War Cry

With a large full moon rising above the hills before him, he followed the river east, still shivering from his wet clothes as the chill evening air pressed the garments against his skin. On into the night he rode, holding Spades to a ground-eating pace, dismounting every couple of hours to walk and let the horse rest a bit. Fixing the run of the river in his mind, he had to rely on his memory and his instincts to decide where to leave it and take a more northerly line to strike Fort Hays. When he reached a point where the river seemed to bend gently in a more southerly direction, he stopped for a short while to let his horse drink and rest before leaving the Smoky Hill and heading north. If his instincts were right, he figured he was no more than twenty miles from the fort, but he had never approached it from this direction in the dark when all the landmarks looked decidedly different.

The moon had already passed beyond its highest point in the sky when he came to a lone chalk pillar that he recognized, and realized that he was two miles west of where he had figured to be. Had he continued on that line, he may have missed the fort, but now he at least knew where he was, and corrected his course. Sure of himself then, he pressed Spades for a little faster pace.

His clothes were almost dry when he spotted the buildings of Fort Hays in the predawn light. A few minutes later, he was challenged by a guard as he approached the outer compound. Taking a quick minute to identify himself and why he was there, he proceeded to the post headquarters building just as the urgent call of the bugle sounded reveille. After hearing Will’s purpose for being there, the lieutenant on duty immediately sent a runner to alert the colonel. In short order, two companies of the Tenth Cavalry were ordered to the field. While they prepared for the march, Will got himself and Spades something to eat. The one hundred and sixty man column under the command of Captain Daniel Forrest, with Will beside him, left the compound before mess call was sounded for the rest of the post.

Captain John Fischer knelt behind a low hummock covered with bushes and peered out through the branches at the enemy surrounding him. Although he knew there were fully two hundred warriors holding his company hostage, he could spot no real targets within range of his men’s carbines. It was amazing, but equally frustrating to know that there were so many hostiles almost invisible to the eye in the open prairie right before him. And the only ones he could see clearly were about ten or twelve sitting their horses on the top of a hill comfortably out of rifle range. They were no doubt the chiefs, like generals overlooking the siege.

The responsibility for the lives of his men weighed heavily on his conscience as he contemplated the possibility of a desperate attempt to break through the ring of hostiles encircling his command. Up to this point, his casualties were light, only because they were able to keep the Indians at bay. But he knew a point would come beyond which he would have to make an offensive move. A few more days would see the depletion of rations for men, horses, and ammunition. Will Cason had said he would be back by this evening, but what if he didn’t show? Fischer had no way of knowing if Cason was able to slip through the hostiles even though his scouts assured him that the hostiles would most likely have let him know. “They’da paraded his body back and forth so you could see it,” Kincaid commented to Lieutenant Bordeaux.

Fischer’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden volley of gunfire behind him and he turned to investigate. In a few moments his first sergeant moved up beside him. “Another try by that bunch on the other side of the river,” the first sergeant said. “Maybe we oughta let ’em get some of ’em across so we could kill ’em. At least we’d have something we could see to shoot at.”

“Make sure the men aren’t wasting ammunition shooting at something they can’t see,” Fischer said. He knew that some of his men would shoot solely out of frustration, and like the food rations, ammunition would also run out if they remained there too long. The night just passed proved to be long and tiring. Although his men had tried to sleep in shifts, no one really got much rest—the Indians saw to that with stray shots and flaming arrowheads throughout the night.

The day bore on through the noon meal, which was greatly reduced in order to save food, and into the afternoon. As evening approached, Fischer crawled back to the hummock and trained his field glasses on the chiefs on top of the hill. While he watched, a warrior rode up to them and, with excited gestures, delivered a message of some apparent importance—Fischer could only guess. Much to the captain’s surprise, the Indians disappeared from the hilltop. A few minutes later, a shout went up from his men. When he looked to see what had caused the outburst, he was astonished to see warriors pop up from every bit of concealment and retreat to the hills. It appeared they had evacuated the field entirely. After a few minutes passed, the mystery was solved as a long column of cavalry troops appeared near the bend of the river with Will Cason in the lead.

Surely as dumbfounded as Captain Fischer to see Broken Knife’s warriors retreat from the field, Bloody Hand moved quickly to the riverbank to see what had caused the unexpected turn of events. Thinking of the time he had been tricked by Coyote and the bugle, he paused to listen, but he could hear no bugle. He remained confused over the untimely exodus until moments later when Brave Elk pointed toward the hills where Broken Knife had watched the siege. “Many soldiers!” Brave Elk exclaimed. “No trick!”

Brave Elk’s calm reminder served to restore Bloody Hand’s rational mind, and after a long moment’s thought, he nodded his understanding and called for all to withdraw. Still, he remained, reluctant to leave the siege, while the others quickly stole back to their horses. As usual, the faithful Brave Elk stayed with him, even as the soldiers approached within one hundred yards of the cheering troopers trapped in the bluffs of the river. “They are the Buffalo Soldiers,” Brave Elk said upon recognizing the black troopers of the Tenth Cavalry, so named by the Indians for their dark curly hair, like that of the buffalo.

Bloody Hand did not respond, transfixed as he was on the scout leading the soldiers. “Coyote,” he uttered in a soft, angry voice. Enraged by the helplessness of his position on this side of the river, too far away to take revenge, he could only glare at the tall figure riding beside the officer. With his own eyes, he had seen the coyote retreat to the river with the other soldiers, yet there he was now, leading more soldiers to fight him. It infuriated him to think that he had slipped by the ring of warriors surrounding the trapped soldiers.

Feeling the siege had been lifted, many of the encircled soldiers left the cover of the river bluffs to welcome their relief column. Seeing the careless disregard of the soldiers, Bloody Hand grasped the opportunity for a clear target and immediately started firing. Two troopers were cut down before the entire company rose up to return fire. Forced to retreat in the face of the blistering rain of bullets, Bloody Hand and Brave Elk hurried to get to their ponies and chase after their friends. The taking of the two troopers’ lives afforded Bloody Hand some measure of consolation, but his burning hatred for the white coyote continued to spread through his veins like wildfire.

When it was apparent the last of the Indians had fled, Captain Fischer walked out of the bluffs to greet his relief. He stood there, appraising the two full companies of cavalry as they pulled up before him, and Captain Forrest stepped down to shake hands. “Daniel Forrest,” he said. “Looks like you were in a bit of a tight spot.”

Forrest shook his head apologetically. “Afraid I can’t do that, Captain. My orders are to relieve your company and ensure your safety in returning to your post. Due to the need for these troops to guard wagon trains on the Smoky Hill Trail, I was specifically ordered not to pursue these Cheyenne, and to return immediately to Fort Hays as soon as you were safely on your way back to Fort Dodge.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” Forrest replied. “And I totally agree with you. But I’ve got my orders and I can’t turn a blind eye to the need for these troops back at Fort Hays. I’m sorry.” Signaling an end to the discussion then, he said, “Now, if you’ll get your men ready to move out, we’ll ride with you until we’re satisfied there’s no threat from that band again.”

Bitterly disappointed, but understanding the captain’s position, Fischer again thanked Forrest for pulling him out of a desperate situation and ordered his lieutenants to get the men ready to depart. Sympathetic to Fischer’s point of view, Will shook his head when told that the Indians would not be followed. In his opinion, there would never be a better opportunity to defeat a sizeable band of hostile Indians. They were on the run, and would have little time to evacuate their village with the soldiers right on their heels. But hell, he thought, me and Kincaid ain’t paid to think.

With time to consider other things now while the company assembled to move out, Will decided it suited him just fine that they were not going after the Cheyenne hostiles. Once again his mind was free to think about Sarah and Emma, and what changes in his life would have to be made if she saw fit to accept a proposal of marriage. Proposal of marriage! The thought sent a cold feeling racing through his veins. This was not the first time he had allowed his mind to even form the words, but each time he did, it caused the same feeling of blood rushing though his veins. It occurred to him that he might not be bold enough to even broach the subject—she had not been a widow very long. She might think him insensitive and crass for suggesting a marriage of convenience, hoping she would learn to love him as time went by. His mind seemed to go loco just to be in her presence, but he was sure he perceived an interest on her part. I’ll damn sure get up the nerve somehow, he thought. Then he smiled and thought, I’ll tell Emma what’s on my mind. She’ll make sure her mama comes up with the right answer. He was suddenly aware that his mind had drifted far from the riverbank beside him when he realized someone had spoken to him. “What?” he replied, and turned to see Corporal Kincaid pulling up beside him.

Will chuckled at the thought. “Maybe,” he said. “We’ll see.” Possibly Kincaid’s prediction was an accurate one. He had always been a restless soul who could not tolerate any ropes that threatened to tie him down. But there came a time when a man, even one as carefree and footloose as he, became ready to give up chasing the wild hawk and think about things like family, home, and hearth. With Sarah, he could see himself as that man.

The column marched due south for about ten miles before approaching darkness called for a halt. Breaking camp the next morning, they continued south until reaching the north fork of Walnut Creek, where Captain Forrest left them and turned back to the north. With scouts trailing behind and forward scouts ahead of the column, there had been no sign of hostiles. A day and a half’s march found them approaching Fort Dodge just at suppertime.

With one thing foremost in his mind, Will was reluctant to accompany Fischer to report to regimental commander, Colonel Alfred Arnold, but the captain insisted, thinking that the scout was the only one in his command who had actually seen the Cheyenne camp. Fischer’s speculation was accurate in assuming that a punitive campaign would be in the immediate offing. After hearing the reports, and the number of warriors encountered, the colonel decided to punish the renegade Cheyenne village with the force of a full regimental assault. “We’ll give your men one full day’s rest,” he said, “and march day after tomorrow.”

Upon arriving at the fort, the first thing Will had checked on was to make sure the lone wagon was still parked by the river. He did his best to keep it off his mind during the debriefing with the colonel, but as soon as it was over, he took his leave of the captain. He wondered if he shouldn’t take the time to clean up from the trail, but the evening was already getting thin, and he couldn’t abide the thought of waiting until tomorrow to see her. Rubbing his face with his hand, however, he decided that he should at least scrape the stubble off his face before calling on the two ladies in his life, so he took a quick detour down by the river. I wish I had some of that sweet-smelling soap, he thought as he razored the whiskers from under his chin. Running his fingers through his long hair in an attempt to at least smooth out the snarls, he also wished he owned a brush. I reckon this’ll have to do, he thought. “What are you lookin’ at?” he exclaimed to Spades when he turned to find the horse watching him with bored curiosity. Thinking again of the lateness of the hour, he stepped up in the saddle and turned Spades toward the wagon.

He chuckled. “That’s right, I was,” he replied, “but you oughta known I’d be back to see you.” He started to ask where her mother was, but Sarah had heard and came out of the tent to meet him. He was stopped cold by the vision of loveliness that almost caused his heart to stop beating. She was more beautiful than the image of her face he had carried with him during the long march just completed, and he knew at that moment that he was making the right decision. A moment later, he was stunned when she was followed out of the tent by Lieutenant Braxton Bradley.

“Will,” Sarah greeted him cordially, a warm smile upon her face. “We’re so happy to see you back safe and sound.” She offered her hand then and glanced at Lieutenant Bradley. “Braxton said that C Company had just gotten back and Emma’s been about to drive me crazy asking about you.”

“Lieutenant,” Will replied, equally formal. He had not counted on Bradley hanging around. He had things to say to Sarah, things he was literally bursting to tell her, and he couldn’t very well say them with him standing there like a poster from the military academy.

Noticing the bandage on his arm, Sarah expressed concern and asked if it was serious, but quickly flew to another subject when he assured her it wasn’t. “You’ll be one of the first to know,” she said, affecting a smile. “Braxton has asked me to marry him, and I’ve said yes.” She rushed on. “I know it’s a little soon, but we both feel it’s the right thing.” Her smile widened as she added, “Like Edna Boyle said, things have to happen faster out here.” She looked at her daughter, still holding Will’s other hand, and exclaimed, “And Emma’s going to have a father again.” For Braxton’s sake, she tried to appear excited over her announcement. She could not, however, avoid a feeling of apology, approaching embarrassment, when telling Will.

He had been stunned before, even shot, but nothing in his entire life had ever struck his whole body with the impact of Sarah’s words. His veins seemed suddenly filled with a numbing cold that drained his brain of oxygen and rendered him incapable of feeling the child’s hand that he still held in his. He would remember later the arrogant expression on Bradley’s face. It was questionable if Sarah knew of his feelings for her, but the lieutenant knew. A man was quick to identify a rival for a woman’s affection.

He wanted to run and hide someplace where his anguish could burst forth from him like an enraged mountain lion, but he fought to keep his hurt from his face. Finally trusting himself to speak, he said, “Well, I reckon congratulations are in order.” He nodded to Braxton and tried to form a smile for Sarah.

“Ah, no, ma’am,” he forced a reply. “I’ve got to be goin’ along now. I just wanted to stop by to see if everythin’ was all right, but I can see that the lieutenant has everythin’ taken care of.” He gave Emma’s hand a little squeeze and released it. “I gotta go, Whiskers.”

He needed space, and he needed to be alone. Settling Spades into a gentle lope, he rode northeast along the Arkansas River as the first shades of night fell. How could I have been such a damn fool? he asked himself, still smarting from the humiliation he feared he had been unsuccessful in hiding. How could I have led myself to believe she cared for me—a damned wild-ass saddle tramp like me? It was difficult to determine which could be the most painful, the rejection, or the humiliation of the rejection. That slick son of a bitch, he thought, then conceded, Hell, I reckon compared to me, there really wasn’t much of a choice. At the age of twenty-seven, Will Cason was experiencing his first broken heart. It was not an easy thing for him.

After riding far enough to put all signs of the army post behind him, he reined Spades back to a walk and entered the second stage of his heartbreak—consolation. “Well, I don’t have to worry no more about bein’ tied down to a damn farm,” he announced to his horse. “And I don’t have to worry about feedin’ a wife and child. I can ride where I please when I please.” They were all strong points that had held considerably more weight before he met Sarah Lawton. Soon to be Sarah Bradley, he thought, gritting his teeth as a result. “Damn!” he swore.

Finally, he decided there was nothing he could do about it, so he might as well get on with the rest of his life. That settled, he realized that he needed some coffee, so he guided Spades over closer to the water and dismounted. Breaking out his old coffeepot, he emptied out the last of the beans he had ground and soon had the pot boiling over a fire. Might as well make camp here tonight, he thought, so he unsaddled Spades and let him graze free. There was nothing left to eat in his saddlebags but a few pieces of dried jerky, but he wasn’t really hungry, anyway. So he made himself as comfortable as possible and began the first night of trying to forget Sarah Lawton, a process that would never be completely accomplished. I guess I’ll keep on working for the army, he thought. Hell, I don’t know anything else.