Bloodshed of Eagles. William W. Johnstone

      Both Falcon and Custer were invited backstage after the final curtain. Falcon had been backstage before, so the controlled pandemonium was not new to him—actors and actresses scurrying about, still in costume and greasepaint, props being moved about, sets being struck, musicians putting their instruments away, etc.

      Falcon’s brother and sister, Andrew and Rosanna, were sitting at dressing tables, looking into the mirrors as they removed their make up. The first time Falcon had ever seen his brother in makeup, to include rouge and lipstick, it had given him a queasy feeling. It was still relatively jarring to him, but he had learned to accept it as a part of their trade.

      Falcon was amused at Custer’s reaction to it all. He was taking it all in with great enthusiasm.

      “I’ve always thought that, if I were not a soldier, I would be an actor,” he said. “We have often done amateur dramatic performances at the forts where I have been posted, and people tell me that I am quite talented.”

      Andrew laughed. “You are a general. Who is going to tell you any different?”

      Falcon laughed as well, and was pleased to see that even Custer found the reply amusing.

      “Touché, my friend,” Custer said. “I will admit that being the commanding officer does give me a certain advantage.”

      Andrew removed the last of his makeup, then looked up at Falcon and Custer.

      “I have a wonderful place in mind for dinner,” he said. “I am going to take you both to the Union Club.”

      “The Union Club?” Custer replied. “Yes, that is a good place, but isn’t it restricted to men only? If we go there, your lovely sister will not be able to join us.”

      Rosanna was still removing her makeup. “I can’t go anyway,” she said. “I have a previous engagement.”

      The Union Club

      The Union Club was not only the oldest private club, it was also the most expensive. But expense meant nothing to Andrew because he and Rosanna commanded very high salaries as a result of their stage appearances.

      Falcon watched Andrew interact with the maitre d’, the waiter, and the buss boys. His manner was easy and friendly, without being patronizing. Andrew was as at home in New York society as Falcon was in the mountains and deserts of the West.

      “I always enjoy coming here,” Custer said as they waited for their meal.

      “Are you a member, General?” Andrew asked.

      Custer laughed. “No, I’m afraid the dues are a bit too high for a poor soldier. Although Phil Sheridan is a member, and I’ve been here with him a few times. I’ve been here with Grant as well, but I doubt Grant and I will ever socialize again, especially after my recent appearance before the Clymer Committee. We’re going after Belknap and Grant’s brother, Orville.”

      “Belknap has already resigned, hasn’t he?” Falcon asked.

      “Yes, he resigned to avoid being impeached. But that’s not going to save him.”

      “If you don’t mind my asking, what was the subject of your testimony?” Andrew asked. At that moment, their meal was delivered. “Ah, thank you, Charles, it looks very good,” Andrew said to the waiter.

      “Thank you, sir,” the waiter replied.

      Custer waited until Charles had withdrawn before he spoke.

      “It has to do with the sutler trader positions on the army posts,” Custer said. “As you know, the on-post traders have a captive audience with the soldiers, so it can be a very lucrative position. Because of that, they have to be appointed by the government. So what has been happening is this; Belknap and Grant will give the appointment to a middleman. That middleman then sells the appointment to the person who will actually operate the trading posts. Then, the middleman kicks money back to Belknap and Orville Grant. At Ft. Lincoln, for example, I know that the trader pays twelve thousand dollars a year for his position.”

      “When did you testify?” Falcon asked.

      “On the twenty-ninth of March, and again on the fourth of April,” Custer replied. “I’ll be returning to Ft. Lincoln soon. So, Mr. MacCallister, what brings you to New York? Visiting your brother and sister?”

      “That is certainly one of the pleasures of my trip,” Falcon said. “But I’m going to Washington to meet with the secretary of war to have my commission as lieutenant colonel confirmed.”

      “You are coming into the army?” Custer asked, surprised by Falcon’s announcement.

      “Only in a matter of speaking,” Falcon said. “I have agreed to serve as commandant of the Colorado Home Guard until statehood.”

      “Wonderful,” Custer said. “In that case, I shall regard you as a brother officer.”

      “I would not presume to put myself on par with those who are actually serving today,” Falcon said. “The army has opened up the West for settlement, guarded rail and stage lines, conducted campaigns against an enemy who is as amorphous as dust, yet as deadly as a rattlesnake. I have nothing but respect for those who go forty miles a day on beans and hay.”

      Custer laughed out loud, then applauded. “Bravo, Colonel MacCallister, bravo,” he said.

      As they left the club that night, Custer took a newspaper clipping from his pocket and handed it to Falcon. “You might want to read this,” he said. “At your convenience, of course.”

      “Thank you,” Falcon replied.