Long Winter Gone by Terry C. Johnston

Author:Terry C. Johnston [Johnston, Terry C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Historical, Westerns
ISBN: 9780553286212
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 1990-09-30T22:00:00+00:00

Indians have just brought in word that our troops to-day reached the Washita some 20 miles above here. I send this to say that all camps this side of the point reported to have been reached are friendly, and have not been on the war-path this season. If this reaches you, it would be well to communicate at once with Satanta or Black Eagle, chiefs of the Kiowas, near where you are now, who will readily inform you of the position of the Cheyennes and Arapahoes, also of our camp.

Custer’s eyes climbed from the letter, flecked with cold fire. “Does Hazen know who he’s addressing?”

“He ain’t got idea one, General Custer.”

“With me rides the commander of the Department of the Missouri, Philip H. Sheridan himself! Hazen would be interested to know that fact.”

“I’m sure he would.”

Shaking the brittle parchment like an autumn-dried leaf in a tremble of rage, Custer said, “Hazen’s protecting the Kiowa?”

“He doesn’t figure they need protecting, General,” Cheyenne Jack replied. “He just wants to make sure Kiowa camps aren’t butchered like Black Kettle’s.”

“Black Kettle’s! We followed a trail of a hundred war ponies straight to the heart of his village!”

“A hundred warriors in Black Kettle’s village? If that don’t smell of horseshit! Black Kettle’s band hasn’t counted a hundred warriors since Sand Creek almost wiped his little band out for good.”

Custer slapped a gloved fist into a palm. “Suppose you tell me what’s going on with Hazen and his Kiowa!”

“Love to, General. But, I don’t know any more than what I see with my own eyes.”

“And that is?”

“Kiowa rode in some time back, telling what happened upriver to Black Kettle’s camp. Last fall Hazen hoped the tribes would come to Fort Cobb for safety. But you caught the Cheyenne hunkered for the winter.”

Clark watched Custer’s eyes narrow.

“Hazen protecting his wards, eh?” Custer snapped.

“Looks that way.”

“And now he’s got the Kiowa under his wing? After they sent warriors north to rape and pillage and burn and kill? Right?”

“Hazen doesn’t figure the Kiowa had a thing to do with that.”

“I’m sure Hazen doesn’t!” Custer scowled, once again scanning the message from the commander of Fort Cobb. “What’s he mean the Kiowa will tell me where the Cheyenne and Arapaho are?”

“Cheyenne and Arapaho are assigned to Fort Cobb by treaty, General.”

“By treaty, you say? Seems that Hazen’s wards didn’t stay at home this past summer, did they?”

“If you mean that Hazen’s to keep the tribes under his thumb at all times, watching every move they make across the seasons—you’re poking into a blind hole there. Hazen isn’t here to wet-nurse a single band of these Indians. It’s his job to prevent the trouble that you enjoy stirring up.”

“How dare you lecture me on army policy!” Custer sputtered.

Cheyenne Jack straightened. “I ain’t lecturing, General. You asked the questions. I answered ’em. Now, I’m all talked out.”

The messenger tugged on the reins, backing his Indian pony from the crescent cluster of scouts.

“Wait! You just hold on there!” Custer shouted, nudging his horse forward until he sat opposite the half-breed.

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