Revenge of Eagles

CHAPTER 15

Falcon had seen scores of Army posts just like Fort Lowell all over the West. But unlike the forts of the Northwest, this one did not have a palisade. Instead, it had a low-lying rock fence, more as a means of marking out the property than providing any protection. But there was a front gate, from which hung a sign denoting this as the Fort Lowell Military Reservation, and the gate was manned by an armed guard.

As Falcon and Sheriff Corbin approached the gate, the guard, a young private, stepped out to meet them. He held his rifle at the high-port position.

“Halt!” he ordered.

Falcon and Sheriff Corbin complied.

“Dismount,” the guard ordered.

Falcon and Corbin swung down from their horses and, holding the reins, approached the guard.

“Who are you, and what is the purpose of your visit?” the guard asked.

“Private, I’m Sheriff Corbin from Oro Blanco,” Corbin said. He pointed to Falcon. “This is ... my deputy,” he added, cutting a quick glance toward Falcon and asking him silently to go along with the ruse.

Falcon said nothing to dispute the sheriff.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” the guard asked.

“We are here on official business. I need to speak with the fort commander.”

“Wait here,” the guard ordered. He stepped back a few paces, then turned his head to shout. “Corporal of the guard! Repair to post number one!”

His call was repeated by the next-nearest sentry to him.

“Corporal of the guard! Repair to post number one!”

They heard it repeated three more times, each call becoming less distinct than the preceding call as the relaying guards grew farther away. Then they heard the returning call, repeated several times until it reached the guard nearest this one.

“Corporal of the guard is repairing to post number one!”

“The corporal of the guard will be here shortly, sir,” the private at the front gate said.

Falcon chuckled. “Yes, we heard.”

A moment later, the corporal arrived. He was overage for his grade, and the corporal’s corpulent body and patchy red face suggested that his lack of rank might be related to his love of drink. “What is it, Private Wilson? What’s the problem?” he asked.

“These men are here to speak with Colonel Dixon,” Private Wilson answered.

The corporal looked at Falcon and the sheriff. “I’m Sergeant ...” he started, then corrected himself. “That is, I’m ... Corporal ... Gibson. You are here to see the colonel?”

“We are.”

“What do you want to speak to the colonel about?”

“That’s between us and the colonel,” the sheriff said.

Corporal Gibson shook his head. “No, it ain’t between you and the colonel. Not unless I say it is. I’m in charge here, so I’m the one you are going to have to deal with. Now, I’m goin’ to ask you one more time, real nice. What do you want to see the colonel for?”

“And I’m going to tell you one more time ... real nice,” the sheriff replied, emphasizing the “real nice,” “that what we want to talk to your commanding officer about is none of your business. It is between the colonel and us.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, the corporal turned and started walking away. “In that case, the answer is no, you cannot see the colonel,” he called back over his shoulder.

“How the hell are we going to get around this arrogant shit?” the sheriff asked, frustrated by the self-inflated ego of the corporal.

“Wait here for a moment, Sheriff, and let me talk to him,” Falcon said. “I’m pretty sure I will be able to reason with him.”

Sheriff Corbin shook his head. “No, I don’t think you can. I’ve seen his kind before. He’s probably been up and down the ranks a dozen times or more, and he wears what stripes he has managed to hang onto like a crown ... lording it over anyone he can.”

“Don’t give up yet. Let me try,” Falcon said, walking quickly toward the corporal. “Corporal,” he called. “Wait a moment. Let’s see if we can’t work this out.”

The corporal turned toward him with a smirk. “So, you goin’ to tell me what you want to talk to the colonel about?” he asked. “I thought you might come around.”

“No,” Falcon said. “But I do believe we can work this out. You see, I’m going to give you one more opportunity to take us to see him. And I think you ought to take it, because otherwise I don’t think you will care much for the consequences.”

“You are going to give me one more opportunity?” the corporal asked. He laughed. “All right, you’ve given me my ... opportunity ... so what happens now if I don’t take it? What consequences are you talking about?”

“It’s a rather severe consequence, Corporal. Because you see, if you don’t take us to see the colonel, I am going to kill you,” Falcon said easily.

“You’ll what?” the corporal replied. Again he laughed, but this time the laughter was strained. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said, if you don’t take us to see the colonel, I am going to kill you,” Falcon repeated.

“How are you going to do that?” the corporal asked with a nervous, snorting type of laugh.

“Easy. You see, I’m wearing a gun and you aren’t. I’ll just pull my gun and I will kill you.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Are you crazy? You are in the middle of an Army post. Do you think you could just shoot me here and get away with it?”

“Oh, I don’t just think I can. I know I can,” Falcon said.

The corporal pointed to the gate. “Look, mister, in case you haven’t noticed it, there is an armed guard not fifteen yards from here.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I’ll kill him too,” Falcon said. “Of course, I’d rather not shoot him unless I have to, because he hasn’t pissed me off. But Corporal, you have pissed me off. So believe me when I say that I won’t have any trouble killing you at all.”

“Now ... wait a minute,” the corporal said, pointing at Falcon. “You can’t ... uh ...” He stopped in mid-sentence. His pupils were dilated with fear, his nostrils were flared, sweat was popping out all over his face, and he started licking his lips nervously. “You ... you are serious, aren’t you? You really would kill me.”

Falcon smiled. “Maybe you aren’t quite as dumb as you look. It’s time to get down to the nut-cutting, Corporal. Do we see the colonel, or do I kill you? It’s up to you, and at this point I really don’t give a shit which it is. I believe I’d just as soon kill you as not.” Falcon didn’t pull his gun, but he did let his hand rest lightly on the handle of one of his pistols. “What’s it going to be?”

“All right, all right!” the corporal said nervously. “I’ll take you to see the colonel.”

“Good. Oh, and Corporal, this conversation we just had? Let’s keep it our little secret, shall we? I mean, we wouldn’t want to be blabbing it to my friend the sheriff, or to the colonel, or anyone else, that I was going to kill you, would we?”

“No,” the corporal answered in a muffled and choked voice.

“No, what?”

“No, I won’t say nothin’ to nobody about it,” the corporal mumbled. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped at the big drops of sweat that had suddenly popped out on his face.

“I thought you might see it my way,” Falcon said. He turned toward the sheriff and waved him on. “Come along, Sheriff. The corporal and I have worked things out.”

“You have?”

“Tell him it’s all right,” Falcon said to the corporal.

“It’s ... all right,” the corporal said. “I’ll take you to see the colonel.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sheriff Corbin said, coming toward them, leading both horses. “You must have some kind of a silver tongue.”

“Yeah,” Falcon said. “I can be pretty damn persuasive when I want to be.”

Still unmounted, Falcon and Sheriff Corbin followed the corporal from the front gate and out onto the post toward the headquarters building. The fort was laid out around a large, square parade ground, fronted on all four sides by the buildings of the garrison. Most of the buildings were two-story wooden barracks buildings. But next to every third barracks building were somewhat smaller structures. These, Falcon knew, were the individual company mess halls.

The parade ground was a large rectangle, with the barracks buildings and mess halls on each of the longer sides. The stables and corral occupied one end of the rectangle, while the post hospital and sutler’s store sat at the opposite end. Midway down the far side of the parade ground, and situated right behind the flagpole, was a brick building. This was the only brick building on the entire fort, and it was to this building the three men were headed.

A white sign in front of the brick building featured crossed swords, in gold, while in black letters were the words:

FORT LOWELL MILITARY RESERVATION

Headquarters

Fifth Cavalry Regt.

United States Army

Post Commandant and Regimental Commander

Fred M. Dixon

Colonel of Cavalry

“This here is the orderly room. You can tie your horses off here,” the corporal said, pointing to a hitching rail.

“Thanks,” Sheriff Corbin said as he began wrapping his reins around the rail. Falcon did the same; then they followed the corporal up onto the little wooden porch and Corporal Gibson knocked on the door.

“Enter,” a voice called from inside.

Inside the orderly room of the headquarters building, they saw a tall, impressive-looking, clean-shaven NCO who was sitting at a desk in front of a large wall map of Pima County, Arizona. A sign on the NCO’s desk read:

Seamus O’Riley

Regimental Sergeant Major

“What is it, Corporal Gibson?” the sergeant major asked.

“Sergeant Major, these here men are the sheriff and his deputy. They want to speak to the colonel, but I don’t know what it’s about.”

“I wouldn’t think that you would. It’s not your business to know,” Sergeant Major O’Riley replied. “If they want to speak to the colonel, then their business is with him.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think ...” Corporal Gibson started to say, but the sergeant major cut him off.

“Don’t try to think, Gibson,” he said. “You’re not that good at thinking.”

“Yes, Sergeant Major,” Gibson replied, contritely.

The sergeant major, who actually did have some authority to exercise had he chosen to do so, did not try to impress Falcon and the sheriff with his position. Instead, he stepped up to the door of the colonel’s office, knocked once lightly, then at a muffled voice from within, stepped inside. No more than a few seconds later, he was back outside.

“If you gentlemen will go on in, the colonel will see you,” he said.

“Thanks, Sergeant Major,” the sheriff said as he and Falcon entered the colonel’s office.

Colonel Dixon, who had stood to meet them, was the perfect portrait of an Army officer, trim and fastidious about his dress and person.

“Gentlemen, welcome to Fort Lowell. I’m Colonel Dixon,” he said, extending his hand.

“Colonel Dixon, I’m Sheriff Corbin from Oro Blanco,” the sheriff said. “This is my deputy.” He did not say Falcon’s name.

“Well, Sheriff, what can I do for you?” Dixon asked.

“We have had an incident with the Indians,” Sheriff Corbin said.

“Which group?” the colonel asked.

“The Cababi Mountain band.”

“Ah, yes, the Cababi Mountain band,” the colonel repeated. “I believe they are the ones under Keytano, are they not?”

“They are.”

“The Cababi band would be mostly what ... Chiricahua?”

“I wouldn’t say that. As you know, most of the Chiricahua have been moved to Oklahoma,” Sheriff Corbin answered. “There are some Chiricahua left, of course, and many of them are with the Cababi band. But Keytano’s village is actually a mixture of Western Apache, Jicarilla, and, of course, those few remaining Chiricahua I mentioned.”

Colonel Dixon picked his pipe up from the desk and began tapping tobacco into the bowl.

“You said there was an incident. Are you talking about the three prospectors who were killed? Because I already know about them. It’s a bad thing, but the truth is, those men were on Indian land, so there’s not a whole lot we can do about it,” the colonel said.

Sheriff Corbin shook his head. “No, I wish that was what we was here about, but that ain’t it. This here incident might wind up startin’ a war with the Cababi, and if it does, I don’t mind tellin’ you, it’ll be our fault.”

“What do you mean, our fault?” Colonel Dixon asked as he lit his pipe.

“By our fault, I mean white men,” Corbin said. “Or, to be more specific, Fargo Ford and his gang.”

The colonel took several puffs; then, through a cloud of aromatic tobacco, he answered.

“Fargo Ford. Yes, I’ve heard of him. But he’s an outlaw, isn’t he? What does he have to do with an Indian problem?”

“Ford held up a stagecoach and took one of the passengers off the stage. That passenger was Cloud Dancer.”

“Cloud Dancer? Wait a minute, isn’t that Keytano’s daughter? I thought she was back East,” Colonel Dixon said.

“She was. She was going to school, but she finished and was coming back home. It turns out that the coach was carrying a money shipment, so Ford waited at the top of Cerro Pass, held up the stage, and took her off the coach.”

“Is he holding her somewhere?”

Corbin shook his head. “He killed her,” Corbin said.

That information startled Colonel Dixon enough that he took the pipe from his mouth. “You say he killed her. Do you know that for a fact?”

“Yes, we found her body,” Corbin answered. He nodded toward Falcon. “And my deputy took her back to her father.”

Colonel Dixon looked at Falcon with an expression of shocked surprise. “Wait a minute, a white man killed Keytano’s daughter, and you took her body back?”

“Yes,” said Falcon.

Dixon preened his mustache with his finger. “I’ll be damned. I don’t know whether to praise you for your courage, or damn you for your foolhardiness. Maybe both. It’s a wonder Keytano let you out alive.”

“Not really,” Falcon said. “Keytano is a man of honor, after all.”

“How can you call an Indian a man of honor?” the colonel asked, punctuating his question by sticking his pipe back in his mouth.

“Colonel, do you doubt that Indians can have honor?” Falcon asked.

“That certainly hasn’t been my experience.”

“How long have you been dealing with Indians?”

“Well, I confess that I’ve only been out here for about six months,” Colonel Dixon replied. “I ... uh, haven’t really had to deal with them at all yet.”

“I see. So, where did you get the idea that Indians had no honor?”

“Just things that I’ve heard,” Colonel Dixon replied, clearly uncomfortable now with the direction the conversation was going.

“Indians are like anyone else, Colonel. There are Indians of honor, and there are those who are dishonorable.”

“I’ll, uh, take your word for it,” Dixon said. “So, Sheriff, if your deputy took the girl’s body back and got out alive, why are you here to see me?”

“The other day a drummer left Oro Blanco, driving a buckboard up to Arivica. He was driving a rented team, and the next day the team brought the buckboard back to the livery stable. The drummer, a man named Arnold Johnson, was in the back, mutilated and scalped.”

“And you think it was retaliation for the chief’s daughter?” Colonel Dixon asked.

“I think it was in direct retaliation, yes,” Sheriff Corbin replied.

Colonel Dixon sighed. “After that business with the prospectors, I was afraid it might come to this. All right, I’ll ask General Miles for orders to put the Fifth Cavalry into the field.”

Falcon held up his hand. “No, don’t do that, Colonel,” he said. “At least not yet. I don’t think there’s any need for you to call out anyone. I don’t believe this is a war with the Cababi Band. I think this is nothing more than one ambitious Indian who has been able to talk three or four others into following him.”

“Are you talking about Keytano?”

“No, I don’t think it is Keytano. So far, Keytano is on our side, or at least he’s keeping most of the warriors back on the reservation. The one who is causing all the trouble is Naiche’s nephew, Chetopa.”

Colonel Dixon stroked his chin. “Chetopa? I’m not sure I’ve ever even heard of him.”

“Yes, and that’s Chetopa’s problem. Nobody has heard of him, and he’s not real happy about that. He wants his name to be spoken in the same tone as Naiche, Geronimo, and Cochise. If you turn out the Army, you’ll be giving him exactly what he wants. It will not only give him the notoriety he’s looking for; it will give him the opportunity to recruit a lot more warriors.”

“Then, if you don’t mind my asking, how would you propose that we take care of him without turning out the Army?” Colonel Dixon asked.

“You don’t need the Army to take care of him. I’ll take care of him myself,” Falcon said.

Colonel Dixon laughed. “You’ll take care of him? All by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you afraid you might be biting off more than you can chew?”

“Colonel Dixon,” Sheriff Corbin said. “Maybe it is time I introduced this fella to you.”

“You already introduced him, didn’t you?” Colonel Dixon replied. “You said he was your deputy.”

“Yes, but I didn’t give you his name. It’s MacCallister,” Sheriff Corbin said. “Falcon MacCallister.”

“Falcon MacCallister?” the colonel said, clearly searching for where he had heard the name before. Then it came to him. “The hell you say. The Falcon MacCallister? The gunfighter? The one who killed Naiche?”

“Yes,” Sheriff Corbin said. “The Falcon MacCallister.”

“Well, I’ll be damn,” Colonel Dixon said. He stuck his hand out again as a big smile spread across his face. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. MacCallister. General Miles says you are a one-man army. So I reckon if any one man could take care of this Chetopa person, you’d be that one. Is there anything you would like for the Army to do?”

Falcon nodded. “As a matter of fact, there is. You might send a few patrols out,” he said. “And if you see any prospectors getting over onto Indian land, discourage them. Oh, and while you are at it, it would strengthen my hand greatly if you would open up that dam and let some of the Santa Cruz River water back onto the reservation.”

Colonel Dixon shook his head. “I can’t. I wish I could do that, Mr. MacCallister. Because, in fact, I do think the Indians are being cheated out of their rightful supply of water. And I know that the Indian agent has made an appeal to the territorial governor, but the governor hasn’t made a decision yet. He figures there are too many white people who want the dam to stay closed, and if he does anything, they’ll contact Washington and he’ll wind up losing his job.”

“The territorial governor is a feather merchant, a civilian appointee who is afraid to take a piss without first getting authorization from Washington. Never mind him, he’s an asshole anyway. You make the decision,” Falcon said. “You alone. That is what Army commanders do, isn’t it? Good commanders make tough decisions.”

Falcon had perceived that Colonel Dixon was an officer of honor, integrity, and pride, and he knew this approach would appeal to him. Dixon smiled and nodded.

“You’re right,” he said. “That is exactly what Army commanders do, and it is what I should have done a long time ago. All right, Mr. MacCallister, you can count on it. I will see to it that enough water begins flowing through that dam to provide for the Indians.”

“You do that, Colonel, and I guarantee you you will have no trouble from Keytano.”

“And Chetopa?” Colonel Dixon asked. “Will that stop Chetopa?”

“No,” Falcon said. “I’ll have to stop Chetopa.”

“Damn if I don’t believe you will,” Colonel Dixon said. “I’m not sure just how legitimate this is, but I will make no effort to stop you. And, as you asked, I will have my own troops on patrol, keeping prospectors out of the Indian land. Good luck, Mr. MacCallister.”

“Thanks,” Falcon replied.