The Bride Wore Feathers (41 page)

Again Jacob shrugged, too tired to think of anything except the conference going on among the army officers aboard the steamship.

"Does it have something to do with Dominique?" Barney ventured, his voice low and sympathetic. "Is that why you keep volunteering for Sioux target practice?"

Jacob glanced at him, then looked away. Able to tell his friend most of the truth for a change, he allowed a weary smile and nodded. "I suppose she has a lot to do with it. Everything that has happened to her is my fault."

"Look, buddy, you can't go on blaming yourself." Barney began spinning the brim of his hat around in his hand. "I can see how you must feel about that gal. I think I can understand, feeling the way I do about, the widow Swenson, you know, what you must be going through." Feeling as awkward as he'd been that first night with Hazel, he stumbled onward. "Look, you really should think about something else. Try to, you know, forget about her."

"My friend," Jacob said, his smile warm and grateful. "If you're trying to make me forget about Dominique, you're doing a poor job of it. In fact, you're beginning to sound just like her."

Barney blew out a heavy sigh. "I know I ain't too good with words, but what I'm trying to tell you is that you should just forget her. Bury her." Jacob's sluggish eyes popped open. "Bury her?"

"You know, pretend like. That poor gal has been with those savages for over a month now. You might be better off spending your time and energy hoping they've killed her. Believe me, if she's still alive, what's left of her ain't gonna be worth saving."

The breath whooshed out of Jacob, but he stifled the urge to laugh, not to gasp in horror. Averting his gaze, he covered his face with a big hand and shook his head.

"Sorry, buddy," Barney said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought it was time you looked at the facts."

Jacob lifted his head and gave the lieutenant another grateful smile. "Thanks, Barney. I know you're trying to make things better for me and I do appreciate it, but I'll never bury Dominique in my mind or otherwise. I just know she's alive and well. I know it in here." He pressed his hand to his chest, and again he smiled.

"Stoltz, don't do this to yourself. It ain't healthy."

"My friend," Jacob said, feeling the significance of the word for the first time with a white man. "I appreciate what you are trying to do for me, but it is—"

Jacob cut off his own words as a group of officers ended their conference and began marching down the gangplank from the steamer. Generals Terry and Gibbon disembarked first, followed by Custer and an officer Jacob had never seen before. He jumped to his feet, saluting the officers as they passed by.

"Lieutenant Woodhouse?" Custer called out, ignoring the private. "We march on up the Rosebud tomorrow. Follow me to my tent. We've a few things to go over."

"Yes, sir," Barney snapped, saluting as he followed the officers through the dusty trail.

Tagging along, hoping to remain undetected, Jacob fell in step, but when the men reached Custer's tent, the general turned and furrowed his brow. "What is it, Private?"

Jacob was running out of time, left with few choices if he hoped to find a way to prevent the imminent war. He removed his hat, struggling to sound suitably respectful, and said, "I wish to speak with you, sir."

Custer raised a thick auburn brow and shook his head. "Later, Private. Can't you see I'm planning our next strategy?" He turned to step inside, but hesitated, adding, "Maybe you heard me say that we'll ride in the morning. Go get some rest. You look like hell." Then he disappeared into the tent.

* * *

Three days later, a full twenty-four hours earlier than planned, Custer's command reached the well-worn Indian trail leading from the Rosebud to the Little Bighorn Valley. There was no doubt in Custer's or any soldier's mind, that they had at last found their quarry.

Jacob rode up alongside the general as he gave orders for camp to be set up. He took a deep breath, realizing he was so close to his own village he could almost smell the evening meal cooking and the hint of lilacs in Dominique's hair. In spite of that, Jacob somehow managed to say, "General Custer, sir? May I have a word with you?"

"Private Stoltz?" Custer frowned, then stared back out at the wide path. "What in hell do you want?"

"A word. A private talk."

Custer heaved a tired sigh. "Do you have any idea how close we are to rounding up those hostiles? Can you guess how very occupied I am at this time? Please go help the others set up camp and leave me to my thoughts."

But Jacob had finally run out of time. He couldn't afford to be put off again. "I am sorry, sir, but this is very important. I have information for you regarding these hostiles."

"Oh?" His attention drawn, Custer glanced at the soldier. "Well? If it's something you think I should hear, spill it."

"You need to hear this, sir." Jacob narrowed his steel blue eyes, adding. "But it is most important that our talk be heard by no one else."

Custer regarded him for a long moment, then shook his head in frustration. "Oh, all right, Private. This is highly irregular, but I could stand to sit down on something besides this horse for a spell." He dismounted, encouraging Jacob to do the same, then strode across the river valley to his tent.

Once inside, he showed Jacob to a low box taken from the supply wagon, then sat down on another. "All right, Private. What's this all about?"

"You cannot lead your men farther up the valley."

"Excuse me, Private? Are you trying to tell me and the best military minds in the army that you know better how to run this campaign than we do?"

"No—yes—that does not matter. What I know about this foolish mission, I have learned from the Sioux themselves."

"Oh, have you, now?" Custer said, his thick mustache twisted in a smirk. "Say something I can use now, Private, or get out."

Jacob swallowed hard, knowing his next words might land him in the brig—or worse. "I have seen the hostile camp firsthand. You face not a few warriors but the entire Lakota nation. They stretch the full length of the Greasy Grass River."

"The what, Stoltz?" Custer narrowed one eye and leaned forward. "Are you aware that 'Greasy Grass' is the Sioux name for the Little Bighorn River?"

Jacob averted his gaze for a moment, then went on. "I know only that you face many more warriors than you would suppose."

Suspecting now that he spoke to a madman rather than a soldier with valuable information, Custer decided to humor him. He rose and said, "Well, thanks, Private. I'll be sure to take this information under advisement. Now if you don't mind, I have several hours' worth of work to accomplish."

"But I do mind," Jacob declared as he jumped to his feet. "I mind that you will not listen to me, that you do not care enough for my people or your own to try to understand what I'm trying to say."

"Private," Custer warned, "you are within one word of getting yourself arrested, even as we stand on the eve of war. Don't think for a minute just because we face a few hostiles, our rules and regulations will be relaxed."

"And I say, respectfully, sir, to hell with your rules and regulations."

"You're out of order." Custer made as if to stomp from the tent, but Jacob stepped between him and the opening in the tent.

Custer's determination and inborn arrogance wavered as he stared into the eyes of the private, this madman who made nearly two of him. Lowering his tone, yet trying to keep an underlying threat in his words, he said, "What you're doing here can be considered insubordination, at the very least, Private. Perhaps you're overwrought and have been pushed too hard the last few weeks. If that's the case, I can make some allowances for what's happened here, but I will not tolerate any further—"

"Why won't you listen to me?" Jacob cut in, no longer interested in protocol or his own safety. "I tell the truth. There are over nine hundred lodges in the valley. Do you know how many warriors await your arrival?"

Custer's small eyes grew round, their centers hard, as he made the calculations. If what the private said was even close to the truth, he faced not a few hundred, but a few thousand hostiles. Where had this green soldier gotten his information? Could he believe even a little of what the private had to say?

As he stared into those intense sapphire-blue eyes, warm trickles of foreboding suddenly skittered across Custer's chest. He took a backward step. "I don't see why I should believe you. How could you possibly have obtained such information and lived to tell about it?"

"I told you," Jacob said quietly. He was out of options, and he knew what he had to do now. Harboring no regrets, thinking only of his promise to Dominique, he admitted, "All I know I learned from the Lakota themselves. I have lived among them for almost twenty winters. They are my family."

Custer's heart began to pound as he studied the man for signs of deceit. He could find none. "That's just ridiculous. I don't believe you for a minute."

"I have spoken the truth. I ask only that you send your men back to the fort and let my people go. There is no need for bloodshed."

"I make the decisions around here," Custer said, his arrogance overriding his uncertainty. "And I think you've gone crazy, running scout for me so much. That's not so unusual." He wiped a damp palm across his mustache and went on. "I'm going to make it easy on you and have you sent back to the
Far West.
You can accompany the wounded back to the fort, with no questions asked. I'm offering you a way out, Private. You'd best take it."

"And you, sir, had best listen to what I have to say. Retreat while there's still time."

Custer stared at the private, his mind spinning with possibilities. There was something here, some little thing he ought to believe, but what was it? What if the madman was telling the partial truth? Maybe he did have some kind of friendship with the Sioux, Custer suddenly thought, but what if his warnings were meant to protect the hostiles because there were so few instead of so many lodges waiting on the banks of the Little Bighorn?

His confidence again on the rise, Custer raised his chin. "Thank you for the information, Private. I'll be sure to consider all you've told me here. In the meantime, I'm going to have to place you under arrest. When we return to Fort Lincoln, you will be subject to a general court-martial."

"Fool," Jacob spat, down to his last chance of convincing the bullheaded soldier of what he faced. He grabbed a handful of the general's shirt and hauled him close to his face. "If you attack the Lakota, you will also attack your own flesh and blood. Dominique lives. She is with these savages, as you call them."

Custer's naturally pale skin blanched even further as he listened. Then he drew his snub-nosed revolver and drove it into Jacob's throat. "Take your hands off me, Private."

Jacob released the material, but didn't move, didn't avert his suddenly menacing gaze.

"You've made a lot of mistakes here tonight, Private," Custer went on between clenched teeth. "But one of the biggest was even mentioning the name of my niece in connection with this wild tale about the Sioux."

"I am sorry you feel that way," Jacob answered, his jaw tight. "But I thought you might want to know she is well and happy, and will soon be caught in your gunfire."

"Lies," Custer spat, "all lies. Dominique, even if she is alive, couldn't be happy in a Sioux village. Do you take me for an idiot? Now tell me the truth. If you have seen her, tell me when and where, soldier. I want the truth now, and that's an order."

A hot glare of loathing passed through Jacob's eyes, shook his thick body down to his boots, before he was able to say, "I have most recently seen her—alive and happy
—
in my very own lodge." Without thinking, he recklessly added, "I have taken Dominique as my woman."

Custer buried the barrel of the gun into Jacob's throat. "You son of a bitch," he screamed, grinding his teeth. "Take that back this minute or I'll blow your damn head off."

"Go ahead," Jacob sneered. "Shoot me, but be sure to tell Dominique of this conversation. Tell her what her husband tried to do before you murdered him."

Enraged beyond any fury he'd ever experienced, Custer pulled the hammer back on the gun, but at the last minute, some small ration of logic kept him from pulling the trigger. Custer himself had once been court-martialed for something very close to the act he was about to perform. Was this lying private worth his career? And perhaps the presidency?

Still grinding his teeth, he lowered the gun to Jacob's chest and shoved. "Turn around, Private. That's an order."

Jacob assumed the general was finally considering his warning. Understanding that if he wanted to see Dominique alive again, he must obey the general now, Jacob made a slow circle. Before he completed the arc, the gun crashed against his temple. Jacob dropped to the ground.

Custer backed out of the tent, calling to the first officer he spotted. "Lieutenant Woodhouse, get over here, on the double."

Barney loped to his commander's side. "Yes, sir?"

"I've found it necessary to place Private Stoltz under arrest. Get a length of rope."

"General, sir? What'd he do?"

"That's no concern of yours, Lieutenant. Get the rope now. Be quick about it before he comes to and I have to shoot him."