Tucker’s Grove (7 page)

“
You
’
re only making it worse.”
Edgerton spoke with compa
s
sion to make up for Kenner
’
s ang
er. “
Maybe Custer
’
ll still come.”

Kenner laughed at the suggestion. Barrett gave a skeptical frown, but Tucker didn
’
t seem to hear. Darby, once so proud of the tomahawk he had taken from a dead warrior, now sat in s
i
lence, hammering the tomahawk at the gro
und as if he could kill a Sioux with each blow to Sioux land.

General Custer had charged off with his own battalion early in the afternoon, ordering Reno to attack the Indian village which turned out to be ten times larger than any of them had suspec
t
ed. R
eno had charged into the howling hornet
’
s nest of Indians, expecting aid from Custer…
aid that never arrived. Custer had disappeared.

Reno fell back into the forest beside the creek, and, when that proved untenable, he had led his men in a desperate charge
across the creek to the dubious safety of the bluffs on the other side. A costly retreat, leaving many fallen soldiers behind. But they had reached the bluffs, a defensible position.

Now, at night, the outnumbered survivors cringed like animals waiting to
be slaughtered, each man dealing with the terror in his own way. Some wailed, some prayed to God, some cursed Him for allowing this to happen, some curled up on the ground and did nothing.

“
Wilson
’
s dead by now.”
Edgerton said flatly, letting the words ha
ng in the air. “
When Weir retreated, I left him wounded and hidden in a gully. I promised we
’
d organize a skirmish to come back and get him. I
promised
. We never did. And I
promised
.”
The silence sobbed around him for a moment. “
We were su
p
posed to be the
Romans, bringing civilization to this Godless land. But now the barbarians are destroying us.”

Barrett smiled wryly. “
Not godless
—
they
’
ve probably got their own demons to pray to.”
He paused, and continued quietly. “
Judging from their success so far, the I
ndian gods seem to be more effective than our own.”
He removed his spectacles and vigorously polished the dust from them. Firelight glinted on the lenses.

“
Doesn
’
t someone have anything to drink?”
Tucker said in a cracking voice.

Kenner banged his empty ca
nteen as evidence. “
You
’
re we
l
come to make a run for the creek if you want to fill it up.”

Tucker swallowed hard, and sat back in silence. Darby whacked his tomahawk on the ground, gouging out a deep chunk of dirt. In the distance, the Sioux let out a loud
whooping cheer, and the victory fires burned brighter. Moans from the wounded drifted on the sluggish night air, and dying horses from the troop u
t
tered sounds that made the pain of the men seem like nothing.

“
Doc Porter
’
s keeping the last of the water fo
r the wounded.”
Barrett
’
s nonchalant tone was taut with strain. “
Doesn
’
t matter. We
’
re all going to die anyway.”

“
Shut up, Barrett.”
Edgerton and Kenner snapped in unison, then glared at each other. Edgerton had never gotten along well with the burly Kenne
r, considering the often brutal and over-zealous trooper barely more than a savage himself. Edge
r
ton was educated, had a family back in Bismarck, and kept himself scrupulously honest. Kenner, on the other hand, couldn
’
t read, claimed to have a woman waitin
g for him at every fort along the Yellowstone, and did everything he felt he could get away with.

“
There
’
s juice in the tins of fruit on the pack mules.”
Barrett continued. “
But Reno said he
’
d shoot anyone who tries to get them. It
’
s only a matter of time.
”
No one had the energy to tell him to keep quiet.

“
They say the Indians drink blood.”
Darby finally spoke up, holding his tomahawk so tightly his knuckles whitened.

“
Plenty of that around here,”
Edgerton mumbled.

“
Yes, there is,”
Kenner said with disturbi
ng sincerity in his voice.

The maniacal silence of the night filled their ears for a long time.

“
You
’
re crazy,”
Edgerton finally said.

“
Ah, the trappings of civilization cling to the very end, don
’
t they?”
Barrett looked directly at Edgerton. Edgerton knew
that Barrett considered himself well-educated in his own right, but instead of feeling camaraderie for the spectacled man, Edgerton sensed an uneasy competition.

“
Oh, Lordy, I
’
m almost thirsty enough to do it. I wish I was home.”

“
Well go home then, Tucke
r! It
’
s only a year
’
s walk to Wi
s
consin,”
Kenner snapped.

“
I
’
d love to try this on the neck of one of them captured Sioux horses.”
Darby swung the tomahawk again. “
Bet it
’
d bleed like hell.”

Barrett licked his dry lips.

“
Is…
is anybody else gonna drink if I
do?”
Tucker asked.

“
Shit! I
’
m gonna drink even if you don
’
t.”
Kenner grabbed an empty cooking pot from one of the packs.

“
You
’
re crazy….”
Edgerton said, less forcefully now. It felt as if the sun itself burned down his throat.

The troopers normally killed a wounded horse to put an end to its misery. But since this horse had been owned by a Sioux warrior
—
a warrior responsible for the deaths of at least two white men
—
some of the soldiers insisted that the horse be left to die in
i
ts own long and painful fashion. Several bullets had shattered the animal
’
s spine, and it moved sluggishly with its forelegs, dragging the useless hindquarters behind in a slow madman
’
s trail in the dust. It had finally collapsed near the camp perimeter i
n
the dying heat of the day, where its bulky body made an effective barrier for the crouching, besieged men.

Kenner and Darby crept up to the horse, eager with the cooking pot and tomahawk; Tucker, Barrett and Edgerton followed close behind. The pain-madden
ed horse knew they had come for blood, as if it could smell the intent on bodies too parched even to sweat. In the awkwardly reflected firelight, Edgerton caught a glimpse of the horse
’
s defiant eye. It seemed green and reptilian with a slit pupil, like t
h
e eye of a poisonous snake just waiting to give the gift of venom. Edgerton suppressed a shu
d
der.

The horse glared at them as Kenner carefully placed the pot next to its heaving neck. Darby grinned and swung the stone hatchet, chopping through veins and la
ying open all the liquid any desperate man could hope to gulp. Walter Tucker scra
m
bled forward eagerly, and bright foaming blood sprayed in his face, dripping warm and wet down his chin.

“
Jeezus!”
Kenner shouted.

“
Quick! Get that pot under it before it sto
ps spurting! You
’
re gonna lose all of it!”
Barrett struggled to control the excitement in his voice as he sat back and watched the others.

The horse made no sound as its life gushed from the wound. Its reptilian eye seemed to focus on all of them at the sa
me time, until it died in the dust.

In the village below, the Indians suddenly fell silent. The vict
o
ry fires continued to burn, sending demon-smoke writhing into the night.

Kenner slurped from the pot, drinking deeply without any qualms. He passed it to D
arby, who closed his eyes as he drank. Tucker snatched the pot and gulped, letting a thin, clotting trickle run across his razor stubble. Barrett drank, watching Edgerton as if this were a challenge between the two of them. Lieutenant Edgerton finally too
k
the near-empty pot, hesitated, looked at the remaining pool of blood as it oozed from the dead horse
’
s neck.

Thirst clawed at his throat. He rationalized: No man could be expected to put up any kind of fight against the Sioux if all he could think of was
his miserable thirst. Edgerton knew his very survival depended on this.
Survival
.

He held the warm metal to his lips and sipped at the stale-copper taste.

“
Hey! Anybody religious? We got one hell of a communion going here!”
Kenner shouted.

“
Keep quiet, yo
u bastard!”
Edgerton said.

But Kenner seemed to be possessed, as if distant lightning were coursing through his veins now that he had drunk his fill. He leaped to his feet, straining against the shackles of his body and baring his teeth as he faced the sil
ent burning fires in the Indian village. His eyes looked as if they were filled with molten lead. “
Dammit, I could run down there right now and kill them Ind
i
ans with my bare hands!”
He clawed at the air in a disturbingly animal gesture.

“
Kenner, would you
keep down! Shut up!”
Barrett hissed.

Edgerton could feel the hot blood like glowing iron in his gut. He wanted to vomit, but couldn
’
t.

Another trooper, a captain, parted the shadows and came fo
r
ward, calling to no one in particular. “
Doc Porter says we ha
ve to have water. Major Reno is asking for volunteers to make a dash to the creek. Anybody interested?”
His voice sounded tired, asking out of duty but not expecting an answer.

“
Hell, yes!”
Kenner jumped toward the captain, startling him. His mouth, beard,
and the front of his shirt were covered with blood. “
What a way to get even with those savages! Gimme two pots and I
’
ll fill
’
em! Hurry!”

Kenner snatched the pots and made a dash for the edge of the bluff as if he needed to burn away the energy that bubbl
ed through him. For an instant, Edgerton thought the big man would leap headfirst off the bluff, but then Kenner found the steep and narrow buffalo trail that wound down to the river bank. He disappeared into the shadows below.

A few moments later Darby st
ood up. “
I
’
m going with him.”

The captain looked as if both men had lost their minds, but he handed Darby a pot and sent him down the trail as well.

Walter Tucker scrambled to the edge and lay on his stomach, peering into the darkness. “
Kenner
’
s at the cre
ek already!”
A few scattered gunshots rang out down below as the Sioux made use of the rifles they had taken from dead soldiers. “
They missed him. He
’
s got the water, and he
’
s coming back up!”

“
In his state, Kenner probably wouldn
’
t feel the bullet even if
they did hit him.”
Barrett said to Edgerton. Blood dried around the spectacled man
’
s lips. Self-consciously, Edgerton wiped his mouth.

“
Is Darby to the creek yet?”
Edgerton asked.