When the last of the regiment paraded by the flagpole, Custer turned to Falcon. “You can wait here for Dorman. I told him to come back for you after the parade.”
“All right,” Falcon agreed.
“And you, my dear, come ride with me,” Custer said to Libbie.
Libbie was wearing a blue shell jacket with a double row of brass buttons, which presented a very military appearance. Custer’s horse, Vic, and Libbie’s horse, Dandy, were tethered just behind the flagpole, and the two mounted, then raced to the front of the column, where Custer relieved Reno. Libbie rode by his side as Custer then led the regiment by the enlisted barracks, where those soldiers who weren’t going for one reason or another stood outside, watching their comrades and shouting encouragement to them.
“Johnny, mind you don’t leave your scalp out there, you ain’t got all that much hair to begin with!” one of the infantrymen shouted to a friend in the cavalry. Those around him laughed.
Once beyond the enlisted barracks, the column passed by the married NCO quarters, also known as “Soapsuds Row” since so many of the NCOs’ wives were laundresses.
“Billy, you’ll be comin’ back to me now, you hear? You’ll be comin’ back to me,” one woman shouted.
“There’s your daddy. Wave to your daddy, boys, wave to your daddy,” another woman said, holding one young boy in her arms while a second clung to her skirt.
Finally, they rode past the officers’ quarters, where a cluster of wives and children stood together, watching anxiously. Once they were beyond the officers’ quarters, Custer led them at left oblique toward the front gate. As he did so, Falcon heard gasps and excited voices from those who were staying behind . At first he didn’t know what they were reacting to. Then he saw several of them pointing up.
There, just over the long column of mounted troopers, was a very vivid mirage. In the mist above was a mirror image of the long row of riders so that the Seventh Cavalry was marching, not only on the ground, but in the sky. Some of the wives, seeing their husbands ride off to do battle, shivered in fear, certain they had just seen a sign from heaven.
The band continued to play, the notes bouncing back now from the walls of the nearly empty post. The band director, seeing that the regiment had left, finished the song, then ordered the band to mount and ride quickly to take its place in the ranks.
Falcon saw Isaiah Dorman riding toward him at a fairly rapid trot. “Have you watched all the soldier boys go by, Colonel?” Dorman asked.
“I have.”
“Then, if you come with me, we’ll get to scoutin’.” Dorman was chewing tobacco, and he punctuated his comment with a brown, wet spit. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips.
As the regiment was now moving very slowly to match the pace of the wagons, Falcon and Dorman caught up with them quickly. The scouts were led by Lieutenant Charles Varnum, and he came back to speak with Falcon.
“Colonel, I’m not exactly sure what the protocol is here,” Varnum said. “Clearly, you outrank me. But I—”
Falcon interrupted Varnum with a raised hand. “Lieutenant, as you can see, I am not in uniform,” he said. “This is your command. You do whatever you planned to do without regard to me. For the most part, I’ll just be coming along for the ride. But in fact, I plan to go out on my own quite a bit, to try and locate those two Gatling guns before the Indians get them.”
“Yes, sir,” Varnum said. “Well, if there is anything I don’t want, it is to have Indians with Gatling guns, so please, do whatever you have to do. And, if you need me for anything, just let me know.”
“How about letting Isaiah Dorman ride with me?” Falcon asked. “He knows the lingo. If we run into any friendly Indians, he might be able to help me find the guns.”
“Right, the general said to make him available to you,” Varnum said. “Dorman, you ride with the colonel.”
“Whatever you say, Boss,” Dorman replied.
As the two men rode away from the rest of the Seventh, Falcon looked back in time to see how Custer had organized his line of march. He’d divided his command into three battalions, taking the center battalion himself, giving the right wing to Major Marcus Reno, a junior major, and the left wing to Captain Frederick Benteen, a senior captain.
“Mr. Dorman,” Falcon said. “What do you think of Reno and Benteeen?”
Dorman leaned over and squirted out another quid.
“If you ask me, the gen’rul is just askin’ for trouble with them two,” Dorman replied.
“What do you mean?”
“If you was to give a boot full of piss to Reno, he wouldn’t have sense enough to pour it out,” Dorman said. “And if you was to give it to Benteen, why, that evil sum’ bitch would more’n likely pour it out on Custer.”
Falcon chuckled. If Dorman was that observant, then he was just the kind of man Falcon would need if he was to have any chance of finding the Gatling guns.
Custer and the Seventh Cavalry reached the first crossing of Little Heart River at about two o’clock in the afternoon. Here, the entire expeditionary force was brought together under General Terry. The force consisted of the Seventh Cavalry, commanded by Custer, with twenty-eight officers and 747 men; two companies of the 17th Infantry and one company of the 6th Infantry, comprising eight officers and 135 men; one platoon of Gatling guns with two officers and thirty-two men; and forty-five scouts. In addition, the wagon train had 114 six-mule teams, thirty-seven two-horse teams, and seventy other vehicles, including ambulances, with eighty-five pack mules, all manned by 179 civilians. Included in that number were Boston and Autie Reed Custer.
Although the expedition was commanded by General Alfred H. Terry, one would scarcely know that to see
