June 22, 1876
Alongside the Far West
At noon, after a full morning of preparation, the Seventh Cavalry was ready to depart on its scout. Always the showman, Custer arranged for the Seventh Cavalry to pass in review.
The soldiers, even the newest and greenest of the lot, now looked like grizzled veterans with their beards and suntanned faces. They were wearing a variety of uniforms, light blue trousers with dark blue, or gray, or in some cases, small print flannel shirts. Like Custer, Captains Tom Custer, Calhoun, and Keogh, along with Lieutenant Cooke and Boston Custer, were wearing fringed buckskin jackets. The trousers of most officers and men were reinforced in the seat with canvas.
Reno and Benteen were wearing regulation army blouses, but even they, like most of the other men in the regiment, had eschewed the army-issue kepi cap, in favor of hats that would offer better protection from the sun. Many of the men were wearing straw hats they had bought from the sutler for from twenty-five to fifty cents each.
Custer was completely outfitted in buckskin. He was wearing two English self-cocking pistols, ivory grips facing forward, and with a ring in each for use with a lanyard. He was also wearing a hunting knife in a beaded, fringed scabbard, all three weapons attached to a canvas cartridge belt. His horse, Vic, was nearby, and in Vic’s saddle scabbard was a Remington sporting rifle, octagon barrel, calibrated for the 50–70 centerfire cartridge.
The Seventh was formed and ready, but the order to move out had not yet been given and Custer stood alongside Terry and Gibbon. The sky was gray and threatening. A rather strong northwest wind whipped the regimental flag, as well as the swallow-tailed red and blue banner with white crossed sabers that was Custer’s personal standard. The leaves on the balsam poplar trees fluttered in the breeze, causing the leaves to flash green and white, green and white, green and white. The flashing leaves could almost create the illusion that the forest itself was on the march. Because Custer would be taking the review, Reno was temporarily at the head of the column.
“Major Reno, pass in review!” Custer shouted his order.
Reno stood in his stirrups, then turned to look back at the formation.
“Forward!” he called.
“Forward!” The supplementary commands rippled down through the column as the troop commanders gave their own response.
“Ho!” Reno shouted, and the regiment started forward in columns of fours.
Custer had massed the trumpeters from every troop, and it was they, not the band, that played “Garyowen” as the Seventh passed by rank and file.
Falcon rode with Varnum, Dorman, the white scouts—Lonesome Charley Reynolds, George Herenden, and Fred Gerard—as well as the Indian scouts—Bloody Knife, Mitch Boyer, White Man Runs Him, Hairy Moccasin, and Curly. They rode at the rear of the mounted troopers, but ahead of the wagons. Shortly after they passed by, Custer mounted Vic, then galloped to the front of the column.
“Now, Custer, don’t be greedy!” Gibbon called as Custer rode by. “Wait for us!”
“No, I won’t,” Custer called back.
“Lieutenant Varnum, what do you think Custer meant by that answer?” Falcon asked. “Did he mean, no, he wouldn’t be greedy? Or, no, he wouldn’t wait?”
Varnum laughed. “General Custer is a man of precise words. I think he knows exactly what he said, and he knows exactly how confusing his response was. Look over there.”
Varnum indicated Gibbon and Terry. The two men were engaged in an animated discussion, and though he was too far away to hear what they were saying, there was no doubt in his mind but that they were discussing Custer’s ambiguous response.
The column moved up the Yellowstone for two miles to the mouth of the Rosebud. There, the Rosebud was from thirty to forty feet wide and about three feet deep, with a gravely bottom. The water was also slightly alkaline, and because of that some of the soldiers, who had intended to fill their canteens, decided not to.
Proceeding along the Rosebud, and riding in the choking dust kicked up by so many horses, the column made camp that evening. Once they were encamped, Custer called for a meeting of all his officers.
“How many of your men have filled their canteens?” Custer asked.
“General, have you tasted that water?” Lieutenant Hodgson asked. “It tastes like shit.”
“Why, Benny,” Lieutenant Weir said, “how do you know what shit tastes like?”
The others laughed.
“Come on, Tom, you know what I’m talking about,” Hodgson replied. “The water is alkaline.”
“Colonel MacCallister, did you fill your canteen?” Custer asked.
“Yes,” Falcon replied.
“Why? I mean, you heard Lieutenant Hodgson. The water is brackish.”
“Now, General, that isn’t exactly what Benny said,” Tom Custer said, and again, there was laughter. “He said it tastes like—”
“Yes, I know what he said it tastes like,” Custer replied, cutting his brother off. “But I am making a point here. Colonel MacCallister, why did you fill your canteen, knowing that the water was brackish?”
“I always take advantage of water when I find it,” Falcon answered. “You never know when you are going to need it, and even brackish water is better than dying of thirst.”
Custer smiled broadly, and clapped his hands quietly. “Good, sir, good for you.” He turned to look at the other officers. “Listen to Colonel MacCallister, gentlemen,” Custer said pointedly. “There could well come a time during this scout where you would give a month’s pay for one canteen of brackish water.
“Tom, how is the pack train doing?” Custer asked.
“Why are you asking me?” Tom Custer asked.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Tom Weir responded.
“I mean Captain Tom McDougal,” Custer said.
“It’s clear to me that we have just too damn many Toms around here,” Keogh said, and again, the officers laughed.
“The mules are carrying just about the maximum they can carry, General,” Captain McDougal said. “It’s all we can do to keep up.”
“Do the best you can.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As of now,” Custer said, continuing his briefing, “we are to do all that we can to prevent the Indians from discovering us. From now on, all orders will be given by hand signals, verbally, or with couriers. No more trumpet calls. Tomorrow morning, have the stable guards awake the troops at three a.m. We will move out at five a.m. sharp. Captain McDougal, will you be able to handle that?”
“Yes, sir,” McDougal replied.
Custer took a deep breath and looked at all the officers for a moment before he spoke again.
“Now, gentlemen, I’m going to discuss something that no commanding officer should ever have to discuss with his officers, but I think it needs to be discussed.”
The expression on Custer’s face was grim and the smiles left the faces of the other officers as they paid attention to him.
“I think that every one of you know that I’m willing to accept recommendations from the most junior second lieutenant in the regiment, provided that recommendation comes to me in the proper form.
“But it has come to my attention that, during the march out from Ft. Lincoln, my official actions have been talked about, and criticized, by officers of this regiment in contact with officers of General Terry’s staff.
“I don’t like that, gentlemen. I don’t like that one bit.” Custer held up his finger. “And I’m telling you now that all such criticisms must stop at once. If you have something to say to me, be man enough to say it to my face. Because know this. Anyone I find guilty of such behavior will be dealt with to the fullest extent that army regulations will allow.”
“General,” Benteen said. “Will you not be kind enough to inform us of the names of those officers who are guilty of this? I mean, it seems to me as if you are lashing at the shoulders of all to get to a few.”
“Colonel Benteen,” Custer replied, using Benteen’s brevet rank. “I am not here to be chastised by you. And even though the relationship you and I have isn’t of the warmest personal nature, I can tell you, for your own gratification, I will state that none of my remarks have been directed toward you.”
“Thank you, sir, for clearing that up.”
“Gentlemen, return to your commands. We came only twelve miles today. I intend, by an early start and hard marching, to make up for that tomorrow.”
As the officers left, Custer called out to Falcon. “Colonel MacCallister, will you remain for a moment, sir?”
Falcon nodded, then stood by as the regimental officers disappeared into the dark.
“Falcon,” Custer said. “While I refused the offer of Gatling guns, I do not relish the prospect of a Gatling gun being used against us. At first, I wasn’t worried, but the fact that Gibbon lost a box of fifty-caliber Gatling gun ammunition has reawakened my concern. I would like for you to take one of the Indian scouts with you and range out some distance from the column to see if you can locate that gun.”
“All right,” Custer replied.
“You can take White Swan, Curly, Bloody Knife, or anyone you choose. Or, if you wish, you can even take one of the white scouts.”
“I would like to take Dorman,” Falcon said.
Custer chuckled. “So, you choose to take the black white scout.”
“Yes. As you know, we scouted together before and we worked well together. I trust him in dangerous situations.”
“I understand your reasoning,” Custer said. “If you want Dorman, then by all means, take him.”
“Then, with your permission, General, I’ll get Dorman and we’ll leave now,” Falcon said. He started away from Custer’s tent, but Custer called out to him.
“Falcon?”
“Yes, General?”
“This is the twenty-second. If at all possible, I would like for you to rejoin the column by dark on the twenty-fourth.”
“It might take a little longer than that,” Falcon replied. “What about evening of the twenty-fifth?”
“That might be too late,” Custer replied without further amplification.
Falcon found Dorman checking a skewered rabbit that was suspended over a campfire.
“Damn, you do have good timing,” Dorman teased. “Here, I thought I was going to have this rabbit all to myself, and you show up. I guess I’ll have to share it with you.”
Dorman pulled the rabbit off the skewer, then tossed it back and forth from hand to hand for a few moments.
“Is it hot?” Falcon asked with a chuckle.
“No, I’m just playing a little game of pitch and catch,” Dorman replied, laughing.
Finally, the rabbit cooled enough for him to hold it, and he tore into two pieces, giving one piece to Falcon.
“You may not want to share that when you hear what I have to ask,” Falcon said.
“If that’s the case, maybe I’d better share it with you before you tell me what you have in mind,” he said.
Falcon took a bite of the rabbit. “Oh, this is good,” he said. “What did you do to it?”
“I rubbed in cayenne and salt,” Dorman said.
For a moment, the two men ate in silence, enjoying the food.
“Are you goin’ to tell me, or not?”
“It isn’t what I’m going to tell you. It’s what I’m going to ask you,” Falcon said. “I’m going out on a scout, away from the regiment. I want you to go with me.”
“We’re goin’ to look for that other gun, aren’t we?” Dorman asked.
“Yes, we are.”
“Yeah, I heard that Gibbon lost a case of ammunition. You think the Indians got it?”
“I think we have to assume they did. If they didn’t, we haven’t lost anything by looking for them. If they did and we don’t look for them, we could well ride into an ambush, and I don’t have to tell you how much damage that gun could do on a column of men.”
“I can imagine.”
“Custer said I could take any scout I wanted, and I chose you.”
“Well, now, ain’t I the lucky one?” Dorman said. He sucked the meat off a bone, then tossed it aside.
“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I can find someone else if I have to.”
“Now here, just a week or so ago, you said you wanted to marry me for my cookin’, but now you are willin’ to run off with someone else,” Dorman said. “You really know how to hurt a fella’s feelin’s.”
Custer laughed. “What do you say? Will you go with me?”
“I’ll go,” Dorman agreed. “I ’spect we’d better tell Varnum about it, though.”