SADDLEBAG DISPATCHES
MICHAEL NORMAN
A DEATH OF CROWS A SHORT STORY
Winner of the 2023 Inaugural Saddlebag Dispatches Longhorn Prize for Western Short Fiction CHAPTER ONE Lt. Charles Gatewood sat outside under the shaded portico with his boots propped up on a rough, weather-worn wood railing that ran the length of the post’s command building. The spring temperatures were ratcheting higher with each day, reminding him of the unmerciful, furnace-like heat of the impending fighting season. Camp Apache was as remote a posting as any place in central Arizona’s Apache lands. In his present assignment, Gatewood served as the commander of the White Mountain Apache Scouts. It was lonely and dangerous duty, not only because of the camp’s isolated location, but because he lived with eighty-six restless Apache and one half-breed civilian scout and interpreter, Jess Cochrane, a man who had married into the Lipan Apache tribe. His chief of scouts, Sergeant Alchesay, bounded up the command building steps, “Bay-chen-daysen, riders come.” Bay-chen-daysen, or long nose, was a name affectionately given to Gatewood by the Apache as a sign of their trust and respect. “Who are they and how far out?” asked Gatewood. “The rancher, Singleton, and one other, meebe two miles.” “Get Cochrane over here. Singleton’s surely not droppin’ by on a social call. When they arrive, Sergeant, bring them into the office,” said Gatewood, as he stood and headed inside. Clay Singleton ran one of central Arizona’s larg-
est cattle operations. He was stubborn, cantankerous but well-respected by military and civilian leaders alike. And he hated Apache with a vengeance. He and Gatewood had clashed in the past over what Singleton believed was the lieutenant’s lenient treatment of his Apache charges. In turn, Gatewood viewed Singleton, and others like him, as men who refused to consider Apache human beings and who believed the extermination of all Apache should be the proper course of government policy. Gatewood didn’t know the purpose of today’s visit but figured it had to involve complaints about something. Gatewood and Cochrane stood as Singleton and his ranch foreman, Buck Grimes, entered the office. Introductions were made, pleasantries exchanged, before the four men turned to business. An annoyed-looking Singleton wasted no time. “This morning one of my men was out doin’ a cattle count when he came across two recently butchered steers. This isn’t the first such incident, and I’m here to tell you it’s gotta stop and stop now. If you won’t do something about it, I will.” “I’m not sure exactly what you have in mind, Mister Singleton, but I must warn you not to take any hostile action against the Apache. That, sir, is Army business. Now, show me on the map where the butchered cattle are located.” Gatewood stood and turned to a large, wall-mounted map of the Arizona Territory which
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