designed, no doubt, to run the Indians away from their land so that the whites could look for gold anywhere they wanted.
“The whites are devils!” White Bull shouted.
“We should kill them all!” another yelled.
“Mean to His Horses is right. There can be no peace until the white man knows we are men and not animals to be hunted!” White Bull said.
“White Bull, do not let the heat of your heart rule the reason of your mind,” High Hawk said. “Mean to His Horses is Cheyenne. The Cheyenne are our ancient enemies. We are friends with the white men. Our warriors have fought at the side of the Long Knives. We have learned many things from our white brothers.”
“We have learned to be cowards,” White Bull said scornfully. “But I will not be a coward. I will join Mean to His Horses.”
“I will join him as well,” Running Elk said.
“Running Elk, no,” High Hawk said. “You have been educated by the white man. You are the future of our people.”
“If the white people kill us all, we have no future,” Running Elk said. “White Bull speaks for me.”
“And for me,” another said.
“All who are brave of heart, come with me!” White Bull shouted. “We will go to Mean to His Horses and ask him to lead us!”
Though the saloon didn’t cater exclusively to the army, its proximity to Fort Keogh meant that soldiers made up the bulk of its customers. Today was payday for the army, and on this evening the saloon was full. One of the centerpieces of the saloon was its recent acquisition of a lithograph of “Custer’s Last Fight.”
Sergeant Patrick Connelly was sitting at a table with Sergeant Lucas Depro and several other soldiers. All were asking him about the fight because the Irishman had been with Custer on that fateful scout, taking part in the hilltop fight with Reno and Benteen, where he was wounded. Connelly was pointing to figures in the painting.
“That lad there is m’ friend Edward Connor, like me, Irish born,” Connelly said. “And Patrick Downing and Charles Graham, Irish born too. And there’s himself, Captain Myles Keogh, as fine an officer as ever drew a breath. Irish he was, like the others.”
“You were with Benteen, were you?” Depro asked.
“Aye, though I was with Reno when first we split up. Benteen, you know, came up to join us.”
“What do you think of Benteen?” Depro asked.
“Sure now, ’n why do you ask? Would you be wantin’ me to speak unkindly of an officer who shared the dangers of the hilltop fight with myself? For I’m tellin’ you, that I’ll not do.”
“You know he is here at Fort Keogh in command of the colored troops, don’t you?”
“Aye, and how is it that I would not know, being as I am on the same post and I’ve known the man for more than ten years now,” Sergeant Connelly said.
“Maybe what I should have asked is what kind of white man would let himself be stuck with a bunch of colored men?”
“Don’t you be makin’ the mistake now of thinkin’ that the coloreds don’t make good soldiers, Depro,” Connelly said. “They are good soldiers, the lot of them.”
“I’ve nothin’ good to say about Coletrain,” Depro said.
“I know the two of you are workin’ together now,” Connelly said. “’Twas thinkin’ I was, that mayhap the two of you would be gettin’ on just fine.”
“We ain’t workin’ together,” Depro said. “We’re in the same buildin’, but he’s supply sergeant for the Ninth, and I’m supply sergeant for the Sixth.”
“But ’tis the same army, is it not?”
“Not to me, it ain’t. The Ninth is all colored soldiers, the Sixth is all white.”
“Sergeant Depro, ’tis Irish born I am, but since takin’ the oath to wear this uniform and defend the flag of the United States, I’m more American than I am Irish. Seems to me you could do the same.”
“Maybe the Irish and the colored are the same,” Depro said. “But don’t include me with you.”
“Hello, Sarge, can I speak with you for a moment?”
Looking up toward the speaker, Depro recognized Sam Davis. Davis had been a trooper in his platoon but got out when his enlistment expired.
“Want to join up again, do you, Davis?” Depro asked.
“No, nothin’ like that. This is somethin’ else,” Davis said.
“Well, speak up.”
Davis shook his head. “I’d rather talk to you in private. I’ll buy you a beer.”
Depro chuckled. “Well, bein’ as you are a rich civilian now, I reckon I can let you buy me a beer all right. You boys carry on without me,” he said to the other troopers at his table.
Davis followed Depro through the crowd of loudtalking, often laughing soldiers to a table in the far back corner where another civilian was sitting. When the civilian looked up toward them, Depro recognized Lee Regret. Like Davis, Regret had once served in Depro’s platoon.
