ON GUARD AT NIGHT.
A few mornings after Glen's experience with the mule, the white tents of
Camp Lyle were struck; and at sunrise the long slow-moving trains of
wagons had covered the first mile of the many hundreds lying between it
and the Pacific. The last railroad had been left behind, and the sound
of its whistle was heard no more. Already our young explorer was
learning, from his more experienced comrades, to distinguish an Indian
pony and lodge-pole trail from that of a buffalo, and a buffalo wallow
from an ordinary mud-hole. Already he had seen his first prairie-dog
town, and had gazed curiously at several bleached skulls of the mighty
bison, some of which were still partially covered with shaggy hair.
Already, too, he was filled with that sense of glorious freedom and
boundless possibility that can only be breathed with the air of
unlimited space. Glen was surprised to find that, instead of being
level, as he had always thought them, the Plains rolled, in vast
undulations, having a general north and south direction, so that, as the
wagons were moving west, they were always ascending some long slope, or
descending its farther side. He was almost startled, too, by the intense
silence brooding over them, and unbroken at a short distance from the
train, save by the plaintive song of meadow-larks.
But nobody was allowed to stray far from the wagons, even to note the
silence of the Plains, for fear lest it might be broken by very
unpleasant sounds. All the "horse Indians" of the country were leagued
together, that summer, to fight the whites. North of the Platte, Sioux,
Blackfeet, and Crows had smoked the peace-pipe, and united to harass the
builders of the Union Pacific. South of that river, Cheyennes, Kiowas,
Comanches, and Arrapahoes were waging common war against those who were
turning the buffalo pastures into farms, and making such alarming
inroads into the vast herds upon which they depended for meat. The
Indians were well armed, well mounted, and determined. Custer, with the
Seventh Cavalry, was ranging the Platte valley, and the country between
it and the Republican, so that, in that vicinity, Indians were becoming
scarce. South of that, however, and particularly along the Smoky Hill,
the valley of which General Lyle's expedition was ascending, Indians had
never been more plentiful or troublesome than now.
Every day brought its rumors of murdered settlers, captured
wagon-trains, besieged stage stations, and of the heavily guarded stages
themselves turned back, or only reaching their destinations after fierce
running fights, riddled with bullets, and bearing sad loads of dead and
wounded passengers. Along the entire Smoky Hill route, from the end of
the railroad to Denver, a distance of four hundred miles, were only
three small forts, with garrisons of three or four companies each; and
the strength of these garrisons was constantly weakened by the demand
for escorts to stages and emigrant trains. Thus the exploring expedition
was forced to depend largely on its own resources, and must fight its
way through as best it could. Arms were therefore supplied to all its
members who did not possess them, and, from the outset, a strong camp
guard was posted each night.
At the end of a day's march the wagon-master, or "wagon-boss," who
always rode ahead of the train mounted on a sleek saddle mule, would
select a camping-ground, generally where wood, water, and grass were to
be had, and, turning from the beaten trail, would lead the way to it.
Where he halted the first wagon also stopped. Then he would move on a
short distance, and the second wagon would follow him, until it was
ordered to wheel into line with the first. When all thus occupied their
designated positions, they either formed a semicircle on the bank of the
stream, with their poles pointing inward, were arranged in two parallel
lines facing each other, or, if the place was very much exposed, they
would form a complete circle, with each tongue overlapping the
hind-wheels of the wagon before it.
The minute the train halted, all the stock was unharnessed or unsaddled,
and, under guard of two mounted teamsters, were allowed to graze on the
sweet buffalo grass, within sight of camp, until sunset, when they were
watered and driven in. Then each team was fastened to its own wagon and
given its ration of corn. All the saddle animals and spare stock were
securely picketed within the line of wagons, thus leaving the smallest
possible chance for an Indian to get anywhere near them.
While the animals were being thus attended to, the men were hard at work
pitching tents, getting out blankets and such baggage as might be
needed, collecting fuel for the camp-fires, fetching water for the
cooks, and, if the location of the camp was considered especially
dangerous, in digging rifle-pits in which the guards for the night would
be posted. All this work was performed by regular details, changed each
day, and announced each morning at breakfast-time. Thus, one day Glen
would find himself on the detail for pitching headquarter tents, and the
next answering the cook's imperative demands for water. Or, provided
with a gunny-sack, he might be scouring the immediate neighborhood for a
supply of dry buffalo chips, with which to eke out the scanty stock of
fire-wood. He always performed these tasks cheerfully and faithfully;
not that he liked them, but because he realized their necessity, and saw
that all the others, below the rank of assistant engineer, were obliged
to do the same things.
Binney Gibbs, however, considered such duties irksome and demeaning. He
thought it very hard that the son of a wealthy man, a prize scholar, and
a rodman, such as he was, should be compelled to act as a cook's
assistant. To show his contempt for the work he performed it awkwardly
and with much grumbling. The cooks were not slow to discover this; and,
as a cook is a power in camp as well as elsewhere, they began to make
things as unpleasant as possible for him. It was wonderful how much more
water was needed when it was his turn to keep them supplied than it was
when any one else was on duty. Then, too, while Glen's willingness and
good-nature were rewarded by many a tidbit, slyly slipped into his tin
plate, it chanced that Binney always got the toughest pieces of meat,
the odds and ends of everything, and, whenever he asked for a second
helping, was told that there was none of that particular dish left. He
tried to retaliate by complaining of the cooks at headquarters; but, as
he could prove nothing against them, the only result of this unwise
measure was that he got less to eat than ever, and but for a hard-tack
barrel that was always open to everybody would have been on a fair way
to starvation.
Another thing Binney hated to do was to stand guard. This duty came to
each one in turn, every three or four nights, according to the number of
sentinels required, and on a night of duty each one was obliged to keep
watch "two hours on and four off." That is, if Binney or Glen went on
duty at six o'clock, he would be relieved at eight, and allowed to sleep
until midnight, when he would stand guard again at one of the several
posts beyond the camp limits, until two. Then he might sleep until six,
when, if camp was not already broken, he must again go on duty until it
was, and the wagon-train was in motion.
Binney declared this was all nonsense. It was well enough, he said, to
talk about Indians attacking a small party, or a stage station here and
there; but as for bothering a large, well-armed party like this, they
simply wouldn't think of doing such a thing. There was as much danger of
their attacking Fort Riley! The idea of waking a fellow up at midnight,
and sending him out on the prairie to listen to coyotes and screech-owls
for two hours! It was ridiculous! He might as well be enlisted in the
army and have done with it! So he growled and grumbled, and tried, in
every way possible, to shirk this guard duty, though generally without
success.
Even Glen wondered if it were necessary to keep so many men on guard,
and if the disagreeable duty did not come oftener than it need. At
length, however, something happened to convince these boys that no guard
against the wily foes surrounding them could be too strong or too
carefully kept.
They had been out a week, and were in the heart of the Indian country,
far beyond the most advanced settlements, when, one evening, camp was
pitched on a level bit of valley, bounded on one side by bluffs that
separated it from the higher plains. On the other side flowed a creek
bordered by a growth of cottonwoods, red willows, and tall, rank grass.
Beyond the creek rose still other bluffs, forming the eastern boundary
of this pleasant valley. From time immemorial the place had been a
favorite resort of Indians, as was shown by the abandoned wick-i-ups,
lodge-poles, and quantities of bleached buffalo bones found in a grove
of great cottonwoods a short distance up the stream. There was, however,
nothing to indicate that they had occupied the place recently, and so,
though the one topic of conversation about the camp-fires at supper-time
was Indians, it was rather of those belonging to other times and places
than to the present.
Suddenly, from the top of the bluff behind the camp, came half a dozen
shots, and the sentinel who had been posted there rushed in, shouting,
"Indians! Indians!" This time the enemy proved to be two overland
stages, loaded with mails and troops, who had fought their way through
from Denver. These had mistaken the sentinel for an Indian, and fired at
him, while he, thinking from this that they certainly must be Indians,
had fired back.
Late that same night the camp was again alarmed by a shot from one of
its sentries. Everybody sprang from his tent, rifle in hand, and for a
few minutes the excitement was intense. It was succeeded by a feeling of
deep disgust when it was discovered that sentry Binney Gibbs had fired
at a coyote that the light of the newly risen moon had disclosed
prowling about the camp.
When, therefore, at two o'clock in the morning, Glen went on duty, and
was stationed on the edge of the slope leading down to the stream, Mr.
Brackett, who was officer of the guard, charged him not to fire at
anything unless he was absolutely sure it was an Indian.
Glen answered that he certainly would not give an alarm without good
cause for so doing; and Mr. Brackett, promising to visit him again at
the end of an hour, went softly away to inspect the next post on his
round.
When, at the end of an hour, the officer of the guard returned to the
post where he had left Glen, the boy was not to be found. In vain did
Mr. Brackett call his name, at first in low tones, and then louder. In
vain did he question the other sentries. They had neither seen nor heard
anything more suspicious than an occasional coyote. In vain was the
whole camp aroused and a search made through its tents and wagons. Not a
trace of the boy, who was so universally liked, was to be found. He had
disappeared as absolutely, so far as they were concerned, as though the
earth had opened and swallowed him.