THE BATTLE OF CUT-KNIFE
When the Indians discovered that bright May morning that
a British column had unexpectedly moved right up to their
position, there was a scene approaching confusion for a
few minutes. But they had studied the ground for days
and knew every inch of it, so that each individual had
his allotted post, and needed no orders to go there.
Luckily for the prisoners, however, Poundmaker had not
time to put into operation the elaborate plans he had
contemplated. Moreover, the chief saw, to his no little
consternation, that, as Child-of-Light had said, the
soldiers of the White Queen were in numbers beyond anything
he had expected. He therefore hurried the prisoners up
a narrow terrace to a high headland from which it would
be impossible to escape, and where a couple of Indians
could effectually take charge of them. The latter followed
close at their heels with loaded rifles. To the no little
satisfaction of Pasmore and the others, the headland, or
bluff, which must have been some two hundred feet high,
commanded a splendid view of the operations. The British
were approaching right across a species of scarred
amphitheatre, while the Indians, and such half-breeds as
had recently fled from Battleford on the approach of the
British and joined them, occupied the deep ravines and
wildly irregular country in their immediate neighbourhood.
They were protected by the rocks from rifle and shell-fire;
the only danger would be in the event of a shrapnel
bursting over them.
Dorothy's face was lit up with animation as she watched
the stirring spectacle. The sight of British troops, with
the promise of speedy release after weeks of continuous
danger and apprehension, was surely something to gladden
the heart. And now they were about to witness that
grandest, if most terrible, of all sights, a great battle.
"Look," Dorothy was saying to Pasmore, who crouched beside
her amongst the rocks, "there come the Police--"
"Down all," cried Pasmore.
He had seen a flash and a puff of smoke from one of the
guns. There was a dead silence for the space of a few
moments, and then a screech and a peculiar whirring sound,
as a shell hurried through the air over their heads.
Following this there was a loud report and a puff of
smoke high in the air; a few moments later and there came
a pattering all round as a shower of iron descended. It
was indeed a marvel that none of the party were hit. The
two Indians who guarded them were evidently considerably
astonished, and skipped nimbly behind convenient rocks.
"It will be more lively than pleasant directly if they
keep on like that," remarked Pasmore. "Look, there are
the Queen's Own extending on the crest of the gully to
protect the left flank, and there are the Canadian Infantry
and Ottawa Sharpshooters on the right. I don't know who
those chaps are protecting the rear, but--"
His words were drowned in the furious fusillade that
broke out everywhere as if at a given signal. There was
one continuous roar and rattle from the battery of
artillery, and from the Gatling guns, as they opened
fire, and a sharp, steady crackle from the skirmishers
in the firing line and from the gullies and ridges in
which the Indians had taken up their position. Everywhere
one could see the lurid flashes and the smoke wreaths
sagging upwards.
"What a glorious sight!" exclaimed the girl, her eyes
sparkling and her face glowing. "If I were a man I'd give
anything to be there--I'd like to be there as it is."
"You're very much there as it is," remarked Pasmore,
soberly. "If you expose yourself as you're doing, something
is bound to hit you. There's not much fun or glory in
being killed by a stray bullet. Move just a little this
way--there's room enough for us both--and you'll be able
to see just as well with a great deal less danger."
She smiled, and a slight flush dyed her cheeks, but it
was significant to note that she obeyed him unhesitatingly.
A month ago she would have remained where she was.
And now the battle had begun in grim earnest. The Indians,
dreading the destructiveness of the guns and the Gatlings,
had made up their minds to capture them. As if by a
preconcerted signal a large number of them leapt from
their cover, and with wild, piercing whoops and war-cries,
made a rush on the battery. Some of them were on horseback,
and actually had their steeds smeared with dun-coloured
clay so as to resemble the background and the rocks. It
was indeed exceedingly difficult to distinguish them.
Those on foot ran in a zigzag fashion, holding their
blankets in front, so as to spoil the aim of the rifle-men.
"They will capture the guns," cried Dorothy, trembling
with excitement, "look, they are nearly up to them now!"
Indeed, for the moment it seemed extremely likely, for
the Indians rushed in such a way that those on the flanks
were unable to render the gunners or the Mounted Police
any assistance. If Poundmaker succeeded in capturing the
guns, the flankers would soon be cut to pieces. It was
a moment of the keenest anxiety for the prisoners, not
only for the safety of the brave Canadian troops, but
also because they realised that if Poundmaker prevailed
their lives were not worth a moment's purchase.
"Well done, Herchmer!" cried Pasmore. "See how he is
handling the Police!"
And in all truth the coolness and steadiness of the Police
were admirable. They lay flat on their faces while the
guns delivered a telling broadside over them on the
approaching foe that mowed them down, and sent them
staggering backwards. Then, with a wild cheer, the troopers
rose, and, like one man, charged the wavering mass of
redskins, firing a volley and fixing their bayonets. The
sight of the cold steel was too much for the Indians,
who turned and fled. The guns were saved.
But those precipitous gullies were filled with plucky
savages, and not a few half-breeds, who, while they could
effectively pick off and check the advance of the British,
were themselves screened from the enemy's fire. For two
hours and more the fight went on with little gain on
either side. The day was hot, and it must have been
terribly trying work for those in the open. The guns
contented themselves with sending an odd shell into likely
places, but owing to the nature of the ground, which
presented a wall-like front, their practice was only
guess work.
Suddenly the girl caught Pasmore by the wrist "Look over
there," she cried. "Do you see that body of Indians going
down that gully? They are going to attack the column in
the rear, and our people don't know it. Is there no way
of letting them know?"
"There is," cried Pasmore, "and it's worth trying. Our
fellows are not more than a thousand yards away now, and
I can signal to them. It's just possible they may see
me. Give me that stick, Rory. Jacques, I saw you with
your towel an hour or so ago. Have you still got it?"
In a few seconds he had fastened the towel to the stick
and was about to crawl out on to the other side of the
ledge in full view of the British, who had been steadily
advancing.
"Do take care," cried Dorothy, "if any of the Indians
should see you--"
"They won't be looking this way," he said, adding, "There's
sure to be a signaller with Otter or Herchmer. They'll
think it a queer thing to get a message from the enemy's
lines"--he laughed light-heartedly at the idea. "Now, do
keep out of sight, for there's just a chance of a bullet
or two being sent in this direction."
Fortune favoured Pasmore when a shell came screeching
over their heads just at that moment, for the two guards,
who might otherwise have seen him, both dodged behind
rocks. When they looked again in the direction of their
prisoners they did not know that one of them was apprising
the British leader of the fact that a body of the enemy
was at that moment skirting his right flank in cover of
an old watercourse, so as to attack his rear.
When the British signaller wonderingly read the message,
and repeated it to the Colonel, the latter, before giving
his troops any definite order, inquired of the sender of
the message as to his identity, and Pasmore signalled in
reply. Then the order was given to fix bayonets and charge
the enemy in the watercourse. Silently and swiftly the
regular Canadian Infantry bore down on it. Completely
taken by surprise, and at a disadvantage, the redskins
were completely routed.
But an ambush was being prepared for the British of which
they did not dream. At a certain point the redskins fell
back, but in a hollow of the broken country through which
the British would in all probability pass to follow up
their supposed advantage, were two or three hundred
warriors mounted and awaiting their opportunity. If only
the British could bring their artillery to bear upon that
spot, and drop a few shells amongst them, great would be
their confusion.
Pasmore rose to his feet again from behind the rock where
he had crouched, for one or two bullets, either by design
or accident, had come very near him indeed. Quickly the
towel at the end of the stick waved the message to the
officer in command. Just as he was going to supplement
it, a bullet passed clean through his impromptu flag and
grazed his serge. He went on with his message as if
nothing had happened. But the moment he had finished,
and was still standing erect to catch the glint of the
British signaller's flag, a voice hailed him. It was
Dorothy's.
"Mr. Pasmore," she cried, "if you have done, why don't
you take cover? The Indians have seen you, and you'll be
shot in another minute."
"For goodness' sake, get down!" he cried, as he turned
round and saw that the girl, unseen by the others, had
come towards him, and was also exposed to the enemy's
fire.
She looked him steadily in the eyes, but did not move,
although the bullets were beginning to whistle in grim
earnest all around them.
"Not unless you do," she said. "Oh, why don't you take
shelter?"
Immediately he resumed his crouching attitude by her
side, and then he turned to her, and there was an unwonted
light in his eyes.
"Did you really care as much as that?" he asked.
"You are the stupidest man I know," she replied, looking
away. "Do you think I'd have stood there if I didn't!"
There was a great joy in his heart as he took her hand.
"If we get out of this alive, will you say that again?"
he asked.
"That you are the stupidest man I know?" she queried,
with that perversity inseparable from the daughters of
Eve from all time.
"No--that you care for me?"
And at this she looked into his eyes with a simple
earnestness, and said, "Yes."
What more they might have said was cut short by the
furious outburst of firing from the guns, which dropped
shell after shell into the projected ambuscade.
And now the British were forcing the natural stronghold
of the Indians in many places, and their guards looked
as if they were undecided what to do with their prisoners.
"If we don't collar those chaps," said Douglas, "they'll
be wanting to account for us before they go off on their
own. They look dangerous. Stand by me, Jacques, and we'll
crawl up behind them when the next shell comes. They're
too busily engaged below to pay much attention to us
now."
The words were hardly out of his mouth before their ears
caught the eerie sound of a shrapnel shell coming towards
them. The two Indians got down on their faces behind a
rock. The next moment, regardless of consequences, the
rancher was on the top of one and Jacques had secured
the other. To take their rifles, and tie their hands and
feet with belts, was short work, and then Rory told them
that if they remained quiet all would be well with them.
They were sensible redskins, and did as they were bid.
And now it was time for the prisoners to again make their
presence known to the British, for should the Indians
and breeds succeed in holding the gully beneath them
against the invading force, it was tolerably certain they
would discover how Pasmore and his companions had
overpowered their guards, and swift vengeance was sure
to follow. As they looked down the precipitous sides of
the ravine they could see that only four men--two breeds
and two Indians held the narrow pass. These men, while
they themselves were comparatively safe, could easily
hold a large number of troops at bay.
"_Mon Dieu!_ it ees ze metis, and it ees _mon ami_,
Leopold St Croix, I can see," exclaimed Lagrange, as he
peered anxiously over the brink. "Ah! I tink it ees one
leetle rock will keel him mooch dead."
He did not wait for any one to express assent, but began
at once to assist the British with dire effect. Lagrange
never did things by halves. When he realised that he was
compromised with the enemy, he at once started in to
annihilate his old friends with the utmost cheerfulness.
No sooner had Jacques heard that Leopold St. Croix was
below than he rushed down the terrace, rifle in hand, to
have it out with him. There was no holding him back; he
was regardless of consequences.
The others remained where they were. With one rifle they
could command the terrace until the troops came to their
relief. Lagrange continued to roll down rocks, to the
great discomfiture of the holders of the pass, who kept
dodging about from one side to the other in imminent fear
of their lives. When one Indian was effectually quieted
by a huge boulder that Lagrange had sent down on the top
of him, the others saw that it was impossible to remain
there any longer, so incontinently fled. Leopold St.
Croix, being somewhat stout, was left behind in the
headlong flight that ensued.
When Jacques reached the bottom of the terrace, he found
that the Indians had left the coast clear for him. He
was rounding the bluff amongst the rocks when he met his
old enemy face to face.
"Ha! _coquin!_" cried Jacques; "and so, _mon ami_, I have
found you! _Bien!_ Now we shall fight, like that, so!"
And putting his rifle to his shoulder, he sent a bullet
through Leopold St. Croix's badger-skin cap. St. Croix
returned the compliment by shaving a lock of hair off
Jacques' right temple. Both men got behind rocks, and
for three minutes they carried on a spirited duel. At
length, after both had had several narrow shaves of
annihilation, Jacques succeeded in sending a bullet
through St. Croix's shoulder, and that settled the matter.
The prisoners had now descended the terrace, and were
every moment expecting to find themselves once more face
to face with British troops, when something occurred
which is always occurring when a civilised force, with
its time-honoured precedent, is dealing with a savage
race that acts on its own initiative--the unexpected
happened--the inevitable slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.
The British, thinking that their work was over, left
their cover and rushed towards the various inlets in a
careless, disorganised fashion. Quick as thought the
rebels seized their opportunity. They rallied and poured
in a withering fire upon the scattered troops. The
unprotected guns were rushed by a mere handful of Indians
who had been hiding in the watercourse, and the retreat
was sounded to protect them. At the same moment Poundmaker
found himself with one of his head men, who bore the
picturesque name of Young-Man-Who-Jumps-Like-a-Frog, and
these two, with a strong following at their heels, appeared
round the corner of a bluff. A few seconds later Jacques
was seized from behind, and the other prisoners were once
more secured. It all happened so suddenly that there was
no time to escape or make any resistance.