Ridgeline: A Novel by Michael Punke

Author:Michael Punke [Punke, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781250310477
Google: 4vX4DwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Henry Holt and Company
Published: 2021-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

SAME DAY

Back inside the confines of the fort’s walls, Lieutenant George Washington Grummond led his horse toward the stable, watching as a private ran up to take the reins. Grummond’s company was small enough for him to know all of his men’s names. Aside from the sergeants, though, there were few with whom he had ever conducted an extended conversation.

He recognized the private who took his horse as Charles Toole, a man who previously had not stood out in any particular way, favorably or otherwise. Toole had been a part of the detachment today, just returned from the encounter with the Southern Cheyenne. He was covered with dust and also held the reins of his own mount.

Grummond noticed that Toole seemed to be lingering. “Do you have something to say, Private?”

Toole shuffled his feet. “Permission to speak freely, Lieutenant?”

Grummond nodded.

“Well, sir, I thought it was shameful what Captain Fetterman did today.”

Normally, Grummond didn’t think it was appropriate for officers to fraternize with the enlisted men. Today, though, he was eager to vent. “Well, I’m glad someone else sees the gall of it,” said Grummond. “Can you imagine? Getting played by savages! It’s shocking how far this army has fallen.”

Toole nodded in vigorous agreement. “The redskins are loyal first to their race—and none of that this tribe and that tribe stuff makes a bit of difference when it comes to how they look at us. Birds of a feather … that’s what I say.”

“Colonel Carrington is letting them camp right there!” Grummond pointed to the bend in Little Piney Creek past the water gate, not more than a hundred yards from the fort’s southern wall. The Cheyenne had thrown up their camp in a matter of minutes, five canvas teepees alongside half a dozen cooking fires.

“At least Carrington has ignorance to blame. Fetterman knows better,” said Grummond. He saw Toole nodding vigorously, and the like-minded audience encouraged him. “That’s the worst of it!” Grummond spit out the words. “Taking sides with a pack of savages over his brothers in arms!”

“Just so you know, Lieutenant, among the men—there’s more than just me that agrees with how you see things.”

Grummond stopped, looking hard at Toole and then briefly looking around the hay yard. It bustled with activity, but no one was close enough to hear their conversation. For a long time, Lieutenant Grummond didn’t say anything, composing his thoughts. When he finally spoke, he spoke slowly, as if carefully measuring his words. “It’s nice to know there’s still some of us that can be trusted,” he said. “And if it’s only a few of us that understand the order of things, then maybe those are the ones that need to take the reins in our own hands.”

Private Toole stared hard at Lieutenant Grummond.

The lieutenant stared directly back. “Group of men like that would be patriots, the way I look at it,” said Grummond. “You understand what I’m saying, Private Toole?”

Private Toole nodded his head. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I believe I do.”

“Patriots,” said Grummond again.

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