Buffalo War (The Dragoons #1), page 7
“There’s no walls around the garrison, Coburn,” Devlin said. “You’re probably as well off here as there.”
“I’d feel better over at Fort Buffalo,” Coburn insisted.
“In that case, you’re welcome to that house I told Jeffries about,” Devlin said.
“I ain’t living down there with them soldiers,” Coburn said. “Ain’t you got nothing on officers’ row?”
“Sorry,” Devlin said. “Filled up.”
Coburn sighed. “I’ll take my chance for a few weeks, anyhow. Maybe the rest o’ them cattle will show up.”
The sound of the Kiwotas and the half herd leaving the agency interrupted the three men. They watched as the sullen Indians drove the beef issue toward the present site of their village.
“It will be dark in another hour,” Devlin said. “I have a lot to tend to.” He bid the other two a goodbye and walked back toward the garrison area.
Jeffries mounted up and rode off to gather up his wife and a few belongings. Coburn reluctantly returned to the agency trading store, but he once again barred the door.
When Devlin arrived at headquarters he set the soldiers in the building to work. The duty bugler was given orders to sound Officers Call. The charge of quarters, a bored corporal glad to have something to do rather than just sit around until the next day’s duty began, was sent to fetch Acting Sergeant Major O’Rourke. The sergeant of the guard responded to orders to turn the guard out for a quick inspection, and all garrison prisoners were ordered released and returned to their companies.
By the time Devlin settled down at his desk with a hot pot of coffee on the stove brewed by Private Tommy Kubelsky, the other officers—two captains and four lieutenants—presented themselves in response to Officers Call. Kubelsky made sure everyone had a cup of his famous strong brew. When Sergeant O’Rourke reported in, he was told to waste no time in arranging for a dispatch rider to head for Fort Snelling without delay.
Devlin personally penned a report on the situation with the beef issue and requested either additional troops or the other half of the cattle. He had just completed the missive when the dispatch rider reported for duty.
“Take this and go like hell for Snelling,” Devlin said. “There’s a full moon to help you across the open prairie. When you’ve crossed the Des Lacs River, you can pick up on Stensland Trail down to Olson Road. From that point on, it will be easy riding to the fort.”
“Yes, sir,” the dragoon said cheerfully. “I’ve done it a coupla times before in the daylight, so I don’t reckon I’ll have any trouble on a bright night.”
“This is damned urgent, soldier,” Devlin said. “When you report into headquarters, I want you to repeat that to the first officer you see. I don’t care if it’s the departmental commander himself!”
“Yes, sir!” the rider replied. “This is damned urgent, says the major. That’s what I’ll tell him, sir.”
“Right,” Devlin said. He put the message in a brown envelope and sealed it. After writing the word URGENT across the front and signing his name, he handed it over. “Go like hell.”
“Yes, sir!”
After the dragoon left, Devlin gave his attention to his officers. He explained the shortage of the beef issue and how, along with the slaughter of the buffalo herd, the Kiwotas faced some difficult times in the coming weeks.
He finished his summation by saying, “Gentlemen, we could very well be on the brink of another war with the Kiwotas.”
Captain Blanchard, the Louisianian, shrugged. “Then, we’ll whip them again.”
“Yes, we will,” Devlin said. “Any future conflict with the tribe is going to mean they’ll range out farther than ever before. That means more innocent settlers being killed than in the past. I am hoping to work out this situation to avoid any kind of bloodshed.”
“Do you have any idea of what happened to those cattle?” Captain Paul Teasedale asked.
“I’m at a complete loss,” Devlin said. “The drover who brought them over from Fort Snelling said that he picked up all they had over there. He said there were no more. He even had a receipt to substantiate his statement. I can just hope that the commissary officer did not receive the full issue himself, and will have the remainder shortly.”
Blanchard shook his head. “Well, if he doesn’t—” He let the statement hang.
“Right,” Devlin said. “I want this post to go on a full alert. That means fifty percent of all men to be under arms and ready for action twenty-four hours a day. It will be rough on the men, but I’m sure they will appreciate the situation once it is explained to them.”
“Are carbines and pistols to be kept loaded?” Lieutenant Standish, a young subaltern in A Company, wanted to know.
“Most assuredly,” Devlin asked.
“What about mounts, sir?” another lieutenant asked.
“They must be kept in good shape and well-fed at all times,” Devlin replied. “It may be necessary to go to the field for a prolonged period. The animals belonging to men under arms on duty will be saddled and ready for immediate action.”
Sergeant O’Rourke, at the back of the crowd, raised his hand. “What about the families, sir?”
“Everyone is confined to the interior of the post,” Devlin told him. “I don’t even want the women to go over to the agency trading post for shopping except in groups and with a proper escort under arms.”
“I’ll pass the word, sir,” O’Rourke said.
“That’s it, gentlemen,” Devlin said. “Call your noncommissioned officers together and set things in motion immediately. You’re dismissed.” He stood up. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my quarters having supper. Between my eldest son’s antics and shortage of beef issues to the Indians, I’m not getting much time to eat.”
Devlin took their salutes, then followed them from the building. As the officers headed for their companies, he walked rapidly to his house. He also had to let Beth know what was going on. As the commanding officer’s wife, she had responsibilities of her own where the other wives and their children were concerned.
When Devlin arrived home, Beth greeted him and took him into the dining room. As the post commander and his family, only they enjoyed that extra room in their larger quarters. Mary Harrigan, the oldest daughter of the commissary sergeant, worked part-time as a maid and helper in the Devlin house. She served the major his supper and listened intently as Devlin explained the situation to Beth.
“I’ll see that the other ladies hear about it,” Beth said. “I’m sure Mary will help me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl of fifteen replied. “I’ll let ’em know down on soapsuds row what’s going on. We’ve been through this before, including a couple of actual attacks. Remember?”
“That’s right,” Devlin said. “I keep forgetting that many of the soldier’s wives and children are also veterans.” He remembered Freddie, in his room without his supper. “Mary, fetch Freddie for me, will you?”
Mary laughed. “Y’know, my pa thinks it’s funny about him taking that hardtack and jam.”
“Freddie doesn’t,” Devlin said.
When Freddie came out of his room, he stood by the table. “Yes, sir?”
“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson about taking things that don’t belong to you?” Devlin asked.
“Oh, yes, Papa,” Freddie said.
“Then, sit down and have some supper with me,” Devlin said.
“Yes, Papa!”
Mary served the younger Devlin as Beth joined them to have a cup of coffee. Meanwhile, a flurry of activity swept through the barracks and soapsuds row as irritated sergeants and corporals put the fifty percent duty and guard rosters into effect.
~*~
Over at the Kiwota village, the people sat in silence, mulling over their bad luck. The only hope they had was that Looks Ahead would bring the rest of the cattle, and that another herd of buffalo would come onto the reservation.
If that didn’t happen, a few warriors, like Running Wolf, knew exactly what they would do about it.
Chapter Seven
An uneasy, demanding routine fell over Fort Buffalo. The troops, spending as much time on duty as off, became sullen and lethargic. They responded to bugle calls and the orders of the officers and noncommissioned officers in a slow, resentful manner.
The activity in the garrison was a constant twenty-four-hour cycle. The monotony, increased by the lack of decent recreational activities, complicated what had been a standing problem in the underpaid, overworked frontier army.
Because of the good weather, a half-dozen dragoons were able to desert during the second week following Major Matt Devlin’s orders for full alert. This even included a sergeant from B Company. In spite of the extra security, they escaped easily, leaving at night and reaching safety on the east side of the Des Lacs River by dawn. From that point on, they continued toward civilization, where they could return to their former lives and melt back into the civilian population. Unable to spare troops to chase after the deserters, Devlin could only hope that no more men snuck away from his command.
When a reply finally came back from Devlin’s dispatch to Fort Snelling, it wasn’t what he expected or wanted. The rider, rather than carrying a message explaining the shortage of the beef issue and a promise to remedy it, returned in the company of a major from the department commander’s staff. An escort of a dozen troopers from another dragoon regiment rode with them.
The major, a stout fellow on detached duty from the infantry, was named Harold Pendergrass. He was a blustering, sullen officer who was obviously unhappy with having to leave Minnesota and visit the wilds of the Buffalo Steppes. The nature of his business with Matt Devlin did not serve to improve his disposition.
Trouble started immediately after Pendergrass’s introduction to Major Devlin. Pendergrass refused to be quartered in the tent set up for visitors. He insisted on having regular officers’ quarters during his week’s stay at Fort Buffalo. That meant that young Lieutenant Emil Standish of A Company, as the subaltern with the least seniority, had to move out of his quarters and stay in the tent. Pendergrass was the type of officer with long years of service who would insist on every privilege and right due him by his rank. He did, however, permit the lieutenant to leave the bulk of his possessions behind.
The situation didn’t improve much the next day when Pendergrass had a meeting with Devlin in his office. The visitor came straight to the point.
“A rather serious situation has arisen concerning you, Major Devlin,” Pendergrass said as he settled down in front of Devlin’s desk.
“In the light of the mood of the Kiwota tribe, I hope it concerns those missing beef cattle,” Devlin said.
“No,” Pendergrass replied, shaking his head. “A member of the senate, the Right Honorable Osmond Torrance, has lodged a complaint against you concerning one of his constituents. It is a situation the departmental commander is taking very seriously.”
Devlin frowned in irritation. “What in the hell are you talking about, Pendergrass?”
Pendergrass’s eyes flashed. “Your date of rank, sir!”
Devlin answered, “August of fifty-one.”
“Mine is December of forty-nine,” Pendergrass said. “Have you any brevets?”
“I do not,” Devlin replied.
“Then, I outrank you,” Pendergrass said. “As a senior officer, I protest your addressing me by my last name alone. I must insist that my rank be included when you speak to me.”
“As you wish, Major Pendergrass,” Devlin said. “In which case I will insist on the same courtesy as a matter of protocol. Now! Please get on with what you have to say about this complaint.”
Pendergrass, who had a leather dispatch pouch with him, opened it up and fished out a document. “According to this, you conducted yourself in a—” he unfolded the paper and refreshed his memory— “most insulting and arrogant manner in dealing with a certain Mr. Ned Wheatfall.”
“Wheatfall?” Devlin asked. “The buffalo hunter?”
“He is not a buffalo hunter, Major,” Pendergrass said. “He is an employee of the U.S. Government working for the Indian Bureau. As a matter of fact, he has been appointed as an assistant to the Buffalo Reservation agent Mr. Wheeler Coburn.”
“He said nothing of that when I found him out on the prairie,” Devlin said.
“He insisted that he did,” Pendergrass said. “In fact, Mr. Wheatfall was very emphatic in asserting that he told you he was the recently appointed assistant agent at the Buffalo Steppes Reservation. Naturally, as I said before, the departmental commander is very upset about this. It reflects badly on the army.”
Devlin was so angry that he leaped to his feet. “That son of a bitch and his men slaughtered approximately a thousand buffalo out on land given to the Kiwota Indians per a bona fide, legal treaty. Their presence in the area was illegal, unlawful, immoral, and dangerous when it comes to maintaining peace in this area. To further make their presence undesirable, one of their number had even been murdered by another of the group.”
“Did you investigate the crime, Major Devlin?” Pendergrass inquired.
“That would have been useless among that pack of liars,” Devlin said. “Furthermore, when I ordered Wheatfall and his men off the reservation, he obeyed me in a sullen, hesitant manner that not only insulted me, but also the United States Army. And, I say again! He did not identify himself as an employee of the Indian Bureau!”
“That does not make sense, Major Devlin,” Pendergrass said. “Why would he keep such important information to himself under those circumstances?”
“Do I sense a doubting tone in your voice, Major Pendergrass?” Devlin asked, sitting back down. “Are you suggesting I am a liar?”
“I would not use that strong a term,” Pendergrass said. “I respect you as a fellow officer, Major Devlin. Perhaps you missed or even forgot him identifying himself in the heat of the moment.”
“I am neither stupid nor deaf,” Devlin said. “On the other hand, why would an assistant Indian agent have fifty men with him?”
“It was an organized excursion, put together by Mr. Wheatfall at the request of Senator Torrance,” Pendergrass answered.
“Those men out there were the worst sort of riffraff on the frontier,” Devlin said. “I cannot believe they are friends and acquaintances of a United States senator who had them entertained with a hunting trip out west.”
“I will not argue about this,” Pendergrass said. “The departmental commander wants you to apologize to Mr. Wheatfall when he arrives here.”
“Here?” Devlin asked. “That fellow Wheatfall is coming here to Fort Buffalo?”
“Well, to the Buffalo Steppes Agency, of course. Where else would he situate himself?” Pendergrass said. “You’ll have to make that a public apology by order of the departmental commander.”
“What!” Devlin exclaimed.
“That is a direct, legal order to you from a superior officer who is your commander in the Department of the Dakotas,” Pendergrass added. “He feels so strongly about this that he dispatched me personally to deliver the order and witness it being carried out.”
Devlin knew he could not refuse, short of resigning his commission in the army. “I shall obey, of course.”
“The army does not need trouble with any members of the senate,” Pendergrass said. “Remember, they represent the American people and provide the funding so necessary for military operations. There is another matter involving policy. The department commander has sent a written order to you. One moment please.” Another search of the pouch ensued. “Here it is, Major Devlin.”
Devlin took the order and read it. “So, I am not supposed to take any action at the Buffalo Steppes Reservation without direct authority from Mr. Wheeler Coburn, the chief agent, or his assistant, Mr. Ned Wheatfall.”
“I’m glad you understand, Major,” Pendergrass said.
Devlin seethed for a moment more, than asked, “What about the issue of the shortage of the cattle?”
“We have investigated the matter,” Pendergrass said. “The Indian Bureau informed us that the correct amount of cattle were shipped. That would be a total of—” He went to the pouch again, fishing around for another document. When he found it, the major checked the information, “one hundred head per the treaty signed last fall.”
“The treaty says two hundred head,” Devlin said. “I know that for a fact because I was there at the powwow and I helped establish that number based on the population of the Kiwota tribe.”
“I believe we’ll have to let Mr. Wheeler Coburn follow up on that particular situation,” Pendergrass said. “I must point out it is not army business.”
“It will damned well be army business if the Kiwotas go on the warpath again,” Devlin said.
“I agree a hundred percent on that one, Major,” Pendergrass said.
“As it is, I am keeping a full alert in effect on this post,” Devlin said. “Fifty percent of the men are under arms at any time in each twenty-four-hour period.”
“I shall make a note of that in my report,” Pendergrass said. “It will reflect favorably on you, Major. I may have sounded harsh in delivering these messages and orders, but your reputation as an able field officer is well-appreciated back at Fort Snelling.”
“You’re submitting a formal report on this?” Devlin asked. “A written one?”
“You would be surprised if I didn’t, wouldn’t you?” Pendergrass asked.
“I suppose,” Devlin conceded. He sighed, asking, “Is there any other business?”
“We received information regarding the escape of six deserters from Fort Buffalo,” Pendergrass asked. “The departmental commander wants a further report on what you are doing to prevent such occurrences in the future.”
“Major Pendergrass,” Devlin said, holding on to his temper. “There is not one goddamned single thing I can do. That senate we are so mighty eager to please might help if they saw fit to raise the pay of soldiers and noncommissioned officers, improved their food, saw to it that the clothing and equipment issued them were serviceable and of decent quality, and perhaps showed consideration in pensions to disabled or sick men who have served long and faithfully. I have a private in my command who is crippled up from rheumatism but will get no monetary compensation in spite of the fact he acquired the disease from long spells of unpleasant duty in the cold and wet of the frontier.”
