“There is no particular significance about that date, Colonel Benteen. It would just be ten days over a month since we took to the field, is all.”
Falcon knew that Benteen was aware of the Democratic convention being held on the twenty-seventh of June, because he had heard him talking about it in relation to Custer’s ego.
Custer turned toward Falcon. “Thank you for bringing the mail to me. I had a letter from Libbie.”
“I thought you might appreciate that,” Falcon said, appreciating the change of subject.
Custer pulled the letter from his jacket.
“Listen to this,” he said, as he began reading:
“The servants are doing very well. We are raising chickens. We have forty-three. So many cats about the garrison keep the rats away. The weather is very hot, but the nights are cool. The lights about the hills and valleys are exquisite. The river now is too high for sandbars to be seen.
“About a hundred men with John Stevenson in command have gone to the Black Hills. Nearly twenty-five teams have passed by.
“Carter has returned and is chief trumpeter. He really sounds the calls beautifully. But his long- drawn notes make me heartsick. I do not wish to be reminded of the Cavalry.”*
Custer lowered the letter.
“Doesn’t Libbie write well?”
“Yes, she does.”
“Did you know there are actually people who believe that she writes my articles for Galaxy Magazine?
Falcon had heard such rumors, but he didn’t respond.
“You aren’t the only one who got mail,” Tom Custer said with a broad smile. “Listen to this one, from Lorena.
“I watch Libbie go about her day-to-day business, facing the world so bravely, knowing that her husband is now in the field and could, at any day, be engaged in the most terrible battle.
“I don’t know how she maintains such courage. She is married to the general—you and I are but recent acquaintances, and yet, I can’t help but feel that there is something deeper and more promising yet to be discovered between us. And it is that feeling that causes me to feel such anxiety about your well-being that, I fear, I cannot hide it as well as does your sister-in-law. I can but only pray for your safe return.”
“That’s a very nice letter,” Falcon said.
“Did you get one from her?” Tom asked.
“No,” Falcon replied. “I didn’t.”
“Yes, well, it wouldn’t have bothered me if you had gotten one,” Tom said. He held the letter up and smiled broadly. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious which one of us she has chosen, don’t you think?”
“Captain, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Falcon replied.
The next day General Terry sent Custer out—not on a lengthy scout such as the one Reno was taking, but a shorter, more specific scout to find a trail that would enable the wagons to pass. Custer did so, and wrote of it to Libbie that night.
June 11
Mouth of the Powder River
This morning we left camp, I again acting as guide. General Terry had been in great anxiety for the wagons. He had ridden to the mouth of the Powder and he and those with him had expressed a fear that the wagons would not make it in a month, on account of the intervening Bad Lands. He came to my tent early this morning and asked if I would try to find a road.
The men had only rations for one day left. One company had been sent out the day before, but had not returned. Sure enough, we found them. We have all arrived here safely, and the wagons besides.*
Chapter Seventeen
June 21, 1876
Mouth of the Rosebud
With Reno absent on his scout, General Terry moved the rest of the column to the Yellowstone, where they were able to set up their bivouac alongside the Far West. Custer was getting more and more anxious, and he started agitating Terry to let him go on his own to try and join up with Reno, then to strike at the Indians wherever they might be found.
Terry held him back, but on the afternoon of the nineteenth, he finally received a dispatch, by courier, from Reno.
We have advanced to the mouth of the Rosebud. We have found no Indians, but have found a very large trail with many hoofprints and lodge pole tracks leading to the valley of the Little Bighorn.
“What is Reno doing at the mouth of the Rosebud?” Custer asked. “I thought his orders were to examine only the Tongue and the Powder Rivers.”
“They were,” Terry said. “He has exceeded his orders.”
“And put the entire operation into jeopardy,” Custer said angrily. “I told you, you should have sent me.”
