A Daughter of the Sioux
C >> Charles King >> A Daughter of the SiouxIt was long before he found his horse, for the guard had taken Kilmaine
to "F" Troop's stables, and Kennedy had been housed by "K." It was
longer still before he could persuade the guard that he "had a right,"
as he put it, to ride after the major. Not until Captain Dade had been
consulted would they let him go. Not, indeed, until in person Kennedy
had pleaded his cause with that cool-headed commander. Dade noted the
flushed and swollen face, but reasoned that nothing would more speedily
shake the whiskey from his system than a long gallop in that glorious
air and sunshine. "Major Webb is following the trail of Captain Ray,"
said he. "You follow the major's. You can't miss him, and there are no
more Indians now to interpose. You should catch him by noon--then give
him this."
"This" was a copy of a late despatch just in from Laramie, saying that
the revolt had reached the Sioux at the agencies and reservations on the
White Earth, and would demand the attention of every man at the post. No
reinforcement, therefore, could be looked for from that quarter until
the general came. It was no surprise to Dade. It could be none to Webb,
for old Red Cloud had ever been an enemy, even when bribed and petted
and fed and coddled in his village on the Wakpa Schicha. His nephew led
the bolt afield. No wonder the old war chief backed him with abundant
food, ammunition and eager warriors sent "from home."
But it was after eleven when Kennedy drove his still wearied horse
through the Platte and, far to the north, saw the dun dust cloud that
told where Webb's little column was trotting hard to the support of the
sorrels. His head was aching and he missed the morning draught of
soldier coffee. He had eaten nothing since his cold lunch at the
major's, and would have been wise had he gone to Mistress McGann and
begged a cup of the fragrant Java with which she had stimulated her
docile master ere he rode forth, but the one idea uppermost in Kennedy's
muddled brain was that the sorrels were trapped by the Sioux and every
trooper was needed to save them. At three in the morning he felt equal
to fighting the whole Sioux nation, with all its dozen tribes and
dialects. At 3:30 he had been whipped to a stand by just one of their
number, and, "Mother av Moses," one that spoke English as well, or as
ill, as any man in the ----th.
Sore in soul and body was Kennedy, and sore and stiff was his gallant
bay, Kilmaine, when these comrades of over three years' service shook
the spray of the Platte from their legs and started doggedly northward
on the trail. Northward they went for full three miles, Kilmaine sulky
and protesting. The dust cloud was only partially visible now, hidden by
the ridge a few miles ahead, when, over that very ridge, probably four
miles away to the right front, Kennedy saw coming at speed a single
rider, and reined to the northeast to meet him. Blake and his men had
gone far in that direction. Two of their number, with horses too slow
for a chase after nimble ponies, had, as we have seen, drifted back, and
joined, unprepared though they were for the field, the rear of Webb's
column. But now came another, not aiming for Webb, but heading for
Frayne. It meant news from the chase that might be important. It would
take him but little from the direct line to the north, why not meet him
and hear? Kennedy reined to the right, riding slowly now and seeking the
higher level from which he could command the better view.
At last they neared each other, the little Irish veteran, sore-headed
and in evil mood, and a big, wild-eyed, scare-faced trooper new to the
frontier, spurring homeward with panic in every feature, but rejoicing
at sight of a comrade soldier.
"Git back; git back!" he began to shout, as soon as he got within
hailing distance. "There's a million Indians just over the ridge.
They've got the captain----"
"What captain?" yelled Kennedy, all ablaze at the instant. "Spake up, ye
shiverin' loon!"
"Blake! He got way ahead of us----"
"Then it's to him you should be runnin', not home, ye cur! Turn about
now! Turn about or I'll----" And in a fury Pat had seized the other's
rein, and, spurring savagely at Kilmaine,--both horses instantly waking,
as though responsive to the wrath and fervor of their little master,--he
fairly whirled the big trooper around and, despite fearsome protests,
bore him onward toward the ridge, swift questioning as they rode. How
came they to send a raw rookie on such a quest? Why, the rookie gasped
in explanation that he was on stable guard, and the captain took the
first six men in sight. How happened it that the captain got so far
ahead of him? There was no keepin' up with the captain. He was on his
big, raw-boned race horse, chasin' three Indians that was firin' and had
hit Meisner, but there was still three of the troop to follow him, and
the captain ordered "come ahead," until all of a sudden, as they filed
round a little knoll, the three Indians they'd been chasin' turned about
and let 'em have it, and down went another horse, and Corporal Feeney
was killed sure, and he, the poor young rookie, saw Indians in every
direction, "comin' straight at 'em," and what else could he do but
gallop for home--and help? All this, told with much gasping on his part,
and heard with much blasphemy by Kennedy, brought the strangely assorted
pair at swift gallop over the springy turf back along the line of that
panicky, yet most natural retreat. Twice would the big fellow have
broken away and again spurred for home, but the little game cock held
him savagely to his work and so, together, at last they neared the
curtaining ridge. "Now, damn you!" howled Kennedy, "whip out your
carbine and play you're a man till we see what's in front! an' if ye
play false, the first shot from this barker," with a slap at the butt of
his Springfield, "goes through your heart."
And this was what they saw as, together, they rounded the hillock and
came in view of the low ground beyond.
Half way down the long, gradual slope, in a shallow little dip, possibly
an old buffalo wallow, two or three horses were sprawled, and a tiny
tongue of flame and blue smoke spitting from over the broad, brown backs
told that someone, at least, was on the alert and defensive. Out on the
prairie, three hundred yards beyond, a spotted Indian pony, heels up,
was rolling on the turf, evidently sorely wounded. Behind this rolling
parapet crouched a feathered warrior, and farther still away, sweeping
and circling on their mettlesome steeds, three more savage braves were
darting at speed. Already they had sighted the coming reinforcements,
and while two seemed frantically signalling toward the northwest, the
third whirled his horse and sped madly away in that direction.
"Millions, be damned!" yelled Kennedy. "There's only three. Come on, ye
scut!" And down they went, full tilt at the Sioux, yet heading to cover
and reach the beleaguered party in the hollow. Someone of the besieged
waved a hat on high. Two more carbines barked their defiance at the
feathered foe, and then came a pretty exhibit of savage daring and
devotion. Disdainful of the coming troopers and of the swift fire now
blazing at them from the pit, the two mounted warriors lashed their
ponies to mad gallop and bore down straight for their imperilled
brother, crouching behind the stricken "pinto." Never swerving, never
halting, hardly checking speed, but bending low over and behind their
chargers' necks, the two young braves swept onward and with wild whoop
of triumph, challenge and hatred, gathered up and slung behind the rider
of the heavier pony the agile and bedizened form on the turf; then
circled away, defiant, taunting, gleeful, yes and even more:--With
raging eyes, Kennedy sprang from saddle and, kneeling, drove shot after
shot at the scurrying pair. Two of the three troopers at the hollow
followed suit. Even the big, blubbering lad so lately crazed with fear
unslung his weapon and fired thrice into empty space, and a shout of
wrath and renewed challenge to "come back and fight it out" rang out
after the Sioux, for to the amaze of the lately besieged, to the
impotent fury of the Irishman, in unmistakable, yet mostly unquotable,
English, the crippled warrior was yelling mingled threat and
imprecation.
"Who was it, Kennedy?--and where did you ever see him before?" a moment
later, demanded Captain Blake, almost before he could grasp the
Irishman's hands and shower his thanks, and even while stanching the
flow of blood from a furrow along his sun-burnt cheek. "What's that he
said about eating your heart?"
And Kennedy, his head cleared now through the rapture of battle, minded
him of his promise to Field, and lied like a hero. "Sure, how should I
know him, sorr? They're all of the same spit."
"But, he called you by name. I heard him plainly. So did Meisner, here,"
protested Blake. "Hello, what have you there, corporal?" he added, as
young Feeney, the "surely killed," came running back, bearing in his
hand a gaily ornamented pouch of buckskin, with long fringes and heavy
crusting of brilliant beads.
"Picked it up by that pony yonder, sir," answered the corporal, with a
salute. "Beg pardon, sir, but will the captain take my horse? His is hit
too bad to carry him."
Two, indeed, of Blake's horses were crippled, and it was high time to be
going. Mechanically he took the pouch and tied it to his waist belt.
"Thank God no _man_ is hurt!" he said. "But--now back to Frayne! Watch
those ridges and be ready if a feather shows, and spread out a
little--Don't ride in a bunch."
But there was bigger game miles to the west, demanding all the attention
of the gathered Sioux. There were none to spare to send so far, and
though three warriors,--one of them raging and clamoring for further
attempt despite his wounds,--hovered about the retiring party, Blake and
his fellows within another hour were in sight of the sheltering walls of
Frayne; and, after a last, long-range swapping of shots, with Blake and
Meisner footing it most of the way, led their crippled mounts in safety
toward that Rubicon of the West--the swift flowing Platte. They were
still three miles out when Blake found leisure to examine the contents
of that beaded pouch, and the first thing drawn from its depths was
about the last a Christian would think to find in the wallet of a
Sioux--a dainty little billet, scented with wood violet,--an envelope of
delicate texture, containing a missive on paper to match, and the
envelope was addressed in a strange, angular, characteristic hand that
Blake recognized at once, to a man of whom, by that name at least, he
had never heard before:
"MR. RALPH MOREAU,
"_En Ville._"
CHAPTER IX
BAD NEWS FROM THE FRONT
It might well be imagined that a man returning from such a morning's
work as had been Blake's could be excused from duty the rest of the day.
He and his little party had had a spirited running fight of several
hours with an evasive and most exasperating trio of warriors, better
mounted for swift work than were the troopers. He had managed eventually
to bring down one of the Indians who lingered a little too long within
short range of the carbines, but it was the pony, not the rider, that
they killed. Meanwhile other Indians had appeared on distant divides,
and one feathered brave had galloped down to meet his comrades, and fire
a few shots at the pursuing pale faces. But at no time, until near their
supports and far from the fort, had the Sioux halted for a hand to hand
fight, and Blake's long experience on the frontier had stood him in good
stead. He saw they were playing for one of two results;--either to lure
him and his fellows in the heat of pursuit far round to the northwest,
where were the united hundreds of Lame Wolf and Stabber stalking that
bigger game, or else to tempt Blake himself so far ahead of his fellows
as to enable them to suddenly whirl about, cut him off, and, three on
one, finish him then and there; then speed away in frenzied delight,
possessors of a long-coveted scalp.
They well knew Blake,--almost as well as they did Ray. Many a year he
had fought them through the summer and fed them through the winter.
They, their squaws and pappooses, had fattened on his bounty when the
snows were deep and deer were gone, and their abundant rations had been
feasted or gambled away. Many of their number liked him well, but now
they were at the war game again, and, business is business with the
aborigines. Blake was a "big chief," and he who could wear at his belt
the scalp of so prominent a pale face leader would be envied among his
people. "Long Legs," as they called him, however, was no fool. Brave and
zealous as he was, Blake was not rash. He well knew that unless he and
his few men kept together they would simply play into the hands of the
Indians. It would have been easy for him, with his big racer, to
outstrip his little party and close with the Sioux. Only one of the
troopers had a horse that could keep pace with Pyramus, but nothing he
could gain by such a proceeding would warrant the desperate risk.
Matchless as we have reason to believe our men, we cannot so believe our
mounts. Unmatched would better describe them. Meisner's horse might have
run with the captain's, until crippled by the bullets of the Sioux, but
Bent's and Flannigan's were heavy and slow, and so it resulted that the
pursuit, though determined, was not so dangerous to the enemy but that
they were able to keenly enjoy it, until the swift coming of Kennedy
and his captive comrade turned the odds against them, for then two of
Blake's horses had given out through wounds and weakness, and they had
the pursuers indeed "in a hole."
That relief came none too soon. Blake and his fellows had been brought
to a stand; but now the Sioux sped away out of range; the crippled party
limped slowly back to the shelter of Frayne, reaching the post long
hours after their spirited start, only to find the women and children,
at least, in an agony of dread and excitement, and even Dade and his
devoted men looking grave and disturbed. Unless all indications failed,
Ray and his people must have been having the fight of their lives. Two
couriers had galloped back from Moccasin Ridge to say that Major Webb's
scouts could faintly hear the sound of rapid firing far ahead, and that,
through the glass, at least a dozen dead horses or ponies could be seen
scattered over the long slope to the Elk Tooth range, miles further on.
Webb had pushed forward to Ray's support, and Blake, calling for fresh
horses for himself and two of his men, bade the latter get food and
field kits and be ready to follow him. Then he hastened to join his
devoted young wife, waiting with Mrs. Ray upon the piazza. Dade, who had
met him at the ford, had still much to tell and even more to hear; but
at sight of those two pale, anxious faces, lifted his cap and called out
cheerily, "I hand him over to you, Mrs. Blake, and will see him later,"
then turned and went to his own doorway, and took Esther's slender form
in his strong arms and kissed the white brow and strove to think of
something reassuring to say, and never thought to ask Blake what he had
in that fine Indian tobacco pouch swinging there at his belt, for which
neglect the tall captain was more than grateful. It was a woman's
letter, as we know, and that, he argued, should be dealt with only in a
woman's way.
Sorely puzzled as Blake had been by the discovery, he had been able on
the long homeward march,--walking until in sight of Frayne and safety,
then galloping ahead on the corporal's horse,--to think it out, as he
said, in several ways. Miss Flower had frequently ridden up the valley
and visited the Indian village across the Platte. Miss Flower might
easily have dropped that note, and some squaw, picking it up, had
surrendered it to the first red man who demanded it, such being the
domestic discipline of the savage. The Indian kept it, as he would any
other treasure trove for which he had no use, in hopes of reward for its
return, said Blake. It was queer, of course, that the Indian in whose
pouch it was found should have been so fluent a speaker of English, yet
many a Sioux knew enough of our tongue to swear volubly and talk ten
words of vengeance to come. There were several ways, as Blake reasoned,
by which that letter might have got into the hands of the enemy. But at
any rate, with everything said, it was a woman's letter. He had no right
to read it. He would first confide in his wife, and, if she said so, in
Mrs. Ray. Then what they decided should decide him.
But now came a new problem. Despite the long morning of peril and chase
and excitement, there was still much more ahead. His men were in saddle;
his troop was afield; the foe was in force on the road to the north; the
battle, mayhap, was on at the very moment, and Frayne and home was no
place for him when duty called at the distant front. Only, there was
Nan, silent, tremulous, to be sure, and with such a world of piteous
dread and pleading in her beautiful eyes. It was hard to have to tell
her he must go again and at once, hard to have to bid her help him in
his hurried preparations, when she longed to throw herself in his arms
and be comforted. He tried to smile as he entered the gate, and thereby
cracked the brittle, sun-dried court plaster with which a sergeant had
patched his cheek at the stables. The would-be glad-some grin started
the blood again, and it trickled down and splashed on his breast where
poor Nan longed to pillow her bonny head, and the sight of it, despite
her years of frontier training, made her sick and faint. He caught her
in his left arm, laughing gayly, and drew her to the other side. "Got
the mate to that scoop of Billy's," he cried, holding forth his other
hand to Mrs. Ray. "'Tisn't so deep, perhaps, but 'twill serve, 'twill
do, and I'll crow over him to-night. Come in with us, Mrs. Ray. I--I've
something to show you."
"One minute," said that wise young matron. "Let me tell the children
where to find me. Sandy and Billy are on post at the telescope. They
wouldn't leave it even for luncheon." With that she vanished, and
husband and wife were alone.
"You must go, Gerald," she sobbed--"I know it, but--isn't there _some_
way?--Won't Captain Dade send more men with you?"
"If he did, Nan, they'd only hamper me with horses that drag behind. Be
brave, little woman. Webb has swept the way clear by this time! Come, I
need your help."
And the door closed on the soldier and his young wife. They never saw
that Nanette Flower, in saddle, was riding swiftly up the row, and, for
the first time since her coming to Frayne, without an escort. Dade
reappeared upon his front gallery in time to greet her, but Esther,
after one quick glance, had darted again within. Dade saw unerringly
that Miss Flower was in no placid frame of mind. Her cheeks were pale;
her mouth had that livid look that robbed her face of all beauty; but
her eyes were full and flashing with excitement.
"What news, captain?" she hailed, and the joyous, silvery ring had gone
from her voice. "They tell me Captain Blake is back--two horses
crippled, two men hit, including himself."
"His own share is a scratch he wouldn't think of mentioning outside the
family, Miss Flower," answered Dade, with grim civility. He had his
reasons for disapproving of the young woman; yet they were not such as
warranted him in showing her the least discourtesy. He walked to his
gate and met her at the curb beyond and stood stroking the arching neck
of her spirited horse--"Harney" again.
"Did they--were there any Indians--killed?" she asked, with anxiety
scarcely veiled.
"Oh, they downed one of them," answered the captain, eying her closely
the while and speaking with much precision, "a fellow who cursed them
freely in fluent English." Yes, she was surely turning paler.--"A bold,
bad customer, from all accounts. Blake thought he must be of Lame Wolf's
fellows, because he--seemed to know Kennedy so well and to hate him.
Kennedy has only just come down from Fort Beecher, where Wolf's people
have been at mischief."
"But what became of him? What did they do with him?" interrupted the
girl, her lips quivering in spite of herself.
"Oh,--left him, I suppose," answered the veteran, with deliberate
design. "What else could they do? There was no time for ceremony. His
fellow savages, you know, can attend to that."
For a moment she sat there rigid, her black eyes staring straight into
the imperturbable face of the old soldier. No one had ever accused Dade
of cruelty or unkindness to man or woman, especially to woman; yet here
he stood before this suffering girl and, with obvious intent, pictured
to her mind's eye a warrior stricken and left unburied or uncared for on
the field. Whatever his reasons, he stabbed and meant to stab, and for
just one moment she seemed almost to droop and reel in saddle; then,
with splendid rally, straightened up again, her eyes flashing, her lip
curling in scorn, and with one brief, emphatic phrase ended the
interview and, whirling Harney about, smote him sharply with her whip,
and darted away:--
"True!" said she. "Civilized warfare!"
"If that girl isn't more than half savage," said Dade, to himself, as
Harney tore away out of the garrison on the road to the ford, "I am more
than half Sioux. Oh, for news of Ray!"
Ray indeed! It was now nearly four o'clock. Telegrams had been coming
and going over the Laramie wire. "The Chief," as they called their
general, with only one of his staff in attendance, had reached Cheyenne
on time, and, quitting the train, declining dinner at the hotel and
having but a word or two with the "Platform Club,"--the little bevy of
officers from Fort Russell whose custom it was to see the westbound
train through almost every day--had started straightway for Laramie
behind the swiftest team owned by the quartermaster's department, while
another, in relay, awaited him at the Chugwater nearly fifty miles out.
Driving steadily through the starlit night, he should reach the old
frontier fort by dawn at the latest, and what news would Dade have to
send him there? Not a word had he uttered to either the officers who
respectfully greeted, or reporters who eagerly importuned, him as to the
situation at Frayne; but men who had served with him in Arizona and on
the Yellowstone many a year before, knew well that grave tidings had
reached him. Dade had, in fact, supplemented Webb's parting despatch
with another saying that Blake's little party, returning, had just been
sighted through the telescope nine miles out, with two men afoot. But
not until the general reached Lodge Pole Creek did the message meet him,
saying that Webb's advance guard could hear the distant attack on Ray.
Not until he reached the Chugwater in the early night could he hope to
hear the result.
It was nightfall when the awful suspense of the garrison at Frayne was
even measurably lifted. Blake, with three troopers at his back, had then
been gone an hour, and was lost in the gloaming before Dr. Tracy's
orderly, with a face that plainly told the nervous tension of his two
hours' ride, left his reeking, heaving horse at the stables and climbed
the steep path to the flagstaff, the shortest way to the quarters of the
commanding officer. Despite the gathering darkness, he had been seen by
a dozen eager watchers and was deluged with questions by trembling,
tearful women and by grave, anxious men.
"There's been a fight; that's all I know," he said. "I was with the pack
mules and the ambulances and didn't get to see it. All I saw was dead
ponies way out beyond Ten Mile Ridge. Where's the major?--I mean the
captain?" No! the orderly didn't know who was killed or wounded, or that
anybody was killed and wounded. All he knew was that Dr. Tracy came
galloping back and ordered the ambulances to scoot for the front and him
to spur every bit of the way back to Frayne with the note for Captain
Dade.
All this was told as he eagerly pushed his way along the board walk;
soldiers' wives hanging on his words and almost on him; officers' wives
and daughters calling from the galleries or running to the gates, and
Dade heard the hubbub almost as quickly as did Esther, who hurried to
the door. By the light of the hall lamp the commander read the pencilled
superscription of the gummed envelope and the word "Immediate" at the
corner. The same light fell on a dozen anxious, pleading faces beyond
the steps. His hand shook in spite of himself, and he knew he could not
open and read it in their presence. "One moment," he said, his heart
going out to them in sympathy as well as dread. "You shall hear in one
moment," and turned aside into the little army parlor.
But he could not turn from his wife and child. They followed and stood
studying his pale face as he read the fateful words that told so little,
yet so much:--
Reached Ray just in time. Sharp affair. Dr. Waller will have to
come at once, as Tracy goes on with us to rescue stage people at
Dry Fork. Better send infantry escort and all hospital attendants
that can be possibly spared; also chaplain. Sergeants Burroughs and
Wing, Corporal Foot and Troopers Denny, Flood, Kerrigan and
Preusser killed. Many wounded--Lieutenant Field seriously.