Dances With Wolves Read Free Page B

testimony with joy.
    Two steps were taken immediately. The post commandant relayed the full story of Fort Sedgewick’s demise to General Tide at regional headquarters in St. Louis, ending his report with the recommendation that Fort Sedgewick be permanently abandoned, at least until further notice. General Tide was inclined to agree wholeheartedly, and within days Fort Sedgewick ceased to be connected with the United States government. It became a nonplace.
    The second step concerned Captain Cargill. He was elevated to full hero status, receiving in rapid succession the Medal of Valor and a promotion to major. A “victory dinner” was organized on his behalf at the officers’ mess.
    It was at this dinner, over drinks after the meal, that Cargill heard from a friend the curious little story that had fueled most of the talk around the post just prior to his triumphant arrival.
    Old Major Fambrough, a midlevel administrator with a lackluster record, had gone off his rocker. He had stood one afternoon in the middle of the parade ground, jabbering incoherently about his kingdom and asking over and over for his crown. The poor fellow had been shipped east just a few days ago.
    As the captain listened to the details of this weird event, he, of course, had no idea that Major Fambrough’s sad departure had also carried away all trace of Lieutenant Dunbar. Officially, the young officer existed only in the addled recesses of Major Fambrough’s cracked brain.
    Cargill also learned that, ironically, a wagonload of provisions had finally been dispatched by the same unfortunate major, a wagon bound for Fort Sedgewick. They must have passed each other on the march back. Captain Cargill and his acquaintance had a good laugh as they imagined the driver pulling up to that awful place and wondering what on earth had happened. They went so far as to speculate humorlessly about what the driver would do and decided that if he was smart, he would continue west, selling off the provisions at various trading posts along the way. Cargill staggered half-drunk to his quarters in the wee hours, and his head hit the pillow with the wonderful thought that Fort Sedgewick was now only a memory.
    So it came to be that only one person on earth was left with any notion as to the whereabouts or even the existence of Lieutenant Dunbar.
    And that person was a poorly groomed bachelor civilian who mattered very little to anyone.
    Timmons.

CHAPTER III
    one
     
    The only sign of life was the ragged piece of canvas flapping gently in the doorway of the collapsed supply house. The late afternoon breeze was up, but the only thing that moved was the shred of canvas.
    Had it not been for the lettering, crudely gouged in the beam over Captain Cargill’s late residence, Lieutenant Dunbar could not have believed this was the place. But it was spelled out clearly.
    “Fort Sedgewick.”
    The men sat silently on the wagon seat, staring about at the skimpy ruin that had turned out to be their final destination.
    At last Lieutenant Dunbar hopped down and stepped cautiously through Cargill’s doorway. Seconds later he emerged and glanced at Timmons, who was still in the wagon.
    “Not what you’d call a goin’ concern,” Timmons shouted down.
    But the lieutenant didn’t answer. He walked to the supply house, pulled the canvas flap aside, and leaned in. There was nothing to see, and in a moment he was walking back to the wagon.
    Timmons stared down at him and started to shake his head.
    “May as well unload,” the lieutenant said matter-of-factly.
    “What for, Lieutenant?”
    “Because we’ve arrived.”
Timmons squirmed on the seat. “There ain’t nothin’ here,” he croaked.
    Lieutenant Dunbar glanced around at his post.
    “Not at the moment, no.”
    A silence passed between them, a silence that carried the tension of a standoff. Dunbar’s arms hung at his sides while Timmons fingered the team’s reins. He spat over the side of the wagon.
    “Everybody’s