Lost Cause (19 page)

It had never occurred to Jack to be anger
with his current situation. The cold water in the creek had washed
away every emotion, save abject fear and despair. He thought about
the men who’d been executed like common criminals before his very
eyes. He wished them all a good existence in the after life. In his
judgment they were good young men, and brave, and dedicated and
they deserved more out of life than a slit throat and an
undignified death. Campbell had survived the slaughter, but there
was no guarantee he would survive the arrow wound to his leg. When
Jack last saw it, it was bleeding steadily with no sign of
relenting. Then there was the stone arrowhead still buried in his
thigh muscle no doubt incubating all manner of infectious germs.
What would they say to his family if he succumbed to his injuries?
That he died from wounds and other causes in the commission of his
duties? It would be very hard to explain to them that he died from
injuries received during an Indian attack. There was a civil war
on, for goodness sake. If he was killed, shouldn’t it be in
glorious battle fighting for the freedom of the precious
Confederacy? Jack thought it best not to think about such complex
complexities. The main thing now was to get Corporal Campbell the
help he so desperately needed.

Chapter 31

Jack finally made it to the main rode by
early afternoon. It hadn’t rained for at least three hours and the
sun was out and steam rose from the damp ground like curls of smoke
from a furnace. He walked south for two miles before coming across
a small cabin sitting off the road under a grouping of walnut
trees. He went right inside, emboldened by the fact that he no
longer possessed a weapon and thus had no way to defend himself
anyway, and an empty stomach that screamed to be filled with some
type of nourishment.

The cabin smelled of coffee and freshly baked
bread and burnt lantern oil. A woman sat in the corner of the cabin
watching Jack with eyes as faded and void of substance as her blue
apron. “Hello,” Jack said. She nodded curtly.

“Suppose you’re wantin’ to eat too,” she
said, speaking very slowly.

“If you can spare something,” Jack said.

“Them other soldiers ate up all the bacon and
two pans of biscuits. I reckon I can make you some gravy from the
drippings. I got some canned pears too, and they’s plenty of coffee
in the pot yonder.”

“That would be fine,” Jack said helping
himself to a seat at a small table in the kitchen.

The woman went about pouring bacon grease
into a cast iron frying pan and mixing it with flour. Jack sat
silently watching her work fascinated by the length and color of
her hair. She had a strong, sturdy frame and long tapered fingers
that gripped the pan as if she was well accustomed to handling
cooking equipment. A bonnet made of blue flannel covered most of
the strawberry hair spilling over her shoulders in long curly
locks.

“Your head’s bleedin’,” she said
casually.”

“Yeah, had a little Indian trouble.” She
turned to look at Jack briefly and then went back to her
stirring.

“Indians, huh? I figured it was them Yankees
who rode by here the other day who did it.”

“No ma’am, it was Kickapoos. Guess we strayed
too close to their community.”

“You with them rebels who stopped this
morning?”

“Of a sort, yes. But I got separated from
them. There’s a convoy of wagons and ambulances headed this way
too. They’re somewhere south of here I think.”

“I hope they ain’t hungry, ‘cause I’m plum
out of provisions a tryin’ to feed one army or the other.”

“They have their own found. They may have to
replenish their water, but they shouldn’t impose too badly.”

“You’re well spoken for a country boy.”

“Books. I read a lot as a young man.”

“You’re still a young man,” she said. “I’m
thirty-two. You can’t be no more than twenty-five if you’re even
that.

“Twenty-three in six months, ma’am.”

“She stirred water and coffee into the pan
and added a little salt and black pepper. Then she poured the gravy
into a wooden bowl and set it before Jack along with a spoon and a
large mug of black coffee. Jack sipped the coffee, taking note of
the absence of chickory, and nodded his approval. “You ain’t tasted
the gravy yet,” she said twisting off the lid of a jar of preserved
pears. Jack tasted the gravy and suppressed a frown then tasted
again.

“It’s fine, ma’am,” he said.

“You’re a fine liar, mister. . .”

“Saylor, Jack Saylor.”

“As in them fellers who sail the ships?”

“No. it’s spelled with a Y.”

”Oh.”

“Everyone thinks the same thing, so. . .”

“How’s your gravy, Mr. Saylor?”

“It’s fine. I was very hungry. I appreciate
you making it for me.”

“Wish I had something better,” she said. “I
think you’ll find these pears a little more appetizin’, I put
cinnamon in ‘em when I canned them last fall.”

Jack ate the whole jar and drank three cups
of coffee. When he was prepared to leave, the woman gave him
another jar of pears and said, “You want me to clean that cut on
your head before you go? I got some liniment and a little grain
alcohol.”

He sat quietly while she washed his head with
a wet cloth. Then she applied some sort of ointment to the wound
that smelled of rosemary and covered the area with a paste made of
baking soda and water. Jack thanked her for everything and offered
to pay and she said no and Jack stood to leave and she said,

“Do you have a wife, Jack Saylor?”

“No.”

“A sweetheart then?” Jack hesitated only
briefly before saying,

“No, nothing like that, ma’am.”

“My name’s Beryl. You really ain’t a bad
lookin’ man. Ain’t had one myself since my mister died fightin’ at
Cold Harbor a couple of years back. Maybe we should pair up and get
to know each other and see what happens. What do say, you willing?”
Jack stood in awkward silence unsure of how to respond to the blunt
question. Finally he shrugged and said,

“If I was of a mind to take up with a woman I
expect you’d do just fine ma’am, but—”

“I got a real nice bed mattress. Stuffed it
myself.”

“I’m sure you’re a nice woman. . .”

“Am I? Am I nice?”

“Sure you are.”

“In these ragged clothes? Look at the holes
in my dress. Look at this sorry excuse of a bonnet. Nice? Nice? How
would you know anyway, you’re just a Johnny Reb without enough
sense to stay clear of Indian trouble. Goodbye to you Mr. Jack
Saylor, I wish you the best of luck!”

She held the door for him and stood on the
porch watching him until he was well down the road. Jack was
perplexed by her strange behavior, but he had a full stomach and
his head wound felt much better, so he didn’t spend a lot of time
thinking about her peculiarities, though a feather bed would have
felt wonderful on his sore body and he hadn’t been intimate with a
woman since Marie Hayes, so the thought of seeing what Beryl was
packing under those long shapeless skirts was an enticing thought
indeed. But so was the thought of finding help for Carl Campbell.
So he continued on down the road walking a little faster now that
had some food in his stomach.

An hour later he ran into the lead wagon of
Colonel Ford’s retreat convoy. They were glad to see him and
understandably concerned when he told his tale about the Indian
attack. Colonel Ford dispatched forty Calvary troops to go find
Campbell and eliminate the Indian threat. Jack tried to convince
him to spare the girls but the colonel’s orders were to neutralize
anyone who got in the way no matter the age or gender.

Jack was sent to one of the ambulances for
medical attention and Nurse Mason met him by the back door. She sat
him on a small bench and took a look at his head wound.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said. “And
safe.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

“Some gravy. And pears.”

“You look thin. How did you get this
wound?”

“An arrow.”

“Stone, or iron?”

“Stone,”

“Good, less chance of infection.”

She dressed the wound and Jack thanked her
and she gave him a hug and he walked away to find the colonel.

“I should have gone with them,” Jack said.
Colonel Ford was sitting on the ground eating a wedge of cheese and
studying a map folded over his knees.

“You’re wounded, Corporal, you need to stand
down and get something to eat. Get your strength back. My men will
find Corporal Campbell.”

“I just hope he’s still alive.”

“That goes with out saying. Look, Corporal,
this isn’t an emotional thing we’re dealing with here. I just lost
a lot of good men, men every bit as capable as Corporal Campbell.
All our men have worth and we mourn their passing. But, the bottom
line is we all have to be willing to give our lives for our
government and our country. We all took an oath. It’s nothing more
complicated or emotional than that.”

Jack had always wondered how officers thought
as compared to enlisted men and Colonel Ford’s little soliloquy had
just shed some light on at least one aspect of their thought
process. Jack had no doubt that the man had feelings of regret when
his men were killed, but he did doubt whether the regret was a
simple human response to death, or much like a business man feeling
regret for having lost one of the numbers from his inventory
list.

Sensing the conversation was over, Jack
excused himself and went to find something to eat. The gravy he’d
had earlier was tasteless and lay in his gut like a stone. He
needed something with meat in it and plentiful enough to cover over
the knot of grease and flour balled up in his stomach. He found a
mess cook and after sharing his harrowing experience with the
Indians, convinced the man that he, being a hero of sorts, was due
a nice bacon and egg supper. He got the bacon, and a half a dozen
biscuits, but the eggs that had survived the jostling and bouncing
of the creek crossing had all been consumed earlier that
morning.

Jack was enjoying his meal when the Calvary
troop returned with Carl Campbell. There were three dead soldiers
tied over their saddles and six wounded suffering everything from
bumps and bruises to life threatening arrow and lance wounds.

Jack left his supper and went to help
Campbell down from his horse. He was as pale as flour and his leg
was swollen to twice the normal size. He was dehydrated and weak
and hurting but he was alive. They spirited him off to an ambulance
and Jack followed close behind concerned about his good friend.

One of the wounded soldiers was telling his
lieutenant the details of the rescue mission. “Those Indians fought
hard, but we finally managed to kill all of them.”

“Were there some young girls there?” Jack
interjected.

“Yep. And they fought just as hard as the
braves. We had to kill them too. They didn’t give us any
choice.”

“What about the men that were with Campbell
and me?”

“All dead. We buried them beside the road.
Not much point in bringing them back here, not in the shape they
were in. One man’s head was cut nearly off.”

Jack turned to Campbell and asked, “How you
doing, Carl?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t talk about it if you don’t want
to.”

“Aw, well, I don’t remember much after you
left. I was out for a while and then I heard a lot of shooting and
yelling and then those Calvary boys came and got me.” Campbell lay
back on a makeshift examination table smoking a cigar someone had
given him. A surgeon approached the table with a large scalpel in
his hand and said,

“I’m getting ready to remove that arrowhead.
Anyone who doesn’t need to be here should not be.”

Jack didn’t have to be told twice.

He needed a new uniform blouse and shirt and
he found them in a supply wagon. The shirt was very baggy and the
blouse was a little tight but he made them work. He also selected a
new hat, though he had to remove the captain insignia above the
front bill lest he be accused of impersonating an officer.

He sat in the shade of a jack pine tree and
waited for Campbell’s surgery to conclude. The new hat felt very
tight around his head and the new clothes felt very dry against his
skin. Some of the civilian children walked by the tree he was
sitting under. They avoided looking at him and were very careful
not to speak until they were well past him then whispered around
cupped hands. Jack didn’t feel insulted, but he did feel a little
sad. Under different circumstances he would have scolded the
insolent little brats. But circumstances had been turned upside
down as of late and nothing seemed worth getting angry over
anymore.

Corporal Campbell survived his surgery but he
was bed ridden in one of the wagons. Jack went to see him the next
day. “Damn, you look terrible, Carl.”

“Matches the way I feel.”

“Does it hurt much?”

“You remember how your shoulder felt, don’t
you?”

“Say no more. We’ll be in Laredo in the
morning. I hear they have a hospital there. We’ll get you fixed up
in no time.”

“Great, another hospital.”

Campbell was quiet for a time, thinking. Then
he said, “That sure was awful them other boys losing their lives. I
feel kind of responsible.”

“It wasn’t your doing,” Jack said. “We all
run a risk. It comes with the job.”

“Yeah, I reckon. Still. . .”

“Let’s just concentrate on getting you
well.”

Jack left Campbell fretting and went to find
Nurse Mason. She was sitting on the side of the road cleaning
surgical equipment with a cotton cloth. She looked very tired and
dejected and quite small. “Hello, Nurse Mason.”

She looked up and smiled wanly. “Hello,
Corporal Saylor.”