When All Hell Broke Loose by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2021-07-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Fort Laramie, 1852

By the time the sun was up, the members of the expedition were mounted and ready to go. At the head of the group, alongside Preacher and Colonel Finlay Sutton, Jamie hipped around in the saddle and studied the men behind him.

Roscoe Lomax was beside the young lieutenant, Thomas Curry, who was Sutton’s second in command. Behind them, riding two abreast, were forty-eight US Army dragoons. Then came Baron Adalwolf von Kuhner, Feldwebel Herman Becker, and a dozen Prussian mounted troops. Bringing up the rear were a couple of sergeants and a pair of corporals in charge of the eight pack animals and a dozen spare mounts.

Stretched out that way along the edge of the parade ground, it was an impressive bunch. Seventy-one well-armed men setting out into the wilderness in search of . . . what?

Jamie didn’t know. He didn’t hold out much hope of finding any of the original group alive, but he supposed it was possible one or two of them might still be prisoners of the Blackfeet led by Stone Bear.

After the brawl in the sutler’s store the previous night, he wasn’t sure how smoothly things would go this morning, but other than some hard looks exchanged between the dragoons and the Prussians, nothing had happened. Lomax and Becker, especially, had traded glares, but other than that, the two men steered clear of each other.

Jamie had had another talk with Lomax and warned him to be on his best behavior. The bullwhacker promised that he would try.

Jamie faced forward again in the saddle and looked over at Sutton. “You ready to go, Colonel?”

“I don’t see any point in waiting,” Sutton replied. “Before we get back, we may be in a race against the weather, so we need to use our time as efficiently as possible.”

“In other words,” drawled Preacher, “we’re burnin’ daylight.”

Jamie nodded in agreement, raised his arm, and waved his hand forward in a signal for the group to move out.

They rode north, and after only a short time, they came to the North Platte River. At first glance, the river wasn’t a formidable obstacle. Jamie had heard it described as being “a mile wide and an inch deep.” That was an exaggeration, but except in times of rare flooding, the broad stream was shallow and flowed sluggishly as it twisted across the prairie.

Fording it could be dangerous anyway, due to numerous bogs and stretches of quicksand among its many channels.

Jamie said, “Preacher, that stallion of yours always seems to know where he’s going. Why don’t you take the lead?”

“I was just thinkin’ the same thing myself,” the mountain man agreed. He moved out and let Horse have his head. Slowly, the rangy gray stallion began picking his way across the North Platte. Muddy brown water splashed and swirled around his hooves.

Jamie followed him. Colonel Sutton turned in his saddle and called to Curry, “Keep an eye on us and ride where we ride, Lieutenant. Don’t allow the men to stray from that path.

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