“I can imagine.”
“Custer said I could take any scout I wanted, and I chose you.”
“Well, now, ain’t I the lucky one?” Dorman said. He sucked the meat off a bone, then tossed it aside.
“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I can find someone else if I have to.”
“Now here, just a week or so ago, you said you wanted to marry me for my cookin’, but now you are willin’ to run off with someone else,” Dorman said. “You really know how to hurt a fella’s feelin’s.”
Custer laughed. “What do you say? Will you go with me?”
“I’ll go,” Dorman agreed. “I ’spect we’d better tell Varnum about it, though.”
Chapter Twenty
Falcon and Dorman were about five miles away from the camp. There was no moon and it was very dark, but they were able to find their way by following along the bank of the Rosebud. Because the stream meandered back and forth, they crossed it about five times in the first five miles. When they reached a broken bluff, about ten miles ahead of the camp, Falcon called out to Dorman.
“Hold up here,” Falcon said. He tried to look at his watch, but it was too dark. Taking a match from his shirt pocket, he struck it by snapping his thumbnail across the head. In the light of the flame, he checked the time, then, extinguishing the flame, he put the watch back in his pocket.
“What time is it?” Dorman asked.
“Two fifteen. I wanted to leave last night, because I think we need to put some distance between us and the column if we’re going to have any possibility of moving around without being seen.”
“I agree,” Dorman said.
“But, we could be one hundred yards away from the gun now, and not even see it in the dark. So, I suggest we stay here until daylight.”
“I ain’t goin’ to argue with you about that,” Dorman said. “No, sir, I ain’t goin’ to argue one little bit.”
Shortly after Falcon and Dorman got under way the next morning, they came across the Indian trail Reno had found. The trail was at least one hundred yards wide, and the very ground had been plowed up by horses’ hooves and lodge poles. It was easy to follow. The trail was a wide, brown road that stood out vividly against the lush, green grass.
“Lord in heaven,” Dorman said when they cut across the trail. “How many Indians does it take to make a trail this wide and this deep?”
“Thousands,” Falcon replied. “Maybe fifteen to twenty thousand.”
“I don’t think the gen’rul has any idee of this, does he?” Dorman asked.
“I think he believes the number will be somewhere between eight hundred and a thousand.”
“If there’s twenty thousand injuns, that means five thousand or more warriors.”
It was early the next morning when they spotted the gun. There were about six Indians with it, pulling it down the center of the road that had been carved by so many before them.
“Ha!” Dorman said. “Pullin’ that gun, they couldn’t keep up.”
“Let’s get after them,” Falcon said, slapping his legs against the side of his horse.
The horse was an army horse, and was neither as responsive nor as fast as Hell. Nevertheless, within a minute, it was obvious that he and Dorman were closing the distance with the Indians.
When they were within a hundred yards of the gun, one of the Indians looked around. Seeing Falcon and Dorman galloping up behind them, the Indian let out a shout.
Responding to the shout, the other Indians turned, and seeing that they had the advantage in numbers, started galloping toward Falcon and Dorman. By now, they were within pistol range, and Falcon brought two of them down with two quick shots. The Indians, armed with rifles and war clubs, suddenly decided that the better part of valor would be a quick retreat, and they broke away, two going to the right and two off to the left. Dorman started after those two.
“Let them go!” Falcon shouted. “We need to get the gun!”
Reaching the gun, Falcon reined his horse to a stop, then leaped from the saddle. The first thing he saw was a broken axle that had been jury-rigged. That the gun was heavy and had a busted axle, coupled with the fact that the Indians weren’t used to working with wheeled vehicles, made it easy to understand why they had not been able to keep up.
“Look there,” Falcon said, pointing to a box that was tied to the caisson. “It looks like they did find the ammunition Gibbon lost.”
“That’s interesting all right, but maybe you had better look there,” Dorman said.
Looking in the direction Dorman indicated, Falcon saw not the ones they had just encountered, but a new, substantial body of Indians coming toward them.
“We need to skedaddle,” Dorman said.
