into a trap. That the Oglala were not usually so careless that they permitted raiding parties to come on their camp at night without even knowing they were there.
'If your backbone is showing yellow, Mister Crow, then I will take along that half-wit Kemp and leave you behind to help my wife. Perhaps you would like that. There would be officerly duties like cleaning her shoes and washing her small-clothes for her. Safer than risking your life with these brave men.'
All delivered in the sort of voice that was designed to be heard by the Troopers.
Crow didn't say anything.
There wasn't any point.
Menges was quite capable of having him arrested if he stepped out of line. Even having him killed. He held all of the cards and he was doing the dealing. He was even the man who made up the rules of the game. Odds like that meant having to wait.
That reminded Crow of something else that Jed Herne had once said to him. 'Living is just the mistakes that you don't make.'
Crow hadn't forgotten that.
It would wait.
Revenge was a pleasant dish when you ate it hot and simmering with hatred. But it was also worth waiting for.
Worth supping cold with the pleasant flavor of something well done and done in the fullness of time.
Crow took the tongue-lashing and then saluted and marched out. If Menges was going to try and lead them all to their deaths, then that would be fine with Crow. He would bide his time and keep eyes and ears open.
So the Third rode out to lick the Indians. There were no bands playing like there were for Custer and the Seventh as he went out on the Black Hills expedition. No 'Garryowen' for the men to sing along with. Menges wasn't that sort of man at all.
Crow hummed the tune to himself as they moved at the trot across the rolling grassland, kicking up a trail of dust that the Sioux must have been able to see for a dozen miles.
'Around her neck, she wears a yellow ribbon,
She wears it in the Spring-time and in the month of May.
And if you ask her, why the Hell she wears it,
She wears it for her lover in the U.S. Cavalry:
Then the chorus:
'Cavalry, Cavalry, she wears it for her lover in the U.S. Cavalry!
Crow wondered about Angelina Menges and the white neckerchief around her neck.
By the middle of the day the column had covered about eight miles. Crow suspected that their sensible progress owed more to the cunning of old Sergeant McLaglen than to Menges having any skill in planning a march. The motto of the Cavalry was 'Forty Miles A Day On Beans And Hay,' but that was under ideal conditions. The Dakota Territory in late Spring wasn't that easy to get around in.
Not with hostile Indians threatening every mile.
Everywhere Crow looked he could see places for an ambush. The hills rolled about in every direction. None of them high enough to merit calling mountains, but all of them high enough to hide a thousand warriors and their ponies. The grassland was intersected with deep ravines, sometimes plunging unexpectedly in front of the horses.
And over it all was the dust.
After the bitter winter the spring had brought the relief of warmth and green life. But that had passed. The weather in the Dakotas was notorious. Folks said that when you weren't freezing to death you were roasting instead.
'Column... Halt!!!' yelled Menges, holding up a gauntleted fist for the signal. Crow had noticed that there wasn't much talking. Normally a Cavalry patrol like this would have been singing and joking. Joking that the officers either tactfully ignored or joined in with. But not here. For nearly the whole journey they had ridden on in total silence. Crow had spurred his stallion forwards and talked briefly with the tail pair of Troopers, Stotter and Baxter. Trying to find out how things were. But they didn't talk much to him. Answering his questions with a yes or a no. All the time keeping their heads turned to the front to watch and make sure that Menges wasn't about to come galloping down on them from out of a pillar
'If your backbone is showing yellow, Mister Crow, then I will take along that half-wit Kemp and leave you behind to help my wife. Perhaps you would like that. There would be officerly duties like cleaning her shoes and washing her small-clothes for her. Safer than risking your life with these brave men.'
All delivered in the sort of voice that was designed to be heard by the Troopers.
Crow didn't say anything.
There wasn't any point.
Menges was quite capable of having him arrested if he stepped out of line. Even having him killed. He held all of the cards and he was doing the dealing. He was even the man who made up the rules of the game. Odds like that meant having to wait.
That reminded Crow of something else that Jed Herne had once said to him. 'Living is just the mistakes that you don't make.'
Crow hadn't forgotten that.
It would wait.
Revenge was a pleasant dish when you ate it hot and simmering with hatred. But it was also worth waiting for.
Worth supping cold with the pleasant flavor of something well done and done in the fullness of time.
Crow took the tongue-lashing and then saluted and marched out. If Menges was going to try and lead them all to their deaths, then that would be fine with Crow. He would bide his time and keep eyes and ears open.
So the Third rode out to lick the Indians. There were no bands playing like there were for Custer and the Seventh as he went out on the Black Hills expedition. No 'Garryowen' for the men to sing along with. Menges wasn't that sort of man at all.
Crow hummed the tune to himself as they moved at the trot across the rolling grassland, kicking up a trail of dust that the Sioux must have been able to see for a dozen miles.
'Around her neck, she wears a yellow ribbon,
She wears it in the Spring-time and in the month of May.
And if you ask her, why the Hell she wears it,
She wears it for her lover in the U.S. Cavalry:
Then the chorus:
'Cavalry, Cavalry, she wears it for her lover in the U.S. Cavalry!
Crow wondered about Angelina Menges and the white neckerchief around her neck.
By the middle of the day the column had covered about eight miles. Crow suspected that their sensible progress owed more to the cunning of old Sergeant McLaglen than to Menges having any skill in planning a march. The motto of the Cavalry was 'Forty Miles A Day On Beans And Hay,' but that was under ideal conditions. The Dakota Territory in late Spring wasn't that easy to get around in.
Not with hostile Indians threatening every mile.
Everywhere Crow looked he could see places for an ambush. The hills rolled about in every direction. None of them high enough to merit calling mountains, but all of them high enough to hide a thousand warriors and their ponies. The grassland was intersected with deep ravines, sometimes plunging unexpectedly in front of the horses.
And over it all was the dust.
After the bitter winter the spring had brought the relief of warmth and green life. But that had passed. The weather in the Dakotas was notorious. Folks said that when you weren't freezing to death you were roasting instead.
'Column... Halt!!!' yelled Menges, holding up a gauntleted fist for the signal. Crow had noticed that there wasn't much talking. Normally a Cavalry patrol like this would have been singing and joking. Joking that the officers either tactfully ignored or joined in with. But not here. For nearly the whole journey they had ridden on in total silence. Crow had spurred his stallion forwards and talked briefly with the tail pair of Troopers, Stotter and Baxter. Trying to find out how things were. But they didn't talk much to him. Answering his questions with a yes or a no. All the time keeping their heads turned to the front to watch and make sure that Menges wasn't about to come galloping down on them from out of a pillar
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