“Trumpeter Martin said that he brought you a note from Custer. May I see it?”
“The note was for me, not you,” Benteen said.
“May I see it?” Weir asked again.
With a sigh, Benteen pulled the note from his shirt pocket and handed it to Weir.
Weir read the note aloud, then handed it back.
“We will wait here for Custer,” Benteen said.
Reno stayed in position throughout the night, just to make certain the Indians were gone. The next morning, with good water now available and the packs brought up, the men had a decent breakfast of bacon, hard bread, and coffee. Not having heard from Custer throughout the day and the previous night, Benteen and Reno had now come around to Weir’s idea, and were making plans to send at least one troop forward to make contact with Custer. Since Weir had tried unsuccessfully two days earlier, they agreed that his troop would be the one that would push forward.
“Major Reno, troops are coming!” one of the troopers shouted, pointing to a column of blue approaching from some distance.
“It has to be Custer,” Reno said.
“Major, you might want to check this out,” DeRudio said. “When we were on the island, we saw what we thought were soldiers, but it turned out to be Indians wearing uniforms they had taken off the dead.”
“Yes,” Reno replied. “Yes, you might be right. I need a couple of volunteers to ride out and see.”
“I’ll go,” Falcon offered.
“So will I,” Varnum added.
Falcon and Varnum mounted horses, then galloped out to meet the advancing party. It turned out to be General Terry.
“Where’s Custer?” Terry asked.
“General, that’s the same question we were about to ask you,” Varnum replied.
Chapter Twenty- three
Approaching the battlefield, the first things Falcon saw were a lot of white objects lying on the ground. At first, he was confused as to what they were. Then he realized he was looking at bodies. Almost to a man, the soldiers had been stripped naked, and their bodies now lay bloating in the sun.
There was an eerie quiet among the men as they moved, thunderstruck, across the battlefield.
Jimmi Calhoun was found exactly where he should have been, in position behind his men, who were arrayed in proper skirmish formation.
Tom Custer was lying on his face. Tom Custer was the most mutilated of all. He had been scalped, his skull had been crushed by war clubs, his body bristled with dozens of arrows, and his heart had been cut out. Keogh had not been mutilated, nor had his crucifix been taken.
General Custer was found on the highest point of the field, sitting, not lying, between two dead soldiers, his arm resting on top of one of the corpses. Other than the fact that he had been stripped naked, Custer’s body was undisturbed.
Custer’s command was dead—to the last man.
“I’ve found all the officers, but one,” Weir said. “General Custer, Tom Custer, Keogh, Cooke, Calhoun, Reily, Crittenden, Smith, Porter, and Sturgis. Also young Boston Custer and Autie Reed.”
“Who’s missing?” Reno asked.
“Harrington. We haven’t found him.”
“Keep looking, he has to be here somewhere.”
“There are a few horses still alive,” Weir said. “But all are wounded.”
“Shoot them,” Reno ordered.
Weir relayed the orders to a couple of troopers, and they wandered around the battlefield, shooting the wounded horses. Then Falcon saw one of the horses wandering aimlessly around the battlefield. The horse was weak, his halter was hanging under his chin, and it was apparent he had been wounded several times.
“Wait!” Falcon called out. “Isn’t that Comanche?”
“Yes, it is,” Lieuteant Nowlan said. “Major, I ask you to spare Comanche.”
“Don’t be silly,” Reno replied. “Why let the creature suffer?”
“Let me look at him.”
Nowlan was the field quartermaster and he and Falcon went over to examine the horse. The horse, recognizing them, began to nuzzle them.
