“No, Custer. We have no idea where Crook is,” Terry said. “But more important to this campaign—and to you—is figuring out just where the Indians under Sitting Bull might be gathering.”
CHAPTER 5
NOT long after Terry’s officers hunkered round the table over those maps and charts, the sky opened up as if someone had slit its underbelly and everything tumbled out.
For the first few minutes it rained, assaulting the
By the time the storm rumbled past and sundown was at hand, the ground lay white and the air chilled John Gibbon to his marrow.
“Isn’t that just like the high plains, gentlemen?” Custer asked, as he, Terry, and Gibbon crunched across a thick layer of hail icing the ground as far as a man could see. “One day you broil your brain, … and if you’re still alive the next, you catch your death of cold.”
Both Gibbon and Terry chuckled with the young lieutenant colonel as they drew near Custer’s tent at the center of his Officers’ Row on the south side of the Yellowstone.
“I wish I had more to offer you in the way of refreshment,” Custer apologized. “Just never got a handle on this matter of alcohol.”
“No matter.” Terry freed some of the top buttons of his tunic. “I think I’ve had quite enough for the day as it is.”
Gibbon glanced at Terry. “We came along for only a moment, Custer. To speak with you in private.”
Custer appeared perplexed as he settled on his prairie bed, a tick stuffed with grass. “Why is that?”
“Armstrong,” Terry began. He removed his hat and shook the water from the crown. “I need to reemphasize some concerns of mine now that we three are alone. I have only the two of you with me … the two who will form the pincers of this campaign.”
“Sir?”
“You’ve made it perfectly clear to everyone that you don’t want the Gatlings nor Major Brisbin’s cavalry along. I could beg you to reconsider, Armstrong. Hell, I could order you to reconsider … if I thought it’d do any good.” Terry sounded as morose as his dark beard. “But I’m afraid ordering you to take them wouldn’t be an answer either.”
“No, sir. It wouldn’t in the slightest.” His eyes held steadily on Terry’s.
“I think I share the general’s opinions of your talents here, Custer,” Gibbon offered with rare candor. “Even though I don’t approve of your methods at times.” He slipped his hat from his head, running a hand over his thinning hair. “I haven’t spent all these years in this man’s army not to recognize a young officer who’s going places. But we all want you to understand that you have much more at stake here. Not merely your reputation—”
“A reputation that’s been tarnished from time to time,” Custer interrupted. “Is that what you mean to say?”
“Only for doing what you felt was right.” Terry put a hand up so Gibbon wouldn’t reply. “I know. Let’s just say you got caught in some political traps through no fault of your own, and we’ll leave it at that.”
At that moment a black woman appeared at Custer’s tent flaps. Terry’s eyes flicked at Gibbon, watching consternation boil across the colonel’s face.
“John, this is Maria,” Terry introduced Custer’s servant.
Custer waited for her to curtsy to Gibbon before he explained, “She’s been with me since 1873 when my former maid ran off with a teamster after my unit transferred to Fort Rice. Maria’s been on both the Yellowstone and Black Hills campaigns with me.”
“Ginnel,” Mary began, bowing her head politely. “Sorry. I didn’t know you had com’ny, sir. I’ll come back later on.”
“No, that’s quite all right, Mary. You go right ahead and work on what you were doing.”
“I won’t be in the way?”
“Not at all,” Custer replied. She slipped past him into the tent. “Maria is quite the cook. Should you both choose to stay the evening, we’ll fix up some special dumplings for supper to go along with her sage hens. Including some delicious prairie onions she’s dug up hereabouts.”
“Thank you—no, Custer,” Terry answered for them both. “We’ll be heading back to the
She turned, surprised that General Terry had addressed her so directly. “Why, of course, Ginnel. Anytime you say. Anytime you and the Missus wanna have the hens. I’d be much pleased to cook for you.”
“Maria here is even taking some live sage hens back to the fort with her when she leaves in the morning.”
“Oh?” Terry glanced at the black woman. “You’re leaving in the morning?”
“Yessuh.”
“I’m sending her east with Chawako and his Rees, who are heading back to your Powder River depot, where she can board a supply steamer, taking our mail and dispatches with her to Lincoln. Since the Seventh pulls out in the morning, there’s going to be a lot of mail: letters to family back east … sweethearts and wives. I wouldn’t doubt but there’ll be a lot of greenbacks headed east on that ride too.”
“Dollars that sutler Coleman didn’t get his hands on yet? Now, that’s hard to imagine!” Terry guffawed with Gibbon and Custer. “That trader can smell a man with a coin in his pocket at fifty paces!”
“And pick that man’s pocket at ten paces!” Gibbon stated.
“You certainly know the man, don’t you?” Terry laughed all the harder. “Mary, I will take you up on that offer. When we return to the fort, Custer—you and Libbie must have us over for dinner.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Custer.” Terry cleared his throat, then said, “In all confidence—between the three of us—the plan for this campaign awards you and the Seventh the brunt of the action and hence the lion’s share of the—”
“Glory, sir?”
“Why, yes. Nothing short of the glory.”
“We won’t let you down, General.” Custer pursed his lips beneath the straw mustache.
“That goes a long way to relieving my anxieties, Custer. In that event I’ll issue your written orders in the morning.” Terry got to his feet as he slipped his campaign hat over his dark hair. “If you have any further questions at that time, we can go over them before you embark on your scout. For now, however, my mind is quite fogged enough as it is. We were at that meeting from near three o’clock until close to sundown! Life at the War Department in Washington City must be quite a bore compared to field action—eh, gentlemen?
“I plan to rest through the shank of the evening and see you off in the morning. Then I’ll get Gibbon’s outfit squared away and dispatched down the Bighorn to meet with you.”
“An effective plan, General,” Custer answered, his azure eyes smiling.
“Custer?” Terry stared at the ground a moment, as if tongue-tied. “One more thing—I’m not all that sure … sure just what to say for the last.”
That caught Custer completely off-guard. “Say … say whatever you want to say, General.”
Terry gazed at Gibbon a moment. Gibbon nodded.
The general sighed before he spoke. “Remember this, Custer: use your own judgment and do what you think best if you strike the trail. If you find my concept for this campaign impractical under the circumstances you encounter, you can change it … accepting full responsibility for varying from my plan, you understand.”
Custer nodded, a hard smile still crow-footing his eyes with tiny wrinkles.
“And, Custer—whatever you do—by God, hold onto your wounded. Just hold onto your wounded.”
“Yes, General.” Custer squinted quickly, his pale blue eyes gazing past Terry to the deepening indigo of the evening sky outside and the first faint splash of the stars spread across the darkening canopy reaching far across the southern horizon. Up the Rosebud. “The wounded … they will be protected. I promise you both that.”
