"S. M. Stirling - Draka 05 - Drakas!" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stirling S. M)

He had, quite literally, no face left; the flock of vultures that rose flapping and squawking from the body,
as the other men approached, had finished what the dragging had begun.

At last Custer ordered a halt to the search. The horses were long gone and nothing could be gained by
all this wandering about in the sun; they would need all their strength for the walk back.

Most of their equipment had been lost or ruined in the fire; they had the scorched and filthy clothes they
wore, and their sidearms, and not much else. They picked through the smoldering site of their camp,
finding little. Only four rifles remained in working condition, and not much ammunition for those.

And only nine men left, Custer thought numbly, counting of course their fine leader; a third of the
command lost . . . . Even if I had attacked at Little Bighorn, the Indians could not possibly have inflicted
such losses.

***

Next day they started back.

It had taken all day to make the journey between waterholes on horseback. It was very soon obvious
that it would take longer than that to do it on foot. The going was slow and hard, once they were clear of
the burned area; tough bushes and vines hid beneath the tall grass, snagging clothes and tearing skin, and
here and there broad patches of soft sand dragged at their feet, while a steady hot wind stung their faces
and dried their throats and drove dust particles into eyes and nostrils. Their boots had been designed for
riding, not walking; everyone had blisters by the middle of the first day. And the water was not really
enough, not in that heat; they should have been carrying two or three canteens apiece but there were not
that many left intact, most having burst in the fire when their contents boiled.

Ubi and Jonas led the way, backtracking the patrol's trail from the previous day. Their heads were down
and they muttered to each other. Luther Boss gave Custer a sardonic grin. "They say this patrol is under
a curse."

"Tell them to be quiet," Custer said irritably. Thinking: the patrol, or its commander?

***

They camped that night in a grove of acacias, nibbling sparingly at what food they had managed to
salvage. In the morning Ubi and Jonas were gone.

"Deserted," Luther Boss said blankly. "I can't believe they did that. We've been together through worse
than this."

Pace laughed, an ugly hoarse cackle. "What's the matter, old man, did your faithful darkies take off?" He
shook his head. "Thought they were your God-damned little brothers, didn't you?"

One of the other troopers, a thin redheaded boy named Hankins, said, "My pa had all these niggers on
the old home place, back in Virginia. Never whupped 'em, fed 'em good, he really thought they loved
their ol' massa. Broke his heart when they all left with the first Yankee column to come through."

The old hunter seemed not to hear. He stared out over the desert with sad red-rimmed eyes, muttering
to himself, too low for the words to be understood; till at last Custer took his arm and said gently, "Come