a moment Sickles was too surprised to speak. Crook raised his eyes and then Sickles said, “Of course, sir.” Sickles’ mouth was still badly puffed from his encounter with O’Hagen, and because of the tenderness, he had not shaved. Everyone was quiet. Paper rustled as Crook turned the pages of Lieutenant O’Hagen’s patrol report. At the same time he compared it with Major Calvin’s prospectus of peace and quiet in Apacheria. The discrepancies were glaring.
Finally Lieutenant Timothy O’Hagen appeared with the officer-of-the-day. Rosalia Sickles arrived almost simultaneously and she gave O’Hagen a fleeting smile before taking a seat. General Crook’s sharp eyes did not miss this. Judging from Osgood H. Sickles’ scowl, he hadn’t missed it either.
“Close the door, Major,” Crook said. “I have here the complaint of Osgood H. Sickles, Agent of Indian Affairs, San Carlos Apache Reservation. He charges one First Lieutenant Timothy O’Hagen with assault, etc., etc., and in a subsequent complaint, dated yesterday, charges that he was again attacked. The officer-of-the-day reports that Lieutenant O’Hagen did willfully and purposely absent himself from his quarters while under legal and just arrest. I construe these to be two separate charges.” He looked at O’Hagen. “What is your plea to the first?”
“Not guilty as charged on the grounds that I had just cause.”
Crook nodded and entered this. “On the second?”
“Guilty as charged,” O’Hagen said.
“Returning to the first charge,” Crook said. “Mr. Sickles, would you tell us in your own words what took place on May 9, 1872, at the San Carlos Reservation headquarters.”
“My pleasure,” Sickles said, “although I don’t see the necessity of this drawn out procedure.”
“That is my prerogative,” Crook said. “I’m after the facts, if you have no objections. Of course, you can waive testimony and I will present judgment on the strength of your complaint, weighing it with Lieutenant O’Hagen’s testimony.”
Sickles scowled. He crossed his legs and laced his fingers together. “If the general will permit, I would like to recount the events leading to the attack on my person. Mr. O’Hagen’s defense is hinged on whether the attack was justified, and I would like to prove that it was not.”
“There seems to be little doubt that he struck you,” Crook said. “Very well, Mr. Sickles, but I must remind you to cling to necessary facts. I’m leaving for Camp Grant in the morning and I don’t want to prolong this any longer than I have to.”
“I realize the general’s time is limited,” Sickles said smoothly, “and I will be brief. I intend to prove, sir, that Lieutenant O’Hagen’s assault was a personal matter, divorced from the issues he presents.”
“Get on with it,” Crook said, rekindling his cigar.
“I was in Tuscon on the first of May,” Sickles began. “I had just returned to Arizona from California because I have business interests in Tucson and Phoenix. In addition to my duties as Agent, I own interests in business houses, trade goods, general merchandise. As I was saying, it was the first part of May. . . .”
General Crook sat patiently while Osgood H. Sickles recounted his business successes, finally arriving at the issue at hand, the disturbance at the reservation. When he had concluded his testimony, Crook said, “Then, Mr. Sickles, if I understand correctly, you are more of a freighter than an Indian Agent.”
“Well now,” Sickles said, “I wouldn’t say that. I have never shirked my agency duties.”
“I see.” To O’Hagen, Crook said, “Is there anything about Mr. Sickles’ testimony you wish to-challenge?”
“I’d like to know how he gets his wagons through Apache country when no one else can. Then again there’s always been the matter of the Apaches getting rifles and ammunition. Quite a puzzle, sir.”
“Yes,” Crook admitted. “It will bear looking into. Perhaps you would care to inform me of your theory.” He paused. “You may prefer formal charges if you wish.”
“I have no proof, sir,” O’Hagen said. He glanced at Sickles and found the man’s expression like a dark thunder cloud. “General, freighting is a most profitable business, providing you can get through with regularity. And Mr. Sickles manages to do that quite nicely. The wagons of Sickles, Lauderdale and Grafton are never touched.”
“Very interesting,” Crook murmured. “Mr. Sickles, how do you account for this?”
“I’m the Apache agent. They have learned to trust and respect me.” He nodded toward O’Hagen. “This officer is a meddler, and is attempting to make me a whipping post.”
“I see,” Crook said, “Mr. Sickles, you and your wife may leave now. Should I need you later, I’ll send a runner.”
Osgood Sickles was the soul of indignation. “General, I don’t see the necessity of dragging this ridiculous business out. The issues are clear cut. This officer chose to assault me, a representative of the U. S. Government. I was struck by this man and I demand legal satisfaction.”
“Mr. Sickles,” Crook said, not taking his eyes from the reports scattered on his desk, “you must weight one hundred and eighty pounds. Is that correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“And I would hesitate to call you a coward. Yet you did not ably defend yourself against Mr. O’Hagen. I’m curious as to why.”
Sickles flushed deeply. “General, animals settle their quarrels by combat. There are legal channels to follow.” He squirmed in his chair. “General, Mr. O’Hagen has admitted to this attack. It appears to me that his conviction is merely a matter of form.”
“Mr. Sickles,” General Crook said patiently, “I take it you have nothing more to say. In that case, you are dismissed.” His glance touched Calvin. “Major, would you show Mr. and Mrs. Sickles out, please? You’ll be called if you’re needed.”
Sickles was the image of outrage. He brushed past Major Calvin and slammed the door. Crook followed him with his eyes, then said, “A very angry man; very angry indeed.”
For an hour General Crook read through a stack of reports, while O’Hagen and Major Calvin waited. The morning sun had swung past the meridian and the room was in shade, cool, quiet. Finally Crook said, “There is a facet to this matter that puzzles me, and that is a report of the incident at Tres Alamos. Frankly, I fail to find it, Major.”
O’Hagen’s eyes whipped to Major Calvin and there was an apology in his glance. “There never was a report made out, sir.”
“No?” Crook’s forehead became a furrowed field of flesh. “Mr. O’Hagen, this is indeed most serious. I want a complete accounting of your reasons for not writing this up.”
Again O’Hagen went through the Tres Alamos attack, glossing over the incidents leading to his return. He spoke clearly, cleanly, like a surgeon making an abdominal incision. He shot frequent glances at Major Calvin and found the officer’s face chalky.
When he was finished, General Crook drummed his blunt fingers on the desk, his head and shoulders wreathed in cigar smoke. Four coffee cups sat at his right elbow,
