Free The Red Hills by James Marvin Page A

about as much idea.'
    The sight of the Oglala leader had surprised Crow. To see Crazy Horse so close after so long. And he was sure that the Sioux shirt-wearer had recognized him as well.
    Sitting easily in the saddle as they rode through their sentries into the tented quarters, he wondered what would happen next.
    'We showed the Indians today that we mean business, gentlemen, and by God but we shall shortly show them again!!'
    Menges was drunk. Not just a little over the dividing line but out in the open, bear-wrestling drunk. He had brought a bottle into supper with him and emptied it before they'd finished the stew. Ignoring his wife and virtually ignoring Crow, addressing his remarks to the hapless Lieutenant Kemp. To add to his troubles at being so singled out, the Scottish officer was plagued with dysentery and kept rushing from the tent, his thighs pressed tightly together, face white and eyes staring with the pain and the sudden embarrassment.
    Menges found all that very amusing.
    'My God!! I seen men shit themselves when they seen the Indians comin' over the hill, but I'm damned if it ain't the first time I ever seen a man mess his breeches from just talkin' 'bout them!'
    Crow didn't speak. His relations with Menges had deteriorated to such an extent that he hardly dared trust himself in the man's presence. He could put up with it in the hope it might get better. Or he could apply for a transfer, with precious little chance of it being granted by the crazed Captain. Or he could go out and get himself killed. Or he could simply kill Menges.
    Only one of the ideas had any attraction at all for Crow.
    It was just a matter of when he could kill the Captain without risking his own neck.
    During that uncomfortable meal Menges made it clear to the other officers that his intentions were to try and wipe out the memory of the defeat and near-massacre by going after Crazy Horse.
    'He'll try and trick us, gentlemen, and I even include you in that term, Mister Crow, though I suspect you are more of an Indian than some of those loafers around the Forts. But I will be generous. As I have a plan that will bring us all honor and victory, and we... what was I saying? Yes. I can afford to be generous, even to someone like you, my dear Crow.'
    He didn't get any response. Kemp was too preoccupied with his own bodily failings and Crow knew that to speak at that stage would be to rise from his seat and rip the man's face off his skull.
    'The Sioux cur will hope to lead us to our deaths, but I shall trick him. Let him lead us on. Wait. Let him lead... I have already said that.' He shook his head, sweat running from the end of his nose, eyes puzzled. Reaching out and draining another glass of whisky. The way he was going, he would shortly collapse. With the faintest thrill of rising excitement, Crow caught the eye of Angelina Menges and realized that she was thinking the same. And that her thoughts had raced on a step ahead of his to what the two of them might be able to do while Captain Silas slumbered and snored.
    'When he has led us on, we will show our fangs. Our fangs and the rest of the men will come round and cut off Crazy Horse. We will geld that Oglala stallion, gentlemen. Geld him. Cut him off. Unless we... I mean that we will... Damnation!' Another gulp of whisky. 'That clears the head most wonderfully. The shining hero of the hour, Mister Crow, shall lead the relief again. But this time there will be no foolishness over muddled orders. No puddled waters, Crow. Croaking Crows.' He sat back with a moonish grin of contentment on his face. 'There we shall have him. Have him.'
    'We don't have enough men,' said Crow, speaking as quietly as ever. Menges didn't seem to hear him for a moment, then turned to face him, head tipped on one side, tiny eyes flaring red.
    'You are still frightened after the way we licked them? That is damned hard to credit. We have not enough men? How many men would you want to defeat these naked savages, Mister