“Too late. As slow as these horses are they would run us down. We’re going to have to fight.”
“Ain’t goin’ to be much of a fight,” Dorman said. “This ain’t like it was last time where we had somethin’ to be behind. This time we’re goin’ to be standin’ out here naked as a jaybird.”
Falcon broke open the box of ammunition.
“Well, now, what do you know?” Falcon said with a broad smile. “Sometimes, you just get dealt the right cards.”
“The right cards? What are you talkin’ about? They’s got to be at least twenty of them heathens,” Dorman said nervously.
“There are ten magazines, preloaded with forty rounds each,” Falcon said. He removed one of the magazines and put it into the breach. “Hold the horses,” he said.
Dorman took the reins of the two horses, then waited as the Indians continued to gallop toward them. A few began firing, but the range was still fairly significant, and they were shooting from the back of galloping horses, so the bullets passed harmlessly over the heads of Falcon and Dorman.
Falcon waited until they were considerably closer. Then he started turning the crank.
Within seconds, the Gatling gun had spit out forty rounds. Four of the charging Indians went down with the first fusillade. Falcon’s reaction had been totally unexpected, and the rest of the Indians, surprised by the sudden firepower, stopped their charge. For a moment of confusion, they just milled around. Then, seeing the gun was apparently empty, they renewed their charge.
Falcon jerked the first magazine out and slapped another one in. Once more, he started twisting the crank, and again the gun started spitting out bullets in rapid fashion. Three more Indians went down.
By now, the Indians had lost almost half their number. Realizing that continuing the charge would be foolish, the remaining Indians turned and, with whoops and shouts, galloped away.
“Whoooeee!” Dorman said. Laughing, he took off his hat and slapped it against his knee. “Yes, sirree, that gun is pure somethin’.”
“Let’s destroy it and get out of here,” Falcon said.
“Destroy it? Don’t you think we ought to take it back to the gen’rul?”
“No. In the first place, busted up like it is, I’m not sure we could even get it back to him. And in the second place, he wouldn’t take it if we could. Remember, he was offered a battery of the guns and he turned them down. And those were newer models than this one. This is an older model, because it was going to a state militia.”
“How are we going to destroy it?”
“We’ll fill the chamber and barrels with dirt, then we’ll smash the magazines,” Falcon said.
For the next few minutes, the two men worked quickly, Falcon filling the gun with dirt while Dorman used the war club of one of the dead Indians to destroy the ammunition magazines.
With the gun destroyed, they remounted and left the trail they had been following, then went back to the Rosebud to rejoin Custer.
There were no signs along the bank of the creek that Custer had yet passed, so they knew they were ahead of him. Going back up the Rosebud, they reconnected with Custer at about one o’clock, where the column had stopped alongside one of the tributaries of the Rosebud, called Mud Creek. There, the men had made coffee, though the water was even more brackish here than it had been in the Rosebud and the coffee was almost too bitter to drink.
When Falcon and Dorman first raised the camp, Custer was gone, having ridden off with Varnum. The two officers returned at about three o’clock and, seeing Falcon, Custer smiled.
“Hello, Colonel,” Custer said, swinging down from his saddle and handing the reins to his orderly. “Did you find the gun?”
“Found it and destroyed it,” Falcon replied.
“But not before he kilt about twenty Injuns with it,” Dorman put in.
“Really?” Custer replied.
“I think Mr. Dorman is exaggerating a bit,” Falcon said with a chuckle.
“A bit maybe, but not much. When we found the gun, we was jumped by a bunch of heathens, but Falcon here turned that gun on ’em and just cut ’em down like a scythe through wheat.”
Custer frowned. “I thought there was no ammunition for the gun.”
“You were right to be concerned about the ammunition Gibbon lost,” Custer said. “The Indians had found it.”
“Well, I’m thankful you found it as well,” Custer said. “I’d hate to think of having to go against that.”
“To be honest, we probably wouldn’t have had to worry about it,” Falcon said. “The axle was broken; I don’t think they could have ever put the gun in position to give us any trouble.”
“Nevertheless, you accomplished your mission and should be congratulated. Did you see anything else?”
“You mighty right we seen somethin’ else, Gen’rul,” Dorman said. “You got ’ny idea how many Injuns is out there?”
“All the signs indicate that the village might be quite large,” Custer said.
“Quite large?” Dorman replied. “The village might be quite large? Forget a village, Gen’rul, I believe them Injuns is puttin’ ’em together a city. Goin’ up ag’in ’em’s goin’ to be a lot like tryin’ to attack Denver.”
“Oh, I think not,” Custer said easily. “Think about it. How would that many Indians sustain themselves in one place? They would run out of wood and game very quickly, and they would either have to separate, or move on. And
