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Marcus narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. The fort’s brass? He was a captain, and theoretically, he was part of the “brass.” However, in reality, medical officers were not looked upon as “real” officers the way combat officers were. Although they had their military rank for pay and administrative rank purposes, they were still considered only medical professionals, not true soldiers. He had discharged his medical duties to Fort Hays in order to help see them through the cholera epidemic. He was ready to return to his own posting and take charge of the medical care in his own hospital—adobe sod walls and all. So, what did the “fort’s brass” have in mind for him now?

  The other man threw up his hands in surrender. “Don’t kill the messenger, Marcus. I offered to go myself. However, the colonel felt, because of your experience with combat wounds, you are the better choice. They’re sending the ambulance and an escort patrol with you.”

  Marcus felt his shoulders and the back of his neck tighten. If they already knew they needed an ambulance for whatever they were sending him into, it could not be good.

  The other post surgeon leaned toward Marcus and shook his finger. “Don’t ruin my ambulance or let the Cheyenne and the Sioux, or whoever is running with them now, capture and burn my ambulance like they did Whipple’s a couple of years ago. It’s in pretty good shape, and I want it to stay that way. If we lose it, who knows when I’ll get another one? And if, or when, they send a replacement, who knows what kind of shape it will be in?”

  Marcus folded his arms and gave the man a gimlet eye. “You’ve talked all around this assignment without telling me a thing about what the colonel intends for me to do. Why don’t you just spill it?”

  “They’re sending you to Fort Pyramid to assist with casualties.”

  Marcus dropped his arms. He stared at his fellow surgeon in disbelief. “Fort Pyramid? You mean, that military camp at the old Monument Stagecoach Station that calls itself a fort?”

  The surgeon nodded. “The very same—Fort Monument, I guess it is officially called. It seems a freight train got pinned down by a large party of Cheyenne and Sioux close by. They fought the Indians off for over a day until a government train came along and rescued them. From what I gather, they brought the casualties back to Monument.”

  Marcus rolled his eyes skyward and puffed out a breath. “Let me guess. Fort Monument doesn’t have a post surgeon.”

  “Not right now, no.”

  “Why didn’t they send for the surgeon at Fort Wallace? It’s closer to Monument than Hays is.”

  “True. However, I guess the fighting was still pretty hot when the officer in charge of the government train sent a messenger to get help. We’ve been hearing reports of Indian attacks taking place between Monument and west almost to Cheyenne Wells. According to the messenger, Capt. Conyngham there at Monument figured it was safer to send for help from this direction.”

  “You’re joking. After all the injuries we’ve been treating among Capt. Armes’s men after that battle at Prairie Dog Creek?”

  The post surgeon smirked and nodded. “Not to mention, the six cases of cholera he brought back with him.”

  Marcus shook his head. His voice dropped in volume. “Unfortunately, the only help we could give some of those stricken with cholera was to send them to the gravediggers. I would have left for Larned if there hadn’t been so many injured to treat after all the engagements that took place around this fort.”

  “I guess that’s why the colonel decided to send you west—you’re well-practiced. He said there’s a stagecoach that dropped passengers at End of Track there in Buffalo Springs yesterday. They should arrive in the town of Hays later this afternoon. As soon as they do and swap out mules, the ambulance and escort will travel with the stagecoach as far as Monument. Once you’re ready to return, as soon as an eastbound coach shows up, you and the escort can bring my ambulance, and any severely wounded, back at that time.”

  Marcus glared in response. “What do you mean, ‘if an eastbound coach shows up?’ Doesn’t the stagecoach run a regular schedule?”

  “Not the last several months, it seems. That’s how it was when Butterfield owned the company. It’s a little different now that Wells Fargo and Company operates the U.S. Express line. They practically stopped service altogether most of June and July. To be fair to them, first the river flooded, which must have affected a lot of the stations close to the Smoky Hill River and its tributaries. Then, right after that, the Cheyenne really increased their efforts to drive us out of the region. From what I hear, after General Hancock burned that big Cheyenne village…”

  Marcus held up his hands. “Don’t get me started on Hancock. I was still down at Fort Larned last April when this was all going on. I know we’ve talked about it before, even though I don’t want it repeated to anyone up the chain of command. The man does not know how to deal with Indians. You cannot treat them like children. They are warriors. I’m not the only one who believes that, man for man, they’re better warriors than most of our men are. If we’re ever to convince them to go on a reservation, we have to show them respect where it’s deserved.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, Marcus. Just don’t let the colonel hear you. He might agree on many points. However, as long as we serve under General Sherman, who does not believe there is an Indian problem on the Kansas frontier, the colonel won’t dare allow anything critical said that might reflect poorly on him. He can’t risk it getting back to Sherman.”

  Marcus turned his head aside. “I know. I’m just relieved they got Hancock out of there. Hopefully, with General Sherman in there now, we’ll do better negotiating with the tribes.”

  “We’ll see. There’s supposed to be this Peace Commission negotiating with them starting at the end of the month. In the meantime, I’m to send you to the colonel for the details of your assignment. Then you need to prepare so you can be at the stagecoach station for when that coach arrives. I’ll work with Steward Polly to pack up the medical supplies you’ll need, and I understand the commissary is already getting two weeks of rations prepared.”

  Marcus shook his head. “I can hardly wait. I’ve managed to avoid going west of here, but looks like my luck finally ran out.” His remarks were met with laughter.

  “Try to look on the bright side. Assuming the natives leave you alone, you might see some interesting country. I hear Castle Rock and the Monuments are rather impressive. Some people compare them to the pyramids in Egypt and claim they’re well worth the journey to visit them. It might turn out to be a good trip for you.”

  Marcus turned to his fellow surgeon and scowled. “Nothing good happens between here and Fort Wallace.”

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  Chapter 4

  ~o0o~

  Hays City, Kansas

  October 2, 1867

  J eremy pointed his finger out of the shotgun messenger’s side of the coach. “Horsey, Ma! Look!” He twisted on Penelope’s lap to catch his mother’s gaze with his. “See horseys?”

  Penelope forced her grimace into a smile. She knew Jeremy’s diaper was damp, and she worried the moisture might have seeped through the wool blanket she had folded into a pad on her lap. If so, it would leave water stains on the silk of her skirt. “Yes, Jerry, I see the horses. The soldiers are riding the horses to keep the stagecoach safe.”

  Only, Penelope did not feel safe. Once she boarded the coach at Wilson’s Station and realized that the stagecoaches needed a military escort, she again questioned the wisdom of believing Harvey Layton’s assurances. He claimed the newspapers sensationalized the Indian problems in western Kansas and the road to Fort Wallace was free of danger. If that was the case, why had a troop of soldiers stayed with the coach, only to be relieved by a new group of men?

  Jeremy clutched between his legs with both hands. “Go pee, Ma.”

  Penelope suppressed a groan as she closed her eyes. “We can’t get out of the coach, yet, Jerry.” What she really worried about was lo
sing her place on the forward-facing bench. She had heard and seen enough of her fellow passengers—all men—to know not all of them believed in extending courtesy toward a woman and her child. After hearing the clicking sound close by where she sat, her eyes popped open.

  Mr. Keller sitting across from her evidently unlatched the door opposite the one allowing passengers to leave and enter the coach. Wearing an expression of disgust, he pushed it open. “Yank that diaper off and hold him so he’s pointed outward, then tell him to let it fly. Maybe he’ll stay dry longer that way. Right now, woman, the boy stinks to high heaven. You wrap that thing up in something, and I’ll bury it in the boot.”

  Penelope tried to ignore the heat rising in her face. “Thank you, Mr. Keller.” Grateful that, once she boarded the coach, she possessed the state of mind to remove her reticule from her wrist and tie it snugly to the black sash at her waist so it stayed out of the way while she handled her son, she stood Jeremy in front of her and pulled down his wet diaper. “I’ll take you up on your offer. I started his training before we left, but he seems to have regressed.” Seeing his gown was also wet, she pulled it over his head and, quickly wrapping the wet diaper, used soakers, and damp hem inside the dry part of the fabric, she tossed both under the vacant center bench in front of her.

  Once Jeremy was free of the constraints of his clothing, he started toward the open door.

  Penelope grabbed for him just before he took the step that would have sent him toppling to the ground. “No, we can’t get out of the coach yet, Jerry. I’ll hold you on the edge, and you pee into the dirt outside.” Penelope scooted forward and twisted at an angle she found awkward to hold Jeremy at his waist facing the outside.

  Mr. Keller, true to his word, snatched up the cloth bundle and stepped gingerly over the feet of his bench-mates to exit the other door.

  Jeremy, his toes curling over the frame of the coach floor, chortled as he arched his back and relieved himself. “Look, Ma, I go pee.”

  Two soldiers on horseback, both wearing uniform pants and kepis but only muslin shirts instead of uniform jackets, were positioned where they could witness the scene Jeremy created. They began to laugh. A third man turned his horse to walk back so he could see what had amused the others. He also smiled at the scene.

  At this point, Penelope suspected her face must be bright red. It was so difficult to maintain propriety while traveling with a young child. She would have loved nothing better than to hide away, but she knew she only had a short time to get Jeremy situated with a dry diaper before the coach would start rolling once more. “Come inside, now. Jerry. We need to get you dressed again.”

  His gaze focused on the soldiers who watched his antics, Jeremy giggled. “No, Ma. I pee.”

  “You’re finished for now, son. Come here.”

  Jeremy, frowning, and with his mouth open, faced his mother. He hesitantly turned his gaze toward the outside once more as a shadow fell over him.

  Mr. Keller’s form filled the open doorway. “The boy finished? If so, I’ll shut the door.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” With one hand clutching Jeremy, Penelope reached with the other for her carpetbag under her seat. She opened it and pulled out a dry cloth, which she laid across the middle bench. Ignoring Jeremy’s protests, she lifted him onto the cloth and diapered him.

  “What were you thinking of, bringing a child on a trip like this? You should have had enough sense to stay home until he’s older. Even if you waited a couple of years, the train would be through to Denver.”

  Penelope’s shoulder and neck muscles tensed as she looked up at Mr. Barnard, the man sitting on the opposite end of the bench from her. “I know it’s not ideal, but I could not wait. I need to join my intended husband at Pond Creek.”

  Mr. Keller found his seat. “Looks like all they’re waiting on is the post surgeon and an ambulance, and then we’ll be able to go. I can hardly wait until we get to Big Creek Station, where we can stop long enough to eat.”

  Mr. Tucker, the man sitting catty-corner to Penelope harrumphed. “That’s assuming they have something worth eating. I’m getting right tired of buffalo hump or beans with fatback.” He leaned toward Penelope. “Close to Fort Wallace, is he? What’s he doing there?”

  Penelope forced a smile. “He has a business where he sells goods.”

  Mr. Tucker flopped against his seat back and again harrumphed. “When I was through last year, all they had was the station and a couple of tents set up as saloons.” He yawned. “Most of the civilians there have been hired to build the fort. Don’t recall seeing any decent women.

  As the men across from her studied her with expressions filled with doubt, Penelope felt her skin crawl. She licked her lips. “I-I don’t know the details. We’ve corresponded for several months, but we haven’t met in person, yet. I’m on my way to marry him.” Penelope jerked her gaze to her lap. Whatever the men thought of her situation, she did not think she could bear any more criticism about her making this journey. She found it difficult enough without the snide remarks.

  As another wagon pulled up on the other side of the soldiers, she sighed with relief. She wrinkled her brow as she studied it, for it was not like any wagon she had ever seen. The sides were high like a freight wagon. Unlike a covered wagon with metal bands that curved over the box to hold a canvas covering, the boxy frame was constructed of wood. A flat covering, which appeared to be made of canvas, shaded the cargo area. Attached at the top outside, along both of the long sections of the frame and the back, were, what appeared to Penelope, to be more pieces of canvas. They were rolled up and tied near the roof.

  A black soldier wearing a kepi and blue wool uniform coat drove the wagon.

  Penelope guessed there were benches built in on each side of the wagon, because sitting toward the front and facing her, she saw another soldier—this one who appeared to be of European descent—in a blue uniform frock coat with single-breasted brass buttons and some form of epaulette on his shoulders. Due to the shade of both the canvas roof and his wide-brimmed officer’s hat, she could not see much of his face.

  Toward the rear of the wagon sat three other men—all black soldiers. Two wore dark blue sack coats and kepis on their heads. Like the men on the horses, the third wore a kepi, but not a full a uniform. They faced each other, and they all carried short-barreled rifles. They must have black troops stationed at Fort Hays.

  “Look, Ma! Horseys!”

  Penelope’s gaze followed the direction her son pointed. “Yes, Jerry. More horseys. Except, I think those kind of horseys are called mules.” He’s too young to distinguish the difference.

  “How do you figure on getting married clear out there?”

  The question jerked Penelope’s attention away from the Army wagon and returned it to Mr. Tucker.

  “There’s no churches out that way, and the fort’s lucky to have barely enough soldiers to keep the Cheyenne from overrunning them.” He shrugged. “I guess the commanding officer could do the honors.”

  “I’ll have to find out what my future husband has in mind when I get there.” Penelope snapped her attention to her carpetbag as she searched for a gown. Why do these men think that because we share a coach for a short time, they have a right to question my decisions?

  “Ma’am, I don’t mean to tell you your business, but I’d leave the boy like he is. It’s too hot to swaddle him up in a bunch of clothes. He’s going to get covered with dust no matter what. However, once you find water, he’s easier to wash than his clothes are.”

  Penelope stared straight ahead of her at Mr. Keller who spoke. And, yet, you are telling me my business. Why do you think you know better than I do how to take care of my child? She looked down at Jeremy and swallowed. Do not let Jerry suffer for your pride. She again met his gaze. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll leave him undressed, at least until we get to the next station.” She shook her head. “I still find it strange they don’t have a full-service station here. With both the town and the fort, it seem
s logical they would.”

  Mr. Tucker waved his hand out his window. “That’s because the town and the fort have only been around a few months, just since the flood last June. Fort used to be about ten miles to the east. With the train coming here soon, there was no need to set up a new stage station by the fort.”

  “I see. Thank you.” Penelope answered slowly as she studied the passenger who, from the start, let it be known he had all the answers. His one prior trip on this route made him a wealth of information.

  Mr. Tucker stood and turned until he sat on the center bench. He scooted its length until he sat next to a bare-skinned Jeremy and almost in front of Penelope. He twisted his body and leaned his head toward the center window. His gaze studied the Army wagon. “Looks like they’ve put the 38th Infantry to work on patrol duty guarding that ambulance. Put two of their number on top of the stagecoach, too. Heard the 10th Cavalry is here, too.” He stopped and shook his head. “A lot of former slaves have joined the Army.” He leaned back until the bench back supported him once more. “Of course, probably a lot of free blacks from the North joined the Army, too, or stayed on after the war ended.”

  Once the man slid away and returned to his seat, Penelope leaned forward and again turned her gaze outside the stagecoach window. That explains the presence of black soldiers. She felt grateful that, for now, the coach was still, and the leather window covers were raised and tied at the top. Once they started traveling again, she knew the rocking and swaying would begin once again. The passengers had a choice of enduring the dust that blew in an uncovered window or sweltering in the daytime heat which, even on this October day, was warm—especially for the six adults and one baby cramped inside the coach. Thankfully, there were no additional passengers to claim the center seat which used a leather strap as a backrest. With Jeremy on her lap, she did not need the back of a man’s head only two feet from her face while they traveled to the next station. The minute or two Mr. Tucker sat in front of her felt confining enough.