as saving the rest of camp plainly in danger if nature had enforced its will that day.
On Monday morning, the thirty-first, Louie Reshaw took a dozen Shoshone on his climb over the Big Horns to investigate an Indian rumor that the Sioux had crossed over the mountains and were firmly planted in the Big Horn Basin. The half-breed returned the next afternoon after suffering through a severe snowstorm among the high summits, reporting to Crook that they had found no evidence of the hostiles in the mountains, much less in the western basin, except for small parties gone to hunt for game or lodgepoles.
“They didn’t see no buffalo either,” Baptiste Pourier explained to the rest what he had heard when Reshaw reported to Crook.
“Bad sign, Bat,” Grouard grumbled.
Seamus nodded in agreement. “Plain as the nose on your face that the Sioux won’t be hanging around here— not if the buffalo have wandered to the east.”
“That’s where the Sioux went,” Grouard said. “Follow the buffalo east.”
Minutes later Tom Cosgrove came to fetch Grouard, saying, “Crook wants you to guide for me and some of the Snakes.”
“Where we going?”
“Northwest along the base of the foothills.”
Grouard slowly got to his feet and stretched, the days of cramping and pain in his groin over with, by and large. “He want us to look for anything special?”
“Just the usual.”
Tapping the brim of his hat, the half-breed grinned and said, “Suppose a ride with Cosgrove is better than sitting here being bored by you, Irishman.”
Seamus blew the half-breed a kiss. “I love you too, Frank.”
This wasn’t a snappy army bivouac any longer. All a man had to do to realize that was look around that Tuesday morning, the first day of August. In the weeks since they had marched away from Fetterman to bump into the Sioux at the Rosebud, through all those endless days of waiting here on Goose Creek, this had become a camp of squatters: the very best of them unkempt, wearing only pieces of uniform, their boots gone from shiny black to a dull coffee color, every man of them ragged and shaggy and not giving a good goddamn about it, either.
Why should they? Seamus asked himself. Wasn’t going to make a hill of beans if they sat out the rest of the campaign right here, waiting for autumn and winter to shut everything down like closing the lid on a pauper’s coffin. Nail it shut.
The bugle blew again. Another officers’ call.
Their days were ruled by the bugle: from reveille at sunup through fatigue and stable duty, noon mess and evening retreat, finally ending in “Tattoo” late each summer night. It seemed that if the boredom didn’t kill them, then the rock-solid regularity of the trumpet calls would surely make a man wish he were dead.
So he read her letters over and over until he was afraid the ink would fade and the paper would crumble in his hands. Where once he could smell the scent of her lavender or gardenia perfume she dolloped at the corner of every sheet, now there was only the smell of dust and sweat, only the smear of his dirty, greasy fingerprints at the edges of each page.
He cradled them all in his lap, rereading his favorite lines. Nearby the officers of the infantry were playing the cavalry officers in a well-matched game of baseball. Ringing the field was a crowd not only of enthusiastic enlisted men, but also curious Indians downright stupefied to watch this peculiar pastime of the white man.
“The Fifth is coming!”
At the call Seamus looked up to find Finerty lumbering his way in those clumsy brogans of his, shouting it again.
Grumbling, Donegan said, “I know. We’re all waiting for the Fifth.”
“No,” Finerty said breathlessly as he skidded to a stop. “I mean, a courier just came in from Merritt.”
“A courier?”
“Fella named White. Civilian scout. Carried word from Merritt telling Crook his ten full companies of cavalry are less than a day away.”
His heart pounded. “Gonna be here tomorrow?”
Finerty slapped his thigh. “Damn right they are!”
“Blessed Mither of God—that is good news!” Seamus replied thoughtfully. “Now we can be about getting this goddamned campaign over so I can get back to Samantha.”
“You ought to come meet the guy who carried in the messages for Crook.”
“Why?”
“He’s over at Tom Moore’s camp now, with soldiers and mule skinners hanging on him like flies on a carcass because he’s telling ’em the whole story of how on the way here the Fifth ambushed eight hundred Cheyenne over on a creek called the Warbonnet and drove ’em all right back to the Red Cloud Agency.”
“The Fifth had ’em a fight of it, you say?”
“And you’ve got to hear this Charlie White tell the story of the first scalp for Custer.”
Seamus’s brow knitted quizzically. “The first scalp … for Custer?”
“The one took by Buffalo Bill.”
“B-buffalo Bill?”
“Damn right!” Finerty cheered. “Can you believe it? We’re going to get to meet the famous frontier scout and master showman of the eastern theater, ourselves! Right here!”
“Bill Cody?”
“None other! Won’t it be something for me to tell all my readers about, Seamus—this meeting such a famous man?”
He grinned slightly. “Sure will be, Johnny boy.”
“Won’t you want to meet the famous Buffalo Bill yourself now, Seamus?”
“Oh,” Donegan replied, that impish grin growing into a wisp of a warm smile, “for sure and certain I do want to shake hands with Buffalo Bill Cody!”
Chapter 24
3 August 1876
Crook’s Plan of Operations
WASHINGTON, July 24—The following dispatch has been received by General Sherman: “The following dispatch from Gen. Crook is transmitted for your information. Gen. Merritt will reach Gen. Crook’s camp on August 1, with ten companies instead of eight as at first contemplated. Gen. Terry has moved his depot from north of Powder river to Big Horn, on the Rosebud, and has notified me of his intention to form a junction with Crook.
P. H. SHERIDAN
Lieut. General.
HEADQUARTERS, BIG HORN AND YELLOWSTONE EXPEDITION, CAMP ON GOOSE CREEK, WYOMING, July 18, via Fort Fetterman—To General Sheridan, Chicago: I send in a courier to-day to carry in duplicates of my dispatch to Gen. Merritt, for fear the originals may not have reached their destinations. I send a courier to General Terry to-night to inform him that I will cooperate with him, and where to find me; also, giving him what information I have in regard to the Indians. It is my intention to move out after the hostile tribes as soon as Merritt gets here with the Fifth. I shall not probably send in another courier until something special shall require me to do so. I am getting anxious about Merritt’s not reaching here, and the grass is getting very dry …
GEO. CROOK
Brigadier General
