~ Quade's Quest ~

by

Sherry Derr-Wille

Quade was relieved when the fort finally came into view. Within ten minutes of leaving Red’s saloon, he knew Simon Leary was a self-centered bore. After five hours of listening to the man degrade the once proud people he was supposed to protect, Quade wanted to be sick. The trip would have taken less time if the man didn’t stop to relieve himself at every tree and bush he saw. Quade knew dogs that stopped less when they were marking their territory.

A sentry, standing on the catwalk, saw them approach and had someone open the gate for them. The buildings within the stockade all needed attention. The only one that looked decent was a small house with a flower garden that sat just inside the gate.

“That house you’re so interested in belongs to Horace Whitfield,” Simon advised him. “He’s the missionary that caters to those no good Indians at the reservation.”

“You mean the ones you were sent here to care for?” Quade asked.

“It’s my job to be the Indian Agent here. I never said it was something I wanted to do. The bucks are only interested in whiskey and the squaws are little more than breeding stock. You’d think they would hunt or something.”

“If you recall, we just drove the length of the reservation. I didn’t see any game for them to hunt. Besides, I’ve been in the army long enough to know that these people aren’t even given weapons.”

“I should have known you were one of those Indian lovers. Well, you can get that notion out of your head. I’ve been here for two years and there’s nothing worth loving about any of them.”

Ahead of them, Quade saw a young woman leave the store. As she did, many of the soldiers watched her intently. He was certain they had thoughts about her that were anything but honorable.

“Well, lookey over there. Good Day, Miss Hannah,” Simon said, as he touched the brim of his hat in greeting.

The woman nodded in their direction but kept walking, as though she wanted nothing to do with either of them.

“Uppity Bitch. You’d think she was the Queen of Sheba instead of just old Horace’s adopted daughter. Every man on this post gets hard just lookin’ at her and she won’t give any of them the time of day. Don’t know where she got them ‘better than anyone else’ ways about her, but one day she’ll find out what it’s like to be with a man. If I have my way, I’ll be that man.”

Quade studied the young woman until they drove past her. He didn’t want to appear nosey, so he did not turn back to stare at her the way he wanted to do. She was indeed a beautiful young woman, but there was no way that she was white. He’d seen enough Indian women to know that Hannah Whitfield had to have some Indian blood in her. Perhaps she was an orphan that the missionary and his wife had adopted.

“Did you hear what I said?” Simon asked when Quade made no comment on the man’s statement.

“I heard you. I’m afraid that if you think you’re going to have anything to do with the lovely Miss Whitfield, you have another thing coming. Just by the way she looked at you I could see that she wasn’t interested in anything you have to offer her.”

“And I suppose you think she’ll take an interest in you? Well, my young friend, I’m afraid you’re sadly mistaken. She’s the prettiest thing this side of the saloon and don’t you think she doesn’t know it. She won’t give anyone at this fort more than a smile and a nod and that’s just because she’s polite.”

Quade tended to agree with Simon. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a future this young woman could expect.

Simon pulled on the reins to stop the carriage in front of what Quade decided could only be the office of the commanding officer of this fort. When he got out of the carriage, Quade untied his horse and took his gear from the back.

“I’m obliged for the ride from the saloon to here,” he said to Simon. “I’m certain that we’ll be seeing more of each other in the future.”

“Don’t count on it. I don’t spend much time here. Just stop by the office to make a report now and then and to check on the supplies that have arrived. Mostly I’m out among the savages trying to make certain the young bucks don’t get it in their heads to take off with the renegades whenever they show up. I’ll be staying for a couple of days, since I hear Crooked Snake is in the area. I ran into him once and don’t intend to do it again. He’s one mean son of a bitch.”

Quade merely shook his head in disgust. He’d grown up on a farm with a father who thought nothing of swearing up a storm every time he got drunk on a Saturday night. He hadn’t liked it then and he cared less for it now. He knew the soldiers did their fair share of cussing, but as Major Eaton’s aide, Quade had learned that he could get his point across just as easily by not using offensive language.

After tying his horse to the railing, he left his gear outside and went in to report to his new commanding officer.

“Lieutenant Quade McPherson, reporting for duty, Sir.” He stood stiffly at attention as he waited for the captain behind the desk to acknowledge him.

While he waited for the man to look up, Quade silently assessed the man who was to be his new commanding officer. His uniform was far from the crisp ones Quade was used to seeing in Virginia City. His hair was way too long and had more gray than black among the strands. He couldn’t help but wonder if this man was too old for the post or if the post had aged him far beyond his years.

“At ease, Lieutenant, we aren’t all that formal here. I’m Captain Rolland VanEtt. From the wire I received from Virginia City, I assume you know your way around an Indian fight.”

“I’ve fought my share of Apaches down in the Arizona Territory. Can’t say it was to my liking, but I’ve done it.”

“I’m afraid you’d better hone your skills if you plan to stay at this post. Every once in a while, Crooked Snake gets the young bucks on the reservation riled up and then there’s hell to pay.”

“I’ve heard a lot about this Crooked Snake since I arrived, Sir. Just who is he?”

“You’d better take a seat, this is a long story. Do you mind if I call you Quade? We’re quite informal here. At least among the officers, of which there is just you and me. I’d prefer you call me Rollie when we’re alone.”

Quade nodded his agreement. This certainly didn’t strike him as the spit and polish stick by the rules post Virginia City had been.

“Crooked Snake’s story goes back about fifteen years, well before that mess with Custer and the Seventh. Back then, some gung ho captain decided to make a name for himself by wiping out Crooked Snake once and for all. He and his men attacked the village just after dawn. The problem was, he didn’t find Crooked Snake there. Instead he managed to wipe out a village of women, children and old men. By the time Crooked Snake came back some missionaries had buried the dead. I don’t blame the poor bastard for turning renegade. He fought at the Little Big Horn, or so the story goes, but when they were rounding all the Indians up to go to the reservation, he went to Canada. Now it’s anyone’s guess as to where he hangs his hat. I do know that he raises hell around here with great regularity. I’d like to capture him, but he’s true to his name. Once I get him in my sights he disappears back into his hole.”

“I’ve heard stories about such massacres. As much as I wanted to believe they didn’t happen, I know that history can’t be altered. How many men does this Crooked Snake have with him?”

“Usually it’s just his sons, Growling Bear and Tall Elk, but on occasion they get a few of the young bucks to join them. That’s when the trouble really starts.”

“What about the Indian Agent, Leary, can’t he tell the people that siding with Crooked Snake will only get them in more trouble with the army?”

Rollie laughed at Quade’s question. “The only thing Leary is interested in is how much money he can make from the supplies he gets for the Indians. I can’t say for certain where he peddles them, though I have a feeling it’s to the ranchers. I know that Red over at the railhead told him what he could do with his supplies and he hoped they fit. Red gets on well with the Indians on the reservation. Even hires some of them to help him out. As much as they would like for him to give them whiskey, he refuses. I think the elders respect him for that.”

Quade shook his head. This was going to be one interesting post. The only good thing he’d seen so far was the daughter of the missionary. With any luck, he would get to know her better.