"I'M OFF; GOOD-BYE!"
Though his brave companion had fallen almost at his side, Brinton
Kingsland had reached the camp of the supply train without receiving
so much as a scratch. He mourned him, for he was a worthy man; but
he was heart-broken at his failure to gain tidings of his loved
parents and little sister. He did not know what to do, and could
only fear the worst.
When he had told his story to his new friends, none of them were able
to offer any encouragement or hope.
The supply train consisted of a dozen waggons, in charge of sixteen
teamsters. As a matter of course, all were armed, and had come thus
far without trouble.
They were making ready to resume their journey to Wounded Knee when
the affray already described took place. This caused an hour's
delay, and now, when about to start again, the signs of danger became
so threatening, they held back for consultation.
The Indians whom they had driven from the prostrate form of Scout
Jackson reappeared on the crest of the hill over which they had
skurried, and it was noticed that their number was increased to fully
a dozen.
While the teamsters were watching them another band came into sight,
in the opposite direction.
To the dismay of the spectators, this party was more numerous than
the first. Not only that, but both bands advanced at a slow trot,
and met at a point a couple of hundred yards distant, and in a place
over which the train would have to pass if it pushed on toward the
camp at Wounded Knee.
"Boys," said Captain Wadsworth, who was in charge of the train,
"there's going to be a fight."
"We ought to be able to keep them off," replied one of his men.
"So we shall if no more appear; but the Sioux are as thick as
berries, and by-and-by we shall have a hundred or more of them
popping away at us. We may as well get ready for what's certain to
come."
"Jackson said something to me," observed Brinton, "about an escort
having been sent out from Wounded Knee to bring you in."
"They can't come any too soon," responded the captain, who fully
comprehended the peril; "but I'm afraid they will be too late. Those
Indians don't let the grass grow under their feet."
The leader did not content himself with talking, but began to prepare
for the attack, which might come at any moment. The waggons were
drawn up in a circle, in the middle of which were placed the horses.
Bags of grain, boxes and bundles, were piled on the ground underneath
the waggons. These served as an additional protection for the
animals, and screened the men, when kneeling behind and firing at
their assailants.
The hostiles were quick to detect what was going on, and did not
allow the work to be completed without interference. They began
circling back and forth, riding entirely around the camp and
discharging their guns at it. The exhibition of horsemanship was a
fine one; but they kept at such a distance that their shots did
little damage. In some way, one got through the entrenchments, as
they might be called, and slightly wounded a horse in the shoulder.
He made more fuss than if it had gone through his head, rearing,
snorting, and plunging, and throwing the rest into a panic, which
would have ended in a stampede, had they not been guarded with
unusual care.
The teamsters did not accept these unwelcome attentions meekly, but
fired at their circling assailants; the cause named, however,
prevented much success. It looked as if one or two of the shots
inflicted damage, but not to the extent of disabling any pony or his
rider.
Standing at the rear of one of the waggons, where he could see
everything that was going on, Captain Wadsworth watched the exciting
incidents. At his elbow was Brinton Kingsland, who did not think it
worth while to try his hand with his Winchester, though the others
were continually cracking around him.
"What is to be feared," said the captain, "is that the hostiles will
soon increase to such an extent that they will overwhelm us."
"How many do you think are out there now?" inquired Brinton.
"I should say between twenty and thirty--that is, there were a few
minutes ago, but there are five or six less now."
"What is the meaning of that?"
The leader turned his bronzed face toward the youth and smiled
significantly.
"Don't you catch on? They have sent after reinforcements: a slight
number now means a big number pretty soon."
"Have you noticed those bucks on the top of the ridge yonder?"
Captain Wadsworth looked in the direction named. Three Indians had
dismounted, and were standing close together, or rather two of them
were, while the third seemed to be stooping and busy with something
on the ground.
"How long have they been there?" asked the leader.
"They rode up the slope within the last five minutes. They were off
their ponies before they stopped. I can't guess what they are doing."
"I don't know; but we shall soon learn."
Although the cracking of rifles continued, and the teamsters,
kneeling behind the fortifications, were doing their utmost to pick
off some of the dusky riders, who in turn sent in their dropping
shots, Captain Wadsworth gave them little heed. The position of
himself and Brinton was exposed, and, had their assailants come
closer, they would not have dared to maintain it; but with the
combatants so widely separated, it cannot be said they were in much
real danger.
The three Indians in whom our friends were so much interested just
then were beyond and apart from the others. Their horses were
cropping the few blades of withered grass that had survived the
winter's tempests; but not one was a dozen yards from his master, all
of whom were so grouped together that their movements could not be
identified.
Rather curiously there was not a spy-glass among the teamsters. Such
an article would have been valuable just then; but they had to depend
upon their unaided vision.
The captain and Brinton, however, agreed that two of the bucks were
bent over and busy with something on the ground, while the third,
standing on the crest of the ridge, appeared to be awaiting the
action of his companions before carrying out some plan he had in mind.
"Look!" whispered the youth; "isn't that smoke?"
The captain was silent a moment before answering--
"Yes; the Indian is like the Chinaman: he can start a fire where you
and I couldn't kindle a spark. I believe they will make a bundle of
water-soaked leaves crackle and burn like tinder wood. Those fellows
have got some of the dried grass together and have managed to touch
it off. You understand what _that_ means, of course?"
"I cannot say that I do."
"It is a signal fire."
"Kindled for what purpose?"
"To call all the other hostiles in sight here, to take a hand in the
fun of massacring us and plundering our train. Such a signal can be
seen a long way and will do all that is intended. Look at it now!"
From between the two, who now rose from their stooping posture, a
thin finger of vapour arose, going straight upward as if it were a
shadowy arrow aimed at the clouds.
"One of the bucks is waving his blanket," observed Brinton; "he must
mean something by that. I suppose he is fanning the blaze to keep it
from going out."
"No; look at that thin line of smoke; don't you see something
peculiar?"
"Ah! I notice it now."
The vapour showed a striking change of appearance; instead of
climbing in a straight line, it now waved gracefully from side to
side. It was something which never can occur unless with the help of
some person.
"That is the signal," said Captain Wadsworth; "it can be seen for
miles in all directions, and every Indian eye that catches sight of
it will read its meaning as plainly as our soldiers do the
looking-glass signals. It's a bad thing for us."
The captain was an old campaigner, and knew what he was talking
about; his impressive manner was not lost upon Brinton Kingsland.
"How far are we from Wounded Knee?" he asked.
"Anywhere from a dozen to twenty miles; it depends on the course we
take--that is," he added, with a shake of his head, "whether we ever
take any course at all."
"I cannot recall just what Jackson said about an escort from that
camp, but I think he told me such an escort had been sent."
The captain shook his head.
"You must be mistaken; for, if that were the case, why did he ride
out here alone? Was it not more likely that he came to learn whether
we needed protection? and if that is so, they will wait for his
return and report before sending out the escort which is the only
thing that can save us."
This view was so reasonable that Brinton could not combat it.
"I see one chance," ventured the youth, after a moment's silence,
during which he watched the actions of the signal corps on the ridge.
The officer turned wonderingly toward him.
"I shall be glad to hear what it is."
"If a messenger can get through to Wounded Knee with word of your
extremity, they will send you help without delay."
"True; but how can such a thing succeed? If it were night it might
be done; but in what possible way can a horseman dash through the
lines when the bucks would see him start, and they have us
surrounded?"
"It will be taking big risks, but I would like to try it."
Captain Wadsworth, who had been leaning against the hind wheel of one
of the waggons, with his arms folded, abruptly straightened up and
stared at the youth, as if uncertain whether he had heard him aright;
then he repeated--
"_You_ would like to try it, did you say?"
"Yes, sir; and I believe I can get through."
The officer looked off toward the ridge and shook his head.
"Don't think of such a thing; we must stay here and fight it out, and
trust to Providence to open the way, if any is to be opened."
But Brinton was in earnest, and his eagerness was increased by the
discouraging manner of the captain.
"I understand your feelings, and I am not blind to what is in the
path of the one who attempts to do what I have proposed; but,
captain, bear two things in mind: there isn't a fleeter horse in the
whole West than my Jack. When I gave him rein he pulled away from
those Indians as though their animals were walking. So all I have to
secure is a fair start."
"Exactly," replied the leader with a grim smile, "and therein you sum
up the whole business. All that you need to succeed is to succeed.
But what is the other point you wish me to hold in mind?"
"The fair start can be secured."
"How?"
"Pretend to ride out against the hostiles. They will gather in front
of the threatened point; I will be on the watch, and, when the way
opens, will scoot for Wounded Knee."
Brinton saw that Captain Wadsworth was interested. Once more he came
to the erect position, and looking kindly in his face, said--
"Your plan has something in it."
The heart of the youth leaped with hope.
"I am sure of it; but there's not a minute to lose."
This was self-evident, and the captain, having made up his mind,
passed among his men and hurriedly explained what he had decided to
do. It was for eight or ten of them to mount their horses and move
cautiously toward the ridge, as if with the intention of attacking
the little signal party there and stamping out their tiny fire. This
would cause a concentration (or, more properly, it was hoped that it
would) of the hostiles on that side of the camp, of which Brinton
Kingsland would take advantage by dashing out on the other side and
riding at full speed to Wounded Knee.
It was the only thing that offered hope, and, therefore, was eagerly
accepted by all. The firing was so scattered that no fear was felt
in moving about within the circle of waggons, for, as we have shown,
Captain Wadsworth and Brinton had been exposed all the time without
harm. The Sioux kept so far away that it was evident they were
waiting for the arrival of reinforcements before making a real attack.
The preparations on the part of the teamsters had hardly begun when
Brinton, who had led his pony forth and stood ready to leap into the
saddle, called out--
"You needn't do it! Here's my chance!"
The majority of the Indians were near the ridge at that moment, but
some of them were quite a distance off, and, in fact, alarmingly
close to the opposite side of the camp. The impatient youth was
confident that he could dash through the opening before they could
stop him.
"It won't do!" protested Captain Wadsworth; "don't try it! wait till
we get them nearer the ridge they will cut you off----"
"I'm off! Good-bye!"
Brinton Kingsland was in the saddle, and shot out from among the
waggons like a thunderbolt.