Buffalo Soldier: Chasing Ghosts

Chapter 2

Ben was awake the next morning before the sun rose. The fire near which Toussaint had set his bedroll and saddle, was just a pile of smoldering embers, but the smell of burnt wood was still heavy in the air.

Even though it was mid-July, the cold morning air had a bite to it, even though they weren't very high in the mountains yet. He knew, though, that by mid-morning, when the sun was high, the temperatures would soar, and men and horses would be struggling to breath in the hot, dusty air.

He shivered as he pulled his blanket aside. Then he noticed Sergeant Samuel Hightower coming from behind a large boulder carrying a bundle of twigs in his hands.

"Hey, Ben, see you awake," Hightower said as he knelt and piled the twigs on the embers of the fire. "It's a mite cold still. Thought I'd get the fire stoked up and get some coffee started."

"Yeah, that's not a bad idea," Ben responded. He pulled his shirt tight around his neck, retrieved a tin of baking powder from his pack and his canteen from the back of his saddle and stood. "I'm gonna go clean out my mouth . . . and other parts of my body, and then I'll come back and help you get some breakfast started."

Hightower was already blowing on the embers, and being rewarded with small puffs of flame. Ben walked past the large boulder until he found a place somewhat downhill from the camp. After relieving himself against the rock, watching the mist from the warm stream rise in the air, he rinsed his hands with a small amount of water from his canteen, and splashed a bit on his face, raising goose bumps on his face and arms from the cold. He then dipped a wet finger in the tin of baking powder and rubbed it around in his mouth and over his teeth. After rinsing his mouth, careful not to use too much water, for he couldn't be sure when they'd encounter the next water source, he returned to the fire and stowed his canteen and the tin.

At the fire, Hightower, his medium brown face set in concentration, was cutting slices of bacon from a large slab and placing them in a big skillet which was balanced on two rocks set on either side of the fire. He'd constructed a tripod of sticks from which hung a blackened iron pot in which red beans were already beginning to bubble. The coffee pot was hanging next to the pot with steam pouring from the spout. The combined smells caused his mouth to water.

"Now, that does smell good," he said, kneeling next to Hightower.

"I ain't the best cook in the Ninth, but when you been on the trail for two days, and you slept on the ground all night, almost any food tastes good." Hightower continued stirring the beans, speaking without looking at Ben.

Ben patted him on the shoulder. Since his help wasn't needed with breakfast, he decided to check on the sentries. He checked the forward sentries first. Corporals Nat Tatum and Reuben Kincaid had been assigned to stand last guard on the trail ahead. Toussaint, as Ben knew he would, figured any attack would come from that direction, so two sentries were warranted. The two men were huddled next to a stunted tree trunk, peering intently ahead. But, they weren't so focused on the view in front that they were ignorant of things in their rear. Tatum turned with his Springfield 1873 carbine at the ready.

"Don't shoot, Nat," Ben said. "I'm friendly."

Tatum laughed as he lowered the barrel of the weapon toward the ground.

"I don't know 'bout friendly, Ben," he said. "But, you ain't no Apache . . . though you move 'bout as quiet as one. Is that beans and bacon I smell bein' cooked down there?"

Ben nodded and knelt beside the two men. Kincaid turned and smiled.

"Been quiet up here," he said. "Nothin' but night critters 'n such . . . not that I'm complainin', you understand."

"You think we gone catch up to them Apaches today, Ben?" Tatum asked.

"No telling, Nat. I'm hoping Samuel will be able to pick up their trail. Finding that Grey Wolf's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"More like tryin' to find a needle in a stack of needles," Kincaid said. "That there Injun's like a puff of smoke."

"When we movin' out?" Tatum asked.

"Soon as we finish chow," Ben replied. "I'll send relief up directly."

He clapped both men on the shoulder and walked back down to their back trail Corporal Marcus Scott stood duty. After making sure there'd been no activity there, and assuring Scott he'd soon be relieved, he went back to the camp, where everyone else was now up and around, getting cleaned up or getting gear together for the day's ride. Hightower handed him a cup of coffee.

"Everybody's fed 'cept you," he said.

Ben took a sip, burning his tongue with the scalding coffee. He sucked in cold air, then blew on the cup before taking a second sip.

Toussaint walked over and handed him a tin plate containing two strips of bacon, a pile of beans, and a hardtack biscuit.

"Here's your breakfast," he said. "I'm sending Isaac and Malachi to relieve the sentries." During daylight, they only needed one sentry at each post for the short time they'd be posted. "After they eat, we be ready to move out."

Ben took the plate and squatted near the fire, shoveling food into his mouth even before he was settled. Toussaint, not expecting any acknowledgment, turned and went back to supervising the men in their preparations to hit the trail.

The first order of business, as soon as Scott, Tatum, and Kincaid had finished their food, was cleaning up the camp site. The fire was put out by dumping dirt on it until the ashes were cool enough to touch without burning. Then the tin cans from which the beans had come were buried off the trail. Once the bedrolls were in order, the horses were prepared.

The horses they would ride were brushed and saddled, and the four pack horses were loaded with their tents, extra ammunition and supplies. By the time the sun was fully up, they were on the trail. Hightower, the best tracker in the regiment, rode far out front looking for signs of the renegades. Ben had the detachment ride single file, with him in the lead, five troopers behind him, followed by the pack horses and the remaining four troopers. Spread out like this, if they were ambushed it gave room to maneuver and break the attack, and made it difficult for anyone to sneak up on them and try to spook their pack animals.

The sun was a round orange ball resting on the top of the peaks to the east when they set out. Already, the chill of the night was wearing off, and as they reached the bottom of the hill they'd camped on, waves of heat were already shimmering off the dusty ground.

From atop the ridge, the mountains hadn't looked that far away, but down in the flatland, Ben could see that they were at least another day's ride. This meant finding a suitable place to set up camp for the night in an area that was flat, and while this made it hard for an attacker to sneak up on them during the day, it didn't provide much cover from a night attack.

Ben felt like he had a target on his back every minute as they rode.

He hadn't slept well on the hill, and it was looking like another restless night.

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