Buffalo War (The Dragoons #1), page 21
The war chief rode back toward his warriors. He glanced at the sky to judge the wind since noise could be easily carried by a brisk breeze. It blew toward them from camp, and that pleased him. He also noted the clouds in the northern sky. They consisted of a thick, wintery vapor, and the air had a coolness to it. Perhaps winter would come to the People’s country earlier than usual that year.
So much the better to get this day’s bloody task done quickly.
When War Heart reached the others, he gave terse orders. “Standing Tall, take some men and go to the south. I do not want any soldiers to escape in that direction.”
“I understand,” Standing Tall said. “No soldiers will pass.” He pointed to a half dozen of the warriors, then led them off in the proper direction.
“Come, warriors of the People!” War Heart said. “We avenge our dead!”
The line of Kiwotas, now joined by those waiting across the river, bounded forward, gathering speed as they rushed across the open country toward the camp of the unsuspecting enemy. The hooves of their horses pounded the ground, and now the men began to shout out their battle cries to strengthen their personal medicine for protection and to make them better killers.
The soldiers looked in stupefied fear and surprise at the line of warriors charging into their camp. They scrambled for their weapons but were too late as the Indian horses galloped through the bivouac, kicking over camp utensils, tents, and sending individual soldiers sprawling to the ground. Bullets and arrows knocked others down. When the Indians reached the other side, they turned, sweeping back through the white men.
Pockets Dugan, drunk as a lord, bellowed hoarsely as he staggered around firing ill-aimed shots at the attackers. A warrior charged up behind him and was able to come to a complete stop before delivering a deliberate blow with an ax. Dugan’s head split down as far as his nose, and an eye popped from its socket. He still managed to keep to his feet as instinct and nerves caused him to walk uncertainly for some ten yards before finally falling.
A quartet of more intelligent fellows formed up back-to-back to cover each other. Three had carbines and one a Hawkens buffalo rifle. They began to score on the Indians with slow, deliberate aiming at easy targets. Three Kiwotas, with the same instinctive fighting sense as the whites, made a sudden, unplanned charge. Only one was shot from his horse while the other two swept in and took out three of the defenders with arrows and tomahawks. The fourth, losing his head, made a run toward another group of his friends but didn’t get far before being hit almost simultaneously by a half-dozen arrows. He collapsed to begin dying slowly in the prairie dirt.
Another small group of the soldiers managed to get to their horses and make an escape through the ranks of Indians by damning caution and riding bareback. One lost his seat and fell to the ground. He scrambled on all fours but was trampled when one of the warriors rode over him. A couple of quick turns and repetition of the act left the man resembling no more than a bloody pile of smashed meat in the grass.
His five companions cheered their luck, but soon found they would not make it. Standing Tall and his fellow warriors, waiting to cut off any escape attempt in that direction, made short work of them, sending a shower of arrows that cut down men and animals alike.
By then the surviving whites had instinctively drawn together in the center of the bivouac. Ned Wheatfall, Red-Eye Morgan, and Dan Lilly stood in the middle of the frightened defenders, firing frantically and uselessly at the Indians who now taunted them and kept far enough away to make a difficult target.
Finally Wheatfall and his men, out of ammunition and unable to get to their gear where more was stored, stood stock-still to see what would happen. Frightened out of their wits, and sweating heavily, they looked wide-eyed at the Indians who slowly approached.
“What’re we gonna do?” Red-Eye asked of no one in particular.
“Shut up!” Wheatfall snapped.
“What’re we gonna do? What’re we gonna do?” Red-Eye kept asking. “What’re we gonna do?”
One man figured the best thing to do was to simply run. He foolishly made a rush toward the warriors in an attempt to get between them. The Kiwotas laughed, and a couple let him through, then chased after him and finally caught up with the panic-stricken fellow to deliver death blows with the butts of their long guns.
War Heart bellowed a loud cry that brought all action by the Indians to a halt. Giving orders in the Kiwota tongue, he pointed to some warriors and then at some of the captives.
The Indians put arrows to their bows and loosed several into the helpless men.
War Heart once more yelled out instructions, and more of the defenders went down filled with numerous arrows loosed into the tightly packed mass. Only Ned Wheatfall and one other man were left. The war chief rode forward, his painted face twisted with fury. He had yet to fire his musket, so it was loaded and ready. He pointed at Wheatfall’s trembling companion and pulled the trigger. The man somersaulted with the violent impact of the lead ball, going faceless to his death.
Wheatfall, going into shock from fright, simply stared at the Kiwota and breathed in quick, shallow gasps. War Heart reached down and grabbed him by the collar of his militia colonel’s jacket, then began riding back toward the north where the tribe’s latest village had been located for the previous couple of weeks.
Other warriors rode up and cuffed and kicked at the struggling prisoner. War Heart kept his hold on Wheatfall, who soon lost a boot after going close to a mile in the Indian’s strong grasp. Large prairie stickers soon impaled the bottom of his foot, causing increasing pain and bleeding, this in addition to the several rocky areas he was forced to trod.
Wheatfall was a natural fighter, and he resisted at times in an attempt to break free; but numerous sharp blows from bows and coup sticks on his head and shoulders put an end to his struggles. He spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon going through the torment before the war party finally reached the Kiwota village.
The reception was loud and violent. Furious Indian women slapped, scratched, and spit on Wheatfall. He tried to cover himself, but still received more physical punishment. His near exhaustion made any self-defense on his part almost impossible.
Finally War Heart reined in when he reached the council lodge, letting loose of the hapless captive. Wheatfall collapsed to the ground. He tried to keep from moving and to catch his breath in order to regain as much strength as possible. He knew the Indians would deal him a slow, torturous death. He wanted to be able to get to his feet and fight and run so that perhaps an arrow or blow from a tomahawk would take his life away quickly and with as little pain as possible.
Wheatfall suddenly leaped to his feet. He started to run, but stopped. “What the hell?” he muttered.
Major Matt Devlin, Fred Jeffries, and Gilbert Paxton stepped from the council tent.
“Did they catch y’all, too?” he asked.
Devlin shook his head. “We are not prisoners, Wheatfall.”
Wheatfall whirled around, looking at the Kiwotas who surrounded him. “Something is going on,” he said. “What is it? Goddamn you to hell, Devlin!”
“You are a prisoner of these Indians, Wheatfall,” Devlin said in a loud, clear voice. “If they thought I would punish you, they would give you to me.”
“Then, tell ’em you’re gonna punish me, for the love of God!” Wheatfall pleaded.
“I have no reason to,” Devlin said. “And I won’t lie to these people.”
“Sure, you can lie,” Wheatfall said. “Tell ’em you’re gonna hang me up by my wrists and lash me bloody. Tell ’em you’re gonna throw me in jail forever.” He clasped his hands together. “Help me, Devlin. Please! They’ll roast me over a fire. You know they will.”
“I would say you’re right about that,” Devlin said. “It’s strange why they’d do that, when you take into consideration that they’re cheerfully willing to allow Mr. Jeffries, Mr. Paxton, and me to return safely to Fort Buffalo.”
Paxton, a bit horrified by the whole thing, asked, “Colonel Wheatfall, why do these Indians wish to torture you?”
“Oh, God!” Wheatfall cried out. “Because I killed a bunch of ’em the other morning.”
“You said they attacked you,” Devlin said. “I cannot punish you for defending yourself.”
“Listen to me,” Wheatfall begged. “It was a hunting camp with men, women, and children. We snuck up on ’em ...”
He frantically and quickly confessed to the unprovoked sneak attack and mass killing of the Indians in the small band. He even told of raping the women before killing them.
Paxton’s face paled. “You mean you ravished, then murdered those poor Indian women?”
“Yes! Yes!” Wheatfall almost shrieked. “You can get me on that, can’t you, Devlin?”
“That would probably be considered retribution for past Indian crimes by any court,” Devlin said. “Therefore I cannot possibly have you court-martialed on that alone. What made you do it? Did someone put you up to it?”
“Yes, goddamn it!” Wheatfall shouted. “Senator Osmond Torrance hired me to raise hell out here with a bunch o’ my old pards from my hunting days. He wanted us to rile these Injuns so’s they’d go on the warpath and get the treaty broke.”
“Will you be willing to make a statement to that effect in front of other witnesses and sign it?” Devlin asked.
“What the hell do you think, Devlin?” Wheatfall asked. He staggered over and grabbed the army officer’s jacket. “I can tell you things about that son of a bitch Torrance that’d curl your hair! And I will!”
Devlin turned to Jeffries. “Tell War Heart we will see that not only Wheatfall is to be punished, but also the powerful man who paid him to cause all the misery to the Kiwota people.”
Jeffries spoke to War Heart in a voice loud enough for all the Indians to hear. When he finished, War Heart slipped off the back of his horse. He walked up to Wheatfall and spat on him, then spoke a few words to Devlin.
Jeffries translated, saying, “War Heart wants you to know that he believes you, Looks Ahead. He really feels that if you’re able to take over Fort Buffalo and the agency, then things’ll get better for his people.”
“Tell him I’ll do my best,” Devlin said. He grabbed Wheatfall’s arm and pulled him over to where horses and Paxton’s wagon waited. As Wheatfall climbed up into the back of the vehicle, he had to endure a bit more physical roughing and pummeling from the Indians, but the whites were able to safely leave the village and head out over the prairie for Fort Buffalo.
Wheatfall sat in the back of the wagon while Devlin and Jeffries rode alongside. He looked at the major and asked, “Are you gonna put me in jail?”
“You’ll go to the guardhouse, Wheatfall,” Devlin said. “Remember, you’re a military prisoner, not a civilian.”
Wheatfall, hurting like hell, grimaced. “Did you send them Injuns over to our camp?”
“Nope,” Devlin answered in a matter-of-fact tone.
“But you knowed they was gonna come after us, didn’t you?” Wheatfall asked.
“If I did, and failed to respond to save you and your men, I would be derelict in my duty,” Devlin said.
Jeffries laughed. “Yeah! You’d be going to the guardhouse yourself, wouldn’t you, Major?”
“I sure would,” Devlin said. “That wouldn’t be very good for my career, would it?”
Wheatfall fully realized Devlin had known of the Indian attack on his men before it happened. Angered now, the buffalo hunter bared his teeth at the army officer.
“You son of a bitch!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Major Matt Devlin found out about the disappearance of his son Freddie when he returned to Fort Buffalo with Ned Wheatfall in custody. Beth was frantic with worry and had already gotten Sergeant Major O’Rourke to send several men around the post to find any spot where a twelve-year-old boy might hide. But the effort had been futile.
Under the circumstances there was nothing Devlin could do but comfort his distraught wife as he set about having more sophisticated search parties organized to hunt for the missing lad. Meanwhile, the harried major still had to go about the business of getting information and statements out of his prisoner. As much as he wanted to, the major could not take the time to personally lead the search for the missing boy. He delegated the authority to his trusted officers and sergeants to see the job was done as quickly and efficiently as possible.
However, after a week passed, Devlin’s initial fears subsided to irritated worry when he learned from his wife that some bread and jam were missing from the family kitchen. Also, when he received word that one of the Indian boys at the mission school, a particularly lively young fellow named Swift Rabbit, had also run away, Devlin knew what had happened. While there was no denying the danger of the open, wild country, both boys were capable, strong, and healthy, and one was an Indian who’d spent his entire life in the wilderness.
While squads of dragoons searched for the boys, Devlin began the task of getting testimony from Wheatfall. One of the guests invited to attend the confession was Major Harold Pendergrass from Fort Snelling. Getting him there meant keeping Wheatfall locked up for three days under constant grilling and threats, but that paid off, too. It softened up the militia colonel and made him fully realize the hell that awaited him if he reneged on his promise to cooperate.
After Pendergrass arrived at Fort Buffalo, he was quickly but thoroughly appraised of the situation. Then it was time for the official statement to be made in Devlin’s office. Because of the importance of the revelations about to be disclosed, three more persons were invited to attend the session. Gilbert Paxton and the two captains from the dragoon squadron were seated in the room to add to the list of official, credible witnesses.
When both the room and everyone concerned were ready, Devlin had a couple of guards bring Wheatfall into his office. Once more, the skillful young Private Evans was put to work with his shorthand skills.
When Wheatfall came into the office, he had no intentions of lying or trying to cover up. When first brought back from the Kiwota village and jailed, he was shocked to learn that his old pal Earling Denmore was also an inmate of the guardhouse. The other buffalo hunter was kept in a separate cell and unable to communicate with him. It didn’t matter. Wheatfall knew damned well that Denmore would have already blabbed like a drunken politician on election night about everything that had gone on during the gang’s time as both hired guns and territorial militia.
Another thing also made Wheatfall cooperative. He harbored a very real fear that he might be turned loose and eventually be back in Kiwota hands. When Devlin started asking questions, the prisoner talked so much and so fast that even Evans was sore put to keep up. The militia colonel and buffalo hunter left out no details as he implicated the senator, Harvey Puffer, and the agent Wheeler Coburn in a scheme to break the treaty with the Kiwotas and drive them to war. He explained how the senator was able to arrange for a shortage in the beef issues, and had told Coburn to do everything in his power to keep Kiwota tempers boiling over. The fact that innocent lives might be lost did not concern the office holder.
Using the statement as evidence, Devlin personally took a detachment of dragoons over to the agency trading store. He entered unannounced, finding Wheeler Coburn lounging at his stove behind the counter. The autumn weather had turned decidedly cooler, and the agent was snug and comfortable.
Devlin smiled at him. “Looks like winter is closing in, Coburn.”
Coburn nodded in agreement. “I reckon I’ll be all right again, though. Let the blizzards come.”
“It’s going to be sort of rough on the Kiwotas, isn’t it?” Devlin asked. “No buffalo, and the beef issues are getting smaller and later all the time.”
Coburn grinned. “I’ll turn in a report on that, Devlin.”
“No, you won’t,” Devlin said. “Under my authority as the military commander of the Buffalo Steppes, I am arresting you for fraud against the United States Government and the endangerment of the peace on the aforementioned Buffalo Steppes.”
Coburn, so surprised he lost his arrogance, got to his feet. “Just what the hell are you talking about, Devlin? You’re sure ’nuff gonna get in trouble.” He was taken aback when Devlin didn’t show the slightest inclination to back down. “I’ll tell Senator Torrance, by God!”
“Senator Torrance is going to be in enough trouble himself,” Devlin said. “He’ll be too busy trying to keep himself out of jail to lift a finger for you.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Devlin?” Coburn demanded to know.
“You’ll soon find out,” Devlin replied. “Let’s go.”
A couple of the dragoons went around the counter and grabbed the agent, dragging him along as Devlin led them back to Fort Buffalo.
Wheeler Coburn, when presented with the statements made by Wheatfall with some backup by Earling Denmore, knew the only thing that would save him from a stiff prison sentence was to cooperate. He became yet another willing government witness and added more damaging information as the amazed audience listened to testimony that revealed corruption in the Indian Bureau and the treacherous influence of a crooked senator.
When the episode was finished and Private Evans had filled no less than five pads with his scribblings of shorthand, everyone involved was exhausted. Although they were promised recommendations for leniency, Wheatfall, Coburn, and Denmore were still held in the post guardhouse as material witnesses in a government case. Arrangements would be made to take them to Fort Snelling, Minnesota, and then farther east where the real power of the federal courts would be brought into the case.
Major Harold Pendergrass, charged with making the arrangements through the judge advocate general to press the case, made a hasty departure from Fort Buffalo. He shook hands with Matt Devlin just before leaving for Snelling and points east.
“Best of luck to you, Devlin, old man,” he said with a warm smile. “This is going to be a real coup for the army over both crooked politicians and that corrupt Indian Bureau. The departmental commander is going to be dancing with joy when I bring him the news of these hearings.”
