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

fact, this spring it became apparent that not even your old friend Phil Sheridan …”
    “I understand fully, sir.” Custer nodded at Gibbon before looking at Terry. “Thank you, General. The Seventh won’t let you down.”
    “Find the Indians, Custer. We’ll help you do the rest.”
    “I’ll do my best, sir.” Custer snapped a smart salute.
    Terry and Gibbon walked toward the south bank of the Yellowstone, where a rowboat waited to ferry the officers over to the
Far West
.
    “Cooke!” Custer called into the twilight.
    His adjutant trotted up from a nearby camp fire. “Sir?”
    “Have trumpeter Voss sound ‘Officers’ Call.’ I want to speak to the men in an hour.”
    In fresh paint and their finest outfits, Gibbon’s Crow scouts presented themselves to Custer.
    To them the soldier-chief would be known as YoungStar, Ihcke Deikdagua. At times they would call Custer the Morning Star. In years to come, none of the Crow would be able to explain to interpreters precisely why he had been given that name.
    Young Curley was the first to climb up the bank to Custer’s tent, crunching across the frozen hail to present his hand to the famous pony soldier.
    “What’s this?” Custer asked, peering down at his right palm, where Curley had placed a coin with his vigorous handshake.
    “It is good luck that you touch his dollar.” Interpreter Mitch Bouyer translated Curley’s explanation.
    Though only seventeen winters in age, Curley liked what he saw in the cut of the man. This pony soldier stood tall and slim, broad of shoulder as he thought a warrior should be. Most of all, it was those azure eyes that told Curley,
Here is a kind, brave, and thoughtful man
.
    He had never before seen any man with such eyes.
    Custer said, “Curley, is it? Yes—by jigs, I do believe we’ll all be good luck for one another, boys!”
    After shaking hands all round with the others, Custer gestured expansively across the entire group. “I have seen most of the other tribes of these mountains and plains except the Crow. And now I see the Crow for the first time. I truly think they are good and brave scouts. I have some scouts here, these Rees. But most of them are worthless to me. I am told the Crows are good scouts, so I sent for you to be part of my command. I myself gave General Terry six hundred dollars for you scouts, and Mitch Bouyer here, to pay for your services.”
    He motioned the scouts to sit as Burkman and adjutant Cooke came up with stools and a couple of small trunks. After the Crows had settled themselves, Custer spoke through the half-breed Bouyer.
    “I want you to understand I have not called you to go with me up the Rosebud to fight. Instead, you need only track the enemy’s path and tell me where they are. I do not want, nor do I expect, you to fight these Indians we are trailing. You just find the Indians for me. I will do the fighting.”
    He turned to his striker. “Burkman, fetch me that pouch I set out on my field desk. The leather one with the fringe down one side.”
    With pouch in hand, Custer turned again to Curley. “With this money I am giving you,” and Custer began to pour some coins out of the pouch into the scout’s palm, “I want you to go to the steamboat and buy some paints and new shirts. You must do this now,” he directed while he poured more coins into the palms of the rest. “We leave tomorrow as soon as preparations are made. I want you ready to take me to the Indians who took your hunting land and have long been causing your people many problems.”
    Custer suddenly turned to Cooke, struck with an idea. “Lieutenant! I want you to hurry straightaway to the quartermaster and bring me a wall tent for these boys.”
    “The Crows, General? A tent?”
    “Exactly, Cooke! These boys will stay with me tonight. Eat supper and camp with me … won’t you boys?”
    They nodded their heads after Bouyer interpreted the invitation, smiling for the soldier-chief.
    “While supper is being