Free Custer at the Alamo by Gregory Urbach

in,” I offered.
    “Gracias , sir. We will be ready,” Sepulveda said, taking his comrades back toward the river.
    “Tom, assign Sergeant Major Sharrow to keep an eye them,” I ordered. “And maybe it would be best if Morning Star and Slow stayed back with our supply train from now on.”
    “No,” the boy said.
    “This isn’t your decision, lad. Until you’ve been returned to your people, I’m responsible for your safety,” I objected.
    “I ride with the White Chief,” Slow said with determination.
    “So do I, sir. I’m sorry, General Custer. We have not come so far from our hunting lands to ride on a wagon,” Morning Star agreed.
    She took Slow’s hand and they walked back to camp.
    “Stubborn woman,” I said.
    “Yes,” Tom said, badly smitten.
    * * *
     
    I decided to leave a small rearguard at the Rio Grande commanded by Lt. Harrington, whose West Point studies had included the proper use of artillery. As we couldn’t take the two big siege guns with us, the 12-pounders were mounted on the ridge overlooking the ford. Any force attempting to cross the river would be badly compromised. As Tom suggested, we did take the three light artillery pieces, sturdy 4-pounders that would add punch to any position we decided to hold.
    “Understand your orders?” I asked again, for Harrington had only graduated four years before.
    “Yes, sir. Pretty sure, sir. Delay the enemy, watch my flanks. When the position proves untenable, I’m to spike the guns and withdraw east toward Gonzales,” he nervously answered.
    “Harry, you proved yourself on the Yellowstone, but we’re not surveying for the railroads now,” I said. “And when Sheridan ordered us into the Black Hills, you were a big help finding the best trails.”
    “And the gold in that creek,” Cooke remembered, a discovery that had riled the Sioux, for greedy treasure seekers had poured into the Black Hills, trespassing on their sacred hunting grounds.
    I could tell Harrington was still unsure. When General Stanley led our survey expedition in 1873, there had been a thousand soldiers, engineers, cooks, muleskinners and Indian scouts. And a wagon train that trailed us for twenty miles. We were not, by definition, a military force, but explorers. We had a skirmish or two with the Sioux, but nothing compared to our current situation. A year later, I had led twelve hundred men into the Black Hills, searching for a place to build a fort. Harry had been with me then, too, along with Tom, Algernon, George Yates and Jimmy Calhoun. Bill Illingworth came along to take photographs. There were no major confrontations with the Sioux on that expedition, just two months of hunting, fishing and camping under the stars.
    “Harry, we aren’t chasing Indians this time,” I grimly said. “Unlike the rest of us, you’ve never fought against a civilized army, but you’ve got the training. Keep a clear head and everything will be fine.”
    “Yes, sir. Clear head,” Harrington said.
    “Good luck, Harry. You’ll make a great captain someday,” I said, shaking his hand before mounting Vic.
    We formed in column of twos, the command moving briskly northeast. Had the road been drier, the air would have choked with dust, so in this respect the damp weather worked to our advantage. The men were trading stories and joking. Some had peeled back their buffalo robes, once again looking like a cavalry unit in their blue jackets. Even the horses seemed to trot with a new spirit, enjoying a brief respite from the rain and cold wind. After cresting a low hill, the land flattened out, the horizon broken only by the occasional grove of trees. I rushed to catch up with Tom, Morning Star and Slow, who were bringing up the rear.
    “Autie, why Gonzales? Aren’t we headed for San Antonio?” Tom asked.
    I had not explained my plan, nor felt a need to. Tom frowned until I relented.
    “The invaders have probably reached San Antonio. If they’ve already captured the garrison, I