s Mary’s own secret recipe that she made up herself.”

“Now, Cap’n Tom, you got no business sayin’ somethin’ like that,” Mary said. “It ain’t nothin’ of the kind my own recipe. I got this recipe from my mama, and she got it from her mama, which, where she got it, I don’t know.”

Tom laughed. “Well, wherever you got it, it’s good,” Tom said.

“Do you keep up with politics, Falcon?” Custer asked as he spread butter on a biscuit.

“I keep up with local politics,” Falcon said. “One of my brothers is a sheriff back in Colorado. I always make certain that I’m home to vote for him.”

“See there, Tom?” Custer said, looking across the table toward his brother. “Colonel MacCallister supports his brother. Is it too much for me to expect your support?”

“If you run for sheriff, Autie, I will surely support you,” Tom replied. “But when you start talking about running for president, you are a little out of my league.”

“President?” Falcon asked.

“Maybe,” Custer said. He chuckled. “As you know, I have made it very difficult for Grant and his administration over the last few months. There are some who say that, because of my congressional appearances, the Republican Party has been greatly weakened. And, in a few weeks, the Democrats will be holding a convention in St. Louis to select a candidate for president. On the twenty-seventh of June, to be exact. I’m sure you can agree with me when I say that the timing could not be more fortuitous.”

“I’m not sure I follow you, General.”

“Don’t be dense, man,” Custer replied. “I have some supporters who will be at the convention in St. Louis and they will put my name into nomination. When I come away with a big victory over the Sioux, the headlines it generates will ensure that I am selected. That makes the timing of this expedition extremely critical. I must complete the scout before June 27.”

“General, I thought the mission of the expedition was to return the Sioux to the reservations.”

“It is, Colonel, it is,” Custer said. “But tell me, how can an early and successful conclusion to the expedition not be for the good of the mission? I mean, do you see a contradiction there?”

“No,” Falcon admitted. “I see no contradiction.”

“Well, then,” Custer said, holding up his glass of lemonade. “I suggest that we drink a toast to a successful and early conclusion to this noble scout.”

“Successful and safe,” Libbie added.

“Of course, Sunshine,” Custer replied, using his pet name for her. “Successful and safe.”

“Hear, hear,” Tom Custer and Jimmi Calhoun said, lifting their wineglasses in salute.