With Dodge’s Rangers
When Colonel Dodge had examined the dispatches brought up from General
Atkinson at Dixon’s Ferry by the four scouts, he at once sent out
fast riders far and wide, throughout the surrounding lead district,
summoning his frontier rangers to rendezvous at Hamilton’s Diggings
within forty-eight hours.
These men, gathered from the mines and fields, and numbering slightly
more than two hundred, were a free-and-easy set of dare-devils, imbued
with the spirit of adventure and an intense hatred of the Indian race.
While disciplined to the extent of always obeying orders when sent into
the teeth of danger, they swung through the country with little regard
to the rules of the military manual, and presented a striking contrast
to the habits and appearance of the regulars.
“Yes, they look like a rough lot,” observed Dodge, “but they’ll fight
like demons, and that’s what counts. You should have seen them at our
first rendezvous, early in May. They came in all manner of form. Some
with hats and some without; some had shirts on, and some hadn’t; and
armed with all sorts of weapons from sticks upward. As to maneuvers and
lines of battle, they knew nothing.”
By the evening of the 29th of June, the rendezvous of the Wisconsin
rangers was complete. Also, much to Dodge’s satisfaction, Alec Posey, a
famous frontier fighter, had come up from Kellogg’s Grove with thirty
men; while Captain Jack Stephenson had raced into camp that afternoon
with his company of fifty hardy lead-miners, from the renowned Galena
Diggings to the southwest. All told, Dodge’s squadron now numbered
about three hundred.
On the morning of the thirtieth, the gallant little detachment set off
to the northeast. Travel the first day was slow, as they met with two
deep streams. Horses had to be swum across and baggage rafted over, all
of which took a deal of time and hard labor. It was, therefore, the
evening of the second day before the horsemen reached the celebrated
Blue Mounds, two heavily wooded peaks of great beauty, which were a
landmark for travelers for miles around. Camp was made in an open grove
at the foot of these lofty hills.
“We are now only twenty miles from the Four Lakes,” stated Dodge.[B]
[B] Between two of these lakes, Mendota and Monona, is now
situated the city of Madison, capital of Wisconsin.
“’Bout four years ago, on a trappin’ trip,” declared Bill Brown, “I
camped on high ground betwixt two o’ them lakes. Purtiest bodies o’
water I ever clapped eyes on.”
“They are, indeed, unrivaled for beauty,” nodded the Colonel.
“There was an Injun village nearby, on the lake bank, as I recall it,”
went on Brown.
“It’s still there,” asserted Dodge. “Winnebago village of the noted
chief, White Crow.”
“That’s it, Colonel. I ’member the White Crow real plain. He’d lost one
eye in a brawl. Fer that reason he bore the Injun name of Kaukishkaka
(The Blind).”
“The Crow has a checkered history in this present Sac war,” averred
Dodge, with a dubious shake of the head.
“I thought he was a friend of the whites,” interposed Tom Gordon.
“Wasn’t he the chief who got Black Hawk to ransom the two white girls
taken captive at Davis Farm?”
“Yes,” admitted the officer, “it is true that the Crow was the
go-between in recovering the two Hall sisters from the Sacs. He played
a splendid role in that affair. But since that time, his actions and
words have been increasingly suspicious. Our spies now report that he
is trying his level best to deliver the Winnebagoes into an alliance
with Black Hawk.”
“Thunderation!” said Brown, “let’s hope that the Winnebagoes don’t take
up the bloody hatchet.”
“It would present us with a terrible problem,” shuddered Dodge. “I
think that the Crow and the other Winnebago chiefs could put at least
three hundred hard-riding braves in the saddle.”
The route now led due east from the Blue Mounds, over a rolling prairie
country. The grassy hollows were wet from the recent rains, offering
slippery footing for the horses. Loud guffaws arose, as several awkward
riders were pitched off their mounts. Sometimes the elevations were
covered with thickets, in which the dogs that followed the detachment
would now and then rouse up one or more deer. The first long bound of
the startled animal was the signal for a hot chase. Several times the
dogs caught up with the fleeing beasts, but were never strong enough to
pull them down.
Camp, at late afternoon, was pitched in a glade that ran down to the
shore of the most southerly of the Four Lakes, known to the whites as
the First Lake. The Winnebagoes called it Ke-gon-sa.
“I think,” declared Colonel Dodge worriedly, “that I will make a visit
to the village of White Crow. The matter of the Crow and his nervous
Winnebagoes has been on my mind all day. Perhaps a solemn talk with the
chief will make him more firm in keeping his peace pact with us.”
“The Crow’s village is at the head of Fourth Lake, isn’t it?” queried
Captain Hamilton.
“Yes, only an hour’s trip. There’s a well-beaten Indian trail
connecting all the lakes.”
To accompany him on the mission, Dodge named Bill Brown, Tom and
Ben Gordon, Bright Star, the Pottawattomee, who knew some Winnebago
tongue, and six of the stoutest and strongest of his own rangers. After
three-quarters of an hour of easy travel--for the trail was fully as
good as the Colonel had prophesied--the party of horsemen reached the
foot of the Fourth Lake. Up its timbered western bank they made their
way, skirting several patches of bog that rimmed the water at various
inlets.
After passing the last of these bogs, they came to a place where the
trail followed the high, sheer bank very closely for an interval. A
short distance ahead, on a point known as Fox’s Head, they could see
the village of the famed White Crow. Suddenly, Bright Star, who was
riding at the rear of the column with the other scouts, drew rein on
his pony and pointed out into the lake. A canoe, with three paddlers,
was shooting down the surface, heading south, a long quarter of a mile
away.
“Prairie Wolf!” asserted the keen-eyed young brave.
“No?” barked Tom Gordon incredulously.
“By golly, it looks like the Wolf,” nodded Bill, after a swift, but
searching, look.
“Wonder who’s with him?” spoke up Ben, voicing the silent thoughts of
the others.
“One pale-face, one redman,” Bright Star declared, gazing lakeward with
renewed intensity, as the bark-canoe sped away down the shimmering
water.
“That scoundrel of a Fagan, I’ll bet a million!” burst out Tom.
Before the surprised scouts had much further chance to talk over this
unexpected glimpse of the burly Sac chief and the white renegade, the
party came to the edge of the Winnebago village. And a striking sight
it was, in the soft rays of the setting sun! The matted lodges, with
the blue smoke curling from their tops--the trees and shrubs a radiant
green--the lake, at the very door, glinting and sparkling--the savages,
in their wild, colorful raiment, all added up to make a picture that
Tom and Ben Gordon never forgot.
As the horsemen came in among the lodges, a number of squaws and
half-naked, coppery urchins ran out to greet them, shouting:
“Hee-nee-karray-kay-noo?” (how do you do?)
Several braves now made their appearance, and, after some brisk palaver
on the part of Bright Star, showed the visitors to the habitation
of the White Crow, the largest and finest lodge in the village, as
befitted his rank of head Chieftain. The Colonel, Captain Hamilton,
and the four scouts bent low and went into the shelter, while the six
rangers remained outside, more or less as a guard; although they made
a studied effort not to give the Winnebagoes the least idea that they
were suspicious of them.
“Ho! ho!” the White Crow said, in his guttural voice.
“Ho, Kaukishkaka!” responded Dodge affably.
“What brings you to my village, chief of the Big Knives?” the Crow
queried, as Bright Star translated for the benefit of the whites.
“Am I not welcome?”
“Yes, yes! the Crow loves the chief of the Big Knives as a brother.”
Colonel Dodge was silent for a half-moment. The effusive words of the
Winnebago raised a slight doubt in his mind. Likewise, he thought that
he noted a fleeting, sardonic gleam in the Crow’s one, gleaming eye.
“That is good,” he at length replied, brushing away his suspicions.
“It is my hope that it will always be so. But there is one misguided
chief who has taken the warpath against the whites. He is the Sac,
Black-Hawk.”
“Ugh!” grunted the Grow. “The Hawk is a madman and a fool.”
“Aye, that he is. He cannot withstand the might of the pale-face
soldiers, who are as many as the sands of the lake-shore, and bold as
panthers.”
“Will the pale-face soldiers fight?”
“Of course the pale-face soldiers will fight, Kaukishkaka,” rejoined
Dodge sternly. “Why should you ask that?”
“The whites did not fight on the banks of the Sycamore. They ran like
rabbits. The Sacs say that the whites will not fight. They are a
soft-shelled breed. When the spear is put to them, they will quack like
ducks.”
“I will soon show Black Hawk,” responded Dodge testily, “that my
rangers are not of the soft-shelled breed.”
“Your words are good to my ears. The Black Hawk is an evil one. I spurn
him.”
“Will you help us?” invited the officer.
“Your party of horsemen is small,” said the Crow, evading the question
by looking out the lodge door at the six waiting rangers.
“No, no, chief. I have three hundred others at Ke-gon-sa.”
“Ho, ho!” exclaimed the Winnebago, simulating surprise; although, in
truth, his scouts had that very morning brought him word of the march
of the rangers from Blue Mounds.
“Do you know the hiding-place of the Hawk?” asked the Colonel, taking a
different tack.
“My spies tell, oh Big Knife, that the Sac is lurking in the Koshkonong
Swamp.”
“I had heard so. But the swamps of the Koshkonong are very big. It is
like hunting for an arrow-head in yonder forest. Can you lead us to the
place?”
“The place is known to me, oh Big Knife.”
“But will you take us there, Kaukishkaka? The hour of darkness grows
near. I must have your answer.”
“Oh chief of the Big Knives,” responded the Crow, rising majestically
to his feet, “your fair words have won my heart. Our friendship will
endure forever. When the sun comes again, I will be at your camp,
together with two others of my trusted braves. We will lead you to the
hiding-place of the accursed Sac.”
“Good!” cried Dodge, his tone one of utmost elation; for his earlier
suspicions had vanished from his mind. He was now convinced that the
White Crow would be a faithful ally.
As the little band of whites headed back for the camp by the First
Lake, there was silence for some miles. Colonel Dodge rode at the head
of the column, evidently rapt in thought. But his face was serene, and
it was clear to all that he was well pleased with the parting words of
the Winnebago, White Crow.
“Colonel,” spoke up Bill Brown, abruptly spurring his horse to the
officer’s side, “I kin see that you set great store on the Crow’s
promise.”
“I do, Brown; and why not?”
“I think he’s lyin’.”
“Pshaw, man! His words had the ring of truth.”
“I still maintain that he’s lyin’, sir.”
“Advance your reasons,” demanded Dodge fretfully, “that is, if you have
any.”
“It’s this-a-way, Colonel. Jest afore we reached the Crow’s village,
we passed a bark-canoe, headin’ south down the lake.”
“Hm! I did notice it. But what about it? Canoes are a common sight in
the Indian country.”
“Mebbe so, but that canoe didn’t have no common paddlers in it.”
“What do you mean, Brown? Speak up! who were they?”
“One of ’em was a white renegade, Fagan by name, a deserter from Fort
Dearborn, and--”
“A renegade deserter! Tarnation! Let me get hands on the dirty traitor
and I’ll introduce him posthaste to a noose and a tree limb.”
“’Nother one, Colonel, was the important Sac chief, Prairie Wolf. The
third, from his looks, was a Sac, too.”
“Hm!” mused Dodge, wrinkling his brow perplexedly, “that is, indeed, a
strange circumstance. You think, I suppose, that the Sacs had just left
the Winnebago village?”
“Looked a heap like it.”
“What was their purpose?”
“I figger they was bearin’ a message from Black Hawk to White Crow. The
two chiefs is in cahoots, sure as anythin’.”
“But how do you explain the Crow’s friendly offer to lead us to the
Hawk’s hiding-place?” broke in Captain Hamilton. “That makes your
suspicions look rather silly.”
“The ol’ Crow’s jest tryin’ to pull the wool over our eyes,” warned
Brown ominously. “Wait an’ see! He’s got some sly trick up his sleeve.”
“Well, it could be,” admitted Dodge ruefully. “If so, we’ll give the
treacherous rascal plenty of rope, and let him hang himself.”