CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rattlesnake Mountain, Wyoming Territory
“Are you sure he can be trusted?”
Regret asked.
“Yeah,” Davis said. “The deal was, he
was to show up alone. That means there’s two of us and only one of
him. If anyone is worried, it should be him.”
“But what if he ain’t
alone?”
“He’s got to come that way,” Davis
said, pointing toward a wide, open plain. “If there is anyone with
him within a mile, we’ll see ’em.”
“Yeah, I guess you are right,” Regret
agreed.
The two men were waiting for their
meeting in an area known as Colter’s Hell. They were here to carry
out the next part of their plan to maintain the momentum of the
growing Indian problem. But it was also a plan that entailed a
great deal of risk, such as the risk they were taking today in
meeting with Mean to His Horses. If the plan failed, it could cost
them their lives.
“Are you sure Depro will come up with
the guns?” Regret asked.
“You heard him same as I did,” Davis
said. “Last time we talked to him, he said he already had the
guns.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Yeah, I believe him. Don’t
you?”
“I guess. The only thing is, if we
promise Mean to His Horses that we are going to furnish him guns
and we don’t, it’s goin’ to make him pretty mad.”
“Yeah, well, if we don’t get the guns,
we’ll just stay away from him.”
“How long we been waitin’ here?” Regret
asked.
“I don’t know. An hour, maybe two,”
Davis replied.
“Maybe he ain’t goin’ to
come.”
“Oh, he’ll come all right,” Davis
said.
“What makes you so sure he’ll
come?”
“Because he wants those
weapons.”
“Which we ain’t got with us, I remind
you,” Regret said.
“We don’t want the weapons with us when
we first meet. Else he might just up and take ’em.”
“How’s he goin’ to do that? You said he
was comin’ alone.”
“He is supposed to, and I believe he
will. But, just in case he don’t come alone, our best bet is not to
have the weapons with us.”
“Hey, look out there. Ain’t that him?”
Davis asked, pointing.
Looking in the direction Davis had
pointed out, Regret saw a lone rider coming toward them. Even
though he was some distance away, they knew it was an Indian, and
as he drew closer they saw his face, painted red on one side and
white on the other, so they knew it was Mean to His
Horses.
“Let’s go meet him,” Regret
said.
“Wait until he gets a little closer,”
Davis replied. The two men watched the Indian as he rode across the
last three hundred yards, then when he was within one hundred yards
of them, they rode out from the tree line where they had been
waiting and started toward him. First Davis, and then Regret held
up their right hands as they approached him. Mean to His Horses
held his right hand up as well.
“Hello, Chief, it is good of you to
come,” Regret said.
“You have guns to sell?” the Indian
asked.
“Yes.”
“How many guns you have?”
“Many guns, and I can get many
more.”
“I will buy.”
“With gold,” Davis said. “I’m only
going to deal in gold.”
“In gold.”
“Then we have a deal.”
“Where are the guns?”
“I will deliver them to you. I did not
bring them with me until I knew we would have a deal. Where is the
gold?”
“You will have gold when I have guns,”
Mean to His Horses said.
Davis chuckled. “Why, Mean to His
Horses, you mean you don’t trust the white man?”
“You will get gold when I get guns,”
Mean to His Horses repeated.
“All right, I’ll go along with
that.”
“Why?” Mean to His Horses
asked.
“Why what?”
“You are white, I am Indian. If you
sell guns, I will make war on white man. Why do you
sell?”
“I think the white man has done the
Injun wrong,” Davis said. “I will sell the guns to you because I
want to see justice done.”
“I think you lie,” Mean to His Horses
said.
“What?”
“I think you sell guns because you want
the gold I will give you, and you do not care if I make war on the
whites.”
Davis laughed. “You are a pretty smart
Injun,” he said. “You are right. I want the gold.”
Mean to His Horses nodded, then he
looked toward the tree line near where Davis and Regret had waited
for him. He held his hand in the air and four mounted Indians
emerged from the woods, riding toward them.
“What the hell?” Davis said. “Where did
they come from?”
Sheridan
Angus Ebersole, Clay Hawkins, Ike
Peters, Jim Dewey, and Billy Taylor were in the Fireman’s Exchange
Saloon, having just arrived in Sheridan on board the North Mist riverboat. Relatively flush, having the money
they took from the bank plus the money they got from selling their
horses to the army, they were sitting around a table drinking,
planning their next move, when they heard the name of Falcon
MacCallister.
“Ha!” one of the others in the saloon
said, laughing as he told the story. “I wish ole’ Pelham had been
here with his camera so he coulda’ took a picture of Slayton when
MacCallister stood him down.”
“Yeah, we could hang it up on the wall
here so’s Slayton would see it ever’ time he come in,” another
said.
“Maybe there ain’t no picture, but
don’t forget the writer feller that was with them,” one of the
others said. “And I’d sure like to read what he wrote about this. I
seen him writin’ somethin’ no sooner than Slayton went out of here
with his tail tucked up between his legs, like as if he was a beat
dog or something.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard tell that the biggest
reason MacCallister and Buffalo Bill are famous in the first place
is because that writer feller made them famous. Can’t think of his
name, though.”
“His name is Ingraham,” Lucy said.
“Prentiss Ingraham. And he is a real good writer, because I have
read some of his books.”
“Ha! I wonder if Slayton will turn up
in any of his books,” the bartender asked.
“Excuse me, gents,” Ebersole said,
interjecting himself into the conversation. “This here MacCallister
feller you are talking about. Would that be Falcon
MacCallister?”
“It would indeed,” one of the talkers
replied. “Do you know him?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. He is
an old friend of mine,” Ebersole said. “But who is this gentleman,
Slayton, you are talking about?”
“Slayton ain’t no gentleman, Mister,
and that is for sure and certain. He ain’t nothin’ but a bully. You
see Lucy’s eye there? How it’s black? Slayton done that to
her.”
“But he got his come uppance,” Lucy
said. “Slayton thinks he is pretty good with a gun, only, as it
turns out, he wasn’t good enough to go against
MacCallister.”
“MacCallister kill him, did
he?”
“Kill him? Nah, he didn’t kill him, and
that’s what makes it so good,” the bartender said. “MacCallister
just stood him down, made Slayton shuck out of his gun belt and
leave it here.”
“His gun is still here,” one of the
others said, laughing. “It’s there behind the bar. Show it to him,
Jake.”
Jake, the bartender, held the gun
up.
“Here it is, Ken,” Jake said. “Only
thing is, Slayton ain’t got the gall to come back in for
it.”
“My, my, I wish I had been here to see
that,” Ebersole said. “Don’t you boys think that would have been a
good show to see MacCallister stand down Slayton?” he asked the
others at the table with him.
At first, Dewey and the others didn’t
know what Ebersole was getting at. They certainly would not have
enjoyed seeing MacCallister in a heroic role. But seeing the
expression in Hagan’s face, they knew to go along with him, and so
they enthusiastically agreed that they wish they had been
here.
“It wasn’t just a show,” Lucy said.
“Mr. MacCallister came to my aid when Slayton began hitting
me.”
“That’s true,” Ken said. “MacCallister
wasn’t just showin’ off or nothin’ like that. Slayton deserved what
happened to him.”
“Where is he now?” Ebersole
asked.
“Who?” Ken replied. “Slayton? Like as
not, he’s still down at the livery. He works there. Don’t reckon
we’ll see him back here very soon.”
“No. I mean Falcon MacCallister. Like I
said, he’s an old friend of mine and I’d like to look him up. Is he
still in town?”
“No, he ain’t here no more,” Ken said.
“He left. Him, and Buffalo Bill and that writer.” He turned to his
friends. “Say, that was really somethin’ in itself, wasn’t it? I
mean Falcon MacCallister and Buffalo Bill, both here at the same
time.”
“They didn’t stay here long, though,”
one of the others said.
“They couldn’t stay too long. Buffalo
Bill is havin’ that big audition up in Cinnabar,” Jake
said.
“What kind of audition? What are you
talkin’ about?” Ebersole asked.
“Why, you know about Buffalo Bill,
don’t you? He has a Wild West Show,” Jake said.
“Yes,” Ken said. “I ain’t never seen
it, ’cause mostly he plays it back East, like in New York, and
Philadelphia, and St. Louis and the like.”
“In London and Paris and Vienna too,”
Lucy added.
“Anyhow,” Ken continued, his show has
bronco bustin’, and stagecoach drivin’, all sorts of things like
that, and it has done made him one of the richest men in the
country.”
“And the cowboys that works for him
makes good money too,” Jake said. “That’s why there will be so many
showin’ up in Cinnabar to try and get signed on to his
show.”
“Where is Cinnabar?” Ebersole
asked.
“It’s just north of Yellowstone Park.
Why? You plannin’ on tryin’ out for the show?”
“Who knows?” Ebersole said. “I might be
interested. When is this audition bein’ held?”
“It’s a week from now,” Jake said. “It
was printed up by the newspaper. Lucy, show him the newspaper
article about the audition.”
Lucy walked down to the end of the bar,
then brought a copy of the Sheridan Bulletin
over to show to Ebersole.
Cowboys! Cowboys! Cowboys!
Come one, come all! If you can ride,
or shoot, or rope, come to Cinnabar on the Seventh instant to
audition for the BUFFALO BILL CODY WILD WEST EXHIBITION. Cowboys who are selected will become members
of the show. Honest wages will be paid, and you will travel to St.
Louis, Chicago, New York, London, and Paris. Buffalo Bill will be
present to judge and make the selections.
“And you say that MacCallister went to
Cinnabar with Buffalo Bill?” Ebersole asked after he finished
reading the article.
“Yeah, only they didn’t go right
there,” Jake said. “They took a stage coach from here to DeMaris
Springs. Buffalo Bill, MacCallister, and that writer fella that’s
travelin’ with ’em.”
“Ingraham,” Lucy said. “The writer is
named Prentiss Ingraham.”
“Yeah, Ingraham. Anyhow, the word I
heard is that Buffalo Bill is going to build himself a town there.
Well not right where DeMaris Springs is, but real close,” Jake
said.
“And like as not, it’ll be the end of
DeMaris Springs,” Ken said.
“That’s pro’bly right. And get this.
He’s goin’ to name it after himself.”
“Yeah, well, if I had as much money as
Buffalo Bill Cody, I’d like as not build me a town too. And I’d
name it after myself too. I’d call it Hickenlooper,” one of the
other saloon patrons said.
The others in the saloon
laughed.
“Ha. Hickenlooper. Now that would be a
name, wouldn’t it? Folks, welcome to Hickenlooper,” Ken
said.
Finishing their drinks, Ebersole and
the others left the saloon and walked down Central Street to the
livery stable.
A man came out of the stable to meet
them. He was a big man, with stubble on his chin, and irregular,
yellowed, broken and missing teeth.
“Yeah, what do you want?” he
asked.
“Do you have horses for
sale?”
“Horses for sale? Yeah, we got
horses.”
“Good. We’ll need five,” Ebersole
said.
“Five? I don’t know as I can sell you
five, that would purt’ nigh clean us out. You’ll have to wait till
Mr. Giles comes back.”
“Is your name Slayton?” Ebersole
asked.
“Yeah, how did you know
that?”
“I’ve heard you are pretty good with a
gun, Slayton.”
“I ain’t bad,” Slayton
said.
“I’ve also heard that you don’t care
much for a man named Falcon MacCallister.”
The smile turned to a frown. “Are you
trying to be funny, Mister? ’Cause I don’t like it when folks try
to fun me.”
“No,” Ebersole said. “I’m not trying to
be funny at all. In fact, I will tell you why we want these horses.
We are on MacCallister’s trail, and we plan to kill
him.”
Slayton’s scowl turned to an expression
of surprise and curiosity. “You plan to kill him?” he
asked.
“We do,” Ebersole answered.
“MacCallister and Buffalo Bill Cody.”
“And that writer son of a bitch who is
traveling with them,” Hawkins added.
“Why?” Slayton asked. “Why are you
going to kill him?”
“Does it make any difference why? As I
understand it, you may have a bone to pick him as well. I would
think you would welcome the idea that we’re goin’ to kill
him.”
Slayton drummed his fingers on the top
rail of a stall and was silent for a long moment.
“Any of you fellas got an extry
gun?”
“Why do you ask?” Ebersole
asked.
“’Cause my gun and holster is still in
the saloon, and I ain’t goin’ back in there to get it and be made a
fool of.”
“There’s a gunshop here,” Dewey said.
“I seen it when we got off the boat.”
“I ain’t goin’ to go buy one, either,
for the same reason. But I’ll make you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” Ebersole wanted to
know.
“If one of you fellers will go buy a
gun for me, I’ll give you these five horses for free.”
“What? How are you going to do that?”
Hawkins asked.
“’Cause Giles has gone down to Laramie
and by the time he gets back, we and his horses be long
gone.”
“We?” Ebersole asked.
“Yeah,” Slayton said. “That’s part of
the deal. I’m goin’ with you.”
Fort
Keogh
Lieutenant Colonel Whitehead glanced up
at Benteen when Benteen came into his office.
“You wanted to see me, Colonel?”
Benteen asked.
“Yes, thank you. Fred, we have a
request that has been approved by General Colby to send troops to
the Big Horn Basin in Wyoming Territory. I’m going to ask you to
respond to the request with elements of the Ninth Cavalry. And I
will leave it to you to decide what the troop makeup would
be.”
“What, exactly, is the problem?”
Benteen asked.
“The request came from a man named Joe
Cravens, who is the mayor of DeMaris Springs.”
“DeMaris Springs? You mean where the
hot springs are? I thought that was a geographical location, I had
no idea there was a town there.”
“It isn’t on any map that we have, and
I’m not certain that it has ever actually been incorporated as a
town. However, there are, as I understand, in excess of three
hundred people living there, most of them employed in one way or
another by Pierre Bellefontaine.”
“So then the man calling the shots will
be this man, Bellefontaine, not Mayor Cravens,” Benteen
said.
“That would be my guess,” Whitehead
agreed.
“How will Bellefontaine feel about my
colored troops?”
“What is there to feel?” Whitehead
asked. “Bellefontaine wants soldiers there to protect him; your
soldiers will be doing that. If he doesn’t like it, tell him to
protect himself.”
Benteen chuckled. “Good idea. Who are
the Indians I’ll be dealing with? Brule? Sans Arc?
Cheyenne?”
“Crow.”
“Crow?” Benteen said. “Are you
serious?”
“The Crow have a reservation just east
of Yellowstone Park on the Meeteetsee River,” Whitehead said. “And
the complaint is that they have been killing the prospectors and
raiding homesteaders.”
“But the Crow have long been our
allies,” Benteen said. “Curly, White Man Runs Him, Half Yellow
Face, White Swan, Bloody Knife, they were all with us at Little Big
Horn. They were Crow. What would make the Crow go on the warpath
against the white man now?”
“Fred, you know Indians better than I
do. In fact, I would say that right now, you are probably the most
experienced officer in the army as far as Indian fighting is
concerned. You know better than anyone how they get caught up in
their cults and rituals. General Colby thinks it is this Spirit
Talking that has them all riled up.”
“He may be right,” Benteen said. “I’ll
get my men ready.”
“How many companies will you be
taking?”
“I think two will be enough,” Benteen
said. “I can’t believe that the entire Crow nation is involved. If
it is related to the Spirit Talking, it is more than likely going
to be just handful of trouble makers.”
After his meeting with Lieutenant
Colonel Whitehead, Benteen walked across the parade grounds to the
supply room. When he stepped inside he saw Sergeant Major Moses
Coletrain taking an inventory.
“Sergeant Major Coletrain,” Benteen
said.
Coletrain came to attention. “Yes,
sir?”
“How are you doing with the
inventory?”
“I’m doing very well, sir, thank you.
I’m just about concluded.”
“Are we missing anything?”
“Not exactly, sir.”
“Not exactly? What does that
mean?”
“The major might remember that we were
ordered to turn in some rifles, carbines, and pistols,” Coletrain
said. “I had them all packed, ready to go out, but Sergeant Depro
shipped them instead. So far, I still haven’t gotten a receipt from
Jefferson Barracks saying they arrived, and until I do, I can’t
close my property book on them.”
“I do remember that,” Benteen said.
“Not to worry, Sergeant. If something has happened to the weapons,
I will see to it that it will be Depro’s fault, not yours.” Benteen
looked around the supply room. “Where is Sergeant Depro,
anyway?”
“He took a one-week furlough,”
Coletrain said.
“One week? As I understand it, he is
from Ohio. He can’t get to Ohio and back in one week. Where did he
go?”
“He didn’t tell me, sir.”
“Well, he isn’t my problem,” Benteen
said. “The reason I came over, Sergeant, is because we have been
ordered to the field. I am going to take two troops of the Ninth.
What I want you to do is get our equipment together for the
march.”
“Yes, sir. Any idea how long you will
be gone, sir?”
“I have no idea, how long we will be
gone,” Benteen said. “We are going up into the Big Horn Basin. And
it isn’t just an expedition. There is a very strong possibility
that we may expect some fighting,” Benteen said. “So I will want
100 rounds of carbine ammunition and 24 rounds of pistol ammunition
per man.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll get right on it,”
Coletrain replied.
“Oh, and Sergeant, since we will have
only two companies going, I am going to leave Sergeant Major Wilder
here at the post. That means I will need an acting Sergeant Major.
I would like you to fill that position.”
“Yes, sir!” Coletrain replied
proudly.