A Man Called Sunday by Charles G. West

Author:Charles G. West
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group, USA
Published: 2012-05-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Maybe by coincidence, the man Luke Sunday had brought to mind a hundred miles away was at that moment sitting by a campfire at Goose Creek, grousing with his partner, George Wylie, after receiving a brutal dressing-down by Major Potter. “By God,” Bill Bogart complained, “that pompous little banty-rooster ain’t got no call to blame me for none of that whuppin’ them hostiles put on the soldiers. I ain’t the only one that thought the Injuns would run instead of fightin’.”

Wylie only shrugged and made a face in response. He figured it would profit him little to point out that Bogart had been the one who assured Major Potter that the Sioux and Cheyenne were running like scared rabbits. It had only enforced a general belief most of the army officers already held, and it led to a major portion of General Crook’s forces getting caught with their pants down while they stopped to rest and let their horses graze beside Rosebud Creek. Had it not been for the vigilance of the two hundred and sixty Crow and Shoshoni warriors that had come to fight with Crook’s forces, and their firm belief that Crazy Horse would stand and fight, Crook’s army might have been massacred. The Crows’ and Shoshonis’ counterattack gave Crook time to collect his forces to stop Crazy Horse’s advance. And now Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull had moved on toward the Big Horn, while the soldiers had withdrawn to Goose Creek to await reinforcements. “I reckon he jumped on your ass pretty hard at that,” Wylie finally commented.

“Threatened to fire me, he did,” Bogart fumed. “The son of a bitch, he better not be standin’ anywhere close to me the next time we get caught in a hot battle with them Injuns. He just might get unlucky enough to catch a stray bullet.” He started to say more, but realized that it might not be the kind of talk to bandy about casually. It wouldn’t do for the wrong person to overhear him, so he changed his tune. “I expect he needn’t worry ’bout firin’ me. I just might quit.” It was no more than boastful talk, for he would hang on as long as the army would pay him. “Hell, I’m tired of talkin’ about the bastard. I’m gonna turn in,” he told Wylie, and got up to leave.

With a bladder filled with coffee, he walked down toward the officers’ latrine to relieve himself. Enlisted men and scouts were not permitted to use the latrine, but Bogart customarily did his business in the bushes behind the tent. Ordinarily, he would relieve himself wherever he happened to be standing, but he was warned against that practice, and instructed to retreat a respectable distance from the common camp. It irritated him to do so, but he complied reluctantly. It was just one more thing that added to his dislike for officers. There they were, camped out along Goose Creek, and they dug a hole in the ground

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