these pages did later arise from whores & whiskey. But then I would say to you in reply that if we did not have whiskey & whores well how could we stand to live in this world at all? It is strange how things can be at once both good & bad for a body.
7
November 30, 1866—Bozeman Trail, Dakota Territory
THREE DAYS OUT OF FORT LARAMIE—WHERE KOHN had purchased buffalo coats and hats against the chill of autumn that had, in their previous two weeks of travel, turned to the cold of winter—and they are descending the muddy, rutted Immigrant Road for the banks of the North Platte, where they plan to cross and pick up the Bozeman Trail. They spy covered wagons in the distance. Kohn extends his field glass and puts it to his eye. Oxen teams, three, and two more of mules. Slow going, women and children walking beside the wagons to lighten their loads on the sandy North Platte banks.
Kohn says to Molloy, handing him the telescope, “Small party, sir. And late in the season. If they are heading north, they’ll be held up at Fort Reno until a larger group assembles. They’ll probably have to winter there. Maybe at Phil Kearny if they’re lucky with the weather.”
Molloy grunts and ignores Kohn’s offer to look through the glass. He is conscious but only just, having passed the three days of their stay to rest the horses and mules at Fort Laramie drinking with a detachment of 4th Cavalry officers out of Texas who regaled Molloy with stories of Comanche raids, of terrible butchery and wild pursuit. He has passed much of the last three days’ travel vomiting from his saddle and has dropped his flop-brimmed Hardee hat several times so that Rawson is weary of dismounting and fetching it. It is a hat unbecoming a cavalry officer, Kohn has told Molloy more than once, though Kohn supposes the tall, furred buffalo cover is no better.
The officer’s face is bright red with windburn and winter sun and sickness. He wears spectacles of dark green glass against the sun which he purchased in Louisiana, these being the fashion among men of means there, and Kohn cannot see Molloy’s eyes behind them. Kohn views the glasses as ridiculous, a foppish affectation, particularly when worn with the Hardee hat.
Kohn continues, “Cooke’s orders. Not safe to make your way to the gold fields in groups of fewer than sixty, with twenty armed men at least. It makes for bad reading in the papers back east and ill affects the price of gold when prospectors are opened up like herring on the Bozeman and their women taken for Indian wives.”
Jonathan smiles at this, though not so the bluecoats see it. And how many Pawnee women, he thinks, have been taken by white soldiers? Too many to count.
“You are talking like a Jew now, Kohn,” Molloy says.
Kohn laughs. “And you reek like an Irishman, sir, but you are awake at least. Will we dismount here and make ourselves presentable before we ride up on those wagons, sir? There may be women present.”
At least Molloy has been listening. Anything to bring him back. Worst I’ve seen him, Kohn thinks. He has eaten little more than porridge oats and brown sugar in the past how many days. And most of that left in the mud of the trailside.
“You may be right, Kohn. Rawson, Jonathan, pull up. I’d ask for my strop and razor but for lack of water.”
Kohn and Rawson dismount and Kohn aids Molloy down from his saddle. The Pawnee scout stays mounted and scans the trail, the grassy hills around them. The air is cool, the sky clear blue. Autumn on the edge of winter. The month best on the plains, the scout thinks. More of the lieutenant’s whiskey, if he offers, to keep the chill from my bones. Not so much though. Sioux about. Signs of unshod ponies crossing the trail half a morning behind. Fresh. Young braves or women. Close by but no danger. Still, watch, notice everything.
“We’ve enough,” Kohn says, “for a wash of your face. And a run of the comb, sir.”
“Splendid, Daniel, splendid. And a drop for my canteen too. We will water down the whiskey some. I believe it may be time to wean myself in anticipation. . . .”
He does not finish his sentence, as has been happening more and more lately, but Kohn is happy that Molloy has seen the need to taper off his consumption.