Bloodshed of Eagles

“Uh, Tom, see that Colonel MacCallister is provided with a horse,” Custer said. “I don’t think Libbie intended to let him ride Dandy indefinitely.”

“I’ll pick out a good one for you, Colonel,” Tom said.

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“Lieutenant Weir will show you to your quarters,” Custer said. “I hope you find them adequate.”

“I’m sure they will be more than adequate,” Falcon replied.

“This way, Colonel MacCallister,” Weir said.

As they walked from post headquarters to the officers’ quarters, Falcon looked out over the parade ground, where he saw scores of men at drill.

“Recruits,” Weir said dismissively. “We are about to launch the largest Indian campaign this nation has ever seen, and we are doing it with a regiment that is more than sixty-percent recruits. All those men you see out there arrived from Jefferson Barracks no more than two weeks ago. Half of them have never even been on a horse, fewer still have ever fired a weapon, and damn few of them have ever even seen an Indian.”

“Your other left foot, trooper. Your other left foot!” a sergeant was yelling, the frustration obvious in his voice.

“Sergeant, I don’t understand. I’ve only got one left foot,” the trooper replied.

“Well, that ain’t the one you stepped out on now, is it?”

“No, sir.”

“Don’t say sir to me, Trooper. You say sir to officers, not to sergeants. I’m not an officer. I work for a living.”

The other troopers laughed.

“Who gave you greenhorns permission to laugh?” the sergeant yelled, bringing on instant silence.

“Now, let’s try it again,” the sergeant said.

Falcon smiled and shook his head as he followed Weir across the parade ground toward the long, low building that was the bachelor officers’ quarters. Weir took Falcon into the building, then opened the door to one of the rooms. The room had a bed, a trunk, and a table with a kerosene lantern, pitcher, and basin. Falcon’s leather grip was already sitting on the trunk.

“This is the room General Terry uses when he visits the post,” Weir said.

“It’s very nice,” Falcon replied. “And I’m flattered.”

“Yes, sir, well, General Custer is taken by you and he always does right by his friends. Enjoy your stay, Colonel.”

“Thanks,” Falcon said as Weir left.

Falcon checked the lantern and saw that the little kerosene tank was filled, and because the room was a little stuffy, he raised the window slightly. After that, he decided to take a walking tour of the post. When he stepped into the sutler’s store a few minutes later, he saw a major and a captain playing billiards. The major had dark hair, a mustache, and dark eyes. The captain, who looked to be about ten to fifteen years older, had white hair and very pale blue eyes.

The captain had a cue in his hand and was bent over the table about to shoot, when he looked up and saw Falcon come in.

The captain took his shot, and there was a clack of balls as the cue ball hit its mark. The target ball rolled into the corner pocket with a clump; then the captain straightened up and looked toward Falcon. “I take it you would be Colonel MacCallister?” he asked.

“I’m Falcon MacCallister,” Falcon replied, still not comfortable with being a colonel.

“I’m Captain Fred Benteen, this is Major Marcus Reno. Welcome to Ft. Custer.”

“Ft. Custer?”

“Oh, wait, that’s right. Custer didn’t manage to get the name changed when he was in Washington, did he? I guess they are going to continue to call it Lincoln, though I don’t know why. Lincoln was nothing but a wartime president, whereas Custer is—Custer.”

“Fred, you’d better watch that kind of talk,” Reno said. “You never know when you are going to run into someone who has come under his spell.”

“You may be right, Marcus,” Benteen replied. He continued his scrutiny of Falcon. “Tell me, Colonel. Are you under the spell of our illustrious leader?” he asked.

“I am not under anyone’s spell, Captain,” Falcon replied pointedly.

“I see,” Benteen said. Although he had made his shot and the game was still in progress, Benteen walked over to return his cue to the rack on the wall. “I think I should probably see how the training is going with my troops. I hope I haven’t offended you, Colonel, and I hope your stay is a pleasant one.”

“No offense taken,” Falcon replied.

“Mr. Smith, I’ll be seeing you,” Benteen said with a wave toward the sutler as he left. The sutler, who was inventorying his stock, waved back. Benteen closed the door behind him.

“This is just a guess, mind you, but I get the impression Captain Benteen doesn’t care much for General Custer,” Falcon said after Benteen left.

Reno put his own cue back in the wall rack. “You will find that there are two elements on this post,” Reno said. “There are those, like Cooke and Keogh, Moylan, Weir, and a few others, who believe that Custer walks on water.