Apache Ambush. Will Cook

past the meridian and the room was in shade, cool, quiet. Finally Crook said, “There is a facet to this matter that puzzles me, and that is a report of the incident at Tres Alamos. Frankly, I fail to find it, Major.”

      O’Hagen’s eyes whipped to Major Calvin and there was an apology in his glance. “There never was a report made out, sir.”

      “No?” Crook’s forehead became a furrowed field of flesh. “Mr. O’Hagen, this is indeed most serious. I want a complete accounting of your reasons for not writing this up.”

      Again O’Hagen went through the Tres Alamos attack, glossing over the incidents leading to his return. He spoke clearly, cleanly, like a surgeon making an abdominal incision. He shot frequent glances at Major Calvin and found the officer’s face chalky.

      When he was finished, General Crook drummed his blunt fingers on the desk, his head and shoulders wreathed in cigar smoke. Four coffee cups sat at his right elbow, grounds a hard settling in the bottom. A half-filled pot bubbled on the pot-bellied stove in the corner.

      Major Calvin sat stiffly on the edge of his chair, a shine of perspiration on his forehead. He massaged his hands nervously.

      “Major,” Crook said softly, “I dislike intensely anything resembling evasiveness in an officer. On the surface, I would say that you are about to wade out where the water is deep.” He stacked papers and leaned forward, his heavy forearms flat. “I assume you have an explanation, Major.”

      “I don’t know what to say,” Calvin said.

      “Do you choose to contradict Mister O’Hagen’s testimony?”

      “I—” He looked at O’Hagen. “What can I say, Tim?” He began to breathe heavily. “You could call in your troop, one by one, I suppose.” His eyes traveled to General Crook. “I deny nothing, General.”

      “Is that your excuse, Major?”

      Calvin stood up, rubbing his palms together. “General, a commander in this department is in a delicate position. What I mean is, Mr. Sickles is not only the agent for the Indians, but has certain jurisdictions over my command. Any way you look at it, General, I’m more or less his servant.”

      Crook frowned. “Major, a commander works with the agent, not for him. Am I to understand that an officer who was breveted twice for bravery has been intimidated by an Indian agent? What sort of monster is this man, Sickles? What kind of a man are you to have allowed this to happen?”

      Major Calvin mopped his face with a handkerchief and began to pace back and forth. O’Hagen watched him for a moment, then pulled his eyes away to study the stitching in his boots. Calvin began to speak in a strained voice. “It was nine years before I was promoted to first lieutenant. Nine difficult years. Then the war came along. Everything assumed a different complexion. That is to say, my captaincy—brevet at first—I got that with the Illinois volunteers—” He paused to lick his lips and his breathing was loud and labored in the room. “What I mean to say is, after Vicksburg, I was breveted again—with no increase in pay. There were obligations, General. Debts to plague a man.”

      Crook had been watching Calvin as he paced back and forth, but now he dropped his eyes to his folded hands and kept them there. Calvin was sweating profusely now and his pacing increased in tempo. He was a caged animal and seeking an exit.

      “My—my wife likes to entertain. Of course, there were reductions after the war. What I mean is that I saw good men go, General.” He stopped and stared vacantly. O’Hagen glanced at him and felt a genuine regret. Here was a man who had lived a lifetime with the US on his blanket, been used hard by the service, but ended up his own worst enemy. “—a little pressure here and there. A word dropped in some ear back East— A man could find himself on the list. Retired, at half pay.”

      Brevet Major Sidney A. Calvin held out his hands to General Crook. Sweat made bright streaks down his cheeks and his lips quivered slightly. “I—I’m a soldier, sir. That’s all I know. What—what would I do out of the army? I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times. Laid awake nights worrying about it.”

      Crook gnawed on his cigar, his unpleasant thoughts etched in the lines of his face. Calvin’s voice droned on, rising to a whine at times.

      “—we lost three officers here, two brevets like myself. And only three months my junior. Mr. Sickles—is a man of influence. Sir, I had to think of my wife! Anyway, we talked. Mr. Sickles likes an orderly house—everything all right in his reports. It’s understandable. Good reports make a right impression in Washington. Later he came around with a demotion list. I saw my name there—it was authentic, General.” Calvin paused to mop his face. “It was just a matter of time for me. We talked again. About Contreras. Mr. Sickles thought he could make a good Apache out of him, if left alone. We discussed Mr. O’Hagen and the trouble he’s caused Mr. Sickles. I—agreed to help in any way I could. You know, an understanding. Well—I was moved up. You don’t know what it was like, not having to worry, being able to sleep nights!”

      When he was through, Major Calvin turned to face the wall and stood that way. The room was so quiet that O’Hagen could hear General Crook’s pocket watch ticking. Crook cleared his throat and spoke very softly. “Major, I regret this very much, but you leave me no alternative in this matter. In view of your many years of service and the past commands in which you have served with distinction, I suggest that no proceedings be instigated. Instead, I will accept your resignation, with regret.”

      Calvin turned like a man hypnotized. “Sir—”

      “I am sorry, Major. I’ll assign a senior officer to command tomorrow,” He paused to unwrap a fresh cigar. “Now if you will summon Mr. Sickles, we will dispense with the formal complaint he filed.”

      After Calvin left, Lieutenant O’Hagen sat quietly. He did not speak to General Crook, and the general seemed content to puff on his cigar. Ten minutes passed before Major Calvin reappeared with Sickles. The agent sat down importantly and waited. General George Crook let him wait for another ten minutes and O’Hagen was pleased to see a definite fissure in Osgood H. Sickles’ nerves.

      Finally General Crook took his cigar from his mouth and said, “Mr. Sickles, in reviewing the facts, I’ve come to the conclusion that you are not at all what you seem. You have stated that you did not strike Mr. O’Hagen because of your adherence to law and formality. Yet you struck Mr. O’Hagen last night. I find that contradictory to your former statement.” Sickles stiffened in his chair. “On the charge that you have filed, I must find Mr. O’Hagen not guilty. I believe you are a man who well can take care of himself, although you pretend otherwise. On the second charge brought by the Army of the United States, and to which he has pleaded guilty, I set forth the following punishment.” Crook’s eyes met O’Hagen’s across the table and locked. “You will be retarded seven years on the promotional roster and be deprived of the following allowances: Ten dollars for duty as adjutant or post Quartermaster officer, forfeiture of your servant’s allowance of twenty-three dollars and fifty cents a month, and while garrisoned on the post, your ration allowance halved to eighteen dollars, leaving you a monthly total pay of seventy-one dollars and thirty-three cents.” Crook butted his cigar. “Mr. O’Hagen, this is to impress upon you the importance of an officer’s word. Although your arrest, in a sense, was unjustified, it was within the limits prescribed by military regulations, which you willingly broke. Do you wish to appeal this sentence to a higher authority?”

      “No, sir.”

      “Then the matter is closed,” Crook said.

      “That’s a point on which we disagree,” Sickles said, rising. His face was flushed and his eyes were very dark. He came to Crook’s desk and pointed his finger at the general. “I might have guessed that the army would stick together, but this matter is a long way from being finished. You may be a general, but you have a little to learn about politics.”

      Crook’s anger was contained in his eyes, a tell-tale shine. “Mr. Sickles, I haven’t made up my mind yet just what kind of a carpetbagger you are, but when they hired you to the post as