The soldiers who had fought in the wagon-train swaggered through the
camp, and talked much like veterans. The camp, also, had its tales to
tell, of attack and scalps and victory. So that the Seventh Cavalry had
made a start on the battle-roll to be emblazoned on their standards.
Major Elliot had brought orders from General Sherman to march north
again, toward the Platte. The Platte was struck near Riverside stage
station, in Colorado fifty miles west from Fort Sedgwick. No Indians
had been sighted; but Indians were still around, for the very evening
before the arrival of the Seventh at Riverside the hostiles had
attacked the next station west, and had killed three men.
But this was not all. Evidently something else had occurred. Upon
reading his dispatches from General Sherman, General Custer immediately
had sent out for his officers, and was holding a consultation, at his
tent. The discussion easily reached the ears of Ned, standing at his
post, ready for orders from the general or Adjutant Moylan.
Kidder—a Lieutenant Lyman S. Kidder, Second Cavalry, had been sent out
from Fort Sedgwick, with dispatches for the Seventh Cavalry camp at the
Forks of the Republican. He had only ten men, he ought to have arrived
there or else have overtaken the column before it reached the Platte.
But he had not been sighted. He was a young officer, this was his first
scout. What had happened to him?
Red Bead, a friendly Sioux chief, was his guide, so he could not have
lost his way; but upon such a long ride ten men were altogether too
few, when Indians by the hundreds infested the whole district.
Speedily the news spread through the ranks. There was shaking of heads.
In the opinion of the older sergeants, a great error had been committed.
“My idea is,” voiced Henderson, who was as level-headed as anybody,
“that this young left’nant may have struck our camp; but if he did,
like as not he took the wagon trail on south’rd, thinkin’ it was our
trail. In that case, he’ll run into that same gang o’ reds who attacked
the train ’twixt the Republican and Wallace, an’ they’ll wipe him out;
they’ll wipe him out. It was a crime to send him on the scout with
scarce a dozen, all told, in his party. An’ him new to the business,
too. The time has come when the Army ought to know it can’t fight
Injuns that way. They’re better armed than we are, an’ they’re mighty
smart, boys.”
The suggestion put forth by Henderson seemed to be that of the council
of officers also.
More bad news was received. Cholera had broken out at Forts Wallace and
Hays, and scurvy on account of the bad rations.
Therefore when over the wire the Kidder dispatches were repeated,
ordering the column to return to Wallace, very ready was the general to
go. Lieutenant Kidder might be found, and Mrs. Custer might be removed
to safer quarters. So camp was broken at daylight.
During the march a sharp lookout was maintained for sign of the missing
Second Cavalry detachment; but none appeared.
“What’s your opinion now, Comstock?” queried again the general,
anxiously, as at the head of the column, where rode he and Adjutant
Moylan and Will Comstock, he scanned the ground and the horizon. Will
Comstock only shook his head.
“I’m not sayin’, gen’ral,” finally he replied. “It’s ’arly yet to make
a guess. He may be all right—an’ agin he may _not_.”
The Forks of the Republican came into sight; and the former camping
place. Here were the tracks of the Seventh, and from here proceeded the
trail made by the wagon-train, to Fort Wallace. But trace of Lieutenant
Kidder, or of any new horsemen, could not be found, even by the
Delawares searching so keenly.
About the headquarters camp-fire, that night, Scout Will Comstock at
last did speak, more definitely, but still dubiously. And the officers
listened eagerly.
“Well, gentle-_men_,” drawled Comstock, “before a man kin form any
ijee as to how this thing is likely to end, thar are several things
he ort to be acquainted with. For instance, now, no man need tell
me any p’ints about Injuns. Ef I know anything, it’s Injuns. I know
jest how they’ll do anything an’ when they’ll take to do it; but that
don’t settle this question, an’ I’ll tell you why. Thar’s more’n jest
Injuns consarned in the matter. Ef I knowed this young lootenint—I mean
Lootenint Kidder—ef I knowed what for sort of a man he is, I could
tell you mighty near to a sartinty what he did an’ whar he went; for
you see Injun huntin’ an’ Injun fightin’ is a trade all by itself, an’
like any other bizness a man has to know what he’s about. I have lots
of confi_dence_ in the fightin’ sense of Red Bead the Sioux chief, who
is guidin’ the lootenint an’ his men, an’ ef that Injun kin have his
own way thar’s a fair show for his guidin’ ’em through all right. But
is this lootenint the kind of a man who is willin’ to take advice, even
ef it does come from an Injun? My experience with you army folks has
allus been that the youngsters among ye think they know the most, an’
this is partic’larly true ef they have jest come from West P’int. Ef
some of them young fellers knowed half as much as they b’lieve they
know, you couldn’t tell ’em nothin’. As to rale book-l’arnin’, why, I
s’pose they’ve got it all; but the fact of the matter is, they couldn’t
tell the dif’rence ’twixt the trail of a war party an’ one made by a
huntin’ party to save their necks. Half of ’em when they fust come
here can’t tell a squaw from a buck, jest ’cause both ride astraddle;
but they soon l’arn. I’m told this lootenint we’re talkin’ about is a
new-comer, an’ that this is his fust scout. Ef that be the case, it
puts a mighty onsartin look on the whole bus’ness, an’ twixt you and
me, gentle-_men_, he’ll be mighty lucky ef he gets through all right.
Tomorrer we strike the Wallace trail, an’ I kin mighty soon tell ef he
has gone that way.”
This speech, so lengthy for the usually silent Will Comstock, made
everybody feel more anxious than ever. Evidently the scout had his
great fears, which he had tried to keep to himself.
Therefore, with dawn all were alert to strike the wagon-trail to Fort
Wallace. Comstock and the Delawares forged ahead, to examine it first
before the cavalry column should mark it up. The general and his staff
urged forward, to get the report.
“Well, Comstock. Have they passed?” queried the general, reining short.
Comstock had been on foot, peering closely. The Delawares and he seemed
to have agreed, for now he remounted.
“Yes, sir. They’ve gone toward Wallace, sure,” he said, soberly.
“They’ve mistook this here trail for the main trail of the column. The
trail shows that twelve American horses, shod all ’round, have lately
passed at a walk, in direction of the fort. When they come by this
p’int they were all right, ’cause their hosses were movin’ along easy,
an’ there are no pony tracks behind ’em, as would be the case ef Injuns
had got an eye on ’em.” Comstock rubbed his cheek, dubiously. “I mought
as well say that in _my_ opinion, gentle-_men_, it’ll be astonishin’ ef
that lootenint an’ his lay-out gets into the fort without a scrimmage.
He may, but _ef_ he does, it’ll be a scratch ef ever thar was one, an’
I’ll lose my confi_dence_ in Injuns.”
That sounded bad. It was only two days’ march to the fort, but what
would those two days uncover?
“We’ll soon know, then,” spoke the general. “Let us hope that if they
did reach the fort, they didn’t attempt to return and hunt us further,
and that we’ll find them there. You and the Delawares watch close,
Will, to catch any sign of their having left the trail, at either side.”
Comstock nodded.
Still the plains stretched lonely and unbroken, with never a sight of
moving figure save occasional rabbit or wolf. Then, toward noon, at
last something did appear—a white object, dotting the trail a mile
in advance. A skeleton? A tent? A patch of alkali? At every guess
Comstock, gazing, shook his head; and even the Delawares were mystified.
But General Custer never delayed.
“Come on,” he bade. “Let’s look into that.” And away he galloped, with
Adjutant Moylan and Major Elliot and Major West and a couple of other
officers, the scouts, and Ned faithfully following. Where went the
general, went he, the orderly.
“It’s a hoss! A dead hoss, gentle-_men_,” pronounced Comstock, before
they were more than half way. The general did not pause to level his
glasses again; Comstock’s word was enough.
Sure enough, a horse it was; a white horse, lying stiff and bloody in
the trail, with a bullet-hole through its head.
“A cavalry horse,” exclaimed the general, quickly. “There’s the U. S.
on its shoulder, and saddle marks on its back.”
“It’s out of the Second Cavalry, too, general,” added Major Elliot.
“When I was at Sedgwick I noticed a full company mounted on white
horses.”
“Do you see any Indian sign, Comstock?—As to who did this? Or whether
there’s been a fight?” demanded the general.
Scout Comstock and the Delawares examined the carcass, and the ground
around-about, for token of arrow or cartridge-shells or pony tracks;
but they could find nothing. The horse had been shot and stripped; that
was all.
“Then there’s the chance, isn’t there,” proposed Major Elliot, “that
the animal may have dropped out, and that they shot him and took his
saddle and bridle to prevent the Indians making use of him?”
“We must hope so,” answered the general.
Yes, they all hoped so; but presently, on the march, Comstock spoke,
from where he was skirting the wagon-trail.
“There’s somethin’ wrong, sure, gen’ral. Now we’re diskivverin’ signs
that talk. This here party we’re follerin’ has quickened up an’ spread
out more irregular, so they’re on both sides the trail, as well as in
it.”
“And there’s another dead horse, isn’t it?” directed Major Elliot.
Yes, a second dead white horse awaited, just ahead; shot in the trail,
and stripped, like the first.
“Pony tracks, too, gentle-_men_,” announced Comstock, the moment that
he scanned the ground about. “It’s Injuns. I knowed it. An’ the very
wust place for attack, too. Nothin’ but level ground, whar they kin
circle an’ shoot an’ t’other party can’t find shelter, to make a stand.
Shod hosses are movin’ at a full gallop, now; so are ponies. This
lootenint an’ his men are ridin’ hard for kivver. That’s plain.”
“Would they make it, do you think?”
“Wall,” said Comstock, again dubious, “it’s doubtful. Tryin’ to
run away from a big party of Injuns, in open country, is dangerous
matter—specially if you depend on speed alone. I take it this lootenint
was ridin’ an’ not fightin’; an’ fust thing he’ll know he’ll be
surrounded, with his hosses all tuckered out.”
The pony tracks extended far on either side of the trail, showing that
the Indians had been in large numbers. However, no more dead horses
were found, nor any other sign of damage; and Ned began to hope, again,
that the lieutenant and his men had escaped, after all. Nevertheless,
it was still forty miles to Fort Wallace; a long, long way in a ride
for life.
Suddenly the level country dropped away into a wide valley, through
which flowed a creek marked by a border of willows and high weeds. No
doubt this sight had cheered the fleeing lieutenant and his party; for
in the willows they might make a stand.
“That’s Beaver Creek, gentle-_men_,” informed Comstock. “Whar the trail
crosses we’re liable to find out a good deal of what we don’t yit know.
But there’s no fightin’ goin’ on down there now; that’s sartin.”
No; no sound of battle rose to the valley’s rim; and neither did any
smoke of camp or of signal upwell. All was silence; utter silence. As
they rode down the slope, and the stream itself was yet a mile away,
General Custer pointed, without speaking. Off to the left, and ahead,
several black buzzards were circling lazily and low.
“Whew!” exclaimed Comstock. “Smell it? I reckon, gentle-_men_, that
tells the story. Let’s go over there.”
The air was thick with rank odor of decaying flesh. General Custer and
his staff turned aside, following the scouts, to search for the source.
It might be only dead buffalo; but probably it was——?
The brush and grass were high; at the edge Ned halted; he would let
the others enter; he was a soldier, but he would rather stay where
he had stopped. They did not require him; of course they didn’t. The
Delawares, and Will Comstock, and the officers, rode back and forth.
It was only after a long time that, on a sudden, General Jackson, Fall
Leaf’s nephew, gave a loud shout; and instantly he was off his horse
and stooping.
He had found something.
The general and all the officers and scouts hastened to him. The
general beckoned for the men to come. Even Ned pushed forward; he could
not help himself, for he feared to see and yet he wanted to see.
There they lay, all, white horses and white men and one red man; what
was left of them after the enemy had taken vengeance. It was not a
peaceful sight, for the bodies bristled with arrows, shot in and left,
and knife and tomahawk had cruelly gashed. But there were many empty
cartridge shells, showing that Lieutenant Kidder and his little command
had fought desperately and bravely.
“Surrounded an’ cut off. I knowed they’d be,” declared Comstock. “The
Injuns got here fust, like as not. Sioux. Know why? ’Cause while they
scalped Red Bead they didn’t take his scalp away. There ’tis, lying
beside him. It’s agin Injun rules to bear off scalp of one of their own
tribe. So these must have been Sioux, same as Red Bead. Pawnee Killer’s
band, like as not.”
That terrible Pawnee Killer!
“Which is the lieutenant, I wonder?” mused the general. “Have you found
any marks that tell, Comstock?”
“Not a one. No, sir; I doubt if even his own mother could pick him out.”
That was so. Only Red Bead could be recognized. All the others were
stripped of their clothing, and were so hacked about the face that
scarcely a feature was left. Fall Leaf the Delaware bent and pointed
at something. It was a black-and-white checked collar-band still
encircling a neck. That was all.
After a mournful shuddering survey of the bloody field, the soldiers
of the Seventh could only dig a trench and gently place therein these
remains of young officer, his brave men, and his faithful Sioux guide.