Trumpet on the Land (19 page)

“Jesus and Mary, Seamus!” Finerty gushed in the silvery light of that moonrise. “I'll bet you knew some of them fellas who got trapped in the hayfield that August.”

“Knew 'em, Johnny boy? I was with 'em.”

“At … you were at the Hayfield Fight?”

“I was a civilian hay cutter.” He shook his head with the remembrance. “Aye, that summer's day we cut down a lot more'n hay, John. Them red h'athens threw the best they had at us nigh onto that whole day—before they give up when the sojurs finally come marching out to relieve the siege.”

Sibley's voice came down the column, “Quiet in the ranks!”

Finerty leaned over to whisper, “You'll tell me more tomorrow? All about that fight?”

Seamus only nodded as they rode on, the moon continuing its rise behind them, illuminating the ground ahead of the Sibley patrol. For the next few hours the only sound was an occasional snort of a horse, the squeak of a McClellan saddle, or the click of iron shoes on streamside pebbles, heady silence broken only by the occasional whispers of the half-breed scouts as they conferred on the best trail to take.

Just past three
A.M.
as the first gray line of the sun's rising leaked along the horizon to the east, Grouard turned in his saddle to say, “Lieutenant—we oughtta think about finding a place to camp.”

“Daylight coming. Yes. By all means, Grouard.”

“We'll rest here for a few hours before we see about going on,” the half-breed said. “Pick some men to watch the horses, and wake us come sunup.”

“Where you think we are now, Irishman?” Finerty asked after they had loosened cinches and picketed their animals in a sheltered ravine back among the foothills above the upper waters of the Tongue River.

“Not far from the Greasy Grass … the Little Bighorn.”

The packer known as “Trailer Jack” Becker slid down into the grass nearby, dusting his britches off.

Donegan asked, “How's your mules, Jack?”

“They'll hold up better'n these'r army horses, that's for certain.”

Donegan pulled his hat down over his face and laid his head back into the thick pillow of tall grass. “I don't doubt you're right about that at all.”

It seemed as if he had no more than closed his eyes when Grouard was kicking the worn sole of Seamus's boot. He squinted and blinked, rubbing the grit from his eyes as he hacked up some night-gather and spit. The sun was making its daily debut out there on the plains.

“Come with me, Irishman.”

They picked up Pourier on their way through the crowded bivouac. All three mounted and led out as the soldiers jostled into a column of twos, coming behind while Sibley himself clung to the scouts. After riding no more than a half mile, they were confronted with a tall, steepsided bluff squarely on the trail they were taking.

“Lieutenant,” Grouard declared, “take Bat and the Irishman with you into that ravine, yonder. I'll go up top on foot and glass what's below.”

Sibley nodded and said, “Very well.”

Grouard next turned to Bat and Donegan. “If you see me take my hat off, you boys come on up, pronto.”

Seamus watched the half-breed move off less than a hundred yards before he dismounted and led his horse into
the ravine with the rest of the party. From there he watched Grouard slip down on his belly just shy of the crest of the ridge, pull his field glasses from the pocket of his canvas mackinaw, and peer over. It wasn't but a heartbeat before Grouard tore off his floppy sombrero and waved it.

“C'mon,” Pourier grumbled to Donegan as they leaped to the saddle and rode to the tree where Grouard had tied his big black.

“Looks like bad news,” Donegan whispered as he slid down onto his belly beside Grouard.

“Here, Bat—take this glass and look and see if those are Injuns or just rocks over on that hill.”

“My God—we are gone!” Pourier complained once he had himself a look. “Shit, Frank. The whole damn country's nasty with the red bastards!”

“Of course it is,” Grouard replied, then added optimistically, “but—maybe they're Crows.”

As quickly, Big Bat grumbled, “Remember last month? I'm the son of a bitch what knows the Crows. And them are Sioux.”

“How you know for sure?” Seamus asked.

“When a war party of Crow are on the warpath, no man ever goes ahead of the leader,” Bat explained. “But with the Sioux—it don't matter. Look yonder. See? That bunch closest down there ain't riding in no order. That's Sioux, I tell you.”

“Lemme have a look,” Donegan demanded, reaching for the field glasses.

Indeed, it did appear the whole valley of the Tongue far to the north of their ridge was blanketed with Indians already on the march—heading south toward the main channel of the river. But closer still was that war party of half a hundred, pushing south in advance of the main village.

Donegan gave the field glasses back to Grouard. “You remember the elk we saw last night, Frank?”

The half-breed nodded.

Pourier looked at them both, back and forth, then said, “Wasn't no elk, was it, fellas?”

“We been found out,” Donegan said.

“That bunch right down there is heading this way to rub us out right now,” Grouard declared.

“They won't find us on the river,” Donegan said, his mind working fast. “The way they're headed right now.”

“But they're bound to pick up our tracks easy enough,” Pourier added.

“You go get those soldiers moving,” Grouard said. “I'll stay up here and watch those Injuns—see when they come on our tracks. Take the lieutenant's men up the ravine into the hills.”

With Big Bat, Donegan whirled about and slid back down the steep slope to reach their horses. Not long after they returned to Sibley's patrol and got the soldiers started up the narrowing ravine, he saw Grouard wave his hat again.

“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.
“God-damn!
Quit pulling my leg!”

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.”

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.