“What’re you going to do here?”
“I’m scouting—for the Fifth Infantry.”
“Nelson Miles?”
“Well, not rightly. Not just yet anyway,” Omohundro equivocated. “As soon as I run onto Miles, I’m sure I can land me a position. I came upriver with Lieutenant Colonel J.N.G. Whistler, who’s bringing with him two more companies of the Fifth Infantry to join Miles and General Terry.”
“Jack?”
Bill and Omohundro both turned to find a slim, weasel-faced officer climbing the ladder to the upper deck. Jack leaned and whispered from the side of his mouth, “That’s Whistler.”
“Jack!” the officer exclaimed. “I was hoping I’d track you down. I can’t find anyone onboard any of the steamers who will act as courier for me.”
Omohundro explained to Cody. “Colonel Whistler here has been begging for a rider to take messages ahead to General Terry.”
“Important?” Cody asked.
“Yes, sir.” Then Whistler peered at the long-haired stranger. “Do I know you?”
Bill took off his hat and performed a little bow from the waist. “William F. Cody, at your service.”
“Colonel Cody?”
“Yes.”
Whistler presented his hand while tearing his hat from his head. “A pleasure to meet a true American hero, sir! Why, the story of you and that war party that had you surrounded at Warbonnet Creek—and how you handily did in their chief … why, it’s an inspiration to us all!”
Cody cleared his throat, nervous at so much effusive praise. “These messages—you say you can’t find anyone to carry them?”
“Why, no, Colonel Cody.”
With a shrug Bill offered, “I will.”
Omohundro immediately turned and seized Cody’s arm. “Are you sure about this, Bill? No reason you should take such a dangerous chance.”
Cody did not even look at Jack, preferring instead to say to the officer, “I have my horse onboard. When can you have the dispatches ready?”
“Why … they’re ready right now. But I must insist that you take advantage of my own horse.”
“Yours?” Cody asked.
“Yes. A blooded thoroughbred. Onboard the
Bill pulled on his gloves and gestured to the door of the wheelhouse. “Splendid! I suggest you present yourself to the pilot and have him put us in at the next clear channel along the south bank.”
The officer bobbed his head happily, replying, “Of … of course!”
Cody watched Whistler turn on his heel and barge right on through the wheelhouse door.
Omohundro asked quietly, “Just where were you going when we bumped into you, Bill?”
“Home, Jack.”
“Christ, Cody—I was coming out here to grab some of the adventure and fun for myself, and here you’re booking it in.”
Bill smiled. “Doesn’t appear I’m done for … not just yet.”
“That’s got to be a dangerous route—right through the country Sitting Bull’s warriors are swarming over. If you already decided to head back home—why would you want to take this chance?”
“Jack,” Cody said quietly, slapping an arm over Omohundro’s shoulder, “if you’re giving me the choice of riding back upriver on a slow-moving steamboat, or forked in the saddle carrying dispatches and having myself an adventure of it … now, just what the hell did you think I was going to choose?”
Those reports of the raids on the Glendive stockade and war parties firing on the steamboats, news that Cody carried to Terry, was exactly the sort of intelligence calculated to arouse the general’s worst fears that Sitting Bull’s minions were indeed preparing to flood across the Yellowstone.
As soon as Cody reached the mouth of the Powder with his dispatches, an anxious Terry decided he must first consult with Crook. Taking Cody as a guide for his small escort of staff and leaving the rest of his command to come on as quickly as they could, the general hurried up the Powder until they ran onto Crook’s miserable camp late on the rainy afternoon of 25 August.
“Excuse me, General Crook,” Cody said as the two commanders were about to duck under a canvas awning to begin their conference. “Could you tell me where I could find one of your civilian scouts—Donegan?”
“The Irishman? Why, last I knew he rode on ahead with Grouard and White to scout the countryside and see how the trails were scattering. Why?”
“Just wanted to say good-bye to him. For a second time. That’s all.”
Unable to talk with Donegan or White, either of his old friends, Cody settled nearby as the two generals had their courteous, if strained, consultation. Now firmly convinced that all recent evidence pointed to the hostiles converging and massing on the Yellowstone prior to making their race for Canada, Terry suggested a twist on Sheridan’s joint maneuver to capture the hostiles between them: his Dakota and Montana columns to work along the north bank of the Yellowstone while Crook’s men would come up from the south—hammering the Sioux against Terry’s anvil
Despite Terry’s enthusiasm, Crook steadfastly refused to believe that the Crazy Horse Sioux would turn toward the Yellowstone, much less cross to the north.
“If they turn in any direction now,” Crook argued, “they’ll go south—right for the settlements I’m sworn to protect.”
In his conference with Terry, Crook learned that sufficient rations and ammunition lay in storage at Fort Abraham Lincoln on the Missouri River, should the trail of the wandering hostiles extend that far to the east. Assured of that northeastern supply line, Crook stated that the following morning he planned to dispatch a courier to Major Furey in command of his wagons on Goose Creek, with orders to proceed by prudent marches for Custer City in the southern Black Hills, where the supply train was to await Crook’s arrival with the rest of the expedition in the weeks to come.
Not once in their discussions, apparently, did Terry confront Crook with the fact that he had up and left without letting his superior know. Never did Terry press his position as senior officer in the campaign, but instead decided to let Crook pursue the trail of the fleeing Sioux they had run across while marching down the Powder a week before.
In all likelihood Terry understood Crook was not about to be moved to pursue a course other than the one he had already selected for himself. While at the Yellowstone Crook had received a telegram from Major Jordan at Camp Robinson that stated eight warriors had come in to surrender at Red Cloud Agency, reporting to the agent that the main body of hostiles was about to turn south.
Not north to the Yellowstone, and on to Canada, where Terry feared Sitting Bull’s people would then be free to raid into the Montana settlements.
Instead—here was proof enough that the Sioux were about to heel south for the Black Hills. Straight for Crook’s own department.
Terry bid Crook farewell and good luck, having decided he would go back to his column’s camp on the Powder that night. On the morning of the twenty-sixth he planned to turn his Montana and Dakota troops around and point them north, back to the Yellowstone—giving George Crook free rein to follow the hostiles’ road.
In the end the two hammered out a compromise of sorts. Terry would keep his men active on the river, as well as moving supplies to the Glendive stockade for Crook’s use, should the fleeing Sioux lead Crook in that direction. Meanwhile, Crook remained free to follow the hostiles’ trail, wherever it might take his Big Horn and Yellowstone Expedition.
“Bill, I know this is asking a lot, but I need you to make another ride for me,” Terry said late that evening of the twenty-fifth following his conference with Crook, and long after his command went into bivouac just below Crook’s camp on the muddy banks of the Powder.
Cody settled atop one of the canvas stools under the canvas fly outside Terry’s spacious tent. “Where to now, General?”
“Back to Whistler,” the officer explained as the sky went on drizzling and the wind came up. “Tell him not to
