Free Seize the Sky: Son of the Plains-Volume 2 by Terry C. Johnston

When the wind suddenly shifted out of the north, the rain just as quickly turned to hail—huge, ugly, sharp-edged weapons from the heavens.
    By the time the storm rumbled past and sundown was at hand, the ground lay white and the air chilled John Gibbon to his marrow.
    “Isn’t that just like the high plains, gentlemen?” Custer asked, as he, Terry, and Gibbon crunched across a thick layer of hail icing the ground as far as a man could see. “One day you broil your brain, … and if you’re still alive the next, you catch your death of cold.”
    Both Gibbon and Terry chuckled with the young lieutenantcolonel as they drew near Custer’s tent at the center of his Officers’ Row on the south side of the Yellowstone.
    “I wish I had more to offer you in the way of refreshment,” Custer apologized. “Just never got a handle on this matter of alcohol.”
    “No matter.” Terry freed some of the top buttons of his tunic. “I think I’ve had quite enough for the day as it is.”
    Gibbon glanced at Terry. “We came along for only a moment, Custer. To speak with you in private.”
    Custer appeared perplexed as he settled on his prairie bed, a tick stuffed with grass. “Why is that?”
    “Armstrong,” Terry began. He removed his hat and shook the water from the crown. “I need to reemphasize some concerns of mine now that we three are alone. I have only the two of you with me … the two who will form the pincers of this campaign.”
    “Sir?”
    “You’ve made it perfectly clear to everyone that you don’t want the Gatlings nor Major Brisbin’s cavalry along. I could beg you to reconsider, Armstrong. Hell, I could order you to reconsider … if I thought it’d do any good.” Terry sounded as morose as his dark beard. “But I’m afraid ordering you to take them wouldn’t be an answer either.”
    “No, sir. It wouldn’t in the slightest.” His eyes held steadily on Terry’s.
    “I think I share the general’s opinions of your talents here, Custer,” Gibbon offered with rare candor. “Even though I don’t approve of your methods at times.” He slipped his hat from his head, running a hand over his thinning hair. “I haven’t spent all these years in this man’s army not to recognize a young officer who’s going places. But we all want you to understand that you have much more at stake here. Not merely your reputation—”
    “A reputation that’s been tarnished from time to time,” Custer interrupted. “Is that what you mean to say?”
    “Only for doing what you felt was right.” Terry put a hand up so Gibbon wouldn’t reply. “I know. Let’s just say you got caught in some political traps through no fault of your own, and we’ll leave it at that.”
    At that moment a black woman appeared at Custer’s tentflaps. Terry’s eyes flicked at Gibbon, watching consternation boil across the colonel’s face.
    “John, this is Maria,” Terry introduced Custer’s servant.
    Custer waited for her to curtsy to Gibbon before he explained, “She’s been with me since 1873 when my former maid ran off with a teamster after my unit transferred to Fort Rice. Maria’s been on both the Yellowstone and Black Hills campaigns with me.”
    “Ginnel,” Mary began, bowing her head politely. “Sorry. I didn’t know you had com’ny, sir. I’ll come back later on.”
    “No, that’s quite all right, Mary. You go right ahead and work on what you were doing.”
    “I won’t be in the way?”
    “Not at all,” Custer replied. She slipped past him into the tent. “Maria is quite the cook. Should you both choose to stay the evening, we’ll fix up some special dumplings for supper to go along with her sage hens. Including some delicious prairie onions she’s dug up hereabouts.”
    “Thank you—no, Custer,” Terry answered for them both. “We’ll be heading back to the
Far West
. A lot planned yet for this evening. Still, Mary’s sage hen with dumplings does sound inviting. I’ll trust you to invite