THE RIVER TAKES ITS TOLL
Pitamakan and I rode in the lead with the chiefs, because in a way we
were the guides of the relief party. Behind us came the different bands
of the I-kun-uh-kah-tsi, or All Friends Society, each one herding its
extra horses. Our pace was so fast that there was little opportunity for
talk; and Pitamakan and I had no desire to do so. Our thoughts were with
our little camp of besieged people.
At noon we halted for a short rest. The chiefs at once gathered in a
circle and began to plan just what should be done at the mouth of the
Musselshell; that is, if Far Thunder and his engagés still held the
barricade. Pitamakan and I told how they would be suffering from want of
water and urged that we ride as straight as we could to their relief.
Then up spoke Heavy Runner, chief of the Braves, and the war chief of
the Pikuni:
"It is true," he said, "that Far Thunder and his people, if still alive,
must be choking from need of water, but for their own good and the good
of all the Blackfoot tribes they must choke a little longer. Should we
go charging straight to their barricade, the enemy would see us from far
off and have plenty of time to retreat from the bank of the river into
the grove, and there make a good fight, kill many of us, perhaps, and
escape in the darkness. What we must try to do is to give the
cut-throats a lesson that they and their children and their children's
children will remember as long as the sun makes the days. I therefore
propose that we ride down Crooked Creek into Upon-the-Other-Side Bear
River, right into the stream bed, and follow it to the edge of the big
grove. There half of us will leave our horses and go on and surprise the
enemy under the edge of the bank of Big River and drive them out upon
the open flat away from the grove. There we afoot and the other half of
us on horseback and Far Thunder with his loud-mouth gun will just let
one or two of the cut-throats escape to tell his people what the Pikuni
did to their warriors."
Without exception the chiefs approved this plan, but Pitamakan and I
made objections. "It is a roundabout way," said Pitamakan, "to go clear
to the mouth of this creek and then down the winding bed of the other
stream. We haven't the time to do it."
"If Far Thunder and those with him are still alive, their sufferings
from need of water are something terrible," I said. "Chiefs, let us
leave Crooked Creek right here and strike straight across the plain as
soon as possible!"
"I shall say a few words about this!" White Wolf exclaimed. "I have a
big interest in that little party down there in the barricade; my own
sister is there. And yet I say that as she is suffering, so must she
suffer a little longer for the good of the Pikuni. But not much longer.
In a time like this what is one horse to any of us? Nothing! We will
leave our tired horses right here, and if a Crow or other war party
comes along and takes them--well, we shall probably recover them some
day. Upon our fresh horses we can go this roundabout way and certainly
arrive at the head of the big grove before sundown. Then we will wipe
out those cut-throats, every last one of them, before it becomes too
dark for us to shoot straight. Come! let us hurry on!"
"Yes! We will do that! There's nothing the matter with the bird's head!"
cried Heavy Runner as he sprang up, and all laughed and cheered as we
mounted our fresh horses. The chief's slang expression was a favorite
one of the Blackfeet, and equivalent to our saying, "I don't care;
everything goes with me!"
Away we went, leaving behind us more than three hundred fine horses,
fast buffalo-runners every one of them. Occasionally during the
afternoon we cut bends, but for the most part we followed the straight
northeast course of the valley and at about five o'clock entered the
valley of the Musselshell.
[Illustration: AWAY WE WENT, LEAVING BEHIND US MORE THAN THREE HUNDRED
FINE HORSES]
Now we had to proceed more slowly, but even when fording, we never went
at a pace slower than a trot; and so toward sundown we approached the
grove. Heavy Runner brought us to a halt about three hundred yards from
it and told Pitamakan to dismount and sneak out to see whether our
little camp was still standing. He went, climbing the bank with flying
leaps, and then upon hands and knees disappeared from our view into the
tall, thick-growing sagebrush. At last he returned, and, as soon as he
came in sight, thrust his right hand above the point of his shoulder,
with the index finger extended and the others closed. "They survive!"
I almost yelled out my relief when I saw him make that sign!
During his absence the chiefs had decided which of our bands were to go
on foot into the grove and which were to remain upon their horses where
we were until the battle opened. I was more than glad that the band of
which Pitamakan and I were members, the Kit-Foxes, was one of those
chosen to go into the grove. Only the Doves, Tails, and Mosquitoes were
to form the follow-up party on horseback.
"Not all the cut-throats are under the river-bank in front of the
barricade," said Heavy Runner to us as we were starting. "Probably most
of them are resting in this grove. As soon as they discover our
approach, we must charge and do our very best to drive them from the
timber toward the barricade. When the first shot is fired, we charge!"
We soon entered the grove by way of the stream bed. On and on we went,
hearing nothing of the enemy until we were almost at the mouth of the
stream. There we smelled smoke, and Heavy Runner brought us to a stand,
then signed us to move out into the timber to the west. We climbed the
bank and, looking through the willows, saw several small groups of the
enemy sitting and lying about small fires that they had built. They were
all unconscious of our approach, and the nearest were not more than
fifty yards from us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Pitamakan on my
left raising his rifle, and I raised mine and quickly sighted it at one
of the reclining figures. Of pity there was not an atom in my heart; as
the cut-throats would do to that little band of sufferers in the
barricade, so must we do to them, I thought.
I believe that Pitamakan was the first to fire and I second; and then
all up and down our line guns boomed and bowstrings twanged. With wild
yells of, "Now, Kit-Foxes!" "Now, Crazy Dogs!" "Now, Soldiers!" we
rushed out into the open timber after the fleeing enemy. I noticed
several of them dead as we passed their camp-fires. If shots had been
fired at us I had not heard them. We had stampeded the cut-throats by
our sudden attack, and they were running in the one direction that they
could go, straight for the bank of the Missouri at the upper edge of the
grove. There, for several moments, they made a stand and killed one of
our men and wounded three. But we kept pressing closer, and the right of
our line gained the edge of the grove at the river, from which they
obtained a clear view of the bank and the shore. Numbers of the enemy
still under the bank came running down the shore toward the grove to
join their comrades who were in the point of it. Some of them fell as
our right fired into them. The river-bank was no longer a shelter for
them; they had not the courage to attempt to force us back, although,
had they known it, they far outnumbered us and could have broken through
our line. There seemed to remain but one thing for them to do, and they
did it: they broke out from the point of the grove and headed up the
valley, intending no doubt to gain the shelter of the tall sagebrush, in
which they might stand us off until nightfall and then in the darkness
make their escape.
We all halted at the edge of the timber and let them go, well knowing
what was about to take place. Hurriedly we reloaded our weapons. As I
rammed home a ball on top of a charge of powder poured in by guess I
looked out at our barricade and saw the lodges standing in it intact.
"Pitamakan, our relatives survive!" I cried.
"Of course! I so signed to you! See, they are wheeling the loud-mouth
out from the passageway!"
But I had no time to look. Our mounted party had followed on after us
pretty closely and now broke out from the timber and charged at the
enemy. How we yelled when the enemy came to an abrupt stand and then
turned and headed back toward the river, shedding their robes, pouches,
ropes, everything they carried except their weapons! Right then was my
uncle's one chance to fire into them without our being in the line of
his aim, and he seized the opportunity. _Boom!_ went the old cannon, and
_Bang! Bang! Bang!_ sounded the rifles of his men. Though the enemy were
far from him, several of them went down.
On sped the others toward the river while we fired into them. Meanwhile
our riders were rapidly gaining on them, but not rapidly enough to
overtake them before they went leaping down the bank and into the water
with furious pawings and kickings and cries of terror and despair. Our
whole force soon lined the bank and fired at them, but the treacherous,
sand-laden, swirling current of the river took more toll of their number
than our shots did.
I could not shoot at the defenseless swimmers; so I called to Pitamakan
and we left the bank and ran toward the barricade.
There at the passageway a strange sight met our eyes. My uncle, with
parched lips and bloodshot eyes, stood guard with his rifle over
Tsistsaki, who doled out a cupful of water to one after another of the
engagés, while they, crazed from want of it, alternately called him bad
names and cried and begged for more. Now and then one of them ran to
scale the barricade and go to the river, only to be forced back by
Abbott and the Twins.
"Look at 'em! Look at the pigs!" Josh was exclaiming. "They'd just
natcherly drink 'emselves to death if we'd let 'em!"
My uncle turned and saw us at his side.
"Ha! Here are my faithful boys!" he exclaimed in a hoarse, cracked
voice.
"Through you we survive!" Tsistsaki said to us, and we could barely hear
her strangely pitched voice.
Behind the engagés were their women and children; they, it seemed, had
been served first from the two buckets of water that Abbott had brought
from the river as soon as the bank was clear of the enemy. I looked over
the little crowd, missed the Mandans and asked for them.
"They are down at the river; they will not kill themselves drinking, as
these worthless rascals would if they could git to it!" said Abbott.
"There! They have all drunk," said Tsistsaki, taking the cup from Henri
Robarre, who was begging wildly for just a little more of the water.
Turning, she held a cupful up to my uncle.
"No! You first," he signed. She drank and then he did. Then his voice
came back to him and he hoarsely roared to the engagés: "Now, then, you
all get back out of my sight until you are called to drink again! I am
mighty sick of you and your contemptible whinings!"
"Leave 'em to us, Wesley; we'll herd 'em for you!" Lem called; and with
a sigh of relief my uncle turned away from them.
Some of the women were leading the half-dead horses toward us.
"Look at that! They've got a whole lot more heart than their men, those
women have!" Abbott exclaimed.
My uncle took Tsistsaki by the hand, and we all four went out to the
river-bank. The fight was over, and the Pikuni on horseback and on foot
were going about counting the dead cut-throats and counting coup upon
them, too. Whereupon Pitamakan cried, "How could I have forgotten? I
have a coup to count down there in the timber."
He went from us as fast as he could run.
Abbott and the women came to the head of the water trail with the horses
and began relieving their torment with a bucketful all round. Back in
the barricade we could hear the engagés begging the Twins to turn them
loose. The five old Mandans came up from the water and one by one
gravely shook my hand.
"We survive!" Lame Wolf signed to me. "I knew that you would bring the
Pikuni in time; my medicine told me that you would be here before the
setting of this sun. And here you are! The sun is good to us!"
"Yes. Good to us!" I answered.
I had no more than told my uncle and Tsistsaki briefly of our ride in
quest of the Pikuni and listened to a short account of their trials with
the thirst-crazed engagés when in the gathering dusk White Wolf and
Heavy Runner and the other chiefs came up to us. They all knew the old
Mandans and affectionately greeted them. Tsistsaki ran to her brother,
White Wolf, and embraced him and cried a little with joy at seeing him
again. We then all turned to the stockade, and my uncle called out to
the Twins, "Josh, Lem, let those rascals go now! If they waterlog
themselves it will not be my funeral!"
They made a wild onset upon the bucket of water that the Twins were
guarding, upset it, and with strange, wild cries leaped the barricade
and rushed to the river. They were just animals, those old-time French
Creole engagés! Perhaps it would be better and a little nearer the truth
to say that they were just irresponsible children of man's size.
Tsistsaki started a little fire in our lodge; then we all gathered in
it. Outside the women were employing every pot in camp to cook meat and
boil coffee for our guests. We had to provide for the chiefs and a few
of the head warriors only; the others were gathering about fires of
their own in the grove, and would have no food until they could kill
some meat in the morning. My uncle regretted that we had nothing except
coffee to send down to them.
"It doesn't matter," Heavy Runner told him. "They are so happy over what
they have done to the cut-throats that they are not thinking about
food."
Presently Pitamakan came in, much excited. "Here is news for you,
chiefs!" he said. "We have counted forty-one dead, and of that number
only seven are cut-throats; the rest are Parted Hairs!" (Kai-spa: Parted
Hair: the Yanktonnais Sioux.)
"Ha! That accounts for it!" White Wolf exclaimed. "Your message, Far
Thunder, was that we were to help you fight the cut-throats who would
come from their far north river; therefore we did not hurry, since we
had only half as long a trail to travel."
"That was the word I sent you. I could not know that instead of going
back to their people for help to wipe us out, Sliding Beaver's war party
would turn to the nearest Parted Hairs," my uncle answered.
Heavy Runner laughed. "All they had to do was to tell the Parted Hairs
that you had your Is-spai-u horse here, and they came running."
"And their shadows, ha! How many of them are now on the dreary trail to
shadow land!" some one exclaimed.
"There must be a hundred, perhaps two hundred, dead in the river; and of
us but two are dead and three wounded!" said Pitamakan.
Pitamakan's estimate of the loss of the enemy proved to be not far from
correct. The following spring we learned in a roundabout way from the
Hudson's Bay Company post on the Assiniboin River that the total loss of
the enemy was one hundred and eighty-two out of the four hundred and
more men who had so confidently started south to wipe us out and take
our black racer. Of that number one hundred and forty-one had been shot
or drowned in the river, and not one of the survivors had reached the
shore with his weapons.
Pitamakan and I were so utterly worn-out that we could not take part in
the talk and the rejoicings over the defeat of the enemy. As soon as we
had finished eating, we took some bedding and went some distance west of
the barricade, where we lay down and fell asleep listening to the
thunderous triumphant singing of the warriors round their camp-fires
down in the grove. We had not recovered our saddle-horses, but well knew
that some of our friends were caring for them.
On the following morning every member of our little party of
fort-builders awoke with the feeling that our troubles were ended. In
honor of the occasion my uncle gave the engagés a holiday and turned
the horses out to graze wherever they would. The chiefs remained with
us; some of the warriors went back to meet the oncoming caravan of the
Pikuni; others scattered to hunt, and still others remained in the
grove, resting, singing, talking over with one another every detail of
the battle.
In the afternoon Pitamakan and I saddled the three engagés' horses and
rode with Tsistsaki to meet the Pikuni, which we did about three miles
out on the plain. Long before we met the long caravan we could hear the
people singing, laughing, rejoicing over the great news that had been
brought to them. They greeted us with smiles and jests as they passed
along. Tsistsaki fell into line with White Wolf's family. Then Pitamakan
and I sheered off to the heads of the Missouri breaks, killed a couple
of mule buck deer, and took home all the meat that our horses could
carry with us on top of the loads. That evening, as we looked up the
valley from the barricade, how pleasant it was to see the lodges of the
Pikuni strung for a mile or more along the course of the river!
"Thomas," said my uncle as he stood with me looking at them and
listening to the cheerful hum of the great camp, "Thomas, I was rash; I
took too great chances in this enterprise. But all is well with us now.
We cannot fail to make a big trade here. I can hardly wait for the
morrow to resume work upon the fort. You must bear a hand at it when you
and Pitamakan are not getting meat for camp."
I did "bear a hand." The engagés, relieved of all fear of the enemy and
anxious to move into snug, log-walled quarters, worked as I had never
seen them work before. When in due time the Yellowstone II arrived with
our large shipment of goods, we had a long stock-room and a trade-room
ready to receive it; and in the early part of October the fort was
completed, bastions and all, and the engagés were told to get in the
winter firewood. At about that time the other tribes of the Blackfeet
and our allies, the Gros Ventres, arrived and went into camp at various
points along the Musselshell and the Missouri. Crow Foot, chief of the
Blackfoot tribe, brought us a letter from Carroll and Steell. I
remember word for word a sentence or two in it: "Well, Wesley, by this
time you have completed your War-Trail Fort, and you have done it by the
merest scratch. Had the Pikuni been a day or two longer in arriving at
the mouth of the Musselshell, your scalp would now be hanging in a
Yanktonnais lodge. Aren't you the lucky man!"
"I certainly am! And thankful, too, to the good God for all his
mercies!" exclaimed my uncle when he had read it. From that remark you
will see that he had not altogether forgotten his early religious
training.
Perhaps you can imagine how Pitamakan and I kicked up our heels when,
one fine October morning, my uncle announced that we were free to roam
wherever we pleased. The Pikuni were going to hunt and trap along the
foot of the Snowy Mountains and the upper reaches of the Musselshell and
its tributaries, and we went with them and had great adventures. At
Christmas-time we returned to the fort with more than our full share of
beaver pelts.
From then until spring I was kept busy in the fort day after day helping
in the trade for the furs and robes that came to us in a perfect stream.
In the following June our shipment totaled seven thousand fine
head-and-tail buffalo robes; twenty-one hundred beaver pelts; four
thousand elk, deer, and antelope skins; and about three thousand wolf
pelts. After receiving the statement of the sale of them in St. Louis my
uncle clapped his hands and laughed and cried out: "Tsistsaki, Thomas,
this is how we stand: all our bills are paid, and we are ahead one good
fort and forty-two thousand dollars in cash!"
"Ha! What happiness is ours!" my almost-mother exclaimed.
"And," said I, "we are not asking for goods on credit for next winter's
trade, are we?"
THE END
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS
U. S. A.
End of Project Gutenberg's The War-Trail Fort, by James Willard Schultz