Far up in the Northwest, along the banks of the broad, winding stream
the Sioux call the Elk, a train of white-topped army-wagons is slowly
crawling eastward. The October sun is hot at noon-day, and the dust from
the loose soil rises like heavy smoke and powders every face and form in
the guarding battalion so that features are wellnigh indistinguishable.
Four companies of stalwart, sinewy infantry, with their brown rifles
slung over the shoulder, are striding along in dispersed order, covering
the exposed southern flank from sudden attack, while farther out along
the ridge-line, and far to the front and rear, cavalry skirmishers and
scouts are riding to and fro, searching every hollow and ravine, peering
cautiously over every "divide," and signalling "halt" or "forward" as
the indications warrant.
And yet not a hostile Indian has been seen; not one, even as distant
vedette, has appeared in range of the binoculars, since the scouts rode
in at daybreak to say that big bands were in the immediate neighborhood.
It has been a long, hard summer's work for the troops, and the Indians
have been, to all commands that boasted strength or swiftness, elusive
as the Irishman's flea of tradition. Only to those whose numbers were
weak or whose movements were hampered have they appeared in
fighting-trim. But combinations have been too much for them, and at last
they have been "herded" down to the Elk, have crossed, and are now
seeking to make their way, with women, children, tepees, dogs,
"travois," and the great pony herds, to the fastnesses of the Big Horn;
and now comes the opportunity for which an old Indian-fighter has been
anxiously waiting. In a big cantonment he has held the main body under
his command, while keeping out constant scouting-parties to the east and
north. He knows well that, true to their policy, the Indians will have
scattered into small bands capable of reassembling anywhere that signal
smokes may call them, and his orders are to watch all the crossings of
the Elk and nab them as they come into his district. He watches, despite
the fact that it is his profound conviction that the Indians will be no
such idiots as to come just where they are wanted, and he is in no wise
astonished when a courier comes in on jaded horse to tell him that they
have "doubled" on the other column and are now two or three days' march
away down stream, "making for the big bend." His own scouting-parties
are still out to the eastward: he can pick them up as he goes. He sends
the main body of his infantry, a regiment jocularly known as "The
Riflers," to push for a landing some fifty miles down-stream, scouting
the lower valley of the Sweet Root on the way. He sends his wagon-train,
guarded by four companies of foot and two of horsemen, by the only
practicable road to the bend, while he, with ten seasoned "troops" of
his pet regiment, the ----th Cavalry, starts forthwith on a long détour
in which he hopes to "round up" such bands as may have slipped away from
the general rush. Even as "boots and saddles" is sounding, other
couriers come riding in from Lieutenant Crane's party. He has struck the
trail of a big band.
When the morning sun dawns on the picturesque valley in which the
cantonment nestled but the day before, it illumines an almost deserted
village, and brings no joy to the souls of some twoscore of embittered
civilians who had arrived only the day previous, and whose unanimous
verdict is that the army is a fraud and ought to be abolished. For four
months or more some three regiments had been camping, scouting, roughing
it thereabouts, with not a cent of pay. Then came the wildly exciting
tidings that a boat was on the way up the Missouri with a satrap of the
pay department, vast store of shekels, and a strong guard, and as a
consequence there would be some two thousand men around the cantonment
with pockets full of money and no one to help them spend it, and nothing
suitable to spend it on. It was a duty all citizens owed to the
Territory to hasten to the scene and gather in for local circulation all
that was obtainable of that disbursement; otherwise the curse of the
army might get ahead of them and the boys would gamble it away among
themselves or spend it for vile whiskey manufactured for their sole
benefit. Gallatin Valley was emptied of its prominent practitioners in
the game of poker. The stream was black with "Mackinaw" boats and other
craft. There was a rush for the cantonment that rivalled the multitudes
of the mining days, but all too late. The command was already packing up
when the first contingent arrived, and the commanding officer,
recognizing the fraternity at a glance, warned them outside the limits
of camp that night, declined their services as volunteers on the
impending campaign, and treated them with such calmly courteous
recognition of their true character that the Eastern press was speedily
filled with sneering comment on the hopelessness of ever subduing the
savage tribes of the Northwest when the government intrusts the duty to
upstart officers of the regular service whose sole conception of their
functions is to treat with insult and contempt the hardy frontiersman
whose mere presence with the command would be of incalculable benefit.
"We have it from indisputable authority," says _The Miner's Light_ of
Brandy Gap, "that when our esteemed fellow-citizen Hank Mulligan and
twenty gallant shots and riders like himself went in a body to
General---- at the cantonment and offered their services as volunteers
against the Sioux now devastating the homesteads and settlements of the
Upper Missouri and Yellowstone valleys, they were treated with haughty
and contemptuous refusal by that bandbox caricature of a soldier and
threatened with arrest if they did not quit the camp. When _will_ the
United States learn that its frontiers can never be purged of the Indian
scourges of our civilization until the conduct of affairs in the field
is intrusted to other hands than these martinets of the drill-ground? It
is needless to remark in this connection that the expedition led by
General---- has proved a complete failure, and that the Indians easily
escaped his clumsily-led forces."
The gamblers, though baffled for the time being, of course "get square,"
and more too, with the unfortunate general in this sort of warfare, but
they are a disgusted lot as they hang about the wagon-train as last of
all it is being hitched-in to leave camp. Some victims, of course, they
have secured, and there are no devices of commanding officers which can
protect their men against those sharks of the prairies when the men
themselves are bound to tempt Providence and play. There are two
scowling faces in the cavalry escort that has been left back with the
train, and Captain Hull, the commanding officer, has reprimanded
Sergeants Clancy and Gower in stinging terms for their absence from the
command during the night. There is little question where they spent it,
and both have been "cleaned out." What makes it worse, both have lost
money that belonged to other men in the command, and they are in bad
odor accordingly.
The long day's march has tempered the joviality of the entire column. It
is near sundown, and still they keep plodding onward, making for a
grassy level on the river-bank a good mile farther.
"Old Hull seems bound to leave the sports as far behind as possible, if
he has to march us until midnight," growls the battalion adjutant to his
immediate commander. "By thunder! one would think he was afraid they
would get in a lick at his own pile."
"How much did you say he was carrying?" asks Captain Rayner, checking
his horse for a moment to look back over the valley at the long,
dust-enveloped column.
"Nearly three thousand dollars in one wad."
"How does he happen to have such a sum?"
"Why, Crane left his pay-accounts with him. He drew all that was due his
men who are off with Crane,--twenty of them,--for they had signed the
rolls before going, and were expected back to-day. Then he has some six
hundred dollars company fund; and the men of his troop asked him to take
care of a good deal besides. The old man has been with them so many
years they look upon him as a father and trust him as implicitly as they
would a savings-bank."
"That's all very well," answers Rayner; "but I wouldn't want to carry
any such sum with me."
"It's different with Hull's men, captain. They are ordered in through
the posts and settlements. They have a three weeks' march ahead of them
when they get through their scout, and they want their money on the way.
It was only after they had drawn it that the news came of the Indians'
crossing and of our having to jump for the warpath. Everybody thought
yesterday morning that the campaign was about over so far as we are
concerned. Halloo! here comes young Hayne. Now, what does _he_ want?"
Riding a quick, nervous little bay troop horse, a slim-built officer,
with boyish face, laughing blue eyes, and sunny hair, comes loping up
the long prairie wave; he shouts cheery greeting to one or two brother
subalterns who are plodding along beside their men, and exchanges some
merry chaff with Lieutenant Ross, who is prone to growl at the luck
which has kept him afoot and given to this favored youngster a "mount"
and a temporary staff position. The boy's spirits and fun seem to jar on
Rayner's nerves. He regards him blackly as he rides gracefully towards
the battalion commander, and with decidedly nonchalant ease of manner
and an "off-hand" salute that has an air about it of saying, "I do this
sort of thing because one has to, but it doesn't really mean anything,
you know," Mr. Hayne accosts his superior:
"Ah, good-evening, captain. I have just come back from the front, and
Captain Hull directed me to give you his compliments and say that we
would camp in the bend yonder, and he would like you to post strong
pickets and have a double guard to-night."
"Have _me_ post double guards! How the devil does he expect me to do
that after marching all day?"
"I did not inquire, sir: he might have told me 'twas none of my
business, don't you know?" And Mr. Hayne has the insufferable hardihood
to wink at the battalion adjutant,--a youth of two years' longer service
than his own.
"Well, Mr. Hayne, this is no matter for levity," says Rayner, angrily.
"What does Captain Hull mean to do with his own men, if I'm to do the
guard?"
"That is another point, Captain Rayner, which I had not the requisite
effrontery to inquire into. Now, _you_ might ask him, but I couldn't,
don't you know?" responds Hayne, smiling amiably the while into the
wrathful face of his superior. It serves only to make the indignant
captain more wrathful; and no wonder. There has been no love lost
between the two since Hayne joined the Riflers early the previous year.
He came in from civil life, a city-bred boy, fresh from college, full of
spirits, pranks, fun of every kind; a wonderfully keen hand with the
billiard-cue; a knowing one at cards and such games of chance as college
boys excel at; a musician of no mean pretensions, and an irrepressible
leader in all the frolics and frivolities of his comrades. He had leaped
to popularity from the start. He was full of courtesy and gentleness to
women, and became a pet in social circles. He was frank, free,
off-handed with his associates, spending lavishly, "treating" with
boyish ostentation on all occasions, living quite _en grand seigneur_,
for he seemed to have a little money outside his pay,--"a windfall from
a good old duffer of an uncle," as he had explained it. His father, a
scholarly man who had been summoned to an important under-office in the
State Department during the War of the Rebellion, had lived out his
honored life in Washington and died poor, as such men must ever die. It
was his wish that his handsome, spirited, brave-hearted boy should enter
the army, and long after the sod had hardened over the father's
peaceful grave the young fellow donned his first uniform and went out to
join "The Riflers." High-spirited, joyous, full of laughing fun, he was
"Pet" Hayne before he had been among them six months. But within the
year he had made one or two enemies. It could not be said of him that he
showed that deference to rank and station which was expected of a junior
officer; and among the seniors were several whom he speedily designated
"unconscionable old duffers" and treated with as little semblance of
respect as a second lieutenant could exhibit and be permitted to live.
Rayner prophesied of him that, as he had no balance and was burning his
candle at both ends, he would come to grief in short order. Hayne
retorted that the only balance that Rayner had any respect for was one
at the banker's, and that it was notorious in Washington that the
captain's father had made most of his money in government contracts, and
that the captain's original commission in the regulars was secured
through well-paid Congressional influence. The fact that Rayner had
developed into a good officer did not wipe out the recollection of these
facts; and he could have throttled Hayne for reviving them. It was "a
game of give and take," said the youngster; and he "behaved himself" to
those who were at all decent in their manner to him.
It was a thorn in Rayner's flesh, therefore, when Hayne joined from
leave of absence, after experiences not every officer would care to
encounter in getting back to his regiment, that Captain Hull should have
induced the general to detail him in place of the invalided field
quartermaster when the command was divided. Hayne would have been a
junior subaltern in Rayner's little battalion but for that detail, and
it annoyed the captain more seriously than he would confess.
"It is all an outrage and a blunder to pick out a boy like that," he
growls between his set teeth as Hayne canters blithely away. "Here he's
been away from the regiment all summer long, having a big time and
getting head over ears in debt, I hear, and the moment he rejoins they
put him in charge of the wagon-train as field quartermaster. It's
putting a premium on being young and cheeky,--besides absenteeism," he
continues, growing blacker every minute.
"Well, captain," answers his adjutant, injudiciously, "I think you don't
give Hayne credit for coming back on the jump the moment we were ordered
out. It was no fault of his he could not reach us. He took chances _I_
wouldn't take."
"Oh, yes! you kids all swear by Hayne because he's a good fellow and
sings a jolly song and plays the piano--and poker. One of these days
he'll swamp you all, sure as shooting. He's in debt _now_, and it'll
fetch him before you know it. What he needs is to be under a captain who
could discipline him a little. By Jove, I'd do it!" And Rayner's teeth
emphasize the assertion.
The young adjutant thinks it advisable to say nothing that may provoke
further vehemence. All the same, he remembers Rayner's bitterness of
manner, and has abundant cause to.
When the next morning breaks, chill and pallid, a change has come in the
aspect of affairs. During the earliest hour of the dawn the red light of
a light-draught river-boat startled the outlying pickets down-stream,
and the Far West, answering the muffled hail from shore, responded,
through the medium of a mate's stentorian tones, "News that'll rout you
fellows out." The sun is hardly peeping over the jagged outline of the
eastern hills when, with Rayner's entire battalion aboard, she is
steaming again down-stream, with orders to land at the mouth of the
Sweet Root. There the four companies will disembark in readiness to join
the rest of the regiment.
All day long again the wagon-train twists and wriggles through an ashen
section of Les Mauvaises Terres. It is a tedious, trying march for
Hull's little command of troopers,--all that is now left to guard the
train. The captain is constantly out on the exposed flank, eagerly
scanning the rough country to the south, and expectant any moment of an
attack from that direction. He and his men, as well as the horses,
mules, and teamsters, are fairly tired out when at nightfall they park
the wagons in a big semicircle, with the broad river forming a shining
chord to the arc of white canvas. All the live-stock are safely herded
within the enclosure; a few reliable soldiers are posted well out to the
south and east, to guard against surprise, and the veteran Sergeant
Clancy is put in command of the sentries. The captain gives strict
injunctions as to the importance of these duties; for he is far from
easy in his mind over the situation. The Riflers, he knows, are over in
the valley of the Sweet Root. The steamer with Rayner's men is tied up
at the bank some five miles below, around the bend. The ----th are far
off to the northward across the Elk, as ordered, and must be expecting
on the morrow to make for the old Indian "ferry" opposite Battle Butte.
The main body of the Sioux are reported farther down stream, but he
feels it in his bones that there are numbers of them within signal, and
he wishes with all his heart the ----th were here. Still, the general
was sure he would stir up war-parties on the other shore. Individually,
he has had very little luck in scouting during the summer, and he cannot
help wishing he were with the rest of the crowd instead of here,
train-guarding.
Presently Mr. Hayne appears, elastic and debonair as though he had not
been working like a horse all day. His voice sounds so full of cheer and
life that Hull looks up smilingly:
"Well, youngster, you seem to love this frontier life."
"Every bit of it, captain. I was cut out for the army, as father
thought."
"We used to talk it over a good deal in the old days when I was
stationed around Washington," answers Hull. "Your father was the warmest
friend I had in civil circles, and he made it very pleasant for me. How
little we thought it would be my luck to have you for quartermaster!"
"The fellows seemed struck all of a heap in the Riflers at the idea of
your applying for me, captain. I was ready to swear it was all on
father's account, and would have told them so, only Rayner happened to
be the first man to tackle me on the subject, and he was so crusty about
it I kept the whole thing to myself rather than give him any
satisfaction."
"Larry, my boy, I'm no preacher, but I want to be the friend to you your
father was to me. You are full of enthusiasm and life and spirits, and
you love the army ways and have made yourself very popular with the
youngsters, but I'm afraid you are too careless and independent where
the seniors are concerned. Rayner is a good soldier; and you show him
very scant respect, I'm told."
"Well, he's such an interfering fellow. They will all tell you I'm
respectful enough to--to the captains I like--"
"That's just it, Lawrence. So long as you like a man your manner is what
it should be. What a young soldier ought to learn is to be courteous and
respectful to senior officers whether he likes them or not. It costs an
effort sometimes, but it tells. You never know what trouble you are
laying up for yourself in the army by bucking against men you don't
like. They may not be in position to resent it at the time, but the time
is mighty apt to come when they _will_ be, and then you are helpless."
"Why, Captain Hull, I don't see it that way at all. It seems to me that
so long as an officer attends to his duty, minds his own business, and
behaves like a gentleman, no one can harm him; especially when all the
good fellows of the regiment are his friends, as they are mine, I think,
in the Riflers."
"Ah, Hayne, it is a hard thing to teach a youngster that--that there are
men who find it very easy to make their juniors' lives a burden to them,
and without overstepping a regulation. It is harder yet to say that
friends in the army are a good deal like friends out of it: one only has
to get into serious trouble to find how few they are. God grant you may
never have to learn it, my boy, as many another has had to, by sharp
experience! Now we must get a good night's rest. You sleep like a log, I
see, and I can only take cat-naps. Confound this money! How I wish I
could get rid of it!"
"Where do you keep it to-night?"
"Right here in my saddle-bags under my head. Nobody can touch them that
I do not wake; and my revolver is here under the blanket. Hold on! Let's
take a look and see if everything is all right." He holds a little
camp-lantern over the bags, opens the flap, and peers in. "Yes,--all
serene. I got a big hunk of green sealing-wax from the paymaster and
sealed it all up in one package with the memorandum-list inside. It's
all safe so far,--even to the hunk of sealing-wax.--What is it,
sergeant?"
A tall, soldierly, dark-eyed trooper appears at the door-way of the
little tent, and raises his gauntleted hand in salute. His language,
though couched in the phraseology of the soldier, tells both in choice
of words and in the intonation of every phrase that he is a man whose
antecedents have been far different from those of the majority of the
rank and file:
"Will the captain permit me to take my horse and those of three or four
more men outside the corral? Sergeant Clancy says he has no authority to
allow it. We have found a patch of excellent grass, sir, and there is
hardly any left inside. I will sleep by my picket-pin, and one of us
will keep awake all the time, if the captain will permit."
"How far away is it, sergeant?"
"Not seventy-five yards, sir,--close to the river-bank east of us."
"Very well. Send Sergeant Clancy here, and I'll give the necessary
orders."
The soldier quietly salutes, and disappears in the gathering darkness.
"That's what I like about that man Gower," says the captain, after a
moment's silence. "He is always looking out for his horse. If he were
not such a gambler and rake he would make a splendid first-sergeant.
Fine-looking fellow, isn't he?"
"Yes, sir. That is a face that one couldn't well forget. Who was the
other sergeant you overhauled for getting fleeced by those sharps at the
cantonment?"
"Clancy? He's on guard to-night. A very different character."
"I don't know him by sight as yet. Well, good-night, sir. I'll take
myself off and go to my own tent."
* * * * *
Daybreak again, and far to the east the sky is all ablaze. The mist is
creeping from the silent shallows under the banks, but all is life and
vim along the shore. With cracking whip, tugging trace, sonorous
blasphemy, and ringing shout, the long train is whirling ahead almost at
the run. All is athrill with excitement, and bearded faces have a
strange, set look about the jaws, and eyes gleam with eager light and
peer searchingly from every rise far over to the southeast, where stands
a tumbling heap of hills against the lightening sky. "Off there, are
they?" says a burly trooper, dismounting hastily to tighten up the
"cinch" of his weather-beaten saddle. "We can make it quick enough, 's
soon as we get rid of these blasted wagons." And, swinging into saddle
again, he goes cantering down the slope, his charger snorting with
exhilaration in the keen morning air.
Before dawn a courier has galloped into camp, bearing a despatch from
the commanding officer of the Riflers. It says but few words, but they
are full of meaning: "We have found a big party of hostiles. They are in
strong position, and have us at disadvantage. Rayner with his four
companies is hurrying to us. Leave all wagons with the boat under guard,
and come with every horse and man you can bring."
Before seven o'clock the wagons are parked close along the bank beside
the Far West, and Hull, with all the men he can muster,--some fifty,--is
trotting ahead on the trail of Rayner's battalion. With him rides Mr.
Hayne, eager and enthusiastic. Before ten o'clock, far up along the
slopes they see the blue line of skirmishers, and the knots of reserves
farther down, all at a stand. In ten minutes they ride with foaming
reins in behind a low ridge on which, flat on their faces and cautiously
peering over the crest, some hundred infantrymen are disposed. Others,
officers and file-closers, are moving to and fro in rear. They are of
Rayner's battalion. Farther back, down in a ravine a dozen forms are
outstretched upon the turf, and others are bending over them,
ministering to the needs of those who are not past help already. Several
officers crowd around the leading horsemen, and Hull orders, "Halt,
dismount, and loosen girths." The grave faces show that the infantry has
had poor luck, and the situation is summarized in few words. The Indians
are in force occupying the ravines and ridges opposite them and
confronting the six companies farther over to the west. Two attacks have
been made, but the Indian fire swept every approach, and both were
unsuccessful. Several soldiers were shot dead, others severely wounded.
Lieutenant Warren's leg is shattered below the knee; Captain Blount is
killed.
"Where's Rayner?" asks Hull, with grave face.
"Just gone off with the chief to look at things over on the other front.
The colonel is hopping. He is bound to have those Indians out of there
or drop a-trying. They'll be back in a minute. The general had a rousing
fight with Dull Knife's people down the river last evening. You missed
it again, Hull: all the ----th were there but F and K,--and of course
old Firewater wants to make as big a hit here."
"The ----th fighting down the river last night?" asks Hull, in amaze.
"Yes,--swept clean round them and ran 'em into the stream, they say. I
wish we had them where we could see 'em at all. You don't get the
glimpse of a head, even; but all those rocks are lined with the beggars.
Damn them!" says the adjutant, feelingly.
"We'll get our chance _here_, then," replies Hull, reflectively. "I'll
creep up and take a look at it. Take my horse, orderly."
He is back in two minutes, graver than before, but his bearing is
spirited and firm. Hayne watches him with kindling eye.
"You'll take me in with you when you charge?" he asks.
"It is no place to charge there. The ground is all cut up with ravines
and gullies, and they've got a cross-fire that sweeps it clean. We'll
probably go in on the other flank; it's more open there. Here comes the
chief now."
Two officers come riding hastily around a projecting point of the slope
and spur at rapid gait towards the spot where the cavalry have
dismounted and are breathing their horses. There is hardly time for
salutations. A gray-headed, keen-eyed, florid-faced old soldier is the
colonel, and he is snapping with electricity, apparently.
"This way, Hull. Come right here, and I'll show you what you are to do."
And, followed by Rayner, Hull, and Hayne, the chief rides sharply over
to the extreme left of the position and points to the frowning ridge
across the intervening swale.
"There, Hull: there are twenty or thirty of the rascals in there who get
a flank fire on us when we attack on our side. What I want you to do is
to mount your men, let them draw pistol and be all ready. Rayner, here,
will line the ridge to keep them down in front. I'll go back to the
right and order the attack at once. The moment we begin and you hear our
shots, you give a yell, and charge full tilt across there, so as to
drive out those fellows in that ravine. We can do the rest. Do you
understand?"
"I understand, colonel; but--is it your order that I attempt to charge
mounted across that ground?"
"Why, certainly! It isn't the best in the world, but you can make it.
They can't do very much damage to your men before you reach them. It's
_got_ to be done; it's the only way."
"Very good, sir: that ends it!" is the calm, soldierly reply; and the
colonel goes bounding away.
A moment later the troop is in saddle, eager, wiry, bronzed fellows
every one, and the revolvers are in hand and being carefully examined.
Then Captain Hull signals to Hayne, while Rayner and three or four
soldiers sit in silence, watching the man who is to lead the charge. He
dismounts at a little knoll a few feet away, tosses his reins to the
trumpeter, and steps to his saddle-bags. Hayne, too, dismounts.
Taking his watch and chain from the pocket of his hunting-shirt, he
opens the saddle-bag on the near side and takes therefrom two
packets,--one heavily sealed,--which he hands to Hayne.
"In case I--don't come back, you know what to do with these,--as I told
you last night."
Hayne only looks imploringly at him: "You are not going to leave me
_here_, captain?"
"Yes, Hayne. You can't go with us. Hark! There they go at the right. Are
the packages all right?"
Hayne, with stunned faculties, thinking only of the charge he longs to
make,--not of the one he has to keep,--replies he knows not what. There
is a ringing bugle-call far off among the rocks to the westward; a
rousing cheer; a rattling volley. Rayner springs off to his men on the
hill-side. Hull spurs in front of his eager troop, holding high his
pistol-hand:
"Now, men, follow till I drop; and then keep ahead! Come on!"
There is a furious sputter of hoofs, a rush of excited steeds up the
gentle slope, a glad outburst of cheers as they sweep across the ridge
and out of sight, then the clamor and yell of frantic battle; and when
at last it dies away, the Riflers are panting over the hard-won position
and shaking hands with some few silent cavalrymen. They have carried the
ridge, captured the migrating village, squaws, ponies, travois, and
pappooses; their "long Toms" have sent many a stalwart warrior to the
mythical hunting-grounds, and the peppery colonel's triumph is complete.
But Lawrence Hayne, with all the light gone from his brave young face,
stands mutely looking down, upon the stiffening frame of his father's
old friend, and his, who lies shot through the heart.