HOW GEORGE SAVED THE CAMP.
The troopers went into camp about midnight, having been nineteen hours
in the saddle, during which time they had marched more than seventy
miles. They halted on the bank of a small stream near a ford over which
the Indians had passed during their retreat. The trail was plain, and
some of the troopers, who did not know quite as much about trailing as
they thought they did, declared that they were close upon the heels of
the raiders.
"How is that, George?" asked Bob Owens, who had been detailed as one of
the corporals of the guard. "Some of the boys say that if we should
follow the Indians for an hour or two longer we would be within sight of
their camp-fires."
"What makes them think so?" asked George.
"Because they have found tracks with the sand still running into them.
Is that one of the signs by which to tell the age of a trail?"
"Under some circumstances, yes; in the present case, no. You could tell
the age of a trail in that way if the ground around it had not been
disturbed. This country about here is all quicksand, and you can take
your stand almost anywhere along the banks of this stream, and by
jumping up and down shake the ground for ten feet on all sides of you.
When our heavy column crossed the ford and climbed this bank, it shook
the earth, and that was what set the sand to running down into the
tracks."
"I declare!" exclaimed Bob, gazing admiringly at his friend; "is there
anything a trailer isn't obliged to know?"
"If he wants to be an expert he must keep his eyes and ears wide open,
and pay strict attention to little things which almost anybody else
would consider to be beneath his notice. It is wonderful what
proficiency a person who has a talent for such things can acquire by
practice. For example, this scout of ours could learn more about a trail
in two minutes than I could in an hour. But he is fearfully jealous,"
added George with a laugh, "and you ought to have seen how mad I made
him while we were passing through that belt of post-oaks this afternoon.
Seeing that Captain Clinton was waiting very impatiently for
information, I volunteered the statement that the hostiles had passed
that way early on Thursday morning, and that Mr. Wentworth was not the
only one who had suffered at their hands. The captain asked Mose what he
thought of that, and Mose replied, 'I think jest this here, cap: if that
kid is agoin' to lead this yere party he had better say so, an' I will
go back to the post. He's a'most too fresh, an' he'd better go back in
the woods an' practise at holdin' his chin.' But he did not contradict
my statement, and that was all the evidence I needed to prove that I was
right in what I said. The tracks here on the bank are not as fresh as
you suppose. If they were wet, it would be a sign that the Indians
crossed the ford since three o'clock this afternoon."
"Why since three o'clock?" asked Bob.
"Because the sun went under a cloud at that hour, and hasn't showed
himself since to dry off the water that the horses and cattle brought
out of the stream on their feet and legs."
While the two boys were talking in this way George was getting ready to
go to bed. The camp was located at the foot of a perpendicular bluff
which was perhaps twenty feet in height. On the top of this bluff the
horses were picketed, and beyond them were the sentinels who were to
look out for the safety of the animals and keep guard over their
slumbering companions. Everything outside of the circle of light made by
the camp-fires was concealed by the most intense darkness. Not even a
star twinkled in the sky. George spread his blankets in a sheltered nook
at the foot of the bluff and courted the "drowsy god" in vain. He was
tired and his eyes were heavy, but he could not go to sleep. After
rolling and tossing about for nearly two hours, he became too nervous to
remain inactive any longer, so he slung his rifle on his back and
climbed to the top of the bluff, where he found Bob Owens and two other
non-commissioned officers sitting beside a fire and conversing in low
tones. At another fire a short distance away sat Lieutenant Earle, the
officer of the guard, nodding over his pipe.
"Hallo!" exclaimed Bob, "what brought you out here?"
"Oh, I want somebody to talk to," replied George, throwing himself on
the ground by his friend's side, "Somehow, I can't sleep, and that's a
new thing for me."
"You are not afraid of the hostiles, are you?" asked a corporal from the
other side of the fire.
"Oh no, because I know that we have nothing to fear from them on such a
night as this. If there were any hostiles in the neighborhood, they
might slip up and steal a few horses, if they thought they could get
away with their booty, but they wouldn't attack a party of the size of
ours and bring on an open fight. It is too dark."
"Why, that is just the reason they _would_ attack us," exclaimed the
corporal, who, although he had often been on a scout, had never
participated in a battle. "They rely upon the darkness to cover their
movements and to assist them in effecting a surprise. I have read it a
hundred times."
"Ah, yes," replied George--"story-book Indians make attacks at all hours
of the day and night, but live Plains Indians don't. The reason for it
is this: They believe that they will go into the happy hunting-grounds
with just the same surroundings that attend their departure from this
world. If an Indian is crippled or blind or ill, he will be just the
same Indian in the spirit-land. If he dies from the effects of disease,
he will suffer from that disease for ever; but if he is killed in battle
on a pleasant day, and while he is in the possession of all his strength
and faculties, he will go straight to the Indian's heaven under the most
favorable circumstances."
"Suppose he is killed on a rainy day?" said the corporal on the other
side of the fire.
"Or a snowy one?" chimed in a sergeant.
"Then he is doomed to paddle through rain or snow through all eternity,"
replied George; "and that he doesn't like either is proved by the fact
that he will not stir out of camp while it is raining or snowing if he
can help it. If an Indian is hanged, like Captain Jack or those
thirty-seven warriors who were executed at Mankato in 1863 for
participation in the Sioux massacre, he loses all chance of ever seeing
the happy hunting-grounds. So he does if he is scalped; and that's the
reason Indians make such efforts to carry off the body of a fallen
comrade. A Plains Indian never willingly goes into a fight during the
night. If he did, he would make it much warmer for us here on the
frontier than he does now. He may make use of a night like this to get
into position for an attack, but if left to himself he will not raise
the war-whoop before daylight, because he believes that if he is killed
during the dark he will be condemned to pass all eternity in darkness."
"Well, that is something I never knew before," said the corporal, "and I
have been on the Plains a good many years. Now that I think of it--"
"Corporal of the guard, No. 7!" came the call through the dense
darkness, whereupon Bob Owens jumped to his feet.
"What's the trouble out there, I wonder?" said he.
"Go and see," replied the sergeant with a sleepy yawn: "that's the only
way to find out."
"Sergeant," said the officer of the guard, "if those horses have had
grass enough, have them brought in and tied to the stable-lines. Look
well to their fastenings."
"Corporal of the guard, No. 7!" came the call again; and this time it
was uttered in a louder and more earnest tone.
Bob, who was walking toward post No. 7 with a very deliberate step, now
broke into a run, and George jumped up and followed him. A fortunate
thing it was for that camp and its inmates that he did so. His thorough
acquaintance with the ways of some of the inhabitants of the Plains
enabled him to prevent a catastrophe which would certainly have resulted
in a serious loss of life, and brought Captain Clinton's scout to an
inglorious end then and there. When he and the corporal reached post No.
7 they found the sentry on duty there lying flat on his stomach and
gazing earnestly toward the horizon.
"What's the matter, Sprague?" demanded Bob.
"I don't know, I am sure," replied the sentry. "If the hostiles had made
up their minds to pay us a visit, they wouldn't make such a racket as
that, would they? There! don't you hear it? Something's coming this way,
I tell you, and coming on a keen jump, too."
The three held their breath and listened intently. A second later the
breeze brought to their ears the sound that had attracted the attention
of the sentry--a deep, rumbling sound, faint and far off, but increasing
perceptibly in volume. It resembled the constant muttering of distant
thunder, but they all knew it was not that. Bob's face brightened at
once, but George's grew pale. The corporal did not know the danger that
threatened them, but his companion did; he had heard something like it
before. He had heard it on the night that Fletcher and his band of
raiders stampeded his stock, and he had thrown himself into an old
buffalo-wallow and allowed three hundred frantic cattle to gallop over
his head.
"Why, it must be cavalry from Fort Tyler," said Bob at length.--"But
I'll tell you what's a fact, boys," he added, as a fresh gust of wind
brought the sound more plainly to his ears: "there must be lots of them,
for I never heard such a roar of hoofs before. They are coming this way,
too. I hope they'll not run over us."
"Well, they _will_ run over us," said George, speaking quickly but
calmly, "unless you take immediate steps to prevent it. They are not
cavalry; they are buffaloes."
"Oh! ah!" exclaimed Bob.
"Humph!" ejaculated the sentry, jumping to his feet.--"Don't tell the
boys what I called you out for, will you, corporal? To tell the truth, I
was just a little bit--"
He finished the sentence by shrugging his shoulders, and Bob, who knew
what he meant by that, was about to assure him that he would say nothing
in the hearing of the "boys" that would enable them to "get the laugh"
on him, when George Ackerman broke in with--
"You had good reason to be alarmed, and this is not a matter to be
dropped with an 'ah!' and an 'oh!' and a 'humph!' You are in great
danger, if you only knew it. Those buffaloes are stampeded, and will not
stop until they are all out of breath."
"Well, if they don't want to stop, let them run," said Bob. "Who cares?
They don't owe us anything. They will of course turn aside when they see
us."
"But they will not see you unless you do something to attract their
attention," exclaimed George impatiently. "They will be in among us in
five minutes more, and men and horses will be trampled into the ground
like blades of grass. Wake up and do something, can't you? The safety of
the camp depends upon you, and if you don't move, I will."
"Great Moses!" ejaculated Bob. He was thoroughly aroused by the earnest
words of his companion, but having never been placed in a situation
like this before, he did not know how to act. "You don't mean that--I
never heard of--"
"Yes, I do mean that they will trample the whole camp to death unless
you prevent it; and I don't care whether you ever heard of such a thing
being done or not," cried George, seizing the corporal by the arm and
shaking him as if he wanted to put a little energy into him.
"But what shall I do? Shall I order up the reserve and get the horses
out of the way?"
"You haven't got time to get them out of the way. The buffaloes will be
upon us before you could take half a dozen of them to a place of safety.
Arouse the camp the first thing, and then call up a few good men to go
out and split the herd the moment it comes in sight."
Bob, who was still in the dark, was about to ask how he should go to
work to "split" the herd after he had selected the men, but George did
not give him the opportunity. The rumbling of the approaching hoofs grew
louder and louder, and every moment was precious. It sounded before them
and to the right and left of them, indicating that the herd was an
immense one, and that it was advancing with a front broad enough to
overwhelm the entire camp. Knowing that no more time could be wasted in
debating the matter, George unslung his Winchester and fired two shots
into the air. The effect was almost magical. The camp, which had been so
quiet a second before, was aroused into instant life and activity. Loud
cries of "Indians!" and "Fall in!" arose on the still air, followed by
blasts from the bugle and stern notes of command. The officer of the
guard was promptly on the ground, and to him Bob reported that a herd of
stampeded buffaloes was bearing down upon them. The announcement
startled the lieutenant, but he acted with the greatest coolness. As
fast as the men came up he ordered them back to take care of the
horses--all except a dozen or so of the best soldiers known to him, whom
he ordered to follow him. By the time he had taken up his position,
which was on a little rise of ground about fifty yards from post No. 7,
Captain Clinton came up. Taking in at a glance the arrangements which
his subordinate had made to avert the terrible danger that threatened
the camp, he left him and his picked men to carry out those arrangements
or perish in the attempt, while he hastened back to see that the horses
were well secured.
"Steady!" commanded Lieutenant Earle, speaking in his loudest tones, in
order to make his voice heard above the roar of the threatening hoofs,
which sounded like the noise made by an approaching hurricane. "We are
here to conquer or die. If we don't split that herd they will trample us
out of sight in the ground. We can do it if we are only cool enough to
hold our position. Don't fire until I give the word, and then put in the
shots as rapidly as you know how."
Bob's hair fairly stood on end, and not even the calm bearing of George
Ackerman, who was constantly by his side and who knew their danger
better than he did, or the lieutenant's assurance that the herd could be
split if they did their full duty, could relieve Bob's mind of the
positive conviction that he and his comrades were doomed to certain and
speedy death. But his courage never faltered, and to show that he did
not intend to allow himself to be outdone in steadiness even by a
shoulder-strap, he walked up and kneeling beside his officer (the men in
the front rank were all kneeling, so that those in the rear rank could
shoot over their heads) waited for the order to fire.
Nearer came the terror-stricken buffaloes, louder grew the thunder of
their hoofs, and, as if to add to the horror of the situation and to
test the courage of the lieutenant and his devoted little band to the
very utmost, the horses behind them began to grow unmanageable from
fright and to struggle desperately to escape from their fastenings.
At length, after a few moments of dreadful suspense, the time for action
arrived. A rapidly-moving mass, which was plainly visible, owing to the
fact that it was blacker than the darkness of the night, burst into view
and bore down upon the camp and its little band of defenders. So loud
was the noise made by their hoofs at this moment that the troopers did
not hear the order to fire, which the lieutenant shouted out with all
the power of his lungs; but they saw the flash of his revolver, and lost
no time in opening a hot fire upon that portion of the herd which was
directly in front of them. To Bob it seemed that the rapid discharges of
their breech-loaders had no effect whatever. The black mass before him
was as black and as dense, apparently, as it was when he first saw it,
but, strange to say, instead of plunging upon him and his companions and
trampling them out of all semblance to humanity, it seemed to remain
stationary, although the deafening roar of those countless hoofs told
him that the frantic herd had not in the least slackened its pace. In
fact, his eyes and ears seemed to have suddenly become at "outs," for
they did not endorse each other as they usually did. His eyes told him
that his carbine was fired rapidly, for they showed him the flashes that
followed the pulling of the trigger; but his ears took no note of the
fact, for he could not hear the faintest report. The reason for this
was, that the herd, having been split in two by the first volley, was
moving by on each side of them with a roar and a rush that would have
drowned the discharge of a section of artillery.
How long the buffaloes were in passing Bob never knew, for he took no
note of time. It was probably not more than two or three minutes, but
during that brief period he passed through an ordeal that he never could
think of afterward without feeling the cold chills creep all over him.
But he did not flinch, and neither did his companions. When the last of
the buffaloes passed to the right and left of them, and the lieutenant
jumped up and stretched his arms and legs as if to assure himself that
he had not been stepped on anywhere, he found that not one of his men
had moved from his place. The front rank was still kneeling, the rear
rank was standing, and they were both as well aligned as they were
before the firing commenced.
After ordering the front rank to rise, and bestowing upon them all a few
hearty words of commendation, the lieutenant marched his men back to the
camp, where they found some of their companions under arms, and the rest
engaged in bringing in the horses and making them fast to the
stable-lines. The animals were in such a state of alarm, and showed so
strong a desire to run off with the retreating buffaloes, that Captain
Clinton thought it advisable to put a strong guard over them for the
rest of the night, with instructions to examine their fastenings every
few minutes. When this guard had been detailed and the sentries had been
changed, the rest of the troopers went back to their blankets.
Bob and George were proud of the part they had acted in saving the camp
from destruction, and consequently when they spread their blankets
beside one of the fires they were somewhat provoked to hear the man who
was piling fresh fuel upon it attribute their narrow escape to "luck."
But still there was nothing very surprising in this, for it not
infrequently happens that a soldier stationed in one end of a camp does
not know what is going on in the other end of it, especially in times of
excitement. The same thing happens in a fight. A soldier may be able to
give a clear statement of the part his company took in it, but he knows
nothing of the general plan of the battle or of the number of the
killed, wounded, captured or missing, until he has had time to talk the
matter over with his comrades or to read a published account of it.
During the war it was a common saying among the soldiers in the field
that they never knew anything about the fights they had been in until
they saw the papers.
"I have been on the Plains nearly three years," said the trooper who was
punching up the fire, "and that was the first time I ever saw a herd of
stampeded buffaloes."
"I never saw one," said another trooper. "I heard this one, but my horse
kept me so busy that I couldn't take time to look at it."
"I had a fair view of it," said the one who had first spoken. "My horse
was quiet enough after I got the bit between his teeth, so that I could
manage him, and I stood up there by that farther fire and took it all
in. I tell you, it was a sight!--a regular cataract of buffaloes a
hundred feet wide, tumbling over a bank twenty feet high. I have always
heard that when buffaloes become frightened and get to running they turn
aside for nothing; but this night's experience gives the lie to all such
stories, don't it? When they saw our camp they turned to the right and
left, and crossed the stream above and below us, and never did us the
least damage. Luck was on our side, wasn't it?"
"'Luck'!" repeated Bob in a tone of disgust; "I guess not. There were
about a dozen men, of whom George Ackerman and I made two, who stood
between you fellows and certain death. If we hadn't held our ground as
if we had grown there, there wouldn't have been one of you left to tell
the story of this night's work."
The troopers lying about the fire were greatly astonished at these
words, and called for an immediate explanation. Bob told the story in a
few words, adding, as he directed the attention of his auditors to
George Ackerman, who was lying at his ease on his blanket,
"There's the fellow you have to thank for your 'luck.' Sprague heard
them coming, and so did I after he called me out to his post, but we
didn't know what it was until Ackerman told us. He was the one who
alarmed the camp. I know I did something toward splitting that herd, for
I could see the fire come out of my carbine and my cartridge-box is
empty, but I never heard a report. I didn't hear anything but the
thunder of those hoofs, and I shall hear it to my dying day."
"I wonder what started them?" said one of the troopers, after he and his
companions had asked a few questions concerning the behavior of the
various members of the squad. "Indians?"
"Probably they did," answered a sergeant, who just then came up to the
fire to light his pipe, being unable to go to sleep until he had taken a
smoke to quiet his nerves.
"Probably the Indians had nothing to do with it," said George. "Don't
you know that a herd of buffaloes will feed within a mile or two of an
Indian camp for days at a time, while half a dozen white men would scare
them out of the country in less than an hour? Well, it's a fact."
"What is the reason for it?" asked Bob.
"The reason is to be found in the different modes of hunting them. The
Indian, who depends largely upon them for food and clothing, kills no
more of them during a run than the squaws can take care of. He hunts
them almost altogether with the bow and arrow, which are not only very
effective weapons at short range, but they make no noise to scare away
the game. He hunts according to long-established rules, none but the
best men in the tribe being permitted to take part in a run, and in this
way the game is secured before the buffaloes get frightened enough to
break into a stampede. The white man, who hunts principally for profit,
keeps up the killing as long as he can hold the herd within range of his
gun. He follows them persistently during the daytime, and at night lies
in wait to shoot them as they come to the streams to quench their
thirst. A buffalo is a very stupid animal, but, after all, it doesn't
take him long to get some things through his head."
"Fresh, purty _fresh_!" murmured a voice.
George looked over his shoulders and saw the scout lying close by on his
blanket. He had come up to the fire and arranged his bed without
attracting the attention of any one.
"Do you think there is nobody in this party who knows anything except
yourself?" demanded George.
"Well, no; judgin' by the way you sling your chin, you know it all,"
replied the scout.
"What do you suppose first put this herd in motion?" asked one of the
troopers, who had not yet gained all the information he wanted.
"That's a question that nobody can answer unless he was on the ground
and saw them start," answered George.--"You'll not dispute that, will
you, Mose?--Our Texas cattle will often get stampeded by the sight of a
little cloud of dust that is suddenly raised by the wind; or some night
a careless herdsman may step between them and the fire and throw his
shadow upon them; or some of the young and foolish members of a drove
will fall to skylarking, and that will frighten the others, and the
first thing you know they are all off like the wind. Buffaloes have just
as little sense. My herdsman has told me that he has seen hundreds of
them, when they were suffering for water, walk into a stream that was
literally choked with the bodies of their companions who had been caught
in the quicksand."
"Say," growled a drowsy trooper from his blanket, "suppose you boys go
somewhere and hire a hall?"
George laughed, and, taking the hint thus delicately thrown out, brought
his lecture on buffaloes to a close. The remembrance of the thrilling
scene through which he had just passed did not keep him awake. On the
contrary, sleep came to his eyes almost immediately, and the last sound
he heard as he was about to pass into the land of dreams was the subdued
voice of the scout murmuring, "Fresh, very fresh!"