“I don’t give a shit. Two bits will get me five beers over to the sutler’s store. I’ll be back afore the corp’ral of the guard gets wise,” the soldier said. He leaned his carbine against the sentry shack. “Let’s go, mister.”

  The two moved rapidly as the wayward guard set a panicky pace. They covered the ground quickly. When they arrived, the soldier held out his hand for his money. “Don’t knock on that door ’til I’m gone. I don’t want Cap’n Blackburn to know what I done.”

  “I pledge my silence, young man,” the civilian said. He flipped a coin to the trooper. He waited until the kid had gone a distance before he rapped on the door.

  It was answered by Blackburn. The captain’s dark countenance lit up. “Morris! Thank God you’re here.”

  “Hello, Gordon,” Morris Kramer said. “Help me get my luggage inside, will you, old man? I would tell you how I got it here, but I am in another’s strict confidence.”

  Blackburn smiled. “Some soldier strayed from his proper duty no doubt.”

  “Indeed,” Kramer said taking one bag while Blackburn took the other. He stepped inside, then broke into an even wider smile. “Pauline! How wonderful to see you.”

  Pauline, dressed in a riding habit, did not suppress her pleasure. “Morris Kramer, I’ve been waiting on pins and needles since Gordon told me he had written you. But I never thought you would leave Washington City.”

  “Don’t forget, my dear, that I will go anywhere my professional interest takes me,” Kramer said.

  Pauline eyed him carefully. “And what ‘professional interest’ is there for a journalist of the Washington Daily Chronicle away out here in Texas?”

  “An Indian war, my dear,” Kramer said. “I took Gordon’s letter to my editor and it was decided that I would do a series of articles regarding the campaigning done by the army out here.”

  “I fear we haven’t much in the way of lodging to offer you,” Pauline said. “We have only three rooms. A living room, a bedroom, and a kitchen all set in a neat row.”

  “She’s right, old man,” Blackburn added. “The very best I could do was a bed in our parlor. You’ll have to endure an outdoor privy as well.”

  Kramer laughed. “Just like my old farm home in Pennsylvania.” He gave the woman a quizzical look. “Are you going riding, Pauline? You’re certainly dressed for it.”

  “Yes,” she answered smiling. “For the first time since our arrival at Fort Alexander. It hasn’t been considered safe until the hostiles left the area. I am going out with two more of the officers’ wives.”

  “I’ve arranged for an escort,” Blackburn explained. “One of my sergeants, an ex-Confederate by the name of DuBose, will be their protector.”

  Pauline’s face blanched white. “DuBose? You didn’t tell me he was going with us!”

  Blackburn frowned. “What in the world does it matter to you?” He considered her words. “Do you know him, Pauline?”

  She shook her head. “No—no, of course not. I’m sorry, Gordon. I—well, I just thought we ladies would be by ourselves.”

  “My dear, it is not that safe,” Blackburn said. “I’m almost sorry I came up with the idea. The impudent fellow DuBose most certainly did not like the assignment. In fact, he was nearly insubordinate in his protests of the task. I brought the full weight of my office and rank to bear. In a situation like that, one can’t let a soldier get the idea that he’s won over you.”

  The sound of approaching feminine conversation caught the three people’s attention. Blackburn answered the light rapping on the door. “Mrs. Robertson and Mrs. Harris, please come in,” he said in an untypical display of cordiality. “May I present my friend Mr. Morris Kramer of Washington City.”

  “How do you do, ladies,” Kramer said.

  Minnie Robertson and Violet Harris were fascinated by so many people only recently arrived from the East. They began what promised to become a prolonged conversation, but Pauline quickly interrupted. “I am really anxious to go riding. It’s been such a long, long time.” She started for the door, holding it open in an undeniable hint to leave.

  “Yes, we should go,” Minnie Robertson said. “It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Kramer.”

  “We must have you to our home for dinner,” Violet Harris said.

  Pauline quickly ushered them outside. The three strode side-by-side down Officers Row and past the regimental headquarters. Violet smiled impishly. “Guess who is to be our escort?”

  Minnie looked at her. “Don’t tell me!”

  “Yes! Sergeant DuBose,” Violet said. She looked across her friend at Pauline. “He is a most handsome fellow, Pauline. But you should know that. He is in your husband’s company, is he not?”

  “Yes,” Pauline answered. “In fact, he was in charge of the escort that fetched me from Dahlquart.”

  Minnie giggled. “For heaven’s sakes! I feel wicked!”

  “Yes! Imagine married ladies carrying on like this,” Violet said. “And about an enlisted man too.”

  Pauline almost blurted out that Guy had been a captain in the Confederate army, but she stopped herself. When they arrived at the stables they found Sergeant Guy DuBose waiting with four horses saddled.

  Three, with sidesaddles, were hitched to a rail outside the building. “Good afternoon,” Guy greeted them in a somber voice. “Your mounts are ready.” One by one he helped them settle in for the ride. Pauline was the last. She purposely gripped his arm with extra effort as he smoothly helped her up into position.

  “Thank you very much,” Pauline said.

  Guy swung up onto his own horse. “Is there any particular place you would care to go?”

  Minnie shook her head. “This dreary country is all the same. Why don’t we just make a wide—a very wide—circuit of the post?”

  “Wait,” Violet said. “Let’s go out to the knoll. We can see best there. That way Pauline can get the finest view possible of her new home.”

  “Very well,” Minnie conceded. “But let’s go the long way.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Guy said. “Please lead on.”

  They left the stable area and turned south to skirt the parade ground. After going past the post chapel and entering the open prairie, they broke into a canter. All three of the ladies were expert riders. They swayed gracefully with the horses’ movements as the animals loped easily over the gently rolling terrain. Gradually they veered to the west until they were out of sight of Fort Alexander. Only then did Minnie Robertson, in the lead, turn north.

  The excursion continued for an hour until a slight turn to the east brought the group to an easily recognized and noteworthy rise in the flat plains country. When they reached the apex, all brought their horses to a halt.

  “Look, Pauline,” Minnie said. “This is the best view available of our dear, dear Fort Alexander.”

  Pauline could see the entire post and a good portion of the countryside all the way to a hazy glimpse of the Red River. “It’s so plain,” she said. “Yet at the same time there is a sort of beauty to it.”

  Guy, remaining silent, could see the creek and the rosebud tree where he liked to sit for solitary drunks. Now the very cause of those bouts of sad intoxication was sitting on a horse beside him.

  Minnie had also seen the creek. She was an adventurous lady. “Let’s race down to that tree and back!”

  “Yes!” Violet said.

  “Oh, dear,” Pauline said. “Not me. I am more used to orderly riding trails I’m afraid. But I shall be most happy to act as referee.”

  “Done!” Minnie said. She looked at Guy. “Sergeant DuBose, will you start us off?”

  “Get ready,” Guy said solemnly. “Get set. Go.”

  The two ladies smacked their horses with their quirts and set off. Pauline watched them for a few short seconds, then she turned a beseeching face toward Guy. “Forgive me, Guy. I thought you were dead!”

  Guy, intently watching the racers, said nothing.

  Pauline pulled on the reins walking her horse closer to his. “Guy, we haven’t much time. I still love you. I never stopped. Even after I thought you had been killed.”

  His face was stone. “Why did you marry him?”

  “I can’t explain it now. Not here,” Pauline said. “Tell me you don’t hate me, Guy. Please.”

  His heart melted and he swallowed hard. “No. No. I don’t hate you. I thought I did. Oh, God, why did all this happen?”

  “Guy?” There was no denying the pleading in her voice. “Guy?” It was an entreaty for him to speak what was in his heart. “I must know.”

  He knew what she wanted him to say and he wanted to say it too. “I love you, Pauline.”

  Minnie and Violet had reached the creek and turned.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked.

  “Let me think,” he said. His emotions had been jerked around by this sudden realization that Pauline still loved him. A terribly complicated situation was in the making, and it required cool, clear thought. That was something he was incapable of at that moment. He was torn between happiness and sadness knowing she was wed to another man. “I must sort it all out.”

  “I love you, Guy.”

  “I love you, Pauline,” he said. “We must stay in touch somehow. I’ll work it out.”

  “Yes, darling, yes!”

  The other two now rapidly approached, drawing near as the pounding of their horses’ hooves sent clods of dark dirt flying behind them. They streaked past, then quickly wheeled and came to a walk. Minnie called out, “Who won?”

  Pauline looked at Guy. She whispered, “I didn’t notice.”

  “Violet,” he whispered back.

  “Violet won,” Pauline called.

  “Hooray for me,” Violet Harris shouted.

  “Oh, poo!” Minnie complained. “If there weren’t a man present, I’d say a lot more, believe me.”

  Guy laughed. “I appreciate your kind consideration, ma’am.”

  “Well!” Violet said. “Your mood has improved. I thought you were going to be a grumpy old bear all afternoon.”

  “Not at all,” Guy said. “Shall we continue the outing?”

  They resumed their trek to the east, without making any more stops. Guy and Pauline gave each other furtive, longing looks. They were careful in the company of two very experienced, gossiping army wives like Minnie Robertson and Violet Harris.

  After a complete circuit which took them past Soap Suds Row and once more back to the post chapel, they returned to the stables.

  Guy helped the ladies dismount. This time, in clandestine pleasure, he and Pauline gave each other’s hands an extra squeeze before releasing. A young private appeared and took all four horses, leading them over to the corral for a cooling down.

  “Thank you for your gallant company, Sergeant,” Minnie Robertson said.

  “My pleasure, ladies,” Guy said. “Good afternoon.”

  The three wives walked back to Officers Row. Because Pauline’s husband was a captain and outranked Lieutenants Robertson and Harris, the Blackburn quarters were closer to regimental headquarters. Pauline, almost giddy with joy, made her goodbyes and almost skipped to the door.

  But her mood sobered at the sight of her husband and Morris Kramer. They sat in the parlor, evidently having been in deep conversation. Her greeting was simple. “Hello.”

  Blackburn looked at her in a detached manner. “Hello, Pauline. Morris and I have been having quite a serious conversation.”

  “One of benefit for all of us however,” Kramer added.

  “Yes. I’m going to see that he is given the best opportunities to get a full exposure in this campaign against Lame Elk,” Blackburn said.

  “I see,” Pauline said. “And what benefits shall you reap, Gordon?”

  Kramer answered. “I am going to write him up in the most glowing terms possible. When these dispatches hit Washington City and are published in the Daily Chronicle, the readership will be totally convinced that he is the finest Indian fighter ever produced by West Point.”

  “That readership,” Blackburn added, “consists of many politicians and other bigwigs.” He smiled. “That means our return to the War Department is only a matter of a few months, my dear.”

  “Exactly,” Kramer agreed. “Don’t worry, Pauline. You won’t be here at Fort Alexander much longer.”

  “And I’ll have a star in these shoulder straps for sure,” Blackburn said.

  “How wonderful,” Pauline said with a slight smile. She left them and went back to the kitchen, removing her riding gloves in deep thought and contemplation.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The double column of blue-clad troopers cantered across the prairie. The bright red and white guidons of each company whipped in the stiff wind that swept over the prairie country.

  The two long lines of horsemen were made up of the entire First Squadron out of Fort Alexander. Companies A, B, C, and D with old Major Standish Scott and his staff entourage were out in the field because of telegraphed reports from posts in Texas. This late intelligence gave reliable indication that Lame Elk’s band had turned north, headed for the Indian Territory or Kansas. The hostiles had committed murder and rapine in Texas, and were no doubt changing their raiding territory. They would have to pass through the patrol area along the Red River.

  Among the Company C riders, looking alien but comfortable, the journalist Morris Kramer rode beside his old friend Gordon Blackburn. The newspaper man was dressed in a newly purchased buckskin jacket, riding breeches, and a pair of elegant boots. He carried a leather case containing his writing utensils over one shoulder. A jaunty pith helmet perched cockily on his head, and a bandanna, supplied by Blackburn, was tied around his neck to finish off his outfit.

  In spite of his urban working life in the East, Kramer was an expert rider and handled the borrowed horse— an animal that belonged to an officer in the Third Squadron—with ease and dexterity. He looked over at his companion. “You never told me what you thought of those dispatches I wrote,” Kramer said. “I saw you reading them last night by the campfire.”

  “They looked deucedly good, old man,” Blackburn remarked. “In fact, I found them awe inspiring.”

  Kramer smiled. “I thought you would appreciate the numerous mentions of your name.”

  Blackburn laughed. “Of course! But, allow me, old friend, to compliment your flowery prose. Even your description of such a humdrum affair as preparing for patrol was filled with tension and excitement.”

  “Deep in this breast,” Kramer said placing his hand on his chest, “beats the heart of a novelist. My editor has said I could take a dull old ladies’ tea party and write it into a smashing, gala affair of elegance and gaiety.”

  “In that case, I am most anxious to see what you do with an Indian battle,” Blackburn said.

  “You just get me to one,” Kramer said.

  “I shall, don’t worry. But you must remember who is to be at the center stage of this show.”

  “Of course. You realize, Gordon, that I need this as much as you. If I don’t send back hair-raising stories of derring-do and heroic deeds, then I will be in deep trouble at my paper. I had a devil of a time talking my superiors into financing this excursion. It was necessary to promise them exciting copy filled with brave deeds and ferocious battles. So you can see, old man, that your build-up as an Indian fighter sans eqal is as advantageous to me as it is to you. Both our careers are on the line here.”

  “We are at the mercy of the gods of war,” Blackburn said. “So let us press on.”

  Kramer glanced around. He could see DuBose back a ways in the column on the other side of Private Paddy McNally with the guidon and Trumpeter Benito Pullini. “There is an interesting fellow.”

  “Who is that?” Blackburn asked.

  “Your sergeant—DuBose—a southerner from his manner of speaking,” Kramer said. “His accent is remarkably like that of Pauline’s.”

  Blackburn shrugged. “No surprise there. They are both from South Carolina, though Pauline’s origins are in Georgia, I believe. As a matter of fact, DuBose was an officer in the rebel army.”

  “Really? There might be an interesting story there,” Kramer said. “It would be intriguing to get the truth behind a former Confederate officer serving as a sergeant in the United States Cavalry. It could well be worth the trouble of getting an interview with him.”

  “Don’t bother,” Blackburn advised him. “I have already attempted several conversations with the fellow. The war evidently wiped him out financially, morally, and intellectually. Sometimes I even think him a bit stupid, but then I realize that he has stifled himself in the life he has chosen to lead. You would get only noncommittal grunts from the man.”

  “Ah, yes, I suppose it would be a bit of dreary dullness. He just can’t make a success of himself in civilian life, so he takes the easy way in the army,” Kramer said. “I’ve met a few officers like that too.”

  “Present company excepted?” Blackburn asked with a wink.

  “Of course, old boy, of course!”

  “Once I am back at the War Department, I’ll show you success like you’ve never imagined,” Blackburn said. “God! I must get away from this awful regiment.”

  “Pauline seems to be adapting rather well,” Kramer remarked. “In fact, she’s been downright chipper lately.”

  “Yes. I’ve noticed that myself. Of course she’s an outwardly friendly person,” Blackburn said. “Pauline can make herself fit in anywhere. She’s evidently found good friends in the adjutant’s and quartermaster’s wives. The three are even talking of helping out Mrs. Druce over at the agency Indian school.”

  “Very good!” Kramer said. “I can put that in the stories too.” He became thoughtful. “Let’s see— dashing Indian fighter’s compassionate wife strives to lead the foes’ children onto the bright path of civilization.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Blackburn said. “Though the little buggers make me think of that proverb which states, ‘nits grow up to be lice.’”

  Kramer laughed. “I’ll leave that out, Gordon. We mustn’t have the sob sisters back east thinking ill of you.”

 

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