Читать книгу Apache Ambush - Will Cook - Страница 6

General George Crook arrived at Fort Apache as the bugler sounded morning work call. He wheeled his escort before the headquarters building and dismounted them. The twelve man troop went immediately to the stables and mess. Crook dismissed his officers with a word and strode onto the porch. He was a heavy man with shoulders like a wrestler. He had a fighter’s face, broad through the forehead and cheeks, and he wore neither uniform nor hat. His close-cropped head was a thicket. His dark beard fanned out from his cheeks like dense hedges. Eyes, slate-gray, darted quickly, taking in every detail within range of his vision.

Brevet Major Calvin hurried out to meet the general, one hand raised in salute while the other fumbled with an unfrogged saber strap. Crook said, “My compliments, Major. You keep a tidy house here.” He popped a cigar into his mouth, snipped off the end with his teeth and accepted Calvin’s hastily offered light.

“I’m afraid I must disappoint the general,” Calvin said.

“Eh?” Crook took the cigar from his mouth, leaving a round O of flesh.

“I refer to Lieutenant O’Hagen, sir. He’s under arrest for assaulting the Indian agent. Last night he broke arrest and commited another assault.”

“Against the same man?”

“Yes, sir.”

Crook grunted and the light of amusement came into his eyes. “He must dislike the fellow.” The amusement vanished, replaced by a shrewd understanding. “I expect you’ve settled the matter.”

“No, sir,” Calvin admitted, “I haven’t.”

“I see,” Crook said. “You expect me to sit on it.”

“That was my thought, sir.”

“Very well,” Crook said, going into Calvin’s office. He stripped off his gauntlets and threw them casually on the desk. His coat went over the back of Calvin’s chair and then he unbuckled his pistol belts, laying these beside the gauntlets. He sat down in Calvin’s chair, physically assuming command.

“Major,” he said, “we had best reach an understanding. I’m no paragon of virtue; rules were made to be broken, when the gain is great. I’ve never blamed an officer for his blunders, providing they do not recur. And I demand only impeccable courage from my officers. I dislike evasions, either of the truth or unpleasant duty. Do you understand me, Major?”

“I—I had my reasons for not acting on Lieutenant O’Hagen’s case, sir.”

“There’s no doubt of that,” Crook said. “Major, in O’Hagen’s case, I would much rather have seen a decision made, even a bad one, than to have an officer in my command hesitate because of timidity. Exactly what were you afraid of, Major?”

Calvin’s face took on color and he stood stiffly. “Mister O’Hagen is not without friends in the higher echelons, sir. I have no desire to jeopardize my career by making a decision and then have it come back reversed, with a reprimand. I decided it would be better to let the ones who favor Lieutenant O’Hagen render the verdict.”

“Uh,” Crook said and scraped his whiskers. “That’s honest, anyway. All right, Major. Summon the principals and we’ll get this business over with. I came here to conduct a campaign against the Apaches and I do not intend to fritter my time away because some government employee was poked in the nose.”

Major Calvin went to the orderly room and gave the corporal his orders. He waited there until Osgood H. Sickles arrived, then ushered him in to meet General Crook. Never a man to underestimate the importance of politics, Sickles smiled warmly and tried to crush Crook’s hand. But the general was more than up to this kind of business and when Sickles took a chair, he was massaging his own knuckles; the wide smile faded slightly.

“General,” Sickles said, getting to the point, “I trust you have read my complaint. These unfortunate matters do arise occasionally, and as I was telling Major Calvin the other day, the sooner this impertinence is crushed, the better our organizations will be run. Correct me if I’m mistaken:”

“Mr. Sickles,” Crook said, not taking his eyes from the task of paring his fingernails, “I have not read the report and I will consider punishment after I’ve heard the evidence. As a former judge I’m sure you’ll agree that that is satisfactory judiciary procedure.”

For a moment Sickles was too surprised to speak. Crook raised his eyes and then Sickles said, “Of course, sir.” Sickles’ mouth was still badly puffed from his encounter with O’Hagen, and because of the tenderness, he had not shaved. Everyone was quiet. Paper rustled as Crook turned the pages of Lieutenant O’Hagen’s patrol report. At the same time he compared it with Major Calvin’s prospectus of peace and quiet in Apacheria. The discrepancies were glaring.

Finally Lieutenant Timothy O’Hagen appeared with the officer-of-the-day. Rosalia Sickles arrived almost simultaneously and she gave O’Hagen a fleeting smile before taking a seat. General Crook’s sharp eyes did not miss this. Judging from Osgood H. Sickles’ scowl, he hadn’t missed it either.

“Close the door, Major,” Crook said. “I have here the complaint of Osgood H. Sickles, Agent of Indian Affairs, San Carlos Apache Reservation. He charges one First Lieutenant Timothy O’Hagen with assault, etc., etc., and in a subsequent complaint, dated yesterday, charges that he was again attacked. The officer-of-the-day reports that Lieutenant O’Hagen did willfully and purposely absent himself from his quarters while under legal and just arrest. I construe these to be two separate charges.” He looked at O’Hagen. “What is your plea to the first?”

“Not guilty as charged on the grounds that I had just cause.”

Crook nodded and entered this. “On the second?”

“Guilty as charged,” O’Hagen said.

“Returning to the first charge,” Crook said. “Mr. Sickles, would you tell us in your own words what took place on May 9, 1872, at the San Carlos Reservation headquarters.”

“My pleasure,” Sickles said, “although I don’t see the necessity of this drawn out procedure.”

“That is my prerogative,” Crook said. “I’m after the facts, if you have no objections. Of course, you can waive testimony and I will present judgment on the strength of your complaint, weighing it with Lieutenant O’Hagen’s testimony.”

Sickles scowled. He crossed his legs and laced his fingers together. “If the general will permit, I would like to recount the events leading to the attack on my person. Mr. O’Hagen’s defense is hinged on whether the attack was justified, and I would like to prove that it was not.”

“There seems to be little doubt that he struck you,” Crook said. “Very well, Mr. Sickles, but I must remind you to cling to necessary facts. I’m leaving for Camp Grant in the morning and I don’t want to prolong this any longer than I have to.”

“I realize the general’s time is limited,” Sickles said smoothly, “and I will be brief. I intend to prove, sir, that Lieutenant O’Hagen’s assault was a personal matter, divorced from the issues he presents.”

“Get on with it,” Crook said, rekindling his cigar.

“I was in Tuscon on the first of May,” Sickles began. “I had just returned to Arizona from California because I have business interests in Tucson and Phoenix. In addition to my duties as Agent, I own interests in business houses, trade goods, general merchandise. As I was saying, it was the first part of May. . . .”

General Crook sat patiently while Osgood H. Sickles recounted his business successes, finally arriving at the issue at hand, the disturbance at the reservation. When he had concluded his testimony, Crook said, “Then, Mr. Sickles, if I understand correctly, you are more of a freighter than an Indian Agent.”

“Well now,” Sickles said, “I wouldn’t say that. I have never shirked my agency duties.”

“I see.” To O’Hagen, Crook said, “Is there anything about Mr. Sickles’ testimony you wish to-challenge?”

“I’d like to know how he gets his wagons through Apache country when no one else can. Then again there’s always been the matter of the Apaches getting rifles and ammunition. Quite a puzzle, sir.”

“Yes,” Crook admitted. “It will bear looking into. Perhaps you would care to inform me of your theory.” He paused. “You may prefer formal charges if you wish.”

“I have no proof, sir,” O’Hagen said. He glanced at Sickles and found the man’s expression like a dark thunder cloud. “General, freighting is a most profitable business, providing you can get through with regularity. And Mr. Sickles manages to do that quite nicely. The wagons of Sickles, Lauderdale and Grafton are never touched.”

“Very interesting,” Crook murmured. “Mr. Sickles, how do you account for this?”

“I’m the Apache agent. They have learned to trust and respect me.” He nodded toward O’Hagen. “This officer is a meddler, and is attempting to make me a whipping post.”

“I see,” Crook said, “Mr. Sickles, you and your wife may leave now. Should I need you later, I’ll send a runner.”

Osgood Sickles was the soul of indignation. “General, I don’t see the necessity of dragging this ridiculous business out. The issues are clear cut. This officer chose to assault me, a representative of the U. S. Government. I was struck by this man and I demand legal satisfaction.”

“Mr. Sickles,” Crook said, not taking his eyes from the reports scattered on his desk, “you must weight one hundred and eighty pounds. Is that correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“And I would hesitate to call you a coward. Yet you did not ably defend yourself against Mr. O’Hagen. I’m curious as to why.”

Sickles flushed deeply. “General, animals settle their quarrels by combat. There are legal channels to follow.” He squirmed in his chair. “General, Mr. O’Hagen has admitted to this attack. It appears to me that his conviction is merely a matter of form.”

“Mr. Sickles,” General Crook said patiently, “I take it you have nothing more to say. In that case, you are dismissed.” His glance touched Calvin. “Major, would you show Mr. and Mrs. Sickles out, please? You’ll be called if you’re needed.”

Sickles was the image of outrage. He brushed past Major Calvin and slammed the door. Crook followed him with his eyes, then said, “A very angry man; very angry indeed.”

For an hour General Crook read through a stack of reports, while O’Hagen and Major Calvin waited. The morning sun had swung past the meridian and the room was in shade, cool, quiet. Finally Crook said, “There is a facet to this matter that puzzles me, and that is a report of the incident at Tres Alamos. Frankly, I fail to find it, Major.”

O’Hagen’s eyes whipped to Major Calvin and there was an apology in his glance. “There never was a report made out, sir.”

“No?” Crook’s forehead became a furrowed field of flesh. “Mr. O’Hagen, this is indeed most serious. I want a complete accounting of your reasons for not writing this up.”

Again O’Hagen went through the Tres Alamos attack, glossing over the incidents leading to his return. He spoke clearly, cleanly, like a surgeon making an abdominal incision. He shot frequent glances at Major Calvin and found the officer’s face chalky.

When he was finished, General Crook drummed his blunt fingers on the desk, his head and shoulders wreathed in cigar smoke. Four coffee cups sat at his right elbow, grounds a hard settling in the bottom. A half-filled pot bubbled on the pot-bellied stove in the corner.

Major Calvin sat stiffly on the edge of his chair, a shine of perspiration on his forehead. He massaged his hands nervously.

“Major,” Crook said softly, “I dislike intensely anything resembling evasiveness in an officer. On the surface, I would say that you are about to wade out where the water is deep.” He stacked papers and leaned forward, his heavy forearms flat. “I assume you have an explanation, Major.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Calvin said.

“Do you choose to contradict Mister O’Hagen’s testimony?”

“I—” He looked at O’Hagen. “What can I say, Tim?” He began to breathe heavily. “You could call in your troop, one by one, I suppose.” His eyes traveled to General Crook. “I deny nothing, General.”

“Is that your excuse, Major?”

Calvin stood up, rubbing his palms together. “General, a commander in this department is in a delicate position. What I mean is, Mr. Sickles is not only the agent for the Indians, but has certain jurisdictions over my command. Any way you look at it, General, I’m more or less his servant.”

Crook frowned. “Major, a commander works with the agent, not for him. Am I to understand that an officer who was breveted twice for bravery has been intimidated by an Indian agent? What sort of monster is this man, Sickles? What kind of a man are you to have allowed this to happen?”

Major Calvin mopped his face with a handkerchief and began to pace back and forth. O’Hagen watched him for a moment, then pulled his eyes away to study the stitching in his boots. Calvin began to speak in a strained voice. “It was nine years before I was promoted to first lieutenant. Nine difficult years. Then the war came along. Everything assumed a different complexion. That is to say, my captaincy—brevet at first—I got that with the Illinois volunteers—” He paused to lick his lips and his breathing was loud and labored in the room. “What I mean to say is, after Vicksburg, I was breveted again—with no increase in pay. There were obligations, General. Debts to plague a man.”

Crook had been watching Calvin as he paced back and forth, but now he dropped his eyes to his folded hands and kept them there. Calvin was sweating profusely now and his pacing increased in tempo. He was a caged animal and seeking an exit.

“My—my wife likes to entertain. Of course, there were reductions after the war. What I mean is that I saw good men go, General.” He stopped and stared vacantly. O’Hagen glanced at him and felt a genuine regret. Here was a man who had lived a lifetime with the US on his blanket, been used hard by the service, but ended up his own worst enemy. “—a little pressure here and there. A word dropped in some ear back East— A man could find himself on the list. Retired, at half pay.”

Brevet Major Sidney A. Calvin held out his hands to General Crook. Sweat made bright streaks down his cheeks and his lips quivered slightly. “I—I’m a soldier, sir. That’s all I know. What—what would I do out of the army? I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times. Laid awake nights worrying about it.”

Crook gnawed on his cigar, his unpleasant thoughts etched in the lines of his face. Calvin’s voice droned on, rising to a whine at times.

“—we lost three officers here, two brevets like myself. And only three months my junior. Mr. Sickles—is a man of influence. Sir, I had to think of my wife! Anyway, we talked. Mr. Sickles likes an orderly house—everything all right in his reports. It’s understandable. Good reports make a right impression in Washington. Later he came around with a demotion list. I saw my name there—it was authentic, General.” Calvin paused to mop his face. “It was just a matter of time for me. We talked again. About Contreras. Mr. Sickles thought he could make a good Apache out of him, if left alone. We discussed Mr. O’Hagen and the trouble he’s caused Mr. Sickles. I—agreed to help in any way I could. You know, an understanding. Well—I was moved up. You don’t know what it was like, not having to worry, being able to sleep nights!”

When he was through, Major Calvin turned to face the wall and stood that way. The room was so quiet that O’Hagen could hear General Crook’s pocket watch ticking. Crook cleared his throat and spoke very softly. “Major, I regret this very much, but you leave me no alternative in this matter. In view of your many years of service and the past commands in which you have served with distinction, I suggest that no proceedings be instigated. Instead, I will accept your resignation, with regret.”

Calvin turned like a man hypnotized. “Sir—”

“I am sorry, Major. I’ll assign a senior officer to command tomorrow,” He paused to unwrap a fresh cigar. “Now if you will summon Mr. Sickles, we will dispense with the formal complaint he filed.”

After Calvin left, Lieutenant O’Hagen sat quietly. He did not speak to General Crook, and the general seemed content to puff on his cigar. Ten minutes passed before Major Calvin reappeared with Sickles. The agent sat down importantly and waited. General George Crook let him wait for another ten minutes and O’Hagen was pleased to see a definite fissure in Osgood H. Sickles’ nerves.

Finally General Crook took his cigar from his mouth and said, “Mr. Sickles, in reviewing the facts, I’ve come to the conclusion that you are not at all what you seem. You have stated that you did not strike Mr. O’Hagen because of your adherence to law and formality. Yet you struck Mr. O’Hagen last night. I find that contradictory to your former statement.” Sickles stiffened in his chair. “On the charge that you have filed, I must find Mr. O’Hagen not guilty. I believe you are a man who well can take care of himself, although you pretend otherwise. On the second charge brought by the Army of the United States, and to which he has pleaded guilty, I set forth the following punishment.” Crook’s eyes met O’Hagen’s across the table and locked. “You will be retarded seven years on the promotional roster and be deprived of the following allowances: Ten dollars for duty as adjutant or post Quartermaster officer, forfeiture of your servant’s allowance of twenty-three dollars and fifty cents a month, and while garrisoned on the post, your ration allowance halved to eighteen dollars, leaving you a monthly total pay of seventy-one dollars and thirty-three cents.” Crook butted his cigar. “Mr. O’Hagen, this is to impress upon you the importance of an officer’s word. Although your arrest, in a sense, was unjustified, it was within the limits prescribed by military regulations, which you willingly broke. Do you wish to appeal this sentence to a higher authority?”

“No, sir.”

“Then the matter is closed,” Crook said.

“That’s a point on which we disagree,” Sickles said, rising. His face was flushed and his eyes were very dark. He came to Crook’s desk and pointed his finger at the general. “I might have guessed that the army would stick together, but this matter is a long way from being finished. You may be a general, but you have a little to learn about politics.”

Crook’s anger was contained in his eyes, a tell-tale shine. “Mr. Sickles, I haven’t made up my mind yet just what kind of a carpetbagger you are, but when they hired you to the post as head agent, they scraped the bottom of the political barrel. It seems that you like deals. All right, I’ll make one with you. You try and tie a can to my tail and while you’re doing that, rest assured I’ll be tying one to yours. It will only be a matter of who runs the fastest and yips the loudest.” Crook smiled then, not unpleasantly, but with no friendliness. “In the coming months I expect to be occupied with a full campaign, but I promise you I’ll not be so busy I can’t investigate further into your activities, both as an Indian agent and merchant in Arizona Territory. Now get the hell out of this office!”

Sickles looked like a man about to strangle. He forgot his hat, stomping out and slamming the door behind him. General Crook got up and stretched. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been all day on cigars and coffee. I could do with a meal.” He took Major Calvin by the arm. “Show me the mess, Major. I’ve had enough of this one.”

They went out, their boots rattling along the porch. Timothy O’Hagen got up and walked around the room. Seven more years a first lieutenant! He stopped. What was he thinking about? He wouldn’t stay in that long. As soon as Contreras was dead—

The door opened and Libby Malloy stepped inside. She leaned her shoulder blades against it and said, “You’ll be thirty-five before you’ll be eligible for captain.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’d be thirty-five before I got it anyway.” He flipped his head around and looked at her. “The important thing is that I won’t be here to get it.”

“Leave the army and you’ll die,” Libby said. “You need the army, the same as I do.” She came over to Crook’s desk and sat down on it. “How long do you think I could live in a town with the boy? How long could you, with people pointing and saying you buried Oldyear, the freighter, up to his neck in sand?”

“Shut up!”

She came off the desk and touched him. “Tim, it happened. Nothing can change that.”

“Libby, leave me alone, will you?”

She shook her head. “It’s a dirty world, Tim, where people can’t live their lives the way they want. Someone’s always making rules.”

Sickles came in, a thin smile on his face. He said, “My wife wanted to say goodbye, but I’ll say it for her.” His glance flicked to Libby Malloy, brushing the softly swelled figure. “Some women were made for it.” His smile broadened.

“You want another crack in the mouth?” O’Hagen asked.

“Some other time. You carried this deal off better than I thought you would. But I’ll do a little retrenching and we’ll go another round.”

O’Hagen laughed dryly. “You know, I think I’d just as soon blow your brains out if I knew where to aim.”

Sickles’ smile broadened, but did not extend to his eyes, which remained hard and shining. “That’s about the way it’ll be, O’Hagen; we’ll shoot each other, and I’ll be looking forward to the day.”

“That’s one way to get me off your back.”

“The white Apache,” Sickles said softly. “O’Hagen, I’ve heard about Oldyear, but I never believed it until now. It suddenly makes sense, why you hate Apaches so much. You played Apache for seven years and you remember how it was. The slow fires, the skin being ripped off inch by inch. Maybe you’re still remembering Oldyear buried to the neck in an ant hill—”

O’Hagen grabbed him, whirling him against the desk. Libby Malloy crowded in with surprising strength and held O’Hagen off. “SHUT UP, YOU HEAR? SHUT UP!” The wildness left O’Hagen’s eyes and he turned away from Sickles, shaking uncontrollably.

“I was right,” Sickles said. “Your conscience is bothering you.”

“Just get out!”

“Why not?” Sickles said. “You’ve seen your omen.”

He went outside and O’Hagen listened to the sound of his retreating steps. Then he turned to Calvin’s cigar box and took one, snapping off the end with his teeth.

“Don’t think about what he said,” Libby softly advised. “Tim, he doesn’t understand; no one does but you and me. We know how much you have to pay just to stay alive.”

“Leave me alone for a while, will you, Libby?”

“All right, Tim.” She moved to the door and then he turned to her. She stopped.

“Libby, I need help!”

“We both do, Tim. But who is there to help us?” She regarded him for a moment, then was gone.

General Crook came back alone. He glanced at O’Hagen, then stood by the window overlooking the parade. “The Sickleses have left the post, without escort, of course. Mr. Sickles is disenchanted with the military and I can’t blame him.”

“You haven’t seen the last of him, sir.”

“I believe that. I don’t think I like Mr. Sickles,” Crook said with customary bluntness, “and I trust him even less. He lies too easy and turns things around so the good side points to him. Personally I believe you’ve made a fool of yourself over the woman Sickles married, but that is neither here nor there. I want you to get Mr. Sickles for me. Get him or clear him completely. And while you’re at it, do some work on your idea that there is a connection between Sickles and Contreras. Get him too and bring him into the post.”

“That won’t be easy, sir.”

“Did I say it would? Those are the cards, Mr. O’Hagen. Now play me a winning hand.”