Chapter 3: Testing the Cavalry

Year two of the Renaissance, and trouble hit the southern border: Chief Morgan Hawk rebelled, and the county commissioner called for backup.

Senator Lane went with Mark Summers’ plan—use brains, not brawn—and led a big force south.

I’d been working on my archery and riding in the Capitol’s training grounds. Word was I could draw a hundred-pound bow, and General Wayne started saying I had real talent.

At first, Lane worried I’d hurt myself, but after watching me, he figured maybe the old governor’s son had some fight in him after all.

Before leaving, Lane pulled Wayne and Frank Evans aside, making them promise to look after me.

The day Lane’s army marched out, I saw him off, tears and all. Lane got misty-eyed too.

But as soon as he was gone, I started scheming.

Lane had me beat in book smarts, but when it came to dirty tricks, he was outmatched—hard to compete with a couple centuries’ worth of experience.

I slipped away to the National Guard camp with just a handful of staff.

Back in the day, my Black Bear cavalry rode mustangs tough as old boots. These Idaho horses? More like stubborn mules.

No way could this cavalry stand up to Carson’s. Were their horses as bad as ours? Time to find out.

Deep in the night, the west gate of Boise swung open. Over a hundred cavalry slipped out toward Twin Falls.

I told my staff to say I’d caught a cold and was skipping meetings. Truth was, I’d taken a hundred personal guards to test their mettle at the front.

Wayne Evans was stunned when he heard I’d shown up at the camp. He rushed out to salute.

"Wayne, get up," I said, hopping off my horse to pull him up.

He felt my grip and asked, "Why’s Your Honor here?"

I grinned. "I want to borrow five hundred cavalry to check out Canyon City."

Wayne’s jaw dropped. Carson territory? Five hundred cavalry to pick a fight with Harold James? If anything happened to me, Lane would have his head.

"You can’t go risking yourself like that, sir."

I squinted at him. "Always heard you were brave, Wayne. If you’re scared, I’ll take a hundred and see what Harold James can do about it."

Wayne’s face turned red as a barn. "Fine! I’ll go with you. I’ll put my life on the line!"

We led six hundred cavalry straight to Canyon City. Harold James, Carson’s general, couldn’t believe it: governors leading charges was one thing, but only bringing five hundred men?

He thought it was a trick and ordered the gates shut.

I rode out front, scoping out the Carson gear on the walls. Wayne tried to pull me back, but before he could speak, a gust of wind whistled past and an arrow hit a Carson soldier right between the eyes.

Wayne turned—there I was, bow in hand, grinning. Even he had to admit: that was a hell of a shot.

I kept shooting—brought down three or four more, and the Idaho National Guard cheered. "Long live! Long live!"

Carson’s soldiers fired back, arrows raining down. I laughed and rode back to camp.

We set up two miles from the city, unsaddling horses right in front of the enemy—a straight-up dare.

Harold James watched from the walls, convinced it had to be a trap.

But we didn’t just push boundaries—we started putting on a show.

Every day, a hundred Idaho troopers would gather under the city wall, making jokes, hollering, and trading insults. One Idaho trooper started hollering about how Harold James’s mama made better chili than he did, and the rest of the guys piled on with jokes that’d make a sailor blush.

When one naked trooper got up and started telling stories about Harold James’s mother’s chili recipe, Harold finally lost it.

He sent out three thousand cavalry, closing the gates behind them. We saw them coming, packed up, and rode out like it was all part of the plan.

Harold, still thinking it was a trap, chased us for two miles, but only saw me and Wayne leading less than a thousand men. He finally gave the order to charge.

I pulled the troops back slowly, covering the rear and shooting down seven or eight pursuers. Harold was shocked—I guess he didn’t expect me to be any good at this—and he slowed up.

But Carson’s numbers were bigger, and their vanguard was closing in. Wayne swung his blade, took down a few, but he was getting nervous.

Just as we turned around a mountain, a force of Idaho cavalry appeared on the ridge, Wayne’s banner flying.

Harold actually looked relieved. I knew it, he thought. Retreat!

Wayne wanted to chase, but I held him back.

Turns out, Wayne had heard I’d gone to Twin Falls and rushed over just in time to join the fight. None of it was planned.

He was relieved I was okay, but still chewed me out. When he heard I’d dropped a dozen enemies, he grinned.

My plan was just to get a read on Carson’s tactics and see if their fortress at Canyon City was really as tough as history claimed.

Mission accomplished, no need to push my luck. I left Wayne at Twin Falls and headed back to Boise.

All the way home, I kept quiet. Seeing the Carson horses and men—bigger, tougher, more disciplined—made my stomach sink.

Back when I, Thomas Caldwell, was in charge, my Black Bear cavalry was the stuff of legends. Now? The Thunderbolt Cavalry across the river were the real deal. The times had changed.

Sweeping the region wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought, but I wasn’t giving up. I was only seventeen now—plenty of time to get it right.