Alicia leaned back and stared at Rebecca as if the explanation was too much to fathom. After nearly a full minute she asked, “What do you think was the real reason?”
Rebecca grinned. “He thinks I’ll flirt with all the soldiers.”
Alicia arched a brow. “And won’t you?”
“No!” She tried to look indignant, but in the face of Alicia’s knowing nod it was impossible. She grinned instead. “At least not until I get tired of Lieutenant Forrester.”
Clark signaled a halt when he saw the rider. Sergeant Whiting relayed the order then squinted at the approaching figure. “He’s riding a mule.”
Clark lifted the binoculars that hung from his saddle and took a look. “Some old-timer.” He passed the glasses to Whiting.
“I think it’s Decker,” Whiting said. “He’s done some scouting for the army.”
“Hold the column. I’ll see what he wants.” He spurred his horse forward.
“First Lieutenant Clark Forrester, Seventh Cavalry,” he said when they had drawn rein near each other.
“How do, Lieutenant?” The man extended his hand. “Name’s Carl Decker. Saw your dust from over yonder. Soon as I knew you wasn’t a band a renegades, I decided I’d come on in, see if I could share a fire and have some company for the night Startin’ to get a little spooked out here alone.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Decker.” Clark turned his mount, and they started back toward the waiting column.
“Don’t nobody I know call me Mr. Decker. Carl, maybe, or more likely Short Deck. On account a me being not so tall, I reckon.”
Clark shook his head. “They wouldn’t call you Short Deck because you cheat at cards, would they?”
Decker spat a stream of tobacco juice on the far side of his mule. “Maybe,” he said with a chuckle.
Clark waved the troops forward, and he and Decker fell in alongside the sergeant.
“Short Deck,” Whiting said. “I thought that was you. Where you headed?”
“Hell, I don’t know, Sam,” the old man answered. “I’m thinkin’ about leavin’ the state. Or I may just find myself a place to hole up over here in Salina or yonder in Abilene.”
“I can imagine the accommodations you’re looking for,” Whiting said.
Decker laughed. “How far am I gonna be backtrackin’ here, Lieutenant?”
“I planned to camp about a mile farther west.”
“Don’t mind trading a couple miles for some company. How many men ya got here?”
It was Whiting that answered. “Forty. Most of them green as grass.”
“They’ll do,” Clark said, knowing at least a few of the men in question had heard their sergeant
“Replacements for Hard Ass?”
“Most likely.” Clark bit back a grin at one of several nicknames for Custer. The man had reached the rank of Brevet General during the war. He enjoyed the use of the title, though the reorganized army considered him a Lieutenant Colonel.
Decker added, “The boy general has more than his share of desertions, don’t he?” He leaned over and spat tobacco juice on the ground. “Bull’s-eye.”
Clark didn’t turn to see what the man had been aiming at. As he listened to his sergeant and their guest talk he hoped Decker didn’t change his mind about heading east; if the man stayed with the column long enough Clark might have his own problem with deserters.
After supper, several of the troopers settled in near Clark’s camp, curious about the stranger. Miss Huntington was one of them. He sensed her presence before he caught a glimpse of her. He ignored her, or tried to, not wanting to draw her to Decker’s attention.
“You told us where you were going, Deck,” Whiting said. “Tell us where you’ve been.”
Decker sat Indian-style, his coffee cup in his hands. “I been down around Fort Lamed with Hancock so I guess you can say I was there when this damn war started.”
Clark couldn’t pass up an opportunity to get more information than was in the official reports, even if it meant some green troopers would hear it as well. “What happened?”
“Well, there’d been some trouble, mostly with the Dog Soldiers, so Hancock comes down there. Sends for the chiefs. This was back in April, and we get a snowstorm. Chiefs have a time gettin’ in. Hancock don’t want to set back the deadline. He’s gonna teach them a lesson if they’re late.
“Well, they show up the evening of the deadline. Ol’ Hancock decides to start the council immediately. What does he care if there’s no sun to bless the proceedin’s? He’s not there to listen, anyhow. He’s there to threaten. He insults those chiefs from here to Sunday. Insists the Cheyenne ain’t actin’ in good faith since Roman Nose ain’t along.” Decker shook his head at the memory.
“Roman Nose is Northern Cheyenne,” Whiting put in.
Decker nodded. “Been livin’ down here, though. Kinda a rabble-rouser. At best he’d be called a war chief. They send their peace chiefs to councils. Anyhow, the Indians went away mad.
“Day or so later Hancock takes his forces and heads for Red Arm Creek where the Cheyenne are camped. I’m along as scout, you understand. The Cheyenne fire the prairie, forcing us to camp away from the village. There’s a standoff for a couple a days.-When we surround the village we find it deserted.”
“Of course it was.” The feminine voice brought Clark’s head up, and Decker’s as well. “Hadn’t Hancock ever heard of Sand Creek?”
She had crept closer during the narrative and sat only a few feet from him. As surprised as he was to find she had gotten so close without his notice, he was more surprised by the question. He hadn’t expected the colonel’s daughter to know anything about the ‘64 massacre, let alone connect the Colorado Volunteers’ burning of that peaceful Cheyenne village with the Cheyenne’s behavior now. Most people didn’t seem to believe Indians had memories.
The troopers, however were more interested in the woman than in the question. They were watching her more closely than they watched their guest.
Decker was clearly startled. Clark could guess what he was thinking. An effeminate boy? A woman in disguise that only he had seen through? Clark decided to let him wonder. Besides, she had asked a good question.
Decker recovered quickly, though he cast Whiting a questioning glance. “As a matter of fact, that’s just what Roman Nose asked him. He came to parley during the standoff.”
“What happened to the deserted village?” Clark asked, though he could guess.
With a flick of his wrist, Decker tossed his cold coffee on the ground, in lieu of tobacco juice, Clark supposed. “Hancock sends Custer after ‘em, waits four days, and burns the village. Two hundred fifty lodges. Now they got no choice but to raid. This here’s Hancock’s war plain and simple.”
The camp was quiet Darkness had closed in around them during the past few minutes. Clark glanced around the circle of young faces, knowing each was considering what they were about to ride into.
“Sergeant Whiting,” he said quietly. “Arrange guards for the night.”
“Yes, sir.” Whiting issued orders, and the troopers moved toward their own tents.
Except for the curvaceous “soldier” beside him. She was staring into the fire. Decker was staring at her.
“Thanks