“I took care of that for you,” Depro said.
Coletrain came back from the arms room, and standing right across Depro’s desk, challenged him.
“What do you mean you took care of it, Sergeant Depro? Those arms belonged to the Ninth Cavalry. I was in charge of shipping them back.”
“They belong to the army, not to the Ninth Cavalry,” Depro said. “And we’re in the same army. At least, that’s what you’re always tellin’ me, ain’t it? That we belong to the same army?”
“Yes, but that don’t give you the right to interfere with my work. Shipping those weapons out was my job. I’m responsible for them, now they’re gone, and I don’t have any documentation for them.”
“Relax,” Depro said. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it, so I handled it for you. I had them sent by freight wagon to the railhead at Rawlins. I’ve got a hand receipt from the shipping officer of the wagon freight, and a Bill of Lading from Union Pacific that says they are on their way to Jefferson Barracks.”
“Where are they?”
“I told you, they are on their way to Jefferson Barracks.”
“No, I mean where are the documents you were talking about, the hand receipt and the bill of lading? Where are they? If I’m responsible for the arms shipment, I need some proof that the job was done.”
“Are you questioning me?” Depro said angrily.
“Yes, I’m questioning you. I told you, I’m responsible for them. And I remain responsible for them, no matter who arranged to have them shipped. That’s why I want the hand receipt and the bill of lading.”
“You might have been responsible for it, but I’m the one who done the actual shipping,” Depro said. “So if anything comes up, I’ll be the one in trouble, not you. That’s why I intend to keep the paperwork my ownself.”
Coletrain stared at Depro for a moment longer. He knew that by rights he should have the paperwork, since the weapons had been on the property books of the Ninth Cavalry. But he knew, too, that if the question went to Major Benteen, Benteen, for all that he was commander of the Ninth, would back up the white NCO over Coletrain.
“All right, Sergeant, as long as we have proof that the weapons were shipped, I guess it doesn’t really matter who has it.”
At lunchtime Coletrain left the supply room and headed for the mess hall that served the Ninth. It was as big and as well kept as the white mess hall and the food, consisting mostly of salt beef or pork and vegetables raised by the soldiers, served along with coffee and cornbread, was about the same as the food served the white soldiers. The mess halls were across the quadrangle from each other, the sign on one reading: Colored, the sign on the other reading: White.
He saw Major Benteen going into the officers’ mess. Many of the officers had their wives on post with them, but Benteen’s wife and son were back in St. Louis. Because he had been with Custer and the Seventh Cavalry in their ill-fated fight with the Sioux, Benteen had been somewhat of a celebrity when he first arrived. Coletrain started toward him.
“Major Benteen?” he called.
Benteen stopped and turned toward him, the expression on his face showing his displeasure at being addressed.
“What is it, Coletrain? What do you want?” Benteen asked.
“It’s about the weapons, Major. The ones we are supposed to be sending back to Jefferson Barracks?”
“What about them?”
“They are gone, sir. Sergeant Depro says that he sent them.”
“Well, then, it isn’t your worry, is it?”
“No, sir,” Coletrain said. “I suppose not, sir. I just thought I ought to tell you.”
“You told me. Anything else?” Benteen asked.
“No, sir, nothing else,” Coletrain said, snapping a sharp salute.
Later that same day, Sergeant Lucas Depro stepped up to Captain Gilmore’s desk and saluted. “You wanted to see me, Cap’n?”
“Yes, Sergeant. I’m told by Major Benteen that you took charge of an arms shipment that, by rights, was the responsibility of the Ninth Cavalry.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Cap’n, you know how them coloreds are. You can’t depend on ’em for nothin’. I figured I was doin’ the right thing by shippin’ ’em like I done.”
“How many were there?”
“Forty Winchesters, fifty-five Springfields and thirty-five Colt revolvers it was, all shipped back to Jefferson Barracks, Missouri.”
Captain Gilmore whistled. “That’s a lot of weapons. Did they get away all right?”
“Yes, sir, I got the bill of lading on file back in the arms room.”
“I don’t know as I like you taking on that responsibility. You work for me, and, as Major Benteen pointed out, that now makes me liable for them in case something happens to them.”
“Ain’t nothin’ goin’ to happen to ’em, Cap’n. Like as not, they are at Jefferson Barracks by now.”
“Whatever you do, Sergeant Depro, you make certain that you keep up with that bill of lading. We certainly don’t want to wind up having to pay for it ourselves, do we, Sergeant?”
