Jack was a tenderfoot at that time, having lately come to that country.
But he had abundant pluck and courage. He had just brought dispatches
to Crook from Fort Fetterman, riding more than three hundred miles
through a country literally alive with hostile Indians. These
dispatches notified Crook that General Terry was to operate with a
large command south of the Yellowstone, and that the two commands would
probably consolidate somewhere on the Rosebud. On learning that I was
with Crook, Crawford at once hunted me up, and gave me a letter from
General Sheridan, announcing his appointment as a scout. He also
informed me that he had brought me a present from General Jones, of
Cheyenne.
"What kind of a present?" I inquired, seeing no indication of any
package about Jack.
"A bottle of whisky!" he almost shouted.
I clapped my hand over his mouth. News that whisky was in the camp was
likely to cause a raid by a large number of very dry scouts and soldier
men. Only when Jack and I had assured ourselves that we were absolutely
alone did I dare dip into his saddle pockets and pull forth the
treasure. I will say in passing that I don't believe there is another
scout in the West that would have brought a full bottle of whisky three
hundred miles. But Jack was "bone dry." As Crawford refused to join me,
and I was never a lone drinker, I invited General Carr over to sample
the bottle.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273