Massacre of Eagles

CHAPTER NINE

After leaving Fort Yates and their rendezvous with Sitting Bull, Falcon, Cody, and Ingraham proceeded farther west by rail, leaving the train at Miles City, Montana Territory.

At Miles City they would take a boat down the Tongue River to Sheridan, Wyoming Territory, but that would not occur for three days. Cody suggested that they pay a visit to Fort Keogh.

“Good idea,” Falcon said. “I well remember Myles Keogh. He was a good man, and a good officer.”

After the gate guard was shown their commissioning papers, he saluted, then pointed across the quadrangle to the headquarters building. There were several soldiers out in the quadrangle going through various drills. On one side were a group of black soldiers, and on the other a group of white soldiers.

“The Ninth and Sixth Cavalry share the post,” Cody explained.

Once inside the headquarters building, the adjutant showed them in to the office of the post commander, who was also the commanding officer of the Sixth Cavalry.

“Buffalo Bill Cody, I can’t tell you how pleased we are to have you visiting us,” Colonel Whitehead said.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Cody replied. “May I introduce my friends? This is Falcon MacCallister, and this is Prentiss Ingraham.”

“Falcon MacCallister,” Whitehead said. “You were at the fight at Little Big Horn, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Falcon said. “I was actually looking for a couple of lost Gatling guns, but wound up with Reno during the fight.”

“Ahh, there is someone here you should see,” Whitehead said. He held up his finger, as if telling Falcon to wait for a moment, then he stepped to the door and spoke to his adjutant. “Mike, would you have the CO of the Ninth come to my office, please?”

“Yes, sir,” the young lieutenant replied.

“We are sort of a forgotten post here,” Colonel Whitehead said, continuing the conversation. “We don’t get many guests, especially guests of your caliber. How long will you be here?”

“Just long enough to catch a boat down to Sheridan,” Cody said.

“Good, that means you will be here for three days at least, for it will be that long until the next boat leaves. Have you a place to stay while you are here?”

“We thought we would get rooms in the hotel,” Cody said.

“Ha. Lots of luck with that,” Colonel Whitehead replied. “Chances are there won’t even be one room available, since the boat passengers stay there until the boat leaves. And even if you could get a room, believe me, it is little better than sleeping in a stable. We can put you up here on the post.”

“We don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be intruding. We have enough vacant rooms in the bachelor officers’ quarters to accommodate all three of you. You are welcome to them.”

“Thank you, that is very decent of you.”

“Oh! And tomorrow night, we will have a dance in your honor.”

“Colonel, please don’t go to any trouble on our part,” Cody said.

“Trouble? Believe me, Colonel Cody, it’s no trouble. It is an honor and a privilege. And I know the ladies have been wanting to hold another dance. This will be the perfect opportunity to do so. This is difficult duty here for all of us, isolated as we are, but it is particularly difficult for the ladies.”

There was a knock on the door, and looking toward it, Falcon saw Fred Benteen.

“You sent for me, Colonel?”

“Yes, Major, you have an old friend here I thought you might like to see. Colonel Falcon MacCallister.”

Benteen looked over at Falcon. “I thought your colonel’s rank was temporary from the State of Colorado.”

“It was, then,” Falcon said. “Now I have another temporary rank, this time from the U.S. Army. I see you have been promoted to major.”

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re just passing through,” Falcon said.

“But they are going to be here for a few days,” Colonel Whitehead said. “I have asked them to stay in the BOQ. The ladies will be planning a dance for tomorrow night, and they will be our special guests.”

“I’m sure the ladies will appreciate that,” Benteen said. “Colonel, I must get back to my men. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

The dance the next evening was held at the Suttler’s Store. For twelve officers, there were six wives present, as well as Colonel Whitehead’s daughter, who was eighteen. Of the thirty non-commissioned officers assigned to the base, there were thirteen wives present. In addition, there were two unmarried laundresses. That meant that, for the dance, there were forty-five men and twenty women. Every woman’s dance card was full.

Falcon danced once with Mrs. Whitehead, once with Elaine, Colonel Whitehead’s daughter, and once with the wife of one of the NCOs. Bill Cody and Prentiss Ingraham were much more active, dancing nearly every dance with the ladies who thought it a great thrill to dance with someone as famous as they both were.

For the most part, Falcon sat at a table with Colonel Whitehead, who graciously allowed his wife to dance with all the soldiers, officers and NCOs who did not have wives of their own.

“Did Sitting Bull shed any light on this Spirit Talking business?” Colonel Whitehead asked.

“Nothing that we didn’t already know,” Falcon said.

“Mean to His Horses is bad news. I suppose you heard about the Kennedy massacre?”

“Yes.”

“Roman Nose, Crazy Horse, Tall Bull, none of them were as brutal to civilians as Mean to His Horses has been.”

“There is a difference, though,” Falcon said. “They were all part of their established tribes, and it was during a time of war between the Indians and the white man. Mean to His Horses is a renegade, pure and simple.”

“That’s true,” Colonel Whitehead said. “There is another big difference.”

“What is that?”

“Roman Nose, Crazy Horse, Tall Bull are all dead. This son of a bitch is still alive.”

Benteen was a late arrival at the dance and when he arrived, Whitehead excused himself.

“I need to dance with my own wife or I’m going to hear about it,” he said.

“Mrs. Benteen isn’t here?” Falcon asked.

“At the moment, she is in St. Louis,” Benteen answered.

The two men sat in silence for a moment.

“Well?” Benteen said.

“Well?” Falcon replied, confused by the cryptic comment.

“Aren’t you going to join the chorus?”

“What chorus would that be?”

“The chorus that says I betrayed Custer, that if I had brought my battalion up quickly enough, I could have joined him and the outcome would have been different. ‘Benteen, big Sioux village come quick, bring packs. P.S. bring packs.’ Is there one person in America now who is not aware of that last message from Custer?”

“Major, you forget. I was with Reno that day,” Falcon said. “If you had not come to Reno’s aid, I might not be here today.”

Benteen was silent for a long moment. Finally he gave a relieved sigh and shook his head.

“I thank you for that, Colonel,” he said. “It is good to hear something from someone who was there, and who knows all the details and nuances. Sometimes I think I am going to be like Judas Iscariot—damned for all eternity because I betrayed Custer.

“I didn’t like the man, and I’ve made no excuses about that, but damn it, I did what I thought was best that day. Custer had the largest battalion, he had competent officers, I had no idea that he was in such dire circumstances. Reno was the most inexperienced officer in the entire regiment, and he had only half as many men with him as Custer had. Given the choice, I thought Reno and his men were in more danger than Custer.”

“You made the choice of a battlefield commander,” Falcon said. “There are very few men who have ever actually been in that position, which means there are very few who have the slightest idea of what it is like to make life-or-death decisions in the blink of an eye. And, as I told you, your decision to help Reno probably saved my life.”

“Poor Marcus,” Benteen said. “He has fallen on very hard times, you know. He was cashiered from the army for public drunkenness and lewd behavior, but I have heard from some of the officers who served with him that it was all a put-up deal.”

“Where is he now?” Falcon asked.

“He is in Washington, D.C., working as a very lowlevel clerk. He tried to get a book published about his role in the battle, but it was rejected. I uh,” Benteen cleared his throat. “I sent him some money a few months ago. I hated to embarrass him that way, but I knew that he was just barely hanging on.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Falcon said.

“Godfrey, Larned, Varnum, they have all abandoned him,” Benteen said.

At that moment, the current dance having ended, Colonel Whitehead returned to the table, breathless and sweating. “I tell you,” he said. “I don’t know how the ladies are able to dance every dance as they do. One dance is enough to wear me out. Fred, you must put your name on some of the dance cards, I’m sure the ladies would be happy to dance with you.”

“Thank you, Colonel, but I’ll defer to the younger offices and NCOs. Besides, as none of my men are here, I feel a little out of place.”

“Surely, Major, you aren’t suggesting that the dance be open to the colored soldiers?” Colonel Whitehead said.

“No, Colonel, not at all,” Reno replied. “I just made the comment that, as they cannot participate in the dance, I, as their commanding officer, feel that I should not be here as well.”

“Well, I think that is foolish. But, it is certainly your right to make such a decision. Oh, dear me, the sergeant major’s wife is headed straight for me with that look in her eyes. I guess I must dance with her.”

Colonel Whitehead excused himself and joined the sergeant major’s wife as the regimental band swung into the next tune.

“Did you hear about Tom Weir?” Reno asked.

“I know that he died,” Falcon said.

“You remember that he wanted to go help Custer, but got no farther than the very next hill. By the time he got there it was too late. It’s obvious now that Custer and all his men were already dead, and the Indians were coming hard toward Weir. He barely made it back in time.”

“Yes, I remember that.”

“Weir resigned his commission almost immediately after we got back to Fort Lincoln. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen. He went back to New York City. I got a letter from one of his friends there who said that he was afraid Tom was losing his mind. He wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t leave his apartment. All he did was lay around and drink whiskey. Toward the end, he wouldn’t even talk to anyone, nor would he get out of bed. His depression got deeper and deeper, and his drinking got worse and worse, until one day he lay down to take a nap, and he never woke up.

“All that in less than six months,” Benteen said. “The young, aggressive, courageous officer who stormed the hill in his attempt to go to the rescue of his commander was, within six months of that date, a helpless, drunken, despondent invalid, dying in bed in a fifth-floor walk-up apartment in New York.”