It took the detachment four days to go from Traverse, Texas to Sherman, Arizona Territory. The trip was routine, which made for plenty of boredom for the intrepid travelers. Even Scout Michael Strongbow’s enthusiasm began to wane during the last day of the journey.
Captain Mack Hawkins stood at the boxcar door, gazing out at the desert vista where he had served more than a decade as an enlisted soldier. Now the veteran experienced a combination of nostalgia and anxiety as memories floated through his mind. The reverie was broken when he noticed they were drawing close to their destination. He stepped back from the car opening and ordered the horses to be saddled.
When the train pulled into the town of Sherman, everyone in the detachment was surprised to see a good number of townspeople gathered at the depot. Hawkins chuckled, “I guess the word of our arrival spread from Fort Stryker to the town. This will be the first time these folks get to see U.S. Indian Scouts.”
Ludlow Dooley was surprised. “Don’t they have a detachment in the Arizona Territory, sir?”
“There’s one at Fort Huachuca, but they’re kept busy watching the Mexican border. That’s why they had to send for us.”
Sergeant Eagle Heart slid the door open, then he and Red Moon hopped to the station platform to pull the loading ramp down. Ludlow was the first out and he turned to watch the disembarkation begin.
A local resident standing behind the lieutenant, tapped him on the shoulder. “So them Injuns is in the Army, huh?”
“That’s right,” Ludlow answered. “They’ve been enlisted just like whites and coloreds.”
“That’s mighty inter’sting,” the man remarked. “What kind of Injuns is they?”
“Kiowas and Comanches.”
“Oh! They’re from the prairie, ain’t they?”
“Yep,” Ludlow replied. “The Indian Territory north of Texas.”
“Well, young feller, right now you’re in the Arizona Territory south of the Utah Territory.”
“That’s good to know, thank you,” Ludlow stated, grinning to himself.
Hawkins came down leading his horse, followed by Michael Strongbow with his and Eagle Heart’s mounts. Swift Horse led his and Ludlow’s down the ramp. The final scouts out were Corporals Running Cougar and Tall Bear with their own horses along with Red Moon’s.
The crowd was murmuring among themselves as the detachment formed up. With everybody in the saddles, Hawkins led the way out of the depot area to the main street of town. He knew the way to Fort Stryker, having gone there from Sherman countless times. This was after he, as a young trooper, had spent evenings of drinking, gambling and whoring.
The smells in the arid air were further reminders to the captain of patrols, battles and the garrison life on the Tierra Brava Desert. It was here he had worked his way up to sergeant until eventually receiving a commission in the rank of second lieutenant. Now, as an older but perhaps not wiser captain, he truly felt he had returned to his roots of soldiering.
They went through Fort Stryker’s front gate, and continued on until stopping in front of post headquarters. Protocol demanded that he and Ludlow call on the commanding officer to announce their arrival. The man would also have instructions for them. The two officers dismounted, and walked up the steps to the porch.
A large individual, sitting on a chair leaning against the building’s wall, spoke out. “Well! I’ll be godamned and then some. Hello there, Mack!”
It took Hawkins a moment to recognize the greeter. “Dennis O’Rourke!”
O’Rourke got up and they shook hands. The marshal glanced at Ludlow and the Indians. “So this is the scout detachment that’s come to sort out what’s going on around here. I never knew you were part of that program.”
“Yep,” Hawkins acknowledged. “Now Dennis, you tell me what the hell you’re doing here in civilian clothes with a badge on your vest.”
“I’m retired from the Army, Mack. The first thing I done as a civilian was to sign up to be a United States deputy marshal.”
Hawkins introduced O’Rourke to Ludlow. “Mr. Dooley, this fellah and I had a lot of adventures around here when we were younger.”
“We sure as hell did,” O’Rourke agreed. “We fought Injuns, Mezkin bandidos, Comancheros and a lot of other bad fellers in our day.” He nodded to Hawkins. “Colonel Crawford is the commanding officer here.”
“I remember him as a major,” Hawkins said.
“He got promoted o’course. And so did I. I retired as regimental sergeant major.”
“Well, then, Sergeant Major O’Rourke, you just lead us in to see Colonel Crawford,” Hawkins stated.
“You and the lieutenant foller me,” O’Rourke invited. “After we see the colonel you’ll be able to know how you’re gonna handle your deployment here at Fort Stryker.”
The three men entered the building, going straight to the door marked COMMANDING OFFICER. O’Rourke knocked hard. “Colonel Crawford! I just got my hands on the worstest desperado that ever rode on the Tierra Brava Desert. I need your official permission to shoot him like a mad dawg!”
The door was jerked open and the surprise on the colonel’s face was obvious. “For God’s sake! It’s Lieutenant Mack Hawkins. But you’re a captain now! C’mon in.”
The trio of visitors walked into the office and Ludlow went through another introduction. Colonel Crawford shook his hand. “Mr. Dooley, I think you’re about learn a thing or two about your commanding officer. Did you know how he got his commission from sergeant to second lieutenant?”
“No, sir. But I’d be interested in finding out.”
“Well, General Phil Sheridan himself made the appointment,” Crawford explained. “He did it on the recommendation of General George Crook who commanded during the Apache wars around here. Sergeant Mack Hawkins did some incredibly brave things in battles against the Apaches on several occasions. General Crook admired his leadership under those difficult and dangerous circumstances.”
O’Rourke laughed. “I was with him each and ever’ time. I thought he was prob’ly gonna get court-martialed, but he ended up getting a commission.”
“That’s true,” Colonel Crawford agreed. “Sometimes there’s a thin line between a medal and a court-martial.”
Ludlow wasn’t surprised to learn that his detachment commander had probably bent and broke every single army regulation back in those days. He cleared his throat, “He hasn’t changed a bit, sir.”
“I was afraid of that,” Crawford admitted, gesturing for his visitors to sit down. “Well, let’s discuss this present situation.”
The colonel explained the facts of the raid on the horse ranch, the unshod horses of the thieves, and the worry about the possibility of an Indian war in the making.
“That makes sense,” Hawkins said. “Why else would Indians steal horses? Is it true they killed a Mexican cowboy, but didn’t mutilate the body?”
Crawford nodded. “Most unusual, hey?”
“It sure as hell is,” O’Rourke interjected.
Hawkins was thoughtful for a moment, then asked, “Has there been any signs of unrest on the Tijones reservation?”
“We haven’t heard of anything from the agent out there,” the colonel replied. “But that should be your first point of investigation.”
“I think I’ll go to the scene of the horse theft before doing anything else. I’d like to speak to the rancher and get his version of the situation.”
“Okay,” Crawford said. “His name is J.K. Denton. Go northwest out of Sherman until you reach the Cuerdando River. Follow it west and you’ll ride onto the ranch proper.”
O’Rourke spoke up. “I know this is army business, but I’d like to go along on the patrol. That pris’ner I turned in here was involved in a strange situation on the Guerras reservation near Hope Wells. I’ve been wondering if there’s some connection to that horse rustling.”
“It’ll be like old times, Dennis,” Hawkins remarked. “The Tijones and Guerras are both pals of ours aren’t they?”
“It depends on who we needed as scouts,” O’Rourke reminded him.
“I just had a disturbing thought,” Colonel Crawford stated. “What if the Tijones and Guerras decided to join up together for a war against the whites.”
“Damn!” O’Rourke said. “That notion scares the hell out of me!”
Hawkins nodded. “It ain’t exactly gonna help me sleep at night either.”