Apache Ambush. Will Cook

patrol. His saber straps dangled limply against his thigh and his pistol holster was empty. Dust still powdered the dark blue of his shirt, sweat-soaked into the weave. There was a stiffened salt rime around his suspender straps and under his arms.

      He leaned against the cell door and said, “You look worried, sir. You wouldn’t have a cigar on you, would you?”

      “No cigar. And you’ve given me plenty to worry about.” Calvin wrinkled his nose distastefully. “You could do with a bath, Mister.”

      “The facilities are poorly,” O’Hagen observed. “But you didn’t come here to see if I was comfortable, sir.” He grinned and his eyelids drew together, springing small crowsfeet toward his cheekbones. There was this rashness about O’Hagen that a general’s rank would not have concealed, and Calvin found himself becoming irritated by it.

      “And then again, sir,” O’Hagen went on, “it could be that you’re goin’ to let me out. According to regulations, an officer is to be held in arrest of quarters, not confined.” He smiled. “Better let me out before General Crook arrives, sir. His finding me here will be a bigger mistake than locking me up in the first place.”

      “I can justify my actions!”

      “Want to bet, sir?” He watched Major Calvin gnaw his lip, then switched the subject. “Tell me, sir—how’s Mr. Osgood H. Sickles? Is his fat head still achin’?”

      Major Calvin whipped his head around. “Mr. Meeker!” The officer-of-the-day appeared on the double. “Release Mr. O’Hagen.”

      “Release him, sir? But I thought you said—”

      Calvin’s patience was nearly rent. “Mr. Meeker, I am under the delusion that I command this post. Please be so good as to correct me if I’m in error in this matter.” He impaled Lieutenant Meeker with his eyes and watched the junior officer grow increasingly nervous.

      Keys jangled. The cell door swung inward and O’Hagen followed Major Calvin outside. Crossing the parade to headquarters, Calvin said, “You fool, O’Hagen! Couldn’t you keep Libby away?”

      “Maybe I like her company,” O’Hagen said.

      “And I suspect you like Mrs. Sickles’ even more. She’s quite concerned about your welfare, Mister.”

      “And you told her my health was superb?”

      “I told her to forget about you,” Calvin said, “and that was good advice. I’d give that advice to any woman who was interested in you.”

      “Sometimes you’re so kind I get all choked up,” O’Hagen said.

      Calvin stopped in his tracks and glared at O’Hagen. “You’re like an Apache, O’Hagen; you don’t have respect for anything.” He walked on and entered the orderly room, slamming his office door. “Sit down,” he said and went behind his desk. “For your information, Mr. Sickles has recovered rather well.”

      “Then I didn’t hit him as hard as I thought,” O’Hagen said with genuine regret.

      “Don’t extend my patience beyond the limit I” Calvin stormed. He regarded O’Hagen bitterly, momentarily regretting that this officer was under arrest, for while he had prisoner status he was not bound by military courtesy. O’Hagen could literally say what he pleased without fear of reprisal.

      Calvin blew out a long breath and rekindled his cigar. As an afterthought he offered one to O’Hagen. “Mr. Sickles’ eye has healed, although some discoloration remains.” Calvin’s teeth ground into his cigar. “Mr. O’Hagen, you’re more trouble to me than all the Apaches put together.”

      “That comes with the uniform,” O’Hagen said softly, meeting Calvin’s eyes through the cigar smoke.

      “I don’t hunt for it,” Calvin said. “Mr. O’Hagen, what ever possessed you to believe for a moment that Osgood Sickles would submit to this treatment? You’ve been trying to link him with the Apache raids for over a year now, and I tell you it’s gone far enough.”

      Calvin was balancing his weight on stiffened arms, the knuckles crushed into the desk. He looked like a man about to leap into a fight. Finally he turned and stared out the window at the inky parade ground. “General Crook is arriving in the morning and since he has expressed a desire to meet you personally, I’ll let him sit on this matter. You’re quite a favorite with the big brass, O’Hagen. You’ll stand a better chance with him than you would have with me.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Mrs. Sickles’ marriage was a little sudden, wasn’t it?”

      “She made up her mind,” O’Hagen said and the bitter wind blew through him.

      “But you don’t like it,” Calvin said. “Tim, tell me—was that why you hit him? Because he married a woman you wanted?” He shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. O’Hagen, but that wasn’t in the cards.” Opening a drawer, he plucked a yellowed folder from a stack and tossed it on the desk. “There’s the reason you could never marry her. Want me to read it to you? That’s a file, O’Hagen. A report of Apache atrocities. A long time ago, O’Hagen, but men never forget those things. Especially when a white boy does them.”

      O’Hagen raised a hand and wiped the back of it across his mouth. His eyes were hard glazed and when he spoke, his voice was like wind through tall trees, soft, yet clear. “What are you trying to do to me, sir?”

      “Put you in your proper place!” Calvin snapped. “O’Hagen, you don’t fool me. This is a case of the pot calling the kettle black.” He slapped the folder. “It’s all here: you, Contreras, Choya, and two others, the complete account of that freight wagon massacre. How can you blame Osgood Sickles? Are you trying to whitewash yourself by smearing someone else?”

      “What are you trying to cover up, sir?”

      This brought Brevet Major Calvin around on his heel, his eyes bright with anger. “Get something straight! I don’t like you and now I’ve told you to your face. You want to know why? The army’s some personal weapon to you. You’re a soldier when you feel like it and when you don’t, you run all over hell chasing Apaches. And you get away with it because you know Apaches. The big hero, getting patrols through country no other officer could get near. You don’t make enough mistakes, O’Hagen. You don’t talk enough. Sometimes I’ve gotten the feeling that you’re a damned Apache beneath that white skin. There’s others who feel the same way too.”

      O’Hagen rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and stared at Major Calvin. “You’re scared,” he said. “What are you afraid of? That I’d go over your head if you made a decision on Sickles’ complaint? You didn’t have to hold this up and dump it in General Crook’s lap.”

      “Don’t presume to tell me how to command!” Calvin snapped. He sat down at his desk and dribbled cigar ashes onto his tunic. He brushed at them absently, leaving a gray smear. “Mr. O’Hagen, get it through your head that Mr. Sickles is not just another civilian who can be pushed around. He is an Indian agent, a representative of the United States government, and I bring to your attention that he, in a direct manner, commands the disbursement of military forces in the San Carlos Agency.”

      “So you are afraid of Sickles.”

      “Worry about yourself,” Calvin advised. “You may find that poking an Indian agent in the mouth can cost you your commission.”

      “As long as I get Osgood H. Sickles, I don’t care.”

      Calvin smiled. “Is it Sickles you want or his wife?”

      O’Hagen came half out of his chair and Major Calvin pointed his finger like a gun. “Come any farther and I’ll have you shot!”

      Sinking back slowly, O’Hagen studied the major. “Are you after me, sir?”

      Calvin studied the end of his cigar. He seemed sorry for his outburst, yet was unable to summon an apology. “No. No, Tim, I’m not. Believe what you want, but I’m not after you.”