“I figure that means they’ve crossed our tracks, Irishman,” Pourier grumped.
“Yeah—Frank’s beating a retreat now.”
Seamus said, “We stand a better chance of getting away in the hills—”
“Or even holding ’em off,” Pourier interrupted.
Seamus said, “I’m with you: let’s see what we can do to stay out of their way.”
By the time they reached the bottom of the trail that the Indians had used for years to go into the Big Horn Mountains to cut lodgepoles,* Grouard was no more than a hundred yards behind them … the war party screeching only a half mile behind him. The next time Donegan turned to look down their backtrail, he found the warriors streaming off the trail, along the side of the slope.
“They’re going for the head of Twin Creek,” Grouard said, the morning’s breeze nuzzling his long hair across his eyes.
Seamus asked, “Gonna try to cut us off?”
“Yeah,” answered Pourier. “Some of ’em are waiting there on the trail so we don’t go back down the mountain.”
Sure enough, a dozen or so of the war party had halted and milled about on the soldiers’ backtrail.
“You figure they got us shut in, Frank?” inquired Big Bat.
“Good as they can.”
Sibley reined about and rode back to join the three scouts, asking, “What chance do we have to outrun them, Grouard?”
“That’s our only chance. You keep your men moving as fast as the horses will carry them. Tell your boys not to save anything—those horses have to run and climb faster’n those Injun ponies!”
Putting heels to his mount, Grouard was soon out of sight, headed into the thick timber as Pourier and Donegan urged the soldiers on up the lodgepole gatherers’ trail.
After a rugged climb of more than five miles in the space of some two hours atop the wearying horses, Sibley remarked to the scouts, “I haven’t seen any Indians for some time now.”
“Me neither,” Bat admitted.
“Doesn’t mean they’re not down there,” Donegan said.
Sibley sighed, slowing his mount at the top of the low rise, where he peered into a wide, grassy bowl. “We’ll halt over there.”
“Halt?” Big Bat exclaimed. “For what?”
“We’ve got to make some coffee for these men— they’ve had nothing to eat for more than a day and a half. At least a little coffee—”
“I’d advise against it, Lieutenant,” Donegan grouched. And as he watched, Sibley and his sergeants slid from their mounts, beginning to unsaddle. “No—don’t take them saddles off, fellas!”
“You won’t be ready if we get surprised and gotta ride out in a hurry!” Pourier advised.
The savvy advice did not matter. It didn’t take long for the soldiers to have their horses unsaddled and coffee fires smoking. Donegan took a few sips of the offered brew, his anxious eyes nonetheless prowling the backtrail where it emerged from the line of timber below them. He expected to hear gunshots at any moment, announcing the arrival of the warriors—perhaps war cries on the slope above them from those who had jumped Grouard at the Twin Creek trailhead. A few minutes later, to Donegan’s great relief, the half-breed appeared.
Reining up, with wide eyes, Grouard demanded, “You stopped for coffee?”
Sibley asked, “Care for some?”
“Might as well join us, Frank,” Donegan said with a shrug.
As Grouard slid painfully from his saddle, Pourier turned to Finerty, saying, “You came along to have yourself a big adventure, didn’t you, John?”
Finerty nodded, peering at the half-breed over the lip of his cup.
Seamus nudged the reporter and declared, “That’s what you told us, Johnny boy. Have yourself a big adventure.”
Big Bat continued. “You know why we haven’t been caught here drinking coffee, don’t you, John?”
The newsman’s brow crinkled suspiciously. “No— why?”
“Because the Sioux are waiting up there, on up where they got a ambush laid for us.”
“An ambush?” Finerty squealed.
Donegan said, “I figure Bat’s probably right, Johnny.”
Finerty grew fidgety, his hands flitting, spilling some coffee. “Ambush! This’ll bloody well be the last scout I ever come on!”
“Tried to tell you,” Grouard said with a nod. “I’m afraid Bat’s right: we likely got a warm time coming.” “But don’t you worry, Johnny boy,” Donegan cheered, slapping the newsman’s knee, “when this is all over—you’ll have lots of good stories to send back to your readers in the East.”
“If he makes it out alive,” Bat added with a grin. “I got a feeling Finerty’s big adventure in Injun country is only starting.”
*Just above the present-day town of Dayton, Wyoming.
Chapter 11
First Week of July 1876
THE LITTLE HORN MASSACRE
THE CAUSES AND CONSEQUENCES
Fruits of the ill-advised Black Hills
Expedition of two years ago—
Ability of the army to renew
operations effectively discussed—
the personnel of the charging
party still undefined.
WASHINGTON, July 6—The news of the fatal charge of Gen. Custer and his command against the Sioux Indians has caused great excitement in Washington, particularly among Army people and about the Capitol. The first impulse was to doubt the report, or set it down as some heartless hoax or at least a greatly exaggerated story by some frightened fugitive.
VIEWS AT THE WAR DEPARTMENT
The confirmatory dispatches from
Sheridan’s headquarters in Chicago—
feeling among Custer’s friends.
WASHINGTON, July 6—Not until late this afternoon did the War Department receive confirmatory reports of
