The Color Of Courage. Patricia Davids

she needed. She drew a deep, cleansing breath. The cool breeze carried the smell of dust, fallen leaves and the earthy scent of horses. Looking over the fence to the hills rising just beyond the road, she saw the golden-hued stone buildings of old Fort Riley where they stood nestled between oaks, elms and sycamores bearing the first touches of fall colors. Dakota pulled impatiently at the reins again.

      “Okay, I’m the one stalling,” she admitted. “I just want this so badly—for you and me, but mostly for Danny.”

      Each week her brother called for updates about Dakota’s training, offering advice and pointers that she didn’t really need but accepted anyway. Today, he would be waiting impatiently for her call. She intended to give him good news.

      Reaching down, she checked that her saber and rifle would slide easily out of their scabbard and boot. The reproduction models of the 1860s U.S. Cavalry equipment were spotless after her careful preparations that morning. Even the brass buttons of her blue wool cavalry jacket gleamed brightly in the late-morning sun. She was as ready as she could get.

      Be with us today, Lord, for Danny’s sake.

      At the touch of her heels, Dakota bounded forward. Together, they sailed over a series of low jumps, then slid to a halt and whirled back at the end of the field. On the return run, Lindsey drew her saber and headed into a series of poles topped with red and white balloons. As Dakota wove in and out, she slashed left and right, breaking as many as she could. He didn’t even flinch at the loud pops or the swish of the sword cutting close beside him.

      Four men on horseback waited for her at the end of the course. She slowed to a trot. Each man drew his saber and held it over his head with the tip pointing backward. One by one she struck their swords with her own as she passed close behind them, making the steel weapons ring with bell-like tones.

      Sheathing her saber, she drew her pistols. Digging her heels into her mount’s sides, she headed into the jumps again, this time blasting the balloons with her revolvers. Dakota raced on without faltering until they cleared the last hurdle. Only one maneuver remained.

      Holstering her guns, she pulled the horse to a sliding stop and dismounted. Drawing her carbine rifle from its boot, she gave a low command, lifted Dakota’s foreleg and pulled his head around. “Throwing the Horse” was the hardest movement for the young gelding to perform. Many horses refused the command.

      To her relief, Dakota knelt, then lay down and rolled onto his side without hesitation.

      “Stay down,” she ordered. Stretching out behind his back, Lindsey rested her rifle on his shoulder and fired off three rounds. They were only blanks, but the sharp reports were as loud as if they had been real bullets. Dakota jerked slightly at the sound of the first discharge, but remained quietly on his side, providing lifesaving cover for his rider as cavalry horses have been trained to do through the ages.

      As the echoes of the last shot died away, Lindsey rose to her feet and gave the command to stand. After scrambling to his feet, Dakota shook himself and waited patiently for her to remount. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hug him, but not now, not yet.

      “Good boy, you were perfect. Just perfect,” she murmured as she swung up into the saddle. She knew she was grinning like a fool, but she couldn’t help it. After only three months of training, Dakota had proved himself worthy of a place in the elite Commanding General’s Mounted Color Guard at Fort Riley. Danny would be so proud.

      She returned to the end of the field, where other members of her unit sat on their horses. Beside the men, Captain Jeffery Watson, her unit commander, stood with his arms crossed and a faint frown on his face. Stopping in front of him, Lindsey saluted smartly.

      “Well done, Sergeant Mandel.”

      “Thank you, sir.”

      The other men in her unit gathered around. “You looked fine out there.” Private Avery Barnes was the next to offer his opinion. The dark-haired Boston native pushed his cap back to smile at her with a roguish grin.

      “She always looks good. It was Dakota who looked great,” drawled Corporal Shane Ross as he leaned over and patted the horse’s neck. It was no secret the tall blond Texan was fond of all the four-legged members of the unit. He took as much pride in their skill as he did in the abilities of the horses’ human partners.

      “So, does this mean Dakota is in?” the third soldier queried. Private Lee Gillis, the newest enlisted member of the mounted color guard was watching their captain closely.

      Captain Watson reached out to rub Dakota’s cheek. “I will admit that I was worried when I learned that Dakota belonged to your brother, Sergeant.”

      Lindsey gave him a puzzled look. “May I ask why?”

      “The last thing I wanted to do was to tell a wounded veteran that his horse wasn’t suitable for our unit. Thanks to your hard work, I won’t have to do that. I think Dakota makes a fine addition to our stable.”

      She nearly melted with relief as the men around her grinned and offered their congratulations. “Thank you, sir. I know I speak for my brother when I say that it is an honor to have Dakota accepted.”

      Crossing his arms again, the captain allowed a smile to soften his stern features. “As the icing on this cake, I wanted you all to know that I just received word from the Joint Task Force-Armed Forces Inaugural Committee that the Commanding General’s Mounted Color Guard had been invited to participate in the upcoming Presidential Inauguration parade.”

      A cheer of excitement went up from the men. Lindsey grinned at their enthusiasm, “That’s wonderful news, sir. Will Dakota be going, too?”

      “Dakota has earned his place. And, of course, as the highest ranking non-commissioned officer, you will be the U.S. flag bearer for our unit. I’m sure you’ll want to ride Dakota for that, but if you prefer another mount, I’ll understand.”

      “Oh, no, I’ll be riding Dakota.” Wait until she told Danny. He would burst his buttons with pride.

      “I’ve decided to include Dakota in Saturday’s performance. Can he handle the crowd at a Kansas State football game?”

      “I know he can, sir.”

      “Good. That will be all, Sergeant. Dismiss the detail.” Captain Watson stepped back from the horses.

      Lindsey saluted, dismissed the men and then let the overwhelming happiness sink in. Being asked to participate in the Inaugural parade was an incredible honor. She might be the one bearing the flag, but she would be carrying it for her brother. Giddy with delight, she headed for the stables. This was one phone call she couldn’t wait to make.

      Early Saturday afternoon, Brian Cutter walked along the edge of the Kansas State University football field in Manhattan, Kansas, leaning heavily on his cane. Halftime activities for the first home game of the year were well underway. The energetic shouts of cheerleaders dressed in purple and white, the noise from thousands of fans and the blare of the band was almost deafening. But Brian had his eye on a group of halftime performers who seemed unfazed by the clamor.

      Beneath the goalposts at the north end of the field, six horses stood quietly waiting for their riders. The matching bays all sported dark blue blankets and McClellan Cavalry saddles.

      He had watched them being unloaded behind the stadium and something in the third horse’s gait had caught his attention. The gelding’s walk wasn’t quite right. Maybe it was nothing more than a bruise from the trailer ride, but he wanted to make sure the horse’s rider was aware of what he’d seen. Until the horse was examined, it shouldn’t be ridden.

      The riders were out now and preparing to mount. Brian tried to hurry, but his bad leg was aching again. He didn’t need a weatherman to tell him a cold front was moving in. Sharp pain shot through his hip and forced him to rely more heavily on his cane, making him feel much older than his thirty-two years. He arrived at the temporary picket line just as a young woman dressed in Civil War military garb was checking her saddle and girth.

      “Excuse