Chapter 19 #3
She shook hands with the men and said good night to them and Captain Jones, who still looked very unhappy.
Marlene walked her to the door and then outside, looking at the sky as the twilight came.
“Strange weather. It can be icy cold—with snow falling into June!—then hotter than all Hades. Interesting year, isn’t it? The centennial year for America—while she expands and decimates the Indians.”
Sabrina was somewhat surprised to find Marlene so reflective.
“Why are you helping me?” she asked her bluntly.
Marlene smiled. “Well, he does care for you, you know. Quite deeply.”
Sabrina was silent.
“Ah…you fell for my little performance at the window, then!”
“Performance?” Sabrina asked.
Marlene’s smile deepened. “My dear child, your husband just couldn’t be tempted.
Not at this point, at any rate. It seemed far easier to work upon your jealousy than his lust, but then, apparently, I did cause some trouble, or you wouldn’t be so anxious to find him.
I should warn you, though, that I still believe I shall prevail. ”
“You won’t prevail, and you didn’t cause trouble,” Sabrina told her. Without feeling a twinge of guilt that she was lying. “I’m anxious to find him because I believe he may be in danger.”
“How noble—except that he’s often in danger.”
“I’m curious, Marlene. If you think you will still prevail, why are you helping me?” Sabrina persisted.
Marlene shrugged. “Well, you may not find Sloan. And you may be killed. And I’m quite certain that Sloan will return. He always does.”
“You’re planning my death?” Sabrina inquired.
“Oh, don’t be silly!” Marlene protested. “I’m putting it all into the hands of God!” Marlene said complacently. “Enjoy your journey, Sabrina!” she said, and turning, she retired into her house.
Sabrina shivered. She shouldn’t go. Marlene was trying to help her just so that she might die.
But Sergeant Lally certainly seemed a sound enough fellow—as did his hairy cohorts. They knew their business and their terrain, and she would be safe with them.
So determined, she hurried home and carefully packed what few belongings she could easily carry.
If she hadn’t been so worried, so filled with a sense of dread, and so very anxious to reach Sloan, Sabrina might have enjoyed the trip.
The views from the steamboat down the Yellowstone River were exceptional.
Summer had come; the sun could be brutal, but it was welcome after the recent bitter cold.
Sergeant Lally was a funny old fellow who liked to entertain her with stories about his boyhood in Ireland. He convinced her that he believed completely in leprechauns, and that the banshees did indeed wail each time they were coming to bring home the soul of an Irish man or woman.
Along the way, she learned from the soldiers they encountered that Major Trelawny was not with Colonel Gibbon’s troops, nor had he reported back to General Terry.
With her escort determined to start out over land, moving deeper westward, Sabrina became deeply discouraged. The countryside was huge. Sloan was missing, and she was desperate, but searching for him was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
On June 20th, they came upon the remains of an Indian camp. The body of a White soldier lay by the stone-cold ashes of the fire. Lally tried to stop Sabrina from racing toward the corpse, but she escaped him. She had to know.
The body was covered with flies, but she turned it over. The man had been scalped and mutilated—but he wasn’t Sloan. She stood up, staggering away from the body, and was violently sick.
Three days later, they followed the trail of a lone horse when an arrow suddenly came flying across the ravine where they traveled.
“Hostiles—three of them, see them yonder! Shooting at us—at traders!” Ned declared.
The Indians had lined up on the plain, perhaps a hundred yards away.
John called out to them in the Sioux language.
One of the braves shouted back.
“What did he say?” Sabrina asked Sergeant Lally anxiously.
“He says…” Lally began.
“What?” Sabrina demanded.
“He says that the traders are no longer friends of the Sioux. He says all White men are the enemy. He says that he will kill all White men on Sioux land.”
“They’re dead men!” Tom yelled out, suddenly furious. “Lally, take the lady to the ridge yonder. Protect her!”
“Wait!” Sabrina cried out. “Tell him that we’re looking for Sloan! Perhaps they won’t fight then, perhaps—wait!”
It was too late. The men were already riding out hard, letting out their own brand of battle cries, and shooting their guns.
The hostiles came thundering across the plain. Sabrina watched them come, whooping out their high-pitched war cries in return.
Arrows rose into the sky…
And plummeted to the earth, bringing bloodshed and death.
On June 22, 1876, George Armstrong Custer led the Seventh Cavalry out of the military encampment along the Yellowstone River.
General Terry had given his orders. Custer had refused an offer of infantry, Gatling guns, and men from the Second Cavalry because the infantry and the Gatling guns would slow down his movements.
With only his cavalry, he could move far more easily over the rugged terrain he would have to cover in his search for the Indians.
In the great plan to press the hostiles between armies, Colonel Gibbon would be moving parallel with Custer.
His troops were already in motion from the mouth of the Bighorn.
Terry believed that Custer could scout out the hostiles and press them between his army and Gibbon’s; that failing, he could force the hostiles to where they could be trapped between Gibbon, Custer, and Crook.
Custer and Gibbon would be fairly close to each other; when Custer discovered the hostiles, he was to immediately notify Gibbon.
In General Terry’s written orders, he stated that he didn’t wish to impose precise orders on his commanders, which might impede Custer’s progress against the hostiles.
However, he wanted his own wishes and views to be clearly understood and followed, unless extreme circumstances changed battle tactics on the field.
Before they rode from camp, Colonel Gibbon cautioned his fellow commander.
“Now, Custer, don’t be greedy. Wait for us.”
And Custer replied, “No, I will not.”
Then he urged his horse, Old Vic, into motion with his customary flair, and galloped forward to lead his troops.
At the officers’ call that night, many men were unnerved as Custer, who rarely sought or accepted advice on any matter, asked for suggestions from his officers. He was grave and serious.
Lieutenant Francis Gibson later reported feeling a strange depression that night.
Lieutenant George Wallace stated to friends that he believed Custer was going to be killed.
Lieutenant William Cooke asked Lieutenant Gibson to witness his last will and testament, saying that he had a feeling that his next fight would be his last.