Oushata Massacre Page 9

  “What of the Indians who are at peace?” Marcus asked.

  “Peace for an Indian, Lieutenant Cavanaugh, is merely an opportunity to plan against the whites. Eliminate the Indians, and we will enter a millennium of peace.”

  “Colonel Pettibone, do you honestly believe anyone will ever accept your plan?” Captain Forsyth asked.

  “Yes,” Pettibone said easily. “Well, not right away, and possibly not even as an official government policy. But Washington will allow it to happen. By an inference here and a closed eye there, you will see my plan eventually take shape. That is because the Indian is a terrifying creature to the people. Our people have supported a program of extermination in the past, and I’ve no doubt but that they will continue to support it in the future. Indians, after all, are not the same as us.”

  “Colonel, perhaps they are not as civilized as we, but surely you do believe that they are human beings?” Mrs. Forsyth spoke up. Most of the time the women were very quiet during such discussions, confining themselves to quilting or knitting or whatever other diversion the hostess had provided. In this case, however, Marcus could tell by the tone of her voice that Mrs. Forsyth was so opposed to and appalled by what Colonel Pettibone was saying, that she couldn’t be quiet.

  “No, I beg to differ with you, Mrs. Forsyth,” Colonel Pettibone said. “They are not human beings, and you would know that if you had any occasion to come into contact with them.” “I’ve seen Indians at the trading post,” Mrs. Forsyth said.

  “My dear, those are tame Indians,” Pettibone suggested. “Consider, if you will, what it would be like if you were, for some reason, forced to live with the Indians.”-

  “Really, dear, is this conversation necessary?” Mrs. Pettibone asked with a shudder. “I think we have gone quite far enough.”

  “I suppose so,” Pettibone said. He smiled. “Very well, then, on to other things. Captain Forsyth, how would you feel about a winter campaign?”

  “A winter campaign?”

  “Yes. I’ve convinced General Sheridan to let me conduct one,” Pettibone went on. “Think of it . . . when the heavy snows come, where are the Indians going to be? They’re going to be in their village,” he said before Captain Forsyth had an opportunity to answer.

  “Yes, sir, I suppose they will be,” Forsyth said.

  “And if, perchance, they should decide to leave, they will leave tracks through the snow so plain that the greenest recruit in the regiment will be able to follow.”

  “That’s true. It’s very difficult to lose track of them when all the ground is covered with snow,” Forsyth agreed. “Do you plan to go with the first snow?”

  “No. I want a good base of snow on the ground,” Pettibone said. “And I want them to feel secure. I think by the second or third snowstorm they’ll be perfectly content to wait out the winter. We’ll track them across hill and dale, through woods and over streams, go wherever we have to, dog them until they can move no farther. Then, when they are exhausted and are inside their tents, warming themselves by the fires, the Fourth Cavalry will attack.”

  “I’ll admit that your plan does have some merit, Colonel, but won’t the Fourth be just as exhausted?” Forsyth asked.

  “Oh, I’m sure we will be, Captain, I’m sure we will be,” Pettibone replied. “But the difference is we will be a disciplined army. They are trained to the command and to respond to orders. The Indians, on the other hand, while fierce fighters as individuals, will not have the leadership or the discipline to go that extra step. We will lick the Indians by turning our strength against their weakness . . . our leadership against their disorder. I have never forgotten one of the first axioms I learned at West Point. It was by Euripides.” He turned to Marcus. “You are a recent graduate, Mr. Cavanaugh. Do you remember it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Marcus said. ‘“Ten men, wisely led, are worth a hundred without a head.’” Colonel Pettibone beamed proudly and shook his head in the affirmative. “Good man, Lieutenant, good man. Soon, I hope you shall have the opportunity to see that axiom put to the test.”

  It was already past taps when Marcus took his nightly walk around the post that night. It was cold enough for him to wear his overcoat, and he had his hands stuck down into the pockets as he strolled across the parade grounds. The flagpole, empty now, was a slender finger pointing toward a sky that was filled with thousands of brilliant points of light. On a night this clear Marcus could even see a fine dust of blue behind the stars.

  “Post number eight! Eleven o’clock, and all is well!”

  The call was from the farthest corner of the fort, a distant, barely heard voice.

  “Post number seven! Eleven o’clock, and all is well!”

  This call was closer and easier to hear.

  “Post number six! Eleven o’clock, and all is well!”

  This call was so close that it made Marcus jump, and he looked around to see the sentry of post number six very close by.

  The call continued on until it reached the guard house. It reminded Marcus of a train whistle, quiet in the distance when one first hears it, gradually getting louder until it was right upon you, then growing quieter again.

  “Good evenin’, Lieutenant Cavanaugh,” the sentry at post number six said as Marcus passed him by. The sentry saluted and Marcus returned his salute.

  On the far side of the parade ground, just outside the stables, Marcus saw a small fire burning. He knew that it was Missouri Joe, for, although the scout and his Indian wife had been offered a place to stay, they preferred pitching their own tent out on the fort grounds. He started toward it, and as he knew he would be, was greeted by Missouri Joe before he got any closer than thirty yards.

  “So tell me, boy, how was the food at the colonel’s house?” Missouri Joe called from the dark.

  “Where are you?” Marcus asked. “I can’t see you.”

  Marcus heard Missouri Joe chuckle. “That’s ’cause you ain’t learned the Indian trick of seein’ in the dark.”

  Marcus followed the voice until he finally saw Missouri Joe’s shadow. When he got closer, he was able to recognize the man.

  “What do you mean, ‘Indian trick’?” Marcus asked. “There’s no trick to it. Either you can see in the dark, or you can’t.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, boy,” Missouri Joe said. “Look, I’ll show you. Look over in the corner of the stable pen there. What do you see?”

  “Two horses,” Marcus said. “No, wait. There’s only one. Or . . . maybe there aren’t any at all. It might just be shadow.”

  Missouri Joe chuckled. “You was right the first time,” he said. “There are two horses there.” He pointed to his eyes. “See, the Indians has figured out that the middle part of your eye is what you see with in the daytime. But at nighttime you see with the outside part of your eye. Iffen you try to look right at somethin’, you’re tryin’ to look with your daytime eyes and it’ll go away. Now, look over there again, only don’t look right at the corner of the stable. Look just to one side.”

  Marcus did as he was instructed, and to his amazement, he saw that there were two horses standing there. Then, to test the theory, he looked right at them, and they disappeared. “I’ll be damned!”

  Now it was Missouri Joe’s time to chuckle. “Thought you might like that,” he said. “I don’t show that to just ever’body. Sometimes a fella likes to keep just a little advantage to hisself.”

  “Why did you show me?”

  “I don’t know,” Missouri Joe admitted. “You seem like a bright enough fella to pick it up. Want some coffee?”

  “Yes,” Marcus said, thinking it might help warm him.

  Missouri Joe said something in a guttural language, and a large shadow loomed up from the ground behind him, then moved to the fire. It was Moon Cow Woman, though Marcus had not noticed her before. She poured a cup of coffee, then brought it to him, smiling broadly and saying something as she handed it to him.

  “Thanks,” Marcus said.

&nbs
p; Missouri Joe chuckled again. “She said you was the prettiest man she’d ever seen, an’ she would sure like to have you share the buffalo robes with her sometime.”

  Marcus had just started to take a swallow of his coffee, and he coughed in surprise, spraying some of it out. He felt his cheeks flame in embarrassment.

  Missouri Joe said something to Moon Cow Woman and she laughed, then sat back down.

  “You don’t have to worry none about her, boy. She ain’t gonna rape you or nothin’.” “She is a very, uh, frank person,” Marcus said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means she says just what she thinks, without holding anything back.”

  “Yeah, she does do that,” Missouri Joe said. “But then, I reckon most Indians is like that. That’s what makes it so hard for them an’ whites to deal with each other. Most whites talk all aroun’ a subject, sayin’ ever’thin’ but what they really mean. Most Indians, on the other hand, say exactly what they mean. You can see how somethin’ like that can cause lots of confusion.”

  “To listen to you, Joe, one would think that the Indians are always right and we are always wrong. But if you are trying to convince me, you are talking to the wrong person. You forget, I have already seen examples of their atrocities ... at the stagecoach way station and at the wagon of the innocent settlers they killed.”

  “No, sir, I ain’t takin’ up for ’em, don’t get me wrong on that point. Once the Indian gets to fightin’, there ain’t no more savage fighter in nature. He’s like a rattlesnake, he has no conscience. A rattlesnake can strike and kill a four-year-old little girl or a grown man, an’ it don’t make no difference to him. A Indian ain’t no different from a rattlesnake. He can do the same thing.”

  Marcus took a drink of his coffee before he replied. “Well, in that, at least, you and Colonel Pettibone concur. The colonel thinks the Indians are the same as wild animals.”

  “Iffen you want to know the funny thing about that,” Joe said, “most Indians would agree with him. In fact, they’d consider it a compliment. You see, Indians set a great store about them being just one of the parts of what the Great Spirit has created. They don’t set themselves above animals, no how.”

  “Missouri Joe, if you have such an affinity for the Indians, how can you work for the Army? How can you scout against the Indians?”

  “Same reason a lot of Indians work for the Army. Long as there’s Indians like Two Eagles, hungry to make war against the whites instead of learning to live with ’em, there’s gonna be men like Colonel Pettibone who thinks the only good Indian is a dead Indian. If there weren’t any whites like Pettibone, Two Eagles couldn’t get anyone to follow him. And it’s a cinch Two Eagles can’t make war against the whites all by hisself.”

  “What do you mean, Two Eagles couldn’t get anyone to follow him? He’s a chief, isn’t he? His people don’t have any choice.”

  “Boy, you got a heap to learn about Indians,” Missouri Joe said. “If a Indian can get someone to follow him, he’s a chief. If he can’t, he ain’t. It’s as simple as that.”

  When Marcus returned to his quarters, he read the letter from Sally. As she had suggested, she was using him for a diary, and she told him all about her daily life, including a young man on an adjoining plantation that her father wanted her to marry.

  After finishing the letter, Marcus took out a sheet of writing paper, his gold-tip pen, and began writing. He made sure to tell Sally about his recent experiences in battle, the upcoming winter campaign, and the Indian trick Missouri Joe taught him. Admitting he had little experience in the matters of marriage, he advised her to seek out those who did.

  After he’d finished, he blotted the paper, folded it, sealed it in an envelope, and placed it on his hat. Tomorrow he would take it to the orderly room and drop it in the mail slot.

  8

  When the regiment turned out for reveille the next morning, Missouri Joe’s tent was gone. There was no trace of him or his wife, and none of the sentries could recall when they left. Since he had two horses and a loaded travois, he couldn’t have left without going through the gate, but the gate guards swore they saw nothing.

  It was more than just a mystery to Colonel Pettibone. To him it was a serious matter, and he called all the officers together in the officers’ side of the sutler’s store.

  “Last night, sometime between sundown and sunup, the scout known as Missouri Joe left this fort,” Pettibone told them. “I am concerned about this for the following reasons. Number one.” Pettibone held up his finger and fixed every officer in the room with his steely glare. “The fact that he was able to exit this post without being detected tells me that anyone who wishes could enter Fort Reynolds in the same way. Gentlemen, with our guards this lax, we might well wake up one morning and find this fort occupied by the Indians.”

  There were a few mumbles of concern and guilt among the officers, particularly the lower-ranking officers who shared the duty of officer of the day.

  Colonel Pettibone held up two fingers. “The second reason I am concerned is that yesterday I brought back from Fort Wallace permission to conduct a winter campaign against the Indians. I am afraid that Missouri Joe may have gone to warn Two Eagles of my intentions.”

  Now there was a mumbling of surprise. None of the veterans had ever conducted a winter campaign against the Indians, nor had they ever heard of one. The Indians were generally dormant in the winter, and the Cavalry usually stayed inside the post, their biggest worry being the collection of wood for the fires.

  “Colonel Pettibone, excuse me, sir,” Marcus said. “Missouri Joe wouldn’t jeopardize the safety of this fort.”

  “The man’s an Indian lover, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

  “Because we were talking last night. He is as anxious to get rid of Two Eagles as we are. He thinks that all the Indians are being made to suffer because of what Two Eagles is doing.” “You were talking with Missouri Joe last night?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What time?”

  “It was a little after eleven, sir. I remember, because I heard the guards’ call.”

  “I see,” Pettibone said. He stroked his beard for a moment as he looked out over the assembled officers. “Gentlemen,” he finally said. “I want every man who pulled guard duty last night to be given one week of extra duty as punishment for allowing Missouri Joe to leave the post unobserved. I want the officer who was officer of the day, the sergeant of the guard, and the corporals of the guard to remain on guard duty for one week without relief. And, beginning tonight, we will double the number of men on guard detail. This fort must be made secure. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir!” all the officers answered as one. “Very well, you are dismissed. Captain Forsyth, I would like for you and Mr. Cavanaugh to remain behind.”

  Marcus watched the other officers file out, and he caught the look of concern in John’s face as his friend glanced back toward him. The expression in Pettibone’s voice indicated that he hadn’t asked them to remain behind for a pleasant visit. Marcus felt like a schoolboy who had been summoned before the principal.

  Pettibone walked over to the door and stood staring out for a long moment as if making certain that all the officers were beyond earshot. Marcus and Captain Forsyth remained behind. Marcus looked over at his fellow officer, and Forsyth raised his finger to his lips, signaling him to be quiet.

  Finally, with a sigh, Pettibone turned away from the door. He was carrying his riding quirt and tapped it against his right thigh.

  “Captain Forsyth, have you no more control over your officers than to allow a young second lieutenant to breach security in such a way?”

  “Sir, I protest,” Marcus started, but Pettibone held out his hand in a demand that Marcus hold his tongue.

  “I am not speaking to you, Lieutenant. I am speaking to your commander. When an officer makes a mistake it affects not only himself, but others as well. In this case your mistake has cost Captain Forsyth dearly. I want
you to know that Captain Forsyth’s inability to command, as evidenced by your action, will reflect unfavorably upon his next fitness report.”

  “But, sir,” Marcus said. “With all due respect, it wasn’t Captain Forsyth who spoke with Missouri Joe. It was me!”

  Pettibone turned toward him, his eyes flashing in anger. “I am the commanding officer of this regiment. It is my duty to see to it that my subordinate officers exercise control over their subordinates.”

  “But I didn’t say anything to him that would in any way be a breach of security.” “Lieutenant!” Pettibone said sharply. “Marcus, for God’s sake, be quiet,” Forsyth pleaded.

  “Yes, sir,” Marcus said, his face burning in anger and embarrassment. He was absolutely innocent of any wrongdoing, yet he was not only in trouble, he had managed, somehow, to get his commander in trouble as well. And in these days of long, slow promotions, a bad fitness report could condemn a man to stagnate in rank for years. It was quite possible that he had just ruined Forsyth’s career, and he was devastated by that thought.

  “I will leave it up to you, Captain, the means you choose to discipline Lieutenant Cavanaugh. I might suggest, however, that a two-week suspension of duty would be in order. I trust Lieutenant Culpepper can fill in in Cavanaugh’s absence?”

  “Yes, sir,” Forsyth said.

  “What about you, Lieutenant? Have you any reason to believe Lieutenant Culpepper could not serve in your stead? You have been responsible for some of his training, I believe?”

  “Yes, sir, I have been. And there is no reason at all why Lieutenant Culpepper cannot take over my duties. He is an excellent officer, sir.”

  “And one who knows when to keep his mouth shut,” Colonel Pettibone said. “Very well, gentlemen, you are dismissed.”

  Marcus and Forsyth saluted Pettibone. The colonel returned it, then quickly walked out of the room, leaving the two chastised officers alone.