“Sitting Bull can give them dignity.”
McLaughlin laughed, a high-pitched cackle. “Dignity?” he said. “You want to see dignity?” He pointed toward a large garden, wherein potatoes, cabbage, cauliflower, eggplant, celery, peppers, cucumbers, and tomatoes were being grown for use on the post. There were several people working in the garden, all women, except for one man who, bent at the waist, was working with a hoe. “There is Sitting Bull. How is that for dignity?”
“Why are you doing that?” Ingraham asked. “Why are you subjecting Sitting Bull to such ignominy?”
“Who are you?” McLaughlin asked.
“My name, sir, is Prentiss Ingraham. I am a writer.”
“A writer? You aren’t part of General Miles’s delegation?”
“He is with us,” Cody said. “That makes him part of General Miles’s delegation.”
“I have heard that you are a vain man, Cody . . .”
“That is Colonel Cody to you, Major,” Cody interrupted.
“Colonel Cody,” McLaughlin said, correcting himself. “But I had no idea that you were so vain as to have with you your own member of the press.”
“He will not only write about me, Major,” Cody said. “He will also write about you.”
Though subtle, the implied threat hit home, and McLaughlin blinked and swallowed, as he understood the circumstances.
“I, uh, all right, Colonel Cody, what do you want?”
“I told you, we want to speak with Sitting Bull.”
“Very well, I will summon him.”
“Major McLaughlin,” Falcon said. “Do you have a reception room of some sort, a room where visiting dignitaries such as Congressmen and Senators are welcomed as guests?”
“Yes, I have such a room.”
Falcon pointed to Cody. “Buffalo Bill Cody is the most famous man in America, if not in the world. He has been the guest of kings and queens the world over, and now he is the guest of Sitting Bull. Please show us to the reception room.”
“Just a minute,” McLaughlin said. “Are you telling me you want me to bring Sitting Bull to the reception room?”
“Oh, I don’t just want it,” Falcon said. “I expect it.”
“And you might have your cook make some lemonade,” Cody added. “Working in the garden as he is, I expect Sitting Bull is thirsty. I also remember from his time with me that he has a fondness for sweets. I’m sure your cook can accommodate us with some sort of treat.”
“Look here,” McLaughlin said angrily. “I’m in charge here. I’ll not be taking orders from visitors.”
“You’ll take orders from these visitors,” Falcon said quietly. It was that—the cold, calculated, quietness of his voice—that persuaded McLaughlin to change his mind.
“I’ll bring him to you,” he said.
The reception room was quite nice, and, under the circumstances, quite well furnished with sofa and chairs. The walls were decorated with heads of game, and a huge buffalo skin was on the floor. A few minutes after they went into the room, two Indian women came into the room, one of them carrying a large carafe of lemonade and the other a platter of cookies.
Cody walked over to take one of the cookies. “They must have already had some baked,” he said. “They couldn’t have made a new batch this fast. Would you like one, Ingraham?”
“No, thank you,” Ingraham answered. He was sitting off to one side, writing furiously on his tablet.
It was at least half an hour before McLaughlin returned with Sitting Bull. “In there,” he said, gruffly. Then to the others, McLaughlin said, “Sorry it took so long, but he insisted upon changing clothes before he met with you.”
“We don’t mind the wait, and I am sure it made him more comfortable,” Cody said.
Sitting Bull’s face was expressionless until after McLaughlin left. Then, with a smile, he extended his hand to Cody.
“Ho, Cody,” he said. “It is a good day to see you again.”
“Hello, Sitting Bull, you old war horse,” Cody said. “It is a good day to see you as well. This is my friend Falcon MacCallister.”
“You were with Custer,” Sitting Bull said.
“Yes.”
“That is past,” Sitting Bull said. He offered his hand to Falcon. “Now, we can be friends.” Sitting Bull looked over at Ingraham, and though he said nothing, the expression on his face asked the question.
“This is Prentiss Ingraham,” Cody said. “He is a writer.”
“You mean he does paper words,” Sitting Bull said.
“Yes,” Cody answered. “How are you doing, Sitting Bull?”
“I have food and shelter,” Sitting Bull replied. “My wives, Four Robes and Seen by the Nation have food and shelter and do not complain.”
