victory with his young friends.
From time to time, she gazed up at Custer. Studying the fine cut of his face, that sharp angle of his Teutonic nose as it blended into his cheek. Or the clean line of his thin lips nearly lost beneath the bristling mustache and beard tinted red-gold with dancing firelight. He let the snow fall on his long, combed curls, scented with cinnamon. She studied the eyes—clear as the glasslike surface of a prairie pond at sunrise, as yet unruffled by the breeze of day.
She was wondering again now, why for close to a week he had not pressed himself on her, contenting himself to lie with her as they fell asleep together, entwined without-passion. To her repeated question, he merely patted her swollen belly.
She sipped at her steaming coffee mixed generously with sugar. A treat, this, rarely found in a Cheyenne winter camp. Sugar or coffee. Together they were a magical potion fit for the Everywhere Spirit. A delicate dance upon her tongue.
So much like this
He caught her staring at him. Monaseetah smiled and gazed into the fire. She sensed him moving around the others, stepping up behind her.
“Here, Autie!” Tom Custer leapt up, shoving his tin cup into Custer’s hand. “Take this!”
“I don’t drink!”
“Dear brother,” Tom replied, sweeping the ground in a grand bow, “I wish the honor of a dance with Sally Ann!”
“You’ve had quite enough to drink tonight, Tom.”
“Not near enough, Autie, ol’ boy!”
Tom wrapped one of Monaseetah’s hands gently in his. Her eyes searched Custer’s for approval.
“I ask only that you dance …” Custer paused.
“Civilized, Autie?” Tom brought Monaseetah from her perch. “I’d do anything for a dance with this dark-eyed beauty!”
In time to a tune played by the regimental musicians seated beneath a canvas awning among the trees yonder at Sheridan’s camp, Tom swept Monaseetah side to side. A light, airy waltz, Tom slowly circling the Indian princess. Turning her ever so slowly as he swung, side to side, circling the fire. Eventually she swayed with him, absorbing his rythmn, gazing now and then at Custer, her smile childlike with the novelty of it.
All around them the others clapped in time. Yates stepped up, tapping Tom on the shoulder. Confused and scared, Monaseetah turned to dash back to her seat as Tom released her. But Yates swept her up in his arms, gliding gaily with her around the fire. Joining in the fun, Myers and Thompson cut in for their dances with the Cheyenne maiden. Then Godfrey and Benteen, a chorus of laughter when Monaseetah giggled at each change of partners. Tom cut in again.
“Sally Ann … Sally Ann!” He spun her a bit too wildly, frightening her as his toes caught, stumbling, almost falling.
“Tom.”
Custer was at Tom’s shoulder. A strong hand clamped on his shoulder, slowing his drunken waltz. “You’ve had enough … she’s had enough for now, little brother.”
“But I’m not done dancing with Sally Ann.”
“I think you’re quite done for the night, Tom,” Custer whispered, sensing the eyes of the others between his shoulders.
“Done … for the night? Whatever do you mean, dearest brother?”
“Let me take you to your tent.”
“Damn you, Autie!” he cried. “It’s New Year’s Eve … I want my dance with the most beautiful woman in the world—to hell with George Armstrong Custer!”
“Please, Tom,” Custer soothed. “Don’t embarrass yourself. Come, let me get you tucked away so you sleep it off.”
“Dear, dear brother.” Tom tried to focus on Custer’s face, swaying, letting Monaseetah go. “Always was worried ’bout your little brother, weren’t you?”
Without struggling, Tom leaned into Custer, belching on the sour whiskey. “Back to the days we were boys in Ohio … Michigan. I was always the one raising hell. Always getting licks at school with those oak paddles. You know I even chewed back then? When the older boys dared not.”
Tom pushed himself to arm’s-length from his older brother. “But you, Autie? You never raised hell. Oh, you always played jokes on others, but never raised hundred-proof hell like me!”
“C’mon, Tom—”
“Why, can’t you see you got the only woman at the ball—and the most beautiful … oh, goddamn you, Autie! You always had the prettiest ones! You got Libbie and now you’re wenching with this girl.”
“Tom!”
The sudden slap of Custer’s voice silenced them all. “You’re drunk, but that gives you no right—”
“General,”—George Yates stepped in—“I don’t think he—”
“Don’t think what, Lieutenant?” Custer demanded.
“You’re right, Autie,” Tom said. “Always right, big brother. You’ve got a proper army wife back east. And here in the Territories you’ve got your army whore to keep you warm. What gave you the right to all the whores in the world, big brother?”
Custer savagely wrenched his brother around. In that moment his right hand drew back, open and ready to strike the babbling, drunken mouth.
“General Custer!”
With that foreign voice, Custer turned, watching two figures approaching: one a picket guard, his rifle across his chest, the other, Romero.
“What is it?” Custer asked, his hand dropping as Yates and Moylan steadied Tom on his feet.
“Indians, sir. Lots of ’em.”
“Indians?”
“Just come in. Cheyenne. Arapaho. Congratulations, General! Down at Sheridan’s headquarters, they’re all saying you got the head men to come in without a goddamned shot fired!”
“Where are they?”
“At Sheridan’s party.”
“He hasn’t served them whiskey, has he?”
“None I know of.”
“Good. Can’t have them getting drunk … no hangovers while we parley.” He turned. “Moylan, see that Tom’s bedded down. I’ll look in on him in a bit.”
“Awww, Autie,” Tom murmured. “Be a lot warmer you get me a beautiful squaw to snuggle down with.”
“Goodnight, Tom. That whiskey in your belly is doing all your talking for you. Moylan, please.”
“Well, boys!” Custer turned back to the others at the fire. “Looks like this’ll be a grand new year for us all.”
“No mere bunghole tooting in the wind there!” Myers cheered.
“C’mon, Romero—smile!” Custer cried. “Why, for most of last year, they had me in exile. So this new year can be nothing but an improvement!”
An impressive delegation of Arapaho and Cheyenne leaders greeted Custer two days later when he held council at Sheridan’s camp. What amazed Tom Custer the most was that they had been frightened enough to come on foot to meet with the renowned Yellow Hair.
Looking at the poor shape of the chiefs, it was easy enough to believe their ponies were too weak to allow the villages to journey across the winter wilderness. The tribes hadn’t located buffalo for better than two moons. For a time they had survived on pemmican. Once that staple was gone, they were driven to eating their camp dogs. The chiefs admitted a man would be hard pressed to find a dog in any of their camps.
Tom Custer attended the council chaired by General Hazen. What had begun in the morning hours lasted past
