Freddie Devlin, his eyes wide open, listened intently for noises in the house as he lay, fully clothed, beneath the blankets on his bed. The only sound he could hear was the steady breathing of his sleeping siblings nearby. Freddie didn’t know what time it was, but the harvest moon in the Dakota sky was visible through the window. It indicated to the boy that it was not too far past midnight.
A few more moments of carefully listening convinced Freddie that no one was up and moving around. The twelve-year-old eased himself out of bed, being careful not to awaken his younger brother and sister. After grabbing the packed haversack from its hiding place behind the dresser, he went to the window and slowly pushed it open. He climbed across the sill in a cautious, deliberate manner, dropping to the ground.
After a few moments of peering around in the moonlight, he began a swift and silent trek that took him past A Company’s barracks and the stables. He knew the location of the sentry post in the vicinity and was able to avoid it as he continued on toward the limits of Fort Buffalo.
The next obstacle the boy faced was getting past guard post number one. That would take some careful timing since the renewal of having half the troops on duty at all times meant extra sentries on duty there. Freddie reached a place in the shadows next to the commissary building. A few moments of observation soon enlightened him as to the guards’ routine. As soon as the one who walked the post between that building and the gate reached the place where he turned and began pacing back, Freddie made his move.
The twelve-year-old scurried without a sound off the post and continued out into the shadowy countryside of the open prairie. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but as he made his unauthorized departure from military property, his father hadn’t been at home.
At the time of Freddie’s activities, Major Matt Devlin slowly sipped from his tumbler of whiskey as he sat across the table from the surgeon in the back of the sutler’s store. This was Fort Buffalo’s unofficial officers club, where off-duty rankers in the dragoon squadron could come and relax with a bit of card playing, drinking, and conversation.
Elliott, grandly but sleepily drunk, had just made what he considered an important pronouncement regarding the proper medical care of troops on the frontier when the evening’s heavy drinking finally caught up with him. He stopped speaking and closed his eyes, then slowly lowered his head to the table and passed out.
Devlin, who had been drinking lightly, shook Elliott to make sure he was really unconscious. Satisfied, the major got to his feet and left the establishment by the back door. He found Sergeant Major O’Rourke, Sergeant Dawson, and Private Evans waiting for him.
O’Rourke asked, “Is the sawbones out, sir?”
“Like a lantern in a hard wind,” Devlin said. “Now we can get to work.”
The quartet of dragoons walked across the post to the hospital and went into the building. All the beds were empty save one. On that bunk, Earling Denmore of Wheatfall’s militia unit snoozed comfortably. He was the militiaman picked by Devlin for Elliott to diagnose as having an infected wound. Denmore had his bandaged arm across his chest. Devlin leaned over the man and shook him.
“Wake up!”
“Huh?” Denmore opened his eyes and looked at the four soldiers in the lantern light. He immediately came fully awake. “What’re you fellers doing here?”
“We’ve come to fetch ye, laddie boy,” O’Rourke said. “Now off the bunk and into yer clothes lively-like, hey?”
“I cain’t get outta bed,” Denmore said. “The doc says I got a infection in my arm.”
“Would ye like yer bloody neck broke, then?” O’Rourke asked with a smile.
“Not likely,” Denmore answered in a surly tone.
“Then, off the bunk!” Sergeant Dawson interjected.
Denmore, whose arm really didn’t bother him too much, did as he was told. As he dressed himself, he asked, “What do you want with me? The other jaspers got sent back to camp right after they fed us.”
Devlin said, “We want to have a talk with you. What’s your name?”
“Denmore,” he answered. “Earling Denmore.”
“Hurry up, Denmore,” O’Rourke said.
In less than ten minutes, they left the hospital and were on their way to headquarters with the hapless militiaman being pulled along by the burly sergeant major.
The group passed several sentries, and Devlin responded to the salutes as they continued on. More military pomp in the moonlight followed their arrival at headquarters, but they were finally cloistered in Devlin’s office.
Captains Bernie Blanchard and Paul Teasedale were there along with the contract scout Fred Jeffries. Denmore, completely confused as to the reason for the gather, nodded to Jeffries, whom he knew from the past.
“Howdy, Earling,” Jeffries said.
“What’s going on?” Denmore asked him.
“I reckon that’s what ever’body wants to find out,” Jeffries said.
Denmore now fully sensed the hostility from the others. “Y’all had best let me get back to the hospital! You fool around with me and they’ll be cutting off my arm afore you know it.”
O’Rourke gave him a shove toward a chair. “Shut up! Yer arm is just fine, so don’t give it no extry worrying about. And ye’ll do no more talking ’til ye’re told to!”
Denmore was seated at the chair in front of the desk where Devlin took a seat. Evans situated himself in his usual stenographic position with pads and pencils. The two noncommissioned officers each stood slightly behind the militiaman. Jeffries and the two officers made themselves comfortable by sitting down on a bench next to the wall.
“State your name,” Devlin said to the reluctant guest.
“I already told you my name,” Denmore said.
O’Rourke gave him a clout on the side of the head. “Give the major yer name, damn yer eyes!”
“Ow!” Denmore complained. But he answered, “Earling Denmore.”
“Where and when were you born?” Devlin went on.
“I was borned in Pendleton County, Kentucky,” Denmore said. “I don’t remember when.”
“How old are you?” Devlin asked.
“I reckon I’m ’twixt thirty and forty,” Denmore surmised.
Devlin looked at Evans. “Put his birth date as sometime between 1815 and 1825.” He turned his attention back to the wounded man. “Are you a member of Colonel Ned Wheatfall’s detachment of territorial militia?”
“You know—ow!” Denmore exclaimed when he received a punch from Sergeant Dawson. “Yeah! I’m in Wheatfall’s militia.”
Evans, taking every word, even recorded the exclamations of pain as he rapidly worked at his skill in shorthand.
“Tell me about the fight with the Kiwotas the other morning,” Devlin said.
Denmore hesitated, but he wasn’t sure where he stood with the major. “Well, Wheatfall chose me to scout, so I used to go out ever’ day and look around for Injun sign. I finally found some and I went back and told Ned about it.”
“What sort of sign did you find?” Devlin asked.
“Tracks of a hunting party,” Denmore said. Then he added, “I knowed it was a hunting party on account o’ they had travois and women and some kids with ’em. Injuns do that, don’t you know? They’ll split off in little groups like that when they’re looking for buffalo. When any is found, then they all get together and go after the herd.”
“Yes, I understand,” Devlin said patiently. “So what happened after you told Wheatfall about the hunting party?”
“Well, sir, he—uh—he said we was prob’ly gonna have a fight with ’em,” Denmore said uneasily. “That’s what he said. I recollect that he said we might gonna be having a fight with ’em or something like that.”
“Did you have a fight with that hunting party?” Devlin asked.
“Yeah,” Denmore responded.
“Who started the battle?”
“They did,” Denmore said.
“Tell me about the fighting,” Devlin said.
“Well, now, let me think,” Denmore said slowly. “Well, now, we fought ’em and they killed some of our fellers and we killed some o’ them.”
“Did the Indians run away after the fight?” Devlin asked.
“Nope,” answered Denmore.
“Did you militiamen run away?”
“We didn’t have to run, on account o’ we won,” Denmore said with a grin.
“If the Indians didn’t run away and you and your friends didn’t run away, what did you do?” Devlin asked. “Sit around and have tea together after the fighting ended?”
“Hell, they wasn’t no Injuns to have tea or nothing else with,” Denmore said.
“Why not?” Devlin asked.
“Well, now, we killed ’em, I reckon,” Denmore said.
“All of them?” the major wanted to know.
“Ever’one,” Denmore said smugly.
“The women and children, too?”
“Damn right!” Denmore said. “The squaws and papooses got theirselves killed along with the warriors.”
“Did all the women get killed in the battle?” Devlin asked.
“Not all of ’em,” Denmore replied. “Not ever’ single one of ’em, no.”
“Were they raped?”
Denmore shrugged. “Some fun was had, yeah.”
“Then, they were killed after being ravished, correct?”
“That’s what’s generally done with squaws,” Denmore said. “They do it to our women, don’t they?” He eyed the frowns of the men looking at him. “Hey, I didn’t kill none of ’em myself.”
“I didn’t say you did,” Devlin said. “But they were killed by somebody after being ravished, weren’t they?”
“I said so, didn’t I?” Denmore said.
“Now, in this battle, how many Indians were there?” Devlin asked.
“I don’t know,” Denmore replied. “I never did no counting. I got shot in the arm, so I was taking it easy toward the last o’ the fight.”
“When did you attack the Indians?” Devlin asked.
“Just at dawn while they was sleeping,” Denmore replied.
“So they didn’t attack you?” Devlin went on. “The Kiwotas didn’t start the fight, hey?”
Denmore started to answer, but he stopped. For a few moments his eyes darted back and forth, then he said, “They attacked us.”
“You said you attacked them.”
“No, I didn’t neither!” Denmore insisted. “I said they started it, didn’t I?”
“So they attacked you, right?” Devlin said.
“You bet!” Denmore said, relieved.
“Kiwota men, women, and children attacked you,” Devlin said. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“The men attacked us,” Denmore said.
“Then, how did you come about killing women and children?” Devlin asked. “How were you able to rape those women?”
“Because they was there.”
“Where?” Devlin asked.
“In their camp.”
“How did you kill them if they were in their camp and the warriors attacked you?” Devlin inquired.
Denmore knew things were going bad for him. “Let me think about this.”
“Sure,” Devlin said. “You think for a few minutes; then you make a statement to me about what happened.”
A full five minutes passed before Denmore cleared his throat and said, “The Injuns attacked us, and we follered ’em back to their camp and kilt ’em all.”
“How many places out on the steppes are there dead Indians?” Devlin asked.
“One,” Denmore answered. “Where we kilt ’em. Where else would they be?” He chortled. “Dead folks don’t move around, y’know.”
“If the Indians attacked your camp and you followed them back, then there should be dead Kiwotas in two places,” Devlin told him.
“Yeah,” Denmore said. “They’re in two places.”
“If I go out there and find dead Indians in one place, that will mean you’re lying to me,” Devlin said.
Denmore didn’t say anything.
O’Rourke interrupted, speaking to Devlin. “I got to remind you that if Denmore’s lying, we’ll have to shoot him, sir.”
Denmore turned and faced the dragoon. “What the hell do you mean—shoot me?”
“For lying to an officer,” O’Rourke stated falsely. “If a soldier lies to an officer, he gets shot for it.”
“Shit! I ain’t no soldier!” Denmore pointed out. “I ain’t never been in the army like Wheatfall.”
“Well, bucko, you’re in the army now,” O’Rourke countered. “You’re a legal-enlisted militiaman on duty, and that makes you a soldier.”
Denmore looked back at Devlin. “Hey! There ain’t none o’ this my fault, y’know!”
“Listen, soldier,” Devlin said, leaning forward. “All you have to do is tell me the truth and I’ll see that nothing happens to you.”
“Nothing at all?” Denmore wanted to know.
“Not even a single day of jail time,” Devlin promised.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Denmore said in a sullen voice.
“I’ll see that you become an official witness for the government,” Devlin said. “That means nobody can put you in jail. Not even the highest-ranking officer in the United States Army.”
“In that case, you listen to me,” Denmore said. “I found that hunting camp, and I told Ned about it. He got the boys together, and we hit them Injuns at dawn. We kilt ever’ damn one of ’em, too, just like I said. We had fun with the squaws that didn’t die right off. When we finished with ’em, we bashed their heads in. In the end, they wasn’t one buck, squaw, or papoose that walked, run, or crawled away from there.”
“Will you sign a statement to that effect?” Devlin asked.
“If’n I don’t get shot or have to go to jail,” Denmore said.
“You won’t, don’t worry,” Devlin said. He gestured to Evans. “Write this up as quickly as possible. Denmore will sign it as will everyone in this room as witnesses.”
“Yes, sir,” Evans replied. “I got ink and paper out at my desk. It won’t take me long.”
Devlin reached in his desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He shoved them across to Denmore. “Treat yourself to a snort, Denmore.”
“Damn! Goddamn!” Denmore said, pouring himself a drink with shaking hands.
Devlin got up and motioned the two officers to follow him. The three went outside the office. Captain Bernie Blanchard said, “Congratulations, Matt. It looks like you’ll have Wheatfall in plenty of trouble.”
“I want to go farther than Wheatfall,” Devlin said. “That son of a bitch Senator Osmond Torrance is who I really want to hang.”
Captain Paul Teasdale shook his head. “Wheatfall will never implicate him. He won’t have any reason to. All that’s going to happen is that Wheatfall will be kicked out of the territorial militia. Killing Indians isn’t crime enough to go to jail, much less be executed for.”
“I have an idea how to get Wheatfall to tell all he knows in front of witnesses,” Devlin said. “It’ll be tricky, but worth the try.”
“How’re you going to do that?” Blanchard asked.
“Have you ever wanted to go to jail or be dishonorably discharged from the army for being an accessory to a crime, Bernie?” Devlin asked.
“Hell, no!”
Devlin smiled. “Then, you don’t really want to know what I’ve got on my mind, do you?”
“I don’t think so,” Blanchard said.
“Me neither,” Teasedale echoed.
While everyone waited as Private Evans wrote out Denmore’s statement, young Freddie Devlin sat hidden in a stand of spruce trees. In the bright moonlight, he could easily make out the Mission of Indian Reform school less than fifty yards away. His legs had begun to cramp, and he stood up to relieve the discomfort when he spotted the figure moving toward him.
Five minutes later, Swift Rabbit—known as Samuel in the classroom—joined him. He carried a cloth sack with him. “I had trouble getting out,” he said in English. “Mr. Fenwick kept coming around.”
“Not me,” Freddie said. “Ever’body at my house was sound asleep.” He pointed to the bag. “What’d you bring?”
“I got some apples,” Swift Rabbit said. “That’s all I could find in the kitchen. I tried to get to the smoke house but never could.”
“I got some bread and jam,” Freddie said.
“We’d better get moving,” Swift Rabbit suggested. “We’ll have to get some distance between us and here before the sun comes up.”
The two boys left the trees and headed in a more-or-less direct northwesterly direction, trotting across the flat country. They continued the pace for an hour until settling down to a walk.
The plan to run away had been hastily hatched between the two during several sessions held between the mission school and the one for the children of Fort Buffalo. Gilbert Paxton had arranged the joint class and recreation time to give his charges a fuller exposure to civilization by allowing them to study, play, and converse with white youngsters.
“You said you had a pretty good idea what we was gonna have to do,” Freddie said. “I reckon we ain’t gonna be able to go to your village, are we?”
“Nope,” Swift Rabbit said. “They’d send me back to the school.”
“Do you have a plan?” Freddie asked.
“Yeah,” Swift Rabbit answered. “We can find a Sioux village somewheres to spend the winter. If I can get some stuff like arrows and a couple of bows and other things we’ll need, then we can live out on the prairie.”
“Yeah!” Freddie said. “No more studying or books. We can fish and hunt all we want. And do things Injuns do, huh? Just what do you Injuns do anyhow?”
“We’ll be warriors,” Swift Rabbit said. “After the winter is over, we can go down and raid the Pawnees.”
“Yeah!” Freddie exclaimed.
“We’ll steal horses and women,” Swift Rabbit said.
“How come we’re gonna steal women?” Freddie asked.
Swift Rabbit shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s what warriors do. I suppose they can keep our clothes mended and cook for us.”
“Sure!” Freddie said. “That’s a fine idea.”
Dawn was still a bit more than an hour away as the two friends trudged on toward their adventure.