Army
Post Commandant and Regimental Commander
Fred M. Dixon
Colonel of Cavalry
“This here is the orderly room. You can tie your horses off here,” the corporal said, pointing to a hitching rail.
“Thanks,” Sheriff Corbin said as he began wrapping his reins around the rail. Falcon did the same; then they followed the corporal up onto the little wooden porch and Corporal Gibson knocked on the door.
“Enter,” a voice called from inside.
Inside the orderly room of the headquarters building, they saw a tall, impressive-looking, clean-shaven NCO who was sitting at a desk in front of a large wall map of Pima County, Arizona. A sign on the NCO’s desk read:
Seamus O’Riley
Regimental Sergeant Major
“What is it, Corporal Gibson?” the sergeant major asked.
“Sergeant Major, these here men are the sheriff and his deputy. They want to speak to the colonel, but I don’t know what it’s about.”
“I wouldn’t think that you would. It’s not your business to know,” Sergeant Major O’Riley replied. “If they want to speak to the colonel, then their business is with him.”
“Yeah, but don’t you think ...” Corporal Gibson started to say, but the sergeant major cut him off.
“Don’t try to think, Gibson,” he said. “You’re not that good at thinking.”
“Yes, Sergeant Major,” Gibson replied, contritely.
The sergeant major, who actually did have some authority to exercise had he chosen to do so, did not try to impress Falcon and the sheriff with his position. Instead, he stepped up to the door of the colonel’s office, knocked once lightly, then at a muffled voice from within, stepped inside. No more than a few seconds later, he was back outside.
“If you gentlemen will go on in, the colonel will see you,” he said.
“Thanks, Sergeant Major,” the sheriff said as he and Falcon entered the colonel’s office.
Colonel Dixon, who had stood to meet them, was the perfect portrait of an Army officer, trim and fastidious about his dress and person.
“Gentlemen, welcome to Fort Lowell. I’m Colonel Dixon,” he said, extending his hand.
“Colonel Dixon, I’m Sheriff Corbin from Oro Blanco,” the sheriff said. “This is my deputy.” He did not say Falcon’s name.
“Well, Sheriff, what can I do for you?” Dixon asked.
“We have had an incident with the Indians,” Sheriff Corbin said.
“Which group?” the colonel asked.
“The Cababi Mountain band.”
“Ah, yes, the Cababi Mountain band,” the colonel repeated. “I believe they are the ones under Keytano, are they not?”
“They are.”
“The Cababi band would be mostly what ... Chiricahua?”
“I wouldn’t say that. As you know, most of the Chiricahua have been moved to Oklahoma,” Sheriff Corbin answered. “There are some Chiricahua left, of course, and many of them are with the Cababi band. But Keytano’s village is actually a mixture of Western Apache, Jicarilla, and, of course, those few remaining Chiricahua I mentioned.”
Colonel Dixon picked his pipe up from the desk and began tapping tobacco into the bowl.
“You said there was an incident. Are you talking about the three prospectors who were killed? Because I already know about them. It’s a bad thing, but the truth is, those men were on Indian land, so there’s not a whole lot we can do about it,” the colonel said.
Sheriff Corbin shook his head. “No, I wish that was what we was here about, but that ain’t it. This here incident might wind up startin’ a war with the Cababi, and if it does, I don’t mind tellin’ you, it’ll be our fault.”
“What do you mean, our fault?” Colonel Dixon asked as he lit his pipe.
“By our fault, I mean white men,” Corbin said. “Or, to be more specific, Fargo Ford and his gang.”
The colonel took several puffs; then, through a cloud of aromatic tobacco, he answered.
“Fargo Ford. Yes, I’ve heard of him. But he’s an outlaw, isn’t he? What does he have to do with an Indian problem?”
“Ford held up a stagecoach and took one of the passengers off the stage. That passenger was Cloud Dancer.”
“Cloud Dancer? Wait a minute, isn’t that Keytano’s daughter? I thought she was back East,” Colonel Dixon said.
“She was. She was going to school, but she finished and was coming back home. It turns out that the coach was carrying a money shipment, so Ford waited at the top of Cerro Pass, held up the stage, and took her off the coach.”
“Is he holding her somewhere?”
Corbin shook his head. “He killed her,” Corbin said.
That information startled Colonel Dixon enough that he took the pipe from his mouth. “You say he killed her. Do you know that for a fact?”
“Yes, we found her body,” Corbin answered. He nodded toward Falcon. “And my deputy took her back to her
