SEPTEMBER 2
1
Wilkinson, do you have a moment?
Sure thing, general.
I consider you extremely well informed on a number of subjects.
Thank you, sir.
Do you understand Communism?
Well, sir, in what sense?
Who are these rebels? What do they want?
O, an eight-hour working day, higher wages, you name it.
Bless us! What next?
General, if you don’t mind my asking, has there been bad news from the States?
On the contrary. The railroad strikes have all been put down. There was an anti-Chinese riot in San Francisco, and the coal miners may walk out, but I think the Government has asserted itself.
In my opinion, general, we haven’t seen the last of them. They’re GODless, you know.
Well, well! I didn’t realize . . . And they’re in the Army?
Some of them, yessir.
Keep your eyes out. But don’t accuse anyone without absolute proof.
I understand, sir.
GOD bless you, my boy! That’s all.
2
General, the teamsters’ extra horses have disappeared.
Fetch me Redington or Captain Fisher at once.
Yessir.
Well, hello there, general. Guess you heard—
Are any of your Bannocks missing?
About half of them, sir.
Arrest Buffalo Horn. He’s to stay in custody until every animal has been returned. That’s all.
General, sir, they’ve brought back the horses.
All right. Let Buffalo Horn go. It’s in his nature; he can’t help it . . .
3
So we follow Chief Joseph up the Yellow Stone to the Lamar, where the rugged road goes widely down to the jade-green, bouldery stream
(could even Nanny be as lovely as these greenish-grey outcroppings along the Yellow Stone?),
Fletch riding ahead up Pelican Creek in search of Captain Fisher, remembering Wood’s warning: Don’t let your Bannock get behind you!
(he finds Fisher,
who rides very well, as even Wilkinson will admit, but his ornamented Indian leggings are a bit unmanly,
and they crawl over the ridge to spy on Joseph’s rearguard;
then they chase after their general by night, their horses breaking through a sulphur-crust on the way,
rejoining the command just in time to hear Wilkinson drive Ad Chapman out of the Headquarters tent)
—pine-and-sulphur wind on the trail high over the river:
Black bear tracks again. And I think I smell honey.
You don’t say! Find us some honey, Doc,
so that to-night Wood will dream that Nanny is crowning him with a circlet of dark bearclaws—
then east through the stormcloud meadows toward Icebox Cañon
(far away, past a yellow stripe of sunlit meadow, another herd of buffalo),
past Pebble Creek up into the cañon whose cliffs seem in this rain more purple than grey,
Icebox Cañon’s soft evergreens tottering out from river-cliffs
and the slender reddish trunks of pines slowly flashing by . . .
If you don’t believe me, boys, look at the map. We’re already in General Crook’s Department.
Well, if Sherman would simply telegraph him to take over—
If Mr. Joe sneaks off by way of Wind River—
James Reuben predicts he’ll avoid Soda Butte Cañon.
But Uh-Oh Howard will never—
Wearily, he remembers how the masses once stood up for him at the Christian Commission rally in Philadelphia, awed by his empty sleeve.