terms of the covenants the Lord has commanded us to follow in this war against the Gentiles.”
She felt fear rising in her, like a thick ball of something that was bound to gag her, make her spill her scanty breakfast on the ground right here in front of the children.
“Take it and go, then … if you must.” Her heart pounded in her ears like the thundering of water over the falls back in the Shenandoah. How she yearned now for—
“Mrs. Hook, don’t be so rude. We have no intention of merely taking from you and riding on.” He reached inside his long black duster and pulled forth two pistols with white handles.
The smile on his face reminded her of the way old Seth would grin, baring his yellowed teeth, that low rumbling growl troubling his throat when danger lurked near.
The guns were pointed at her and the three children. “We’re inviting you, and your little ones along as well.”
8
GENERAL GRENVILLE DODGE had early on asked General Ulysses S. Grant for five thousand Union troops to protect the western frontier.
Grant sent him ten thousand.
Yet most of those began to grumble and mutiny as soon as they arrived at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Protesting that the war with the South was over, most bowed up their backs and said they had joined up to fight the Confederacy—not to fight Indians.
Back east, powerful political pressure was already being exerted upon the War Department not only by some governors, but by the senators and congressmen of those protesting states. During the first half of 1865 alone, thirteen regiments that had reported for duty at Leavenworth and were ordered marched to Fort Rankin at Julesburg were mustered out before they reached the high plains by official orders from Washington City: seven regiments of cavalry, three each of infantry and artillery.
To fill this aching void at this critical juncture, General Dodge turned to his battle-proven U.S. Volunteers. Trouble was, most of the Confederates had signed on for a one-year enlistment. General Patrick E. Connor had to act, and fast, if he was to have enough troops to accomplish his aim of subduing the war-loving bands taking refuge in the Powder River country north of Fort Laramie.
“I’ll come find you when Bridger and me get back from up north,” Shad Sweete told his young Confederate friend as they stood among the bedrolls and supper fires at twilight near the barracks of Fort Laramie. “Trust in that, Jonah.”
“May not be here no more,” he replied. “Lybe says we’re going back to protecting the road and the wire hung over it—back up on the Sweetwater. But I swore this Yankee army only got their hands on me for a year—and that year’s up the end of September.”
“That’s only three weeks off, Jonah.”
“I’ll go back and watch that road and wire for ’em. But any way I figure it, Shad—you can’t possibly be back from that north country in time to see me light out for home.”
“It’s for sure you’re heading home, you ain’t here—right?”
“First and only place I’m going, once this army musters me out.”
“Then I’ll find you there—in Missouri.”
“What for?”
Shad slapped the young man on the back. “Because friends just don’t ride off without saying good-bye. So if I can’t see you off to home when you go, I’ll come find you after you’ve gone back to Missouri.”
“Thought you’d be heading down to the Territories—see your family.”
“Ain’t no reason why I can’t swing on down there and bring ’em with me, can I?”
“You got a Cheyenne wife, son, and daughter.” Jonah shook his head. “That’ll be something, it will. My kids seeing their first real plains Injuns—and what they’ll make of you too.”
“I may not be too pretty, Jonah. But I do make a fine impression on civilized folks. Can even eat with a knife and fork, I have to.”
They chuckled together, then Jonah turned toward the big man, holding his hand out stiffly. He wasn’t accustomed to showing his sentiment, Shad figured. The handshake would have to do.
But Sweete pushed the hand aside to wrap the young man in a fierce embrace.
“I’ll miss you, Shadrach Sweete.”
“I’ll miss you too, my friend.”
“Company I!”
Both Hook and Sweete turned at the call. Something about the way Captain Lybe was trotting up, his pistol holster slapping his left hip, told Shad he did not like what was coming.
“Gather up, men. I got some good news.”
“Cap’n—whenever you tell us that,” replied an old Georgia soldier, “I get feared we’re in for bad news too.”
Lybe said, “Ain’t no use in me fooling you, is there, George? He’s right. I just come from General Connor’s headquarters. For the time being, men—word’s come from Washington City that we have to delay mustering out any of you one-year boys.”
“What the hell!”
Lybe raised both his hands, attempting to calm his angry Volunteers.
“Cap’n—we volunteered for a year. No more’n one year I’ll stay!” Jonah Hook protested.
“He’s right!” cried another. “We even put on Yankee uniforms to come west and fight Injuns. And we’ve fought Injuns for this goddamned army.”
“We fought ’em up and down this river, Cap’n,” Hook continued. “It’s time the army lived up to its promise to us.”
Lybe cleared his throat, pursing his lips in agitation as the sun sank behind the far Medicine Bow Range. “Army doesn’t have enough soldiers out here for General Connor to get done what he needs doing with this expedition of his heading north in a few days. If he musters the lot of you out, you must remember he doesn’t have any replacements for you fellas guarding up and down the road west of here, all the way to Camp Douglas.”
“We signed on with that promise of a year’s duty!” Jonah growled. “I’m fixing to head home when my time’s up.”
“Private Hook—we’re pulling out tomorrow. For Sweetwater Station.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You’ll be considered a deserter.”
Shad could tell Jonah was thinking on that hard, the way a child would roll and roll a mud ball in his palms.
“How long we have to be back at Sweetwater?”
“Till Connor comes marching back here to Laramie.”
The Georgian stepped forward. “And how long that gonna be?”
“Could be November—maybe December.”
“Shee-it!”
Shad inched forward to attempt calming things as the galvanized soldiers milled and muttered, clenching fists and kicking dust up with their boot toes.
“Captain Lybe?” Sweete called. “With Bridger leading Connor north, I’m sure the general will be getting back here before November. Sure as hell he won’t be out to December.”
“Weather, Mr. Sweete?”
“Damn right, Captain. Where Connor’s going—the weather can for certain turn around on him by the end of August.”
“It’s a rainy month, I’ll grant you that—”
“Captain, rain on the northern plains this time of year can spell trouble. What starts out as a little pitty-pat of
