 I'll command, starting Richard Anderson, a pale, well calculated to keep you in suspense. Hello. Yes, Sergeant. Here comes Lieutenant Coro, back with the patrols. Yes, I see, and hold the column. Yes, sir. column hold. I'm in my field, Sergeant. Here you are, sir. Thank you. Captain Brothers. Hello, Mr. Coro. Here's the best body of grass here. This slope, with a small run below for water. This is the best driftwack for tonight. Mr. Coro, do you see that ride that's there to the left behind you across the valley? Yes, sir. What are those shakes lying on that slope? Small herd of buffaloes were sleeping, it seems. We didn't go that far. We turned back and we saw them. The wind has shifted a bit. Take a deep breath, Mr. Coro. Yes, sir. Not really, sir. No, sir. Take another deep breath, Mr. Coro. Get it in your nostrils and you tell me if what you smell is sleeping buffaloes. No, sir. It smells like dead men. And not freshly killed. Lieutenant Gratium and his squads here? I imagine so. And then we come to find. We'll make sure after nightfall. And Mr. Coro. Yes, sir. I must have taught you at West Point that accurate observation is a military virtue. I suggest that you cultivate it here. Yes, sir, Captain Brothers. Yes, sir, Captain Brothers. No, sir, Captain Brothers. Of all the officers in the United States Cavalry, why did they have to assign me to him? A handbook soldier. A great bitter failure of a soldier marking time out here on the plains until he retires. My father would be guessing. My father would be right over there now to see if those corks are really aggressive. My father would have made sure instead of losing time making this camp. A broken rattle, Sergeant Utterback, is found at noon, showed clearly. Sir, that broken rattle the soldiers will tell them we crossed the trace of that Sioux War Party at noon today. That could have been the trail of a Cheyenne War Party. Lieutenant Orca Manches or Apeches, they all make rattles like that from the ins of Buffalo. But if they were Sioux, they couldn't be more than 30 miles to the north in the deadlines. They're afraid of ambush, so they'd be camping away from timber and near water. Two hours' rest, and we can be at the upper reaches of the river by dawn, sir, ahead of them. Mr. Cohill, I have no orders to be anywhere by dawn or other than the other time. My orders are to find Mr. Gresham's patrol and having Countess return to Fort Stark and report it. Well, I think I've found him. I'll know as soon as the moon rises and I go over and take a look. Yes, sir. Look at the other side of it, Mr. Cohill. Suppose that War Party was Cheyenne, which they might be instead of Sioux. They wouldn't be in the Deadlands. Cheyennes would head for timber along the lower Mesa Roja. So would Arapahoes, Cuyahuas, or Comanches. They all put a whack in open timber. And Mr. Cohill, they all make rattles out of Buffalo toes. Yes, sir. Now, pass the word to Sergeant Orca Manches. Dinner will be at 6.30, but the people will not sound calls. Yes, sir. And Mr. Cohill, sir. There is no shortcut to the top of the glory heap, so we'll not run all over the West tonight looking for one. As a soldier's path to glory, Mr. Gresham and his patrol had found the shortcut. And what we looked upon that night was not gorries. Ten bodies, strip-naked, him cushioned to the prairie with arrows, their feet and their right hands hacked off. They sold their lives dearly. The empty cartridge cases said that. At least they respected the smiling men. How's that, Sergeant? Every one of them skin bald-headed so he can cross the shadow waters without trouble. And whoever did it, don't want to fight to make them. Why? As in he cut off, that's why. He crippled them in case they meet in their rafters, Sergeant. Yes, Captain? You still think the suit of this? No, sir. Not now, sir. Why not? I made the march from Benchwood to Santa Fe with Steve Kearney and I know an Apache arrow and I see one, sir. Even a thousand miles from where they meet. Yes, but that's a suit trail we crossed this morning and that war party could have brushed with an Apache war party and come by Apache arrows. No, this job is two days old. It wasn't that two war party. This is Apache war. How do you figure that? Mostly because the captain knows it's Apache work, too. Well, don't go home, sir. Take the great detail. Yes, sir, Sergeant? Yes, sir. Remove the company out at 10 tonight. Yes, sir. We'll return to Fort Stark to report this massacre as fast as we can. Yes, sir. So, he's showing me. Makes his lieutenant first grade digger, confides his plans to his sergeant and exchange for flattery. Doesn't take long to dig in the soft, black earth of the plains. And the rocks were nearby to pile upon the still mounds against the hungry muzzles of coyotes. And after, the air was sweeter and the cold moonlight. And the job done in plenty of time for Captain Biddle's evacuation. The commander's prepared to mount, sir. Very good, sir. Captain Biddle? Yes, sir. Excuse me, sir, but can't we go out to the Indians who did this? Can't we try to? To go. The United States Cavalry is not out here to fight Indians. We're here to watch them and report on them for the Indians' hero. We fight only if they attack us. I refer you to the standing orders of the Department of the Platoon. They are most explicit on this point. Yes, sir. I know, sir. But Mr. Grisham was a... How do you know that, Lieutenant? Well, I don't know for sure, of course, you know. But he's dead. And his command? Dead and mutilated. We ought to... So what, Lieutenant? A vengeance? You disabuse yourself of your classroom. Drop on the stickle hill. Out here we will pay orders. Sergeant, yes, sir. Pass the word to Mountain. Yes, sir. Up, guys. Yes! Pass the word, Mount. Pass the word, Mount! Pass the word! Up! It was already that day. Who knows how many miles ahead of us tonight. The men are tired. The horses are tired. Hour after hour. Walk 30 minutes. Trot fighting. Dismount and lead 10 minutes. Undit and graze 15 minutes every hour. Hour after hour. Well, it's y'all eating tobacco, isn't it, Bill? Ain't got much. Ah, give me a load of some. You can get some more at the Fort tomorrow. Here. Why don't you have any, you know? Don't approve of y'all on tobacco. Well, my doubt that is fair. Guys, remind me, Gettysburg wasn't like this. Do tell. Oh, sir. It was roads leading to Gettysburg. Hey, midden dogs. Swallows back on cemetery ridge again. They didn't say that. Not the only mistake Robert E. Lee ever made. Not when he saw the way found. Just the same army was the army in them days. Less intense. You got a furlough, there was girls. Not squaws. Well, if you like it so much, why don't you go back where it is, girls? I was swindled. They joined up again because they said they'd be fighting out here. Only fighting, I've seen weapons of those on Saturday nights in the barracks. It ain't like the old army. I remember a girl in Richmond. The time I was with Grant when we took her to Richmond. The prettiest little Virginia creek you've ever seen. Oh, not a bag. That's her. I'd like to ask you a question. Yes, sir. How did you know that Captain thought they were apaches that killed Mr. Gresham's detail? I've been his first sergeant for a long time. You'll get to know. I see. Sergeant, do I get to know? Well, this is a different kind of service out here, sir. My sergeant up there was staying a minute ago. It ain't Gettysburg. It ain't full dress for it. But it's the only kind of captain me ever served here, sir. Then you get to know it. Just like you get to know siege operations. Or labor-charged by Company Front. After you had enough of them. But during the war between the states, didn't you know? Then, no, sir. Neither Captain Brittle nor me saw service in the states there. While the North and the South were at each other, the West still had to be held. Somebody had to do it. I see. I see a lot now. And away I feel sorry for the captain. Sitting a sweaty horse on these endless prairies. While the great words exploded across the country. Vicksburg, Chancellorsville, Antietam, Appomattox. The policemen on the corner. While history rolled across Georgia to the sea. Hours on the way now. Less than three hours till dawn. We're at the North Fork of the Platte. Full 20 minutes for a watering call. Some of the men lie sleeping with their dismounted. Others huddle together in the moon shadow of the high bank. She's hardly talking. They're like a bad boy at a husband. But what'd you do? Well, nothing to do except join the army. Any new boys ever had a lobster? Not me. I named me in the scene one. When I was in the fleshworks in front of Vicksburg, I had a catfish. Didn't like it. I could sure put away lobster right now. They sound the lobster part and into the cooking pot. Alive? Sure. That's the only way to cook a lobster. I wish I was back in with Cathy. She'd just be back in the state of Maine. He'd be flying away for a bubble of weeks. True, a word was never spoken. Some people ain't never satisfied. I ain't never satisfied for a fact. That's how you get someplace in this world and never be satisfied. Sure got you a long way, didn't you? All right, men, call in. Well, it looks like you can plan on getting me a purple trowel. The captain's getting the fidgety again. Oh, well, another day, another dollar. Prepare to mount past the woods. Prepare to mount past the woods. Mount past the woods. Mount past the woods. Mount past the woods. Mount past the woods. The captain is heading north. How's that, Sergeant? North. The captain is heading north. All right, Sergeant. That's in Mesa. It should be to our left. But it's dead ahead. It doesn't make any sense. Yes, sir. My father would have done things differently. In the cold, dying moonlight, I can imagine him. Young Major Koryo, riding out of St. Joe to convoy the wagon trains down west on the Oregon Trail. What a figure he must have been on the old frontier. The Missouri River itself was the jumping-off place. Killer Koryo, as the men had called him, with a wide roaming, a wraparose, had another name for him. Rude devil with eyes in the back of his head. Why, by this time, father would have cut those apaches in the coyote meat as they lay sleeping around their smoldering campfire. Here's the Koryo. Here's the Koryo, sir. Oh, yes, Sergeant. Got rid of those washes, sir. The head of the column. Thank you, Sergeant. Sergeant, how the back said you wanted to see me, sir. Oh, Mr. Koryo, how I do. Listen carefully. Have Sergeant Sutrow ahead of me with a point. You will relieve him with eight men and push forward fast. Yes, sir. You recall the Ford across the Red Mesa Wash. Yes, sir. We crossed it yesterday. Exactly. And there's a knoll on the east side of the wash, a knoll that is crossed by the trails on the top of the Mesa. I remember it, sir. Beyond that knoll before dawn. Build a civil-wacked fire as soon as you arrive. Do what, sir? Build a fire. I want to know when you get there. But I can send a messenger back to tell you when I arrive. I want everyone else from miles around know to build a civil-wacked fire, a squad fire, no longer. Yes, sir. Should you happen to be attacked, you know, hold that knoll fighting on foot. Remember the dawn light works for you, but it can fool you in this country. So you don't shoot until the last possible moment. But I don't understand. You don't have to. You have your orders. Yes, sir. I want it to go open. I've got a faith on my hook. Now wiggle. Only because the stars stopped where it stood. The moon with a honey-colored veil, spilling blackness over the edge of the plains. Then the jagged teeth of the Rockies broke it into ragged pop shirts. And it was gone. It was dark. It was black dark. The squad fired, sputtered, and took and pushed the night back home as the final moment of a soldier's heritage. To stand ready to fire and be fired upon, to kill, and be killed. It wasn't at all like you expected. It's just one scourge. Mettendorf, don't stand still. Keep moving a little all the time. Flap those mouths, keep them moving through. Yes, sir. Lieutenant Coheal. Yes, sir. How come the Captain sent us up here to statue around the top of this little hill? He said there was a bait on his hook. Huh? A decoy. An Indian war party were to draw them out. Better put some bacon to fry, coffin. How you look natural. Yes, sir. You know, winds may end up like Mr. Gresham and his patrol. There's always that possibility. And the prospect of pleases there. That's what a soldier lives for, sir. Yes, sir. It was a good performance. From any watching shoe or a patchy, there was a small white soldier war party. Firelighted, bacon cooking, horses unsaddled, and warriors sleeping from a long night march. Soft for the killing. Only the warriors weren't sleeping. Beyond the yellow carpet of firelight, they laid hand out behind their saddles, waiting. Sorting the night sounds with straining ears. Pushing at the soft wall of darkness with widened eyes. Wish them dead burned cowardice didn't sound so much like human beings. Well, maybe sure one thing. No engine is running around in the middle of the night yelling like a coyote. Yeah, but it sure makes me nervous. I'm like who y'all? That's all I mean. What's that behind you? Don't get in the threat, boys. Don't leave me? Oh, General Grant, Chief of Staff. You thought I didn't put a bullet through you? No, I mean, I wouldn't do that. The tenant said not to fire until commanded. Are you far as ever at Indian Putin? No. I had sweet potato pudding when I was a Sherman in Atlanta, but I didn't like it much. Well, she wasn't a podium at Waterloo. She made a calm man in molasses. Why? Indian Putin? Oh. See any savages yet? No. And don't expect to? Yet. Why? There ain't no Indian west of the Missouri or come out and fight at night. They're being helping. So what are we worrying about? Who's worrying? Not me. No. Then you can stop worrying. Huh? Listen to them birds. Stones coming. You can make out the mesa planer. You all would like me some Indian pudding for breakfast. Slowly the light came. First you could see the outline of the mesa. And down below, there's silver of the water in the wash and the shapes of the men. And out across the plain, the feathers of mist and the drawers. If it was to come, it would come now. We're shooting out. What'd you expect, Indian? Close your fire, man. What was that? Hit one of the horses. Here it comes. Ah! My leg. Close your fire. Now hold it. Fire! I shot one of the heathens. I got two. Look at them lying here and there. One of them is still wiggling. Oh, fix that. Close your fire. Ah, but I was just going to... They'll be back. They'll be back. Yes. It's only the beginning. Yes. Where were you hit, coffin? My leg. Hmm. Bone shattered. Hurt much? A little, sir. Those arrows are just going to wicked. Go right through, man, if they don't hit bones. Do tell. There's no action in the new army, huh, sir? Well, it ain't exactly like any, sir. Here they come again. Now hold fire. Like better this time. Make no difference. Close your fire. We have the ones who didn't digress him in. Look! That one's rare and hopeful, Kevin. And there's one with a U.S. cattle receiver. If that's the middle of this, I want to know. Hopefully, they have a breakfast at the port. Well, I'll take care of them, Captain. They'll be back. No, they won't death, Captain Biddle's now. Captain from the flanks. Hey, sir. Captain Biddle's got them on the loose. Down below the know, the remains of the Apaches were streaking for the open plains with Captain Biddle's men, overtaking them, cutting them down with thirsty sabers and pestling the ponies as they ran. And then it was quiet. And I'm an Indian whose pony was left alive. Hawthorne's saddle pops up against the saddle, lighting his pipe. Shattered legs stretched naked and useless before him. Shattered leg where he had fallen. Eyes closed, face blue with hands around the shaft, sunk deep from the left side below the ridge. The feathered tips waving idly at each shallow breath. Can't we do something for him, sir? Huh. The car beat that hour is right under the heart. Can't cut it out. Can't cut it out. Right under the heart. Can't cut it out. Can't pull it through. Poor Sarber. He finally saw action. Yeah, I can hear him now tell him things, Peter, about the time they beat the Apaches under Corill. That's not very funny. I guess you're right, Carlton. How do you like paying me much? Can't feel anything. Lieutenant. Yes, Carlton. Do you think they'll send me back home to get this fixed? I think maybe I'll get to see the state of Maine, right? I hope so, Carlton. Land at Goshen Hill. But you won't get no further than an army hospital or a council bluff. Man, they'll wire you together, slap a brass drone, and send you right back to fight Indians. It was a strange feeling. A mixture of pride and guilt. Watching a man die when I commanded an action. Looking at a shattered leg of another. And then, a company rode back in triumph. I was reporting to Captain Biddle. It seemed like months instead of hours since I had last looked at the entire Great Face. But to go, you did that well. You made through in time. Thank you, sir. Captain, you knew they were Apaches. Yes, they had sundown. And you knew they were camped on top of the mesa, didn't you, sir? Mr. Goro, accurate observation is a military virtue. Had you pushed forward at that slope yesterday afternoon, you'd have found Mr. Gresham not sleeping butthole. Had you rise been sharp, you'd have found this between the slopes and last night's paperwork. An Apache headband, brightened blood stains. Had you been a planesman and suspected Apaches, you'd have looked at once with smoke at sundowns on the highest ground. In this case, red maces. You had me fooled, sir. I even, the fact that flew penance for the record of these my patrol temporarily bewitched at dawn today came under a sudden enemy attack. Fortunately, it was able to hold until I arrived with the main body. I understand perfectly well, sir. I'm familiar with departmental orders which allow defensive actions only and expectedly forbid attack. And yet they are in direct violation of cavalry tactics where cavalry is extremely weak on the defensive and can only defend well by attacking. I believe that also is taught at West Point. Captain, I am terribly shy from my eyes. Let it go. Never apologize. It is a mark of weakness. There's a captain out here who tried that once to escape an inquiry board. He escapes it. He will die a captain in spite of his apology. The officer who saw the last sort of work with him made a soldier out of him. It says humanity had been large enough. Mr. Cohell, I'm going to make a soldier out of you. You may present my respects to General Cohell when you next write to your father. Mr. Cohell, take morning stables. Suspense. Richard Anderson starred in William M. Robson's production of Command. Written by James Warner-Bella and dramatized forces sent by Mr. Robson. Supporting Richard Anderson in command will William Conrad go to Sanders, Alan Manson, Sam Edward, Bill Quinn, and Chet Stratton. Listen. Listen again next week. When we return with another tale well-calculated to keep you in mind, we'll see you next time.