CHAPTER NINE
After leaving Fort Yates and their
rendezvous with Sitting Bull, Falcon, Cody, and Ingraham proceeded
farther west by rail, leaving the train at Miles City, Montana
Territory.
At Miles City they would take a boat
down the Tongue River to Sheridan, Wyoming Territory, but that
would not occur for three days. Cody suggested that they pay a
visit to Fort Keogh.
“Good idea,” Falcon said. “I well
remember Myles Keogh. He was a good man, and a good
officer.”
After the gate guard was shown their
commissioning papers, he saluted, then pointed across the
quadrangle to the headquarters building. There were several
soldiers out in the quadrangle going through various drills. On one
side were a group of black soldiers, and on the other a group of
white soldiers.
“The Ninth and Sixth Cavalry share the
post,” Cody explained.
Once inside the headquarters building,
the adjutant showed them in to the office of the post commander,
who was also the commanding officer of the Sixth
Cavalry.
“Buffalo Bill Cody, I can’t tell you
how pleased we are to have you visiting us,” Colonel Whitehead
said.
“Thank you, Colonel,” Cody replied.
“May I introduce my friends? This is Falcon MacCallister, and this
is Prentiss Ingraham.”
“Falcon MacCallister,” Whitehead said.
“You were at the fight at Little Big Horn, weren’t
you?”
“Yes,” Falcon said. “I was actually
looking for a couple of lost Gatling guns, but wound up with Reno
during the fight.”
“Ahh, there is someone here you should
see,” Whitehead said. He held up his finger, as if telling Falcon
to wait for a moment, then he stepped to the door and spoke to his
adjutant. “Mike, would you have the CO of the Ninth come to my
office, please?”
“Yes, sir,” the young lieutenant
replied.
“We are sort of a forgotten post here,”
Colonel Whitehead said, continuing the conversation. “We don’t get
many guests, especially guests of your caliber. How long will you
be here?”
“Just long enough to catch a boat down
to Sheridan,” Cody said.
“Good, that means you will be here for
three days at least, for it will be that long until the next boat
leaves. Have you a place to stay while you are here?”
“We thought we would get rooms in the
hotel,” Cody said.
“Ha. Lots of luck with that,” Colonel
Whitehead replied. “Chances are there won’t even be one room
available, since the boat passengers stay there until the boat
leaves. And even if you could get a room, believe me, it is little
better than sleeping in a stable. We can put you up here on the
post.”
“We don’t want to
intrude.”
“You won’t be intruding. We have enough
vacant rooms in the bachelor officers’ quarters to accommodate all
three of you. You are welcome to them.”
“Thank you, that is very decent of
you.”
“Oh! And tomorrow night, we will have a
dance in your honor.”
“Colonel, please don’t go to any
trouble on our part,” Cody said.
“Trouble? Believe me, Colonel Cody,
it’s no trouble. It is an honor and a privilege. And I know the
ladies have been wanting to hold another dance. This will be the
perfect opportunity to do so. This is difficult duty here for all
of us, isolated as we are, but it is particularly difficult for the
ladies.”
There was a knock on the door, and
looking toward it, Falcon saw Fred Benteen.
“You sent for me,
Colonel?”
“Yes, Major, you have an old friend
here I thought you might like to see. Colonel Falcon
MacCallister.”
Benteen looked over at Falcon. “I
thought your colonel’s rank was temporary from the State of
Colorado.”
“It was, then,” Falcon said. “Now I
have another temporary rank, this time from the U.S. Army. I see
you have been promoted to major.”
“What are you doing here?”
“We’re just passing through,” Falcon
said.
“But they are going to be here for a
few days,” Colonel Whitehead said. “I have asked them to stay in
the BOQ. The ladies will be planning a dance for tomorrow night,
and they will be our special guests.”
“I’m sure the ladies will appreciate
that,” Benteen said. “Colonel, I must get back to my men. I’ll see
you tomorrow night.”
The dance the next evening was held at
the Suttler’s Store. For twelve officers, there were six wives
present, as well as Colonel Whitehead’s daughter, who was eighteen.
Of the thirty non-commissioned officers assigned to the base, there
were thirteen wives present. In addition, there were two unmarried
laundresses. That meant that, for the dance, there were forty-five
men and twenty women. Every woman’s dance card was
full.
Falcon danced once with Mrs. Whitehead,
once with Elaine, Colonel Whitehead’s daughter, and once with the
wife of one of the NCOs. Bill Cody and Prentiss Ingraham were much
more active, dancing nearly every dance with the ladies who thought
it a great thrill to dance with someone as famous as they both
were.
For the most part, Falcon sat at a
table with Colonel Whitehead, who graciously allowed his wife to
dance with all the soldiers, officers and NCOs who did not have
wives of their own.
“Did Sitting Bull shed any light on
this Spirit Talking business?” Colonel Whitehead
asked.
“Nothing that we didn’t already know,”
Falcon said.
“Mean to His Horses is bad news. I
suppose you heard about the Kennedy massacre?”
“Yes.”
“Roman Nose, Crazy Horse, Tall Bull,
none of them were as brutal to civilians as Mean to His Horses has
been.”
“There is a difference, though,” Falcon
said. “They were all part of their established tribes, and it was
during a time of war between the Indians and the white man. Mean to
His Horses is a renegade, pure and simple.”
“That’s true,” Colonel Whitehead said.
“There is another big difference.”
“What is that?”
“Roman Nose, Crazy Horse, Tall Bull are
all dead. This son of a bitch is still alive.”
Benteen was a late arrival at the dance
and when he arrived, Whitehead excused himself.
“I need to dance with my own wife or
I’m going to hear about it,” he said.
“Mrs. Benteen isn’t here?” Falcon
asked.
“At the moment, she is in St. Louis,”
Benteen answered.
The two men sat in silence for a
moment.
“Well?” Benteen said.
“Well?” Falcon replied, confused by the
cryptic comment.
“Aren’t you going to join the
chorus?”
“What chorus would that
be?”
“The chorus that says I betrayed
Custer, that if I had brought my battalion up quickly enough, I
could have joined him and the outcome would have been different.
‘Benteen, big Sioux village come quick, bring
packs. P.S. bring packs.’ Is there one person in America now
who is not aware of that last message from Custer?”
“Major, you forget. I was with Reno
that day,” Falcon said. “If you had not come to Reno’s aid, I might
not be here today.”
Benteen was silent for a long moment.
Finally he gave a relieved sigh and shook his head.
“I thank you for that, Colonel,” he
said. “It is good to hear something from someone who was there, and
who knows all the details and nuances. Sometimes I think I am going
to be like Judas Iscariot—damned for all eternity because I
betrayed Custer.
“I didn’t like the man, and I’ve made
no excuses about that, but damn it, I did what I thought was best
that day. Custer had the largest battalion, he had competent
officers, I had no idea that he was in such dire circumstances.
Reno was the most inexperienced officer in the entire regiment, and
he had only half as many men with him as Custer had. Given the
choice, I thought Reno and his men were in more danger than
Custer.”
“You made the choice of a battlefield
commander,” Falcon said. “There are very few men who have ever
actually been in that position, which means there are very few who
have the slightest idea of what it is like to make life-or-death
decisions in the blink of an eye. And, as I told you, your decision
to help Reno probably saved my life.”
“Poor Marcus,” Benteen said. “He has
fallen on very hard times, you know. He was cashiered from the army
for public drunkenness and lewd behavior, but I have heard from
some of the officers who served with him that it was all a put-up
deal.”
“Where is he now?” Falcon
asked.
“He is in Washington, D.C., working as
a very lowlevel clerk. He tried to get a book published about his
role in the battle, but it was rejected. I uh,” Benteen cleared his
throat. “I sent him some money a few months ago. I hated to
embarrass him that way, but I knew that he was just barely hanging
on.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Falcon
said.
“Godfrey, Larned, Varnum, they have all
abandoned him,” Benteen said.
At that moment, the current dance
having ended, Colonel Whitehead returned to the table, breathless
and sweating. “I tell you,” he said. “I don’t know how the ladies
are able to dance every dance as they do. One dance is enough to
wear me out. Fred, you must put your name on some of the dance
cards, I’m sure the ladies would be happy to dance with
you.”
“Thank you, Colonel, but I’ll defer to
the younger offices and NCOs. Besides, as none of my men are here,
I feel a little out of place.”
“Surely, Major, you aren’t suggesting
that the dance be open to the colored soldiers?” Colonel Whitehead
said.
“No, Colonel, not at all,” Reno
replied. “I just made the comment that, as they cannot participate
in the dance, I, as their commanding officer, feel that I should
not be here as well.”
“Well, I think that is foolish. But, it
is certainly your right to make such a decision. Oh, dear me, the
sergeant major’s wife is headed straight for me with that look in
her eyes. I guess I must dance with her.”
Colonel Whitehead excused himself and
joined the sergeant major’s wife as the regimental band swung into
the next tune.
“Did you hear about Tom Weir?” Reno
asked.
“I know that he died,” Falcon
said.
“You remember that he wanted to go help
Custer, but got no farther than the very next hill. By the time he
got there it was too late. It’s obvious now that Custer and all his
men were already dead, and the Indians were coming hard toward
Weir. He barely made it back in time.”
“Yes, I remember that.”
“Weir resigned his commission almost
immediately after we got back to Fort Lincoln. I tried to talk him
out of it, but he wouldn’t listen. He went back to New York City. I
got a letter from one of his friends there who said that he was
afraid Tom was losing his mind. He wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t leave
his apartment. All he did was lay around and drink whiskey. Toward
the end, he wouldn’t even talk to anyone, nor would he get out of
bed. His depression got deeper and deeper, and his drinking got
worse and worse, until one day he lay down to take a nap, and he
never woke up.
“All that in less than six months,”
Benteen said. “The young, aggressive, courageous officer who
stormed the hill in his attempt to go to the rescue of his
commander was, within six months of that date, a helpless, drunken,
despondent invalid, dying in bed in a fifth-floor walk-up apartment
in New York.”