A LAST APPEAL.
Jennie waited in the arbor until she saw Herbert Bernard enter the house, and then she hastily made her way to her own room.
She was almost stunned with grief, and only her indignation kept her up.
As she was about to give way to a fit of weeping she beheld an Indian coming at a gallop up the trail to the house.
"It is a Cheyenne, one of the Indian police," she said, quickly, and she watched the redskin horseman approach and heard him call out to some one on the piazza:
"Me Owl Eyes, Cheyenne soldier. Come from white Captain Carey, good man, with letter for pale-face cattle man."
"From Captain Carey he says he comes. I will at once write a letter, and give it to him to carry back," cried Jennie, and seating herself at her table, she hastily penned the epistle which the reader knows Lieutenant Carey had received.
Slipping out of the cabin, she met the Indian courier at the creek, and handed him the letter.
"You will give this to Captain Carey, Owl Eyes?" she said.
"Oh, yes, me glad to give him talking paper from pretty squaw," was the gallant response of the Cheyennesoldier, and he set off on his return, Mrs. Bernard having given him a haversack full of provisions.
Then Jennie returned to the house, determined to have an interview with Mrs. Bernard.
She found the woman, whom she had dearly loved as a mother, busy in her household duties.
Mr. Bernard had gone off on the ranch somewhere, and Herbert had mounted his horse, and ridden away.
Mrs. Bernard wore a distressed look, and appeared very much as though she would have been glad to avoid an interview with the girl who deemed herself so deeply wronged by the conduct of father and son.
"Mrs. Bernard, mother, may I talk with you, for I am so unhappy," she said.
"Yes, my poor child, I will come to your room, if it must be; but you are not more unhappy than I am," was the kindly response.
The two went together to Jennie's room, so pretty and inviting under her refined taste, and throwing herself upon her knees she buried her face in the lap of Mrs. Bernard, who was herself deeply affected.
"Come, my child, you must not yield to your grief, or you will make yourself ill."
"But have you heard all, mother?"
"Yes, my husband said that he had told you the secret of your parentage."
"But that is not all."
"No, your father was murdered, and the shock of his death killed your mother."
"But all that I could hear with composure, mother, for bad as it is, it is not the worst."
"What is worse, then, my child?"
"That Herbert has dared to love me, dared to ask me to be his wife."
This touched the mother's heart, not for the sorrowing girl, but for her son, and she said quickly:
"And is it so terrible to become my son's wife, Jennie?"
"Oh! are you too blind not to see that my regard for him is so different, that I could never become his wife, never love him, that I hate him?"
"You hate my son?" cried the mother.
"Yes, and his father, and you surely do not wish me to hate you, too, by urging that you wish me to marry Herbert Bernard," and Jennie was upon her feet now, her face flushed with indignation.
"Jennie, I never had a daughter, and you have held the place of one in my heart. I have loved you from the moment you came into my home, and knowing that Herbert knew you were not his sister, knowing the truth myself, I have not regarded it as wrong that he should love you. Now that you know that he is not your brother, and, unless you are in love with this wild Lieutenant Carey, that your affections are not centered elsewhere, I must do as my husband and son demand, and tell you that it is the wish of us all that you shall become Herbert's wife."
As though she were a snake in her room Jennie sprang away from her, while she cried:
"I have seen you weak and yielding to your husband and son, and often wished that you had some of my spirit; but I did not deem you so criminally weak as to turn against me when I appeal to you as a daughter to a mother."
"Jennie! Jennie!" cried the unhappy woman, who was fighting her heart to serve her husband's will, to obey her son's command.
"I will say no more, for I can do nothing, say nothing now, as I have appealed in vain."
"But what can you, will you do, my poor child?"
"God only knows," was the pitiful reply, and as she threw herself down upon the bed Mrs. Bernard arose and glided from the room.
But poor Jennie was in no mood to remain quiet, and soon she sprang to her feet and hastily descended to the piazza.
There were the large saddle bags belonging to Mr. Bernard, and seizing these, she went back to her room.
Quickly she packed into the leather pouches such clothing as she could conveniently carry, and then put on her buckskin riding-habit and slouch hat.
She had some money of her own, and this she put in her pocket, rolled up a couple of blankets, and with her rifle in hand sallied forth, carrying the heavy saddle bags.
Going to the stable she saddled and bridled her own horse, mounted, and rode away, no one observing her departure.
She took the trail toward the hostiles' retreat, and had gone but a mile, when she rode unexpectedly into the midst of a group of Indian horsemen.
It was Red Hatchet and his band.
A COMPACT.
When Herbert Bernard left the arbor, after his interview with Jennie, his face was black with passion.
His nature, in his disappointment and wounded pride, showed itself at once in his face, and he felt all the revenge of an Indian against the young girl.
"She shall marry me, and then I can make her suffer for her refusal, and saying that she hated and despised me," he said.
He met his father, and the two held a short interview together.
"She shall become my wife, father," said Herbert.
"Of course, we cannot think of anything else for an instant; but let me warn you that the girl intends to run off."
"Run off?"
"Yes."
"Where will she go?"
"Anywhere, so she leaves here, so you must watch her day and night and prevent it."
"I will prevent it, never fear; but did you not expect Red Hatchet here to-day?"
"Yes, if that fellow Carey does not head him off from coming."
"By which trail was he coming?"
"The lower one."
"I wish to see him, so will ride out and meet him."
"Be careful in all you say and do, my son."
"Trust me for that, father," and soon after Herbert Bernard mounted and rode away upon the lower trail, leading in the direction of the Bad Lands, while by the upper one came the courier from Kit Carey, and whom the young man failed to see.
For some miles Herbert Bernard rode along, his eyes, like the good frontiersman he was, ever on the alert for a foe, and watching every sign that was visible, for he well knew that there were times when every man might be against him, and in spite of a friendly feeling for the Indians, a prowling brave might open fire upon him from an ambush.
Ascending a steep hill, where the pines grew thick, he hitched his horse and began to take an observation of the surrounding country.
Here and there were drift patches of snow, but elsewhere the trails were very denty, and far off he saw a cloud arising.
It was a dust cloud, and was moving toward his position.
That it was made by a party of horsemen he saw at a glance, and he watched it closely as it floated along over the trail, completely hiding the horses that made it.
On it came, winding along the trail, around a ravine here, avoiding rugged land there, and so on to the hills.
At last the dust cloud floated away, and it left revealed a party of horsemen who suddenly rode out upon harder soil, where there was no light powdered earth to make clouds about them.
"They are Indians," he said, with a tone of evidentrelief, as he recognized their costumes, dark faces, and ponies.
"Yes, and that is Red Hatchet in the lead. I am glad of that; but why has he brought so many warriors with him, for he has one, two, three," and he went on counting until he ended with: "Thirty! Now, if he met Carey and his band of Cheyennes, whom I am confident are prowling about here, there would be trouble. Ah! he is going to take the other trail, so I must signal him."
As he spoke he threw up a pile of fine straw and stuck a match under it.
Instantly a dense smoke began to curl upward in a column, and he kept it from blazing by piling on more straw.
Then he suddenly threw over it his India rubber blanket, and the smoke was cut off.
Taking off the blanket he let the smoke ascend again, then shut it off, and repeating this three times, he quickly put out the fire.
The redskins had noted the very first curl of the smoke upward, and came to a halt.
They saw the column cut off and rise again, and this was done for the third time, when the smoke disappeared altogether.
Not a word had been spoken among them until the smoke floated away, and did not reappear.
Then the chief said something in a low tone, wheeled his horse straight toward the hill, and his warriors followed in silence.
As they neared the base of the hill they stretched out into a line and so approached the pines, peering closely into every covert.
But suddenly a horseman rode out into view upon the hill-top, and though it was a pale-face, and naturally to be expected, a foe, they did not seem to so regard him, for the chief went toward him at a canter, his braves following, while not the slightest preparation was made for battle.
As he approached the steeper part of the hill the chief dismounted, and went on foot, his warriors following his example.
Then amid the pines he found Herbert Bernard, and the latter said:
"I am glad the Red Hatchet has come, for I was seeking for him."
"The Red Hatchet is glad to see his brother. He was going on the trail to see if the pale-face foes of the Sioux were still pressing upon his people."
"He will find that the soldiers are still marching forward to surround the Bad Lands; but the Sioux are safe there, for no soldiers can drive them away. But I would ask a favor of my red brother?"
"The Red Hatchet is ready to obey."
"If the Red Hatchet will go near to my house I will see that he finds the Snow Flower. Let him carry her to his people in the Bad Lands, and there keep her until I come for her. If the Red Hatchet will do this for me he shall find me the true friend of himself and his people, and the soldiers shall not harm them. But the Red Hatchet must remember that the Snow Flower shall not be harmed by his people, for she is the daughter of his friend the white chief, and the sister of his friend Herbert. Does he understand that it is only to keep the Snow Flower from running away with a soldier chief that heis to hide her away among his people, where she cannot escape."
"The Red Hatchet understands and will obey. The Snow Flower shall know no harm, for she is the friend of the Sioux. And the Red Hatchet's friend will let the Sioux know when the soldiers come closer upon them?"
"Yes."
The chief stretched forth his hand in token that it was a compact, and grasping it Herbert Bernard said a few more words in explanation of his plan, and mounting his horse rode back toward the ranch.
And Red Hatchet and his band slowly followed upon his trail.
KIT CAREY TO THE RESCUE!
When upon his return to the ranch, the keen, ever-watchful eyes of Herbert Bernard had seen Jennie coming along the trail.
"Ha! not a moment too soon was I," he said.
"She is already off," and quickly he wheeled out of sight and rode back toward the Indians whom he knew were following him.
As he came in sight of them he raised his hands, made certain signs[6]which caused the band to at once scatter to shelter on either side of the trail, hiding amid the rocks and brush.
Herbert Bernard saw that his signs were read as thoroughly as though he had spoken, and at once he wheeled off the trail and disappeared in the timber.
And on rode his intended victim, poor Jennie.
She had made up her mind to take a trail that would carry her toward the nearest settler's house, and from there she would go on her way, she hardly knew how, or where.
But if she could find friends she would then be able to place her case in the hands of an attorney, and make Vance Bernard account for her property which he held.
With these half formed ideas in her mind she had left the home she had deemed her own.
She dared not wait to keep her appointment with Kit Carey, for she was afraid to ride toward the Indian lines, fearing to meet Red Hatchet.
And now she rode right into the midst of the band of the very chief whom she had feared and wished to avoid.
She wheeled her horse quickly to fly, but around her circled the warriors, and she was completely cut off from all escape.
"Does the Snow Flower fly from the Red Hatchet?" asked the cunning chief, coming forward with a look of satisfied triumph which even his war paint did not conceal.
Jennie was quick to take advantage, and to show fear of the cunning chief and disappointment she knew would make matters worse for her.
She did not know that she had ridden into a trap, and so said, pleasantly:
"I did not know that it was the Red Hatchet, my friend. I was going to the house of a neighbor."
"The Snow Flower is in danger, for redskin warriors and pale-face braves are on the war-path. The Snow Flower must go with the Red Hatchet."
"Where?"
"To his people."
"Do you mean I am to go to the hostiles' camp in the Bad Lands?" asked Jennie, in alarm.
"Yes, for the Sioux are to take the war-trail and kill, and the Snow Flower will be safe among the people of Red Hatchet. Blood has flowed over on Wounded Knee, and there are Sioux warriors, women and children to beavenged. The white soldiers of the Great Father shall be swept off the earth, and the homes of the pale-faces will be destroyed, their women and children killed, as their men killed ours. With my people the Snow Flower will be safe. She must go."
Jennie listened in dire alarm, and yet her nerve did not leave her.
She knew that she was powerless to resist, and if she went willingly, or rather apparently so, she would have a chance of escape, while if she went as a captive, she would not have.
So she forced a smile to her face, and said:
"The Red Hatchet is the friend of Snow Flower, and she will go with him, for with his people she knows she will be safe; but he must protect her people, and do them no harm."
"The White Gold chief is safe with the Sioux, he and his squaw and the young warrior. The Snow Flower will be safe with the people of the Red Hatchet. She will come."
As she could do nothing else, Jennie rode alongside of the Sioux chief, and the band at once started upon the retreat for the Bad Lands, going by the upper trail, while the wicked young settler, from his hiding-place, saw them ride off with their captive, and muttered to himself with malicious glee:
"Now she is safe for awhile, and when I go for her she will gladly come to my terms."
As he felt his dangerous position, now within a country where he might dash upon a party of cavalry, Red Hatchet moved rapidly along the trail he had decided to return by to reach the Bad Lands with all dispatch.
His only desire was to get Jennie safe within the hostiles' retreat, for he believed that their camp was impregnable, and no soldier dare come there.
Of the camp of the Cheyennes under their soldier captain, Kit Carey, he did not know, and not until he suddenly heard wild cries and beheld a party of horsemen dash out of a ravine in pursuit, did he realize that he had a deadly foe near.
"It is the White War Eagle! He is like a wolf on a trail," the Chief Red Hatchet said to his fair captive and braves, as he beheld at the head of the Cheyenne soldiers their gallant captain, Kit Carey, coming on in hot pursuit.
[6]The Indian sign language is almost as expressive as words, and most tribes can understand it, though not knowing each other's tongue.
[6]The Indian sign language is almost as expressive as words, and most tribes can understand it, though not knowing each other's tongue.
THE PURSUIT.
A short while before the band of Red Hatchet dashed into view, with their captive, a Cheyenne scout had arrived in the little camp of the Indian soldiers bearing dispatches from headquarters.
There was a letter from the general thanking Lieutenant Carey for his valuable services rendered thus far, and giving certain instructions for his future guidance, while he was ordered to do all in his power to ascertain the force of the hostiles in the Bad Lands, now intrenched, and the chiefs who were urging them to resistance.
A letter also came from Major John M. Burke, at the Pine Ridge Agency, which was as follows:
"My Dear Captain Carey.—You see I anticipate your title, for I know it will come in return for the services you are rendering in this war."The Sioux here known as Friendlies, and the hostiles in the Bad Lands, are very uneasy at your being on the trail with your Cheyenne soldiers, and a greater security is felt by the army all along the line, knowing that you will head off any move the Sioux may make of importance."If it was not that General Miles is held in check by the President, he would quickly strike a blow that would forever put down these Indian wars; but as it is, he has to go with caution, as orders are constantly coming from as far back in his rear as Washington City, and so he is trammeled."Surgeon Frank Powell, your old and trusted friend, is here, hatching affairs like a hawk, and Buffalo Bill is on the alert for a move when orders come to him giving him the word to go."I am just back from the Wounded Knee battle-field, and it must have been a terrible affair."I have heard of your courage there, and that you left on the trail of Red Hatchet."If you find him I am sure the 'Hatchet' will be forever buried."With good will, believe me,"Yours,John M. Burke."
"My Dear Captain Carey.—You see I anticipate your title, for I know it will come in return for the services you are rendering in this war.
"The Sioux here known as Friendlies, and the hostiles in the Bad Lands, are very uneasy at your being on the trail with your Cheyenne soldiers, and a greater security is felt by the army all along the line, knowing that you will head off any move the Sioux may make of importance.
"If it was not that General Miles is held in check by the President, he would quickly strike a blow that would forever put down these Indian wars; but as it is, he has to go with caution, as orders are constantly coming from as far back in his rear as Washington City, and so he is trammeled.
"Surgeon Frank Powell, your old and trusted friend, is here, hatching affairs like a hawk, and Buffalo Bill is on the alert for a move when orders come to him giving him the word to go.
"I am just back from the Wounded Knee battle-field, and it must have been a terrible affair.
"I have heard of your courage there, and that you left on the trail of Red Hatchet.
"If you find him I am sure the 'Hatchet' will be forever buried.
"With good will, believe me,
"Yours,John M. Burke."
He was also notified that another company of Indian scouts was ordered to report at a certain point, awaiting orders from Lieutenant Carey, and two troops of cavalry, and a Hotchkiss gun were stationed within easy call, should he need them, while the commanding general had appointed him acting captain until further orders.
"If this war lasts long enough, and I do not get killed, it shall be captain in reality," muttered Kit Carey.
Then he broke the seal of another letter.
It was from Surgeon Frank Powell, and only a few lines, as follows;
"My Dear Carey.—It has just come to my knowledge that the officer who captures Red Hatchet, the red fiend who started the Wounded Knee fight, is to go up a step in promotion."Go for the two bars on the shoulder straps, for you are the man to win them."Yours,Frank Powell."
"My Dear Carey.—It has just come to my knowledge that the officer who captures Red Hatchet, the red fiend who started the Wounded Knee fight, is to go up a step in promotion.
"Go for the two bars on the shoulder straps, for you are the man to win them.
"Yours,Frank Powell."
And just as he read these lines, that the captor of Red Hatchet was to be promoted, by one of those strange coincidences that those we speak of, or are in our minds, appear before us, into sight dashed the Sioux band, and at their head their terrible young chief.
"Speak of the devil and his imp appears," cried Kit Carey, and hastily thrusting his papers away he called for his men to saddle and follow him.
For once he, too, had been caught, if not napping, at a disadvantage.
He had not looked for a foe from the rear.
Had he come from the front he would have come in sight in ample time to give them a chance to be prepared for him.
But along the very trail he was guarding, and from the Bernard ranch direction, came Red Hatchet and his band.
"And that lovely girl is his captive. I feared it," cried Kit Carey, as he recognized in the captive of the chief the settler's daughter.
Hastily he took in the numbers of the Indians, and then glanced over his own party.
"I can leave two scouts here, and take fourteen men with me. Just half his force, and little less than half; but I will make the attempt to rescue the girl and get my captaincy, too."
His Cheyenne scouts were soon about him, mounted and armed for the chase, and with a few orders to the two left behind to still guard the trail and await any courier that might arrive, the officer sprang into his saddle and darted away in hot pursuit.
The Sioux had now all of a mile the start, but Kit Carey knew that their ponies must be well worn after the ride they had had, and his animals were comparatively fresh.
At a sweeping gallop they went along, the Sioux in full sight, and the pursuers steadily gaining upon them.
But Red Hatchet was as cunning as he was brave, and he would not force his ponies to full speed, knowing they could not last long at that pace.
He took in, too, that they could not be readily flanked from the nature of the ground, and counting the men onhis track he saw that where he had thirty braves Kit Carey had fourteen.
Under ordinary circumstances he would have halted and taken some Cheyenne scalps, confident of his ability to do so, for he hated these Indian allies of the whites most bitterly.
But with that tall form in the lead, with his darkly-bronzed, fearless, handsome face, his deadly aim and desperate courage even Red Hatchet dared not halt to fight back a force only half his own in strength.
He knew those men as the captors and slayers of Sitting Bull, the mighty chief, and he was well aware that the White War Eagle did not count numbers when there was work to be done.
So he would hold on in his flight until a chance came to ambush his pursuers, and while his captive was sent on under two trusted warriors, he would remain to fight the White War Eagle with the advantage of position added to numbers.
"Let the White War Eagle follow, and he will run into an ambush, and his scalp hang at the belt of the Red Hatchet," said the chief to Jennie, whose heart sank within her at the danger that the daring officer must encounter in his effort to rescue her.
KIT CAREY'S RESOLVE.
At first a thrill of joy ran through the heart of Jennie Woodbridge, as she is now known to be, when she saw that Lieutenant Carey was in pursuit.
But when a bend in the trail placed the Sioux in a position to see their pursuers well, she discovered how small was the force the officer had with him, and at once she felt the greatest dread of evil befalling him.
If she could have warned him back she would have done so, and she rode along by the side of the Sioux chief plotting in her mind to suddenly dash away, and by making her escape thus prevent Lieutenant Carey from running into an ambush.
Whether the chief suspected her intention or not, he suddenly leaned forward and took her bridle rein in his firm grasp.
Pretending to misunderstand it, she said, as calmly as she could:
"No, my horse will not fall, Red Hatchet, you need not hold the rein."
"Horse very fast, and if he ran away Indian pony could not catch him," was the significant response.
At last the Sioux chief saw where he could gain his advantage.
There was a ridge ahead, the trail leading through a ravine, and beyond the country was rolling, seamed withcanons and ridges, with rocks and a stunted growth of trees visible upon every side.
By letting two of his braves dash on with his captive, after entering the ravine, he could, with the rest of his force, dismount from their ponies and go into an ambush, where he could check the pursuit very suddenly, and if he could only kill the white captain of the redskin soldiers he would feel no dread of his men.
And so the chief planned, while Jennie turned white with dread, and yet could but obey the command of Red Hatchet to ride on.
He had called two of his warriors up, and ordering one to place himself upon either side of her, bade them push on until they reached the shelter of the Bad Lands, when they were to await his coming.
He had no idea of allowing the captive to enter the retreat of the hostiles, unless he was with her to claim his prize.
"I will bring the Snow Flower the scalp of the pale-face captain that caught the Red Hatchet with his death rope," he said, referring to his capture with the lariat by Kit Carey, and speaking in the boastful tone so often used by the Indians.
"The white captain did not kill the Red Hatchet, but let him go. Would the chief kill one who was his friend?" asked Jennie, earnestly.
"Yes," was the reply. "The white captain is the foe of my people. The Red Hatchet saw him capture the mighty Chief Sitting Bull, and kill him, and again he saw him kill the braves of Chief Big Foot in the fight at Wounded Knee. The Red Hatchet has a heart, and his heart bleeds for the dead Sioux, whom the white captainhas killed. When his scalp is here, then will the Sioux be happy!" and he patted his belt, where, in anticipation, he already beheld the scalp of Lieutenant Carey. "Now, let the Snow Flower go on with my horses," said the chief a moment after, as they dashed into the ravine.
Jennie could but obey, and as she sped on the Sioux and his braves threw themselves from their ponies, which went on under the lead of four warriors.
The balance of the band quickly sought cover and lay in ambush.
But the minutes went by, and the clatter of prancing hoofs did not break upon the ears of the ambushed savages.
The "white captain" was too old an Indian fighter to be caught in a trap, and so had come to a halt.
Where he had halted, too, was amid a pile of rocks at the crossing of a small creek, susceptible of being well defended, and with water for his men and their horses.
He had not blindly run into the trap set for him by Red Hatchet, for he had seen through it.
Realizing that he could not overtake the chief in the country they had then reached, when half a dozen men in ambush could keep five times their number at bay, he had halted among the rocks, and given his men and horses a rest.
Night was not very far away, and he intended to play a game of cunning, too.
So he halted, and in a position that would give the Sioux the idea that he intended remaining there.
The Cheyennes felt perfect confidence in their leader, and set to work to fortify, or appear to do so, as thoughthey expected an attack from the Sioux as soon as night came on.
Red Hatchet saw that his enemy was too cunning to be caught in his trap, and he gnashed his teeth with rage.
So anxious was he to fulfill his word, and carry in the scalp of the white captain, that he made up his mind to carry the camp soon after nightfall, or, at least, during the night.
If they crept near in different squads, and then made a rush all together, the small force of Kit Carey could never check them, Red Hatchet argued to himself.
He saw the position taken by the officer, marked well its approach, and then reconnoitred its advantage and disadvantage for an attack.
He saw that the Cheyennes were working hard under their white captain to make the place strong against attack that night, and he began to make his preparations to rush in upon them under cover of the darkness.
But Red Hatchet was pitted against a man who had on many an occasion "out-Injuned Injun," as they have it out on the plains, and who had been reared to meet cunning with cunning, knife with knife, and nerve with nerve.
While it was yet light Kit Carey sat down among the rocks, and with the aid of a small glass and two of his Cheyennes as valets, began to make his toilet as an Indian medicine chief.
He had made the firm resolve to go into the Bad Lands, enter the retreat of the hostiles, and solve the mystery of their force and all about them, while as a pretended Sioux he could also better aid the escape of the captive of Red Hatchet.
His toilet was made with a care that proved he knew well how much depended upon it, and when he was ready the robe of a medicine man was thrown over his shoulders to complete his toilet.
Then, when the first shadows of night fell he led his red soldiers away from the little fort they had made, they were given certain orders, and with but two followers he made a flank movement of the position held by Red Hatchet, and moved toward the Bad Lands.
IN DOUBT.
Like wildfire the news of the fight at Wounded Knee swept along the lines, and the brave Boys in Blue nerved themselves to do and dare, and to avenge their gallant comrades of the Seventh.
The noble Wallace had fallen, and died, sword in hand, with his foes about him, Lieutenant Garlington, a popular officer and utterly fearless, had been severely wounded, and Lieutenant Harthorn was another brave man wearing the shoulder-straps to suffer.
The Seventh had been well-nigh wiped out upon the fatal field where the lamented Custer fell years before, and now, when taunting the prisoners they had taken another attempt had been made to annihilate utterly the regiment that had so won the hatred of the Sioux, and but for the pluck of its soldiers it would have been successful.
Following the news of the treacherous attack of the braves of Chief Big Foot, led by the Red Hatchet, came the startling tidings that the fearless and able chieftain, who had met the unexpected attack so bravely and well, had been removed from his command in the very face of the foe he had thus far vanquished.
It was a bitter blow to the men in the field, to know that "Colonel Forsythe, of the Seventh, had been relieved from duty."
Of course, officers and men knew that they must sufferattacks, because a few people in the far off East would urge that the Indian must be subdued with tracts and argument, and would be excused for killing the soldiers, when the soldiers would be tried for striking back.
But that is a part of the soldiers' hard lot to bear, or, as it has been briefly put, to "die fighting for one's country," and have their names spelled wrong in the report of the battle.
Officers talked in low tones over the affair at Wounded Knee Creek, and the stories afloat regarding it, and wondered if they were to be allowed to fight a foe ever cunning, treacherous, cruel, yet brave.
The effect of the battle, too, upon the Sioux was to send other bands to the Bad Lands, to make those more determined to fight, and to render the younger warriors wild with the hope of butchery, scalps, and plunder.
And among the camps, around the bivouac fires, and round the mess tables, the name of Kit Carey was upon every lip.
The services that he had rendered, with the aid of his Indian scouts, were well known and appreciated, and those who had seen him in the action at Wounded Knee Creek had told stories of his reckless daring, and deadly work at close quarters.
"One minute sooner and he would have saved poor Wallace," said Captain Taylor, sadly.
"You saw Wallace fall, did you not, Taylor?" asked Captain Carrol.
"Yes, though I was at a distance from him, as you know. I had my glass to my eye, and saw Wallace come out of a tepee dragging a chief by the shoulder. Then he was set upon by four others, and at once stood at bay.He had his revolver and sword only, and fired slowly and with deadly aim, while the Sioux rushed upon him. The chief, whom he could have killed, but instead had taken prisoner, also attacked him, and he it was who sprang upon him with his tomahawk. The brave Wallace ran him through with his sword, but he could not avoid the deadly blow of the tomahawk, and it was the last wound and fatal, for he had several others. A moment more and Carey came bounding toward him, and it was woe unto the Sioux that barred his way. I watched him, too, in action, and a more splendid fighter I never saw. He was perfectly cool, fired to kill, and when he came to where Wallace lay, dropped on his knees by his side. But only for an instant, for soon after two of his Indians rode up to him with his horse, and mounting he spurred away, and I saw him no more."
"It is said that he asked Colonel Forsythe to let him pursue Red Hatchet, who was the one who began the massacre," Lieutenant Ray said.
"Yes, and he'll catch him yet, for he now commands the scouting line nearest the hostiles, and an Indian does not know himself any better than does Kit Carey know him."
"I believe you are right," said another officer.
"He is as gentle as a woman in peace, and as courteous as a Chesterfield to all; but rouse him to action and he is a man for an enemy to steer clear of."
And among the camps of the men the stories also went around about Kit Carey's raid after Sitting Bull, his conduct in the fight at Wounded Knee Creek, and his then holding the perilous position of scouting close to the Bad Lands, and with Cheyenne soldiers, too, whom manyfeared would be won over to join the hostiles, in which case their white captain would have, indeed, to face the deadliest of perils, which even his courage and skill could hardly rescue him from.
But still the white captain and his red men held their position close to the Bad Lands, and reports regularly came in of every movement of the hostiles.
Then there came into the various army camps, of the different commands, the startling news that Red Hatchet, having escaped from Wounded Knee battleground, had gone on a raid with a number of his braves, and had captured and carried back to the Bad Lands the beautiful Daughter of Settler Vance Bernard.
This news came too straight to be doubted, for it was brought by one of Kit Carey's own Indian couriers, and, more, it was said that the scouting officer had pursued Red Hatchet with his captive, been beaten back from an ambush, and while his Cheyenne soldiers had returned to their posts their white captain had not put in an appearance.
"Does this mean that Kit Carey has fallen?" was the question all asked, yet not one could answer.
OVER THE WIRES.
Has my reader forgotten Emma Foshay, the daughter of a brother officer of Kit Carey, and for whom the dashing soldier made such a sacrifice, as to stand at bay while the fair girl fled on to the camp?
I trust that she is not forgotten, for Emma Foshay is not to be wholly dropped from this story, as she, too, has a mission to fill.
Escorted to the nearest station by her father, she took the train eastward to her home in New York, anxious to reach the side of her invalid mother before the stories of the Indian campaign should get to her ears with many an exaggeration and untruth.
Day and night she sped along, her thoughts busy with her anxiety for her mother, and for the fate of the gallant soldier who had shown himself so willing to sacrifice himself to save her.
At the fort, where it was said that she was heartless, that she was a coquette, the story she would never contradict, for well she knew that the handsome young aide, whose story she had heard and regarded as one of mystery and romance, had won her heart almost at their first meeting.
Then came their ride together, their danger, and the thought that she had left him behind to die while she lived.
Had she been in doubt before of her feelings she could not be longer after that ride with Kit Carey, and it was no wonder that, as she was whirled eastward on the train, that she felt a dread of evil, that death would take away the one man among men in all the world to her.
Mrs. Foshay had, of course, been told by the kind neighbors the most harassing stories of the Indian war, the death of Sitting Bull, and the terrors that were expected to follow, but they were good enough who retailed the news to state that thus far they had seen no account of Captain Foshay's having been slain or captured by the hostiles.
It was a great relief, therefore, to the lady when her daughter arrived, fresh from the fields of danger, and she learned the truth of affairs.
Emma was most careful that no paper should reach her mother's hands, for she read all the news to her, keeping back all that might excite or alarm her.
One afternoon Emma Foshay went out to call upon a friend, and she met there a young lady who was visiting for a week.
She was at once struck with the beauty of the young girl, and her lovely, fascinating manners, and seemed strangely drawn toward her.
She had been introduced as Miss Earl, and the conversation at once turned upon Emma Foshay's visit to her father upon the frontier, and her narrow escape from capture by the Indians.
"But there are so many stories in the papers, Emma, for each correspondent seems to think that he is sent out there to write a romance, so do tell us just how itwas, for Violet, I know, is as curious to know as I am," said Ella Dewhurst, the fair young hostess.
"Yes, I shall be delighted to hear of your adventure, Miss Foshay, for I am very deeply interested in the army," Violet Earl responded.
Thus urged Emma Foshay said:
"I would have been glad to have remained there during all the troubles, to be near papa; but he was ordered at once from the post to the front, and I became anxious about mamma, who is an invalid, so decided to hurry home at once. It was easier, however, to decide upon than to accomplish; but I was determined to come, and so accepted the escort of Lieutenant Kit Carey, one of the army heroes, and justly so. He had orders to report at once for duty at the Pine Ridge Agency, as he was an old Indian fighter, reared on the frontier, and so I was glad to have such a man for my escort, and Colonel Crandall was good enough to say I should have gone with no one else alone, as his aide was about the only one he knew who could carry me through in safety."
And so Emma went on with her story, telling in a thrilling way the perils they had encountered, and, at last, when Kit Carey's horse was wounded, how he determined to stand at bay while she rode on to the camp for aid.
"It seemed cowardly in me to desert that brave man," she continued, "yet I could no more check that horse than I could have beaten the Indians back.
"Then I saw him in the trail as I sped on, fearless, defiant, and ready to die if so it must be, without flinching. I shall never forget him as I saw him there, never! never! And I shall never forget how utterly crushedI felt at heart in leaving him there to what I deemed a certain fate."
"Yet he escaped," said Violet Earl, quietly.
"Yes, papa wired me on the train as I came along, that Lieutenant Carey had not only escaped death, but was afterward selected as the one to capture Sitting Bull, and I know we shall hear more of his gallant acts, for he is just the man for a hero."
"I heard to-day, Miss Foshay, of the battle of Wounded Knee Creek, and that Lieutenant Carey had greatly distinguished himself. This was telegraphed me by Surgeon Frank Powell, who knows that Lieutenant Carey is a particular friend of mine," said Violet Earl.
"You knew him then, Miss Earl? Then you know what a splendid fellow he is," said Emma Foshay, with enthusiasm.
Violet's face flushed, while she said, in a low tone:
"As it is not intended to be a secret, Miss Foshay, I will tell you that I am engaged to Lieutenant Carey."
"Engaged to——" and Emma Foshay could say no more, while the entrance of a servant with a telegram prevented both Violet and Ella Dewhurst from seeing how livid the face of the young girl became.
"For me?" said Violet, with a calmness she did not feel, as she took the telegram from the servant.
Breaking open the envelope, she read aloud: