Buffalo War (The Dragoons #1), page 14
The soldiers’ wives, however, gave him scant attention. They peered frantically at the column, looking for husbands, then displayed smiles of relief, for all the dragoons killed had been bachelors. Their bodies, wrapped in blue army blankets, were draped across their horses, which brought up the rear of the formation.
Sergeant Major O’Rourke waited for Devlin to ride up; then he rushed to the post commander giving him a sharp salute.
“Sir!” he said. “You’ll have to get over to headquarters as soon as possible. There’re visitors there, and I don’t mind telling you that me and the quartermaster sergeant have been having a devil of a time billeting them.”
Devlin motioned the patrol to pass him by as he pulled his horse aside and dismounted. “What visitors are you talking about, Sergeant?”
“There’s no less than a U.S. senator visiting our darling post,” O’Rourke said. “And he’s got a secretary with him along with a feller from the Mission of Indian Reform. There’s a hell of a lot going on, sir. Cap’n Blanchard is about to go stark crazy from all the fuss and bother that’s happening around here.”
“Did any more beef cattle show up to issue to the Kiwotas?” Devlin asked.
O’Rourke shook his head. “Nary a single, solitary cow, sir.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Devlin said. “Meanwhile, I’ll need you to see to our dead. We’ll hold services and burial tomorrow.”
“I’ll organize a detail and honor guard now, sir,” the sergeant major said.
With that sad duty taken care of, Devlin mounted up and rode in the direction of post headquarters. He could see Beth and the children waving at him. He gave them a smile to let them know he had returned unscathed, then continued on until he reached his destination.
The duty orderly took his horse as the major bounded up the steps to the porch. He went straight past the adjutant and into his office, where he found Captain Bernie Blanchard sitting at the desk.
“I’m really glad to see you, Major,” Blanchard said, standing up. He walked around the desk and gestured. “Welcome home and please take over. I sent Sergeant Major O’Rourke to intercept you. I assume he did so.”
“Yes,” Devlin said. “Now, what’s all this about a senator?” He tossed his hat toward the rack in the corner. “Sergeant Major O’Rourke said you were pretty upset.”
“Senator Osmond Torrance has descended upon us,” Blanchard explained. “His secretary came with him as did a Mr. Gilbert Paxton from the Mission of Indian Reform. And to make things complete, they were accompanied by your old friend Major Pendergrass from Fort Snelling.”
Devlin, tired as hell anyway, sank to the chair and leaned forward to cradle his head in his hands. “Oh, goddamn it!”
“There’s more,” Blanchard said in an ominous tone.
Devlin looked up at him. “Well, hell, give me both barrels, Bernie. Don’t just leave me here slowly bleeding to death.”
“Do you remember the assistant agent at the reservation?” Blanchard asked. “That tall, skinny, dark fellow who came onto the reservation with buffalo hunters?”
“Of course. You’re talking about my old antagonist Wheatfall, are you not?” Devlin said.
“Well, he is now Colonel Wheatfall of the territorial militia,” Blanchard said. “Appointed by the governor through the influence of the honorable senator himself.” Then he added, “Wheatfall is even in uniform.”
Now Devlin stood up. “I don’t believe it!”
“There’s still a bit more,” Blanchard said. “All those hunters of his are also in the militia, having been legally enlisted for a period of ninety days.”
Devlin sat down again. After a couple of deep breaths, he said, “Listen up now, Bernie. I want you to organize a meeting here in this office for this evening. I want the senator, Wheatfall, Major Pendergrass, and that fellow from the Mission of Indian Reform to attend the session. I’m going to straighten things out around here or ruin my career once and for all. At this point, I think those are the only two options open for me.”
“I’d say you’re right. I’ll see that some liquor is made available,” Blanchard said. “It might help loosen things up a bit for you. Sometimes people tend to get careless and reveal more than they should when they’re drunk.”
“Good idea,” Devlin said, agreeing. “I must admit that I don’t have the slightest idea as to what’s going on around here. But, meanwhile, I’m going home to take a nice hot bath and have something to eat. Then I’ll change into a clean uniform and be back here by seven o’clock. Can you have things ready by then?”
“I’ll work with Sergeant Major O’Rourke,” Blanchard said. “Don’t worry a bit. This place will be set up in a proper manner for an official meeting between the post commander and visiting dignitaries.”
“Thank you, Bernie,” Devlin said. “Now, please excuse me.”
The major left the fort’s main building and went directly back to his quarters. He found Beth waiting with the children for a proper greeting after his return from the field. The children, excited to see their father but anxious to get back outside and play, exchanged hugs with their father—except for Freddie, who insisted on a handshake—then bounded out of the house.
With the place to themselves, Devlin kissed his wife, long and deep, as they embraced tightly. “I missed you terribly,” he said.
“I was worried,” Beth said. “But there’s nothing unusual in that. Thank God you’ve returned safely to me once again.”
They broke the embrace, and he said, “It was not a pleasant experience out there. It was one of the worst I’ve been through, and I’ve seen a lot.”
“I see you had to do some fighting,” she said. “I’m always sorry to learn that dragoons have lost their lives, but at least the families were spared this time.”
“Yes,” Devlin said. “It wasn’t the same for the Indians. I’ve sent Fred Jeffries over to the Kiwota village to give them the news. There’ll be a period of mourning and anger, but I had no choice. Right now, I need something to eat and a bath. Then I’m going to attend a meeting with that senator and the rest of those busy-bodies who came with him.”
“I already have your good uniform laid out,” Beth said. “The one with the gold epaulets.” Her experience as a military wife gave her a special insight which allowed her to stay on top of the major’s needs. “Meantime, I’ll get your supper while you put some water on the stove.”
“Isn’t Mary Harrigan here to keep house and cook?” Devlin asked.
Beth looked at him and smiled. “I sent her home.”
Devlin grinned back. “Good idea!”
Both turned to their chores. By the time Beth set down a plate of elk steak, corn, gravy, quartermaster bread, and coffee on the table, Devlin had a couple pails of water heating. The bathtub sat in the corner of the kitchen.
“What has become of those children young Lieutenant Standish rescued?” Devlin asked.
“They are being claimed by the couple from the Mission of Indian Reform,” Beth answered.
“Couple? I heard there was a man,” Devlin said.
“He brought his wife, a very charming but rather naive lady,” Beth said. She changed the subject. “Now tell me about this patrol.”
Beth sat across from her husband at the table, listening to him tell of what had happened during the mission to the field. He ate heartily as he gave a sketchy account of the fighting and how of the twenty-two Kiwotas who had followed Running Wolf on the warpath, only the boy Red Cub had survived. The youngster was safely stashed away in the post guard house until a powwow could be arranged with his tribe.
“I hope War Heart keeps himself and his tribe under control,” Beth said.
“That is also my most fervent prayer,” Devlin said.
“They’ve still plenty of warriors left even after suffering this loss. So they could cause plenty of grief and death if they decide to seek vengeance.”
He finished the meal and turned his attention to washing several weeks of patrol dirt off himself. After filling the tub and stripping, he stepped into the hot water and sank down to soak and scrub. Beth brought him his razor and soap cup to tend to shaving. She knelt down and held the mirror as he scraped away the accumulation of beard, leaving his face smooth and clean.
With the cleaning up completed, Devlin toweled off and went into the bedroom. Beth went to the doors to make sure they were locked, then joined him.
“The children won’t be able to get in without knocking,” she said.
Devlin smiled, taking her in his arms for another kiss. When they parted, she took off her own clothes, and they went to the bed. The couple renewed their love in a slow, leisurely way that pleasured them both. Then Beth dressed while her husband dozed off for a short nap before going back to headquarters.
~*~
Captain Bernie Blanchard and Sergeant Major Edgar O’Rourke had not been wasting their time while their commanding officer ate, bathed, and made love. With help from a detail of men from Company A, they had Devlin’s office changed into a meeting hall complete with a long table with chairs down each side. Then one chair was set at each end for Devlin and the guest of honor, Senator Torrance. Along the side of the room stood another table, this one laden with different sorts of liquor, water pitchers, and a couple pots of hot coffee. There were no suitable snacks available at Fort Buffalo, where the only place to shop was the agency store run by Wheeler Coburn.
Major Devlin made sure he arrived a few minutes early so that he could be there to properly greet his guests. Captains Bernie Blanchard and Paul Teasedale along with the other officers also made themselves available for the occasion.
At a few minutes after eight the first guests arrived— Wheeler Coburn and the senator’s secretary, Harvey Puffer. Coburn, arrogant as hell, wasted no time in introducing the man to Devlin.
The next two were Major Harold Pendergrass of Fort Snelling and Mr. Gilbert Paxton of the Mission of Indian Reform. After Devlin and Pendergrass renewed their acquaintance, the post commander turned to Paxton.
“I have been expecting someone from your group to collect the two children from the massacre,” Devlin said.
“Actually, while I am here to retrieve the children, I will be attending to additional chores. I have been given the responsibility of establishing a mission school in this vicinity. So, as you can see, this is going to be more than a temporary visit,” Paxton said. “I have been charged with turning the Kiwota tribe toward civilization.”
“You are planning on taming them, sir?” Devlin asked.
“That is not exactly the expression I would use,” Paxton said. “But I suppose, in a way, it is true.”
“Well, good luck to you, Mr. Paxton,” Devlin said. “Please treat yourself to some of our liquid refreshments.”
“Thank you, Major,” Paxton said. While the other three immediately fixed themselves stiff drinks, Paxton poured himself a cup of coffee.
Colonel Ned Wheatfall, wearing a uniform fresh out of a military warehouse, next presented himself. He offered his hand to Devlin, saying, “Looks like you and me’re in the same business now, Major.”
Devlin did not take Wheatfall’s hand. “I think not, Mr. Wheatfall.”
“Colonel Wheatfall, that is,” the other reminded him. “Now let me think. As I recall from my days in the army, don’t a colonel outrank a major?”
“Go get yourself a drink,” Devlin said tersely. “I suggest that at the first opportunity, you look into the proper protocol between officers of the regular army and those of the militia.”
“No need, I already know,” Wheatfall said. “But I thank you kindly for the offer of a drink.” Grinning, he went over to the table to pour a glassful of rye whiskey.
Finally, making a grand entrance with the young lieutenant assigned him as an aide, Senator Osmond Torrance stepped into the room. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said as a way of announcing his presence. The officer who accompanied him withdrew, happy to have the politician in someone else’s care for a while.
Bernie Blanchard once more made the introductions. “Senator Torrance, may I present the post commander, Major Matthew Devlin?” He turned to the army officer. “Sir, I have the honor of introducing the Honorable Senator Osmond Torrance.”
Devlin shook hands with the office holder. “My pleasure, sir.”
“Oh, the pleasure is mine alone, Major,” Torrance said with a wide grin. “I’ve heard many favorable things about you, sir. Why, just today, they’ve informed me that you scored quite a victory against the Indians out there on the prairie.”
“Thank you, Senator,” Devlin said. Not giving a damn what the politician thought of him, he turned and addressed the other six men. “Gentlemen, may I ask you to grab a drink and seat yourselves at the table? An orderly will be made available to serve you while I conduct this business meeting.”
“We’re going to have business meeting?” Torrance asked. “Why, bless my soul! I thought we were simply going to enjoy each other’s company.”
Devlin smiled and shook his head, saying, “Business meeting.”
Everyone sat down, instinctively leaving the seats at the ends for Devlin and Torrance. Even Wheatfall, as a militia colonel, made no effort to dominate the affair.
“Orderly!” Devlin barked.
Immediately a white-jacketed dragoon appeared. He carried a tray on which he had placed several liquor bottles. The soldier went to each of Devlin’s guests, making sure their glasses were filled. Only Paxton refused his offer of the alcohol. After tending to the chore, the trooper positioned himself to one side of the room to keep his eye on things, ready to leave no glass unattended for long.
Devlin smiled down at the senator. “Let’s talk about territorial militias, shall we?”
Wheatfall looked at the senator. “I reckon the major is surprised to see me in uniform.”
“I am presuming you arranged the appointment,” Devlin said.
“Why, Major Devlin, whatever made you think that?” Torrance asked. “Though I must admit that in a discussion I had with the territorial governor, the subject of hostilities with the Kiwotas did come up.” He took a small sip of liquor. Obviously, like Devlin, he was not going to get drunk. “I believe I stated that the regular army out here could use a little help from a legally appointed militia.”
“If I felt the need for reinforcements, I would have requested some from departmental headquarters at Fort Snelling,” Devlin said.
Torrance smiled. “I don’t believe any additional troops are available.” He turned to Pendergrass. “Is that not correct, Major?”
“Probably not,” Pendergrass admitted. “But in the case of an emergency—”
The senator interrupted. “But there was an emergency. I was informed that a number of Kiwota warriors had not only left the reservation, but had committed murder, robbery, and rapine during a wild spree of raiding.” He swung his glance back to Devlin. “Could you corroborate that, sir?”
Devlin only nodded. “That band was destroyed except for a young boy who had gone along with them as an auxiliary.”
“At any rate, I was concerned,” Torrance said. “You army people do a wonderful job, and I mean that most sincerely. My admiration and respect for you and your colleagues know no bounds, Major. But you are not many, and the few that you are seem to be scattered across the width and breadth of the wild country. Naturally, I am pleased to be instrumental in affording you at least a few reinforcements.”
Devlin said nothing. He decided to let the senator have his say.
The politician continued, “Of course, I don’t wish to see our Indian brothers massacred, so I saw to it that the Mission of Indian Reform was brought out here to bring our Kiwota brothers into the bosom of civilization. Thus, we are honored with Mr. Paxton’s presence on the Buffalo Steppes Reservation.”
“I would have preferred the missing cattle from the Kiwota’s ration issue had been sent instead,” Devlin said. He nodded to Paxton. “No disrespect to you, sir.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Paxton said graciously.
“Couldn’t you have seen to that, Senator?” Devlin asked. “That would have been much more helpful than bringing in militia and reformers.”
“Alas!” Torrance exclaimed. “I am unable to interfere or influence the actions of the Indian Bureau. If I could, Major Devlin, rest assured I would see to it that all the cattle due our Indian friends would be sent. And on time!”
“I would appreciate an effort on your part in that area,” Devlin remarked.
Wheatfall, already a bit tipsy, laughed. “Don’t you worry none, Major. Me and my boys is gonna see to it that them redskins mind their manners, or else!”
“I must insist that all military activities be coordinated through me,” Devlin said sternly. “I am the post commander here at Fort Buffalo.”
“Why, when we’re on the reservation we sure will,” Wheatfall said. “But off’n it, while we’re out there in the Dakota Territory, I’m the commander. I answer to the senator.”
Torrance raised a finger. “I believe you answer to the territorial governor, not me, Colonel.”
Wheatfall laughed. “Oh, yeah! That’s right.”
Torrance smiled. “When Colonel Wheatfall is on territorial lands, he serves the governor. After all, that is the duty of militia. Unless under federal authority, they do not serve the U.S. Government.”
Devlin retained his poker-faced expression. But his thoughts boiled through an angry brain. A gang of legalized killers was now loose in the guise of militia, a misguided do-gooder reformer would soon be adding to the problem, and there was no certainty that the Indian Bureau would honor the agreement to provide the hungry Indians with their rations.
The major turned his thoughts to wondering what possible interest Senator Osmond Torrance had in that area of the Dakotas. There was some reason the son of a bitch was doing everything possible to kick up trouble.
Devlin picked up the glass of whiskey in front of him, and downed it in a few gulps.
