Chasing Pancho Villa by R. L. Tecklenburg Page B

at the civilian. “An appointment was made with the major four days ago.”
    â€œYes, sir,” the clerk said, flipping through the pages of paper on a clipboard. “Here it is, sir.”
    An officer entered through the front opening, swiftly marching up the two steps into the wood-floored tent.
    â€œI’ve been expecting you, Mr. James,” the tall, heavily built white soldier called out as he entered the tent a short time later, followed by the clerk. He was hatless, and Harrison noticed the thinning dark hair outlining a broad, fleshy face with small, brown eyes and a rather large, bulbous nose. “I received a telegram from Mrs. James. She said you would be arriving today.”
    Harrison faced the army officer.
    â€œWelcome to the 24th Infantry. I’m Major Kneeland Snow.” The major held out his large hand to the civilian.”
    â€œThank you, major.” He extended his hand. It was immediately engulfed in the larger man’s hand. Weak grip, Harrison noticed, and the soldier seemed heavy on his feet for an infantryman. He wasn’t what James had expected.
    â€œMay we talk…in private?” Harrison asked quietly.
    â€œYes. Of course,” Major Snow said politely. “Let’s go to my quarters. Please follow me.” He led Harrison through the large tent. The Negro soldiers still watched as the two white men left by the rear entrance.
    Crossing one of the dusty streets, they entered another, smaller tent. Harrison was careful to maneuver over the tent’s anchoring lines as he stepped into the major’s quarters.
    â€œPlease sit down.” Major Snow motioned with his hand to one of the two chairs in the tent. “Forgive the lack of accommodations, but we are on a war footing here.” He smiled. “You can understand.”
    â€œYes, of course, major. I’ll try not to take up much of your time.” Harrison then pulled a yellowed envelope from his breast pocket and unfolded its contents. Inside was a letter written on simple white stationary, and a Western Union Telegram.
    The officer recognized the contents. He had written them.
    â€œMajor, in this letter…” he held it up, “You state that my brother put a gun to his head and…” Harrison suddenly choked, feeling sickened and bereaved. “And shot himself.”
    â€œYes, sir. That is correct,” Snow nodded. “I’m very sorry.” Sitting at the small writing desk, the major looked down.
    â€œHe took his own life because he was depressed. Is that right?” Harrison struggled with his sudden emotion.
    â€œPlease, sir. Let me explain. This unit recently had a very unfortunate experience while stationed in Houston, Texas. Many of the men mutinied. A horrible time, really. They mutinied and went on a rampage. People were killed. Civilians were killed. These boys are a difficult bunch. Coloreds, you know….”
    â€œWhat does that have to do with the death of my brother, major?”
    â€œI’m trying to explain,” the major replied, standing. “Captain James was a good company commander. But, I’m afraid he over-sympathized with his Colored troops. Too long out here in company with them.”
    â€œOne year, sir. Do you consider that too long?”
    â€œHe failed to provide the leadership that the army expected of him. Mr. James, his concern for his men clouded his judgment.”
    Agitated by the criticism of his brother, Harrison, too, jumped to his feet. He towered over the soldier. “You’re saying his death was because he blamed himself for the Negro troopers rioting in Houston? Your letter indicated as much. However, sir, I’m afraid the family still does not quite understand.”
    â€œThe cause of your brother’s unfortunate death was the Houston riot.” Snow was intimidated by the tall man now coldly staring at him. “Yes, your brother blamed himself for what happened. He