Lord Grizzly, Second Edition by Frederick Manfred

General Ashley seated beside him. “General, before I tell it, I’d like to suggest something.”
    â€œTalk away, man,” General Ashley said, slapping at a fly on his crossed blue knee. “I’m short of ideas as it is. We want to look at all sides of the thing.”
    â€œWell, General.” Major Henry’s lips thinned and his teeth gleamed white. “Well, General, I don’t think it’s a good idea to hang out all the wash until we know for deadsure we’ve nothing but friends present.” Major Henry looked them all in the eye. “Men, some of us are going on. Those who haven’t got the guts to stick can pack up and leave now. And go down as deserters in my book.”
    General Ashley jumped up. His face reddened. “Wait, Andy, wait. I wouldn’t—”
    Major Henry was firm. He raised his head again. “Just a minute yourself, General. I think I know what I’m doing. I just wanted to see how many men, and I mean men, we have left, is all. Men, not squaws.”
    â€œWell, I still think it’s some risky to put it that way,” General Ashley said again, “risky—”
    â€œGeneral, let me handle this. I think I know my men.” Major Henry stared them all in the eye, one by one. “All right, let them who ain’t of a mind to go, let them get aboard Leavenworth’s keelboat pronto.”
    Silence and the wild Missouri roushing.
    At last, with a sigh, Jack Larrison got up. He balanced on a trembling leg. “I’m sorry, Major, but I think I’ve had my fill of red-devil fighting. It’s onhuman, that’s what it is.”
    â€œIf that’s the way your stick floats, Jack, that’s it.”
    Jack Larrison hobbled off and painfully stepped down out of sight.
    Then Dufrain stood up. “I’ve had enough too, Major. I’m sorry.”
    â€œYou’re welcome, Dufrain. Any more?”
    With sad eyes, General Ashley watched some twenty of his lads get up and slide down out of sight below the riverbank.
    â€œAny more?” Major Henry called out. “Now’s the time to speak up.”
    Silence again and the wild Missouri rousting.
    â€œAll right, men, that’s fine. Now I’ll tell you the rest of the news we just got. As you know, Jones and Immel belonged to the opposition. So that wasn’t exactly a direct loss to us. But”—Major Henry’s grave blue eyes searched through the remaining crew of thirty tired men—“but, we ourselves lost a half-dozen killed just a week ago. By the Blackfeet.”
    Again a collective sigh rose from the men.
    General Ashley took over then. “Mountain men, friends, I know it’s a terrible gamble. We may not only lose our shirts but our topknots as well. But if we win, we can come back rich men. You can’t get rich being a fifteen-cent millionaire.”
    Silence. A cough. Inward looks. Fingers busy in the dry grass.
    At last a tall lean man stood up. It was Silas Hammond. During the battle on the Ree sand bar, Silas had been stunned by a flying horsehoof and had been left for dead. While unconscious he had been scalped by the Rees. Yet somehow in the melee, after he came to, Silas, like Jack Larrison, had managed to escape in the night by swimming the river.
    Silas removed his cap. It was a tight one made of beaverskin. The moment he took it off, his whole face sagged horribly. All eyes looked to where he’d been scalped. The crusted scar on his skull looked like a chip of black bark. The scar was healing very slowly along the edges. The scalping had cut the nerves of his facial muscles, and the skin under his eyes and off his jowls hung slack like a mournful hound’s.
    Silas said, “Gen’ral, I reckon I kin risk my hair again.”
    There was a nervous laugh.
    Hugh couldn’t get over it. What a man Silas was to offer his life again. Ae, what a man. And if Silas could risk his life once more, Old