Chapter Selection: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

2.

As I lay there trying to sleep, my thought turned to the events of the evening. Custer's massacre at Big Horn would have far reaching repercussions of that I was certain. The government would never allow Sitting Bull to get away with what had happened and they would, I had no doubt, make him pay with his life. But all of that was in the future. What concerned me right there and then was what we were going to do about getting to Wyoming. The stranger and Bill Munroe seemed determined to go on and the others obviously wanted to return to the comparative safety of El Paso. My own feelings were mixed on the subject. I didn't know which way to turn. Before Bill had opened his mouth I was all for going back but he had made me feel like I was copping out if I didn't go on with them. He had made me feel like a coward and that's one ugly word and something that I definitely didn't consider myself to be. I tossed and turned under my trade blanket until I eventually drifted off into a deep and nightmare ridden sleep.

In my dream I was standing on top of a tall mountain overlooking a sea of waving, green grass. It was Buffalo grass that stood nearly as tall as a man. Through the middle of the meadow, ran a silver ribbon of water that continually reflected the rays of the sun toward the heavens. I looked down at the grass and the river and then I heard a rumbling sound that I believed was thunder. But the sky was clear; there wasn't a cloud to be seen. I turned to my left and saw a great dust cloud rising from the ground. I couldn't make out what on earth it was at first, and then it dawned on me. It was a huge herd of buffalo and they were heading straight for the meadow and the river there in. My eyes were riveted on the amazing sight as they charged at full speed for the grasslands. With a great roar and a crashing crescendo of hoofs and snorting bodies, the animals rumbled on to the field and cut a path a full quarter of a mile wide in their wake. The dust from the charge filled my nostrils and I smell the heat as they crashed in to the river sending great plumes of water exploding into the arid air. The scene filled me with a mixture of fear and excitement as I scrambled down the mountain and quickly made my way toward the big, shaggy animals as they snorted and wallowed in the river. Then, I recall vividly, I was amongst them patting their gigantic heads and stroking their magnificent hides. They were gentle with me and made no attempt to trample me underfoot as I passed silently amongst them. An almost spiritual feeling enveloped me as I drank from the same river as they and the water was sweet and pure and tasted like no water I have ever tasted before.
And then they were gone.

They disappeared as rapidly as they had come and I was alone out there on the meadow. The grass was trampled and the flies buzzed angrily about the buffalo chips that were still warm and fresh upon the ground. I was somewhat bewildered and then totally amazed as I spied a group of war painted Sioux Indians slowly making their way toward me atop of incredibly intricately painted ponies. As stunned as I was, I felt no fear from the Indians as they passed me by without so much as a glance toward me. They were proud and noble warriors and their features burned into my brain forever just as surely as a branding iron burns in to cattle's flesh.

And then, they too, were gone.

Looking back toward the mountain that I had just descended from, I observed a troop of blue clad cavalry coming through the road that had been created by the buffalo. Banners and flags were flying in the wind and a small, mounted band was playing 'Gary Owen'. Upon one of the flags, I could clearly make out the number 7 and the word 'CAV' below it. This then was the famous seventh cavalry and the arrogant looking fellow in the fancy buckskin coat and extravagant hat must have been none other than George Armstrong Custer himself. As they approached the river, Custer raised his right hand in the signal to halt. They then dismounted as one and led their fine animals to the water but the men drank first and then the horses.

Custer was standing right next to me and looked me up and down as though I was something he'd just found on the sole of his shiny boots.
"Sir," he began respectfully enough. "You wouldn't happen to have seen a wild bunch of savage redskins pass this way, would you?" I was lost for words. I didn't know what to say or do. I only knew that I shouldn't tell this trumped up soldier boy anything that might harm the Indians that I had seen. But it seemed that I should tell him that I had seen the Indians and which direction they were travelling in. "I seen 'em all right. They passed by a little while back and were headin' north toward Wyoming." I replied confidently. With ever alert, blue eyes he looked from me to the north and it seemed as though he could actually see his enemy before him. "I am obliged to you, sir." Was all he said as he remounted his fine grey mare and rode away toward the horizon with his glorious command following on behind.