Cry of the Hawk

“General’s given orders to pull out, Shad!” hollered Bridger as he came hobbling up, snagging the reins Sweete handed him. “He’s got some wounded … and he’s taken prisoners. We best get too.”

“Let’s ride, Gabe. This place’s getting a mite too warm for my way of thinking.”

As Connor pulled his forces off, the Arapaho became bolder. Not only had they watched the destruction of their village and seen sixty of their fellow warriors killed by the soldiers, but they were now forced to watch as eight women and thirteen children were herded into the wagons and driven off, surrounded by soldier columns. Using what few ponies they had taken with them at the time of the first charge to flee the village, or what they had recaptured during the soldier retreat, the warriors now dogged both sides of the army’s backtrail down the Tongue River.

At the head of the march rode a hundred Pawnee, driving before them a herd of more than seven hundred rangy Indian ponies they claimed as the spoils of battle.

“Don’t fire your weapons at the hostiles!” shouted a lieutenant riding down the long columns. “General’s orders: preserve your ammunition!”

“Don’t shoot? How the hell does Connor expect us to keep ’em off of us if we don’t shoot?” Jonah asked.

“You heard the man, Jonah. Keep your weapon ready—but don’t use it.”

“I don’t use it—what good is it to me?”

“Right now the Arapaho don’t know we’re desperate short on ammunition,” Bridger explained.

“If they stay afraid of what they think we can do to them—they won’t get too bold,” Sweete added.

For the next five hours of march northeast along the Tongue, the Arapaho warriors harassed, dogged, and deviled the retreating column. But as soon as the sun sank behind both the Big Horns and Connor’s soldiers, the warriors trickled off and disappeared. In a matter of minutes, all that could be heard above the squeak of leather and the jangle of bit chain was the distant howl of wolf and cousin coyote floating in from the nearby hills.

Connor rode ahead to catch up with his advance scouts near twilight as the warriors drifted away into the evening.

“Bridger, what do you think of my volunteers now?”

He unloaded a stream of tobacco juice and smiled.

“General, your boys done good today. Riding hard the way they did, on no food for so long—and fighting near six hours steady was something too. They didn’t buckle like I was afeared they would. Rest assured, your soldiers acted like men today.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Mr. Bridger,” Connor replied.

“Well, ain’t you gonna compliment me and Shad here on finding that camp for you, General?”

Connor chuckled mysteriously. “You can’t be serious, can you, Mr. Bridger? You don’t expect me to swallow that you two actually saw smoke from this camp from fifty miles away, do you?”

Sweete and Bridger glanced at one another, both growing angry.

“We spotted that smoke and told you where to send North’s trackers,” Sweete growled.

“A lucky hunch. Why don’t you two old trackers just admit it and stop trying to pull the wool over my eyes?” Connor reined back to his place in the column, riding with his staff.

“If that don’t beat all,” Bridger hissed.

“Careful, Gabe.”

“Yeah—if that don’t beat all,” Jonah echoed. “Goddamned stupid paper-collar soldiers.”

Bridger’s expression slowly changed as he gazed at the Confederate. “Yeah—couldn’t say it better myself, Jonah.”

Connor’s trail-weary, battle-ragged command did not reach its wagon camp until about two A.M.

Every man had been in the saddle riding and fighting for the past thirty hours.

Two days later, Connor ordered a pony given to each of the Arapaho prisoners and set his captives free with gifts of hardtack and a little tobacco. Along with Bridger’s sign-language instructions that should the Arapaho chiefs now be interested in making peace with the white man, they should come to Fort Laramie in the Moon of Leaves Falling for a big parley with the soldier chiefs.

For the next week, the general’s massive column inched down the Tongue, hoping each day to make the scheduled rendezvous with his other two wings. Then on the morning of 1 September, as the troops were preparing to break camp, the advance guard heard the distant boom of a howitzer. Because of the confusing and broken texture of the land, no two men could agree on the origin of the sound.

Yet the boom of that distant cannon was enough to remind the general that today was the date he himself had chosen for the planned rendezvous with both the Missouri cavalry under Cole and the Kansas cavalry riding under Walker. The general ordered Major North and a detail of twenty Pawnee to ride out with an escort from Captain Marshall’s E Company, scouting to the northeast for the missing columns.

By the sixth of September, growing concerned about the fate of both Cole and Walker, Connor received the discouraging news from North and his Pawnee scouts. No sign of the missing troops.