damp cold making Kohn’s feet ache in his stirrups. He considers riding back to the blockhouse and having it out with Captain Brown and the two O’Driscolls. He would like to. There would be shooting and some of them would die but at least it would all be over.
Why am I doing this? Kohn asks himself. Because once he has started something he cannot stop? Because he cannot abide the thought of men going about their business in the world untroubled by bloody murder? He had thought that by bringing the sutler and his wife’s killers to justice he and Molloy would have their transfer out of the 7th and away from Custer; that for Molloy such a change might act as a spur to cure himself of his affliction but in his heart Kohn has known all along that whatever happens, it will not matter. Nothing matters to Molloy now but his memories and the drink he uses to quell them. So it is pure stubbornness mainly, Kohn concludes. And because it is the right thing to do. Men should not profit from murder. Or is that too simple? He puts the question from his mind. It doesn’t matter.
He decides he and Jonathan will stand down for now and return to the fort and as he moves to speak the scout points to the corral of upturned wagon boxes several hundred yards away in the winter meadow.
“Sioux,” he says.
Kohn takes his spyglass from a saddlebag and peers through it. Three Indians on horseback are riding full bore at the corral, behind which the sentries have retreated. He sees the puffs of smoke as they fire on the Indians and a second later he hears the sound of the shots. The Indians break ranks to ride in a frenzied circle about the corral and through the glass Kohn can see one of them holding aloft a streamer or red and flailing banner of sorts. The Indians appear to be oddly dressed in white cotton shirts open over their leather jerkins and one of them is wearing a wide brim black hat. On the wind Kohn can hear their war cries and the frantic blast of a picket’s whistle announcing the attack.
Some moments later the dull of thundering hooves, five riders coming from the Pinery. Though Kohn cannot see their faces he knows who three of them are already and spurs his mount to pursue. As they ride, Kohn draws his Remington and watches as one of the attacking Indians vaults a wagon box with his horse and rides across the corral, scattering livestock. He swings what appears to be a club at one of the sentries and then vaults his horse back out of the corral.
A final volley of arrows and amid much whooping the Indians turn their horses for the hills as Kohn and Jonathan reach the trail some fifty yards behind the five riders from the Pinery.
The five fire rifles and pistols but the Indians are too far in front to catch and the group slows to a canter as the Indians top the rise of a hill and disappear behind it. The group of riders comes to a halt at the corral and are assured that the livestock is accounted for and the sentries unhurt. At Kohn and Jonathan’s approach, the five riders turn and again Captain Brown raises his pistol.
“You—”
“Sir,” one of the riders says, “there is something on the trail, sir. Ahead there.”
The captain holds Kohn’s gaze for a moment and then turns his horse and follows one of the men farther down the trail. The O’Driscoll brothers and two other mounted soldiers hold their gaze on Jonathan and Kohn.
“You have some steam in you, soreass,” one of the other soldiers says. “I’d put a hole in you right here if I was one of these boys you stand accusing.”
“You would not be the first who tried, Private,” Kohn says.
The quartermaster hails the men forward and they turn their attention from Kohn and begin up the trail to the captain. The winter grass bends in the breeze across the vast meadow.
“Can we fight the five of them, Jonathan?” Kohn says but he knows the answer.
“We can kill some,” Jonathan says.
“Some will not be enough.”
Jonathan does not reply. Kohn watches as the men reach the quartermaster and whatever it is that has drawn his attention. One of the O’Driscoll brothers dismounts and kneels to something on the ground. There is shouting and consternation.
“Come on,” Kohn says.