PANDY ELLIS' HOTTEST SCRIMMAGE.
Valliant old Pandy Ellis, the veteran ranger of the prairies, was not
the man to give up hope easily. He had been in many a tight scrape
before, and had kept a bright face when the best of men might have
given up in despair.
But there was something so fearful in the horrible struggle, where
human efforts however strong seemed puny as an infant's, that the
ranger might well be pardoned for shutting his teeth grimly and
resolving to die hard.
There were actually tears in his eyes as he gave one last glance back
at that sadly depleted little band, where noble Yates still shouted out
encouraging words, and wielded his bloody sword with an untiring arm.
It was the last ever seen of this detachment of the gallant Seventh
alive; and although the old ranger were to live his whole life over
again, he could never forget that scene.
His hands were fully occupied in defending his person against the many
weapons raised against it.
During the next five minutes Pandy had the hottest little scrimmage
that ever fell to his lot.
On every side nothing met his eye but a mass of red faces, bearing the
most devilish looks he could imagine, and the owners of which were
trying their best to stab or shoot the rider.
Boldly he plunged into the thick of them.
Nancy trampled many under her feet, and bore her inevitable wounds
with the air of a martyr, than which she could not well do otherwise,
belonging as she did to such a renowned hero.
Guns cracked about him, bullets whistled close to his head, and cut
into his flesh; lances, knives and tomahawks were thrust up at him with
vengeful intent, and yet this veteran urged his horse forward, armed
only with a knife as a serviceable weapon, with which he seemed to keep
himself surrounded by a wall of steel through which it was next to
impossible to force a passage.
How many men he and his horse killed between them during that five
minutes' fearful ride, Pandy could not even guess after it was over,
for his mind was in a whirl, and he did mechanically the work that was
needed, just as a set machine might have done; but it must certainly
have been dozens.
Some men might have deemed it impossible to force a way on horseback
through that mass of excited redskins. Colonel Yates had deemed it so,
but to Pandy nothing was accepted as beyond the power to do, until an
attempt had been made, and Yates' last words to him proved that the
officer must have either placed more confidence in the ranger's dash
than his own, or else had resolved to die with his brave boys at any
risk.
It was over at last, this brief but exciting ride of the prairie man's,
encompassed on all quarters by death.
As horse and rider burst out of that maddened throng as a strong
swimmer buffets the billows of the mighty deep, Pandy drew a long
breath.
Not that the danger was over by any means. Here were dozens of Sioux
braves outside of the _melee_, and these seeing an enemy emerge from
the mass of struggling combatants, made a rush at him. Pandy uttered
a taunting laugh and dashed away like a bird, for although Nancy was
breathing hard from her exertions, she was equal to what the occasion
demanded.
The ranger after clearing about a third of a mile, turned to one side
and rode up a pass that led to the other side of the bluffs.
Reaching the crest, he passed along until almost even with the ravine
of death. Then he paused for a last glimpse. Alas! all was over.
Yates too had fallen, and not one of his men could be seen alive; all
that was visible seemed to be a sea of red men rushing pell-mell over
the battle-field.
Old Pandy was visibly affected.
"God help me! I never seen such a thing in my life. The hull crowd
wiped out az clean az a whistle. What's goin' ter become o' us all at
this hyar rate. Custer, Cooke, Yates, Keogh, all gone. Bust my buttons
ef these reds ain't woke up wid sum o' ther old fire. My hate fur 'em
war dyin' out, but it only needed this ter kindle it wus nor ever. I'll
have revenge for this day's work; Custer shall never lie in his grave
without satisfaction; an' ef ther pesky Government won't take it in
hand, dash me, Bolly Wherrit's ther chap ter stick by me. We'll go on
ther war path, an' by ther heavens above, if Sitting Bull don't pay
dear fur this, then it's because two ole trappers will hev gone under.
Tarnal Snakes an' critters! but it makes me tearin' mad. I must let out
my spleen or bust; jist a parting card afore I go, ter let 'em know
what's comin' in ther future."
It took but a couple of moments to load his rifle and revolvers.
His presence was not even suspected until the gun sent its clear
detonation echoing over the hills.
A commotion was visible among the crowd below, and cries of pain
reached the ranger's ear that were sweet music to him just then.
Without wasting any more time, he emptied all the chambers of his
revolver, and then turning his horse's head, gave a loud hurrah, and
vanished from view, feeling a hundred per cent. better after making a
start in what he was pleased to term his death roll.
Some thirty yards below the crest of the bluffs, the way was easily
traveled, and what few difficulties presented themselves were speedily
overcome by such an enterprising individual as the ranger.
In a short time Pandy came to Custer's back trail.
It was quite deserted now, save by the dead, for after the cavalry
had passed, the Indians followed after in order to have a hand in the
battle which they knew would take place when the troops attempted to
storm the village.
The crags that had so lately echoed with the cracks of Indian rifles as
their owners lay in ambush, were silent now, and as Pandy rode along
he could not help thinking how different it would have all been, had
headstrong Custer cast aside his willful mood, and listened to the
advice of one who had his best interest at heart.
It was while in this contemplative mood that Pandy suddenly became
aware of the fact that a body of Indians were dodging about and among
the rocks in front of him.
To retreat was almost impossible, as he would doubtless receive a
bullet in the back.
Making what might be termed the best of a bad bargain, Pandy took the
bridle between his teeth, and holding a revolver in each hand, urged
Nancy forward at a gallop.
There was something in the manner of this undaunted man's facing death
again after his recent escape and great exertions, that would have
enlisted the admiration of even an enemy.
As he advanced, the redskins vanished altogether, and Pandy was
beginning to believe they had gone altogether, when he heard a
singular but well-known whoop that made him draw rein with an
exclamation of surprise.
At the same instant a tall Indian stepped into view from behind a
bowlder and advanced boldly toward the ranger.
The latter seemed to recognize him, for a smile illuminated his bronzed
and blood-stained countenance.
It was Eagle Eye, the Crow chief, whose hand Pandy pressed so warmly.
The Crow scouts of the expedition were some of his braves, but the
chief had missed seeing the ranger before.
They were old friends, having hunted and trapped together a whole
season several years before.
"Brother been in the big fight; much hurt?" said the chief, looking
with dismay at the ranger's many wounds, which he seemed to regard as
so many scratches, although some of them were very serious.
"Yes, I war thar, chief, an' 'twar ther hottest time o' my life. Did ye
see it?"
"We reached the hilltop too late to take part. Custer gone up and all
his men? Ugh! it was a heap big fight. How brother get away?"
"Wal, ye see," said Pandy, tying a rag over one of his worst wounds,
and sitting with one leg over the saddle, "we war jist about goin'
under, an' I'd 'cluded not to survive the boys, when Yates asked me
ter make an attempt ter git away ter carry the news ter Mary, az ther
feller sez, so I done it. Kin tell ye more about it another time,
chief. Just now I want ter git ye ter do sumpin important. Know where
Terry air?"
The chief pointed in the direction whence lay the distant Yellowstone,
as Pandy well knew, and the ranger beamed his satisfaction.
"I reckon ye're correct, chief. Now, what I want is that ye send a
couple o' yer men ter tell the gineral this sad news, an' git him ter
hurry on hyar, fur I heerd firing down below, an' ef Reno hain't met
Custer's fate he's in a bad fix anyhow. I intend ter jine him wharever
he may be an' stand ther consequences. Chief, I'm off. Remember I
depend on ye," and waving his hand toward his red friend, Pandy Ellis
disappeared in the growing shadow that told of the coming night.