foreboding as I do now.”
“Look at the size of this force, Mrs. Custer,” Falcon said, taking in the expedition with a sweep of his hand. “John Burkman won’t be the only one looking after the general. Everyone here will be looking out for him, and for each other.”
“Yes, but you must understand, if there is fighting to be done, Autie always puts himself at the head.”
“That’s because he is a good soldier,” Falcon replied.
“Libbie, come, we must go!” Maggie called.
“I’ll be right there,” Libbie replied and, as she walked back toward the ambulance where Burkman stood holding her horse, Dandy, Falcon walked back with her. Burkman helped her mount; then Libbie nodded to the ambulance driver. The driver returned her nod, then slapped the reins against the backs of the four-horse team, and the ambulance started forward on its thirteen-mile trip back to the post.
As the ambulance rolled through the encampment carrying the paymaster and Lorena as passengers, and accompanied by Libbie and Maggie on horseback, Falcon stood alongside Custer, who was waving and smiling.
“Libbie couldn’t hide it from me,” Custer said. “She is nervous about this scout.”
“I think that is probably true of the wife of any soldier who is going off to do battle,” Falcon suggested, not wanting to give away what he believed Libbie had confided to him in private.
“Yes,” Custer said. “But that is the way of it, Falcon. A good soldier must divide his time between two mistresses, his wife and the army. And when he is with one, the other must suffer.”
Falcon turned to start back to where he had left Dorman.
“Are you going out this morning?” Custer asked.
“Yes.”
“Good luck to you.”
“Thanks.”
Dorman was waiting patiently.
“Are you ready?” Falcon asked.
“Colonel, it wasn’t me that stood here to watch them pretty women leave.”
Falcon laughed as well. “You got me on that one, Dorman,” he said. “Did you draw the rations?”
“I did.”
Falcon swung into the saddle. “All right. Let’s go.”
Falcon had just started across a small stream when a bullet popped by his head and ricocheted off a large rock outcropping right beside him.
The gunshot was followed by Indian war cries.
“Colonel MacCallister!” Dorman shouted.
Dorman’s warning wasn’t needed as, ahead of them, just where the creek curved, a dozen Indians came galloping toward them, whooping and brandishing weapons. The weapons, Falcon noticed, were Henry repeating rifles.
Falcon drew his pistol and shot the two Indians in the lead. Seeing two of their number go down, the others stopped, experiencing a moment of confusion and doubt.
“This way!” Dorman called, heading up a small trail that paralleled the stream.
The Indians, thinking Falcon and Dorman were running from them, gathered themselves and resumed the charge.
Dorman darted around a rock, and Falcon was right behind him. Once he had the rock between him and the charging Indians, Falcon pulled his horse to stop, jerking back on the reins so hard that the horse almost went down on its haunches.
“Here,” Falcon shouted. “We’ll fight from here!”
Falcon jerked the army-issue Sharps from the saddle sheath, then stepped around the rock with the carbine raised to his shoulder. He fired, brought down one Indian, then, using the Sharps as a club, brought down a second. Dorman, having come back in response to Falcon’s call, brought down a third, and now, with his pistol in his hand, Falcon killed two more.
In less than one minute, the twelve Indians who’d believed they had a sure thing saw their number decreased by more than half. Only five remained, and they turned and galloped away, leaving their dead behind them.
“Damn!” Dorman said as he stood alongside Falcon, watching the Indians retreat. “You’re one hell of an Injun fighter, Falcon. I been at this game for a long time, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that.”
Falcon walked over to one of the dead Indians and picked up the rifle the Indian was carrying. It was a Henry, 44-caliber, rim-fire, lever-action, breech-loading rifle. When he looked at the butt of the rifle, he saw branded into it the words COLORADO HOME GUARD.
These were the missing rifles.
“I’ll be damn,” he said.
“What is it?”
