A Townful of Indians: with how I hide the Cow, and think of Something
which I don't believe the Indians will like.
When I saw what my visitors were I do not know if I was relieved or
more frightened. I saw that I need no longer worry about the safe
being robbed, but that seemed to be almost the only thing in their
favor over the Pike gang. I knew, of course, that they had no ill
feeling against me, and probably had no intention of harming any one;
but, on the other hand, I well understood that if I should appear and
try to stop their plundering the town they would not hesitate to kill
me. By their dress I recognized them as Sioux from the Bois Cache
Reservation, fifty or seventy-five miles north, because I had seen
some of them during the fall while they were on their way to visit
some of their relatives a hundred or more miles south at the Brule
Agency. I supposed they were going for another such visit, and had
blundered on the town. These Bois Cache Indians I knew were a bad lot;
many of them had been with Little Crow in the great Sioux Massacre in
Minnesota in 1862, when hundreds of settlers were killed.
They came directly to the pile of things near their horses, and put
down the rope; and then they started off in all directions looking for
more plunder. Two of them came to the depot and walked about on the
platform over my head. I flattened out on the ground and scarcely
breathed, expecting every minute that they would look under. I heard
them talking and trying the windows. I thought they were going away;
then there was a sound of breaking glass, and I heard them tramping
about inside. Then they came out and went over to the pile again. I
peeped out and saw that they had the two Winchesters which I had
hidden in the depot. Another came from the town with a shot-gun which
he had found somewhere. I had no doubt that they would find and carry
off every weapon there was, and leave me with nothing except the small
revolver which I had in my pocket.
For an hour I lay there under the platform watching the Indians
plunder the town. They already had much more in their pile than they
could possibly carry away with the horses they had. Suddenly I saw
that their plan most likely was to get everything they wanted together
in the open square and then to burn the town, carry off what they
could, and come back after the rest later on. Of course this put me in
a great fright, but, though I racked my brain as never before, I could
think of no way to prevent it.
Soon I heard a great pounding, and suspected that they were breaking
into the Headquarters barn, which I always kept locked, just out of
force of habit. In another minute I knew I was right, as I heard a
loud squawking of the chickens. Up from the direction of the barn and
high over the roofs of the town I suddenly saw a bird soar, which I
took to be a prairie chicken, or some sort of game bird, though where
it came from I could not guess. Then, as it lit on the chimney of the
blacksmith shop, and began a great cackling, I saw that it was only
Crazy Jane. I could not help laughing, in spite of my troubles, and
said out loud, "Ah, it takes somebody smarter than an Indian to catch
her!"
[Illustration: THE BOIS CACHE INDIANS LOOTING THE TOWN ON CHRISTMAS DAY]
The sight of Crazy Jane and the sharp way she outwitted the savages
did me good and made me wonder if I could not do as well; still I
could think of nothing. Just then the Indians came out with the other
chickens in grain-sacks, and leading Dick and Ned and Blossom. The
horses they stood with their own, but I was horrified to see that they
acted as if they were going to butcher the cow. One of them pointed a
gun at her head and another began to flourish a knife. It looked as if
they had got it into their savage heads that they wanted fresh beef
and were going to slaughter the poor animal on the spot.
To watch these preparations was, I think, the hardest thing I had to
bear that day. She was a patient, gentle heifer, and I could not bear
to think of seeing her butchered by a lot of villainous savages with
less intelligence than she had herself. If I had had a gun or any fit
weapon, I verily believe that I should have rushed out and defended
her. But just before they began, one of their number came out of
Fitzsimmons's store and called to them, and they all trotted over.
The store was on the east side of the street.
At the instant that the last of them disappeared in the door I rolled
out from under the platform and began to hobble across the square. My
intention was to get behind the stores on the west side of the street;
and I had a wild notion of saving the cow in some way, I did not know
how. It was a foolhardy thing to do, but I got behind the first store
without being seen. But I was no nearer the cow, who was a little ways
from the side of Fitzsimmons's, and I dared not go there. She saw me,
however, and I held out my hand and said, "Come, bossy!" and she came
over. I took her by the horn and led her along behind the buildings,
knowing no more than a fool what I should do with her. Just then I
came to the sloping outside cellar-door behind a store. The Indians
had cleaned the snow off of it, but had not succeeded in getting in,
as it was fastened with a padlock. I tried my keys. One of them opened
it. The stairs were not steep, and I led the cow down and closed the
door above us. The Indians had walked and ridden everywhere in the
square and back of the stores, so I thought it would be hard for them
to follow the cow's tracks. Nevertheless, the next moment I hurried
back and with an old broom brushed lightly our trail behind the
buildings; then returned to the cellar.
I rested a few minutes till my ankle felt better, then I crept up the
inside stairs to the store and peeped out the front window. Four or
five of the Indians were standing where the cow had been, looking in
all directions. After a while they all went back into Fitzsimmons's
store and I slipped down and out the door by which I had got in,
locked it, and made my way behind the buildings to the bank and went
in. Here the Indians had not disturbed anything, there being nothing
to their taste; but when I looked out a crack in the boards over the
window I saw the whole eleven of them at the end of the street holding
a powwow over the disappearance of their fresh beef. I thought it
would be a good time to test my great pet, the tunnel, so I hobbled
boldly through and entered the hotel.
The first thing I saw was Pawsy in her old place over the dining-room
door. She did not seem to like Indians any better than she did
wolves. Everything which had not been carried off was in the greatest
confusion. The Winchester which had been under the counter was gone. I
stood with my crutch looking at the wreck, when, without hearing a
sound, I saw the knob of the front door turn and the door push open.
With one bound like a cat I went through the open door of the closet
under the stairs.
I had no time to close the door, and stood there pressed against the
wall and trying not to tremble. It was dark in the closet, and that
was my only hope. Three of the Indians filed by. They all wore
moccasins, and their step was noiseless. They were talking, and passed
on through into the kitchen and outdoors. I think they were looking
for the cow, and took this as the best way to get to the barn. I
pressed back farther in the closet and waited. Soon they came back,
and again passed me, and went on out of the front door. I got out and
crawled up-stairs, thinking to find a better hiding-place and wishing
heartily that I was back under the platform. I looked out of an upper
window and saw them all at the farther end of the street again.
By-and-by they went into Fitzsimmons's store.
Though I did not take my eyes off the store for two hours I saw no
more of the Indians, and by this time it was so dark that I could no
longer see them if they did come out. I began to hear a strange noise,
and opened the window slightly and listened. It was the Indians
shouting and singing. Then it dawned upon me that they had found the
whiskey and that they were all getting drunk in Fitzsimmons's cellar.
This, of course, gave me a new cause of dread, for, if a sober Indian
is bad, a drunken one is a thousand times worse. I felt sure that they
would now set the town on fire through accident even if they did not
intend to do so. The fiendish howling constantly grew worse and was
soon almost as bad as that of the wolves ever was. I still could think
of nothing to remedy matters. By this time it was pitch-dark. I
determined to have a look at them, anyhow. It occurred to me that
probably they had begun at the whiskey before the cow disappeared, and
that this had helped to make their search unsuccessful.
I went down and out the back door of the hotel and crept along the
rear of the buildings till I came to Fitzsimmons's. The yelling and
whooping of those savages was something blood-curdling to hear. There
was a window for lighting the cellar close to the ground in the rear
foundation-wall. A wide board stood in front of it, but I dug the snow
away, pushed this board a little to one side, and looked in. They
seemed to be having a free fight, and many of them were covered with
blood. A smoking kerosene lamp stood on a box, and around this they
surged and fought and howled. As I looked the lamp was knocked to the
floor and blazed up. One of the Indians fell on it and smothered the
flames, and the struggling and diabolical yelling went on in the
dark.
As suddenly as the plan of making the skee sled had flashed upon me
came another plan for driving every Indian out of town. I jumped up
and ran away as fast as a poor crutch and a leg and a half could carry
me.