"Willard Rallston, Esq., Omaha.
"Willard Rallston, Esq., Omaha.
"Why no letter? When you coming? Act now. Ferguson gone.
"Why no letter? When you coming? Act now. Ferguson gone.
"G."
"G."
Being in town he dropped in at one or two places of popular resort, and had more or less conversation with the hangers-on at the open bars. He drank more freely than usual, too, and while by no means off his balance, mentally or physically, when at midnight he turned his horse's head homewards, he was rather more capable of any deed of meanness than would ordinarily have been deemed expedient. His quarters reached, he stood for a moment gazing along the dark and silent row. Suddenly, soft and sweet on the clear night air he heard the notes of a guitar, then a tenor voice, well trained, rich and melodious. He well knew there was no officer in the garrison who could sing like that. Who was it? Where was it?
Slipping through the back-yard and keeping close under the high board fence, Mr. Gleason tiptoed up the row until behind Truscott's. A convenient knot-hole enabled him to peer through, and his eye lit on the dim figure of a man enveloped in cavalry overcoat standing beneath the rear window. This, then, was the troubadour.
A moment or two previous, Miss Sanford, wearied after a long day of anxiety and care, was roused from a broken sleep by a soft, sweet tenor voice beneath herwindow, and the tinkling accompaniment of a guitar. Each word came floating through the silent night,—
"Rings Stille herscht—es schweigt der Wald,Vollendet ist des Tages Lauf;Der Vögleins Lied ist längst verhallt,Am Himmel ziehn die Sterne auf.Schlaf wohl, schlaf wohl,Und schliess die schönen Augen zu;Schlaf wohl, schlaf wohl,Du süsser, lieber Engel Du."
"Rings Stille herscht—es schweigt der Wald,Vollendet ist des Tages Lauf;Der Vögleins Lied ist längst verhallt,Am Himmel ziehn die Sterne auf.Schlaf wohl, schlaf wohl,Und schliess die schönen Augen zu;Schlaf wohl, schlaf wohl,Du süsser, lieber Engel Du."
She knew instantly who it must be. She noiselessly slipped to the door leading into Grace's chamber, and the dim night-light showed her sweet friend sound asleep. Returning, she crept to the window, shrouded as it was by the inner curtain. No sign would she give that the song was heard, but what woman would not have risked one peep? Finishing his song, the serenader turned on his heel, gave one long, lingering look at the darkened window, then strode out of the rear gate and away towards the band quarters. Drawing the curtain farther aside, Miss Sanford plainly recognized the walk and bearing. She followed him with her eyes until he had gone full a hundred yards, was about to let fall the curtain, when, crouching like panther, sneaking from shadow to shadow, there slipped past the gate the dim figure of a second man in stealthy pursuit. Who could this be? The first, of course, was Sergeant Wolf.
"One thing is certain: we ought to get word over to Wayne or he'll be cut off." The speaker was old Stannard, and his auditors were a knot of half a dozen officers of the —th. It was just daybreak, cold, crisp, and clear. It was about a week after the news of the battle of the Little Horn had reached the regiment. Already its two strongest battalions were marching to join Crook at the Big Horn, but a little squadron—two troops under command of Captain Wayne—lay nearly two days' march away, lower down the broad valley towards the southeast. The tidings that had come by special couriers were exciting, even alarming. A great outbreak had occurred among the Indians still at the agencies on White River. Nearly a thousand of the Southern Cheyennes, who had nothing whatever to do with the quarrel of Sitting Bull and his people, who had no grievance whatever against the government, but had been fed, clothed, petted, and pampered for six or eight years, and who up to this time remained at the reservations, had become so emboldened at the success of the renegades and warriors in the Big Horn country, so envious of their great massacre of Custer and his men, that they had suddenly thrown off all disguise, loaded up with all the provisions, arms, and ammunition they could buy or steal, and had jumped for theNorthwest, murdering and pillaging as they went. Waiting no orders, dropping, indeed, the retrograde movement he was ordered to make before this outbreak was known, the regimental commander had turned his columns and shot "cross country" on a night march to head them off. A soldier who doubted the "grit" of his officers and men, who was himself indisposed to dare so strong and savage a foe, could easily have taken refuge in these orders and, marching as directed, avoid the Cheyennes entirely. They were known to be the fiercest, sharpest, trickiest fighters of the plains, full of pluck and science, superb horsemen, fine shots, splendidly mounted and equipped. A foe, indeed, the average man would think twice before "tackling," especially in the light of the fearful exhibition of Indian prowess of the 25th of June. But the leader of the —th never thought twice. No sooner did the breathless couriers reach him with the news than he formed his plans instanter. Within an hour every horse and man in the —th seemed to know they had a race and a fight ahead. Eighty miles of rough country to ride over before they could strike the line on which the Cheyennes were moving, and then the —th could speak for themselves. The news of the tragedy of the Little Horn came like a stunning blow to many a fellow who had lost old and tried comrades in the fray; but while laugh and jest seemed banished for the time, there was no doubting the spirit of the regiment for the coming business. They had turned sharply from their course late in the afternoon of the previous day, had marched nearly all night, had halted to make coffee and give the horses water and a good feed as they reached the shelteringcottonwoods by the stream; and now, while some of the officers with their field-glasses were lying prone upon the commanding ridges studying the distant valley for signs, another party was gathered here around the colonel, who had been having a brief chat with "old Stannard."
"Wayne has been warned by this time. I sent two of the scouts across from the Rawhide last evening," was the colonel's quiet reply to the impulsive outburst of his junior.
"He is off their line of march entirely, I know," admitted Stannard, "but those fellows have had eyes out in every direction. They know just where he is. They know just where that wagon-train is, and up to last evening they knew just where we were, though they are puzzled now, I reckon. All I'm afraid of is that the moment they find we're not in supporting distance, they'll drop what they're after and turn on Wayne. He ought to be only forty odd miles down this valley,—considerably off their line,—and if he has kept close and not fooled away his time he is safe enough; but Wayne is Wayne, colonel, and I've known him to go poking off on side scouts and losing time 'topogging' over pretty country when he ought to have been making tracks for home." (Stannardwoulduse the vernacular of the frontier when at all excited.) "Now it would be just like Wayne to have lost a day in just such a manner. I hope not,—but I fear it."
"He has Ray with him," suggested Captain Turner.
"I know that; but Wayne is butt-headed as a billy-goat on some points, and one is that he can't be taught anything about Indians. He's as innocent and unsuspiciousand incapable of appreciating their wiles as the average Secretary of the Interior; and Wayne isn't the kind of man to be influenced by Ray's opinions. He'd be more apt to tell Ray to keep them to himself. It couldn't be helped, of course, but it's a pity two companies had to be sent on that scout. I'd feel safer under Ray with one troop than under Wayne with two."
"I confess I wish we could see just where they were and what they were doing," said the colonel, with an anxious look on his sun-blistered face; "but we have our hands full as it is. Come, Mr. Adjutant, it's time we were off! Get the men in saddle and have the arms and ammunition inspected,—fifty rounds to the man, at least. Major Stannard, where would you locate Truscott's command this morning? I shall send couriers back from here to find him and tell him to join Wayne."
To join Wayne! Well, just at that particular moment Wayne was wishing that he might,—or somebody equally strong. And if the colonel could but have seen the fix that doughty dragoon was in—fifty miles away—the concern on his ruddy face would have been intensified. Wayne had succeeded in justifying everything Stannard had said of him. He had, indeed, been "fooling away his time" on side scouts, and now, before he had fairly dreamed of the possibility of such a thing, the hills around him were alive with Indians.
Ray, with his troop, had been assigned to the captain's command for a scout of some importance over towards the reservations three days before this unlucky morning. Rumors of the disaffection of the Cheyennes had come to the colonel. Everybody knew thatthe Indians would be wild with delight over the news from Sitting Bull. Indeed, there was reason to believe that it was being whispered at the reservations before the telegraph flashed the tidings broadcast on the 5th of July. Were there not two days there on the Mini Pusa—the 2d and 3d of July—when little parties of Indians were chased towards as well as from the White River? Wayne's orders were to scout the valley and report whether Indians were venturing out that way. Before he had been two days away from the regiment he found trail after trail of war-parties crossing the valley northward. Signal-smokes and night-fires were in the hills beyond. The evidence was conclusive to expert eyes, but Wayne said that, all told, no more than one hundred warriors could have gone out. He was bent on going farther and seeing how many more there were. Ray, as second in rank among the five officers present, ventured to suggest that they had seen quite enough, and that without delay they should either return directly to the regiment or send word. Wayne would not send because only a hundred tracks had been seen, and by the time he had run over double that number the two scouts with them refused to go back. "We would be cut off and killed, sure as fate," was their comprehensive reason. They bivouacked that night in the timber, keeping out strong guards and pickets, but with early dawn were astir, moving back up the valley. Once again had Ray offered a suggestion,—that they should put back during the night, but Wayne was nettled at the fact that Ray's prophecy had come true. They had stayed too long and gone too far. He was a John Bull sort of fellow,full of the ponderous, bumptious courage which prompts the men of that illustrious island empire to be shot down like cattle by Boers and Zulus and Arabs and Afghans, adhering rigidly to the tactics of Waterloo to fight the scientific light troops of the savages sooner than depart from that which was the conventional British method of making war. Wayne was lacking only in moral courage. He was afraid to say he was wrong and Ray was right. Before they had gone two miles he was forced to admit it. He was hemmed in on every side.
The valley had narrowed considerably just here, and the bare, rounded bluffs came down to within two hundred and fifty yards of the timber along the stream. Willows in sparse groups and cottonwoods in sun-bleached foliage were scattered along the level bench on both sides of the river-bed. Broad wastes of sand extended in places from bank to bank, and what water there was lay in heated pools. Here and there the white incrustation on the sand told of the strongly alkaline nature of the soil and the consequent impurity of the fluid. The little column, with scouts well out on front and flanks, was moving four abreast up the south bank along their trail of the previous day. Every now and then some officer or man would note a new signal-smoke puffing up to the sky among the hills some distance off the valley, and Wayne was riding in rather sulky dignity at the head of the command. He had come to the conclusion that he had done an idiotic thing the morning previous, in pushing on down the valley after discovering beyond question that so many Indians were already on the move. He well knew that Ray was the last man in the regiment tocounsel avoiding danger, unless it were danger which would prove overwhelming and for encountering which there could be no excuse. Heknewhe had been idiotic now, for he could see indications that Indians were closing in on him from every side; but, worse than that, he knew that he had added to his idiocy a performance that was simply asinine: he had lost his temper and said an outrageous thing to Ray, and some of the men had heard it. From earliest dawn the lieutenant had been out with the pickets eagerly scanning the surrounding country. Indians, of course, were not to be seen. They kept out of sight behind the bluffs and ridges, but their signals were floating skyward from half a dozen different points, and Ray knew it meant that they were calling in their forces to concentrate on this lone command. At last he had gone to Wayne, who was sipping his coffee with as much deliberation as though the troops had nothing on earth to do all day.
"Captain Wayne. May I ask if anything further has been done towards getting word back to the regiment?"
Wayne looked curiously at his junior a moment. He had the unpleasant conviction that whatever his own views might be, the regiment generally would be more apt to back Ray's opinions as to the chances in Indian fighting than they would his. He could not complain of the lieutenant's manner in the least, but all the same he felt certain that Ray had a higher opinion of his own judgment than he had of his, the squadron commander's. It was time to take him down.
"Why do you ask, Ray?" he said, with assumedcomposure, setting down his tin cup and motioning to the attendant that he desired to have it refilled.
"Because—we are now pretty well hemmed in, and unless wordhasgone, there will be little chance of sending any."
"Well, Mr. Ray, whyshouldwe send any?"
"Because, Captain Wayne, we have neither ammunition nor provisions for a siege, and the chances are in favor of our having to stand one."
"Oh, trash! Ray. I expected more nerve of you, and you are the first man in the crowd to get stampeded."
For an instant there was danger of an explosion. Ray's eyes blazed with wrath. He would have burst into a fury of denunciation, captain or no captain, but there—close at hand—stood many silent groups of the men. For once in his life Ray said not a word. For one long ten seconds he stood there, looking Wayne straight in the eye, then turned on his heel and left him.
The captain would have given much to recall the words. He knew their utter injustice. He knew, worse luck! that if they succeeded in getting back to the —th in safety, about the very first thing he would be called upon to do would be to eat them. For the moment he was Ray's commanding officer and there was no resenting them; but once back with the —th, then therewouldbe fun!
Wayne rode for the first mile or so in sulky dignity, as has been said. Ray was out in front with the scouts. He had gone without saying a word to the commander, and though that was a breach of etiquette, the captainwell knew that there of all others was the place for Ray to be. None of his other subalterns came near him. There were only two,—Dana and Hunter,—and they were riding each at the head of the troop to which he was attached. A young assistant surgeon was with the party, and a civilian who had charge of the half-dozen pack-mules ambling alongside, but even these men seemed indisposed to chat with the commanding officer. The column was riding "at ease," but in silence. No whistling, joking, or singing was going on. To the right was the timber through which, well to the front, half a dozen skirmishers were pushing so as to secure the main body against surprise. To the left, full eight hundred yards away, rose the low line of bluffs, sweeping around the left front so as to approach the stream. Two or three men rode warily along their crest, keeping sharp lookout to the south, while scattered across the valley a like distance ahead were half a dozen active troopers, the two guides, and Ray. The latter, easily recognized at that distance by his riding and by "Dandy's" elastic stride, had discarded his coat, and was moving rapidly from point to point in his dark-blue scouting-shirt.
Nearing the bluffs that bent around their front, it could be seen that the guides were hanging back a little, so were the skirmishers in advance; but the men on the flanks pushed ahead. No Indians could be seen from their more elevated position.
"They're shy of that bluff," said Wayne between his teeth. "Here, Mr. Dana, send a sergeant and two sets of fours forward, and stir them up a little. Wait a moment! There goes Ray."
Sure enough, Ray and a couple of horsemen, opening out considerably, could be seen spurring diagonally across the bottom towards a point of bluffs that rose higher than the general line off to the left. Before they had gone two hundred yards, out from the very crest of the bluff there leaped half a dozen quick puffs of smoke; half a dozen little spirts of dust and sand flew up from the prairie near the three horsemen farthest to the front, two of whose steeds were seen to veer and shy violently, and then six sharp, spiteful, half-muffled reports were borne on the still air.
Even before the shots were heard Wayne was turning in his saddle.
"Deploy to the front, Dana; only your first platoon," he added, as the young officer was about throwing forward the whole troop. "Look out for the bluffs on your left. I'll have Hunter face them. Half front your line that way so as not to let them enfilade you. I'm going right out to the front." With that he rode back, said a few words to Hunter, and then, followed by his orderly trumpeter, went thumping off at ponderous gallop towards his distant advance.
Almost at the same instant the flankers on the bluffs to the left were seen waving their hats and spurring about in violent excitement, pointing towards the south. Then they fired two or three wild shots in that direction, and, ducking as though to avoid return fire, came sweeping down the slopes at full speed.
It was stirring to mark the bearing of the little command just then. Every man knew that the unseen foe was present in front and flank in heavy force. Every hand seemed nerved to sudden strength. Thehorses tossed their heads and pricked up their ears, looking eagerly in the direction of the firing. In obedience to his orders, Dana was rapidly deploying his leading platoon, and a sheaf of skirmishers went scattering out to the front in support of the advance, while Hunter, left for the moment alone, divined in an instant that the Indians were coming with a rush upon the southern flank. He wheeled his fours to the left, and, dismounting his skirmishers, sent them at the double-quick out across the prairie. Not an instant too soon! Almost simultaneously the ridge to the south, the bluffs out in front, and even the narrow level between them and the timber fairly bristled with daring, dashing horsemen,—the Cheyennes in all their glory.
Oh, what a brilliant sight they made with plume and pennon, floating war-bonnet, lance and shield; the sunlight dancing on their barbaric ornaments of glistening brass or silver, on brightly-painted, naked forms, on the trappings of their nimble ponies, on rifle and spear! All at full speed, all ayell, brandishing their weapons, firing wildly into the valley, leaping, some of them, for an instant to the ground to take better aim, then, like a flash, to saddle and top speed again; through every little swale, over every ridge they popped like so many savage Jacks-in-the-box, and came swooping, circling down on the little column at the old-time tactics of the stampede. Warily though, with all their clamor, for though they whoop and yell and shoot and challenge, they veer off to right or left long before they get within dangerous range of those silent skirmishers of Hunter's, now sprawling in long blue line out on the dusty prairie,ventre à terre, and every fellow with his carbineat the front just praying the painted scamps will come a little closer. Warily in front, too, where Ray is skilfully retiring, face to the foe, but keeping them back while Wayne has time to return to the column and move his horses into the sheltering timber and prepare for vigorous defence.
It is the only course now open to him. This is not civilized warfare, remember, and far different rules must govern. It would be no difficult matter against ordinary troops to lead a dashing charge, cut through the opposing line, and so make his way back to the regiment. Of course many men might be unhorsed and wounded, and so left behind, but they would be cared for as prisoners until exchanged or the war was at an end. But war with the Indian means, on his side, warà outrance,—war to the cruellest death he can devise. Whenheis cornered, all he has to do is surrender and become the recipient of more attention and the victim of higher living than he ever dreamed of until he tried it, and found it so pleasant that it paid him to go on the war-path every spring, to have a royal old revel in blood and bestiality until fall, and then yield to the blandishments of civilization for the winter. But to officer or soldier capture means death, and death by fiendish torture as a rule. The Indian fights for the glory and distinction it gives him. He has everything to gain and nothing to lose. The soldier of the United States fights the red man only because he is ordered to. He has nothing to gain—even glory, for the Senate has fixed a bar sinister on gallantry in Indian warfare. He has everything to lose. However, no words of mine will ever effect a change of politicalheart in such matters. The fact remains that the one thing left for Wayne to do—finding himself cut off by some two hundred Cheyennes—was to take to the timber and stand them off.
By this time the fray was spirited and picturesque in the extreme. The whole line of bluffs was alive with Indians dashing to and fro, occasionally swooping down as though to burst through or over the slender skirmish line. Others had swung clear around to the left, and were circling about in the valley below them. From all but the north side, therefore, the bullets came whistling in, and occasionally some stricken horse would plunge and snort madly, and one or two men were being assisted to the bank of the stream, where the young doctor had already gone to work. Hunter's dismounted men, sturdily fronting the south and southeast, were holding five times their force in check, while Ray's and Dana's mounted skirmishers, fronting southwest and west, were slowly falling back fighting. The Cheyennes encircled them on every side but the north.
Busy in getting his horses into shelter under the bank, which was a few feet high, and directing where the provisions and pack-mules should be placed, Wayne was suddenly accosted by Ray.
"If twenty men can be spared, sir, I'll put them on that island," pointing to a clump of willows and cottonwoods that stood along the opposite shore. "The Indians are crossing above and below, and we'll soon have their fire on our backs."
Wayne was soldier enough to see the force of the suggestion. He was man enough, too, to want to ask Ray's pardon for his language of the morning, but therewas only time to accede to the request. The Kentuckian, still mounted on Dandy, was darting across the sandy space with a dozen or more of his men at his heels. The island was a Godsend. In less than five minutes the warriors who had ventured across, and were now seeking for a shot at the safety-roost along under the bank, were met by a score of well-aimed bullets that drove them to cover, dragging with them the lifeless body of one of their number.
"Spread out there, men!" shouted Wayne. "Seize every point you can get on t'other shore. Run up-stream fifty yards or so and scoop holes for yourselves in the sand." And then he rode out to the front again to superintend the retirement of his slender lines.
But all this time the firing had been rapid and almost incessant. As the troopers came slowly in towards the timber and the Cheyennes realized that it was impossible to drive them into panic or stampede, they seemed to give far more attention to the accuracy of their aim, and for this purpose the best shots had thrown themselves from their ponies and were striving to pick off the officers and prominent sergeants. Still, the greater number remained in saddle whooping and yelling and darting to and fro at a comparatively safe distance, banging away at anything or anybody within the soldier lines, and offering tempting though difficult marks for the sorely-tried skirmishers. Until he noted the distant war-parties crossing to the north side of the stream, Ray had been riding up and down the lines checking the useless waste of ammunition. Everywhere his voice could be heard, placid, almost laughingat times, as he rebuked the senseless long-range shooting of the men.
"Hold your fire, men. You can't hit those skipping jack-rabbits half a mile away. What on earth are you shooting at, Mulligan? You couldn't hit a whole barn at that distance."
But all the same he was seriously worried. He knew well that at the utmost there were no more than fifty rounds per man with the troopers, and that rapid firing would soon reduce this to next to nothing. The indications were that once hemmed in to the timber they would need every shot to stand off the Cheyennes until relief could come, and before galloping off to secure the timbered island in rear of their position and so form a partially protected "corral" for the horses, he had cautioned Dana and Hunter to be most sparing in their fire,—to allow no shot unless the Indians charged.
The foe, on the contrary, were flush with ammunition. Mr. ——'s cartridges were abundant among them, and from east, south, and west the bullets were whizzing overhead, ripping up little grass tufts from the prairie and raising a dust wherever they struck. The mounted skirmishers sheered off into the timber quite early, as they were being shot at from three sides, sprang from their horses and took to the trees, but before they could do so several casualties had occurred. Six horses were lying dead out on the prairie, others were wounded and bleeding, but worse than that, two old Arizona sergeants, veterans of a dozen fights, and five of the men were severely wounded. Ray's efforts to keep down the return fire were futile. As long as the men had cartridges and he was not about, they would fire. Justas Wayne the second time rode out to the front he found Dana slowly dismounting.
"Are you hit?" he asked.
Dana nodded, pressed his hand to his side, and saying nothing, walked up to a neighboring cottonwood and leaned against it, looking rather pale.
"Damn the luck!" growled Wayne. "This won't do. I must get the whole crowd under cover."
"You get under yourself," grinned Dana. "That hat of yours looks like a sieve now. Yi-ip! There goes your horse." And forgetting his own pain, he strove to aid the captain, whose horse had suddenly plunged forward, and was now rolling and kicking in the agony of death.
"I'm all right, Dana. Poor old Ned! he's carried me many a mile. Here, sergeant, help the lieutenant back to the doctor. Go, Dana! I'll get the men where they belong. We're all right, once we get in the timber."
And so, little by little, slowly and steadily the skirmishers fell back to the shelter of the trees. There in big semicircle they were distributed, each in a little, hastily constructed rifle-pit or shelter of his own, and by nine o'clock this bright July morning the first phase of the combat was at an end, and there was time to "take account of stock."
Dana was shot through the side by a Henry or Winchester bullet, and was lying under the bank faint, thirsty, but plucky. Sergeant Gwinn and two of the men were dead, and eight men now needed the care of the surgeon; three of them were senseless, probably mortally hurt. At least fifteen horses were killed orrendered useless; the others were "corralled" under the bank, where, in a deep bend, they were safe except from long-range fire. Ray's men on the island had improved their advantage by seizing defensible positions on the north bank, and, as against two hundred and fifty Indians, with two days' rations left, with abundant water to be had by digging in the sand, with pluck and spirit left for anything, they were not badly off, provided the Indians were not heavily reinforced and provided their ammunition held out.
The Cheyennes now resorted to other tactics. Leaving but few warriors scurrying about on the open prairie, both north and south, they gathered in force in the timber up- and down-stream and began their stealthy approaches, keeping up all the time a sharp fire upon Wayne's position. Every now and then would come a frantic cry from some stricken horse as a random bullet took effect, but few struck among the men. The surgeon and the wounded were well sheltered in a concave hollow of the bank.
There was fortunately little wind. With a gale blowing either up- or down-stream, the Indians could have fired the timber and soon driven them out. This was well understood on both sides. But the besieged knew as well that other methods would be resorted to, and speedily they were developed. The rattling fire that had been kept up ever since the first assault had died away to an occasional shot, when suddenly from the down-stream side there came a volley, a chorus of frantic yells, and then a pandemonium of shots, shouts, howls, and screeches, answered by the soldiers with their carbines and the billingsgate of some irrepressiblehumorist. A savage attack had begun on Hunter's men. Even as Wayne and Ray, bending low to avoid the storm, went scurrying through the trees to his assistance, followed by some half a dozen of the "old hands," there came from up-stream just such another assault, and in ten seconds every able man in the command was hotly engaged.
"For God's sake, captain, don't let them waste their fire!" shouted Ray. "I'll go back to the other front and hold them there."
"All right! I understand, Ray. You watch the same thing over there," answered Wayne, who at another time would have resented any suggestions, but had seen the value of Ray's words a dozen times that day. "Damn it! men. Fire slow. Don't throw away a shot.Letthem come closer; that's what we want," he shouted to the soldiers, who, lying behind logs or kneeling among the trees, were driving their missiles through the timber, where the smoke-wreaths told of the otherwise invisible foe. Out on the prairie, too, the mounted warriors went careering about, dashing at full speed towards the woods, as though determined to charge, but invariably veering off to right or left as they came within three hundred yards. Of course, there was no direction from which the bullets did not come whizzing into the timber, and men were more likely to be hit in the back than elsewhere,—one of the many disheartening features of such warfare. Almost every moment somebodywashit, though at the time it could not be seen or known, as all were too busy with what was in their front to look around. Once in a while, too, some lucky shot would send anIndian pony to his knees out on the prairie, or a warrior would drop and be borne off by a ducking, dodging trio of his fellows. Then there would be a shout of triumph from the timber, answering yells of rage and defiance from the foe; but finally, after nearly an hour of such savage work, the Cheyennes seemed to give it up. Then came another respite, another "taking of stock."
One of the scouts, one who had refused to try and ride through to the regiment, was shot dead, and lay on his face among the trees. So, too, were two more of the men, while six were wounded, and Wayne himself had a flesh wound in the thigh. The hot sun of noonday was pouring down, and matters looked ugly.
"Do you know how much ammunition we have left?" asked Mr. Ray, in a low tone, of the commanding officer about an hour later.
"No," said Wayne, looking anxiously in his face.
"Not twelve rounds to the man."
Darkness has settled down in the shadowy Wyoming valley. By the light of a tiny fire under the bank some twenty forms can be seen stretched upon the sand,—they are wounded soldiers. A little distance away are nine others, shrouded in blankets: they are the dead. Huddled in confused and cowering group are afew score horses, many of them sprawled upon the sand motionless; others occasionally struggle to rise or plunge about in their misery. Crouching among the timber, vigilant but weary, dispersed in big, irregular circle around the beleaguered bivouac, some sixty soldiers are still on the active list. All around them, vigilant and vengeful, lurk the Cheyennes. Every now and then the bark as of a coyote is heard,—a yelping, querulous cry,—and it is answered far across the valley or down the stream. There is no moon; the darkness is intense, though the starlight is clear, and the air so still that the galloping hoofs of the Cheyenne ponies far out on the prairie sound close at hand.
"That's what makes it hard," says Ray, who is bending over the prostrate form of Captain Wayne. "If it were storming or blowing, or something to deaden the hoof-beats, I could make it easier; but it's the only chance."
The only chance of what?
When the sun went down upon Wayne's timber citadel, and the final account of stock was taken for the day, it was found that with one-fourth of the command, men and horses, killed and wounded there were left not more than three hundred cartridges, all told, to enable some sixty men to hold out until relief could come against an enemy encircling them on every side, and who had only to send over to the neighboring reservation—forty miles away—and get all the cartridges they wanted. Mr. —— would let their friends have them to kill buffalo, though Mr. —— and their friends knew there wasn't a buffalo left within four hundred miles.
Theycouldcut through, of course, and race up the valley to find the —th, but they would have to leave the wounded and the dismounted behind,—to death by torture,—so that ended the matter. Only one thing remained. In some way—by some means—word must be carried to the regiment. The chances were ten to one against the couriers slipping out. Up and down the valley, out on the prairie on both sides of the stream, the Cheyennes kept vigilant watch. They had their hated enemies in a death-grip, and only waited the coming of other warriors and more ammunition to finish them—as the Sioux had finished Custer.Theyknew, though the besieged did not, that, the very evening before, the —th had marched away westward, and were far from their comrades. All they had to do was to prevent any one's escaping to give warning of the condition of things in Wayne's command. All, therefore, were on the alert, and of this there was constant indication. The man or men who made the attempt would have to run the gauntlet. The one remaining scout who had been employed for such work refused the attempt as simply madness. He had lived too long among the Indians to dare it, yet Wayne and Ray and Dana and Hunter, and the whole command, for that matter, knew that some onemusttry it. Who was it to be?
There was no long discussion. Wayne called the sulking scout a damned coward, which consoled him somewhat, but didn't help matters. Ray had been around the rifle-pits taking observations. Presently he returned, leading Dandy up near the fire,—the one sheltered light that was permitted.
"Looks fine as silk, don't he?" he said, smoothing his pet's glossy neck and shoulder, for Ray's groom had no article of religion which took precedence over the duty he owed the lieutenant's horse, and no sooner was the sun down than he had been grooming him as though still in garrison. "Give him all the oats you can steal, Hogan; some of the men must have a hatful left."
Wayne looked up startled.
"Ray, I can't let you go!"
"There's no helping it. Some onemustgo, and who can you send?"
Even there the captain noted the grammatical eccentricity. What was surprising was that even there he made no comment thereon. He was silent. Ray had spoken truth. There was no one whom he could order to risk death in breaking his way out since the scout had said 'twas useless. There were brave men there who would gladly try it had they any skill in such matters, but that was lacking. "If any man in the command could 'make it,' that man was Ray." He was cool, daring, keen; he was their best and lightest rider, and no one so well know the country or better knew the Cheyennes. Wayne even wished that Ray might volunteer. There was only this about it,—the men would lose much of their grit with him away. They swore by him, and felt safe when he was there to lead or encourage. But the matter was settled by Ray himself. He was already stripping for the race.
"Get those shoes off," he said to the farrier, who came at his bidding, and Dandy wonderingly looked up from the gunny-sack of oats in which he had buriedhis nozzle. "What on earth could that blacksmith mean by tugging out his shoe-nails?" was his reflection, though, like the philosopher he was, he gave more thought to his oats,—an unaccustomed luxury just then.
There seemed nothing to be said by anybody. Wayne rose painfully to his feet. Hunter stood in silence by, and a few men grouped themselves around the little knot of officers. Ray had taken off his belt and was poking out the carbine-cartridges from the loops,—there were not over ten. Then he drew the revolver, carefully examined the chambers to see that all were filled; motioned with his hand to those on the ground, saying, quietly, "Pick those up. Y'all may need every one of 'em." The Blue Grass dialect seemed cropping out the stronger for his preoccupation. "Got any spare Colts?" he continued, turning to Wayne. "I only want another round." These he stowed as he got them in the smaller loops on the right side of his belt. Then he bent forward to examine Dandy's hoofs again.
"Smooth them off as well as you can. Get me a little of that sticky mud there, one of you men. There! ram that into every hole and smooth off the surface. Make it look just as much like a pony's as you know how. They can't tell Dandy's tracks from their own then, don't you see?"
Three or four pairs of hands worked assiduously to do his bidding. Still, there was no talking. No one had anything he felt like saying just then.
"Who's got the time?" he asked.
Wayne looked at his watch, bending down over the fire.
"Just nine fifteen."
"All right. I must be off in ten minutes. The moon will be up at eleven."
Dandy had finished the last of his oats by this time and was gazing contentedly about him. Ever since quite early in the day he had been in hiding down there under the bank. He had received only one trifling clip, though for half an hour at least he had been springing around where the bullets flew thickest. He was even pining for his customary gallop over the springy turf, and wondering why it had been denied him that day.
"Only a blanket and surcingle," said Ray, to his orderly, who was coming up with the heavy saddle and bags. "We're riding to win to-night, Dandy and I, and must travel light."
He flung aside his scouting hat, knotted the silk handkerchief he took from his throat so as to confine the dark hair that came tumbling almost into his eyes, buckled the holster-belt tightly round his waist, looked doubtfully an instant at his spurs, but decided to keep them on. Then he turned to Wayne.
"A word with you, captain."
The others fell back a short distance, and for a moment the two stood alone speaking in low tones. All else was silent except the feverish moan of some poor fellow lying sorely wounded in the hollow, or the occasional pawing and stir among the horses. In the dim light of the little fire the others stood watching them. They saw that Wayne was talking earnestly, and presently extended his hand, and they heard Ray somewhat impatiently, say, "Never mind that now," and noted that at first he did not take the hand; but finally they came back to the group and Ray spoke:
"Now, fellows, just listen a minute. I've got to break out on the south side. I know it better. Of course there are no end of Indians out there, but most of the crowd are in the timber above and below. There will be plenty on the watch, and it isn't possible that I can gallop out through them without being heard. Dandy and I have got to sneak for it until we're spotted, or clear of them, then away we go. I hope to work well out towards the bluffs before they catch a glimpse of me, then lie flat and go for all I'm worth to where we left the regiment. Then you bet it won't be long before the old crowd will be coming down just a humping. I'll have 'em here by six o'clock, if, indeed, I don't find them coming ahead to-night. Just you keep up your grit, and we'll do our level best, Dandy and I; won't we, old boy? Now I want to see Dana a minute and the other wounded fellows." And he went and bent down over them saying a cheery word to each; and rough, suffering men held out feeble hands to take a parting grip, and looked up into his brave young face. He had long known how the rank and file regarded him, but had been disposed to laugh it off. To-night as he stopped to say a cheering word to the Wounded, and looked down at some pale, bearded face that had stood at his shoulder in more than one tight place in the old Apache days in Arizona, and caught the same look of faith and trust in him, something like a quiver hovered for a minute about his lips, and his own brave eyes grew moist. They knew he was daring death to save them, but that was a view of the case that did not seem to occur to him at all. At last he came to Dana lying there a little apart. The newsthat Ray was going to "ride for them" had been whispered all through the bivouac by this time, and Dana turned and took Ray's hand in both his own.
"God speed you, old boy! If you make it all safe, get word to mother that I didn't do so badly in my first square tussel, will you?"
"If I make it, you'll be writing it yourself this time to-morrow night. Even if I don't make it, don't you worry, lad. The colonel and Stannard ain't the fellows to let us shift for ourselves with the country full of Cheyennes. They'll be down here in two days, anyhow. Good-by, Dana; keep your grip and we'll larrup 'em yet."
Then he turned back to Wayne, Hunter, and the doctor.
"One thing occurs to me, Hunter. You and six or eight men take your carbines and go up-stream with a dozen horses until you come to the rifle-pits. Be all ready. If I get clear through you won't hear any row, but if they sight or hear me before I get through, then, of course, there will be the biggest kind of an excitement, and you'll hear the shooting. The moment it begins give a yell; fire your guns; go whooping up the stream with the horses as though the whole crowd were trying to cut out that way,but get right back. The excitement will distract them and help me. Now, good-by, and good luck to you, crowd."
"Ray, will you have a nip before you try it? You must be nearly used up after this day's work." And Wayne held out his flask to him.
"No. I had some hot coffee just ten minutes ago, and I feel like a four-year-old. I'm riding newcolors; didn't you know it? By Jove!" he added, suddenly, "this is my first run under the Preakness blue." Even there and then he thought too quickly to speak her name. "Now, then, some of you crawl out to the south edge of the timber with me, and lie flat on the prairie and keep me in sight as long as you can." He took one more look at his revolver. "I'm drawing to a bob-tail. If I fail, I'll bluff; if I fill, I'll knock spots out of any threes in the Cheyenne outfit."
Three minutes more and the watchers at the edge of the timber have seen him, leading Dandy by the bridle, slowly, stealthily, creeping out into the darkness; a moment the forms of man and horse are outlined against the stars: then, are swallowed up in the night. Hunter and the sergeants with him grasp their carbines and lie prone upon the turf, watching, waiting.
In the bivouac is the stillness of death. Ten soldiers—carbine in hand—mounted on their unsaddled steeds are waiting in the darkness at the upper rifle-pits for Hunter's signal. If he shout, every man is to yell and break for the front. Otherwise, all is to remain quiet. Back at the watch-fire under the bank Wayne is squatting, watch in one hand, pistol in the other. Near by lie the wounded, still as their comrades just beyond,—the dead. All around among the trees and in the sand-pits up- and down-stream, fourscore men are listening to the beating of their own hearts. In the distance, once in a while, is heard the yelp of coyote or the neigh of Indian pony. In the distance, too, are the gleams of Indian fires, but they are far beyond the positions occupied by the besieging warriors. Darknessshrouds them. Far aloft the stars are twinkling through the cool and breezeless air. With wind, or storm, or tempest, the gallant fellow whom all hearts are following would have something to favor, something to aid; but in this almost cruel stillness nothing under God can help him,—nothing but darkness and his own brave spirit.
"If I get through this scrape in safety," mutters Wayne between his set teeth, "the —th shall never hear the last of this work of Ray's."
"If I get through this night," mutters Ray to himself, far out on the prairie now, where he can hear tramping hoofs and guttural voices, "it will be the best run ever made for the Sanford blue, though I do make it."
Nearly five minutes have passed, and the silence has been unbroken by shot or shout. The suspense is becoming unbearable in the bivouac, where every man is listening, hardly daring to draw breath. At last Hunter, rising to his knees, which are all a tremble with excitement, mutters to Sergeant Roach, who is still crouching beside him,—
"By Heaven! I believe he'll slip through without being seen."
Hardly has he spoken when far, far out to the southwest two bright flashes leap through the darkness. Before the report can reach them there comes another, not so brilliant. Then, the ringing bang, bang of two rifles, the answering crack of a revolver.
"Quick, men.Go!" yells Hunter, and darts headlong through the timber back to the stream. There is a sudden burst of shots and yells and soldier cheers; amighty crash and sputter and thunder of hoofs up the stream-bed; a foot dash, yelling like demons, of the men at the west end in support of the mounted charge in the bed of the stream. For a minute or two the welkin rings with shouts, shots (mainly those of the startled Indians), then there is as sudden a rush back to cover, without a man or horse hurt or missing. In the excitement and darkness the Cheyennes could only fire wild, but now the night air resounds with taunts and yells and triumphant war-whoops. For full five minutes there is a jubilee over the belief that they have penned in the white soldiers after their dash for liberty. Then, little by little, the yells and taunts subside. Something has happened to create discussion in the Cheyenne camps, for the crouching soldiers can hear the liveliest kind of a pow-wow far up-stream. What does it mean? Has Ray slipped through, or—have they caught him?
Despite pain and weakness, Wayne hobbles out to where Sergeant Roach is still watching and asks for tidings.
"I can't be sure, captain; one thing's certain, the lieutenant rode like a gale. I could follow the shots a full half-mile up the valley, where they seemed to grow thicker, and then stop all of a sudden in the midst of the row that was made down here. They've either given it up and have a big party out in chase, or else they've got him. God knows which. If they've got him, there'll be a scalp-dance over there in a few minutes, curse them!" And the sergeant choked.
Wayne watched some ten minutes without avail. Nothing further was seen or heard that night to indicatewhat had happened to Ray except once. Far up the valley he saw a couple of flashes among the bluffs, so did Roach, and that gave him hope that Dandy had carried his master in safety that far at least.
He crept back to the bank and cheered the wounded with the news of what he had seen. Then another word came in ere long. An old sergeant had crawled out to the front, and could hear something of the shouting and talking of the Indians. He could understand few words only, though he had lived among the Cheyennes nearly five years. They can barely understand one another in the dark, and use incessant gesticulation to interpret their own speech; but the sergeant gathered that they were upbraiding somebody for not guarding acoulée, and inferred that some one had slipped past their pickets or they wouldn't be making such a row.
That the Cheyennes did not propose to let the besieged derive much comfort from their hopes was soon apparent. Out from the timber up the stream came sonorous voices shouting taunt and challenge, intermingled with the vilest expletives they had picked up from their cowboy neighbors, and all the frontier slang in the Cheyenne vocabulary.
"Hullo! sogers; come out some more times. We no shoot. Stay there: we come plenty quick. Hullo! white chief, come fight fair; soger heap 'fraid! Come, have scalp-dance plenty quick. Catch white soldier; eat him heart bime by."
"Ah, go to your grandmother, the ould witch in hell, ye musthard-sthriped convict!" sings out some irrepressible Paddy in reply, and Wayne, who is disposed to serious thoughts, would order silence, but it occurs tohim that Mulligan's crude sallies have a tendency to keep the men lively.
"I can't believe they've got him," he whispers to the doctor. "If they had they would soon recognize him as an officer and come bawling out their triumph at bagging a chief. His watch, his shoes, his spurs, his underclothing, would all betray that he was an officer, though he hasn't a vestige of uniform. Pray God he is safe!"
Will you follow Ray and see? Curiosity is what lures the fleetest deer to death, and a more dangerous path than that which Ray has taken one rarely follows. Will you try it, reader?—just you and I? Come on, then. We'll see what our Kentucky boy "got in the draw," as he would put it.
Ray's footfall is soft as a kitten's as he creeps out upon the prairie; Dandy stepping gingerly after him, wondering but obedient. For over a hundred yards he goes, until both up- and down-stream he can almost see the faint fires of the Indians in the timber. Farther out he can hear hoof-beats and voices, so he edges along westward until he comes suddenly to a depression, a little winding "cooley" across the prairie, through which in the early spring the snows are carried off from some ravine among the bluffs. Into this he noiselessly feels his way and Dandy follows. He creeps along to his left and finds that its general course is from the southwest. He knows well that the best way to watch for objects in the darkness is to lie flat on low ground so that everything approaching may be thrown against the sky. His plainscraft tells him that by keeping in the water-course he will be less apt to be seen, but willsurely come across some lurking Indians. That he expects. The thing is to get as far through them as possible before being seen or heard, then mount and away. After another two minutes' creeping he peers over the western bank. Now the fires up-stream can be seen in the timber, and dim, shadowy forms pass and repass. Then close at hand come voices and hoof-beats. Dandy pricks up his ears and wants to neigh, but Ray grips his nostrils like a vice, and Dandy desists. At rapid lope, within twenty yards, a party of half a dozen warriors go bounding past on their way down the valley, and no sooner have they crossed the gulley than he rises and rapidly pushes on up the dry sandy bed. Thank heaven! there are no stones. A minute more and he is crawling again, for the hoof-beats no longer drown the faint sound of Dandy's movements. A few seconds more and right in front of him, not a stone's throw away, he hears the deep tones of Indian voices in conversation. Whoever they may be they are in the "cooley" and watching the prairie. They can see nothing of him, nor he of them. Pass them in the ten-foot-wide ravine he cannot. He must go back a short distance, make a sweep to the east so as not to go between those watchers and the guiding fires, then trust to luck. Turning stealthily he brings Dandy around, leads back down the ravine for some thirty yards, then turns to his horse, pats him gently one minute, "Do your prettiest for your colors, my boy," he whispers; springs lightly, noiselessly to his back, and at cautious walk comes up on the level prairie, with the timber behind him three hundred yards away. Southward he can see the dim outline of the bluffs. Westward—once that littlearroyais crossed, he knows the prairie to be level and unimpeded, fit for a race; but he needs to make adétourto pass the Indians guarding it, get way beyond them, cross it to the west far behind them, and then look out for stray parties. Dandy ambles lightly along, eager for fun and little appreciating the danger. Ray bends down on his neck, intent with eye and ear. He feels that he has got well out east of the Indian picket unchallenged, when suddenly voices and hoofs come bounding up the valley from below. He must cross their front, reach the ravine before them, and strike the prairie beyond. "Go, Dandy!" he mutters with gentle pressure of leg, and the sorrel bounds lightly away, circling southwestward under the guiding rein. Another minute and he is at thearroyaand cautiously descending, then scrambling up the west bank, and then from the darkness comes savage challenge, a sputter of pony hoofs. Ray bends low and gives Dandy one vigorous prod with the spur, and with muttered prayer and clinched teeth and fists he leaps into the wildest race for his life.
Bang! bang! go two shots close behind him. Crack! goes his pistol at a dusky form closing in on his right. Then come yells, shots, the uproar of hoofs, the distant cheer and charge at camp, a breathless dash for and close along under the bluffs where his form is best concealed, a whirl to the left into the first ravine that shows itself, and despite shots and shouts and nimble ponies and vengeful foes, the Sanford colors are riding far to the front, and all the racers of the reservations cannot overhaul them.
The short July night wears rapidly away in the high latitudes of the Northwest. It is barely dark at nine, and in six hours