Having received the message relayed through the Red Cloud Agency, the Cheyennes came in. Tall Calf, Two Moons, Little Chief, Dull Knife—or Morning Star as he was known among the tribe: they came with half a thousand warriors at their backs. They could have done to North Platte and its meager post exactly what they had done to Julesburg—burned it to the ground. Instead, after Crook had made them welcome and given presents, Sundance interpreting, the warriors camped out on the plain beyond the post. Only the chiefs came into Fort McPherson.
Captain Schulz, the surgeon, had laid the body, preserved in a watering through with an improvised cover in its bath of brine on sawbucks, where they could all see it as they filed through. Tall Calf stood looking bleakly down at it after all the rest had passed. “It’s he, all right,” he told Jim Sundance. “Silent Enemy. So—it was exactly as you guessed. Except that there was a white man in it, too.”
“The white man’s dead,” Sundance said, “and his death was not an easy one. All the mad animals have been poisoned or burnt out. The plague is over. Crook, Three-Stars, says you are welcome at McPherson or the North Platte post any time. He wants very much to talk with you about peace.”
“Well, we’ll talk. But—” Tall Calf looked at Sundance. “How can there be peace? More come every day, the white men. More Long-knives to the forts. Still, talking is better than fighting. We’ll listen to what Three-Stars has to say.”
“He asks no more than that,” Sundance said.
“But if it comes to war, remember—”
“I’m still a Dog Soldier. Yes. I won’t forget.”
“Don’t.” Tall Calf clamped a hand on his shoulder, looked into his eyes a moment, then turned away.
Behind Sundance, Crook said, “Well, will they talk?”
“They’ll talk.”
“I’ll do my best for them. I hate these violations of the treaties. But Washington—”
“Yeah,” Sundance said. “Washington.” His voice was bitter.
“Don’t sound like that. You’ve got your full reward. And a complete report’s been forwarded to the War Department. I understand that fifteen thousand isn’t much for what you’ve been through—”
“It wasn’t the money. But the money helps. It’s already on the way to buy some Congressmen.”
Crook looked at him a moment. “Jim, I wish—”
“So do. I,” Sundance answered tersely. He looked at the pickled corpse in brine. “I wish a lot of things. I—” He broke off as Bourke strode into the surgery, where the corpse had been laid out.
“Jim,” the captain said. “This has just come from Washington.” He held out a transcript of a telegram.
Sundance took it, read it, and something within him unknotted.
“From Barbara,” he said. “Barbara Colfax, Two Roads Woman. She’s had all of Washington she can take, too. She wants me to meet her in Omaha. Then we’ll come back by train to North Platte.”
Crook looked startled. “North Platte? Why here?”
“Because,” Sundance said, “she wants to join the Cheyennes, Tall Calf’s band, for the fall buffalo hunt. She wants to go back to the People for a while. And so do I.”
“Of course,” Crook murmured. “Well, I’ll be glad to see her, and—” He broke off. Sundance had turned, left the surgery and the gruesome remains of Silent Enemy. Outside, he stood with head lifted, as if testing the wind from the north, the Yellowstone, from home. Then, as Crook watched, he hurried after Tall Calf, in whose lodge he would sleep tonight.