P.S. Col. Chambers mentioned to me today that his men need shoes badly. If the steamer goes to the Rosebud, I can give him the shoes which he needs.
This correspondence presented a most unusual circumstance—to find the cautious Terry suddenly impatient to be at the chase once more; and to discover that the tenacious Crook had begun to find excuses to delay.
But as far as Seamus Donegan was concerned, the wily George Crook was merely maneuvering so that once he had what he considered enough supplies, he was going to break free of his superior, Alfred Terry.
Exactly as the survivors of the Seventh Cavalry said Custer had talked of doing before they left Gibbon and Terry behind at the mouth of the Rosebud and marched south for their rendezvous with destiny.
That was enough to give a brave man pause.
Donegan prayed Crook was not about to march his Big Horn and Yellowstone Expedition into the very same maw of hell that had devoured Custer and five companies of cavalry beside the Little Bighorn.
Chapter 30
19-26 August 1876
Work Suspended
ST. PAUL, August 7—In consequence of low water in the Yellowstone and the inability of troops at this time to afford protection to building parties, the order for the construction of new forts on the Yellowstone has been countermanded.
Terry About Ready to Move
NEW YORK, August 7—A correspondent telegraphs that Gen. Terry hopes to be able to begin his march by the 9th inst. Under date of July 31st, the correspondent says: “We have just met the Steamer Far West, on her way down to bring the supplies left at Powder river, which we found in possession of the Indians. Capt. Thompson, of the Second cavalry, committed suicide just before the troops left the Big Horn river.”
Late in the morning of the nineteenth, Bill Cody surprised everyone by riding in alone on his buckskin instead of returning on the Far West, having made the dangerous trip upriver on horseback so that he could more closely study any sign he might come across along the south bank of the Yellowstone.
After receiving the scout’s unproductive report, Terry sought out Crook, finding the general seated on a rock at the edge of the river, scrubbing his only pair of longhandles in the muddy water.
“I’ve decided to send the boat upriver to fetch forage and supplies for you at the Rosebud,” Terry told him. “And the shoes Chambers requested.”
“Once I’m reprovisioned, I’ll set out at once,” Crook vowed.
A few hours later the Far West reappeared, chugging beneath afternoon skies to tie up against the north bank. Even from the vantage point of the steamer’s wheelhouse, Louie Reshaw hadn’t spotted any sign that the hostiles had crossed the Yellowstone. Terry ordered Captain Grant Marsh and pilot Dave Campbell to leave at once for, the mouth of the Rosebud, where they were to take on all the supplies previously left in depot there before returning to the Powder. That evening many of the newspapermen went along to enjoy the moonlit trip upriver.
“It was beautiful,” John Finerty gushed as he strode up to Lieutenant Bourke’s fire at Crook’s headquarters the next morning. “Nearly a full moon—”
“I don’t have time to listen to stories about your riverboat ride right now,” Bourke interrupted snappishly, watching how his words brought the newsman up short.
“What—”
“Things aren’t good right now: Washakie just told Crook that he’s leaving.”
“All of them?” Finerty turned this way and that, saying, “The Shoshone? They’re leaving?”
“Back to their reservation at Wind River.”
“Whatever for?”
John shrugged. “Shit, my only guess is they really don’t want to fight the Sioux as bad as Crook does.”
“No, John. There’s something more to it than that,” Finerty pressed, grabbing hold of Bourke’s arm. “Tell me what Washakie said to the general when he broke the news.”
Bourke didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want any newsman to know, really. But with the way the general was going to be butchered by Davenport when the correspondent reported this setback, John felt there should be at least one other newsman who could put enough slant on things to counterbalance Davenport’s nasty, anti-Crook point of view. It could only be Finerty.
John sighed and looked at the correspondent. “The Shoshone don’t think we’re going to catch the Sioux.”
“Hell! Truth is, I don’t think we’re going to, either! So what else did he tell Crook?”
“They didn’t like Tom Moore’s slow-moving mule train.”
“Those can’t be the only reasons. Why, most of Washakie’s warriors rode with that ‘slow-moving mule train’ all the way to the Rosebud earlier this summer!”
“All I can say is they don’t like it now, Finerty. Besides, like Crook says—there just seems to be no stopping them because it’s getting close to annuity time.”
“Annuity?”
Bourke answered, “The provisions they get from the government agent there at Wind River. Washakie wants to be there when his people come in to receive their goods.”
“Well, we’ve still got Cody and Grouard and the rest.”
The lieutenant shook his head. “That’s some more bad news: Cody resigned this morning. I just heard about it myself. I haven’t even told the general yet because he’s been in a dither about the Snakes … and now Cody’s calling it quits.”
“Cody? Why, in God’s name?”
“He told General Terry about the same thing Washakie did: that it appeared the soldiers did not want to fight, that he had worn himself out chasing Indians who had cleared out of the country a long time ago. He really let Terry have it, telling the general all about his scouting ability, how he took that Cheyenne’s scalp at the Warbonnet— but that Crook and Terry didn’t want to listen to him when he pointed out fresh trails that needed to be followed.”
Finerty shook his head with confusion and asked, “W-wait. You said Cody found some fresh trails?”
Bourke sought to wave it off. “That’s just what I’ve heard—he probably didn’t. But he complained that the generals were relying too much on their Indian scouts and not enough on fellas like him and Grouard, Donegan, and Buffalo Chips.”
“So he’s leaving for sure? No one able to talk him into staying on?”
“Yeah, the Irishman is down in Terry’s camp right now, trying to convince Cody to stay on for a few more weeks at least. But Cody says he’s convinced the army doesn’t want to find any Indians.”
“John,” Finerty replied, “you know, Cody might just be right. I myself thought of joining some of the fellows cashing it in.”
“You, John? Why—you’ve been with us since the winter campaign!”
“And you don’t think a man gets tired of all this Injun hunting?”
“But you’re a veteran campaigner now,” Bourke protested.
“Frankly, I see little prospect for catching the enemy now. Nothing to be gained by my remaining out here but more mud, more misery, and a lot more miles crawling through rough country.”
“One good battle, that’s all Crook needs—”