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Authors: Andrew J. Fenady
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lucky.”
General Nelson Appleton Miles had declined Al Sieber’s invitation to have a drink. Instead, he had ordered Sieber, Horn, and
Captain Crane to report to his office.
The two scouts and the young officer, still showing the effects of the brouhaha, stood listening asthe commander of Fort Bowie meted out his judgment.
“Captain, in view of your exemplary record up to now, I am going to forgive your curious behavior in the
cantina
.”
“Thank you, sir.” Crane arched to attention.
“However,” Miles went on, “I strongly suggest that in the future you choose your companions with a great deal more…discrimination.”
“Yes, sir.”
Miles paused and focused on the two scouts. “You men will be held responsible for damages. Fortunately, Mr. Van Zeider will
survive.”
“What about the Kid?” Horn asked.
For a moment Miles savored the power of his command. Fort Bowie was like a ship at sea and General Miles was the captain.
His word was law. But unlike a ship in the middle of a boundless ocean, there were appeals. However, appeals took time. Anything
Miles ordered would be done and then—and only then—possibly reviewed. General Miles rested both elbows on the arms of the
chair where he sat and slowly and deliberately tapped the edges of his fingers and thumbs against each other.
“The Kid, as you so quaintly call him, is as murderous as those other savages he’s locked up with.” Miles ceased tapping his
appendages and peered over the edges of his fingers, which now formed a tepee. “And he’s going to be treated exactly the same.”
“What does that mean?” Sieber questioned.
“It means”—Miles broke up the finger tepee— “the Apache Kid’s going to be shipped with the rest of them to Fort Marion.”
“You can’t do that!” Horn exploded.
“Don’t use that tone of voice with me, Mr. Horn,” Miles shot back quickly, “or you’ll find out just what I
can
do.”
“But sir, I—” Captain Crane started to speak, but Miles cut in.
“And you, Captain Crane, will be jeopardizing your career if you say one more word in this matter.”
“Take it easy, Captain,” Horn said, trying to calm the waters. “Look here, General, Geronimo’s sworn to kill him. The Kid
chose to fight with us and against them.”
“He should have chosen,” Miles replied, “
not
to try and kill Mr. Van Zeider.”
“He had no choice,” said Sieber.
“
Mr.
Van Zeider was aiming to blow me apart with that ten-gauge,” Horn added.
“That hasn’t been determined,” Miles answered. “Maybe he was trying to stop the fight by firing a warning shot.”
“Yeah,” Sieber grunted, “right through Tom’s back. Besides, if the Kid had wanted to kill Van Zeider, that Dutchman’d be deader
than a canned sardine.”
“General,” Horn tried to reason, “you put him on that train and he’ll never get off alive. You know that.”
“I’ll ship him in a car with the women, children, and wounded,” Miles responded. “I’ll give him that much consideration.”
“What happens when he gets off the train?” Horn pursued.
“That will be all!” Miles dismissed the discussion.
“No, that won’t be all, you perfumed peacock!…” Horn moved forward, but Sieber grabbed him.
“Hold it, Tom. That ain’t gonna do any good. Come on, let’s get outta here.”
“That is a smart suggestion,” said Miles. “It would even be smarter if both of you left Fort Bowie. The change of scenery
might improve your temperament.”
“Thanks for the advice, General,” said Sieber as he nudged Horn toward the door. “But we ain’t ever been accused of being
smart. Vital, once in a while, but never smart. And as for our temperament, so far it’s been down right see-date.”
From the time of her arrival at Fort Bowie, Shana Ryan had found Karl Van Zeider to be a gentleman, charming and helpful.
When Tim was killed, Van Zeider took it upon himself to write Shana a consoling
General Nelson Appleton Miles had declined Al Sieber’s invitation to have a drink. Instead, he had ordered Sieber, Horn, and
Captain Crane to report to his office.
The two scouts and the young officer, still showing the effects of the brouhaha, stood listening asthe commander of Fort Bowie meted out his judgment.
“Captain, in view of your exemplary record up to now, I am going to forgive your curious behavior in the
cantina
.”
“Thank you, sir.” Crane arched to attention.
“However,” Miles went on, “I strongly suggest that in the future you choose your companions with a great deal more…discrimination.”
“Yes, sir.”
Miles paused and focused on the two scouts. “You men will be held responsible for damages. Fortunately, Mr. Van Zeider will
survive.”
“What about the Kid?” Horn asked.
For a moment Miles savored the power of his command. Fort Bowie was like a ship at sea and General Miles was the captain.
His word was law. But unlike a ship in the middle of a boundless ocean, there were appeals. However, appeals took time. Anything
Miles ordered would be done and then—and only then—possibly reviewed. General Miles rested both elbows on the arms of the
chair where he sat and slowly and deliberately tapped the edges of his fingers and thumbs against each other.
“The Kid, as you so quaintly call him, is as murderous as those other savages he’s locked up with.” Miles ceased tapping his
appendages and peered over the edges of his fingers, which now formed a tepee. “And he’s going to be treated exactly the same.”
“What does that mean?” Sieber questioned.
“It means”—Miles broke up the finger tepee— “the Apache Kid’s going to be shipped with the rest of them to Fort Marion.”
“You can’t do that!” Horn exploded.
“Don’t use that tone of voice with me, Mr. Horn,” Miles shot back quickly, “or you’ll find out just what I
can
do.”
“But sir, I—” Captain Crane started to speak, but Miles cut in.
“And you, Captain Crane, will be jeopardizing your career if you say one more word in this matter.”
“Take it easy, Captain,” Horn said, trying to calm the waters. “Look here, General, Geronimo’s sworn to kill him. The Kid
chose to fight with us and against them.”
“He should have chosen,” Miles replied, “
not
to try and kill Mr. Van Zeider.”
“He had no choice,” said Sieber.
“
Mr.
Van Zeider was aiming to blow me apart with that ten-gauge,” Horn added.
“That hasn’t been determined,” Miles answered. “Maybe he was trying to stop the fight by firing a warning shot.”
“Yeah,” Sieber grunted, “right through Tom’s back. Besides, if the Kid had wanted to kill Van Zeider, that Dutchman’d be deader
than a canned sardine.”
“General,” Horn tried to reason, “you put him on that train and he’ll never get off alive. You know that.”
“I’ll ship him in a car with the women, children, and wounded,” Miles responded. “I’ll give him that much consideration.”
“What happens when he gets off the train?” Horn pursued.
“That will be all!” Miles dismissed the discussion.
“No, that won’t be all, you perfumed peacock!…” Horn moved forward, but Sieber grabbed him.
“Hold it, Tom. That ain’t gonna do any good. Come on, let’s get outta here.”
“That is a smart suggestion,” said Miles. “It would even be smarter if both of you left Fort Bowie. The change of scenery
might improve your temperament.”
“Thanks for the advice, General,” said Sieber as he nudged Horn toward the door. “But we ain’t ever been accused of being
smart. Vital, once in a while, but never smart. And as for our temperament, so far it’s been down right see-date.”
From the time of her arrival at Fort Bowie, Shana Ryan had found Karl Van Zeider to be a gentleman, charming and helpful.
When Tim was killed, Van Zeider took it upon himself to write Shana a consoling
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