early conclusion to this noble scout.”
“Successful and safe,” Libbie added.
“Of course, Sunshine,” Custer replied, using his pet name for her. “Successful and safe.”
“Hear, hear,” Tom Custer and Jimmi Calhoun said, lifting their wineglasses in salute.
Chapter Thirteen
Clete Harris was driving the wagon, and he pulled back on the reins.
“Whoa, mules, whoa,” he said. Using his right foot, he set the brake against the wheels to hold the wagon in place.
“What did we stop for?” Bryans asked.
“I need to climb up there and take a look around,” Harris said, pointing to the butte just in front of them.
“We goin’ to be here long enough to make some coffee?” Bryans asked. “I could sure use me a cup.”
“Yeah, go ahead,” Harris said. Climbing down from his seat, he walked to the back of the wagon, untied his horse, then swung into the saddle. “I’m goin’ to ride up as far as I can, have a look around, then come back. It’ll prob’ly be half an hour or longer. Save some coffee for me.”
“You got some?” Bryans asked.
“You’re goin’ to make some anyway, aren’t you?” Harris asked.
“Yeah, for me. I ain’t got enough coffee to make some for you, too, but if you give me some of yours, I’ll make it.”
Harris opened his saddlebag and took out a small cloth sack, then tossed it down to Bryans. “You’re one selfish son of a bitch, Bryans,” he said. “Did anyone ever tell you that?”
Slapping his legs against the side of his horse, Harris followed the trail that led toward the hill. When the trail started up the side of the Rainy Butte, he rode for as long as he could. Then, when the horse started struggling, he dismounted and began walking, pulling the horse along behind him. After a climb of some considerable distance, he found a flat area that stuck out to one side. He walked out to the edge to have a look.
He could see the wagon and the three men who had come with him. From here, the wagon was so small that it looked almost like a child’s toy. This vantage point also allowed him to look back along the Heart River.
He could see as far as the Little Powder River, but saw nothing of particular interest to him. That was good. If he was up here to sell Gatling guns to Indians, he didn’t need to see anyone poking around.
Harris worked his way back down the side of the mountain. There, he saw that Bryans, Garon, and Richland had already unsaddled their horses and were making camp.
“Did you make coffee for me?” he asked.
“Yeah. It’s in the pot.”
Harris poured himself a cup of coffee and looked over at the wagon. “I think we could make better time without the wagon.”
“How are we going to carry these guns without a wagon?” Garon asked. “They weigh about fifteen hundred pounds each.”
“They’re on caissons,” Harris said. “We’ll just pull them.”
“Yeah, I guess that’ll work.”
“Better get a good night’s sleep. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
“Harris, what’s the name of this Indian we’re goin’ to be doin’ business with?” Bryans asked.
“His name is Cut Nose.”
“Have you ever considered the possibility that Cut Nose might just decide to take these guns, then kill us?”
“I don’t think he would do that,” Harris replied.
“You don’t think he would? You mean he might, but you don’t think he would?”
“Let’s put it this way,” Harris said. “We’ve done business before, and I figure he will want to do business again in the future. Why would he want to just take the guns and kill us? He’d have to find someone else who is willing to trade with him.”
“All right, if you say so,” Bryans said.
The trumpeter blew reveille at five a.m. the next morning and, grumbling, the troopers rolled out of their blankets to start the new day. Soon, the smell of bacon and coffee permeated the entire area, and though Falcon was invited to join the officers’ mess of the Seventh, he decided to take his breakfast with Isaiah Dorman.
In addition to the bacon, Dorman made griddle cakes, which he shared with Falcon.
“Oh, that’s good, Mr. Dorman. That’s very good,” Falcon said, taking his first bite. “If you were a pretty woman, I’d have to marry you for being able to cook like that.”
