Massacre of Eagles

However, there were others who renewed their demand for the army to be called in to “settle accounts once and for all.”

After the town meeting Bellefontaine invited Falcon, Cody, and Ingraham to his office. The conference room in his office was as large as the meeting hall had been, and a big window on the west side of his office afforded a magnificent view of the snow-peaked Absaroka Mountains. There were comfortable chairs and sofas everywhere, buffalo-skin rugs on the floor, and elk heads and antlers on the walls.

“I hope you enjoy the wine,” he said as one of his employees began pouring. “It is a fine wine that I import from France.” He passed goblets around to all of them, then they each took a swallow.

“I’ll bet none of you have ever tasted anything this good, have you?” he said.

“It is quite a good wine,” Cody agreed. “But I prefer Beaujolais from the vineyards in the Pierres Dorees region. I had quite a good conversation with the vintner when I was there.”

“Yes, Beaujolais is quite good as well,” Bellefontaine said, somewhat deflated.

Falcon smiled at Bellefontaine’s reaction.

“Are you really planning on calling in the army?” Falcon asked.

“Yes. I cannot be expected to continue to supply posses to take care of the Indians when, by rights, that should be the job of the army.”

“I agree you have no business sending out posses,” Falcon said. “But if these are isolated incidents, don’t you think calling in the army would make it even worse?”

“What would you propose?” Bellefontaine asked.

“I would say we follow Mr. Cody’s suggestion, that we call a meeting with the Crow and tell them that we do not hold the entire tribe responsible for these atrocities, but only those who actually committed them. It is my belief that the Indians would turn the guilty parties over to us.”

“And what makes you believe that?”

“The Crow have been friendly with the white man for some time now. It simply does not make sense that they would suddenly start making war.”

“That’s because you don’t know anything about the Spirit Talking movement,” Bellefontaine said. “Ever since they started on that, the Indians have gone crazy. Crazy, I tell you.”

“Have there been any incidents here in town?” Cody asked.

“No, nothing here in town. But I understand the town that you wish to build will be even closer to the Crow Reservation.”

“A little closer, yes.”

“If you are asking my advice, Cody, I would say, don’t build it.”

Cody took a swallow of his wine before he answered.

“I’m not asking for your advice,” he said.

Prentiss Ingraham’s notes from his book in progress:

The area where Buffalo Bill intends to build his town is in the Absaroka Range, a mountain segment of the northern Rocky Mountains, in northwestern Wyoming Territory. This magnificent vista extends in a northwest-southeast direction. It is a large plateau with spectacular features and many very high mountains. The Yellowstone valley is formed by the Stinking Water River, which, despite its name, is a quite beautiful and refreshing stream of water.

There is already a town situated here, called DeMaris Springs, named after the natural hot springs herein located. The town is small and meanspirited, inhabited by a poor class of citizens who, for the most part, are dependent upon one man, Pierre Bellefontaine, for their livelihood. As a result of this unholy alliance, Bellefontaine treats the townspeople more as subjects than citizens.

Buffalo Bill Cody has expressed his belief that upon the emergence of his town, to be called Cody, that DeMaris Springs will dry up. Those citizens who currently reside in DeMaris Springs would then be well served to move to Cody, where they will be able to establish a more independent life and enjoy that promise offered by the Declaration of Independence to freely engage in the pursuit of happiness.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Rattlesnake Mountain, Wyoming Territory

“Are you sure he can be trusted?” Regret asked.

“Yeah,” Davis said. “The deal was, he was to show up alone. That means there’s two of us and only one of him. If anyone is worried, it should be him.”

“But what if he ain’t alone?”

“He’s got to come that way,” Davis said, pointing toward a wide, open plain. “If there is anyone with him within a mile, we’ll see ’em.”

“Yeah, I guess you are right,” Regret agreed.

The two men were waiting for their meeting in an area known as Colter’s Hell. They were here to carry out the next part of their plan to maintain the momentum of the growing Indian problem. But it was also a plan that entailed a great deal of risk, such as the risk they were taking today in meeting with Mean to His Horses. If the plan failed, it could cost them their lives.

“Are you sure Depro will come up with the guns?” Regret asked.

“You heard him same as I did,” Davis said. “Last time we talked to him, he said he already had the guns.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Yeah, I believe him. Don’t you?”