Butchery of the Mountain Man

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Tau Kappa Epsilon Fraternity House

Smoke was given a position of honor at the head of the table in the dining room of the TKE house. Every member of the fraternity treated him with awe.

“Mr. Jensen, how many men have you killed?” a plebe asked.

“Booker! You are dismissed from the table!” McGrath said, angrily.

“No, please,” Smoke said, holding up his hand. “It’s a legitimate question, given the number of books that have been written about me, and many of them stressing only that part of the story. The truth is, Booker, I’m not quite sure how many men I have killed. It’s not something I’ve ever wanted to keep a tally of, as some perverted badge of honor. But I will say this. I have never killed a man who didn’t need killing.”

“But what gave you the right to determine whether he needed killing or not?” Booker asked.

It was more of a challenge than a question, and everyone sitting around the dining room table looked toward Smoke to see how he would react.

“That is another good question,” Smoke said. “For the most part, survival gave me the right to make the determination,” Smoke said. “I killed men who were trying to kill me. But there have been times when I purposely set out to hunt men down for the sole purpose of killing them.”

“There is no statute of limitations for murder,” Booker said. “Are you afraid that some zealous prosecutor might bring charges against you today?”

Smoke chuckled. “Mr. Booker, do you, by any chance, plan to be a lawyer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, let’s make a deal, right here. If some zealous prosecutor decides that he would like to try me for killing someone like oh, let’s say, Ted Casey, I would like to hire you to defend me.”

“Ted Casey is the one you lynched, isn’t he?”

“Lynched?” Wes said. “Listen, I heard that story firsthand. If ever any man deserved to hang, it was Ted Casey.”

“But he was hung without a trial, wasn’t he?” Booker asked.

“He was.”

“Looking back on it now, would you do things differently?” Booker asked.

“Yes.”

“Ha! I thought so. What would you do differently?”

“I wouldn’t have used a new rope,” Smoke said.

The others laughed, then, when Booker started to speak again, McGrath held up his hand.

“Booker, Mr. Jensen has been more than generous with you. We’ll have no more inquisition.”

“Yes, sir,” Booker said, contritely.

Old Main Building

“How was your lunch?” Professor Armbruster asked.

“Quite interesting,” Smoke replied without further elaboration.

“Well, are you ready to resume the session?”

“I am.”

“We left off with John and Claire going back home,” Professor Armbruster said.

“Yes.”

John’s cabin

After John, Claire, and the baby returned from St. Louis they put in a garden. As John explained, “wild plants will do in a pinch, but there’s nothing improves the table like fresh radishes, onions, tomatoes, lettuce, potatoes, carrots, beans, cabbage, and watermelon.”

John worked hard on his garden, and soon he was raising a bountiful crop. Already they had radishes, and the tomatoes were coming along as well.

Because trapping was nonproductive in the summer, John had a lot of time to work in the garden and he enjoyed it. He also enjoyed Claire’s genuine enthusiasm at seeing the plants grow. She had no experience whatever with gardening, so it was all new and exciting to her.

John was also enjoying his son, particularly the infant’s reaction to everything around him. Claire had made a flute from a sumac branch, and John was learning to play it.

“Now, listen to this, Kirby,” he said, lifting the flute to his lips. He began playing, and to Claire’s surprise, was actually playing a song.

“What is that song?” she asked.

“It is called ‘Old Folks at Home.’ Some call it ‘Suwanee River.’”

“How can you do that? You have not played the flute before.”

John chuckled. “Once you know how to play the scale, the rest is easy,” he said.

He played a few more songs, then handed to flute to Claire, who played music from her background. The music was melodious, consisting of a lot of halftones, but there was a soulful, almost mournful quality to it.

“That was beautiful,” John said when she finished. “What was it?”

“It is a prayer to the Great Spirit. It has words. Would you like to hear them?”

“Yes.”

Claire sang the song, first in her own language, then again, this time in English.

“Oh Great Spirit whose voice I hear in the winds

Whose breath gives life to the world

I come to you as one of your many children

I am small and weak.”

“Why, that is beautiful, Claire,” he said. He embraced her. “I never thought, when I left Pennsylvania, that I would wind up with an Indian woman, let alone, that I would fall in love with her. I love you, Claire.”

“I did not think I would ever love,” Claire said. “It is only a word, I thought. But you have taught me that it is much more than a word.”

John embraced her again, then he heard the sound of approaching horses, and he separated from her, and, picking up his rifle, stepped out in front of his cabin. It wasn’t that he feared every sound, but the cabin was so remote that any visitor became suspect.

There was only one direct approach to the cabin, and he jacked a round into the chamber of his rifle and watched, and waited.

He saw a body of men approaching and he knew, immediately, that they were soldiers. He assumed they might be lost, and he put his rifle down, and waited until they approached. What he saw was eight soldiers, being led by a lieutenant.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you John Jackson?” the lieutenant asked when they reached the front of his cabin.

“I am. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“Mr. Jackson, I am Lieutenant Murphy, from Fort Shaw. Major Clinton’s compliments, sir, and he wonders if you and your wife would do him the honor of paying a visit to the fort?”

“Would this be anything more than a courtesy call, Lieutenant?” John asked.

“I believe the major has a favor he wishes to ask of you, sir. But I have not been made privy to what that favor might be.”

“All right, Lieutenant Murphy, we’ll join you,” John said.

“What is it?” Claire asked when John went back into the cabin.

“Major Clinton wants us to pay a call on him at Fort Shaw,” John said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, the lieutenant didn’t say. I’m not sure he even knows. But, it’s never a bad thing to have a good relationship with the military, so I think we should go.”

“What about the garden?”

“It’ll be all right for a few days.”

With baby Kirby riding in a cradleboard hanging from the side of Claire’s horse, John and Claire rode back to Fort Shaw with Lieutenant Murphy and his military detachment.

Fort Shaw was located on the south side of Sun River, constructed of palisade logs, and perched high on the end of a bluff that protruded over the water. There were projecting blockhouses on corners opposite each other, from which the soldiers had a good view of the approach.

The front gate to the post was tightly closed as Lieutenant Murphy and his party approached.

“Hello, the post!” Lieutenant Murphy shouted. “Open the gate!”

The gate was opened early enough so that there was no need for the group to break stride. They rode right through with Lieutenant Murphy returning the salute of the private at the gate. When they reached the parade ground, Lieutenant Murphy halted the detail.

“Dismount!” he ordered.

Claire looked John, and he smiled. “That’s not us,” he said.

The soldiers dismounted.

“Fall out!” Lieutenant Murphy ordered.

As the soldiers led their mounts to the stable, Lieutenant Murphy indicated than John and Claire should follow him. They rode to the headquarters building then dismounted, and tied their horses off at the hitching rail.

John took Kirby from his cradleboard, and handed him to Claire, then they followed Lieutenant Murphy inside.

“Sergeant Major, is Major Clinton in his office?” Lieutenant Murphy asked.

“Yes, sir,” the first sergeant major answered.

Murphy went over to the door leading to the commanding officer’s office, tapped lightly, then pushed it open and stuck his head in.

“Sir, I have Mr. Jackson.”

John couldn’t hear the major’s answer, but he did hear the lieutenant’s response.

“Yes, sir, she is with him.” The lieutenant turned toward John. “Come ahead,” he said.

“John, the baby and I will wait here,” Claire said.

“No,” Lieutenant Murphy said, quickly. “The major wants to see both of you.”

“Both of us?” John asked. He wasn’t sure what this was about, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. If the major planned to give him some trouble because he was married to an Indian woman, he wasn’t going to put up with it. Taking Claire by the arm, he led her into the commanding officer’s office.

“Mr. Jackson, Mrs. Jackson,” the major said with a broad smile. He was standing and he came toward them with his hand extended. “I’m Major Clinton. Thank you so much for coming.”

The major’s demeanor allowed John to dismiss his apprehension. He wasn’t acting like someone who was going to give him any trouble.

“Please,” he said, “I know you have had a long ride. Have a seat.” He extended his arm toward the side wall, where there was a sofa and a chair.

John and Claire sat on the sofa, and she held Kirby on her lap. Kirby stared at the major, his dark brown eyes open wide.

“I know you are wondering why I asked you here,” Major Clinton said. “I have a favor to ask of you and, if you choose not to do it, I will certainly understand. In the meantime, I’ve made quarters available for you here, on the post, for the night, so you can start back, rested, tomorrow.”

“What do you want, Major?” John asked.

“I want you and your wife to be an emissary for me,” Major Clinton said.

“What sort of an emissary?”

“A peace emissary to the Crow Indians. I thought, with your wife, you would be an ideal ambassador.”

“My wife is Lakota, not Crow,” John said. “The Lakota and the Crow are traditional enemies.”

“Can you speak the Crow language?” Major Clinton asked.

“I can speak,” Claire said.

“It could save hundreds of lives,” Major Clinton said. “All I need is for the Crow to understand that we will not encroach on their land, that we will in fact protect their land from any white men who try to violate their borders. Try and make her understand that.”

“I won’t try to make her understand anything,” John said. “She will make her own decision, and I will honor it.”

“I understand,” Major Clinton said. “Well, I do hope you and Mrs. Jackson will be our guests for dinner this evening. And I promise you,” he said, holding up his finger and smiling, “I will make no further petitions. As I said, whether or not you and Mrs. Jackson consent to do this, will be up to you.”

“Thank you,” John said.

The major’s wife was a rather plump, blond woman with bright blue eyes. “Oh, it is so wonderful to have dinner guests,” she said when John and Claire arrived.

“I must apologize for our dress,” John said. “We had no idea we would be invited to your beautiful home.”

“Oh, nonsense, you are dressed just fine. And what a lovely thing you are,” she said, gushingly, to Claire. “Oh, may I hold the child for a moment? Our own son is back East, attending the Military Academy at West Point,” she said. “It’s been so long since I held a little one.”

“Yes, you may hold him,” Claire said, extending the baby to her.

“Oh, my, what a handsome creature you are,” Mrs. Clinton said. “Yes, you are. Indeed, you are.” Kirby smiled at her and a line of spittle trailed from his mouth.

True to his promise, Major Clinton made no more mention of the mission he wanted John and Claire to undertake. Instead they talked about St. Louis. John and Claire had just come from there, and Major Clinton had been stationed there at Jefferson Barracks.

After a pleasant dinner, and because Kirby had fallen asleep, John made his excuses, and said they needed to get the baby to bed.

“In regard to your request, Major, I will give you an answer in the morning,” he said.

“Good, thank you, that’s all I ask,” Major Clinton replied. “I’m gratified that you are still thinking about it, rather than an outright dismissal of the request.”

The empty quarters of what would normally be the residence of an unmarried junior officer, was for them. As they walked back to the quarters John heard the first note of the bugle.

“What is that music?” Claire asked. “It is so beautiful. But it is sad.”

“It is called ‘Taps,’” John said. “It is the bugle call that puts the soldiers to bed at night. Would you like to know the words?”

“Yes.”

John sung the words, softly, as the bugler repeated the call.

“Day is done,

Gone the sun,

From the lakes, from the hills, from the sky.

All is well, safely rest,

God is nigh.”

“Those are good words,” Claire said.

Looking around the garrison, John saw that all the buildings, the officers’ quarters, and the soldiers’ barracks, were dark and quiet.

“Come,” he said. “We must be to our bed.”

Later, after Kirby was asleep, John and Claire lay together in bed, with Claire’s head on John’s shoulder.

“John, do you want to do what the major has asked us to do?”

“It is up to you, Claire. You are the one who will have to do the talking.”

“Yes, I will do the talking, but you will give me the words to say.”

“As I said, it is up to you.”

“If it will make peace, I say we should go.”

“All right,” John said. “I’ll tell the major in the morning. We’ll go.”