Reap the Whirlwind (19 page)

“Have you decided to send a battalion to their agency, General?” asked Captain Anson Mills of the Third Cavalry.

“No, Colonel,” Crook answered, using the officer’s brevet rank as a military courtesy. “I want my messengers to travel fast. They have a long way to go to find the Crow. Over Bozeman’s Pass, right, Frank?”

Grouard nodded. “It’s a long ride.”

“Yes,” Crook replied. “Besides, I plan on the rest of us proceeding north to a place where we can expect to eventually rendezvous with the Crow.”

“Are you sending Grouard?” asked William B. Royall. “Our chief of scouts?”

“That’s astute of you, Colonel,” Crook answered, perhaps sensing some challenge. “Yes. As well as Pourier and Reshaw here.”

“What?” Royall asked, his voice rising an octave.

“But, General—I must protest,” Second Lieutenant Bainbridge Reynolds complained loudly.

Seamus figured the young officer might be counted upon to protest, as the son of Joseph J. Reynolds, the regimental commander Crook had brought up on charges, the colonel facing a court-martial still pending back at Fort D. A. Russell.

The young lieutenant continued his lamentation. “With all three scouts going to find the Crow—that will leave us without any guide for our march on north into the heart of Indian country!”

“I have a guide in mind, Lieutenant,” Crook responded calmly, as if he were not going to be baited by the young officer. “A civilian. Someone who I am sure will likely remember our trip north last winter.”

Donegan felt most of the eyes of those in that group slide his way before Crook looked at him from the far side of the fire.

“Do you think you know the way north from here to the Tongue, Mr. Donegan?”

“I … I suppose I can get us where you want to go, General.”

“There, gentlemen,” Crook said with finality. “Now we have a guide to take this column on north, with this wagon train and Moore’s mule train, all at a snail’s pace—while I hurry Grouard north at a gallop with Pourier and Reshaw.”

“To find the Crow,” Royall confirmed.

“Yes. And bring them back to meet us,” Crook answered. He turned to Grouard. “You’ve already drawn your rations, Frank?”

All three scouts nodded.

“You each selected an extra mount to take with you?”

“Yes,” the half-breed chief of scouts answered. “We figured we’d slip out when it got dark enough, General.”

Briefly Crook gazed at the sky. “It’s dark enough, Frank. And I suggest you travel at night to avoid being spotted by the war parties we all know are out and roaming about. But—that’s something you’re more savvy on than I.” He held out his bare hand, shaking Grouard’s, then Bat’s, and finally Reshaw’s in rapid order, one vigorous pump per scout before he moved on. “Good luck, and good hunting. I’ll see you men in fourteen days.”

“Fourteen days,” Grouard repeated. “Yes—we’ll bring them back, General.” He and the other two turned away and were quickly swallowed up by the clutter of that camp on the bluff above Powder River.

Crook watched after them for a moment, then turned back to the group, his eyes immediately coming to rest on Donegan.

“I’ll see you here at my tent for coffee at four A.M., Irishman. From here on out, you’ll travel with headquarters. You can bunk in with Lieutenant Bourke here. Understood, John?”

“Yes, sir!” Bourke replied enthusiastically, smiling.

Crook nodded as if settled in all respects. “Four A.M. Not too early for you, is it, Sergeant Donegan?”

“No, General. Not at all.”

“Then, with that settled, let’s turn to another matter—”

Crook stopped, interrupted with the rising crescendo of the tumult suddenly rumbling their way: loud voices, laughter, and taunts generously mixed with a lot of whistling among the noisy shrieks of soldier catcalls.

“What is this disturbance?” the general demanded.

The officers parted slightly as Second Lieutenant Fred Schwatka appeared at the head of the gauntlet.

“Lieutenant Schwatka, M Company, Third Cavalry, sir!” He saluted smartly as he stomped to a snappy halt and clicked his heels showily.

Crook glanced quickly at Mills and nodded with approval before gazing once again at the young officer who had come to a stop before him. “What’s going on, Lieutenant?”

“Sir?” and Schwatka’s eyes quickly shot around the assembly. “Sir—we have a … a
situation
to report.”

“Why report it to me, Lieutenant? You understand we have a chain of command?”

“Y-yessir.”

Crook whirled on the M Company’s commander. “Colonel Mills, go see to whatever problem—”

“Begging your pardon, General,” Schwatka continued, swallowing, clearly nervous. “This isn’t anything that was covered at the academy, sir.”

“Improvise. Colonel Mills—see to this now.”

“Mills? You say
Mills?
” a high-pitched voice called out from just beyond the circle of officers. More whistles and catcalls reverberated over the assembly. “Is my friend Colonel Mills here?”

Someone exclaimed, “Dear God! Is that a …”

By this time Donegan could make out the knot of soldiers approaching as they escorted a civilian prisoner into the heart of the officers’ assembly. On either side of that escort came a gauntlet of more than a hundred soldiers immediately on their rear and lining both sides of the approach—every last one of the men waving, whistling, calling out in ribald good humor, every trooper hooting with unrestrained, even some raunchy, merriment.

“Get these men quieted down!” Crook hollered above the clamor.

Whirling immediately, the officers growled and barked, hushing the merry mob as they finally regained control at the very moment that escort brought the civilian to a ragged halt at the edge of the double crescent of officers.

The civilian pushed a hat back on his brow and exclaimed, “Why—it is you, Colonel Mills!”

“Do … do I know you, mister?” the captain asked.

“It ain’t
mister
,” the civilian replied. “It’s me, Colonel. You know me!”

“I’m afraid I can’t place you, sir.”

“Because you know I ain’t a
mister
, and I sure as hell ain’t no
sir
,” the civilian huffed, pulling aside the greasy flannel shirt he wore before cupping both hands beneath a pair of ample breasts that clearly strained against a dingy, sweat-stained red wool undershirt.

“Yee-god!” Royall gasped, standing closest to the civilian, as he fell back a step in shock.

“By the devil—he’s a woman!” cried someone else.

“Not he—
she’s
a woman!”

“I know Colonel Mills,” the civilian hollered into the rising commotion, having to shriek it above the clamor of all those men shoving and jostling forward, craning necks and climbing on the backs of those in front to have themselves a look. Slowly the woman shuffled her clothing back in order. “The colonel was stationed—”

“I assure you!” Mills interrupted, the sudden surprise evident on the captain’s face, the strain in his voice. “I assure every one here that I don’t know you, ma’am!”

“Told you, Colonel—I ain’t no sir and I sure as hell ain’t no
ma’am!
I’m the toughest female hombre any man ever tangled with. Everybody’s heard of me: I’m Calamity Jane!”

“You’ll kindly explain what this is all about, Colonel Mills!” Crook demanded.

Martha Jane Cannary tried to take a step toward Crook, but was restrained by her two handlers. “Ain’t you heard of me, Gennil’?”

Mills began to stammer. “I … I don’t—” Then suddenly
wheeled on his lieutenant. “What the hell’s going on with this woman, Mr. Schwatka?”

“Captain, one of the men—Sergeant Kaminski—found her working among the teamsters.”

“Working for Russell?” Crook asked.

“That’s right, General!” Janey replied buoyantly.

“Is Sergeant Kaminski here?” Mills called out into the crowd beyond the ring of firelight.

“Here, Captain.”

“Front and center,” Mills demanded. “Now, explain to me how you found our stowaway down in the teamsters’ camp.”

The sergeant cleared his throat. “It weren’t down in the wagon camp, sir.” Charles Kaminski began his story by removing his black slouch hat. “I just finished supper and figured I’d take a walk along the river, up there where I’d seen a lot of trees. Go have me a walk and a smoke. Let my supper settle—a constitutional, Cap’n.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Mills replied with undisguised aggravation. “So how did you run onto the woman here? How’d you catch her?”

“I caught
him
, Colonel Mills!” Calamity replied. “Caught him peeking on me taking a bath in all my naked glory!” She again cupped her breasts, kneading them provocatively for the crowd.

The hundreds cheered and hooted, whistling and stomping in their approval as they surged around the officers for a look at the well-endowed prisoner.

“Sergeant?” Crook demanded.

“General—I heard someone splashing in the river and singing,” Kaminski continued. “In the fading light it didn’t look like nobody I knew, so I walked on up closer to the edge of the bank so I could get round a clump of some willers and say howdy—and that’s when I finally laid eyes on the person standing in the river, up to they waist in the water. Taking … taking—”

“A bath!” Martha Jane bellowed as loud as she did down in the saloons of Cheyenne City or up to Deadwood. “That’s when your sergeant see’d my tits, Colonel. And nice ones they are.” She held them out for inspection. “Don’t you think, Colonel Mills?”

The crowd hooted more hotly now while Mills stood there, growing redder in the firelight as he shifted from foot to foot in frustration and anger.

“You’re absolutely certain you don’t know this woman, Colonel? Certain you have nothing to do with her being here?” growled Crook.

“Not in my life, General! On my honor as an officer!”

The general whirled on his officers. “Has anyone thought of getting Russell over here?” he demanded. “Bourke—go fetch the wagon master and we’ll get to the bottom of this now.”

“Yes, sir!” The lieutenant took off at a shot.

“In the meantime, Sergeant—you bring Miss Jane into my tent. Captain Nickerson, you’ll accompany the prisoner as well. Until you are instructed otherwise by me, she’s in your custody, Captain—until I decide what we’re going to do with a goddamned woman along on this march.”

Martha Jane whirled on her heel, lunging for Crook as she once more cupped her heavy breasts. In no way were they the breasts of a boyish adolescent. There was a full-bodied, curvaceous woman beneath those loose-fitting britches and flannel shirt, breasts straining against those red wool longhandles.

Still—Seamus decided as he inched forward into the firelight to get himself a look as the prisoner was herded past—this wasn’t a particularly attractive woman. In fact, he could understand how it would be pretty damned easy for this Calamity Jane woman to pass for a man out here on the frontier. Plain as the unbroken prairie, despite all them curves.

“Why, Gennil’ Crook,” Jane gushed as Nickerson grabbed her arm and brought her up short from reaching the expedition commander, “I’ll be happy to show your men just what we
could
do with a woman along on your march. All of it for the good of your soldier morale!”

The crowd catcalled even more profanely, even louder.

Calamity Jane appeared to have warmed up to her audience as well. “And I’ll be please to start by showing you real personal, Gennil’. A poke for free, just so I can say I diddled the great Gennil George Armstrong Crook!”

“My name isn’t Armstrong!” Crook bawled like a wounded bull.

Martha Jane smiled big. “Did I call you the wrong gennil, Gennil?”

“Nickerson!” Crook turned and roared. “Get the prisoner out of my sight!”

That’s when the general’s aide swung the prisoner around and shoved her toward the headquarters tent, muscling her past Seamus Donegan. Martha Jane Cannary’s eyes found him in the crowd—not that he would have been hard to pick out in most any company. But for a fleeting moment she halted, dug in her heels, and bowed up her back, bristling as Nickerson tried to shove her off-balance and moving forward.

“You’re the
Irishman
, ain’t you?” she asked of Donegan, trying to lean close.

He smiled, amused, but also a bit confused by her question. Skeptical, he asked, “You know me too? Like Cap’n Mills?”

Calamity Jane shook her head and turned it slightly, her eyes fluttering as coquettishly as she could make them. “I don’t know you yet—you handsome horseman. But I sure as hell wanna get to know you—know you real good!”

“Move on, woman!” Nickerson snarled behind her, finally succeeding in shoving Jane toward Crook’s tent once more.

“Hear me, Irishman!” she called out to Donegan as she was hauled away, inch by inch, resisting all the way. “We’ll get to know each other real good. I’ll make you forget any of the chippies and whores at the Hog Ranch, or down to that red-light block in Cheyenne City. Calamity Jane will roll your bones like you ain’t never been rolled before!”

Seamus watched the captain and two others herd their prisoner off as Mills himself came to a stop at Donegan’s shoulder.

“Well, now—Seamus Donegan,” the captain began with a bit of amused chagrin in his voice. “Seems we have an acquaintance in common.”

The Irishman grinned, eventually looking over at the
officer. “You gotta be kidding, Cap’n. You’re the one she claimed she knew.”

“And you, Irishman,” Mills declared as the crowd began to disperse, their officers ordering them back to their bivouacs, “it’s you Calamity Jane wants to get to know in the worst way!”

4 June 1876