Trumpet on the Land by Terry C. Johnston Page A

across the Fort Laramie parade, scurrying all about officers’ quarters and Bedlam too, changed from bachelor officers’ quarters to housing the wives and families of men already off to war with Crook’s Wyoming column. Young children made him think on Kitty, wondering if he could have done something different, if he hadn’t been away from home so much, if … but he had to admit that even if he had been around more, he doubted there was much a father could do to protect his only son from the scourge of scarlet fever.
    Out here Bill Cody could do something, perhaps even something heroic. But when it came to saving young Kit Carson Cody in those final hours and minutes before he stopped breathing in his father’s arms—William F. Cody would have to live with that failure for the rest of his life.
    â€œThere’s a feeder trail, Cody,” Sheridan explained days ago, hunched over the map table where Carr and many of the Fifth’s officers had circled in tight-lipped conference.
    â€œA trail that I imagine goes right from here, and over here,” Bill had replied that fourteenth day of June, jabbing a finger at the Red Cloud and Spotted Tail agencies, then dragging the finger dramatically across the sepia-toned paper, “all the way north to the hostiles raising hell in the Powder River and Rosebud country, right there.”
    â€œGeneral Carr,” Sheridan said, using the lieutenant colonel’s brevet rank awarded for bravery in battle during the civil war, as he straightened, “I’m wanting to use your Fifth to block that trail north.”
    Carr appeared dismayed, asking, “But you’re not sending us north to unite with General Crook?”
    â€œNo. Jordan down at Red Cloud has been hammering out reports to me every day on his situation there. I want to use your force to block this trail to the Powder River country. I’ve already sent Crook a dispatch detailing my plans to use you to the east of him. You are, after all, the commander of an entirely new district in my department, the District of the Black Hills.”
    â€œYes,” Carr replied.
    In recent days Sheridan had indeed carved out a new military district for Carr and the Fifth Cavalry: embracing portions of western Nebraska and Dakota, along with a slice of eastern Wyoming Territory that ran up to but did not include Fort Fetterman. Carr’s primary task would be protection of the settlers pouring into the Black Hills townships now that the government was seriously going about the business of reclaiming the sacred Paha Sapa from the Sioux and Cheyenne.
    â€œSchuyler?”
    â€œYes, General?” said Walter S. Schuyler.
    Sheridan stood even taller that afternoon days ago, still the shortest man there in that assembly of officers. “Read General Carr my orders.”
    â€œYes, sir,” the lieutenant replied, opening up the folded orders pulled from a thin leather valise he carried over one shoulder. Turning to Carr, Schuyler read, “The lieutenant general commanding directs you to proceed, with the eight companies of the Fifth Cavalry, on the road from Fort Laramie to Custer City until you reach the crossing of the main Powder River trail leading from the vicinity of Red Cloud Agency westward to Powder and Yellowstone rivers. Arriving at that point, you will follow the trail westward, proceeding such distances as your judgment and the amount of supplies which you carry will warrant. As little is known about the country over which you will operate, the lieutenant general … does not wish to hamper you with any official instructions, but will leave you to operate in accordance with your best judgment.”
    As Schuyler refolded the orders and presented them to Carr, Sheridan asked, “You have any questions, General?”
    â€œNone, sir.”
    â€œYou understand I don’t want to tie your hands with the letter of these orders.”
    â€œUnderstood,