A certain number of Indian men always congregated at frontier posts. These hang-around-the-forts subsisted on handouts and menial work. They spent their money for whiskey and let the whites bestow contemptuous names on them, like Sausage Nose, Lazy Man, Fat Woman.
Fat Woman, an obese Sioux in filthy old uniform pants and blouse, appeared on the path, coming toward Charles and his son. Fat Woman stopped, blinked, and reached out to tickle the chin of the smiling boy. Charles whipped up his fist and knocked him down.
Fat Woman yelped and crawled away. Gus hung on to his father's hand, but gave him a wary, scared look. Maureen couldn't keep silent. "That poor defenseless man meant no harm, Mr. Main."
"I don't want red scum like that touching my boy."
"Fa, Fa —" Gus tugged his hand. "March."
"No." Charles yanked his hand away, then seized Gus's shoulder, forcing him along the path. "No more marching."
Later, when Charles had ridden back to Leavenworth, the housekeeper confided to Duncan as he sat soaking in his zinc bathtub. "His moods are as changeable as the weather. Some kind of demon's in him."
"He went through a hideous ordeal. Would you scrub a little lower, my dear? Ah, yes —"
"I realize he did, General." Even in bed she addressed him formally. "But if he doesn't get over it his son will despise him. Augustus is nearly terrified of him now."
"I've noticed." Duncan sighed. "I don't know what to do."
The room at Department headquarters looked west over the parade ground. Charles's table faced the undraped windows. No accident, he decided. Nor was the hour. Half past five by the loudly ticking wall clock. Blinding light streamed into his eyes, making it almost impossible to see the five men facing him at their table in front of the windows.
General Winfield Scott Hancock, U.S.M.A. 1844 and commander of the Department of the Missouri, chaired the examining board. Tall, handsome, composed, he'd greeted Charles cordially at the door and wished him well. How strange, Charles thought, to shake hands with a man who probably had shaken hands with Cousin Orry.
On Hancock's left sat General William Hoffman, commander of the Third Infantry, and of Fort Leavenworth as well. Duncan had said Hoffman loathed the idea of Negro regiments.
To the left of Hoffman sat the officer Charles feared: Captain Waldo Krug, slight, severe-looking, and bald, although he was not much older than Charles. Attached to Hoffman's staff, Krug wore the silver star of a brevet brigadier and was addressed as general. He watched Charles with unconcealed hostility.
To Hancock's right, Captain I. N. Barnes, and, completing the panel, a major named Coulter, a schoolmasterish man wearing oval spectacles. Directly to the left of Charles, a row of chairs was set up for spectators. Only Duncan and Grierson had chosen to attend.
Hancock's glance to the right and left signaled for quiet. "Gentlemen, this is the application hearing of officer candidate Charles August, who has successfully passed the written examination. With nearly perfect marks, I might add."
Krug immediately said, "General Hancock, I move to adjourn the hearing. The candidate is unfit by reason of previous service with the Confederacy."
Grumpily, Hoffman said, "Second that." He was U.S.M.A. 1829 — Lee's class — an old campaigner from the Seminole and Mexican wars.
Hancock set the motion aside, saying that the candidate had shown good faith by signing the oath and applying for a pardon, as General Lee had. That made Krug explode.
"Robert Lee will never be pardoned, no matter how many times he applies. That's fitting for any man who betrayed his country, and I include the candidate."
The scholarly Coulter pushed his glasses down his nose. "I had the impression that hostilities stopped over a year ago, and we were all Americans again. I think we should put the war behind us and —"
"No, sir, I will not put my brother's death by starvation behind me for one moment," Krug said.
Hancock rapped the table to restore order. "Warden Wirz paid for his war crimes on the gallows. He was, and probably will be, the only Confederate officer so punished."
"I'd hang a lot more of them," Krug said, with his eye on Charles.
"Captain," Hancock said, "you will have to desist or disqualify yourself. This hearing will go forward on the basis of the candidate's qualifications."
Krug muttered something unintelligible. Hancock cleared his throat and opened Charles's file. Although it was autumn, the light beating in Charles's eyes felt fiery. He was as nervous as he'd ever been on the eve of battle; certain he'd trip up somehow.
He forced himself to think of Wooden Foot, glittering beads heaped on his eyes. His pulse slowed a little. He sat up straight, straining until his back ached.
"State your name," Hancock said.
"Charles August."
"I have before me the statement of Colonel Grierson which says you served four years with the army of the Confederacy. Please state your unit and rank."
"Scout corps, Wade Hampton Legion. That was later absorbed into larger cavalry divisions during several army reorganizations. But the scouts remained irregulars, without rank." The lie came out smoothly.
"Are there records to prove that?" Barnes asked.
"Yes, I presume, in Richmond."
"Oh, for God's sake," Krug said. "Richmond! Everybody knows the rebs didn't leave a single piece of paper in Richmond. They burned everything. We don't even know how many traitors mustered under their colors, and we never will."
Sharply, Hancock said, "Captain."
"I'm sorry, sir. I am against this. Completely and utterly against it."
Hoffman raised his hand and Hancock gave him leave to speak. Bitingly, Hoffman said to the panel, "If we can't examine the gentleman's records, he will have to supply information. I would like to know his political affiliation."
Charles was unprepared. Grierson and Duncan watched him anxiously. "Why — Democrat, sir."
"Democrat." Hoffman smiled. "Of course. Every unregenerate rebel calls himself a Democrat. Every man who murdered Union prisoners calls himself a Democrat. Every traitor who mixed dangerous compounds to blow up Northern cities or invented hellish schemes to introduce yellow fever to those cities is now merely a Democrat."
Amused, Coulter said, "The general is quite familiar with the campaign oratory of Governor Morton of Indiana, I see. But that election speech you just quoted was meant for civilians, sir. Does it really have a bearing on these proceedings?"
Caught in his plagiarism, Hoffman fumed. Hancock said, "No. I, for one, think that Mr. August is being quite forthcoming. We know there are already hundreds of former Confederates in the United States Army under assumed names." Duncan's start made his wooden chair squeak. Grierson grew interested in the ceiling. "I want to ask the candidate about any military experience prior to the war. I see nothing in the file."
Charles's throat tightened. Was sweat showing on his forehead? Did the sun on his face reveal deceit? Colonel Grierson shifted his scrutiny to the brightly polished toe of his boot. Hancock frowned.
"Mr. August, our time's valuable. Answer promptly, please. What about service prior to the war?"
Charles weighed two murders against another lie and said, "None, sir."
It continued for a half hour, interrupted by an occasional angry objection from Krug or a question from Hoffman that quickly turned to Republican cant. Charles was limp, tired, perspiring heavily when Hancock excused him. He and Duncan and Grierson went out and shut the door.