[3]It is a well known fact that interference from Washington, writes an officer in the field, has proven more dangerous to a commander than the enemy in his front. The foe at his face he can fight, but the foe two thousand miles in his rear unnerves ever so gallant and able an officer.
[3]It is a well known fact that interference from Washington, writes an officer in the field, has proven more dangerous to a commander than the enemy in his front. The foe at his face he can fight, but the foe two thousand miles in his rear unnerves ever so gallant and able an officer.
[4]A white shirt put on over the other clothing and painted with Indian signs.
[4]A white shirt put on over the other clothing and painted with Indian signs.
[5]Captain George D. Wallace was killed on the 27th of Dec., 1890, at Wounded Knee in the treacherous attack of the Sioux under Chief Big Foot, upon the Seventh Regiment of Cavalry. Captain Wallace was known as one of the most daring and able officers of his regiment.
[5]Captain George D. Wallace was killed on the 27th of Dec., 1890, at Wounded Knee in the treacherous attack of the Sioux under Chief Big Foot, upon the Seventh Regiment of Cavalry. Captain Wallace was known as one of the most daring and able officers of his regiment.
SURROUNDED.
Colonel Forsythe, a man of indomitable pluck, and a skilled officer, himself ready to do and dare anything for his country, gazed at the painted face of Kit Carey with a look of considerable interest, for well he knew that the young officer had not thus disguised, and I may say disfigured himself, without some good reason.
To be thus in the costume and war-paint of a Sioux chief meant a great deal for one of Kit Carey's record, and that record was pretty well known in the army by his brother officers and men alike.
His career as a border boy, then his cadetship at West Point, followed by his brilliant Indian campaigning in the Black Hills country, and again fighting the Apaches, to be sent back to his old commander and friend, Colonel Crandall, had made the name of Kit Carey, first lieutenant of cavalry, a popular one in the army, and it was respected by all who knew his record.
Now he had come to the front on special duty, and Colonel Forsythe had no doubt but that he had already done good service.
"I will make my report, Colonel Forsythe, and then slip out of this rig, and try and appear as a pale-face," said Kit Carey, amused at the manner in which the colonel regarded him.
"You have been called a very handsome man, Carey,but, my word for it, your best girl would deny the impeachment if she saw you now," Captain Wallace said, with a laugh.
"If we could keep him in that make-up there would be more chance for us homely fellows with the girls," muttered a handsome young lieutenant.
"I'll hear your report, Lieutenant Carey," Colonel Forsythe said, and thus commanded the officer-spy responded:
"I disguised myself, sir, to enter the camp of Big Foot, feeling sure that he was playing a double game. My orders, sir, were to take a squad of Indian cavalry and scout thoroughly about the Bad Lands, and to report to the different commanders the actions of the hostiles."
"Yes, I received your communication yesterday morning, and I feel that we shall capture Big Foot's band before nightfall."
"You will, sir; he is preparing to join the hostiles, and you will have to surround him to capture his braves, as they will make a break, sir, if they discover you are in pursuit of them."
"Major Whiteside, with the first battalion, is already flanking them, and will cut them off before noon."
"Then their capture is assured, sir. They are out of provisions, and the warriors are desperate, while the squaws and children are in an ugly mood. Red Hatchet, who is also a medicine chief, and has a band of able young bucks in the Bad Lands, reached Big Foot's camp last night, and he is using his whole powers of oratory to make them fight. Finding what they intended doing, I slipped out of the camp and came to report to you, sir."
"You did well, Lieutenant Carey; but you took terrible chances in going into Big Foot's camp, good as is your disguise."
"I speak Sioux fairly well, sir, and have practiced playing Indian before," was the modest response, followed by the words:
"I would like to remain with you, sir, until I knew Big Foot and his band were in your hands, for then I can dismiss his force from my mind when I return to my post."
"I shall be glad of your assistance, Carey, I assure you," courteously replied Colonel Forsythe, and after having located the exact position of Big Foot, from a few words with Kit Carey, he turned to the commander of K troop, and said:
"Captain Wallace, you will move on again with the advance, and we must keep near enough to be within call of Major Whiteside, for you remember how Big Foot escaped from Colonel Sumner, and this time there must be no mistake."
"No, sir, there shall not be," said Captain Wallace, as he saluted and rode again to the front, where his troops pressed on toward Porcupine Creek, where it was hoped Major Whiteside would corral the cunning Indian chief.
Having taken off his Indian togs, and bundled them up "for future reference," as he said, and gotten rid of his war-paint, Kit Carey reported for duty, looking very youthful without his long mustache, which had been the envy of so many of his brother officers.
injun
"'I do not bring you a Sioux prisoner, Colonel, but Lieut. Kit Carey.'"(See page75)
After a halt for breakfast the command moved on once more, and Lieutenant Carey was sent on after MajorWhiteside, to give him the advantage of his knowledge of the country.
As Colonel Forsythe had expected, the first battalion headed Big Foot's band off during the day, and the Sioux finding themselves corraled wisely submitted.
The soldiers encamped to the north of the Indian tepees, while a line of pickets was thrown out around the Sioux, and as Colonel Forsythe was within easy reach no one anticipated trouble to follow.
When he found that Big Foot had hesitated too long to carry out his plot, the daring young chief, Red Hatchet, began to plan deeper mischief still.
He went to the tepee of the medicine chief, and the two talked long and earnestly together through the night.
First one brave of prominence would be sent for to come to the medicine tepee, and he would hear what the two had to say.
Then he would glide away in silence, and in the darkness seek another warrior, mutter a few words, and he, too, would seek the medicine tepee.
Thus warrior after warrior went through the night to the tepee in which Red Hatchet was planning a red deed of treachery to be carried out upon the morrow.
"I don't half like that going one by one of warriors to the medicine tepee. If Red Hatchet is in there he is plotting mischief, that is certain," said Kit Carey to Captain Wallace, who met the lieutenant coming from a closer inspection of the Indian camp than could be obtained from the position occupied by the soldiers.
BROKEN PLEDGES.
There was an air of triumph among the soldiers that night in the camp.
A feeling of satisfaction that the famous Chief Big Foot, with his band had been surrounded, and the morning would find them submissive captives.
Still there were those wearing the shoulder-straps of an officer who were not so wholly satisfied that all would go well on the morrow.
Old Indian fighters had their doubts about the pledges, and an officer, whose hair was turning gray, and who was a bachelor by reason of a fair one's broken pledge to him in the long ago, said in a cynical tone:
"I would no sooner trust an Indian's pledge than I would a woman's. They may mean what they say at the time, but let the opportunity offer and the promise is cast to the winds."
Among those who held the same views as the old bachelor officer, as to the Indians, but not to women, was Kit Carey.
He seemed to dread trouble, and he kept a watch upon every movement of the savages.
He wished to discover who was in the tent with the medicine man of Big Foot's band, for he felt sure that it was Red Hatchet.
But this fact he could not discover, and he went tothe tent, where he was quartered during his stay with the command, determined to be up bright and early in the morning, and see if Red Hatchet could be found in the camps.
The day dawned and found the soldiers in camp, and position as well.
Colonel Forsythe had arrived, and noting the able placing of the troops by Major Whiteside, made little changes in the plans of that officer.
There was a silence resting upon the Indian camp that seemed ominous.
None of the soldiers knew just what their colonel intended to do, but all felt certain that the Indians were to be disarmed.
Major Whiteside had distributed rations among them the day before, and received full assurance from the chiefs that no further resistance was intended, that they were, in truth, glad to be captured.
But, then, to take an Indian's weapons is like making a demand upon his heart's blood.
Would they yield up their weapons peacefully was the question all asked, and no one answered satisfactorily.
Yes, there was one who felt that they would not, that there would be trouble; but this trouble the troops were able to subdue, for the redskins were surrounded, and, it seemed, almost at the mercy of the Boys in Blue.
When the sun rose a cordon of cavalry began to form in three parts of a square before the Indian camp, while the Hotchkiss guns, Light Battery, under Captain Allyn Capson, were ordered to an advantageous position by Colonel Forsythe.
In the open space before the tepees of the redskinsand the camps of the soldiers, and near their line, the Indians were moving about in a sullen and uneasy manner, watching their foes with angry glances.
Nearest to them stood an officer calmly surveying the situation, and he was accompanied by two of the Indian police, mounted, one of whom held the horse of the lieutenant, who was Kit Carey.
He was watching the face of each Indian as he appeared, for he was on the watch for Red Hatchet, whom he still feared meant mischief of some kind.
Soon Colonel Forsythe left his quarters and moved down toward the open space, where he was joined by Major Whiteside, and with both officers were their adjutants.
Then the Indians were called upon to approach the soldiers' tent, in which was Big Foot, their chief, lying ill.
As they came up they were counted by Lieutenant Nicholason, and then came the demand that sunk deep into their hearts:
"Chiefs, you and your warriors must give up your weapons!"
It was Colonel Forsythe who made the demand, and the warriors started, gazed at each other and huddled more closely together, their faces becoming black with fury and hatred.
Then a chief spoke for all, and said:
"We have no weapons. The Great Father has broken faith with us, for we are poor, sick, and hungry, with no arms to kill game for our squaws and children."
"It is not so, chief, for you are all thoroughly armed, and you have surrendered to us, and you must give upyour weapons at once," was the stern response of Colonel Forsythe.
"We have no arms to give up. Let the pale-face warriors take us as we are."
"No! you are thoroughly armed, as I well know. If you refuse to surrender your weapons then search shall be made for them. I shall say no more, chief."
And then out of the medicine lodge came a crouching form.
It was a medicine chief, covered with robes, with body bent and lance in hand.
As he came he chanted a wild war-song of his people.
Instantly Kit Carey's eyes fell upon him, heard his words, and he walked rapidly toward him.
But the medicine chief, apparently an old man, did not appear to notice him, even when sternly came the words in the Sioux tongue:
"Let the medicine chief beware! I understand his words to his braves!"
But the medicine chief sang on, and, walking rapidly toward the colonel, Kit Carey told him what the medicine chief was saying, and that he was urging the warriors to refuse to yield their weapons, if they died with them in their hands.
Quickly Colonel Forsythe gave an order to Captain Wallace to dismount his men and form about the braves.
The soldiers were quickly dismounted, and formed in open file between the warriors and their tepees.
Then details of soldiers were ordered to search the tepees, and as they moved forward to obey, under command of Captain Wallace and Lieutenant Carey, the bent form of the medicine chief straightened up partially, andhe began to make incantations to the sun, and chant aloud a war-song to the Indian messiah.
The effect upon the Indians was electrical, for they stood like wild beasts at bay; their squaws and children caught up the weird chant of the medicine man, who suddenly stooped, grasped up two handfuls of dirt, and threw them upon the soldiers.
Then he threw off his robes, and, appearing in his full costume as a chief, revealed that he was the ghost spirit, marked with red Indian characters.
At the same instant he drew from beneath his blanket a rifle, and fired full at Kit Carey, while from his lips came the war-cry that ushered in the terrible tragedy that followed.
THE BLOW FALLS.
As the medicine chief threw off his robes, and straightening up, rifle in hand, sought to find his victim, Kit Carey recognized who he was.
It was Red Hatchet, as he had half-suspected, when the wild chant of the medicine chief urged the bands to strike at the soldiers, whose bullets in return would take no effect upon them if they struck into brave hearts.
But his long stooping posture had unsteadied the nerves of Red Hatchet, and his bullet, though well aimed, simply cut a button from over the heart of Kit Carey.
That first shot was the signal that brought a volley, for concealed beneath their blankets the warriors had their rifles and revolvers, and full upon the surprised soldiers poured a terrible, death-dealing volley.
Brave men fell dead and dying ere they could draw a weapon, while with one terrific war-cry the Indians made a rush for their tepees.
Then began a battle the like of which was never seen before.
It was a battle of desperation upon the one side, of indignation and revenge upon the other.
The soldiers rallied quickly for the fight, and began to move down upon the tepees, for there were the gallant Wallace, Lieutenant Carey, and the detail of soldiers sent to search the camp.
Their presence there meant death to them unless rescue came quickly.
The squaws, maddened by the firing, drew weapons they had hidden about them, and fought like demons.
Half-grown boys and girls, enveloped in blankets, and looking like braves, dashed about upon their ponies, dealing death wherever they could strike a blow.
It was a wild, weird scene, an Inferno while it lasted.
Brought to bay among the tepees, Captain Wallace felt that he was to die, but he intended to fall with his face to the foe, as a brave soldier should.
An Indian warrior rushed upon him, firing as he came.
Wounded, though he was, the brave Wallace avenged himself then and there.
Two other braves bounded toward him, and a sharp hand-to-hand fight followed.
They, too, fell dead, though the gallant soldier staggered from the wounds he had received, and seemed about to fall.
But no! once more he turned to meet his foes, and two more confronted him, one a chief with uplifted tomahawk.
The last two shots of the captain's revolver dropped one Indian dead and wounded the other.
But that other came on, unheeding his four comrades who lay dead at the brave captain's feet, and now it was sword against tomahawk.
To the hilt in the heart of the Indian chief sank the sword of Captain Wallace, just as the tomahawk, though held in a dying hand, fell with fatal force upon the soldier's head.
As Captain Wallace sank among his foes, fitting monument to show how he died, Kit Carey dashed up, sword in one hand, revolver in the other.
"Great God! it is the noble Wallace! I am too late to save, but not to avenge. A noble death for a soldier to die, my gallant comrade," and the speaker glanced at the foes lying around the dead captain.
As he finished speaking he placed a whistle to his lips, and gave two sharp calls.
"Now to find Red Hatchet, for this is his work. Hark! how those Hotchkiss guns roar. Captain Capson is doing his duty well."
The fight was now surging along the ravine, the Hotchkiss gun pouring its deadly fire upon the flying redskins, while the scene of the battle was sickening to behold.
In answer to the two calls, up dashed two Indians who had come with Kit Carey, one leading his horse.
"Ah! there is the colonel, so I shall report my intention of following Red Hatchet," and, throwing himself into his saddle, Kit Carey rode up to Colonel Forsythe, who was doing all in his power to check the firing, now the Indians were in full flight.
A few words of explanation, and Kit Carey dashed away like the wind, followed by his two Indian guards.
"We must catch Chief Red Hatchet," he explained, and so on they swept, leaving the ravine and riding so as to head off the chief whom the two police had seen take to flight alone, after he had started the deadly combat.
Taking the direction they had seen him disappear in, Kit Carey soon found his trail, and followed it with thehorses on a run, and leaving Wounded Knee Creek and its red tragedy rapidly behind him.
But Red Hatchet was splendidly mounted, his horse was fresh, and the cunning chief well knew that his own safety lay in reaching the Bad Lands, and giving to the Sioux there his story of the treachery of the soldiers.
He had planned well not to be looked upon as a deserter from the field, by the few warriors, who, like himself, would escape from the fatal field.
He had hoped, by a perfect surprise, to massacre so many soldiers in the first few volleys that the others would be driven to flight.
Once they stampeded, their camps and weapons would fall into the hands of the Indians, and many of their horses, too, and a quick retreat could be made to the Bad Lands, where the story of the battle would inspire at once courage in the heart of the faintest-hearted brave to resist their foes, the pale-faces.
With this in view to start the attack, and reap its fruits of success, Red Hatchet during the night had instructed the young warriors in the duty each was to perform.
A few were to seize the horses of the cavalry men, others were to kill the officers in their first volley, and more were to make a rush for the soldiers' tents, while the reserve of women and children were to rush up from among the tepees and thus complete the panic that had been started.
But Red Hatchet had smarted under the hesitation of the braves; they did not act promptly, and he saw victory slipping from his grasp, when K troop cut the warriors off from their tepees, and were sent to search the Indian camp for arms.
This must not be, the Sioux must be forced to strike the blow, even if it came late, and so the daring chief grasped his hands full of dirt, threw it upon the soldiers, a sign he knew that the braves must understand, and, understanding, act, and then raising his rifle he selected his victim and fired.
The result is known, and Red Hatchet was rejoiced to see the first volley tell upon the soldiers.
But then came the rebound, a boomerang that recoiled upon himself, for the gallant soldiers of the Seventh were not to be driven like frightened buffalo before the hunter, were not to be slaughtered like sheep in a fold, for they rallied at once, and far above the din came the ringing words from the lips of Kit Carey:
"Men of the Seventh! remember the gallant Custer! Men of the Seventh, avenge Custer!"
Ringing cheers answered this appeal to the memory of the battle of the Big Horn, and the soldiers of the Seventh swept down over the field, while, with a cry of fury and hatred, Red Hatchet sprang upon an officer's horse and fled from the fatal field.
A WARNING LETTER.
The trail of Red Hatchet was followed at a pace which Lieutenant Kit Carey hoped would bring him up with the Sioux chief, and then and there Captain Wallace and the other gallant soldiers of the Seventh would have been avenged, or another one would have fallen a victim to the cunning and desperate fugitive.
But Red Hatchet had been bent upon escaping, for the blow he had struck must be followed up quickly and cruelly. So he rode at a pace that defied pursuit with the start he had of several miles.
Finding as he came to a ridge that gave him a view a long distance ahead, that no dust was in sight to mark the presence of the Sioux chief, Kit Carey determined not to punish his own and his two red comrades' horses by pressing them so hard, so he drew rein.
He had, in his short interview with Colonel Forsythe, been told to notify the other commanders of the fight at Wounded Knee, the treacherous act of the Indians.
So he rode at once for the nearest of his red sentinels' camps, and, arriving by night, at once dispatched couriers with hastily penciled reports of the affair, dispatching them to the various commanders who were tightening the line around the retreat of the hostiles.
There was another red courier sent also on a mission, but not to a military commander.
His destination was the Bernard ranch, and he bore the following note, hastily written:
"In Camp of Red Skin Scouts,"Near Bad Lands, Dec. 29, 1890.My Dear Mr. Bernard:"I write but a few lines to say that after the surrender of Big Foot's Band, on Wounded Knee Creek, yesterday, to Colonel Forsythe, the Indians broke faith, fired on the troops of the Seventh Cavalry, and a fierce fight followed, resulting in the killing and wounding of many soldiers and redskins. I regret to say, women and children being among the latter."The instigator of the treacherous act was a Sioux chief, who professes friendship for you and your family, and he escaped to the Bad Lands, in spite of my hot pursuit of him."That he will strike another blow quickly, I do not doubt, and I therefore beg of you, by the love you bear your family, to remove them without a moment's delay, to a place of safety."I go from here to visit my line of scouts, and shall then come to my main force near your ranch, where I hope to find you and yours far away."In haste, and with remembrances to your wife and daughter, believe me."Very sincerely yours,"Kit Carey,"Lieutenant of Cavalry, U.S. Army."
"In Camp of Red Skin Scouts,
"Near Bad Lands, Dec. 29, 1890.
My Dear Mr. Bernard:
"I write but a few lines to say that after the surrender of Big Foot's Band, on Wounded Knee Creek, yesterday, to Colonel Forsythe, the Indians broke faith, fired on the troops of the Seventh Cavalry, and a fierce fight followed, resulting in the killing and wounding of many soldiers and redskins. I regret to say, women and children being among the latter.
"The instigator of the treacherous act was a Sioux chief, who professes friendship for you and your family, and he escaped to the Bad Lands, in spite of my hot pursuit of him.
"That he will strike another blow quickly, I do not doubt, and I therefore beg of you, by the love you bear your family, to remove them without a moment's delay, to a place of safety.
"I go from here to visit my line of scouts, and shall then come to my main force near your ranch, where I hope to find you and yours far away.
"In haste, and with remembrances to your wife and daughter, believe me.
"Very sincerely yours,
"Kit Carey,
"Lieutenant of Cavalry, U.S. Army."
Having ordered the Indian soldier who bore this letter to deliver it with all dispatch, and then go to the main camp of the redskin scouts and await his coming, Kit Carey, accompanied by two of his men, set off on his rounds of visiting the other posts.
Tired though he was, and greatly needing rest, he did not spare himself, but held on his way, determined to visit each post and reach his main position, near the Bernard ranch, as soon as possible.
He felt that his last appeal to Vance Bernard would move him to a realization of the danger in remaininglonger at his home, and he hoped to find the place deserted when he next went there.
"That Sioux chief will not delay in striking his blow by capturing the settler's pretty daughter, I feel certain, and it will be criminal in Bernard if he should allow her to be taken through his stubbornness," mused Kit Carey, as he rode along on his night trail to his posts.
"If I could go into the Bad Lands I could discover just what is going on there, and I am half tempted to do it. I have my Indian make-up with me, costume and all, and the temptation to again play the spy is great. I believe it would get me a captaincy if I did it successfully and with good results; but it would the more surely get me an obituary notice in the papers if I was suspected. I'll see what my two red soldiers think of it."
He called the two Indians alongside of him then, and said:
"Flying Wolf, what do you and Foe Killer think of my going into the camp of the hostiles?"
The two Indians were delighted with a man who had the pluck to contemplate such a daring act, but they at once urged against it, as certain death would be the result of discovery.
This the officer felt confident of, and yet he was so anxious to discover just what the force in the Bad Lands was, and the intentions of the hostiles, that against all risks he determined to go, so he said to the Indians:
"We will seek a hiding-place yonder among the rocks, and I will put on my costume as a Sioux chief."
They rode toward the place indicated, when suddenly there came a warning from Flying Wolf, and the three barely had time to seek shelter when there came in sight a long file of Indian horsemen, and they were moving toward the settlements.
A CLOSE CALL.
The discovery of the file of Indian horsemen by Kit Carey and his two Cheyenne scouts, at once put an end to the intention of the officer of boldly entering the camps of the hostiles.
To dismount and grasp the noses of their horses, to prevent their neighing, and stand as motionless as the rocks about them, was the work of a second, and the lieutenant and his two Cheyenne soldiers in the gloom of the night, though in full sight of the passing horsemen appeared like the rocks about them.
There was no retreat behind them, for the way was impassable, and to go to the right or left, up or down the ridge, meant discovery.
They had been fairly caught, and in the worst position for them that could be found anywhere.
If the Indian horsemen took them in at a glance, as rocks, in the darkness, and so passed on, all was well; but if discovered then it must be a fight to the death.
Holding a position for defense at least, and their number not known to the officer and his redskin soldiers, might, by a hot fire, put the Sioux to flight, thus giving them an opportunity to get away themselves.
But if not, then they must remain and fight it out right there.
These thoughts passed rapidly through the mind ofKit Carey as he stood there, grasping the nose of his horse with his left hand, and holding his repeating rifle, a splendid Evans repeating gun, shooting thirty-five times.
The Cheyennes were armed with Winchesters, and stood ready, as did their commander.
Then, too, all three had their revolvers, and the Sioux would think a whole troop was there should they discover them, and cause them to open fire.
In spite of the peril of his situation, Lieutenant Carey calmly counted his foes.
He saw by the feather bonnet, indistinctly seen, that a chief rode in advance.
Then came the braves in single file until thirty had passed.
Kit Carey gave a sigh of relief as they went by without discovering them, and said to the Cheyennes:
"A chief and thirty braves. They cannot be very dangerous, or intending an attack. Some scouting party only, I think."
The Cheyennes thought the same, and then came a consultation as to which way the Sioux were going, and was it best to follow them, or go on into the Bad Lands, as the lieutenant had intended.
Kit Carey wished to get the ideas of the scouts, for he knew that they were well worthy of consideration, and the result was that he decided to send one of the Indian soldiers upon the trail of the party of Sioux, and the other ahead by a flank movement, to the command of the general toward whom they were making their way.
As for himself, he would go on his rounds to his sentinel camps, for that only a band of thirty Sioux were leaving the Bad Lands did not disturb him.
Had there been several hundred warriors moving toward the commands, or the settlements, the officer would have at once suspected an ambush, an attack, or a raid.
So the Cheyennes went on the trail, one to follow the Sioux, the other to head them off, and as soon as their situation was learned to ride with full speed for the nearest military force, and report to the commander the discovery, as one of Kit Carey's couriers.
The lieutenant had by no means given up his intention of entering the Bad Lands himself.
But it must be done by night, and in his disguise as a Sioux chief.
He would not dare be seen by day in the Bad Lands, no matter how thorough his disguise might be, for well he knew that some keen eyes would recognize him among the Indians.
So he would go to the camps of his Cheyennes, let all know of the battle of Wounded Knee Creek, and dispatch his couriers to put each command on the alert, against other Indians making for the Bad Lands, or a force of warriors riding out to make a sudden dash.
So, through the night, he held on his way, circling around the hostiles' retreat, and visiting one after the other of his posts.
The sun was well up when he reached the last position, the camp nearest to the Bernard ranch.
He had there now fourteen men, and the very pick of his Cheyenne scouts.
They were encamped in a ravine, which a whole tribeon the march might pass near and never suspect the existence of.
It was a basin among the rocks, with a ravine for an exit and entrance.
Water and grass were there, and from the rocks above a commanding view could be obtained of the country in the direction of the hostiles' camp, and here were kept two sentinels, hidden from view themselves, yet able to see any one approaching from the Bad Lands.
The Indian sentinels saw the approach of their commander, and signaled it to their comrades in the basin.
At last he arrived, utterly worn out, and determined that as soon as he had had some breakfast he would throw himself upon his blankets to get what rest he could.
His scouts had seen nothing of the hostiles, and no party of Sioux making for the Bad Lands had passed within sight.
His courier had returned from the Bernard ranch, and brought him a note, which read as follows:
"Lieutenant Carey:"Dear Sir.—Thanking you for your second warning by letter, I beg to say that I shall not leave my ranch, as I can see no reason for so doing, as I regard the Sioux as my friends, in spite of the war of the army upon them."Respectfully,"Vance Bernard."
"Lieutenant Carey:
"Dear Sir.—Thanking you for your second warning by letter, I beg to say that I shall not leave my ranch, as I can see no reason for so doing, as I regard the Sioux as my friends, in spite of the war of the army upon them.
"Respectfully,
"Vance Bernard."
"Stubborn fool!" ejaculated the officer, while the courier drew from some secret receptacle about his clothing another note and handed it to his commander.
A STARTLING DISCOVERY.
The Cheyenne Indians under the command of Lieutenant Carey had come to almost idolize their captain.
They knew his record as a border boy, when he had roamed the country fearlessly in company with the old hermit of the Black Hills, his adopted father, and afterward alone, as a young guide and hunter.
They knew him as a soldier later on, and now that he had them under his command they felt that his word was law, and they could follow him unflinchingly wherever he would lead them.
His manner toward them was gentle, yet firm.
He treated them as human beings, not as machines, and gave them the best of food and clothing.
He allowed no man to be forced to ride an inferior horse, or carry a weapon that was not the best, and with each half-dozen redskin soldiers went a pack animal, carrying supplies, blankets, and all to make them comfortable.
Not a thing would he ask of them that he would not do himself, and he was ready to face any danger that they did, and more.
His bearing commanded their respect, his indomitable pluck won their admiration, and his skill as a trailer and fighter made him their idol.
Such were the redskin soldiers under Kit Carey, andhe knew that he could depend upon them to a man, and to the death.
Had they had a different captain the result would have been so far different that most of them might have been there in the hostile camp.
It is the perfect officer that makes the perfect soldier, and this is the rule without exception.
A soldier likes thorough discipline and a strict commander, if his comfort is looked to and his heart and spirit appealed to.
The courier who had been sent to the Bernard ranch had handed over the letter of the settler, as though that one was all that he was the bearer of.
Then, when he had seen his captain read it through, he had quietly dragged out another letter.
That of Vance Bernard was written in a bold, masculine hand, showing the writer to be a man of education.
The second letter was addressed in a refined feminine hand, and it was sealed with wax.
"Where did you get this, Owl Eyes?" asked the officer, in some surprise, referring to the second letter.
"Snow Flower see Owl Eyes, and tell him wait at creek. Snow Flower come to creek, and give that to Owl Eyes."
"Ah! I see," and Kit Carey proceeded to read the missive from Snow Flower, as Jennie Bernard was known far and wide among the redskins, Cheyennes, Sioux, and all who passed her father's house, where an Indian was always a welcome guest, far more so it seemed, than a pale-face.
The letter was dated at "Bernard ranch," and was as follows:
"My Dear Lieutenant Carey.—Taking advantage of your courier coming to the ranch, with another warning for us to depart, I write to tell you that strange things have happened here since your departure, and I am in the greatest distress, as well as a quandary, as to what to do. I can say no more now. But I am going to seek your advice as one I know I can trust, and rely upon as a friend. Will you come to the spot where you saw me with Red Hatchet, day after to-morrow, at noon, and I will meet you there. If you cannot be there yourself please have one of your Indian couriers there to conduct me to your camp, for I must see you, and delays are dangerous."Sincerely yours,"Jennie."
"My Dear Lieutenant Carey.—Taking advantage of your courier coming to the ranch, with another warning for us to depart, I write to tell you that strange things have happened here since your departure, and I am in the greatest distress, as well as a quandary, as to what to do. I can say no more now. But I am going to seek your advice as one I know I can trust, and rely upon as a friend. Will you come to the spot where you saw me with Red Hatchet, day after to-morrow, at noon, and I will meet you there. If you cannot be there yourself please have one of your Indian couriers there to conduct me to your camp, for I must see you, and delays are dangerous.
"Sincerely yours,
"Jennie."
"Well, what does this mean?" exclaimed the officer, when he had read the letter.
"'My dear Lieutenant Carey,' it begins, and signed simply 'Jennie.' Well, she's a dangerous-eyed little beauty, and were I not already mortgaged to Violet, I fear her bright eyes would pierce my breast farther than any Indian bullet has done thus far. Bah! I must not be so conceited and let my vanity run away with me, simply because a pretty girl has written me a note urging to see me, doubtless to get me to make another effort to influence that mule of a father of hers to go away from danger. Well, I shall be there at the rendezvous, and it is a coincidence that I am here now in this camp, with all the men I could spare, to stand between her and danger. What if those redskins we saw on the march last night should circle around and strike the Bernard ranch. Yet hardly, for they would have come direct, along the trail we are now camped on. I cannot account for Bernard's strange conduct in not leaving his home. It was infatuation with him, the idea that the Sioux will not harm him or his. But I must seek rest now, as I am nearly dead for sleep," and in five minutes more theyoung officer was sleeping the sleep of a man with a conscience wholly at ease.
The two Cheyenne sentinels perched up among the pines upon the rocks were watching the country lying between them and the Bad Lands.
That there was a foe to come from their rear they had no thought, for in that direction lay the homes of settlers, the land of civilization.
Then, too, they could not see but a few hundred yards over the broken country in the rear of their camp, while for miles the eye stretched away in the direction of the retreat of the hostiles.
And suddenly from the rear came the rapid clatter of hoofs, and before the sentinels could hardly have time to signal down to their comrades in the ravine, a party of Sioux horsemen swept by like the wind, heading for the retreat of the hostiles.
It was the same band that Lieutenant Carey had seen the night before, and the chief was now discovered to be Red Hatchet, while riding by his side, a captive, was Jennie Bernard.
JENNIE LEARNS A SECRET.
Jennie Bernard had had good reason for sending the letter to Lieutenant Carey, which she had given to Owl Eyes to hand to him.
Just before the arrival of the Indian courier at the ranch, Mr. Bernard had called to her to accompany him to a favorite retreat of the young girl's upon the bank of the creek, where Herbert had erected a rustic arbor.
The face of the settler was pale and stern, more so than Jennie had ever seen it before, and she wondered why it was so.
"Sit there, Jennie, and hear what I have to say to you," he said, sternly.
She obeyed in silence, dropping upon the rustic seat in the arbor, while he stood in the door, leaning with folded arms against a post.
"Why, father, why do you appear so stern to me? Have I done aught to offend you?" she asked.
"No, but it is the fear that you may do so, that causes me to speak to you now."
"I am ready to listen, father."
"Child, have I not always been a kind father to you?" he said, with sudden emphasis.
"Yes, father, though I could have wished that you would let me show my affection more, and not rebuff me as you have often done."
"Do not speak of that, child; but tell me if your mother has not been all that a mother could be to you?"
"Everything, father, only I wish mother would have let me help her to bear the sorrow I know she carries in her heart. Ah! yes, mother has been ever so loving and kind."
"And your brother Herbert, Jennie, what of him?"
Jennie sighed and answered after a moment of hesitation.
"I fear, father, that Herbert loves himself more than all else in the world. He is a strange being, and one I confess I cannot understand."
"Yet you love him devotedly?" eagerly asked Vance Bernard.
"I would not be a true woman, father, could I not love my own brother, for he has been good to me, and means well; but why all these questions, father?"
"Because I have a secret to tell you."
"A secret to tell me?"
"Yes, and one that may grieve you deeply, must do so, in fact; but still it is best for you to know it now, especially since that young coxcomb of a lieutenant has been here."
"You surely do not refer to Lieutenant Carey as a coxcomb, father?"
"I surely do, for what is he but a handsome fool in uniform?" was the angry reply.
"His record does not show him to be a fool, father, though handsome, exceedingly so, I admit that he is."
"That is just it! I knew he had turned your head with his fine manners, handsome face, and fine form, all of which I grant he possesses."
"I admire him, yes, father; but I have met Lieutenant Carey but once, and I have too good sense to make a fool of myself about any man," was the indignant reply.
"Well, his coming caused me to tell you the secret I now must do, for I see that otherwise it would end in your crazy regard for him, and matters would not go as I wish, and am determined to have them."
"I think, father, that I have ever proven myself an obedient girl to you and to mother."
"Oh, yes, I have no complaint to make, Jennie. But now to the secret I have to tell you."
"Yes, father."
The man seemed deeply confused, and moved as well.
His face flushed and paled alternately, and he hesitated in what he had to say in a painful manner, until Jennie became alarmed lest the secret she was to learn was to be something terrible, indeed.
"Come, father, you seem deeply moved, so tell me what it is, be it what it may, and, perhaps, I can help you to bear some great sorrow which now I know nothing of," and Jennie arose and stepped toward the man; but he started back, and cried excitedly:
"No, no, do not touch me, do not speak kindly to me, child, for I have deceived you."
"Deceived me, father?"
"I have."
"But how?"
"That is what I wish to tell you, only I do not know how to begin."
"I forgive you beforehand, father, if you have done me a wrong."
"No, you must not do that, girl, you must hate me," and he spoke almost savagely.
But, seeing the alarmed look upon her face, he controlled himself by a great effort, and said:
"I will delay no longer, for you must know, and at once, as the happiness of us all depends upon it. Jennie, did you never note how wholly unlike myself, your mother and brother you are?"
"I have, father, both in looks and feelings. I have wondered how it could be that Herbert was so like you and mother, for he resembles you both, and I so wholly unlike you."
"The reason is plain, for not a drop of my blood, or your mother's, flows in your veins."
"Father!" and the girl was upon her feet again in an instant, her face white, her form quivering, while her eyes gazed unflinchingly upon the man before her, for he would not meet her gaze.
Again he mastered himself, and said:
"It is true, Jennie, you are our child only by adoption. When a little girl I adopted you, and we decided to bring you up in ignorance of your true parentage, and so kept the secret from you."
"Was there dishonor in my parentage, sir, that you so decided? Was it to shield me from dishonor that you gave me your name?" and the voice of the young girl was cold and stern now.
"No, oh, no! your father was a nobleman. We were friends from boyhood, and we sought our fortunes together in the mines. Your mother died of grief at hearing of his death, for he was killed in the mines, mychild. Then it was that I decided to adopt you, and my wife was more than willing to do so."
"Then, why have you now told me, sir, if you intended to keep the secret from me?" asked Jennie, in a tone that caused the man to glance anxiously into her face, for the child, as he called her, seemed to have suddenly become a woman.
A GIRL AT BAY.
At first Vance Bernard made no reply to this direct question put by Jennie.
He had told her the secret, that she was not his child, that she was only his daughter and his wife's by adoption.
He seemed to feel better that this weight was off his mind for some reason, yet she had taken it so calmly, so coldly, where he had expected tears and regret, that he hardly knew what else to say.
It was not until she again put the question to him, as to why he had then told her the secret, that he answered:
"Well, your mother——"
"Not my mother, sir, except by adoption, though she has ever been good and kind to me. What is my real name, sir?"
"Come, Jennie, don't be so formal, but call me father again, for I have tried to be all to you that your own father could have been."
"I know no other, sir, so I will call you father, if you wish; but you did not tell me what my father's name was?"
"His name was Woodbridge."
"His first name, please, father?"
"Brookes Woodbridge."
"Thank you, and my mother's name?"
"She was a Miss Virginia Margrave."
"Where was their home, sir?"
"In New York City."
"And are they buried there?"
The man seemed to grow nervous under this questioning, and replied:
"Your mother is buried in New York, your father in the Black Hills, where he died."
"He was killed, you say?"
"Yes."
"By whom?"
"It was never known, my child; but it was supposed that a brother miner did the deed, for he was found dead in his cabin, and had been robbed."
"My poor, poor father. Would that I knew his murderer, for never would I rest until I had seen him ascend the gallows," said Jennie, in a tone that showed she was in deadly earnest.
"You will never know, Jennie, for I tried in vain to find out. As I told you, your father and I were friends, the dearest of friends, and his interests and mine were the same. I had gone East, on account of the illness of my wife, and returned after an absence of several months to find that he had been killed and robbed of his savings, which were considerable. What money he had was in his wife's hands at home, but she died, and, of course, you are the heir, and it amounts to some twenty thousand dollars, that I now hold in trust for you. Not a large fortune, but a nice little sum, my child. I gave up the mine after your poor father's death, and went elsewhere and one day struck it rich. It was when I took my first large savings home that I went to see you, and so took you into my keeping, for it had been your father's wish,as his papers showed. Then I returned to the mines, worked at my mine until I got the cream out of it, and sold out for a fair price, when I looked about for a home and established myself here. When settled I sent for your mother and brother to come here with you. Now, Jennie, you know my story, and the secret we have long kept from you."
"Yes, and I thank you, father, for telling me, for I would rather have it so. You have, indeed, been most kind to me, and I will do all in my power to repay you—you and my adopted mother. But, father, may I ask if Herbert knows me as I am, as not being his sister?"
"He does."
"Ah!"
"You see he was a good-sized boy when you, a little one of five, came to our home to live as our own child. So we told him the truth, and urged upon him that he should never betray the secret to you."
"And now again I ask, sir, why have you told me to-day, now, at this time?"
Again the question appeared to embarrass the man.
But as the eyes of the young girl were fixed firmly upon him, and he knew that an answer must be given, he said:
"It is because Herbert knew the secret, Jennie."
"Because Herbert knew?"
"Yes."
"He has always known that I was his sister by adoption?"
"Yes."
"Well, why now, sir, raise that as an argument?"
"It is because, knowing that you were not his sister,he has learned to love you other than as he could love a sister."
"Oh, father!"
"Yes, such is the case, and he has forced me to tell you the truth, that you may know just how he feels toward you, that you may understand that he is to make you his wife?"
"What! he expects me, one believing herself his sister, to wed him? Never! I have regarded him ever as a brother, and as a brother only. I have never felt the love for him as a brother that I could have wished to feel, for there was that about Herbert that would not win my sisterly regard more. Perhaps it has been his knowledge of the truth, that we had no kindred blood in our veins, that has made him act toward me as he has, but I regard him now as though he were in reality my brother, and no power on earth can make me love him otherwise, or hear one word of love from him. Tell him so, sir, tell him that if he does not wish me to hate him, to despise him, he must never hint of love to me other than what he could feel for an own sister."
She had risen now and spoke with a suppressed passion that showed how deeply she felt her position, and, gazing upon her, and her determined expression, Vance Bernard said, anxiously:
"Herbert was right, after all; you do love that accursed cavalry officer, Kit Carey!"
A LOVER'S THREAT.
"I love Lieutenant Carey, sir, did you say?" indignantly asked Jennie.
"Yes, it would seem so, for Herbert offers you his love, and you refuse it, and this man Carey has certainly come between you."
"Father! Mr. Bernard! you speak like one who never knew what it was to have a heart and refinement of feeling. Are you aware that you are accusing me of loving a man whom I have met but once, and almost in the same breath expect me to love Herbert, when only a few minutes ago I learned that he was not my own brother. But let me tell you at once, that Herbert Bernard is nearer to me, or has been, than ever he will be again."
"Bah! you do not know your own mind, girl. Herbert is a noble fellow, and has made you a good brother, and that is proof that he will make a good husband. Both his mother and myself love you dearly, and he does also, so just make up your mind that you are to remain our daughter by our boy."
"Never! I would die first," was the indignant rejoinder.
"Well, we will see."
"But there comes Herbert now, and I will leave you for him to talk to."
"No! no! do not leave me here with him," pleaded the girl.
"What! do you fear my son?" angrily asked the settler.
Instantly the appealing manner of the maiden changed, and drawing herself up, she said quickly, and in a decided way:
"No, I hold fear of no man. Leave me with your son, for he might as well know now, at once, how I regard him and thus end this painful matter."
Herbert Bernard was approaching the arbor, walking in the long swinging gait natural to him.
He was a powerful fellow, with a face to distrust rather than admire, and as taciturn in his manner as an Indian.
His father walked away as he drew near, and, passing him, said in a low tone:
"She knows all and rebels against you, so be firm and win."
"Trust me for that, father," was the response in the same low tone.
Then Herbert Bernard walked on toward the arbor.
Jennie had resumed her seat, and was perfectly calm, though her face was white, her eyes burning.
She had made a strange discovery, learned of her father's murder, her mother's death and been told that she was expected to marry one whom she regarded as her brother, and all within a half hour of time.
She glanced squarely into the face of Herbert Bernard, as he came into the arbor, with a look that disconcerted him.
He tried to look indifferent, and as she did not speak, he was forced to break the silence.
"Well, Jennie, I have come to have a talk with you," he said.
"I hope you do not intend to be so unmanly as to urge upon me that which I regard as an insult, Herbert, for I have been told by your father that I was not your sister, and in the same breath asked to marry you?"
"That is just what I do intend to urge, Jennie."
"Herbert Bernard, you have been receiving my regard under false pretences. You knew full well the secret of which I was in total ignorance. You looked upon me as one whom you intended some day to make your wife, while I have treated you in all things as a sister might a brother, though I have regretted that you were not a brother I could love more dearly than I did. Now let us understand each other once for all."
"It is what I wish, Jennie."
"Then let matters remain as they were between us, do not break the tie as it has been by uttering one word a sister should not hear. Herbert, let us be friends, and I will bless you forever."
"No, I love you, and I have determined that you shall be my wife."
"Silence, sir! I will not listen to words I consider sacrilege."
"Father and mother wish it, and I urge it, for I love you most dearly, Jennie, and I will do all in my power to make you happy."
He stopped as he caught sight of her face.
It was such a look as a stag at bay might wear, and instantly came the words:
"Herbert Bernard, your words, against my appeal, have divided your life and mine forever, for never can Iremain beneath the roof that has sheltered me, that has been my home, with you and your parents. Your father has said that I have some fortune in my own right, so I will go and depend upon it; but had I not a dollar in the world, had I to walk from this ranch to the nearest city, walk I would, for this is no home for me now."
"See here, Jennie Bernard, this——"
"My name is not Bernard, sir—I am Miss Virginia Woodbridge," was the cutting response.
"Well, call yourself what you may, but this is all the work of Kit Carey."
"And how his work, sir?"
"He came here with his city ways and flattery, and made a fool of you."
"He is one rather to make a woman regard herself with more respect, rather than make a fool of her."
"It is just as I thought, he has turned your head, and you have no eyes for me now."
"I never loved you, believing you to be my brother, Herbert Bernard, as I could have wished to love a brother, and certainly now that I know you as you are, I cannot even respect you. Stand aside, please, for I desire to make my arrangements to at once leave your father's house, for I do not believe, even your mother will give me her aid now."
"I will stand aside, Jennie, but I vow to you, that unless you promise to be my wife you shall become the bride of Red Hatchet, the Sioux chief."
And with this fearful threat the inhuman lover turned on his heel and strode toward the house.