A BATTLE WITH REDSKINS.
There was still sufficient light to see the Indians more or less
clearly as they deployed in four large columns until they completely
encircled the little fort.
They did not advance immediately to the attack, as the defenders
expected. Instead, they sat on their horses like bronze statues, as
soon as they had taken up their positions.
The men of the little garrison, clutching their rifles tightly, waited
impatiently for the fray behind the log walls where they lay concealed.
In a few moments three men rode out from the Indian host, one of them,
in the center, bearing a white flag, which he waved above his head as
he approached the walls of the fort.
He was a man of gigantic stature, and he rode a big horse which
absolutely dwarfed the small ponies of his companions.
As he halted about twenty yards outside the fort, Buffalo Bill could
see at a glance that he was a white man, although he was dressed in the
paint and feathers of a Sioux chieftain.
His two companions were redskins, one being a Cheyenne and the other a
Crow. Thus the three tribes which had entered into a confederacy were
represented under the flag of truce.
“That’s the renegade Irishman, sure enough!” said Buffalo Bill to the
colonel, who nodded agreement.
Kennelly, the renegade, otherwise known as Bad Eye, reined up his horse
and shouted, in English:
“We want to come inside the fort to discuss terms of surrender with
you.”
“This fort will never surrender while I am in command,” the colonel
answered, “and we will hold no talk with renegades and murderers. Go
back to your redskin allies at once, unless you want a bullet through
your head!”
The renegade had expected this answer, but he had had a lingering
hope that he might have been allowed inside the fort on the pretense
of discussing terms of surrender, and then he would have been able to
gain some valuable information as to the number of the garrison and the
strength of the defenses.
His disappointment showed plainly in the vicious grin which flitted for
a moment over his evil face. His left eye, which had a squint, glared
horribly.
It was this defect that had gained for him his Sioux name, Bad Eye.
He shook the rein of his horse, and tried to urge the animal right
underneath the wall of the fort; but before it had advanced three steps
a bullet from Buffalo Bill’s rifle cut a feather from the headdress of
the rider.
As Kennelly hastily reined his horse back, Buffalo Bill sang out:
“The next bullet will go through your head, Bad Eye, unless you clear
out at once. The white flag was never meant to protect such scoundrels
as you are.”
Seeing that nothing further was to be gained, the three men turned
their horses and rode back to the ranks of the Indians.
Before he departed, however, the representative of the Cheyennes drew
his scalping knife, and sent it hurtling through the air at the log
wall of the fort, where it stuck, quivering. Then he raised his arm and
uttered a defiant war cry.
One of the soldiers lifted his rifle to shoot the brave, but Buffalo
Bill struck the weapon upward before the man could fire.
“He has a right to defy us,” said the border king, “and he is a brave
man. We won’t shoot him under the white flag, even if he is a redskin.”
No sooner had the three envoys retreated than the Indians began their
attack.
True to their natural instincts, they were cautious at first, beginning
by long-range firing.
Some of them dashed toward the walls of the fort on horseback, circling
around and lying down in the saddle to avoid presenting an easy mark.
They fired their rifles, and then retreated hastily.
But the greater portion of the Indian army dismounted and advanced to
the attack on foot, taking advantage of every bit of cover they could
find.
Following out Buffalo Bill’s suggestion, the garrison only made a
feeble reply to the heavy fusillade poured in upon them.
The volleys of the Indians did little harm, most of their bullets
burying themselves harmlessly in the thick walls of the log fort.
Two of the soldiers were killed by bullets which entered the loopholes
through which they were firing, and three others were slightly wounded.
On the other hand, at least a dozen redskins bit the dust in the first
few minutes’ fighting, although only twenty or thirty men fired at them.
They approached nearer to the fort, and the colonel ordered another
twenty-five men to join the firing party.
By gradually increasing the resistance, he wanted to make it appear
that he was putting forth his greatest possible effort to repel the
onslaught.
Suddenly there was a loud war whoop, which Buffalo Bill recognized as
coming from the renegade, Kennelly.
Next moment the entire force of the Indians leaped to their feet and
charged toward the fort, uttering a chorus of frightful yells that
would have made the blood of most men run cold.
When the leaders of the host were within about thirty yards of the
walls, the colonel shouted:
“Now, boys, let them have it!”
Instantly there was a blaze of flame all around the fort.
Over five hundred rifles discharged their dreaded messengers of death
at the same moment, and the four field guns, posted one at each corner
of the fort, hailed shell at the advancing Indians, tearing terrible
gaps in their ranks.
It was impossible for any army to withstand such a sudden and fearful
shock. The redskins halted with one accord, as if they had suddenly
been struck with paralysis.
Next moment they turned and fled, in spite of the frantic efforts of
their chiefs to rally them.
Another volley was poured into them as they ran, and they fell all
around the fort by dozens.
The colonel hastily gave orders for a sortie and a charge, with the
idea of cutting them up as they fled and keeping them on the run.
The horses were at hand, all saddled, for this purpose, and in less
than two minutes three hundred men were speeding from the fort, headed
by Buffalo Bill.
But by this time the Indians had reached their own horses and were
galloping away in all directions. Many of them were shot before they
could escape, and the rest were chased for two or three miles, until
they began to bunch together in strong parties and return the fire of
the white men.
Then Buffalo Bill, who had been placed in charge of the pursuing party
by the colonel, ordered a retreat to the fort.
He did not wish to get too far away in the darkness and risk spoiling
the great victory by a subsequent reverse.
The Indians still greatly outnumbered the band under his command, and
if they turned on him they would be able to do serious damage. He,
therefore, gave them a parting volley and rode back at the head of his
men.
“I reckon we must have killed at least two hundred of them around the
walls of the fort,” said the colonel, clasping him warmly by the hand.
“How many did you get in the pursuit?”
“Fifty or sixty, as nearly as I can figure it,” replied the border king.
It was a great victory, and it had been bought at a comparatively
trifling cost. Only about a dozen of the defenders had been killed,
most of them during the pursuit, and not more than twenty were wounded.
“Do you suppose the redskins have had enough?” asked the colonel.
“No, I don’t,” Buffalo Bill said. “Of course, this is a galling repulse
for them, but all three of the tribes are brave and persevering in
warfare, especially the Sioux. This defeat will merely enrage them and
make them all the more anxious to have revenge on Uncle Sam’s troopers.”
Wild Bill rode at this moment to the two men as they stood talking.
He was mounted on one of the swiftest horses in the fort, and he led
another splendid animal, which he offered to Buffalo Bill.
“These are the best beasts I could pick out of the bunch, Buffler,” he
said.
Buffalo Bill mounted without a word, and offered his hand to the
colonel.
“Where are you going?” asked the astonished officer.
“Where else but to Fort Hays,” said Buffalo Bill. “We had arranged to
ride there as soon as it was dark, and if you will hand us the dispatch
we will get off at once.”
“But the country is full of the fleeing Indians,” the colonel objected,
“and there is not one chance in ten thousand of your getting through.
It is sheer madness to attempt to ride under these new conditions.”
The border king laughed lightly, and said:
“We are still waiting for that dispatch, colonel.”
The officer looked at him steadily for a moment, and saw that argument
would be useless. Nothing would turn the gallant and famous scout from
his heroic purpose. Nor was Wild Bill one whit less resolute.
Without another word, the colonel took the dispatch from his pocket and
handed it to Buffalo Bill. Then he shook the two scouts by the hand,
and a minute later they were galloping away in the direction of Fort
Hays.