Roy Dudley

The Gathering Storm Page 1

   The inverted bowl which was the sky, shaded from a burnished brass in the west, to a washed out blue in the east. Heat warped the landscape of scrubby brush, few trees and carved gullies. A faint breeze pushed a restless dust, haloing a yellow sun hanging some three hours from setting.

   B Troop, U. S. Cavalry, moved forward at a walk, trailing a rising cloud of dust of their own into the heated air. A second trail of dust spiraled upward just to the east of north. A third showed its tail across intervening hills, just to the north of northwest.

   Captain James McDougal rode straight in the saddle, First Sergeant Simpson siding him to his right. The column of Cavalry stretched to the rear in a serpentine column of twos, the men loose in the saddle and just beginning to relax. This relaxation was too soon.

   The proposed meeting of the troops of Companies B and E lay scarcely two miles ahead of them. After that, it was camp and home to the Fort for them. That was the plan.

   His lightly freckled face red from the sun, the heat and the dust, the Captain glassed the horizons uneasily. They were two days north of the Fort and officially near the limit of their scout--and no E Troop. The dust trail to the north shouldn't be E Troop--too far away--but probably was. A young, unseasoned West Point Lieutenant was the reason. McDougal replaced his telescope and scowled at an unforgiving sky.

   "Damn," he muttered aloud.

   Sergeant Simpson glanced at the Captain, his worried face relaxing fractionally. "That dust to the north," his chin indicated the column to the right, "ain't E Troop, Sir."

   "Expect you're right, Sergeant. Head 'em a little more to the west."

   The Sergeant waved a hand to the rear, in a sharp cutting motion to the west, across the valley. He followed the Captain's change of direction precisely. Did he imagine it, or was there another dust trail to the northwest?

   "Two days into Indian Territory, a mile or so from our assigned meeting of forces, and dust every place but where we were to meet," McDougal observed sourly.

   "Take it easy, Cap'n. There's another dust trail that ain't too bad, just to the south of northwest."

   "Saw it. Someone moving at a walk to keep down the dust."

   "Might be E Troop," suggested Simpson mildly.

   Samuel Fitzgibbons, sometimes Assistant Chief of Scouts, and now scouting for B Troop, dropped down a slight ridge to join Jamie and the Troop.

   He wasn't happy, no more than the Captain. His last battle with a whiskey jug had cost him his assistant's chieftainship. That wasn't bad, or even unusual. What was bad was the smell of Indians. If he kept his scalp, the Colonel would hand his job back.

   Sergeant Swede Olsen assigned Corporal Mackowski to handle the squad and broke ranks. He joined the head of the column. Sergeant Simpson glanced at Swede, his face impassive. Swede wanted to see the Captain.

   Captain McDougal lifted his hand in a signal and dropped it in a sharp cutting gesture. It was time to rest the horses, past time. Besides, Fitzgibbons was on his way in for a confab. Nothing to report, no Indians, no E Troop and no damned Lieutenant Stapleton.

   "Pass the word to dismount and rest the horses, Sergeant Simpson," McDougal said unnecessarily. The troop was dismounted, some rubbing their horses down with blankets.

   Jamie stepped from the saddle, dropped the reins and studied the sky. With something of a snort of disgust, he cleaned the muddy sweat from the horse's flanks and withers, using his bare hands.

   While wiping his palms on his trousers, McDougal glanced at Swede, then at Bill Simpson. "We'll take a little stroll. Have a man hold our horses."

   Fifteen paces away, the Captain stopped and turned his attention to Sergeant Olsen. "What in the hell are you doing in front of the troop?" he grumbled.

   "Need a pow wow, sir."

   "About what? Somebody stub a toe?"

   Swede smiled. The informality signalled a lifting of military protocol, which was one on Jamie's chief assets, in Swede's estimation.

   "Ain't that, Jamie. The left flank run across some tracks heading west of our meeting place."

   "Not ours, I hope," Jamie grumbled.

   "No, sir, some of E."

   "Scouts?"

   "Probably a scouting party."

   "Not too smart of them. Who found the tracks?"

   "Trooper Waggoner."

   Jamie grunted. "Should make the man a corporal, Swede. He's the only man we have who uses his eyes."

   Swede smiled slightly. "Is that an order, sir?"

   "That's an order, Swede," Bill Simpson drawled. "The man has the makings of a good trooper."

   Fitzgibbons joined them, riding with one leg hooked around the saddle horn. As long as he wasn't a chief of anything, he'd use a saddle with a horn on it.

   Fitz stopped just to Jamie's front, tamped tobacco into his ancient pipe, inspected the stem judiciously, and lit up. A cloud of tobacco smoke rose to join the dust.

   Jamie watched this familiar action, a slight smile on his face. Fitz was disturbed. "That means you aren't going to talk," Jamie observed.

   Fitz removed the pipe from his mouth and sighted down the stem like a gun barrel. "Over that away." Again he pointed with the pipe. Jamie glanced to the northwest as indicated, and back. "Not so pretty a piece of scenery," he observed dryly.

   "Dust."

   "That's what I figured. Whose dust?"

   "Cavalry, most likely," Fitz snorted.

   "In other words, you don't know? Don't you think it's more likely to be Indians?"

   "Injuns don't make dust. Their horses ride on a cushion of air."

   "Don't you reckon E Troop is ahead of us, just a little east of north?" Bill Simpson prodded gently.

   "If they are, they got plenty of Injun neighbors."

   "You're scouting up Indians just to get your chief feathers back," Swede observed dryly.

   "Won't work," Simpson agreed. "That man's got to divorce the fire water first."

   Fitz grinned, suddenly younger. He wiped the back of a dirty hand across his face, accumulating more dirt. "No wonder them Injuns don't want us here. Carrying half the soil in their territory away with us."

   "Was a time when you were a scout," Jamie observed. "Does losing your feathers sit that heavy?"

   "I'm still a scout, Jamie. Them's Injuns raising the dust to the north." He turned and pointed his pipe stem to the northwest. "Them's Injuns raising a cloud there too; and drawing E troop right into 'em."

   Jamie's eyes sharpened. He glanced to the north and back to Fitz.

   "You're guessing."

   "May be sort of speculating. Injuns know where we are. They want us to know where they are." Fitz paused to examine his pipe stem doubtfully. "Especially Lieutenant Stapleton."

   "What's this about E Troop," Jamie asked sharply.
B    Fitz glanced at Jamie's worried face. "I'm guessing the Lieutenant is riding to intercept them Injuns."

   "He's supposed to met us up??"

   "That's right, but he ain't, is he? He cut our line of march about five miles behind us. He's heading sort of west of north."

   Suddenly calm, Jamie drawled, "And?"

   "Faster'n necessary."

   "I see."

   Simpson spit and made a dead center shot on a rock. The tobacco juice splattered pleasantly.

   "Sergeant?" Jamie asked Simpson.

   "Big Chief Shedding Feathers speaks with a straight tongue, sir. Stapleton ain't one to miss a fight."

   Swede retreated to climb aboard his horse, watching Jamie expectantly.

   Lieutenant Delaney approached at a walk, but pushed his horse to lope at Jamie's signal. He slowed the horse and stopped near Jamie.

   "We're going to move, Lieutenant, and move fast," Jamie said.

   "Mister Ryen and Mister Santini are to hold the formation, a close column of twos. You, Lieutenant Delaney, will ride a close left flank with ten men."

   "I'll take my squad on the point, Cap'n," Swede volunteered.

   "Am I allowed to know what the hell all this is about, sir?" inquired Delaney acidly.

   Jamie smiled slightly. "You sure are, Mike. I expect we'll try to roll up the left flank of E Troop. Seems Lieutenant Stapleton may be off to the Indian wars."

   The Lieutenant snorted. "To the west?"

   "That's the best guess."

   "Damn it--well I'll get at it."

   "Signal me when you're ready to move," Jamie said. "All of you," he added.

   Sergeant Simpson turned his horse to join Delaney, his tough face showing a hint of doubt.

   Jamie turned to Fitzgibbons, his worry surfacing. "Damn it. Why didn't you tell us earlier?"

   Fitz glanced neutrally at Jamie. "Take it easy, Cap'n. Them horses of ours need the rest. We been pushing them too hard. Besides, I'm not too certain. That dust to the north--too much for E Troop. Too much for Injuns, unless they want us to greet them."

   Jamie said a nasty word. "Now you'll probably get your feathers back. We'll be listening to your Indian stories again. There probably won't--"

   "Them troops of yours is ready to move," Fitz warned dryly.

"You stay in front of us. If we see any Indians, we'll shoot you first."

   Jamie signalled for the Troop to move out. Riding at an alternate lope, trot and walk, the troop pushed their horses more than regulations allowed.

   Jamie soon rode forward to join Swede on the point. "Riding a left point, aren't you, Sergeant?" he asked.

   "A little left of leeward, sir. Fitz signalled a change, more to the west."

   "Where's he now?"

   "Over the hill there." Olsen pointed to the northwest.

   Jamie studied the scrubby brush, the washed out and dry gullies, and grunted. "All right, Sergeant. You and I will make a hard left here. Due west until we cross that ridge, then we'll see."

   The ridge held worse terrain, more cover, rocks and trees. Jamie glanced over his shoulder. Swede's squad followed. He waved for them to spread out in a line abreast.

   Before they had reached the top of the ridge, Jamie dismounted.

   "Get your men down and come with me."

   "More dust to the north." Steve pointed with his chin.

   Jamie grunted and led his horse straight up the slope and stopped again. "Hold the horses, Sergeant. If I get myself shot, return to the command. Fort them up at Rock springs" He motioned to the northwest. %quot;About there, two to three miles."

   "Yes, sir," Swede said formally.

   At this formality, Jamie glanced at his face. "But you don't like it," he observed.

   "No, sir. Don't seem too likely they'd get the both of us, and you'd have me to cover you."

   "You're volunteering again?"

   "Yes, sir."

   "We'll tie the horses then."

   Jamie studied the boil of dust to the north, then swung his gaze across the valley. Sergeant Simpson led the troop, angling more to the west, toward Jamie's position. He would be close in case of trouble.

   "No reason for Stapleton to be that far north," Jamie grumbled.

   "The Indians took the air cushion off their horses," Swede said dryly.

   Jamie grinned. "Well, come along. Stay to my right and keep your head down."

   One of Swede's troopers came slowly to his feet, some twenty yards to Jamie's right. He opened his mouth, glanced at Jamie and closed it. He looked hopefully at Swede.

   "No discipline, Cap'n," Swede said apologetically.

   "I suppose the rest of your magpie squad is on the slopes too. How many?"

   "About seven, I expect. Two with the horses." Swede's face was all innocence.

   "Damn!"

   Swede waited, his carbine hanging from one long arm. He had exceeded his orders, but Jamie would come around. He had done it for Jamie's protection, something Jamie frequently ignored.

   Jamie searched the slopes again, saw nothing, and sighed. "Your squad's a bunch of damned renegades. And who the hell told Delaney to alter the direction of march?"

   "Sergeant Simpson, I expect, sir."

   Jamie grunted, then smiled. "The Colonel told me sergeants ran the Army. Didn't believe him. The hell with it. Let's climb this hill."

   Jamie neared the top before he spied Fitz, leaning against a tree trunk, utterly relaxed.

   "You're supposed to be out front," Jamie growled.

   "I am out front."

   "What's over the hill?"

   "E Troop. They're taking a ten minute break."

   "You stopped them?"

   "Nope."

   "Why in the hell not?"

   Fitz studied Jamie's face carefully. "Simmer down, Jamie. Would of been a waste of time. Stapleton wouldn't have stopped on my say so. If he's stopped, it will be by you and the troop."

   "This is a hell of a way to run an Army," Jamie complained. "Can we catch him in time?"

   "You could, was you to walk B troop up this hill and down the other side."

   Jamie glanced sharply at Fitz. "Stapleton's horses are tired?"

   "Dragging, Cap'n."

   "See to it," Jamie said to Swede.

   "Yes, sir." Swede saluted and started down the hill.

   Swede found a reasonably open spot and signalled to the troop.

   The troop promptly homed on him. Swede signalled a dismount and an advance on foot. This wasn't obeyed quite as promptly. He heard Simpson's voice raise in volume.

   "Well?" Jamie demanded of Fitz.

   "There's another valley parallel to this one. We'll cross, climb the next ridge, then turn north into 'em."

   "We'll be in time?"

   "Don't see why not, Cap'n," said Fitz placidly. "Injuns to the northwest. They ain't likely to move, and Stapleton ain't likely to change direction. We will have to run them horses after we turn to the north though."

   "So we walk in the meantime," Jamie grumbled.

   Fitz grinned. "You and your tribe will walk. I'll be scouting the slopes for loose Injuns."

   The troop walked, leading their horses, scouts to either side of their front, a point, and scouts on the flanks. The main column, the little remaining of it, was in the center, grousing their way up the hill, down the other side, across the intervening valley and across the next hill and down. No upstanding, rootin', tootin' Cavalry Trooper moved afoot. That was the reason the Army hired Infantry.

Fitz met the column at the base of the second hill, his pipe emitting a smoke cloud and one leg hooked around the saddle horn. Jamie halted the Troop at the base of the hill, while still screened by trees and brush. Their dust wasn't too bad, not likely to be seen by the forward looking Troopers of E.

   "Well?" Jamie growled at Fitz.

   "They're on the slope and up the valley a piece." Fitz made a vague motion with his pipe stem.

   "E Troop?"

   "Yep. Injuns penned up in some timber."

   Jamie turned his eyes to the sky, "Damn it--"

   Fitz chuckled and the two sergeants tried to keep a straight face. Jamie sighed. "How far is a piece, and how much timber in this timber?"

   "Half a mile. Walking their horses. The timber is heavy, maybe another mile."

   "Thank you," said Jamie dryly, then more quietly.    "Comanches?"

   "Yep, and some with repeaters."

   "Delaney, put some of the best marksmen on the flanks." He pulled a Winchester lever action from the saddle boot. "One of them can use this." He also provided a box of shells.

   Lieutenant Delaney left with the rifle and in a hurry.

   Jamie turned to Sergeant Simpson. "Officers and noncoms to the front. Line of fours. Twenty flankers to the west. Get them moving, Sergeant."

   "Yes, sir." Simpson turned and made a few violent gestures.

   Noncoms formed the troopers into a line and rode to the front. This was accomplished with little noise and in a surprisingly short time.

   As soon as the column showed a semblance of order, Captain McDougal raised his right hand and swung it straight ahead.

   Fitz had pulled aside, watching critically. Jamie was one of the few officers who used hand signals to transmit most of his orders. He approved. That "Forward ho!" wasn't his cup of tea. Neither were bugles. As a matter of fact, Jamie was just about the only officer he enjoyed serving under--and aggravating.

   Troop B thundered up the valley, intercepted a surprised E Troop on the slope, and rolled up their left flank from sheer momentum and weight of numbers.

   A few members of each troop dismounted to take a more personal interest. This potential brawl was stopped by the noncoms of both troops, and by various troopers. Other than some blood shed, there were no casualties. Blood could be explained to the Colonel. Black eyes were more difficult.

   Jamie had already assembled Lieutenant Stapleton and his officers. They were grouped to the front of B Troop and not entirely out of ear shot. Exactly what he said was not recorded, but it was to the point and highly stylized.

   Still simmering, Jamie led both troops to the west at a slow walk. He had assigned a heavy rear guard and a wide left flank. The Indians left the trees and followed, tantalizingly close, making threatening gestures, but staying tantalizingly out of range too. One trooper suffered a grazed right shoulder, a horse only a slightly more grievous wound across his rump. The Troop swore to the demise of two Indians, but Jamie doubted it. Indians which disappeared from a horse usually left on their own free will.

   The dust trails to the north had vanished. Two troops of Cavalry was one troop more than most Indians wanted to engage. The Indians to the rear agreed, and were nothing more than a vanishing trail of dust. The two troops camped that night at Rock Springs, the troop fires separate as were the troops. Both troops set up a heavy perimeter which almost met in the middle.

   After a hasty breakfast of hardtack and beans, they departed the next morning. There were no Indians to be seen, which was probably lucky for the Indians. None of the troopers were in a good humor. The horses of E Troop were gaunt and tired. At Jamie's order, the troop alternately walked and rode at a walk. At intervals, B Troop joined in the walking.

   Just before dusk, and after two gruelling days of travel, the column reached the Fort. E Troop was dead on their feet, and these feet blistered. B Troop was very pleased with themselves, in better condition, and made a show of spirit when entering through the gates. Taps was in process. Jamie formed both troops up and sat his horse to the front, facing the troops, waiting with an impassive face for the ceremony to end. Almost one-hundred-forty tired troopers with frayed tempers, exhausted horses and sore feet stared back with varying degrees of resentment. Jamie had not coddled any of them.

   The bugle sounded, the flag was lowered and folded carefully, and the Colonel arrived. He recognized trouble when he saw it, and was perfectly willing to allow it to simmer without stirring. Tired men, tired horses and trouble was not new. The important fact was that no men were on litters. A few discreet bandages and torn uniforms decorated the troop, nothing significant. Black eyes and blood wasn't new either.

   Colonel Barnes took the salute, returned it and sighed inwardly. E Troop had taken a beating physically and in spirit. He glanced at Captain McDougal's face, saw nothing, and studied Lieutenant Stapleton's glowering face.

   "Dismiss the troop, Captain," Colonel Barnes said crisply.

   The two troop commanders gave the Colonel a detailed report of Indians and the general condition of Indian territory. They had seen a little trouble with Comanches, nothing to speak about. The Colonel all but smiled. The big trouble had been between these two men and their commands. Neither would talk about it, but his wife, Ellie, would have the whole story before morning. After a few casual questions, Colonel Barnes dismissed the two officers. Stapleton had run into Jamie and had suffered a bent nose. A bent nose would hurt his pride but might help his command. The Colonel leaned back in his chair. The next day was pay day and Captain McDougal's turn to act as Officer of the Day, and in support of the peaceful citizens of the local town. Colonel Barnes considered this, and decided to let it stand. Jamie being busy would give Lieutenant Stapleton an extra day to regain his dignity, if not his arrogance. Damn a green officer on the frontier!

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