Free Cry of Eagles by William W. Johnstone Page A

closer examination. “I seen him ride around that bend yonder. Can’t say as I’ve seen the ole’ bastard since then, not to my best recollection.”
    A gunshot thundered from a rocky bluff above the mounted troopers and a soldier screamed, clutching his chest as he toppled off his horse. Major Tarver and Sergeant Boyd were reaching for their rifles before the noise from the gunshot died to silence.
    Mounted soldiers were moving all at once, and in every direction.
    â€œTake cover!” Tarver shouted.
    Sergeant Boyd was down off his horse in an instant, knowing he’d make a smaller target.
    A rifle shot from above lifted Corporal Collins out of his saddle, spinning him like a child’s top with blood squirting from a hole in his back.
    Major Tarver watched Collins fall. Then, he too, jumped out of his saddle to seek shelter behind a pile of rocks.
    Suddenly, the ravine was filled with the roar of gunfire from high on the rim on both sides. Soldiers began falling to the ground, bleeding, crying for help, as their horses bolted away from the noises.
    â€œSon of a bitch!” Tarver bellowed, when he saw puffs of smoke billowing off the top of the ravine. “They’ve got us surrounded!”
    â€œTomo led us into a trap!” he heard Sergeant Boyd shout from a pile of fallen boulders. “We shoulda killed that rotten ole’ son of a bitch an’ taken the Pawnee!”
    â€œThe Pawnees were drunk!” Tarver replied at the top of his voice, to be heard above the roar of guns and the whine of spent bullets bouncing off stones.
    Seven cavalrymen fell to the floor of the ravine with mortal wounds. Then three more went down, and finally another was shot from his saddle.
    â€œThey’ll kill every damn one of us!” Sergeant Boyd yelled from his hiding place behind a pile of rock. “They got us caught in a cross fire!”
    This wasn’t news Major Tarver wanted to hear right then. It was evident a slaughter was about to take place in the ravine, and the dead would be U.S. Cavalrymen ... unless he could figure a way to get out of this trap.
    â€œSound the retreat!” he cried. “Pull back! We’ll get around behind them somehow—”
    As the words left his mouth, four more soldiers were cut down in a volley of repeating rifle fire. Tarver knew his own men were being killed by weapons stolen from the Fort Thomas armory.
    â€œPull back!” he shrieked again. “Have the bugler sound the retreat!”
    Only then did he notice a young private with the company bugle tied around his neck lying face-down on the floor of the arroyo. Only a fool would have run out in plain sight to grab the horn in order to follow his command.
    â€œWithdraw!” he shouted as loudly as he could, hunkering down to move cautiously away from the fusillade of gunfire from the top of the canyon.
    A bullet struck Private Newman between his shoulders and sent him tumbling to the dirt, blood pumping from the hole just above his coat collar.
    â€œDamn!” Tarver hissed. “That goddamn Shoshone led us right to ’em. I’ll have him shot by a firing squad the minute we get back to the fort.”
    Loose horses galloped down the ravine, and Major Tarver knew they would quickly fall into the hands of the renegade Apaches unless something was done.
    â€œSend some men after our mounts!” he said, when he saw Sergeant Boyd slipping carefully along one wall of the ravine while leading his nervous horse.
    â€œIt’ll only get the men killed,” Boyd shouted above the din of more rifle fire. “Better to lose a few horses than to get your ass shot off.”
    â€œAre you disobeying a direct order, Sergeant?” Major Tarver demanded.
    â€œDamn right I am, Major, if it means gettin’ killed to save a few lousy horses!”
    â€œI can have you court-martialed!”
    â€œMaybe,” Boyd replied, “only you gotta be alive to