“Fred Brown seethed to himself. Struggling to control his rage. “Don’t you see them for what they are?” he demanded. “Explain yourself,” Carrington replied. Brown studied the faces of the others crowded in Carrington’s small office. His heart pounded, fired by anger. By his humiliation before the Sioux warriors his detachment had chased off Pilot Hill less than an hour ago. And exasperation that no one saw Carrington for what he was. An incompetent, bumbling coward unfit for command. “We came up...on that band of Cheyenne while they were parleying with the escaping Sioux I was following, Colonel.” “Weren’t parleying at all, Brown,” Jack Stead advised, his arms crossed, balanced on the balls of his feet. “Two Moons tells me they came from Black Horse’s camp in the mountains. Just nine old warriors, Colonel. And a squaw. They don’t own enough belongings to sag that travois being pulled by a skinny pony. They’ve come to ask Black Horse’s friend, the soldier chief, if he’ll allow them to hunt in the valley of the Tongue this autumn.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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