Page 25 of For This We Are Soldiers
The corporal knew several of his equals in rank and one or two sergeants had proposed to Millie. Each time he heard of this, Ted prepared to bow to the inevitable. So far, no one had convinced Millie Drummond to leave the parental nest.
He had spent many a night lying in his solitary room—one unimaginably wonderful benefit of corporal status—wondering what he could possibly offer Miss Drummond. He was tall and sturdy, as a good corporal of infantry should be, and well on his way to advancement to sergeant. He had all his hair and all his teeth and had recently been selected as Fort Buford’s superior marksman. He subscribed to theIndiana Heraldin his hometown of Huntington, and frequently checked out books from the post library. He was temperate in his habits and neither smoked nor chewed. Whether he was a lover or not was probably open to dispute, considering the paucity of opportunity in Dakota Territory. He knew he had the confidence; time would tell.
He straightened up again to receive the private’s salute and the hand off of memo. Another salute followed, and he went inside to read the message.
Ted Sheppard’s heart took a nosedive. He was to report immediately to the commanding officer’s house for an assignment that could not wait. He left a note on his desk, and accompanied the private, who waited for him outside the small building.
“The CO was in a rare pelter,” the private commented.
“What’s the emergency?” Ted asked, wanting as much warning as he could muster.
“The hospital is in big trouble,” was all the man would say, but his grin was impossible to ignore.
The grin suggested it wasn’t Lakota—Sitting Bull’s shabby band had been slipping back across the Canadian border for months—and probably not road agents. Something was brewing at the hospital. Ted thought briefly of Millie and trusted no harm had come to her. He wasn’t about to ask the private anything so personal. A man had to hold his cards pretty close to his vest at Fort Buford, an isolated post where any hint of rumor was chewed over like an old bone.
Suddenly, Ted understood the private’s grin. Grazing between two of the officers’ duplexes were three cows: two Holsteins and a Jersey, the sum total of the hospital’s herd, allowed because invalids needed nourishment not ordinarily found in a typical soldier’s diet.
From lifelong habit, the corporal of the guard looked down and narrowly avoided contact with cow flop. This was no typical cow flop, but the kind that comes from cows clandestinely grazing in deeper grass far superior to their regular diet of hay. Too bad the cows didn’t understand that one of Major Brotherton’s great prides was a grassy parade ground. Unmindful of the official storm of memos descending upon them, the hospital cows grazed with the unconcerned nonchalance that bovines had cultivated through centuries of domesticity.
“Just how angry is he?” Ted asked the private, who also watched where he walked.
“Red of face, but he’s not swearing yet,” the private answered. He chuckled. “Better you than me, Corporal Sheppard.”
Corporal Sheppard eyed the cows for a long minute. His gaze softened to see Millie Drummond standing between the double row of officers’ quarters, hands on her hips. Happy to postpone a visit with an incensed field officer, Ted walked toward her.
“They escaped,” she said. “I don’t think I can get them back by myself.”
“I’ll help you, Miss Drummond,” Ted told her, wondering at the workings of fate. “First I must see what the major has to say.”
“It won’t be pretty. This same thing happened two weeks ago when your company was on the mail run to Bismarck,” she told him, coming closer and watching her steps too. “He even issued a special order.”
Flattered that Millie Drummond even knew his company had served as escort to the steamboat making the twice-monthly mail run to Bismarck, Ted stood beside the pretty lass, noting her height, or lack thereof, and nice shape. He forced his mind back to the cows, one of which had lowered herself with a softoof!to begin chewing her cud. Another cow squirted, and the remaining cow grazed. This was no romantic scene, but Ted knew from long experience in the US Army to take the good times when a man found them. He chose to overlook the cow fragrance and admired Millie’s dark hair in its single loose braid.
Discipline overrode desire all too soon to please the corporal. He gave Millie a little one-finger salute, which she returned with a shy smile, and crossed the row to the major’s quarters, where the man also maintained his office.
Major Brotherton wasn’t precisely tapping his foot impatiently on his porch, but he did mutter something about corporals of the guard who took their sweet time. Ted executed a much smarter salute than the one he gave Millie and stood at rigid attention.
“You can see the problem, corporal,” his commanding officer said, with no little sarcasm. “Smell it too, I’ll wager.”
“Yes, sir. You would like me to return these cows to their grazing area behind the hospital, sir?”
“Oh, no. Impound them in the quartermaster corral, pursuant to Order Number Twenty-four, then deliver this memo to the post surgeon.” The major held out a dispatch, folded twice lengthwise, one of many he probably sent and received each week. Brotherton’s current temporary adjutant—a poor, long-suffering second lieutenant—did double duty with his own company, and had less time than usual to do the major’s dirty work. The man was nowhere in sight and Corporal Sheppard could scarcely fault him.
Corporal Sheppard took the memo and saluted. “Very well, sir. Should I wait for a reply, sir?”
“No. I am certain this will bring the post surgeon here in fine feather.”
Sheppard saluted and turned to leave, but Major Brotherton called him back. “When you return to the officer of the guard building, get four inmates to police these grounds.”
“Yes, sir!”
Before he enlisted in the post-Civil War army and left to find adventure on the northern plains, Ted Sheppard had been an Indiana farm boy himself. He had led many a cow from the pasture to the milking barn, in fact, too many. Joining the army had come as a relief.
Here he was, herding cows again, but this time with the assistance—or at least the concern—of a pretty girl he yearned to know better. He kicked the Jersey to her feet and was rewarded with a wounded look from both pairs of brown eyes, cow and human, as if the Jersey wondered what she had done wrong, and Millie had a soft heart for disobedient cows. He pointed the critter toward the quartermaster stables.
“Not to the hospital?” Millie asked.
Ted felt only relief that she seemed willing to overlook his brisk handling of the Jersey. “Not the hospital. I think the major wants to make an example of these felons and miscreants,” Ted told her. He winced inwardly to think how silly he sounded, but Millie only dimpled up as though he truly was a witty man.
