my mouth open and heading for your hook.”
“I’ve never steered you wrong, and I won’t start now.”
“General Sheridan, sir!” The sergeant of the guard trotted up.
“What is it?” Sheridan grumped.
“We got some Indians in custody at the western perimeter, sir,” the breathless soldier explained. “Pickets said they rode up at a gallop, but weren’t hostile in their actions.”
“How many?”
“Twelve.”
“They say what they want?”
“’Bout all they grunted was
Sheridan looked at Custer. His eyes said it all. He knew Custer had him whipped.
“I’ve got little choice but to bring the Kiowa in.”
“By all means, General,” Custer replied.
“Sergeant,” Sheridan growled, “bring the Indians to me.”
As the party of Kiowa marched through the milling throng of curious soldiers, Romero slipped past the two manacled chiefs, whispering among them.
He came back with Tsalante, who had accompanied the party of eleven chiefs that had arrived. He spoke to the little soldier chief Sheridan, then waited while the Indian-talker Romero translated.
“General, he says they’ve come to tell you the village is on its way, just like you asked—”
“Whoa!” Sheridan barked. “I didn’t ask the bastards to be on their way at sunrise. I told them to be here at sunrise!”
“Romero,” Custer said as he stepped forward, “ask how long it will take.”
“He says the village will be here late tomorrow.”
“What the hell’s taking ’em so long?” Sheridan asked.
“Ponies are poor from winter grass, General.”
“What goddamned horses are these?” Sheridan yelled, pointing at the twelve ponies.
“The best in two camps. The rest are played out from the long winter and poor grazing.”
Sheridan grew exasperated. “How the devil can these twelve get here, and the villages takes so goddamned long?”
“General, these warriors aren’t dragging any travois loaded down with children and old ones. They rode fast —just to keep up with Satanta’s son.”
Sheridan glared flints for a moment, then walked over to the two manacled chiefs. Suddenly he whirled about, slamming one fist down into an open palm. Smiling at Custer.
“By damned, Custer!” he roared. “If you don’t always manage to outflank me—like you did Stuart at Gettysburg!”
Custer laughed with him. “Shall I have the prisoners returned to their tent under guard, sir?”
“By all means.” Sheridan flung an arm at the rope nooses hanging from the limb above. “But I’m leaving those damned hemp collars right where they are. Might serve as a reminder to the bastards what a chance they’re taking. And a reminder of my personal faith in you, Custer.”
Custer sensed the weight of Sheridan’s faith once more. “I figured I’d lost much of your faith in the past few weeks, sir.”
“Perhaps I’ve been a little headstrong of late. Should try harder to give an old friend his due … especially for old times’ sake.”
He shook his head. “Hope I don’t end up regretting that I didn’t hang these miserable bastards.” Sheridan’s eyes leveled on Custer. “Sadder still if I end up regretting that I believed in you.”
“Have I let you down, sir?”
“No, not once.”
“Nor will I ever, General.”
CHAPTER 20
“SO tell me, Romero, is this old man ready for his trip?” Custer asked as the pair walked up to Custer’s breakfast fire.
“He is.”
Custer appraised the ancient chief with the stature of a stout oak water keg. The Seventh had been camped here at Fort Cobb since the eighteenth of December waiting for the tribes to show. He couldn’t send a Kiowa on this delicate mission, but Romero had found this ancient Apache chief spending the winter in Satanta’s villages. Iron Shirt’s face was as chisled as the roughened bark of the blackjack oak dotting their camp.
“Problem is, General, Iron Shirt don’t trust the old she-bitch.”
“Mahwissa?”
“Way he sees it, she’d just as soon slit his throat as talk.”
“You tell him it’s not his to like her or not. She’s going along to help him find the Cheyenne and Arapaho. Tell them to come in to Fort Cobb before the soldiers destroy their villages. Mahwissa saw first-hand what my troops can do to an enemy camp.”
Iron Shirt waved his hands energetically, jabbering in his toothless Apache generously laced with Kiowa and sign.
“Old man says he’d tell the tribes what your soldiers did at the Washita. Says you are the strong arm. He’ll tell the other tribes of your mighty power.”
“And tell Iron Shirt not to worry about the woman. She’ll cause him no trouble.” Custer nodded toward the four women walking up, Monaseetah among them.
Romero chattered at Mahwissa, then turned back to Custer. “Says she wants to take the old Sioux along, Stingy Woman.”
Custer shook his head. “She’s a regular pain in the neck, this one.”
“I figured her to pain a man a lot lower, like where he sits his saddle!” Romero chuckled.
“Pray she isn’t a nuisance to Iron Shirt. And inform her the chief is her only companion. She needs no other.”
“She ain’t gonna—”
“Just tell her what I said, Romero.”
As Romero translated, Mahwissa’s eyes stabbed at Custer like bone awls. Stingy Woman crossed her arms, glaring haughtily at Romero.
When Mahwissa finally spoke, her words burst like a furious dam breaking. She stomped up to Custer, one fist balled on a wide hip, the other hand shaking a scarred and battered finger at him, reminding him of his mother wagging her finger at a naughty young Autie.
“Says you’re giving her to the old Apache—to warm his robes each night.”
“Giving her to Iron Shirt? Where’d she come up with that idea?”
“She figures that ’cause she knows about you and Monaseetah. Says the soldier chief uses the young squaw for his pleasure, so you’re giving her to the old man for his robes.”
“That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard! You’d better change her mind about things!” Custer snapped, watching Monaseetah not taking her eyes from the ground. “Tell Mahwissa it’s time to show me that her words are straight. I remember when she told me she would help with her people. Now she can prove it.”
As Romero translated, Mahwissa’s chin jutted proudly. She glared at the Apache, as if to say,
“She understands, General.”
“About time. I could have negotiated a cease-fire with the Army of Northern Virginia in less time! Moylan, bring up the horses.”
Romero pointed out the animals three soldiers brought up: two horses decked with McClellan saddles, a pair of blankets lashed at the cantle, and a young pack mule swaying beneath more blankets and burlap sacks.
