A week went by at Fort Emory, and not a word came back from Dean. The
furious storm that swept the hills and swelled the rivers was the talk
of every army post within two hundred miles, while in the gambling halls
and saloons of Laramie, Cheyenne and Gate City men spoke of it in low
tones and with bated breath. If ever the bolts of heaven were launched
to defeat a foul crime it was right there at Canon Springs, for the
story was all over Wyoming by this time how the worst gang of cutthroats
that ever infested the wide West had galloped in strong force to that
wild, sequestered nook to murder Dean and his whole party of the hated
"blue bellies," if need be, but at all hazards to get the precious
package in his charge. Fifty thousand dollars in government greenbacks
it contained, if Hank Birdsall, their chosen leader, could be believed,
and hitherto he had never led them astray. He swore that he had the
"straight tip," and that every man who took honest part in the fight,
that was sure to ensue, should have his square one thousand dollars.
Thirty to ten, surrounding the soldiers along the bluffs on every side,
they counted on easy victory. But the warning thunder had been enough
for the young troop leader, and prompted him to break camp and get out
of the gorge. They were starting when Birdsall's scouts peered over the
bank and the outlaw ordered instant pursuit, just in time to meet the
fury of the flood and to see some of his fellows drowned like rats in a
sewer.
But who betrayed the secret? What officer or government employe revealed
the fact that Dean was going with so much treasure?--and what could have
been his object? Birdsall had taken to the mountains and was beyond
pursuit. "Shorty," one of his men, rescued from drowning by the mail
carrier and escort coming down from Frayne, confessed the plot and the
General was now at Emory investigating. Major Burleigh had taken to his
bed. Captain Newhall was reported gone to Denver. Old John Folsom lay
with bandaged head and blinded eyes in a darkened room, assiduously
nursed by Pappoose and Jessie, who in turn were devotedly attended by
Mrs. Fletcher. Possessed of some strange nervous excitement, this
energetic woman was tireless in her effort to be of use. Minus ten of
their very best, "C" Troop still camped at Emory, the General holding it
for possible escort duty, and, to his huge delight, young Loomis was
assigned to command it until Dean should return. There came a day when
the news arrived from Frayne that the Laramie column had crossed the
Platte and marched on for the Big Horn, and then John Folsom began to
mend and was allowed to sit up, and told the doctor he had need to see
Major Burleigh without delay, but Burleigh could not leave his bed, said
the physician in attendance--a very different practitioner from
Folsom's--and the old man began to fret and fume, and asked for writing
materials. He wrote Burleigh a note, and the doctor forbade his
patient's reading anything. Major Burleigh, said he, was a very sick
man, and in a wretchedly nervous condition. Serious consequences were
feared unless utter quiet could be assured.
Then Folsom was pronounced well enough to be taken out for a drive, and
he and Pappoose had the back seat together, while Jessie, with Harry
Loomis to drive, sat in front, and Jess was shy and happy, for Loomis
had plainly lost his heart to his comrade's pretty sister. Marshall had
now been gone nine days and could soon be expected home, said everybody,
for with a big force going up there the Indians would scatter and "the
boys" would have no trouble coming back. And so this lovely summer
afternoon every one seemed bright and joyous at the fort, listening to
the band and wondering, some of the party at least, how much longer it
would be before they could hope to hear from the absent, when there
arose sudden sounds of suppressed commotion in the camp of "C" Troop. A
courier was coming like mad on the road from Frayne--a courier whose
panting horse reined up a minute, with heaving flanks, in the midst of
the thronging men, and all the troop turned white and still at the news
the rider briefly told:--three companies at Warrior Gap were massacred
by the Sioux, one hundred and seventy men in all, including Sergeant
Bruce and all "C" Troop's men but Conroy and Garret, who had cut their
way through with Lieutenant Dean and were safe inside the stockade,
though painfully wounded. This appalling story the girls heard with
faces blanched with horror. Passionate weeping came to Jessie's relief,
but Pappoose shed never a tear. The courier's dispatches were taken in
to the colonel, and Folsom, trembling with mingled weakness and
excitement, followed.
It was an impressive scene as the old soldier read the sad details to
the rapidly growing group of weeping women, for that was Emory's
garrison now, while the official reports were hurried on to catch the
General on his way to Cheyenne. Some one warned the band leader, and the
musicians marched away to quarters. Some one bore the news to town where
the flags over the hotel and the one newspaper office were at once
lowered to half staff, although that at Emory, true to official
etiquette and tradition, remained until further orders at the peak,
despite the fact that two of the annihilated companies were from that
very post. Some one bore the news to Burleigh's quarters at the depot,
and, despite assertions that the major could see no one and must not be
agitated or disturbed, disturbed and agitated he was beyond
per-adventure. Excitedly the sick man sprang from his bed at the tidings
of the massacre and began penning a letter. Then he summoned a young
clerk from his office and told him he had determined to get up at once,
as now every energy of the government would doubtless be put forth to
bring the Sioux to terms. It was the young clerk who a few weeks back
had remarked to a fellow employe how "rattled" the old man was getting.
The major's doctor was not about. The major began dictating letters to
various officials as he rapidly dressed, and what happened can best be
told in the clerk's own words: "For a man too sick to see any one two
hours before," said he, "the major had wonderful recuperative powers,
but they didn't last. He was in the midst of a letter to the chief
quartermaster and had got as far as to say, 'The deplorable and tragic
fate of Lieutenant Dean points, of course, to the loss of the large sum
intrusted to him,' when I looked up and said, 'Why, Lieutenant Dean
ain't dead, major; he got in all right,' and he stared at me a minute as
if I had stabbed him. His face turned yellow-white and down he went like
a log--had a fit I s'pose. Then I ran for help, and then the doctor came
and hustled everybody out."
But not till late that night did these details reach "Old Pecksniff" at
the post. A solemn time was that veteran having, for many of the women
were almost in hysterics and all were in deep distress. Two of their
number, wives of officers, were widowed by the catastrophe, and one lay
senseless for hours. It was almost dark when Mr. Folsom and the girls
drove homeward, and his face was lined and haggard. Pappoose nestled
fondly, silently at his side, holding his hand and closely scanning his
features, as though striving to read his thoughts. Jessie, comforted now
by the knowledge that Marshall was rapidly recovering, and the words of
praise bestowed upon him in the colonel's letters, was nevertheless in
deep anxiety as to the future. The assurance that the Sioux, even in
their overwhelming numbers, would not attack a stockade, was not
sufficient. Marshall would be on duty again within a very few days, the
colonel said. His wounds would heal within the week, and it was only
loss of so much blood that had prostrated him. Within a few days, then,
her loved brother would be in saddle and in the field against the
Indians. Who could assure her they would not have another pitched
battle? Who could say that the fate that befell the garrison at Warrior
Gap might not await the troop when next it rode away? And poor Jess had
other anxieties, too, by this time. Loomis was burning with eagerness
for orders to lead it instantly to join the field column, and importuned
Colonel Stevens, even in the midst of all the grief and shock of the
early evening. Almost angrily the veteran colonel bade him attend to his
assigned duties and not demand others. "C" Troop should not with his
advice and consent be sent north of the Platte. "First thing you know,
sir, after they've got all the troops up along the Big Horn you'll see
the Sioux in force this side of the river, murdering right and left, and
not a company to oppose them. No, sir, more than enough of that troop
have already been sacrificed! The rest shall stay here."
And well was it, for one and all, that "Old Pecksniff" held firm to his
decision. It was one of his lucid intervals.
Late that evening, after ten o'clock, there came the sound of hoof-beats
on the hard road and the crack of the long-lashed mule-whip, and the
fort ambulance clattered up to Folsom's gate, and the colonel himself,
his adjutant by his side, came nervously up the gravel walk. Folsom met
them at his door. Instinctively he felt that something new and startling
was added to the catalogue of the day's disastrous tidings. Pecksniff's
face was eloquent of gravest concern, mingled with irrepressible
excitement.
"Let me see you in private, quick," he said. "Mr.--Ah--Mr. Adjutant,
will you kindly remain in the parlor," and, taking Folsom by the elbow,
Pecksniff led impetuously into the library. The girls had gone aloft
only a moment before, but, dreading news of further evil, Pappoose came
fluttering down.
"Go in and welcome the adjutant, dear," said Folsom hurriedly. "The
colonel and I have some matters to talk of." Obediently she turned at
once, and, glancing up the stairs, noted that Mrs. Fletcher's door must
have been suddenly opened, for the light from her room was now streaming
on the third-floor balusters. Listening again! What could be the secret
of that woman's intense watchfulness? In the parlor the young staff
officer was pacing up and down, but his face lighted at sight of Elinor.
"Do you know--Is there anything new?--anything worse?" she quickly
asked, as she gave her slim young hand.
"Not concerning our people," was the significant answer. "But I fear
there's more excitement coming."
Barely waiting for Elinor to withdraw, "Pecksniff" had turned on Folsom.
"You know I opposed the sending of that party? You know it was all
ordered on Burleigh's urging and representations, do you not?"
"Yes, I heard so," said Folsom. "What then?"
"You know he planned the whole business--sent 'em around by Canon
Springs and the Sweetwater?"
"Yes, I heard that, too," said Folsom, still wondering.
"You know some one must have put that Birdsall gang on the scent, and
that Burleigh has had alleged nerve prostration ever since, and has been
too ill to see any one or to leave his bed."
"Yes, so we were told."
"Well, he's well enough to be up and away--God knows where, and here is
the reason--just in from the north," and, trembling with excitement,
Pecksniff pointed to the closing paragraph of the letter in his hand:
"Cords, seals and wrapping were intact when handed to the
quartermaster, but the contents were nothing but worthless paper.
It must have been so when given to Lieutenant Dean."
Folsom's eyes were popping from his head. He sank into a chair, gazing
up in consternation.
"Don't you see, man!" said Pecksniff, "some one in the depot is short
ten thousand dollars or so. Some one hoped to cover this shortage in
just this way--to send a little squad with a bogus package, and then
turn loose the biggest gang of ruffians in the country. They would have
got it but for the storm at Canon Springs, and no one would have been
the wiser. They couldn't have got it without a murderous fight. No one
would ever dare confess his complicity in it. No statement of theirs
that there wasn't a cent in the sack could ever be believed. Some one's
shortage would be covered and his reputation saved. The plot failed, and
God's mercy was over Dean's young head. He'd 'a been murdered or ruined
if the plan worked--and now Burleigh's gone!"