The Unlikely Wife

“Most likely.” Clark bit back a grin at one of several nicknames for Custer. The man had reached the rank of Brevet General during the war. He enjoyed the use of the title, though the reorganized army considered him a Lieutenant Colonel.

Decker added, “The boy general has more than his share of desertions, don’t he?” He leaned over and spat tobacco juice on the ground. “Bull’s-eye.”

Clark didn’t turn to see what the man had been aiming at. As he listened to his sergeant and their guest talk he hoped Decker didn’t change his mind about heading east; if the man stayed with the column long enough Clark might have his own problem with deserters.

After supper, several of the troopers settled in near Clark’s camp, curious about the stranger. Miss Huntington was one of them. He sensed her presence before he caught a glimpse of her. He ignored her, or tried to, not wanting to draw her to Decker’s attention.

“You told us where you were going, Deck,” Whiting said. “Tell us where you’ve been.”

Decker sat Indian-style, his coffee cup in his hands. “I been down around Fort Lamed with Hancock so I guess you can say I was there when this damn war started.”

Clark couldn’t pass up an opportunity to get more information than was in the official reports, even if it meant some green troopers would hear it as well. “What happened?”

“Well, there’d been some trouble, mostly with the Dog Soldiers, so Hancock comes down there. Sends for the chiefs. This was back in April, and we get a snowstorm. Chiefs have a time gettin’ in. Hancock don’t want to set back the deadline. He’s gonna teach them a lesson if they’re late.

“Well, they show up the evening of the deadline. Ol’ Hancock decides to start the council immediately. What does he care if there’s no sun to bless the proceedin’s? He’s not there to listen, anyhow. He’s there to threaten. He insults those chiefs from here to Sunday. Insists the Cheyenne ain’t actin’ in good faith since Roman Nose ain’t along.” Decker shook his head at the memory.

“Roman Nose is Northern Cheyenne,” Whiting put in.

Decker nodded. “Been livin’ down here, though. Kinda a rabble-rouser. At best he’d be called a war chief. They send their peace chiefs to councils. Anyhow, the Indians went away mad.

“Day or so later Hancock takes his forces and heads for Red Arm Creek where the Cheyenne are camped. I’m along as scout, you understand. The Cheyenne fire the prairie, forcing us to camp away from the village. There’s a standoff for a couple a days.-When we surround the village we find it deserted.”

“Of course it was.” The feminine voice brought Clark’s head up, and Decker’s as well. “Hadn’t Hancock ever heard of Sand Creek?”

She had crept closer during the narrative and sat only a few feet from him. As surprised as he was to find she had gotten so close without his notice, he was more surprised by the question. He hadn’t expected the colonel’s daughter to know anything about the ‘64 massacre, let alone connect the Colorado Volunteers’ burning of that peaceful Cheyenne village with the Cheyenne’s behavior now. Most people didn’t seem to believe Indians had memories.

The troopers, however were more interested in the woman than in the question. They were watching her more closely than they watched their guest.

Decker was clearly startled. Clark could guess what he was thinking. An effeminate boy? A woman in disguise that only he had seen through? Clark decided to let him wonder. Besides, she had asked a good question.

Decker recovered quickly, though he cast Whiting a questioning glance. “As a matter of fact, that’s just what Roman Nose asked him. He came to parley during the standoff.”

“What happened to the deserted village?” Clark asked, though he could guess.

With a flick of his wrist, Decker tossed his cold coffee on the ground, in lieu of tobacco juice, Clark supposed. “Hancock sends Custer after ‘em, waits four days, and burns the village. Two hundred fifty lodges. Now they got no choice but to raid. This here’s Hancock’s war plain and simple.”

The camp was quiet Darkness had closed in around them during the past few minutes. Clark glanced around the circle of young faces, knowing each was considering what they were about to ride into.

“Sergeant Whiting,” he said quietly. “Arrange guards for the night.”

“Yes, sir.” Whiting issued orders, and the troopers moved toward their own tents.

Except for the curvaceous “soldier” beside him. She was staring into the fire. Decker was staring at her.

“Thanks for the information, Mr. Decker,” Clark said, drawing his attention.

“Sure thing. Don’t reckon you need guards, though. Most all the raiding’s a mite farther west.”

“The men will sleep better knowing there are guards on duty,” Clark said.

Decker nodded his approval. “I reckon you’re right. ‘Cept for the ones actually doin’ the guardin’.” He went back to watching the “soldier.”

Clark didn’t like the speculative gleam in the old scout’s eyes. He was probably thinking she was his mistress, smuggled into camp in uniform.

“Miss Huntington,” he said. She turned toward him, sorrow evident in her dark eyes. “Have you met Carl Decker? Mr. Decker, this is Colonel Huntington’s daughter.”

“Short Deck,” Decker croaked, then cleared his throat “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but is there a reason you’re in that getup?”

She gave him her most brilliant smile. Clark could feel the force of it even in profile. “All the ladies are wearing these back east,” she said, plucking at the shoulders of the wool blouse. “Though I personally think it needs a little decoration. A couple of bows or something. What do you think?”

Decker grinned, showing tobacco-stained teeth. “Maybe it needs a medal or two.”

Her eyes brightened. “Medals! I hadn’t thought of that. Do you know where I could get some?”

“If I had any, I’d hand them over right now. Maybe the lieutenant has earned hisself a few.”

She turned her smile on Clark. Her eyes were fairly dancing. “What do you think, Lieutenant?”

She was quite a picture, her dark hair curling around her collar and ears, her dimples bracketing smiling pink lips. Every curve of her body outlined by the uniform. “I think you should go back to your wagon.”

Her eyes went from teasing to knowing. Damn, she could guess why he wanted her to leave. He didn’t like the way Decker watched her. Or the fact that she was practically flirting with the man. She thought he was jealous. He wasn’t, of course. She was under his protection, and her flirting made that a more difficult job. He kept his face impassive as she grinned at him.

“Well,” she said with a sigh. “I suppose you’re right. It was nice meeting you, Short Deck. I’ll leave it to Lieutenant Forrester to explain my presence as best he can. Good night”

Out of habit, Clark stood as she stood. Resuming his seat, he tore his eyes away from the retreating figure only to discover that Decker hadn’t “She’s traveling with the supply train because the public transportation has temporarily shut down.”

Decker didn’t turn toward him. “The getup your idea?”

Clark couldn’t resist a laugh. “No, that was hers. She believes it won’t attract the Indians’ attention.”

“Sure as hell attracts everybody else’s.”

“I imagine she’s aware of that, as well.”

Decker turned and laughed. “She gettin’ to ya, Lieutenant?”

Clark had his expression back under control. “She’s my commanding officer’s daughter.”

Decker was still grinning. “You’re a better man than I am if you let that stop you.”

Clark didn’t respond.

“Ah, well,” Decker said, coming to his feet with more agility than Clark expected, “I better find my roll and turn in. See ya in the morning, Lieutenant.”

“Good night.”

Clark gazed into the darkness beyond the fire. He tried to consider what the scout had said, but found himself thinking about Miss Huntington instead. “Medals,” he muttered. If he could deliver her to her father without touching her, he would deserve one.