Reservation to continue their sojourn through the West, proceeding from the above location by way of train to Miles City. There, the two Western heroes were feted by the commandant of the nearby army post, Fort Keogh, named for the gallant officer who died with Custer. Colonel Whitehead, the fort’s commandant, allowed the ladies of the post to produce a military ball in their honor. Although the ball was held in the bare hall of a Suttler’s Store, the ladies of the fort succeeded with their clever and colorful decorations to convert the stark building into as inviting a ball room as in the finest Eastern salons. And, as I am travelling with Cody and MacCallister, I was also privileged to attend the ball, and enjoyed dancing with the lovely ladies of the post.
Leaving Miles City, we traveled by riverboat on the Tongue River, with Sheridan as the destination.
Shortly after arriving in Sheridan, a small town in Wyoming Territory, a brutish fellow imagined himself offended by a young woman of the bar, and he struck her several times. Falcon MacCallister, upon seeing the altercation, interceded.
“Here, sir, do not strike that woman again.”
His words rang with authority, and not one person in the room was there, who did not realize that a challenge was being issued.
The brigand, a most disreputable fellow of the lowest type, was a known bully by the name of Ethan Slayton, a person whose disrepute was known by all.
“Mister, what I do to this woman ain’t none of your business,” Slayton replied in a voice dripping with arrogance and venom.
“You err, sir, for I have made it my business,” the valiant Falcon MacCallister said. “For one who attacks a defenseless woman, attacks all that is good and noble.”
Pointing his finger at Falcon, Slayton issued a challenge that would have made the blood run cold in most men. “Mister, you have butted in where you have no business. My advice to you is to back away or be prepared to face the ire of Ethan Slayton.”
It is to be supposed that brute was of the opinion that mere mention of the name Ethan Slayton would be sufficient to make most men withdraw meekly. But Mr. Slayton made a serious miscalculation, for Falcon MacCallister is not a man who is easily frightened. His reply, intoned in a voice that was dripping with danger, brought instant silence to all in the saloon.
“Friend, if you so much as twitch, I will kill you,” Falcon MacCallister said, his words cold and piercing.
“I will not be buffaloed, by you or any man,” Slayton said, and to prove his point, moved his hand in the direction of his pistol, but ere his hand reached his holster, a Colt .44, as if by magic, appeared in the hand of Falcon MacCallister. Slayton gasped in surprise and fear.
“You should feel no shame sir, for having been bested by this man,” Buffalo Bill Cody said from aside. “For this is Falcon MacCallister, and his gunmanship is superior to all in the West. Were you to test him any further, he would have put a ball in your heart.”
Realizing that he was beaten, the disagreeable Slayton made no further attempt to extract his weapon from his holster. Begging for his life, he was allowed to leave the saloon, but only after offering his apology to the young woman whom he had assaulted, and surrendering his pistol.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Fort Keogh
For the most part there was harmony between the white troopers of the Sixth Cavalry and the black troopers of the Ninth Cavalry primarily because there was in effect a self-imposed segregation. The black troops stayed with their own, as did the white troops.
There were some points of interaction though, and at one of these points, the post quartermaster, there was discord between Sergeant Major Moses Coletrain of the Ninth Cavalry and Sergeant Lucas Depro of the Sixth Cavalry. Both were supply sergeants for their respective units, and though their ranks were equal, Sergeant Depro assumed more power than he actually had, using as his authority the fact that he was white.
The two men shared the same office in the supply room, each having a desk. Depro was already at his desk when Sergeant Major Coletrain came in.
“My, you are here early today, Sergeant,” Coletrain said.
Depro, who was making entries in a ledger, nodded. “I had some extra work to do, so I came in early. I know that isn’t anything you people would ever consider. From what I’ve observed, you people never do one thing beyond what is absolutely necessary. You are the worst soldiers I’ve ever seen.”
Sergeant Major Coletrain did not respond to Depro’s baiting. He knew that, even though there were more black troopers in the fort than white, the white soldiers had ten times more delinquency reports, and twenty times more incidents of absent without leave and desertion.
“I see they haven’t shipped in the blankets yet,” Coletrain said as he picked up a paper from his desk. “I hope they get them here before winter.”
“They probably shipped them all to Arizona where they don’t need them,” Depro said.
In this, at least, the two sergeants were united, for the blanket shipment would benefit every soldier on the entire post whether black or white. Coletrain chuckled at Depro’s comment as he walked back to the arms room.
Depro looked up from his desk at Coletrain as he opened the arms room. Putting his pen down, he waited for the expected reaction.
“Hey!” Coletrain said. “What happened?”
“What happened to what?”
“The weapons,” Depro said. “The carbines, rifles, and pistols we were shipping to Jefferson Barracks. I had them right here, all boxed up, ready to go.”
