The Dying Grass, page 90
(his one legal bullet ready in the pouch tied to his carbine, all the others hidden in his buckskin shirt).
After what Mr. Joe and all them River Renegades has done, we’ll make it so them Indians won’t show their faces off the reservation unless they’ve got a signed paper.
Well now. That’d sure be a start.
Doc?
What is it now?
Did you know that Brooks?
Nope.
Well, he was a real sweet young man. Never complained.
What’s to complain about?
When Stonewall Jackson caved in his Eleventh Corps at Chancellorsville . . .
Doc, what’s Buffalo Horn arguing about with our Nez Perces?
He’s blamin’ ’em for riding slow on purpose, to help their kinfolks out. See how his hand flies down like that? So the Nez Perces are getting mad, sending him to the DEVIL. See, that’s good. We like that.
Why on earth . . .?
Only two ways to fight savages, boy. Either we divvy up the savages and make ’em fight each other, or else we act like savages ourselves. Ain’t many white men who have enough “sand” for that.
So you’re saying that even our Bannocks and our Nez Perces—
Hush up now.
Doc, how’d you learn to speak Indian?
That’s not your real question, is it, now? Because you’re not wondering how but why.
Then tell me the why, Doc.
Sure I can talk Chinook and live as an Indian, but that’s just a means to an end.
So what’s the end?
Look at the color of your skin and think about it.
4
Sinking the guidon-pole so that our American flag flies up (and from a willow thicket straining out of mossy mud, many birds burst shudderingly, and fly over the lake, leaving nothing behind but the buzzings of flies), we water our mules and horses, curry them, then for newfound fear of Joseph we side-line them with strong chains; telling off work parties, we dig our sinks and fire-pits, pitch our Sibley tents behind that broken-down wagon—headquarters over there—and await GOD’s next move (General Howard has determined to refresh and recruit his command), the lucky men easing their carbines down; and just as ever so often in life when the cards glissade face down across the table, Lizzie’s hand or Charley boy’s drawing them out, so now at Henry’s Lake, I.T.
(romantic enough here, if it weren’t for the leeches—
and Trimble shouting at Company “H”
(never mind that even Doc’s out of cocaine by now)—
how I used to wish I could go fishing for pickerel on Androscoggin Lake! But there was so much work on the farm, especially after Father died—)
here where the Snake River commences, O, what a long way
—and so long ago since Wilkinson and I steamed up the Snake to Lapwai:
Mrs. Theller still unwidowed, Perry undisgraced, and I not yet betrayed and humiliated by Joseph—
and some few aspen leaves have already commenced to go yellow and purple.
Fine that man a month’s pay. He delayed my column this morning.
Yessir.
Well, Fletch, did they find sign or not?
They did, sir, right where Company “F” is watering their horses.
O, I see. The southwestern shore—
Yessir. Mr. Joe certainly bivouacked here the night before last. Here’s a Nez Perce arrow for Captain Fisher’s collection—
Why didn’t he find it himself? What’s that man about? Never mind. I’ll expect him in a quarter-hour. And go remind Captain Jocelyn that his Morning Report had better not be late to-morrow—
At the water’s edge sits Redington on his bedroll, wearing shirt, hat and underdrawers, bathing his feet, weary-looking but grinning, with his horse blanket steaming behind him in the sun, sewing up the seam of his trousers with a bone needle from a dead squaw’s sewing pouch,
and Wilkinson,
who personally prefers the worsted trial stockings to the approved woolen type,
is washing the aforesaid items, but with almost ludicrous rapidity, so that he can get back to the general before being called for,
as Chapman strides through the waist-high grass, gripping his rifle in both hands with the stock against his belly and the long barrel parallel to the ground, hoping to unearth something interesting
while Trimble draws up his report:
Back in the years when the railroad agents contented themselves with pitching stores off the train wherever they liked, our men had to guard every car, because there wasn’t any storehouse, and that’s how it feels, wondering where the general will attack me next;
and we had to scatter into loneliness, wondering when Mosby’s raiders might ambush us from the dark, and now that’s how I feel again, O my GOD, with the general against me,
here in the algae’d gravel of Henry’s Lake, the Continental Divide reddish-green, with patches of evergreens along its back,
the Nimrods among us making a creditable “barbeque” of eight-pound trout and giant swans,
and a brown reflection in the lake, interrupted by ripples, and a mucky smell:
Get your horses on half lariat and picket them out.
Yessir,
and that coward Perry who got us all whipped by Mr. Joe wishing me out of the way before the Court of Inquiry, and Company “H” stinks, and now we’ll never catch the reds. When we get back to Lapwai I’ll resign,
and our tame Indians sucking the Government like horse-leeches, GODd——n them,
as we send out sullen parties of detailed men to stand sleepless against another surprise from Chief Joseph,
the undetached fellows filling their hats with huge black currants at the discretion of their officers, rinsing their overshirts and canteens in the lake, squinting bloodshot eyes, drinking fresh water as greedily as mosquitoes do blood.
No, Fletch; you’re incorrect. The general was only a first lieutenant in 1857.
You sure have his career down cold.
Well, the thing is
(for Wilkinson considers Fletch to be more nominally, which is to say less essentially, a Christian than the general and himself),
you don’t care about the general as much as I do.
Wilkinson, that’s a d——d lie! Now cut it out. We’ll settle our differences at Lapwai if we have to. Do you want peace?
All right, I’m sorry; let’s shake on it.
Chapman, whose ranch is that?
Got to be Mr. Sawtell’s, colonel. Looks like he’s skedaddled on account of—
You ever been out here?
Not this far, colonel.
Then shut up.
Now let’s tot up the results of almost exactly two months of steady application, eight hundred and twelve point eight miles out of Lewiston,
and if we count from Kamiah, it’s been twenty-six days without rest, for an average of one hundred and ninety-three miles a week
(useful to lay this out in my Supplementary Report, so that Crook and the others can’t impress Sherman with their insinuations,
which may by now have alloyed themselves to Agent Monteith’s);
and Carr’s company must now have ridden twelve hundred and fifty-six miles. Must commend them to Sherman.
Yes, Captain Miller, what is it now?
General, according to Surgeon Hall, at least fifteen men will have to be left behind if we ride out to-morrow.
Including our wounded?
I don’t know, sir.
By the way, have you visited Trevor? A stalwart! Hardly even groans—
He’s failing, sir.
We should all pray for him.
Yessir.
Captain, at the Battle of the Clearwater your charge was heroic. You helped drive Joseph out of Idaho.
Thank you, sir.
Must I alter my opinion of you?
No, sir.
How well do you know Surgeon Hall?
Well enough, sir.
Bring him and Doctor Alexander here at once.
Yessir.
Well, gentlemen?
General, unlike the officers, some of the men already suffer rheumatic pains. And I’m worried about foot-rot, given the deficiency of socks. Moreover, the food ration is—
All right. What about Trevor, Glass and the others?
Trevor’s mortally injured, general. Glass has a bladder wound, which as you know—
Anything else?
Sir, without an issue of suitable clothing this command will rapidly become worthless.
Strong words, Doctor Alexander! Surgeon?
Nothing to add, sir.
Within half an hour I expect a complete list of supplies required. Thank you both. Mason, how many days to get resupplied from Virginia City?
At least five, sir.
Has anyone seen Lieutenant Howard?
Yessir, he was giving the engineers a hand—
Fetch him here.
Yessir.
The first tricks taken by each side are a book and don’t count. Joseph won at White Bird Cañon, as did I (I think) at Clearwater. Each trick afterward is one point. Fort Fizzle doesn’t count. Score one for me at Big Hole, and a very small one for Joseph the other night at Camas Meadows, and then right here two more of Joseph’s meaningless murders which can’t qualify as moves in the game:
Where were the bodies discovered?
Down thataway, sir.
I see,
stacking the cards of each trick taken so that all players can count them: Theller and Rains, to be sure, but how many of Mr. Joe’s have we now totted up and laid aside in a row of neat little overlapping piles?
By GOD, we need a change. Uh-Oh Howard can’t even keep Joseph from running off our mules.
All right, Wood. This will be to our men. General Order Number Six. The General Commanding takes this opportunity of expressing to men and officers his thorough appreciation . . .
Not his fault.
O yes it is. He don’t have my fuckin’ confidence no more.
The General is not ignorant that two companies are destitute of overcoats.
Yessir.
Men have given up their overcoats to the wounded, Wood. You’ve seen that.
Yessir. A fine bunch—
And, you know, we’ve driven Joseph out of the fertile valleys where he would have rested—
Yessir.
The seventh trick is called the odd, but I certainly hope there will be no seven tricks at this particular business! When one side ends two games, that ends the rubber; that probably applies here. Two more decent battles, and Joseph will be whipped.
How fine it will be to be telling Lizzie all about it! And then to sleep in her arms, O, Lizzie. She’ll want to hear everything; she’s naturally curious and preternaturally considerate, the best listener I ever knew, as I found by explaining the game to her before we married: I have five trumps, so I’d better lead them . . .
her poor father smiling at us behind his cards, so happy to see Lizzie engaged,
and now—what a sweetheart—she’s more cunning at whist than I!
LORD, I’m tired!
Two trumps, and weak cards in my plain suits, so I’d definitely better not lead trumps.
A guarded king, and Lizzie out of sorts—
Yessir.
Well, Captain Fisher, how are your Bannocks holding up?
O, pretty darned well, general! The new lot are out for blood.
How’s your bow and arrow collection coming along?
Got me some fine relics at Big Hole, sir. Frankly, I’m itching for something from Mr. Joe—
and picture windows for Fidelia to look out of every day, and our house will face eastward, now that there is no more new West to find, and so she and I will watch the sunrise as alone with these others I have done for so many days now in the course of chasing Mr. Joe—
Yes, that would be quite a coup, now, wouldn’t it!
Ha, ha, sir, what a caution you are!
Now, Fisher, mind you don’t impede the baggage train.
O, no, general. My Indians are carrying them all for me—
Good. Otherwise I’ll have them burned. Now keep on.
Yessir.
Wood, what do you have for me?
Well, general, I’ve done this sketch entitled “Indian Chief,” because the people back East—
O, that’s Red Heart! A great likeness.
And this sketch of our bivouac just before we got to Weippe, and here are four drawings of our victory over Joseph at Clearwater—
Splendid! Pack them up, because they’re going to the newspapers to-day. Then the civilians will see for themselves how arduously we labor at our Indian service. Unfortunately you’ll have to be anonymous, because General Sherman—
That’s all right, general. I’ll bring them in five minutes.
Thanks.
Major Mason,
whose innocent look does not convince me; what have you been hiding from me? O well,
scanning the grass:
one private cropping another’s hair:
Thanks, Doc. You’re the best friend I ever had.
Blackie, listen up. I’m a-tellin’ you this because I’ve took a shine to you. You know what? You have the makings of a real Indian killer. But you got to get well. You been sick a long time. Don’t worry. It ain’t the cholery or you’d be dead. To-night I’ll get us some whiskey. That’s your surefire cure.
Whiskey? How you gonna pay for it?
Remember that buckskin pouch I showed Blurick? Well, I got another one. Went prodding with my ramrod last month when we flushed them reds out of Clearwater. They hid gold dust in the ground—
Can I see?
Not here. If there’s nobody down by the sinks I’ll show you. And to-night you’ll have you some whiskey, and I don’t mean the barefoot kind. And once this campaign is done, I aim to take care of you. Listen, Blackie: Now them Nez Perces is run out of that good old green Wallowa Valley
and Redington is burning leeches off his ankle, that’s fine; but where’s Perry? I don’t need him in earshot!—
another word, if you please.
Yessir.
Now, when you commanded Colonel Perry during the Modoc War . . .
Yes I did, general, although he was out in the field much of the time. A superb soldier, with much initiative.
So I’ve heard. How’s he holding up nowadays?
Well, sir, he’s pushing himself hard. Like all of us, he wants blood paid out for Lieutenant Theller.
Thank you, major. And what about yourself?
No complaints here, general!
You’re a fine man. A credit to the service.
You’re too kind, sir.
Doctor Alexander’s uneasy about the men. What do you say about that?
They’ll go wherever you lead them, sir.
All right, Mason. You might as well stay a moment. Lieutenant Howard, round up the officers.
Yessir,
the lake now a lucid blue-grey like the eyes of President Hayes.
Gentlemen, our scouts report that the hostiles are riding toward the Crow Agency. Joseph’s final objective point must therefore be his hunting grounds in the Buffalo Country of the upper Missouri. We’ve been riding him pretty hard; he’s got to recruit supplies and rest his women and children. Do any of you see it differently?
Well, no, sir—
Redington?
General, our Bannocks believe that Looking-Glass will make contact with the Crows, in which case Sitting Bull—
All right. Who’s the Crow Agent? I’ll expect him to keep our Crows on the sunny side of the Government. Fletch, prepare a draft letter on that subject. Wood, unroll the map. Gather round, please. As you can see, he must pass through the National Park, and then get to the Musselshell Valley either down here by the Stinking Water or else up there via Clark’s Fork.
Yessir.
What is it, Sladen?
The National Park appears pretty trackless,
(for even between Virginia City and this “Yellow Stone,” Colton’s map offers but beige emptiness squiggled here and there with barely-named creeks, while Yellow Stone itself might as well be Mars),
so if we can hire civilians from Virginia City to cut a wagon-road—
How does it compare to Lo Lo?
Not as bad as that, sir. But—
Spurgin, do your engineers have “sand”?
I sure hope so, sir.
Ride ahead to the National Park and despatch me a report on what you’ll need. I’ll sound out the good citizens of Virginia City. That’s all for you, Spurgin. Our continued progress depends on you. Go now.
Yessir.
Where’s Captain Fisher gone to? Still fooling with his artifact collection?
General, he’s scouting around the lake, because Buffalo Horn—
Wilkinson, prepare a despatch to Captain Cushing. He’s to lead his company, Norwood’s and Field’s to Fort Ellis right away, and operate in our advance while I pursue the direct trail. He’s to recruit more scouts at the Crow Agency and send them out to harass Joseph’s column.
Yessir.
I want him to draw on the Fort’s commissary eight thousand rations of bacon or hardbread and four thousand rations of vinegar.
Yessir. When should they expect us?
As soon as supplies come in. I should suppose we’ll be here a good three or four days. That will be all.
Yessir.
Fletch, I expect the blacksmiths to reshoe our service animals as needed. Make sure they receive all assistance. Lieutenant Bomus will help you there.
Yessir.
Lieutenant Howard, you and I will ride out for Virginia City in fifteen minutes. Pick the best team you can. Where’s Captain Adams?
Here, general.
You’re to come with us. Mason, you’ll take command until our return.
