“Now if you’re plannin’ on tellin’ me that Regret wants to re-enlist, you can just forget about it,” Depro said.
“Nah, he don’t want to enlist neither,” Davis said. “But he’s in on what I got to talk to you about.”
“Hello, Sarge,” Regret said.
“Regret,” Depro replied.
“Regret, how about get us another beer? And get one for the sarge,” Davis said.
Regret nodded, then got up from the table and headed toward the bar.
“Regret is your dog-robber now, is he?” Depro asked.
“I know you and Regret never got along, but he’s a good man,” Davis said.
A moment later Regret returned with three beers and passed them around.
Depro took a swallow, then wiped the foam from his moustache. “All right,” he said. “What is it you want to talk about?”
“Money,” Davis said.
“What about money?”
“I know how you can make some,” Davis said.
“You know how I can make some money?”
“A lot of money,” Davis replied.
Established in August 1876, Fort Keogh was located on the right bank of the Yellowstone River, just west of Miles City and two miles above the mouth of the Tongue River. Established by Colonel Nelson A. Miles, by order of Brigadier General Alfred Terry, it was intended to serve as a base of supply and operations against the Sioux Indians. Construction of permanent buildings commenced in 1877. Originally called “New Post on the Yellowstone,” the “Cantonment on Tongue River,” then “Tongue River Barracks,” it was finally designated Fort Keogh on November 8, 1878, in honor of Captain Myles Keogh, Seventh U.S. Cavalry, killed in the Battle of Little Big Horn on June 25, 1876. The post was one of several established during this period for the purpose of subduing the Indians of the northern plains and securing permanent control over them.
The fort was substantial, consisting of several buildings, including quarters for officers and men, barns, warehouses, and mess halls. Stationed at the fort were four troops of Buffalo Soldiers, the Ninth Cavalry, with their headquarters and band, under Major Fredric Benteen. Here too, were three troops of the Sixth Cavalry, under Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin Whitehead.
As a general rule, the officers did not frequent the Trooper Saloon in Miles City, because to do so would put them in close social contact with the enlisted men. Close social contact between enlisted and officers was frowned upon, so the officers plied their social intercourse in the Officers’ Open Mess on the grounds of the fort. Because there were no black officers, all of the Ninth Cavalry officers were white, and thus, in the mess at least, the officers of the Ninth and the Sixth commingled.
When Major Benteen stepped into the Officers’ Open Mess there were several of the officers engaged in a spirited discussion and one of them looked up as Benteen came in.
“Major Benteen was there,” a lieutenant said.
“I was where, Lieutenant Purvis?”
“At Little Big Horn.”
Benteen sighed in resignation. In the last ten years he had been asked thousands of questions about the fight at Little Big Horn, and he was reasonably certain that there could be no question he had not heard.
“Tell me, Major, why did Custer refuse to take the Gatling guns? Don’t you think that if he had had them, the outcome would have been different?”
“Custer refused to take the guns and I concurred,” Benteen said.
“But why? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Think about it, Purvis. The Gatling gun is wheelmounted, just like a piece of artillery. The topography around Little Big Horn was such that it would have extremely limited mobility. In addition, it is crew-served, which means that two men must be standing upright to fire it, and that exposes them. And finally, they jam up so frequently as to be ineffective, especially in a battle situation as fluid as was the situation at Little Big Horn. One can find a lot of fault with Custer, and God knows I can, because I despised the man. But his decision not to take Gatling guns into the battle was a correct one.”
“Major Benteen, you’ve been fighting Indians for over twenty years now. Tell me, do you think we are about to get into another Indian war?” a Captain named Jones asked.
Benteen who had taken his seat at the table with the others, poured himself a glass of whiskey before he answered.
“What would make you think that?”
“It’s this Spirit Talking business,” Captain Jones said. “It was started by an Indian who was at Custer’s last fight, a chief by the name of . . .”
“Mean to His Horses,” Benteen said, interrupting Jones. “He’s not a chief, he’s a shaman.”
“Whatever he is, a lot of Indians are listening to him. And I don’t mean just the Cheyenne, either.”
“Yes, well, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Benteen said. “If we do get into another little skirmish, I don’t expect it will come to much. I think the Indians are all whipped now. They are tired of fighting.”
“Excuse me, Major, but isn’t that what Custer thought?” a newly minted second lieutenant asked. “I mean, from what I read and heard while I was in the Academy, the Indians gave Custer, you, and the rest of the Seventh a
