I began to awaken. My vision was blurred, my head swam and throbbed with pain, and for a moment, I had no sense of time or place. Nor did I consider any physical aspects of my very being as I lay there, attempting to gain some measure of conscience. As if struck by a lightning bolt I heard the yelling of men, the savage war cries of the enemy and the whistle and crack of shot and rifles. I sat bolt up.
"Captain Davidson! Captain!" quickly I was aware of a soft, cool rag being wiped across my face and gentle hands easing my shoulders back down into what had turned out to be a very soft bed. A bed? How in the hell did I wind up in a bed? It seems like years since anything other than a cot, a tent or the open ground had been my place of rest. Where was I? Who is this? My head slowly rolled to the left. I began to focus now. Things were becoming clear. Next to the bed sat a woman. A handsome woman with dark hair pinned back tightly. An older woman, how old I could not say? Out here on the plains, life has a way of accelerating time far beyond what normally would progress back east. She wore a white cotton simple dress. I began to take stock of the situation. I was in a house. I was in a bedroom, in fact. Pictures of people I did not know hung on the walls, a dresser complete with simple fineries and even thin curtains hung from a glass pained window. Simple striped wallpaper decorated the walls. The sun was shining brightly outside. The woman was making soothing sounds. I could not disseminate a word until I recognized my name.
"Lieutenant Giles? Lieutenant Giles, it is ok. You are safe now. My name is Mary and I have been taking care of you. You were wounded, do you remember?"
Mary? I don't know anyone named Mary. Where the hell was I? I was wounded? I don't remember.
"Do you remember the fight with the dog soldiers? It is ok now. They are gone. You and your captain and the men drove them away. You were injured. I am Mary. You and your men were protecting my family and property."
"How long have I been here?" I mumbled as the haze began to clear. Thank God the pain in my head was beginning to subside slowly.
"Three days. You haven't been awake all that much. I bet you are hungry. I have some simple soup. Would you like some?" Now that she mentioned it, yes. Yes I was very hungry. I nodded. She feed me the first spoonful of what might have been chicken in broth. Hell, it could have been dog or horseflesh, I could not tell. Both are good in a pinch anyways.
"Where is the captain? My men?"
"Your men are fine. Most of them are posted around my property. Sergeant Truman is in charge. He is a very nice fellow. They are fine."
"Captain Davidson?"
"Your captain took a detail back about twenty miles to Ft. Sedgwick, to get supplies, reinforcements and get my daughters to safety until the uprising is fully quashed. I stayed here with you as there was no serviceable wagon in which to move you."
Now it was returning to me. The dog soldiers. Merciless band of renegade Indians having no loyalty to any particular tribe, therefore never feeling any need to observe any treaties or bounds of decent conduct that impaired their own interests. Most of the tribes feared them. Dog soldiers usually comprised mostly of Cheyenne but could include some of the best warriors from any the Sioux nation or neighboring bands. Supposedly they got their name from the French word for dog, "Chien", the original name given to the Cheyenne. This may or may not be true. They were responsible for the most savage attacks upon white settlements, farms, and rail or coach stations, even cavalry troops if they felt they had the upper hand. Often they did. This was a savage war here. Make no mistake; a war is what it was, too. Still, it seemed on the army and the settlers knew it was on. Back in Michigan, there was not a soul who wanted to hear of it. There were no great victories to be won, no triumphant returns for the frontier soldier. Not like there was in the late war, anyways. People either thought we were simply murdering innocent women and children and these peaceable children of nature or they thought maintaining a active army in time of peace was offensive and a grand waste of money to begin with. When I returned from my last furlough home, I had pretty much given up the dream of ever returning. Home no longer existed for me. My home was with my troop now. Reality was a blazing summer sun, snakes as thick as the flies, winters so cold as to be nearly unbearable and most of the time, the boredom so stupefying you could cut it with a knife. Female companionship was nearly non-existent.
"You and your men did a wonderful job,' Mary was explaining, ' you managed to kill maybe four or five, wounded twice that number and drove them away. They have not returned since."
"Are my men..."my voice trailed off.
"Fine. Private Dunn, I am sorry to say, was killed and scalped. You were attempting to reach him. You are very fortunate, Lieutenant. A ball actually went around your skull, opening up a terrible wound, but failed to penetrate the skull. You did lose a lot of blood, Lieutenant. Either you are fortunate or have the hardest head I have ever seen!" Mary laughed. I looked at Mary. Yes. I was not wrong. Beautiful brown eyes, very fair skin and a smile that literally could light the heavens. I was feeling much stronger suddenly. It had been a long time since I had been this close to a white woman. That is not disparaging to squaws, but it is simply a statement of fact. She finished feeding me.
We talked at length. She told me she had two daughters, ages ten and twelve. Captain Davidson thought it was best to evacuate them to safety for the time being. He was probably right. We had all seen what happens to girls even younger if Indians captured them. It was not pretty. That was thing out here. Horrible crimes begat horrible crimes and it was a cycle that seemed never ending and somewhere in the middle was the army, attempting to keep the peace. The white settlers would find a station house of men scalped, skinned, or otherwise brutally tortured and the women made captive and subjugated to the vilest outrages. Even the babies were not sparred. I have witnessed infants with their heads smashed against trees for crying too loudly. Of course, enraged by this, often posses would set out, not really caring if they found the right perpetrators or not, and brutalizing old men or women in some fashion as revenge. Rarely did they find the right band or fight the warriors. Then they would scream for help from the army, as they were themselves now targets of retribution. The settlers would detest us one minute, plead for assistance the next and the Indians themselves might do the same if they were under attack. Meanwhile back east, everyone seemed blissfully ignorant. Fennimore Cooper even wrote a poem. "Lo! The poor Indian!" Hence, when speaking of Indians, we referred to him as 'Lo' or "Mr. Lo". But I digress. We talked a little more. I drifted back to sleep.
I awoke that night, with no light but the moon shining through the window. Mary slept in a chair next to me. Did she ever leave my side? What brought on this devotion from this woman? I had learned Mary had been married until three years ago. Their property, fifty miles north of our present position had been attacked. Mary and her children had nearly been captured. Mary had been severely brutalized by several of the warriors before her own children, until her husband had returned with a group of men he had taken to town for supplies. They had managed to fight off the renegades, but in doing so, Mary's husband had been killed. She was now nearing forty with two small children alone in this hell on earth. She probably belonged back east. But she said this was her home now. I asked her no more of that question. They had moved closer to Ft. Sedgwick, hoping it would offer more protection. Where she had the money to make this property so fine, I did not ask more of that, either.
I looked at Mary for what must have been twenty minutes. I was really developing feelings for this woman, though she was nearly old enough to be my mother, which I suppose, she could have been, as I had only recently turned twenty five. I felt a lot older than that, to be honest. Several years of cavalry campaigns in this wasteland will do that to a man. I began to fantasize about being with a woman like that. Helping her raise children. Taking care of the farm. Maybe try ranching. I had no wife or connections back home. My parents were in Europe traveling. They had little use for a son in the army. Could I really leave the army and the only life I knew now? Could I be happy living in a domestic setting? My mind kept playing out the possibilities. Yes, she was older, and I am sure it was raise eyebrows back east, but I had no intentions of returning anyways to the confinements and false barriers erected by so-called civilization. If I hated the west for its barbarous nature, I loved it as much for its beauty and freedom. This is a place a man could start fresh.
Mary had her hair down now. It was long, well past her shoulders and dark. Her face, while aged slightly from the sun and way of life, was still beautiful. Her breasts heaved against her soft cotton nightgown. I looked down. She was barefoot. Her feet looked so delicate, as did her hands. Then it dawned on me! It struck me so hard as to make me ashamed! She was in that chair because I was occupying her bed. This would not do at all. I saw my uniform hanging on a wall hook, my pistols and Spencer carbine next to my tall boots. I sat up slowly as not to wake her. I should be down with the men. I am feeling well enough now. I sat up in the bed. Then I heard her soft voice in the darkness.
"Where are you going, Lieutenant? I did not release you from my care yet!"
