Falcon accepted the letter; then, with a nod toward the two officers, he left the headquarters tent to look up Lieutenant Varnum. He found Varnum overseeing the reshoe-ing of one of the horses.
“I’m going back on the boat,” Falcon said.
“I’m not surprised,” Varnum replied. “I overheard Reno and Benteen talking about it.” He chuckled. “I wish they felt as threatened by me. I wouldn’t mind an easy ride back on the boat.”
Dawn had just broken when Captain Grant Marsh gave the order to cast off the lines. Falcon overheard General Terry tell Marsh to use every skill at his command to make the trip back to Ft. Lincoln as fast as was humanly possible.
The boat was draped in black, and the flag was at half-staff as Captain Grant Marsh blew the whistle and started downstream. With steam pressure at the maximum, he pushed the boat over growths of water willows, around sandbars, and through dangerous rapids for fifty-three miles to the mouth of the Bighorn, where it emptied into the Yellowstone.
Late that afternoon, the boat reached the Yellowstone, where it had to lay over until late in the afternoon of July 3 in order to ferry Gibbon’s command over to the opposite bank of the river. By this time, fourteen of the wounded men had recovered enough to be able to leave the boat and finish the journey with Gibbon’s command.
At five o’clock, the ferrying duty was completed, and Marsh gave orders to push away and start downriver.
“Cap’n, seein’ as it’s soon goin’ to be dark and we’ll have to put in anyway, don’t you think we’d be about as well off waitin’ till mornin’ to start out?” Ben Thompson asked. Thompson was Marsh’s second in command.
“We aren’t going to put in,” Marsh replied. “We’re going to run all through the night.”
“Cap’n, we can’t do that. There sandbars, islands, and such, to say nothin’ of havin’ to follow the channel,” Thompson protested.
“The moon will be full tonight,” Marsh replied. “It’ll be bright enough if we pay attention. We can do it. I mean, look at these poor men we’re taking back. We have to do it.”
Captain Marsh and his other pilot, Dave Campbell, took turns at the wheel, working in four-hour shifts. Below, in the engine room, firemen disregarded fatigue and soreness as they fed wood until the boat was quivering with steam pressure that was high enough to keep the needle at the red mark in the gauge.
The boat raced downriver at twenty miles per hour, its whistle echoing and reechoing off the cliffs that framed the river. Sometimes, the
At eleven o’clock on the night of July 4, the
Falcon walked up to the wheelhouse where Marsh and Campbell were both sitting down on a cushioned bench.
“Captain Marsh, Mr. Campbell,” Falcon said. “What the two of you have just done will go down in the history books to be remembered forever.” He pointed to the deck, where already arrangements were being made to take the men off the boat and get them to a hospital. “These men owe you their lives, and America owes you its respect.”
Marsh sighed. “That’s all well and good, Falcon, but right now I would trade it all for a bunk and a pillow.”
Chapter Twenty- four
Falcon was quiet for a moment, letting the impact of his story sink in.
“If I may,” Libbie said, “I would like to take up where you left off and finish the story.”
“Yes, please do,” Zane Grey said.
“As you remember, the day before had been Independence Day, and we had a gala celebration on the post. The band played patriotic songs, fireworks were set off, and we had a dance, which, as the commander’s wife, I attended, even though my heart was not in it, because as you know, I had the most terrible premonition throughout the entire time my dear husband was on the scout.
“As Falcon said, the
It was seven a.m. and Libbie, her sister-in-law Maggie, and her houseguest Lorena were having breakfast when the maid told Libbie there was someone in the living room wanting to speak to her.
“Goodness,” Libbie said, picking up the napkin and dabbing at her lips. “Who wants to talk to me at this hour?”
“No doubt some soldier’s wife with a problem that she thinks only you can solve,” Maggie said.
“Don’t be that way, dear,” Libbie said. “We are all in the same boat out here. Especially now.”
“You’re right,” Maggie said. “I’m sorry.”
