GETTING READY FOR THE FIGHT.
All the cavalry stationed at Fort Scott was in line. The “Sorrels,” the
“Blacks,” the “Grays” and the “Bays”—so called from the color of the
horses they rode—were there, eager for a move; and they all had their
heavy overcoats on, and were equipped for a long and heavy march. The
weather was as fine as anybody could ask for at that season of the
year; the mornings were crisp and cold—just the time to put both horses
and men in good trim for a headlong gallop; but everybody knew that by
the time they got back again they would bring a blizzard with them.
Lieutenant Parker sat erect on his horse, with his eyes “straight to
the front, striking the ground at a distance of fifteen yards;” but
he had an eye out for Carl, the Trailer. Without turning his head he
saw him rush into his room, and when he came out again he did not look
much like the boy who had gone in a few moments before. He was bundled
up all ready for a march. He saw him mount his horse—a sorry-looking
old horse it was, too—ride around in the rear of the line, and take up
a position a short distance behind his friend. The colonel exchanged
a few words with the captain he was going to leave in command of the
post, and then turned to the adjutant, who started off to put the
column in motion. “Fours right!” he shouted; and in a few minutes the
men were through the gate and threading their way across the prairie.
“I declare, you got a horse, didn’t you?” said the lieutenant, who, now
that the line was fairly in motion, could talk all he wanted to. “Who’s
is it? I hope the Indians will not get after us. If they do, you are
gone up.”
“Where are we going—do you know?” asked Carl.
“I don’t know for certain, but from something I heard the colonel tell
the adjutant I think we are going down to the Bad Lands,” answered
Lieutenant Parker. “We are in pursuit of Big Foot, who became alarmed
at the death of Sitting Bull and is running off to save himself.”
“If the Indians would just come in and behave themselves they would
save lots of lives by it.”
The Bad Lands were quite a distance from Fort Scott—one hundred and
ninety-two miles as the crow flies. In order to get upon the trail
of Big Foot they were obliged to go across the Cheyenne reservation,
through a section of South Dacota, which at that time was not given
up to any Indians, and go the whole length of Pine Ridge reservation,
before they would come up with him. How the general knew so soon that
he was going to run away, was a mystery. Probably he knew something
about Big Foot that others did not know, and had had his eye upon
him for a long time. He feared Big Foot, with his little band of six
hundred Sioux, more than he did the other Indians, and he thought that
if he could get him to surrender the Sioux war would be brought to
an end at once. But Big Foot had ninety miles the start of him, and
those who have followed Indians while they were retreating from a foe
know that he would travel night and day but that he would reach his
destination before his pursuers did.
The Indians, when they go on the warpath, do not generally take much
in the way of plunder to hinder their movements. Everything is thrown
away except that which they actually need. Their squaws and children
are mounted on fast horses, and they must keep up with the men or stand
the chance of being captured. They even throw away their tepee poles,
and that is something they do not often do. If they camp in a place
where poles cannot be found they have to sleep out in the open air,
and an Indian says that is not good for him. When they reach the Bad
Lands they are comparatively safe. Nobody knows where those gullies and
ravines lead to except the Indian; he knows where he can get water when
he wants it, and he knows where the gullies afford the best purpose
of resistance. It is no wonder that the Indians go there when they
get into trouble. Carl knew all this, and was explaining it to the
lieutenant as they rode along.
“We ought to have some guns along so as to get them out of those
ravines,” said Parker.
“If we could get an enfilading fire on them——”
“Well, perhaps we shall pick up some guns as we go along,” said Carl.
“But I know that it is useless to try them with small arms. Give an
Indian five minutes’ start and you will never see him again. Just wait
until you see the Bad Lands. There is not a tree or a bush on it, and
how the Indians can live there beats me.”
At this moment the adjutant galloped up and interrupted their
conversation.
“Preston, the colonel wants you out ahead,” said he.
“I don’t know whether I can show him the way or not,” said Carl, a
little taken back by this order. “But I will have to go and try.
Good-by, Parker. I’ll see you when we get into a fight with the
Indians.”
Carl rode up and saluted the colonel, and was ordered to put himself
on the trail and go ahead as fast as his pony could stand it. The trail
was plain enough,—it had been made by the Indians while going to and
from the Pine Ridge Agency,—and Carl at once put his pony into a trot
and followed it up without any hesitation at all. The column was kept
closed up all the while, and there was no talking allowed in the ranks.
They kept on until they reached some willows that fringed the banks of
a stream, and there the colonel announced that they would stop to allow
their horses a few moments of rest and to wait for the wagons, which
were lumbering along some distance in the rear. At the end of an hour,
having eaten their dinner and smoked their pipes, the column mounted
again and set off in pursuit of Big Foot.
“Well, Carl, what do you think of it?” asked the colonel, as he rode up
beside the scout, who was going along in his usual trot. “Is this what
you came to the fort for—to hunt Indians?”
“Yes, sir; but I think you had better hold up a bit,” answered Carl.
“Your horses do not act as though they could stand it, and they will be
pretty well played out to-night.”
“Why, your horse doesn’t seem to mind it a bit,” said the colonel.
“No, sir, because he is a mustang. Leave him at the stable lines for
six months and he will go just the same as he does now; but your horses
have not been used to this.”
The colonel thought it was about time that he was turning back to look
at his animals, and he found that Carl was right when he spoke about
the horses being “played out.” Half the horses were moving along with
their heads down as if almost on the point of going to sleep, and it
was only when their riders slyly punched them with their spurs that
they began to take an interest in going ahead. The colonel spoke to his
adjutant, and presently the column came down to a walk.
At night, just as the sun was setting, they came within sight of Big
Foot’s camp. There was no one there, but everything bore evidence to a
hurried departure by the original owners. Of course the column prepared
for night by examining into things. The horses were staked out and
placed under a guard; farther out there were other dismounted men who
looked after the safety of the camp, and others went to work to prepare
supper. Carl took care of his pony and then strolled about the camp to
see what things had been left behind by the Indians. The camp reminded
him of a town that had been burned by fire. The lodge poles were up in
every direction, but the tepees themselves had disappeared. Counting
them, and taking into consideration the fact that ten or twelve Indians
occupied one lodge, he came to the conclusion that there were fully six
hundred men and women in the whole camp. And half of them were armed
and willing to fight; and, besides, he did not know how many more they
would pick up on their way to the Bad Lands.
“Look at this,” said Parker, who had got through with his duties of
the camp and came out to see what he could find. As he spoke he picked
up a frying-pan which he had found in one of the tepees. “But I don’t
see anything but cooking utensils. Where are the weapons?”
“The weapons are in the hands of the Indians and are well on their way
to the Bad Lands by this time,” said Carl. “He does not need cooking
utensils, but he does need weapons, as you may find out one of these
days.”
The officers, one and all, searched the camp; but all they could find
were articles of clothing, head-dresses, and things that the Indians
could do without. Nothing in the shape of weapons could be found. At
last there was a call to supper, and after that they sat about the
fires and smoked. A good many of the soldiers had seen deserted camps
before; and, in view of the hard ride that was coming on the morrow,
they prepared for it by rolling themselves up in their blankets and
going to sleep.
There was not a sound to disturb them during the night. At reveille the
men all sprang up and were ready to face the duties of the day, whether
it was to remain in the saddle or to fight Indians.
“I don’t forget what they did to Custer,” said a soldier who picketed
his horse near Carl’s, “and I want to get a chance at them for that. I
haven’t been in many fights since that happened, but when I have been
in one, I didn’t take any prisoners. If we get into a fuss now before
we come back, you may bet your bottom dollar that every one I shoot at
stays there.”
“Do all the men feel that way?” asked Carl.
“Yes, sir, every one of them,” said the soldier earnestly. “A person
who does not feel that way has got no business in the army.”
Carl looked at the soldier as he walked off with his horse. He was
tall and broad-shouldered, and looked as though he might whip all the
Indians who could get around him. He thought of what he said a few days
afterward, when he saw him in a fight. He saw plenty of Indians drop
before his aim, but he did not see him bring in any prisoners.
While the men were grooming their horses, which they did with little
tufts of grass that came handy to them, the orderly sergeants called
the roll without looking into any books; after which they reported
to the adjutant, and the adjutant reported to the colonel. Very soon
“Boots and saddles” was called, and in a few moments the column was on
the march.
Carl took the lead, as he did on a former occasion, and about three
o’clock in the afternoon they came within sight of a camp of soldiers.
Colonel Forsyth was the commanding officer, and to him the report was
made. He ordered the cavalry to take up their positions on the opposite
ravine, so as to have the Indians surrounded when they came in to
deliver up their arms.
“I have some trustworthy Indians out now, looking for some that got
into the Bad Lands,” said Colonel Forsyth, “and I am looking for them
to come in every day. When they come in we’ll disarm them, and then we
would like to see them raise another fuss.”
“Say, Parker, look at that,” said Carl, as the cavalry moved on to its
position. “We have some guns.”
“Where?” said the lieutenant, looking all around.
“Over there on the hill. When the Sioux come in they will be camped
over there on the plain, and if they attempt any outbreak the guns will
mow them down right and left.”
“They are Hotchkiss guns, too. We are not going to see any fight with
the Indians. While the colonel was reporting, there was an officer told
me that there is a whole body of troops in the Bad Lands; so the best
thing they can do is to surrender.”
“This ravine is the only thing that bothers me,” said the colonel, as
he rode to his position and gave the necessary orders for preparing
camp. “Suppose those Indians come in here and object to giving up their
arms. Don’t you see that they can take to the ravine and run out, and
we could not stop them? Those guns there would shoot over the ravine
and hurt some of us.”
And the colonel was right in his suspicions. Some of the Indians made
use of that ravine to get back to the Bad Lands. The guns were moved up
in time to cover the ravine, but some of the Sioux managed to get away,
after all.