“Well, yeah, I guess we are neutral in a way,” Mark said. “But we are Southerners. I mean, we do come from the South.”
“We come from the West,” James insisted.
“You can’t just tell a fella to deny who he is,” Mark insisted.
“James is right, Mark,” Bob said. “That kind of thinking has no place now. We made a conscious decision to avoid the war. That means we are neutral.”
“We may be neutral,” Duke said. “But the men Bob saw aren’t. We’re going to have to come up with some way of handling them.”
“I guess the best thing to do is go see them,” James said. “Bob, you and Billy stay here with the herd. Duke, you come with me. You don’t sound quite as Southern as the rest of us do. Maybe the two of us can convince them, whoever they are, that we aren’t a threat.”
As James and Bob approached the encampment, they were challenged by a sentry who suddenly popped up in front of them. He was wearing gray.
“Halt! Who goes there!” the sentry shouted, holding his rifle leveled toward them.
“The name is Cason, James Cason,” James said. “We’ve got a herd of cows near here, that we’re driving north.” He nodded toward the water. “We need to bring ’em to water. If I could just talk to your commanding officer?”
Half a steer hung on a spit over an open fire, the smell of its roasting permeating the air. The soldiers were in good spirits as they contemplated the feast that lay before them. James and Major Waldron, the commanding officer of the little army unit they had encountered, were sitting on a log near the fire.
“It was very generous of you to offer up a steer like that,” Major Waldron said. “My men haven’t eaten anything but beans, bacon, and hardtack since we left Arkansas.”
“Glad to do it,” James replied. “We were having a hunger for beef ourselves, but it made no sense to kill a steer for just nine of us. It would be too much of a waste.”
“How is it that you fellas aren’t in the war?” Major Waldron asked.
“I’ve got kin on both sides,” James answered.
Major Waldron got up from the log, walked over to the fire, and picked up a burning brand. Then, pulling the stub of a cigar from his pocket, he lit it, taking several long puffs. What he did next surprised James, because he pinched off the glowing end of the cigar, then returned the stub to his pocket.
“I have to ration them,” he explained when he saw the surprised look on James’s face. “I don’t know when I’ll get another one.”
“I imagine that might be difficult,” James said.
Major Waldron returned to the log and sat down again.
“Now, about you not wanting to fight against your kin. Well, I reckon most of us are in that same fix,” the major said. “But when you get right down to it, a fella has to go with his conscience, and fight for what he believes in.”
“That’s the way I look at it too,” James said. “And my conscience tells me—”
“You stay the hell away from her, Butler! I saw her first!”
The loud shout interrupted the conversation between James and the army commander. When they looked toward the commotion, they saw two men in angry confrontation.
“Well, hell, Dobbins, iff’en you ain’t man enough to keep her, you got no right to her,” Butler replied.
“I’ll show you who is man enough,” Dobbins said, launching a roundhouse right at his adversary. His unexpected blow landed on Butler’s chin, and though it didn’t knock him down, it did drive him back a few feet.
Butler rubbed his chin, then worked his jaw back and forth a few times. When he was certain nothing had been broken, he smiled at Dobbins, an evil and mirthless smile.
“Fight, fight!” someone shouted, and the camp came alive as soldiers hurried to the scene.
The expression on Dobbins’s face turned from anger to one of apprehension. He had just given Butler his best blow and Butler was able to shake it off as if it were no more than a mosquito bite.
“What the hell is going on over there?” Major Waldron asked.
Bellowing like a bull, Butler charged Dobbins. Dobbins turned and ran, chased not only by Butler, but by the laughter of the other men. That was when James saw Revelation Scattergood standing near the wagon.
He wasn’t that surprised to see her, but he was surprised to see what she was wearing. So far on this drive she had worn nothing but men’s trousers and shirts. In addition, she had kept her hair pinned up under her hat.
Now, Revelation was wearing a dress, and not just any dress. She was wearing a dress that flowed with her lithe body, displaying a womanly form that the trousers had managed to hide. In addition, her hair, which James now saw was the color of ripe wheat, fell across her shoulders in soft waves. This was the first time he had ever seen her like this and he had to admit, begrudgingly, that she was an attractive woman.
“I think I see the problem,” James said quietly, his voice reflecting the sense of guilt he felt over being the indirect cause.
Major Waldron also saw Revelation. “What the hell?” he asked in surprise. “Is that a camp follower? Where the hell did she come from? As far as I know there’s not a town within fifty miles of here.”
“She’s with us,” James said. “She’s driving the chuck wagon.”
“Hell’s bells, man, don’t you know better than to bring a good-looking woman like that into a camp full of soldiers?”
“I didn’t realize I was,” James replied.
“What do you mean? Didn’t you just tell me she was driving your chuck wagon?”
“I mean I didn’t know she was good-looking,” James said, looking at Revelation as if he had never seen her before.
In order to prevent any further outbreaks, Major Waldron ordered his men to break camp and prepare to leave. There was a lot of grumbling from the men, and some voiced protests from the Scattergoods, who had intended to turn a fair profit on the whiskey they had remaining.
“I’m sorry if our arrival caused you any trouble,” James apologized.
“It wasn’t that much trouble,” Major Waldron said. “Hell, men been fighting over good-looking women from the beginning of time. You can’t change nature.”
“No, I suppose not. Why don’t you take the other half of the beef we slaughtered?”
“That’s mighty big of you,” Waldron said.
“We can’t keep that much beef without it going bad on us,” James said.
“All right, thanks, I’ll get my quartermaster on it,” Waldron said. He called over a big, red haired captain, gave him the order to see to the half of beef, then came back to talk to James.
“You say you are going up to Dakota?”
“Yes.”
“How are you going?”
“Just head north, I reckon.”
“There’s a trail I’ve heard about, a new trail laid out by a fella named John Bozeman. The Bozeman Trail. You ever heard of it?”
James shook his head. “Can’t say as I have.”
“It’s a shortcut that will save you a lot of time. You might want to try it.”
“I will try it. Thanks for the information,” James said.
Major Waldron stroked his chin for a moment before speaking again. “I ought to warn you, though, the Bozeman Trail goes right through the middle of Sioux Indian territory. And the Sioux aren’t known for their hospitality toward whites, if you get my meanin’.”
“I understand,” James said. “We’ll be careful.”
When the Confederate cavalry pulled out half an hour later, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John ran alongside the departing column, holding up whiskey jugs, selling “one last drink” for a dollar, and finding takers. Major Waldron saw what was going on and ordered his men to proceed at the gallop, thus leaving temptation behind.
“You fellas come on back!” Matthew called to the departing soldiers. He held the jug up. “You goin’ to have a long dry spell!” he shouted.