Chapter Three

 

Before the war, Joe listened to comrades complain about the boredom of frontier service. It consisted, they told him, of endless patrols and drills, lightened, but rarely, by actual Indian fighting.

Joe was unpleasantly surprised. With most of the Army back East, fighting their Southern brethren, the Indians took to viewing the situation somewhat like a church picnic—take all you can carry. The Sioux were the main culprits around Fort Bryce, having quite a few years of heavy-handed treatment by the U.S Cavalry to get even for.

The Galvanized Yankees were originally distributed so there were no more than one or two per company, to prevent mutinies, Joe supposed. Things changed around Fort Bryce after one or two skirmishes with renegade bands. Colonel Rockwell started to pepper quite a few of the hardened, Reb infantrymen among the cavalry patrols. It was not regulation, but no one complained.

Until now. Joe felt more dissatisfied with every arrow and rifle-ball whizzing over his head. When the attack began, the troopers dismounted and fired from behind their horses, per regulation. The Indians, unfortunately, had no such orders. They rode around wildly, blending into their horses like fairy-tale monsters.

The far-sighted Rebs shot their own mounts to use as cover. They would have taken to the saddle and made a break for it, but they were heavily surrounded. Their comrades watched in confusion, just before being cut down.

Augie glanced at his companions. "I'm runnin' low on ammunition," It was not a plea for help, not exactly an announcement. It reminded Joe of the curfew bell back home. Its heavy peal told the townspeople the day was uptime to set everything aside and turn in.

To Joe's surprise, the firing stopped. After a few seconds passed, he nervously lifted his headthe image of what happened to Bob Hagers burned into his brain—and peeked. The twenty or so warriors galloped away. They did not look back.

"I’ll be damned," said Sims, a few yards to the right of Joe. "I never expected that. They've give up on us. It don't make nary a bit o' sense. They just about had us."

"Maybe we was too much trouble for 'em," Willie guessed. "Maybe we scared 'em off."

"That's not bloody likely," argued Adam. "I doubt if we finished more than a couple of 'em. We may have wounded two or three more, I suppose, but not enough to scare 'em.”