Frontier America Page 5

  The men stood up to leave. As Broken Pine came to his feet, he said, “Preacher, Hawk That Soars, wait a moment.”

  The two of them stood there while the others filed out. Many Pelts cast a sullen glance over his shoulder as he left the lodge. If the place had had a door, Many Pelts would have slammed it, thought Preacher . . . but it was hard to do that with a buffalo hide flap.

  When the rest of the warriors were gone, Broken Pine said, “Many Pelts may try to cause trouble for you, Preacher. He is very proud . . . proud to the point of sometimes being rash.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open,” said Preacher. “He won’t sneak up on me.”

  Broken Pine smiled faintly, an uncommon expression on his usually so solemn face, and said, “I was more worried that you might kill him. He is a good man, no matter how stubborn he can be at times, and I would not see him hurt if that can be avoided.”

  Preacher nodded and said, “I’ll remember that. I’ll try to take it easy on him . . . if he’ll let me.”

  “I cannot ask for more.” Broken Pine paused, then went on, “Do you really believe that the white men from the wagon trains have nothing to do with the lack of game being so bad around here now?”

  “I’m sure they send out huntin’ parties to bring in fresh meat, but think about it. How many wagon trains have there actually been, and how many elk and antelope and deer would their hunters have had to kill in order to affect the huntin’ around here? Seems like it would have to be an awful lot.”

  “So you think we have blamed this on the white men even though they are innocent?”

  Preacher snorted and said, “I wouldn’t start throwin’ around words like innocent too freely. But I think it’s easier to blame somebody else than to blame pure bad luck. If it’s the white men’s fault, you can run them off and things’ll go back to bein’ like they were. That’s what Many Pelts and the others who feel like he do believe will happen. But if it’s bad luck that’s to blame, there’s really no way to fight that. And bein’ helpless frustrates the hell outta folks.”

  “As usual, you are wise, Preacher,” Broken Pine said as he nodded slowly. “I do not want to go to war with the white men. But I do not want their wagon trains coming closer and closer to our hunting grounds, either.”

  “I reckon that’s a reasonable way to feel.” Preacher rubbed his chin as he frowned in thought for a moment, then he said, “The next time a wagon train comes along, would you like me to ride out and have a talk with the fellas leadin’ it? Maybe find out what they intend on doin’ and why they’re this far north?”

  “That was my hope. Do you mind staying here until such an opportunity comes along?”

  “Do I mind?” Preacher grinned. “You’ve just given me a good excuse to hang around and spend more time with my son and daughter-in-law and grandkids. I’d be mighty happy to do that, and if I can help you folks out at the same time, I sure can’t argue with that.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Fort Kearny

  Jamie Ian MacCallister was getting dressed the next morning when a knock sounded on the door of the borrowed officer’s cabin. He finished pulling the faded blue shirt over his head, then went to the door.

  Second Lieutenant Hayden Tyler stood outside in full uniform. The pistol he had been cleaning the previous evening was holstered on his right hip. He straightened as if he were about to salute, then caught himself, obviously remembering that Jamie wasn’t an officer or even a member of the army. Jamie was such a big, impressive figure that he often had that effect on folks.

  “Good morning, sir,” Tyler said. “I trust you slept well?”

  “Well enough for a man my age,” Jamie said. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

  “Captain Croxton asked me to let you know that he’d like to see you in his office once you’ve had breakfast. In fact, I’d be happy to walk over to the mess hall with you and then accompany you to see the captain.”

  Jamie’s eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded the young man.

  “Lieutenant, if I didn’t know better, it would sound to me like the captain ordered you to bring me to him and told you to keep a close eye on me until we got there.”

  Tyler looked and sounded a little flustered as he said, “Oh, no, sir, that’s not . . . I mean . . .”

  Jamie stopped him by grinning.

  “It’s all right, I was planning on stopping in to see Captain Croxton again this morning before I ride out,” Jamie said. “Let me get my hat, and we’ll go see about that breakfast.”

  * * *

  The flapjacks, salt pork, and coffee in the officer’s mess weren’t very good, but Jamie had found that to be true of army grub just about everywhere.

  He couldn’t say much for the company, either, other than Lieutenant Tyler, who remained friendly, although a little reserved. Two other second lieutenants were there, but they studiously avoided looking at Jamie.

  Not so First Lieutenant Edgar Davidson, who sat at the far end of the table and glared at Jamie throughout the meal.

  Jamie acted like Davidson wasn’t there. He wasn’t looking for trouble . . . and anyway, he figured being ignored would bother the arrogant young officer as much as anything short of a bust in the snoot.

  When they had finished the meal, Jamie and Tyler left the mess hall and walked toward the frame building where Captain Croxton’s office and quarters were located. Lieutenant Davidson had gone out ahead of them, leaving some of his breakfast uneaten, with an expression on his narrow face like he had a bad taste in his mouth. Jamie looked around for Davidson as he and Tyler walked beside the parade ground, but he didn’t see the lieutenant.

  “You don’t happen to know why the captain wants to see me, do you?” Jamie asked casually.

  “I’m afraid not, sir. He didn’t confide in me.”

  Jamie nodded. That was the answer he expected, even if Tyler did know what it was about. Jamie still had the sense that something unusual was going on at Fort Kearny. He also had a hunch that he was about to find out what it was.

  One thing he noticed on the way to the captain’s office was that over by the quartermaster’s storehouse, dragoons were loading what looked like crates of supplies into a couple of wagons, under the watchful eye of a sergeant. It didn’t seem likely they would be doing that unless some of the command was about to go somewhere.

  Was the army preparing to mount an expedition of some sort from Fort Kearny? That seemed likely to Jamie. The real question was whether the soldiers would be setting out on a campaign of exploration . . . or war.

  The chunky corporal who was Croxton’s adjutant ushered them into the captain’s office. Croxton stood up, returned Tyler’s salute, and said, “That’ll be all here, Lieutenant. You can go attend to that other assignment I gave you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tyler responded with what Jamie thought was a noticeable lack of eagerness, then turned and left the room.

  Croxton waved his visitor into the chair in front of the desk and asked, “How are you doing this morning, Jamie?”

  “Fine, I reckon,” Jamie said as he lowered his big figure onto the chair. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re about to say something to me that may change that.”

  “Not at all, not at all,” Croxton said with an unconvincing wave of his hand. He resumed his seat and reached for a wooden box on the desk. “Cigar?”

  “No thanks. Whatever it is, Captain, just spit it out.”

  Croxton sighed and then slowly nodded.

  “You’re right. Nobody could ever put anything over on you, Jamie. You’re just too sharp for that.”

  Jamie squinted and said, “I don’t cotton much to somebody paying me compliments in order to get me to do something, either.”

  Croxton laughed and held up his hands in surrender.

  “All right. Straight talk it is, then. I need your help, Jamie.”

  “That’s more like it. I’m not promising I’ll do it, but what is it you want from me?”

  “You’re familiar
with the Crow Indians, aren’t you?” asked Croxton.

  “Sure. I’ve spent time in a few of their villages.”

  “What do you think of them?”

  “I’ve always gotten along just fine with them,” Jamie said. “Most folks do. They’ve had a few skirmishes with the whites over the years, but by and large, they’d rather talk things over and try to reach an understanding, instead of fighting.” Jamie paused. “But don’t let that fool you. When they have to fight, they’re mighty good at it. You can ask the Blackfeet. They’re the Crows’ natural enemies, and those two bunches have been at war for farther back than I can remember. I’d go into battle with the Crow on my side anytime.”

  Croxton nodded and said, “That’s the impression I have of them, too. But you and I are out here on the frontier, Jamie, and the men who make the actual decisions about policy . . . men in the War Department and the Bureau of Indian Affairs . . . well, they’re sitting in offices back in Washington. They believe in pieces of paper more than they do in the opinions of fellows like you and me.”

  “You’re talking about treaties?”

  “That’s right.”

  Jamie grimaced and made a slashing, dismissive motion with his hand.

  “Those fellas in Washington believe in treaties only when it suits their own ends to do so,” he declared. “If there’s something they want and a treaty stands in the way, they just ignore the treaty.”

  Croxton sighed and said, “Unfortunately, that’s true at times. Perhaps most of the time. But even so, when they send out orders saying that I’m to begin treaty negotiations with the Crow who live in the mountains a week’s ride northwest of here, I have no choice but to carry out those orders.”

  “What sort of treaty are they after? Do they want to take the Crows’ land?”

  Jamie knew that Indians, for the most part, didn’t believe land could be owned, but that was one of the bedrock principles for the whites so it was a waste of time not to think in those terms.

  “No, not at all,” Croxton replied. “There’s talk of opening a new wagon train route that will pass through that area and cut a week or more off the journey to the Pacific Northwest.”

  Jamie frowned and said, “I’m not sure there is a route through those parts that will do that. It’s been a while since I’ve been through there, so I’d have to take a look with my own eyes to be certain.”

  “All I know is what my orders say,” Croxton said as he spread his hands. “Washington wants a treaty guaranteeing safe passage to any wagon trains that travel through the area, and it’s my job to get the process started. I’m supposed to send a detail to the Crow village and invite their chief to come here to the fort to discuss a treaty with representatives from Washington.”

  “Why don’t those representatives just go to the Crow, instead of making the chief come here?”

  “I suspect they believe the negotiations are more likely to go in our favor if they take place here,” said Croxton as he shrugged his shoulders. “But again, the only thing I know for sure is what my orders require of me.”

  “I don’t see how any of this involves me,” Jamie said, although that wasn’t really true. He believed he had a pretty good inkling of what the captain had in mind.

  Croxton clasped his hands together in front of him and leaned forward to look intently over the desk at Jamie.

  “I want to hire you as a civilian scout. You’ve done work like that for the army in the past.”

  “Quite a few times,” Jamie said, nodding.

  “You and I have even been part of the same command in the past. There’s no one who knows the frontier better than you do, Jamie, and even though I’m not expecting any trouble, I’d like to have a good, experienced man going along on this trip. Most of the dragoons assigned here are pretty green, I have to admit. And unfortunately, the same thing is true of the officers.”

  Jamie toyed with his hat, which he had taken off and placed on his knee when he sat down. He said, “I was fixing to head back home pretty soon, Captain. I’ve been gone for a while. I get too fiddlefooted to stay in one place for too long, but then once I’m away from home, I start to missing my wife and kids.”

  “Of course, you do. I’m sorry to have to put you in this position. But the whole prospect of sending that detail to the Crow village has been bothering me, and when you showed up yesterday, it seemed like fate had sent me an answer to my problem.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m not exactly what anybody would think of as an instrument of fate.”

  “Anyone can be, at one time or another,” Croxton said. “I don’t want to pressure you for a decision, Jamie, but I really need to get that detail started on its way.”

  Jamie nodded and said, “I saw supplies being loaded on a couple of wagons. I reckon they’re going along?”

  “That’s right. Provisions and ammunition and everything else the men should need. Plus there are a few gifts in there for the Indians.” Croxton smiled. “Something to sweeten the pot, I suppose you could say.”

  “And bribe them into doing what the politicians and the bureaucrats want.”

  Croxton frowned and looked uncomfortable but didn’t respond to Jamie’s caustic comment. Jamie told himself to take it easy on the captain. The man was a soldier and had to follow orders like any other soldier.

  Something important occurred to Jamie, though, and he asked, “Just who’s going to be in charge of this detail? Are you going along, Captain?”

  “No, I’m to stay here. This fort is an important supply point for the wagon trains heading west. A jumping-off spot, you could say. I have to make sure it continues to function in that respect. So one of my junior officers will be commanding the delegation to the Crow village.”

  Jamie scowled and said, “You’re not talking about—”

  A deferential knock on the office door interrupted him, and the pudgy adjutant stuck his head in to say, “Lieutenants Davidson and Tyler are here, sir.”

  “Send them in,” Croxton said, even as Jamie leaned back in his chair and thought, Hell, no . . .

  CHAPTER 7

  Edgar Davidson stepped into the office, came to attention, and saluted. Behind him, Hayden Tyler did the same.

  Captain Croxton stood up, returned the salutes, and said, “At ease, both of you.”

  Despite that, Davidson remained standing as stiffly as ever as he said, “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  His eyes flicked toward Jamie, who kept his seat in front of the desk. Dislike filled the lieutenant’s glance.

  “I have new orders for both of you,” said Croxton as he settled down in his chair again. “But before we get to that, there’s some business with Mr. MacCallister that I need to finish.”

  “It’s finished,” Jamie said flatly. “I refuse, Captain. You’re going to have to find somebody else for the job.”

  “There isn’t anyone else,” Croxton argued. “This is an important mission, Jamie, not just for me but for the Crow as well. Don’t you think peace means as much to them as it does to us?”

  “I know it does. But I can’t help you.”

  Davidson cleared his throat and said, “Begging the captain’s pardon, but perhaps Lieutenant Tyler and I should come back later . . . ?”

  “Stay right where you are,” Croxton snapped. “Jamie, I had the feeling you were leaning toward accepting my proposition—”

  “Maybe I was,” Jamie broke in, “but that was before I knew who was going to be in command.”

  That made Davidson’s eyes open a little wider. He might be as obnoxious as all get-out, but apparently he wasn’t stupid. As the second-highest ranking officer at Fort Kearny, if someone was going to be given command of something, he was likely the one. He couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Captain—”

  Croxton cut him off with a stern look. The captain turned back to Jamie and said, “If it’s a matter of money . . .”

  “You know better than that,” Jamie said. “I’m just not going to
go along and wet-nurse this green lieutenant.”

  Davidson’s lip curled as he said, “If you’re referring to me, MacCallister, I hardly need any assistance from the likes of you, no matter what the mission under discussion may be.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Lieutenant,” Croxton said. “Jamie Ian MacCallister is one of the best scouts and most experienced frontiersmen you’ll find anywhere west of the Mississippi!” The captain came to his feet again. “Not only that, but I consider him a personal friend of mine, and I won’t have him insulted.”

  “I don’t feel insulted,” drawled Jamie. “For that to be true, I’d have to give a damn what this shavetail thinks of me.”

  Davidson turned toward him and exclaimed, “By God, I won’t stand for—”

  “As you were, Lieutenant!” Croxton’s voice lashed out at the young officer.

  Davidson stood up straight again, and his lips were a tight, thin line as he said, “I beg the captain’s pardon, sir, and I apologize to Mr. MacCallister as well. I meant no offense.”

  Well, that was a blatant lie, thought Jamie. Offending him was exactly what Davidson had intended. But as he had indicated, he didn’t care what Davidson thought of him.

  The breath that Croxton blew out eloquently expressed his disgust and frustration. He said, “I suppose it’s all moot anyway, if you absolutely refuse to go along, Jamie. Lieutenants Davidson and Tyler will have to do the best they can without you.”

  Davidson lifted his chin, preened like a peacock, and said, “I assure you, sir, you have nothing to worry about. I’ll see to it that this mission proceeds smoothly and effectively, whatever it may be.”

  Jamie looked at Hayden Tyler, who had stood behind Davidson without saying anything. Jamie asked him, “You’re part of this, Lieutenant?”

  “That’s right, sir. I understand that I’ll be Lieutenant Davidson’s second-in-command.”

  Davidson cocked an eyebrow and then frowned again. He had to realize that Tyler actually knew more about what was going on than he did, and he didn’t like that.