A Cold Day in Hell: The Dull Knife Battle, 1876

Clark’s eyes narrowed as he looked from Donegan to North, saying, “General Crook ordered that the horses captured from the Red Cloud and Red Leaf herds are to be used as a reserve. Three Bears’s pony has given out, so I told him he could select a new one—”

“So he wants this one, don’t he?” Luther North interrupted.

“He does,” Clark snapped.

“Well, you just tell Three Bears that he can’t have him,” Frank added. “He’s already called for.”

“We got seventy extra horses,” Luther attempted to explain to the perplexed lieutenant, “all of ’em given to the Pawnee as extra stock when ours give out. You can have Three Bears pick something to ride from among them.”

“But this was a Sioux horse to begin with,” Clark said after Three Bears seethed a moment in his own tongue, the Sioux leader’s dark eyes fiery as he watched more and more of his traditional enemies, the Pawnee, gather nearby to listen in on the argument.

“Major Clark—I suggest you check with Crook before you go off half-cocked,” Seamus said.

Clark whirled on Donegan. “A civilian such as yourself has nothing to say about this—”

“I damn well do have something to say if I see a man stealing a horse from a friend of mine!” Seamus snapped.

“The horse in question belonged to Three Bears to begin with!”

“That horse hasn’t belonged to Three Bears since Mackenzie captured Red Cloud’s herd!” Frank bellowed.

Clark wagged his head adamantly, pointing to the horse and saying, “I think for the sake of relations among our scouts that you could see your way clear to choose another—”

“The hell I will!” Frank shouted.

Clark’s knuckles had turned white gripping his reins, in stark contrast to the red rising in his face. In an attempt to control the harsh anger in his voice, his words came out clipped and staccato. “If that’s the way you want it, I will see the general about this, right now.”

“You do that,” Frank replied, seething, “and I’ll be right behind you to see him too.”

As soon as Clark and Three Bears reined their horses about, Frank called out for one of his Pawnee sergeants, telling the scout to have the dark bay saddled.

Luther grabbed hold of Frank’s arm, saying, “If you’ll wait for me to get saddled up too, I’ll go with you.”

“Count me in too, Frank,” Seamus added. “I’ve got my horse saddled right over there.”

The elder North turned to gaze across the river at the naked bluff on the south side where sat the fort’s whitewashed buildings splayed against a pale winter sky. “All right. A few more minutes won’t matter—go get ready, Lute. Thanks … thanks, fellas.”

The Pawnee sent to saddle up Luther’s mount hadn’t returned when one of Tom Moore’s teamsters came plodding up atop one of the balky mules, hollering out in great excitement.

“Major North! Major North!” he bellowed as he brought his mule to a clattering halt and bolted from its bare back. “Had to come tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Gloree! But you got them Sioux on the warpath!” he spat, breathing heavily. “They say they’re coming over here right now to clean out your Pawnee!”

“Goddamn their turncoat hides!” North snarled as he whipped about on his heel, shouting to this man and that, hurling orders for the entire battalion to take up their arms and make ready to defend their lives and their property against their ancient and mortal enemies.

“I knew better,” Donegan said, all but under his breath.

“Knew better about what?” Luther asked as he trotted up.

“Crook should’ve knowed better than to try mixing Pawnee and Sioux in the same scouting party.”

“The mortal truth, that is. Too much blood been spilled between ’em already,” Frank North added sourly. “I figured Crook would know.”

“It was bound to come to this,” Seamus said with a doleful wag of his head as he slipped one of his revolvers out of its holster and confirmed that the cylinder was fully loaded. “They been enemies too bleeming long.”

“You have our men wait here, Luther,” Frank instructed his brother. “We’ll head up to the fort.”

“On that pony?” Donegan asked.

“Damn right—on my pony,” Frank responded gruffly. “I’ll get this settled with the general, once and for all—or the Pawnee battalion are going home.”

“I’ll have the men stay here and keep watch over the herd and our camp,” Luther volunteered, waving one of his sergeants over. “I figure they can hold their own against the Sioux without us.”

“Even though those Lakota outnumber the Pawnee more’n two to one,” Donegan replied, “your boys ought to make a good stand of it.”

The three civilians leaped into the saddle and loped away, heading toward the ferry. Problem was, between the Pawnee bivouac and the riverbank lay the Sioux camp. As the three riders came in sight of the Sioux mercenaries, Seamus could see that most of them had gathered in a large knot around Three Bears as he harangued them.

“Damn, but that one’s a red preacher if he’s anything at all!” Donegan muttered. “If he ain’t sermonizing to Crook about this or about that, he’s preaching to his warriors about you and that pony!”