Trumpet on the Land: The Aftermath of Custer's Massacre, 1876

“I want you and Cody to figure out where the hell the hostiles are and strike them—just like the two of you did in sixty-nine.”

For a moment Carr glanced at his civilian scout before turning back to the commander of the entire division that was erupting into full-scale war. “Make no mistake, General. We will accomplish our objective.”

“Very well,” Sheridan replied. “Let’s cut off Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse from all hope of reinforcements.”

Outfitted with rations for thirty-seven days, Carr’s column had pulled away from its huge camp pitched a mile east of Fort Laramie on 22 June. In their ten days at the post, trader John S. Collins did a land-office business with those reinforcements about to push off to war. Cody pulled up the corner of the long bandanna he had loosely knotted around his neck and swiped at his forehead, dragging it across his eyes, then blinked into the shimmering distance once more.

Recalling that first day after riding up from Cheyenne with Lieutenant King, striding over to the post trader’s to see if Collins had some little something he could not live without.

The hushed but excited voices trailed the buckskinned scout across the parade.

“That’s Bill Cody!” was one not-so-muffled whisper. “Buffalo Bill?”

“That’s him!”

“I heard he’s here to guide for the Fifth!”

Inside the cool shadows of the sutler’s store, Bill had busied himself studying the cases of all things essential here on frontier duty as the hubbub grew behind him, more and more people squeezing through the door to take a look for themselves, young children forced to crowd through adult legs to take a peek and gawk at him for themselves.

“Mr. Cody?”

He straightened and turned immediately at the soft, feminine song to the voice, sweeping his broad-brimmed hat from his head gallantly, his eyes as quickly sweeping across the woman’s beautiful face, the doelike eyes, those high cheekbones brushed with a natural blush, her full lips exposing but a hint of straight teeth, all atop that long, white neck. Bill felt the natural pull that for but an instant gave him desire to flirt with this beauty. That is, until his eyes dropped from the neck, past the rounded bosom, and he saw the expanse of her belly.

“M-ma’am?” he stuttered. “It is ma’am, isn’t it?”

She held out her hand. “Yes.”

Good, he thought. After all, the woman was with child. An officer’s wife, sitting out her pregnancy in this frontier post. He congratulated himself for suffering Lulu through only one of her three pregnancies at Fort McPherson.

“You are William F. Cody?”

“I am.”

“You are the scout who served with the Fifth Cavalry during the summer of sixty-nine when you discovered Tall Bull’s village of Dog Soldiers at Summit Springs in Colorado Territory?”

His eyes narrowed a bit as the hushed room inched closer about them both, anxious to overhear every bit of conversation. “Yes?”

“Then you are the scout who rescued one of the two women held captive by that rogue band of warriors.”

Swallowing, Bill could think of nothing more to do but nod, then again answered, “Y-yes?”

She suddenly smiled, those teeth and those eyes lighting up that tiny, shady trading post, re-presenting him her hand.

He took it, held it, mystified at it all, until she explained.

“I am so very pleased to meet you, Mr. Cody. My husband has told me so very much about his time with you—chasing horse thieves all the way north to the Elephant Corral in Denver City. When we ourselves visited Denver last fall, he showed me that very same place and explained how you got the jump on the criminals.”

“E-elephant Corral … he was with me?”

“All the way through for the Summit Springs fight.”

“Your name … I’m afraid I didn’t catch it, ma’am.”

“Oh, dear. Now it’s my turn to apologize,” she said, removing her hand from his and holding it flat against her bosom. “It’s only that I suppose I felt I know you already, sir—why, the way Seamus has talked and talked and talked about you so.”

“S-seamus?”

“I’m Samantha Donegan.”

“S-samantha … Seamus Donegan?” he gasped. “You’re … he’s … don’t tell me he … gone and got married, has he?”

“Last summer,” she replied, then patted her swollen belly. “And now this. With Seamus gone north to scout for General Crook—”

Cody roared. “Ain’t that just like an Irishman now? To marry as beautiful a woman as there ever was on the plains … then go galloping off to the Indian wars once he’s got her with child!”

*The Plainsmen Series, Vol. 4, Black Sun.

Chapter 4

22-24 June 1876

“Samantha!”

She heard her name called out and leaped to peer down from the tiny window in her upstairs room. Across the Fort Laramie parade hurried Elizabeth Burt, wife of Captain Andrew S. Burt of the Ninth Infantry, waving a sheaf of yellow papers in the breeze like a bright clutch of radiant sunflowers as she dashed over the green lawn, her skirts and petticoats maddeningly a’swirl at her ankles like sea foam.

“Oh, dear God,” Sam prayed aloud, “don’t let this be … bad news,” then cradled her hands atop her swelling belly.