True to his promise, General Sully had a position arranged for him when he called next day, and one, moreover, upon whose duties he could enter at once. He quitted his work as clerk of the St. Louis commissary office only to continue it in the same place as a clerk for the chief commissary officer ofthe Northwestern Indian Expedition. Knowing that he was to be with them, General Sully's staff officers took an immediate interest in him, especially Lieutenant Dale, whose friendship proved not only increasingly pleasant but very helpful as well. Dale was able to give Al many suggestions as to how best to meet the problems and situations which constantly arose in his position. There was also a Captain Feilner, who treated him with much kindness. He was an officer of German birth who had risen to his position from the ranks of the regular army and was now General Sully's chief topographical engineer.
For six weeks every one in St. Louis connected with the expedition was busily occupied in getting supplies together and in shipping several hundred tons of foodstuffs, clothing, camp equipage, and ammunition on steamboats which were going up the Missouri on the Spring high water to Fort Benton, Montana, the outfitting point for the newly discovered gold district in that Territory. These goods were consigned to Fort Union, the chief trading post of the American Fur Company, at themouth of the Yellowstone River, where a depot was to be established so as to have supplies ready for the troops when they should reach that point, as it was planned they should do, after marching overland from the Missouri to the Yellowstone. Many hundreds of tons more were loaded on the eight steamers which General Sully had chartered for the exclusive use of his army, and on them were carried also a great quantity of building materials for use in the two forts which were to be erected, one on the upper Missouri and one on the Yellowstone. Few troops were to start with the fleet from St. Louis, because General Sully's men were either scattered in the several forts and cantonments along the river in Dakota where they had spent the Winter, or were to meet the boats at the village of Sioux City, Iowa; while a large column from General Sibley's command was marching from Minnesota straight across the high prairies of Dakota to join the rest of the expedition at Bois Cache Creek, nearly opposite the mouth of the Moreau River.
On the last day of April the long preparations were finally completed. The eight steamers lay along the Levee with flags floating from their forward peaks and the black smoke pouring from their funnels. A great crowd had gathered on the river bank to watch the departure; and while drays and wagons rattled over the cobblestones and long lines of negro roustabouts ran back and forth across the gang-planks of the steamers, carrying on board the last packages of freight, Al stood at the boiler deck rail of theIsland City, General Sully's headquarters boat. He waved his hand and smiled, more cheerfully than he felt at that moment, to his mother and Annie and Uncle Will, who stood in the wide doorway of the wharf-boat below, looking up at him. Now that the final moment had come, Mrs. Briscoe's heart was torn at parting with her boy, who had soloyally and unselfishly devoted himself to her wellbeing since her husband's death. But she bore it as bravely as a good mother always bears such trials, smiling brightly at him through her tears as the head-lines were slipped from theIsland City'sbow and her great stern wheel began slowly to revolve. Al, his own eyes misty, watched his mother until in the distance she became blurred with the crowd. The steamer swung gracefully out into the swift current of the Mississippi, described a wide, sweeping curve to the middle of the channel, and then, rounding up stream at the head of the majestic line of her consorts, forged up past the smoky city on the first mile of the long journey into the Northwestern wilderness.
Until the cheering crowd on the Levee was quite blotted out by distance and intervening steamers along the bank, Al stood at the rail looking back. When at last he turned away, with a strange feeling of depression and loneliness, he found Lieutenant Dale standing behind him.
"Come, boy," said he, slapping Al's shoulder, "brace up! We are going to have a great timethis Summer, and you'll be mighty glad you came. I know it's hard leaving your folks. I felt just the same way less than three years ago when I marched off from home to Washington and the first Bull Run. But it does no good to feel blue over it; you'll come back again all right, anyway. Get busy; that's the best remedy for blues. Are those last goods that were brought on board checked up yet? No? Well, you better go down and check them, hadn't you?"
Al acted on the suggestion, and by the time he was through, the fleet had entered the mouth of the Missouri and was approaching St. Charles, a picturesque little old city straggling up over the rugged, wooded hills on the north bank of the Missouri. The boats did not stop at the town, but continued running until nearly dark, when they laid up for the night at Penn's Woodyard, four miles above. Excepting in high water, when the channel is broad and deep, it is very unusual for boats to run at night on the Missouri owing to the danger of striking snags or going aground on sandbars. Next morning, after replenishing their fuel supplyat the woodyard, they started at daylight and ran without mishap or halt, excepting to take on wood several times, until dusk found them just below the mouth of the Gasconade River, where they again tied up to wait for daylight.
In the Spring of 1864 there had been little rain in the Missouri Valley, and the river was very low for the season, a fact which greatly disturbed General Sully; he foresaw that the trip would probably be painfully slow and that he would not be able to reach the Indian country until so late that the campaign would have to be a hurried one. Early next morning, at the mouth of the Gasconade, they encountered the first of the obstacles which they had been dreading. As is usual below the mouths of tributaries, where the eddy created by the muddy current of the main river coming in contact with that of the tributary causes the mud and sand to sink to the bottom, a sandbar here extended across the Missouri's channel. TheIsland City, in the lead and running near the south shore along the base of the bluffs, notwithstanding the caution of her pilot, stuck her bow into it and stopped short.Al, who was in the main cabin, ran forward as he felt the boat shiver and careen and looked down over the bow.
"Why, we've stuck fast!" he exclaimed to Captain Feilner, whom he found standing by the rail. "What will they do now?"
"Send out a boat and sound for a passage," the Captain answered.
Even as he spoke, Alexander Lamont,—or, Alex Lamont, as he was usually called,—the tall, bronzed captain of theIsland City, leaned out over the rail and shouted up to the hurricane deck above,
"Lower away the yawl, there! Step lively, now!"
They heard the shuffle of feet on the sanded tar roof overhead, the creak of falls and tackles, and in a moment the boat, its long oars manned by six stalwart deck hands and carrying, besides, a steersman at the stern and a leadsman with a sounding pole at the bow, pulled around the side of the steamer and out into the shoal water ahead. Meanwhile, the long line of steamers behind them also came to a stop.
"How much water must there be for us to get through?" asked Al.
"We are drawing three and a half feet," answered Captain Feilner, "and we ought to have four feet to go on, but we can do it on three and a half by sparring or warping. Have you never seen those things done? Well, you will probably have a chance in a few minutes,—and plenty more before we are through with this trip. Some of the other steamers do not draw quite as much as we do but none of them seem to be going to try to pass us."
The yawl gradually worked its way diagonally across and down the river, following the crest of the bar, until it had approached quite near to the north bank, the leadsman constantly thrusting his pole down to the river bottom. Then the boat suddenly turned around and came rapidly back to theIsland City.
"There's three and a half, large, over there," said the pilot who had acted as leadsman as he came aboard, speaking to Captain Lamont. "We can go over but you'll likely have to set spars."
He ascended to the pilot-house and jerked the whistle rope. A warning bellow roared out over the river, re-echoing from the forest-clad bluffs on either side. One by one the steamboats behind them took up the refrain, until the noise resembled that of a manufacturing city at the noon hour.
"What on earth is all that whistling for?" asked Al. "Are they trying to scare the bar out of the river?"
"No," laughed Captain Feilner. "That is a signal that we are going to back up. There isn't room to turn in this channel and all the others must back up, too, so that we won't run into each other."
The fleet backed for a half mile, then theIsland Cityreversed her wheel and started up again, running this time, however, close in by the north shore. As she went ahead the strokes of her pistons became more and more rapid until, as she approached the crossing, she was going at a great speed for a steamboat.
"He's going to try to belt her through,"exclaimed Lieutenant Dale, coming up at this moment. "We'll get a jolt. I hope nothing breaks."
Hardly had he finished speaking when there came a loud grating sound from the bow as the boat's flat bottom began to scrape over the sand. Her timbers quivered and groaned, her speed diminished so quickly that those who were standing on her decks were nearly thrown down, and then, after scraping along for a few feet slowly and painfully she came to a full stop. For a moment the stern wheel continued to churn the water into white foam; then the pilot, with an impatient gesture, jerked the wire to the stopping-bell down in the engine room, and the ponderous wheel came to a halt.
"No use," he cried to Captain Lamont, leaning out of the pilot-house window. "She's nearly over but you'll have to set the spars!"
There was a great shouting and commotion on the lower deck as the spars, two long, heavy timbers like telegraph poles, one on each side of the bow, were swung out and erected in position, their lower extremities resting on the river bottom, the upper,fitted with tackle blocks, rising high above the level of the boat's top deck. Through the tackle blocks ran heavy cables fastened at one end to the boat's gunwale and at the other to the steam capstan. When the spars had been set, the capstan began to revolve, winding up the cable and thus hoisting the bow of the boat until it hung suspended on the spars. At the same time the wheel was slowly revolved, forcing the boat ahead until the spars had tilted forward so far as to let the bow down again into the sand. Then they were dragged forward and set upright once more, and the process was repeated. Before a great while the crest of the bar was passed, and theIsland Cityfloated on into deeper water and continued her journey. But though it had not been what river men would consider a hard crossing, she had lost nearly six hours in sounding and sparring, and it was noon by the time she had left the Gasconade out of sight behind her. The vessels following her each forced its way across the bar in the same manner as she had done, excepting theChippewa Fallsand theAlone, boats of smaller dimensions and lighter draft, which were able toslip over without sparring. By the time the last one had passed the Gasconade, it was evening again, and the fleet was strung out for miles up the river. TheIsland Cityanchored out for the night to a bar just below Kate Howard Chute, so called for a beautiful packet of that name which had sunk there in 1859. The point was only thirty miles above the Gasconade, so that twenty-four hours had been consumed in covering that insignificant distance. TheIsland Citywas towing a large barge, intended for use when they should reach the Indian country, but it was very much in the way and retarded her progress considerably.
That evening Al asked Captain Lamont how far it was from St. Louis to the mouth of Cannonball River, Dakota, where it was expected that the actual campaign against the Indians would begin, and was told that it was about fourteen hundred miles. He did some figuring and found that if they continued to progress at the same rate as they had done that day it would be more than six weeks, or past the middle of June, before they would reach their destination. It seemed an astonishingly longtime to him but, as the event proved, he had considerably overestimated the average speed which the fleet could maintain. For days they continued travelling through the State of Missouri, contending with sandbars and head winds. The interior of the State was in a deplorable condition as a result of the war. Guerillas were overrunning it everywhere, and the boats rarely landed at a town without hearing either that some of the marauders had just left on the approach of the fleet or that they had been raiding there a day or two before. General Sully's vessels were so numerous and well armed that the guerillas did not dare attack them. All Missouri River boats at that time were more or less fortified around the pilot-house with timber or boiler-iron bulwarks, to protect the pilots from the bullets of guerillas on the lower river and from those of Indians in the upper country, while the piles of cordwood on the main deck afforded some protection to the men there. Yet the fleet seldom passed a downward-bound boat which had not been fired into or boarded, and fortunate was the vesselwhich had escaped without the loss of one or more people on board killed or wounded.
There were plenty of men in the expedition who would have been glad to encourage such attacks had they been made, for, as was always the case among the class of men who worked as laborers on the steamboats, there were many hardened and even desperate characters in the crews of Sully's vessels. Not a few of them were deserters from the Confederate army, tired of fighting but still rebels at heart; and others were Southern sympathizers, fleeing from the draft in the Northern States. Most of these men hoped, when they should draw near to Montana, to find opportunities for slipping away from the expedition and making their way to the gold fields which were just being opened in the placer deposits around Bannack, Last Chance Gulch, Alder Gulch and other places, and which were attracting a wild rush of adventurers from all over the country. Such men were naturally hard to handle and it took steamboat officers of firmness and courage to keep them in control.
Since the beginning of the voyage Al had not had much occasion to mingle with the crew of theIsland City. The cargo of the steamboat consisted chiefly of corn for the use of the cavalry horses in the Indian country and, once it was on board, required little attention. He therefore seldom had any reason for going to the lower deck except to while away the time, which, indeed, was the principal occupation of the army officers on board. As might naturally be supposed, he was usually with some of them. But one day he was standing on the main deck near the boilers when one of the deck hands, a young fellow a few years older than himself, came by carrying a couple of heavy sticks of cordwood to the furnaces. Al had once or twice in the past noticed this fellow staring at him in a disagreeable way and felt instinctively that it must be because the deck hand was envious of the apparently easy and pleasant time which he was having. Al's back was turned toward him and neither saw the other until one of the sticks collided heavily with Al's shoulder, almost throwing him down. Al turned and though bruised, was on the point ofapologizing for being in the way, when the fellow, an ugly, red flush overspreading his face, shouted, with a plentiful sprinkling of oaths between his words,
"Get out of my road, you little Yankee snipe! What are you loafing around here for, anyhow?"
"I'm sorry I got in your way," replied Al, controlling his temper, "but I didn't see you."
"Well, you'd better stay upstairs with your blue-bellied Yankee officers. They oughtn't to let their little pet run around this way."
Hearing loud words, several other deck hands gathered round, grinning at the excitement, their sympathies evidently with their companion.
"As for my being down here," Al answered, feeling that it would not do to let such language pass unnoticed, especially before the other men, "I have as much business here as you have. As for being a Yankee, I suppose everybody on a United States ship is a Yankee. If they're not, they'd better go ashore."
"It would take a mighty big lot of such spindle-legged doll babies as you to put me ashore," shoutedthe young ruffian, flinging down his wood and advancing on Al with clenched fists. "Down South we don't use anything but boats we've kicked the Yankees off of."
Several of the other deck hands crowded closer, exclaiming,
"Aw, let the kid alone, Jimmy. He ain't done nothin' to you."
"Look out, Jimmy; you'll get in trouble, talkin' that way."
"So you're a rebel deserter, are you?" asked Al, his eyes flashing. "I thought so. If you're so much attached to them, why didn't you stay down there and take some more Yankee boats?"
The fellow, quite beside himself with rage, did not wait to reply but sprang at Al like a bull-dog. Al knew little about boxing, but he was quick. As his assailant rushed at him, he jumped forward and planted one fist with all his strength on the point of the fellow's chin. The rowdy's feet flew from under him and he fell to the deck with a heavy thud, completely dazed for a moment. Then he scrambled to his feet with a string of imprecations pouring fromhis lips, and jerking an ugly, broad-bladed knife from a sheath on his belt, again leaped at Al. Seeing his intention, his companions rushed forward to stop him, but Al had snatched up a stoking iron from the floor beside him and swung it back over his shoulder. His face was pale, but not with fright, and as his assailant looked into his steady eyes something in them caused him suddenly to lower his knife and hesitate.
"Come one step nearer and I'll brain you," said Al, his voice very low and quiet. "You miserable, cowardly bully, attacking a fellow who is unarmed and who has done nothing to you. Now, if you want to stay on this boat you've got to quit that kind of talk about Yankees or I'll see that you are put off. It's very plain you are a rebel and you've no business getting your living under the protection of the Union as long as you feel that way. Next time you want to try anything with me I shall be ready for you, and I warn you, you won't get off so easily again."
He threw down the stoking iron and, turning his back on the crest-fallen rowdy, deliberately walkedaway, followed by ejaculations from the group of onlookers such as,
"Bully boy!" "Served him right." "You're all right, kid!"
Later in the day he mentioned the occurrence to Lieutenant Dale and Captain Feilner, who promptly wished to have the deck hand put ashore.
"Not on my account, unless he does some more secesh talking," said Al. "I can take care of myself with him. Besides, it may be a good lesson for him and teach him to be decent after this."
The fellow, as it turned out, had been pretty thoroughly beaten and he made no more trouble for Al during the voyage, though he always gave him an ugly look when they chanced to meet.
Lieutenant Dale decided from the incident that Al ought to learn the art of boxing, in which he himself was quite expert, having learned it in college. So thereafter they spent an hour or so every day in sparring. By the time the voyage was over, Al had become as skilful as his instructor, and General Sully, Captain Feilner and the other officers oftengathered to watch their bouts and to encourage them to greater efforts.
At Glasgow, his old home, Al had an opportunity to go ashore for a short time and he was astonished and grieved to note the changes which three short years had wrought in the familiar old town. The levee was deserted save by a few indolent loafers who, without recognizing him, stared at him suspiciously as he went past; for in that terror-haunted country, fear and suspicion of everybody and everything had become the habit of the people. Climbing the hill to the main part of town, he found grass growing in the once bustling business streets and many buildings locked and vacant. His father's old store was among them, closed as he had left it. He saw no familiar faces; most of the men and boys he had known were off in one of the armies, Confederate or Union, and the women were not often venturing from their houses in such times. In the residence section the scene was still worse. House after house stood deserted and going to decay. With slow steps Al went on to the place which hadbeen the home of his family in the dear old days when they were happy and prosperous. The gate was fallen from the hinges, weeds were growing thickly over the gravel walks, several panes of glass were broken out of the windows, and a loose shutter creaked dolefully in the wind. He rested his hand on a weather-beaten fence picket and gazed out into the garden he remembered so well, where he and Tommy and Annie had played; and beyond that into the orchard, where the summer apples used to grow so large and red and juicy. The cords of his throat tightened and a mist swam before his eyes. Weeds and grass and broken limbs strewed the ground; silence and desolation were everywhere. He turned away abruptly and hastened back to the levee, never stopping until he was once more on the boiler deck of theIsland City, where General Sully and several other officers were smoking and playing cards. It seemed to him as if a ghost were following him, the ghost of dead days, so tenderly remembered that the thought of them was unendurable, and for the time being he wanted only to plunge into the present and forget.
It would take a volume to recount all the interesting experiences which befell Al and his companions on the long trip to Fort Sully, Dakota, where the greater part of General Sully's troops had wintered; but, as they contributed nothing of moment to the narrative which we are following, they must be passed by. The fleet reached Kansas City, then a small but rapidly growing frontier town, nearly three weeks after leaving St. Louis, a journey which is now accomplished by rail in seven or eight hours. At Omaha theIsland Cityleft the barge which had been dragging at her stern all the way from St. Louis, as it was such an impediment that she could no longer handle it in the extremely low stage of the water. On May 30 the fleet reached Sioux City, where some troops were taken on board, as were still more at Fort Randall, twelve days later.About June 20 they arrived at Fort Sully and here the long steamboat journey came to an end so far as the General and his staff were concerned, as here they left the boat to march with the column of troops up the eastern side of the Missouri. Though he expected to see them frequently again during the Summer, Al regretted leaving the officers and pilots of theIsland City, especially Captain Lamont, to whom he had become quite attached. After his encounter with the deck hand, Jim, the Captain had shown a liking for him and during many idle hours had done much toward initiating him into the fascinating mysteries of steamboating. The fleet itself was going on up the river with the cargoes, keeping as nearly as possible abreast of the column.
It was a great relief to be on shore again and able to ride a galloping horse and to move about freely, after the long confinement to the narrow limits of the boat. For two or three days after the arrival of the fleet, Fort Sully presented a very animated appearance. Here were assembled about half of the troops which were to make up the expedition into the hostile country: the Sixth Iowa Cavalry underColonel Pollock; three companies of the Seventh Iowa Cavalry under Lieutenant-Colonel Pattee; Brackett's Battalion of Minnesota Cavalry under Major Brackett, which had marched overland from Fort Snelling to Sioux City and thence to Fort Sully; and two companies of Dakota Cavalry under Captain Miner.
All these soldiers, over one thousand in number, constituting the First Brigade of General Sully's army, were quartered in the barracks of the fort or encamped close around the stockade. The buildings of the fort, which were similar to most of those built on the Northwestern frontier, were of large, unhewn cottonwood logs; and the stockade, about two hundred and seventy feet square, was made of cedar pickets rising twelve feet above the ground, loop-holed for musketry and flanked by two bastions, one on the northeastern and one on the southwestern corner, containing cannon to sweep the faces of the stockade. It had been built by General Sully's troops, many of whom were still there, at the close of the campaign in 1863. A short distance out from the fort were several hundred lodges of Indians,recently hostile, but who, wearying of the struggle, had come in to tender their submission to General Sully. Al, through interpreters, made eager inquiry among them for news of Tommy, but could learn nothing. The Indians, who were of several different tribes of the Sioux Nation: Yanktonais, Brules, Two Kettles, Minneconjoux, Sans Arcs, Uncpapas, and also Blackfeet, reported that the hostiles were gathered in one immense camp of some eighteen hundred lodges, or about six thousand warriors, three days' march west of the Missouri on the headwaters of Heart River, and that they were eager for a fight.
After a few days spent at the fort in organizing and refitting the troops, shoeing the horses and mules, repairing harness, and loading supplies for immediate use into the train of nearly one hundred wagons which was to accompany the column, the latter moved out on its northward march on the twenty-third of June.
Now began days which were full of novel experiences for Al. Though he had to spend a good deal of time with the wagon train, aiding LieutenantBacon, the acting assistant quartermaster, in issuing and caring for the supplies, he found many hours each day to ride at the head of the column with the General and his staff, who usually marched there. The weather was generally warm, and the vast, seemingly boundless prairie was parched with drought. The new grass was sparse and dry and hidden under the dead, brown bunches of last year's blue joint and buffalo grass, so that the troops and wagon train usually marched in a cloud of dust which, rising from the feet of the hundreds of trampling animals, was visible for many miles through the clear air of that high plateau country. They knew that Indian scouts were all about them, closely observing their progress, but the red men seldom showed themselves, and one unfamiliar with their ways might easily have believed that there were no enemies near. Game, such as buffalo and antelope, could often be seen in the distance and it was a sore temptation to many of the men to see them and not give pursuit. Indeed, sometimes a party would sally out after a buffalo; but unless the party was strong, it was always against the advice of the oldcampaigners, especially the officers and men of the Dakota Cavalry, who had been hunting and fighting Indians all over the southern part of their vast territory ever since the Summer of 1862. These men, recruited among the fearless and adventurous pioneers who had first settled in Dakota a few years before, had been dubbed "the Coyotes" by their companions in arms because of the speed and skill with which they could march and manœuvre against their wily foes; and it was from them that South Dakota in later years derived its familiar nickname, "the Coyote State."
General Sully had such confidence in the Coyotes that he treated them in some degree as his headquarters escort. Their place on the march was usually near him, and if any piece of work was to be done of an especially important or daring character, he generally called upon the Coyotes to perform it. Lieutenant Bacon, whom General Sully had appointed acting assistant quartermaster, was an officer of the Dakota Cavalry; and as his assistant Al soon found himself on terms of easy familiarity with the entire gallant command. This wasespecially true after he had one day dashed out with a party of them after a small herd of buffalo which came in view as they topped a rise, a little more than a mile in advance. A dozen of the Dakota cavalrymen put spurs to their horses and galloped after the enticing game, and Al and Captain Feilner joined them.
Al's horse was a sturdy animal, smaller than Captain Feilner's but long-winded. When they had ridden two or three miles, gradually gaining on their game, the herd suddenly divided at a dry slough bed in the prairie, part keeping on north and part turning east. Most of the cavalrymen turned to follow the buffalo which had swung east, but two or three, with Captain Feilner and Al, galloped on after the others. One of the troopers, a tall, slim young fellow wearing the chevrons of a corporal, who rode his long-legged black horse like an Indian, gradually drew ahead of the rest as they came nearer and nearer to the game, until finally he brought himself abreast of the herd. Handling his horse with the greatest skill, he worked in alongside of the largest buffalo bull. Then, drawing his short Sharp'scarbine, he leaned over, brought the muzzle near to the animal's fore shoulder and fired. The buffalo ran on for thirty or forty feet, then stumbled, fell, rose again and, after staggering a short distance, fell once more and for the last time. The corporal, calmly slipping his carbine back into its boot, rode up to the dead buffalo and began cutting away the choicest portions of it to carry back to the command.
Meantime Al and Captain Feilner galloped on, some distance behind the corporal. But the Captain's horse was becoming badly winded and at last he swung off to one side and took a long distance shot, without result. Al, though his horse, too, was beginning to show some signs of weariness, kept on until about fifty yards from the flank and rear of the herd when, not wishing to exhaust his horse, he decided to take his chance on a long shot. He accordingly pulled up and, taking hasty aim with the long Spencer rifle he was carrying, fired at the nearest animal he could see through the dust. Then he lowered his rifle and looked, but the buffalo seemed to be running as fast and as steadily as ever. He was about to turn back, disappointed, to joinCaptain Feilner, when he heard the corporal, a little way behind, shouting at him,
"You hit her! You hit her! Keep going; use your revolver!"
Somewhat doubtful, Al urged his horse again to a gallop and kept on after the herd, Captain Feilner and the corporal following him. But, true enough, before he had covered a quarter of a mile he saw the animal he had fired at begin to drop behind the others. In another quarter of a mile he had overtaken it. It proved to be a good sized cow, which, as he approached, stopped and turned upon him with lowered head, frothing mouth and angry eyes. He drew his revolver, the one that had belonged to his father and that he had used at Fort Ridgely, and cautiously urged his frightened horse toward the cow. As he came within twenty-five or thirty feet, she charged at him, but he spurred his horse forward and as she passed behind him, he fired at her eye. It was a lucky shot, for she rolled over like a log and lay still. In a moment Captain Feilner and the corporal rode up, the latter's saddle already loaded with thirty or forty pounds of choice meatcut from his own quarry. He dismounted and walked up to Al.
She charged at him as he fired
She charged at him as he fired
"That was a fine shot at the distance," said he. "I didn't think you would make a hit. And you finished her in good shape. Do you know where to cut off the best pieces for eating?"
"No, I don't," replied Al. "I never killed one before."
"Let me show you," said the other, drawing out his knife, "so that you'll know next time."
"What is your name?" asked Al, as they worked, handing up the pieces to the Captain, who tied them to his own and Al's saddles. "You must be a veteran at it, the way you knocked over that big fellow."
"Oh, I've killed a few of them," answered the cavalryman, modestly. "It isn't much of a trick when you know how. My name is Charles Wright, corporal in Company A, First Dakota Cavalry."
They were soon riding back to the column with the welcome supply of fresh meat, joining on the way the members of the other party, who had killed three buffalo of the bunch they had followed. Onarriving at the column they were soundly berated by General Sully for their temerity in venturing so far; for if a party of Indians of any size had cut in between them and the main body they might easily have all been killed. Captain Feilner, who, being an engineer and also, incidentally, a naturalist, was fond of wandering aside from the line of march to examine the country, laughed incredulously at the General's misgivings.
"General, I do not believe there are enough Indians within one hundred miles to endanger the number of us who went out there," said he.
"Well, there are," replied General Sully, positively, "don't make any mistake about that. And if you're not more careful, Feilner, you'll get your scalp lifted some day on one of your foolhardy side trips after buffalo or rocks or petrified beetles. As for you, Briscoe," he continued, addressing Al, "if you want to die young, just keep on following those Coyotes wherever they lead." With a grim smile, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the dusty squadron just behind them, who at the moment were welcoming Corporal Wright and hismeat-laden companions with yells and whoops of delight. "Those fellows are the most reckless devils in the Northwest and they'll get you into more tight holes than you can get out of unless you're as bad as they are."
Al felt that this was the highest compliment possible to the Dakota boys and so, indeed, General Sully meant it to be. That night at supper in the bivouac the staff and the Coyotes, at least, fared sumptuously, with hot and tender buffalo steaks to go with their hardtack, fried potatoes and coffee.
It was several days after the buffalo hunt, on June 28, to be exact, that the command broke camp at daylight and marched forward toward the crossing of the Little Cheyenne River. The troops marched in two columns, as usual, the supply train being in the centre between them, while the Dakota Cavalry rode a short distance in advance. Their commander, Captain Nelson Miner, was that day acting field officer of the day, having charge of the guard details. As the day wore on it became hot and sultry and the dust suffocating. Every one was suffering with thirst and finally, as they approachedwithin a few miles of the Cheyenne, Captain Feilner decided to ride ahead to that stream in search of water. Two soldiers from one of the commands in the main column volunteered to accompany him. Al was working over his books in one of the wagons of the train when the Captain rode past and called out to him,
"I am going on to the Little Cheyenne to get a drink. Do you want to go with me?"
"I should like to," Al called back, "but I'm busy now. Look out for Indians."
"Oh, yes," replied the Captain, smiling, "There are three of us. I guess we can force a passage against all the Indians we shall see."
He waved his hand and disappeared through the dust up the column, the two soldiers trotting hard after him. Al resumed his work and in a moment forgot all about Captain Feilner. When he had finished he mounted his horse and rode up to the head of the column where he fell in with the rest of the staff around General Sully. They had been riding along in leisurely fashion for some time, their weary horses walking with drooping heads, theriders lolling in their saddles, when Al's glance, wandering aimlessly over the desolate landscape ahead, was arrested by two small dots which suddenly appeared on the top of a prairie ridge far in front and came racing down the exposed slope in the direction of the column. Something in their appearance made his heart jump into his throat. Instinctively he reached out and touched the arm of General Sully, who was talking to Lieutenant Dale.
"General," he cried, pointing ahead. "Look there! What are those specks?"
The general, startled, glanced in the direction indicated. His expression changed to one of dismay.
"By God," he exclaimed, snatching out his field-glasses, "something's happened over there; there are only two of them. Feilner's got in trouble; I knew he would."
He touched his horse and started forward at a trot, his staff following. The riders, coming at a furious pace, soon reached them. They were the two soldiers who had ridden ahead with the Captain, hatless and without arms, their horses panting with the frantic pace they had been making. Theleading trooper jerked up in front of the General and, saluting, cried breathlessly,
"Captain Feilner is killed, General!"
General Sully slapped his field-glasses back into their case and clenched his fist with an enraged gesture.
"I knew it," he growled, savagely. "The best officer I had. Curse these infernal redskins!" It must be admitted that at such moments General Sully did not hesitate to use stronger language than is allowable in print. "Where was he killed?"
"At the crossing of the Cheyenne, sir. He's lying there now."
"How did it happen?"
"Why, when we reached there, sir, the Captain got off his horse and went down the bank,—it's steep where we were,—and got a drink, while we held his horse. Then we dismounted and went down, leaving our horses and carbines with him. He was sitting under a little tree. While we were down by the creek we heard a rifle shot and looked up and saw three Injuns riding up toward our horses. There is good grass in the bottom and we'dpicketed them, but they got scared and pulled the picket-pins and ran off before the redskins got them. We could see the Captain lying there but we didn't have our guns so all we could do was to hide out till the Injuns rode off north across the creek. Then we ran after our horses and came back."
"Three Indians, you say? And they rode north?" questioned the General, sharply.
"Yes, sir."
Sully put his horse to the gallop and rode swiftly toward the head of the approaching column. As he reached Captain Miner, he pulled up.
"Captain," he cried, "three Indians have killed Captain Feilner at the crossing of the Little Cheyenne, just ahead of us here. They rode north, across the creek. Take Company A and follow the cowardly assassins and bring them to me, dead or alive; mind you, dead or alive!"
"Feilner killed!" exclaimed Captain Miner. "The dirty scoundrels!"
He swung his horse so sharply that it reared, and dashed back along the column of Company Auntil he reached First Sergeant A. M. English, who was in command.
"Sergeant," he cried, in ringing tones which every eagerly listening man in the company could hear, "Captain Feilner has been killed, and we are ordered to pursue the Indians!"
Then he galloped back to the head of the column and, rising in his stirrups, shouted,
"Column left, march! Company, trot! Gallop! Follow me, boys!"
With a rising thunder of hoofs and a swirling dust cloud behind them, through which the glint of carbines, sabres, and accoutrements flashed in the sunshine, the cavalry swept over the hill in front and away. The General rode hotly after them to the crest and watched them streaming through the depression and up the slopes beyond. Then he laughed grimly.
"See the d—n Coyotes," he exclaimed. "They go like a flock of sheep! They'll kill their horses before they catch the redskins. Ride after them and tell Miner to take it easy."
Al, who ever since hearing the distressing news had been quivering with impotent rage over the cruel fate of his good friend, Captain Feilner, caught the General's last words. He turned with a swift salute, even as he put spurs to his horse.
"I'll tell him, General!" he cried, and rode away like the wind.
"Here, you!" cried the General, "Come back!"
But Al did not want to hear.
"Oh, let him go," Sully added, in a lower tone, "I reckon he's a Coyote himself," and he chuckled as he saw Al put his horse over a gully at the bottom of the hill and tear up the opposite rise close on the heels of the last ragged end of the racing Dakota Cavalry.
As he gained the top of the rise, Al saw a confused and scattered array of horsemen just ahead of him, all going at a sharp gallop with no attempt at formation, the men leaning forward in their saddles as if riding to the finish of a hard race. He understood that it was a foolish pace for what would probably prove a long pursuit, but nothing could be done to slacken it until he could overtake Captain Miner, who was at the very head of the company. Al and every one else had been very much surprised at the impetuous manner in which Captain Miner had started out, for though brave as a lion, he was usually very deliberate in movement and gentle of speech and his voice had a plaintive, appealing tone which often contrasted oddly with the orders he was giving. Altogether, his dashing and devoted followers often found much to amusethem in the ways of their mild commander. That he had been profoundly moved by the death of Captain Feilner was evident; otherwise he would never have urged his little roan mare to a gallop, for his habit was to ride her at an ambling trot, even in the most exciting and dangerous situations.
Al hurried his own wiry little horse to greater exertions and began forging to the front. Before long he left all except the leaders behind and as they went over the hill and down into the valley of the Cheyenne, he was almost up to Captain Miner. The latter's face was set steadily to the front, however, as he scanned the country ahead for sight of the fugitive Indians, and Al could not attract his attention until he had overtaken him, almost on the bank of the creek. Then he shouted,
"Captain Miner! Captain Miner!"
The Captain turned and drew in his horse.
"Well?" he inquired, lifting his eyebrows slightly, "What is it?" It was plain he had recovered his composure, for his voice was placid.
"General Sully's compliments, sir, and hesuggests that you take it a little slower, as the horses may be exhausted before you can catch the Indians," answered Al.
Captain Miner pulled at his beard thoughtfully.
"Oh, pshaw!" he said, a disapproving note in his voice, "I wonder how we are to catch them if we don't keep going?"
"I don't know, sir," replied Al, as side by side they rode their horses into the creek, "but that was what the General told me to say to you."
The stream was shallow and narrow but its banks were composed of deep, swampy mud through which their horses floundered and plunged, knee deep. Above and below them soldiers of the Coyotes were coming at the stream, some clearing it in a bound, where the banks were solid enough for a jump, while others became so deeply mired that they could not get out again until the rest of the command had passed from sight beyond. Just as Al's and the Captain's horses waded out of the creek and came up, snorting, on the opposite bank, they heard some of the men already across, shouting,
"There are the Indians! Over there!"
At this moment a headquarters orderly galloped into sight and halted beside the Captain.
"The General is afraid you will ruin your horses," he cried. "He thinks you had better come back."
Again Captain Miner tugged at his beard, a habit of his when annoyed or perplexed.
"Is that an order?" he inquired.
"No, sir, I think not," the orderly replied, hesitatingly. "It's a suggestion."
"Well," directed the Captain, gently, "will you, then, please report to the General that we are in sight of the Indians and without I have a positive order to return, I propose to take them."
He turned to the front again and put his little roan into her accustomed trot, calling out to the men nearest him, as he waved his hand at them,
"Take it a bit slower, boys; don't run your horses. We'll catch the Indians all right."
Al's ambitious little sorrel, seeing other horses ahead of him, was tugging at the bit and Al gradually let him have his head, leaving the Captain ashort distance behind while the rest of the company was strung out for a mile or more in the rear. Al soon found himself among the leaders, riding neck and neck with Sergeant English and Corporal Wright, while Troopers Tom Frick, George Pike, George McClellan, and others whose names he did not know were near to them. The country was almost level where they were riding and they could now see the three Indians plainly, though still a long way ahead. The fugitives were pushing with all the speed they could make for a group of rough hills in advance, evidently hoping to escape pursuit in the ravines. To reach the hills, their course must be at a slight angle across that of the soldiers.
"Let's try to head them off," suggested Sergeant English. "Bear a little to the right."
The change of direction was made and as they continued to creep up on the Indians, whose ponies were evidently wearing out, they could see the latter look around anxiously every minute or two. The savages were urging their animals with quirt and heel, and though they responded but feebly, their strength lasted long enough to take them to the baseof the hills before the pursuers had come within carbine range. As they reached the first steep slope, the Indians suddenly threw themselves from their ponies' backs and, clinging to their guns, ran up to the top of the hill on foot and disappeared. As they came nearer to the hill, the soldiers were startled to see on its crest, just where the fugitives had disappeared, a very large body of warriors with war-bonnets and robes waving in the breeze.
"Well, say, what do you think of that?" exclaimed Corporal Wright. "There must be two or three hundred of them."
The advance party reluctantly slowed down until Captain Miner and some of the other men had come up to them. The Captain examined for a moment the ominous looking group ahead. Then he turned a wistful glance on the thirty or forty men behind him and said, plaintively,
"There seem to be a good many of them, but I think we'd better charge, boys." He touched his mare and trotted forward, calling in a soothing tone, "Yes, that's what we'll do. Charge, boys, charge."
Some of the men laughed explosively, partly withnervousness, partly with amusement at their commander's quaint orders, but not one hesitated. Spreading out in a long, irregular line, they dashed at the hill, shouting,
"Death to the murderers!"
But as they approached the crest, again laughter broke out, rolling from one flank of the line to the other and back again, in boisterous waves. The supposed Indians were nothing more than a patch of mullen stalks, transformed by distance and the peculiar condition of the air into a resemblance to human beings. The men looked at each other sheepishly, but as they reached the top of the hill, they sobered again. The three real Indians were just disappearing down a ravine on the other side. Pell-mell the cavalry rushed after them, Captain Miner and Sergeant English now in the lead. The horses slid and stumbled down through the ravine, but the wily savages were still ahead, dodging about among obstructions to the view which none but Indians could have found. Presently the ravine widened out into a valley in which no sign of life was to be seen. The whole body of cavalry was going on intothe valley when suddenly the Indians rose as if from the ground, a little way to one side of the course the soldiers were taking, and fired at the Captain and the Sergeant, behind whom Al was closely following.
The fugitives had taken refuge in an old buffalo wallow, forming a perfect natural rifle-pit; and if they had not mistakenly thought themselves discovered and risen to fire, their pursuers would probably have swept by without finding them. But now they were brought to bay and with cheers and yells of delight a number of troopers sprang from their saddles and encircling the buffalo wallow, though at some distance from it, threw themselves flat on the ground with carbines cocked, waiting for an Indian to show himself. It was like a pack of wolves surrounding their quarry. Fortunately, neither the Captain nor Sergeant English had been injured by the first fire and they joined the circle of besiegers, while the men who were holding the horses formed a wider circle back on the prairie out of range.
Al's horse, though of course new to him, was anold campaigner which had gone out from Fort Randall on more than one forced march. His name, Cottontail, had doubtless been bestowed upon him by some former soldier rider in humorous reference to his fluffy tail, which was almost white. He could be trusted to stand through any amount of noise or excitement if his reins were, thrown over his head so that they hung on the ground at his feet. Al left him thus, standing alone, and running forward, dropped down in the ring of dismounted men beside Corporal Wright. For a few moments the Indians kept out of sight. Then something rose above the rim of the buffalo wallow and Al, who was watching that spot with intense eagerness as he lay sprawled in the short prairie grass, raised his rifle to fire. But the corporal slapped down the barrel.
"Don't shoot at that," said he, "or the boys'll laugh at you. It isn't a redskin; it's just a breech cloth they're sticking up to draw our fire. Look closer."
Al looked as directed and saw, on more careful scrutiny, that it was, indeed, only a piece of cloth. None of the men fired at it, but some of them hootedderisively, for they knew that the Indians' scheme was to draw a volley, when they could safely spring up and fire at their besiegers before the latter could reload. Al lowered his rifle in disgust.
"How are we going to get them if they never stick their heads up?" he inquired, impatiently.
"Well, they can stay and starve to death," answered Wright, grinning. "We're able to hold out longer at that game than they are. But Captain'll order us to charge pretty soon if they don't do something."
However, the Indians could not stand the suspense. Their ruse having failed, one of them soon raised his gun and then his head above the edge of the hole and fired quickly at the first soldier he sighted. His aim was bad and he had misjudged the alertness of his foes. Almost before he had shot, a dozen carbines cracked and he dropped back more suddenly than he had risen. All those in the encircling line heard, or thought they heard, the dull thud of the bullets as they struck him. A disjointed cheer ran round among the men.
"There goes one of the murderers!" they shouted. "Now for the next."
The circle began to contract, the men crawling and hitching forward, a few inches at a time. For some minutes this was kept up on all sides of the hole, until they had approached within a few rods of it. Still the Indians gave no sign. Then again the soldiers heard, plainly audible in the silence, the persuasive voice of Captain Miner, raised slightly above its ordinary tone;
"Charge, boys, charge!"
As if released by a spring, at those welcome words the Coyotes leaped to their feet as one man and with a fierce shout rushed forward. The Indians heard them coming and as the soldiers approached within twenty feet of their refuge they arose and with a blood-curdling yell fired their guns straight into the faces of their assailants. Good fortune was surely with the Dakota boys that day, for the bullets, even at that deadly range, whistled by harmlessly, and in less time than it takes to tell it, a score of carbines flashed and the savage assassins,riddled with bullets, fell back across the body of their already dead companion. Thus speedily had the cold-blooded murder of Captain Feilner been avenged.
The soldiers, talking together excitedly, gathered around the edge of the buffalo wallow; and two or three, including Corporal Wright, sprang down into it to take trophies, such as beads or feathers, from the dead warriors. Al was standing on the brink of the hole watching the Corporal bend over one of the bodies, when, to his amazement, he saw another of the supposedly dead Indians raise the muzzle of his musket toward the Corporal's back.