“Yes, sir, I sort of meant to say it that way,” Cooke said. “And that’s why I wanted to talk to you alone. Tom— that is, Captain Custer—wants to know your intentions toward Miss Wood.”
Falcon chuckled. “Couldn’t he ask me that question himself?”
“I reckon he could,” Cooke replied. “But when it comes to women, Tom is sort of shy.”
“You don’t say? Well, now, that’s funny. I never would have figured Tom for the shy type.”
“Well, he’s not exactly shy,” Cooke replied. “Except around women. So, what can I tell him, Colonel? About your intentions toward Miss Wood, I mean.”
“I have no intentions toward the young lady, Cooke,” Falcon replied. “I do think she is a very nice person who could probably be hurt quite easily. And I wouldn’t like to see that happen.”
“What do you mean, sir?” Cooke asked.
“You tell Tom Custer what I said. I think he will know exactly what I mean,” Falcon replied.
“And as to the general’s invitation to lunch? What shall I tell him?” Cooke asked.
“What time?”
“Oh, I expect within the hour, sir,” Cooke said.
“All right. Tell the general I will be happy to accept his invitation.”
“Very good, sir.”
As Cooke walked away, Dorman returned. “You’ll enjoy the picnic with the general,” he said. “Like as not he’ll have some sort of fancy thing from back East. Mrs. Custer sets a lot of store about such things.”
“You heard the conversation, did you?”
“I’m a scout, Colonel. A good scout uses his ears as well as his eyes.”
“Speaking of scouting, I’d like to go back out again, right after lunch,” Falcon said.
“Yes, sir, I’ll be ready.”
When Falcon walked up to Custer’s double Sibley tent, he saw that a large square of canvas had been spread out on the ground in front of the tent. The canvas square was filled with viands of every description. There was a basket of fried chicken, a ham, beans and rice, smoked oysters, tinned peaches, biscuits, butter, and jam. There were also a couple of bottles of wine, but Custer, who was a teetotaler, was drinking lemonade.
The entire party was sitting on the canvas around the food. Mary Adams, Custer’s black maid and cook, was standing nearby.
“Falcon, I’m glad you could join us,” Custer said. “Pull up a piece of the canvas and have a seat.” He augmented his invitation by a wave of his hand.
“I don’t mind if I do,” Falcon said. “Where are Boston and Autie Reed?” he asked.
“Boston is earning his keep as a member of the trains,” Custer said. “He and Autie Reed are with the wagons.”
“You must try the beans and rice, Colonel MacCallister,” Tom said. “It’s Mary’s own secret recipe that she made up herself.”
“Now, Cap’n Tom, you got no business sayin’ somethin’ like that,” Mary said. “It ain’t nothin’ of the kind my own recipe. I got this recipe from my mama, and she got it from her mama, which, where she got it, I don’t know.”
Tom laughed. “Well, wherever you got it, it’s good,” Tom said.
“Do you keep up with politics, Falcon?” Custer asked as he spread butter on a biscuit.
“I keep up with local politics,” Falcon said. “One of my brothers is a sheriff back in Colorado. I always make certain that I’m home to vote for him.”
“See there, Tom?” Custer said, looking across the table toward his brother. “Colonel MacCallister supports his brother. Is it too much for me to expect your support?”
“If you run for sheriff, Autie, I will surely support you,” Tom replied. “But when you start talking about running for president, you are a little out of my league.”
“President?” Falcon asked.
“Maybe,” Custer said. He chuckled. “As you know, I have made it very difficult for Grant and his administration over the last few months. There are some who say that, because of my congressional appearances, the Republican Party has been greatly weakened. And, in a few weeks, the Democrats will be holding a convention in St. Louis to select a candidate for president. On the twenty-seventh of June, to be exact. I’m sure you can agree with me when I say that the timing could not be more fortuitous.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, General.”
“Don’t be dense, man,” Custer replied. “I have some supporters who will be at the convention in St. Louis and they will put my name into nomination. When I come away with a big victory over the Sioux, the headlines it generates will ensure that I am selected. That makes the timing of this expedition extremely critical. I must complete the scout before June 27.”
“General, I thought the mission of the expedition was to return the Sioux to the reservations.”
“It is, Colonel, it is,” Custer said. “But tell me, how can an early and successful conclusion to the expedition not be for the good of the mission? I mean, do you see a contradiction there?”
“No,” Falcon admitted. “I see no contradiction.”
“Well, then,” Custer said, holding up his glass of lemonade. “I suggest that we drink a toast to a successful and
