reported to the commanding officer the next morning immediately after
guard-mount, he found himself (much to his disgust, now that he was in
love) ordered to guide a scouting-party composed of four companies of
the Seventh Cavalry, commanded by Col. Keogh, to the region of Pawnee
Rock and the Great Bend of the Arkansas, seventy miles to the southwest
of Harker, where the Kiowas, under the leadership of the dreaded Chief
Sa-tan-ta, had been for the past fortnight successfully raiding the
overland coaches and the freight caravans to New Mexico.
[Illustration: SA-TAN-TA.]
The command to which Hart was attached remained away, having occasional
brushes with the Indians, for several weeks. During its absence the
allied tribes had become excessively impudent and threatening. They
culminated their atrocities in a most fiendish and cruel massacre of
the settlers on Spillman creek, upon the receipt of the news of which
the Government determined to inaugurate an extended campaign against
them, in which Gen. Sheridan was to take the field in person, with such
famous Indian-fighters for his lieutenants as Gens. Sully, Custer,
Carr, and others. Consequently all the scouting-parties were called in
to their respective stations by courier, to prepare for the impending
great conflict.
Of course, the moment Hart returned to Fort Harker he made preparations
to leave for the ranch at Twin Mounds and the girl who had so
photographed herself on the tablets of his memory. It was early the
next morning after his arrival at the post; he had shaved, put on a new
suit purchased from the sutler, and otherwise made himself presentable
after his long scout. But he had hardly cinched the saddle on Tatonka
before an orderly came to the corral and informed him that the
commanding officer desired his presence at once. So Jack, with terribly
depressed feelings and mentally cursing his luck, mounted his horse
and rode slowly up to headquarters, where he found the General standing
on the porch waiting to receive him.
"Jack," said he, as the scout dismounted, "I'm awfully sorry to be
compelled to call upon you to make another trip right away, when you
have just returned from such a long one, but the fact is there's not
another scout at the post; they are all away. I want you to start
immediately for the Saline. Part of the Fifth Cavalry are _en route_
from Fort Saunders here, and will probably reach the ford northwest of
Fort Hays sometime to-day. It is now only six o'clock," looking at his
watch; "you can reach there as soon as they do--before, if you start
now. So go at once and guide them in. They don't know anything about
that country on the river. You remember how terribly broken it is out
there. Here are some dispatches you are to give to whomever you find in
command;" and he handed the scout a small package of papers.
"All right, sir," replied Hart, as he put the bundle in the
breast-pocket of his flannel shirt; "I'm off now, as soon as I go to my
quarters for my saddlebags and carbine."
With a sad heart as he cast his eyes on the blue cones of the Twin
Mounds, looming up so suggestively of the ranch at their base, Jack
left the post in a few minutes after his interview with Gen. Sully,
fully mindful of the responsible duty intrusted to him. Hart made
excellent time. He was anxious to get back as soon as possible. By two
o'clock he had crossed the Saline, and when about three miles the other
side of where the handsome little village of Sylvan to-day nestles so
picturesquely in the wealth of woods surrounding, he met the troops, to
whose commander he reported, and delivered his dispatches. He turned
with them to the river, where, as it was now past three, the command
went into camp for the night.
After grazing Tatonka for half an hour, feeding him some corn, and
eating his own dinner, the thought suddenly struck Jack to ask
permission to go over to the ranch at the foot of the Twin Mounds,
whose dual peaks were plainly visible only fifteen miles away to the
southeast as the crow flies. The colonel cordially granted Jack's
request. He promised to join the column on the trail early in the
morning before it had marched any great distance; then, at the
commanding officer's suggestion, Jack drew in the sand with his finger
a rough map of the route to Fort Harker, supplementing it by pointing
out certain divides and ledges of rock that could plainly be seen on
the trail from where the colonel and the scout stood.
When Jack had finished he left the camp for the spot where he had given
his heart more than two months before, his soul filled with rapture at
the prospect of soon meeting again the gentle girl he loved.
His horse was a medium-sized broncho, full of power and endurance,
which he knew could easily make Réaume's ranch in three hours. That
would bring him there about seven o'clock, in time for supper, and
more than an hour and a half before dark. So he struck a bee-line for
the Mounds, his feelings better imagined than described; an ecstasy
indefinable except to those whose experience has been similar to that
of the overhappy scout.
The sun was just sinking below the horizon when Jack arrived at the
Elkhorn, in the immediate vicinity of the ranch. A flood of golden
light poured into the beautiful little valley as he crossed the ford
and entered the circular grove, in the middle of which Réaume had
built his log cabin and corrals. As he rode toward the place where the
cluster of rude huts should be, his eyes, which were ordinarily as keen
and as bright as an eagle's, suddenly filled, for he looked upon a
scene that caused his bronzed cheeks to blanch and an exclamation of
horror to escape his lips. The cabin was roofless, and the green timber
composing its sides and ends was still slowly burning.
"Cheyennes!" he muttered with set teeth, as he unslung his carbine,
spurred his horse forward, while a prayer for the safety of the girl he
loved was formulated in his brain. When he reached the opening where
the once happy home was so picturesquely located he drew up on the
reins, and as Tatonka stopped a deep groan escaped Jack. Lying under
the mighty trees, close to the ruins of the cabin, were the scalped and
mutilated remains of Réaume and his four youngest children.
But where was Susie, the woman he loved? Dazed and stupefied for a
moment, Jack began to search for her body. She was not with the rest
of the murdered family. "Oh, my God!" he cried in his agony, "has she
been saved for a fate worse than death! Carried off a miserable captive
among the soulless savages? Great God, no! I cannot think of it. Sooner
would I see her here dead with the others!"
Although almost overcome with grief, and furious with passion as these
thoughts, so terrible in their contemplation, crowded thick upon his
brain, he was determined not to lose his self-control. Pausing for a
moment, cautiously looking around to assure himself that none of the
paint-bedaubed fiends were lurking in the timber, he dismounted, tied
his horse to an oak sapling, walked to where his dead friends lay,
and silently contemplated the horrid butchery. He dared not think of
the probable fate of the faithful young girl who had promised to be
his wife, but he uttered bitter curses against the demons who had
so wantonly, and without the slightest provocation, annihilated the
peaceful little family. He swore to himself that he would have ten
lives for one, in his determined revenge. He turned away, sick at
heart, from these victims of Indian hatred, and walked slowly toward
the spring to quench his feverish thirst and to collect his dazed ideas.
It was six or seven rods from where the cabin had stood to the wall
of rock in the hillside out of which the water gushed, and it was
completely hidden by a dense growth of cottonwoods, willows and elders,
covering more than an acre. As he approached the edge of this tangled
thicket, a low moan reached his ear; whether animal or human, so faint
was it, he could not distinguish.
Stopping for an instant, every sense on the alert, he cocked his
carbine, and listened attentively. The strange sound was repeated.
He moved cautiously on the narrow trail. Then suddenly as he arrived
at the spring, which made quite a pool as it fell from a shelf of
sandstone, with a cry of horror from his lips he saw prone on the
ground, her pale mouth just touching the water's edge as it flowed in a
diminutive rivulet, the apparently lifeless body of Susie Réaume.
"Susie, my darling!" cried he, as he knelt reverently by her side and
kissed her forehead, for he believed her certainly dead. But the girl's
eyes opened as she felt the warm impress of his lips, and she looked
up into his anxious face with an unmistakable glance of recognition,
vainly essaying to speak.
"Oh, Susie, are you seriously hurt? Tell me, if you can," he lovingly
pleaded, as he then for the first time noticed, with fear depicted on
his countenance, a pool of dried blood on the sod beneath her.
After an evident struggle she laboredly gasped: "Yes--Jack--here,"
touching her right side with her left hand, causing her much effort to
accomplish it.
Jack at once commenced to unfasten her dress, but she instinctively
attempted to raise her arms to prevent him, while a delicate blush
spread over her pale face.
"Susie, dear," said Jack, as he understood what her motion was intended
to convey to him, "there are no woman's hands here to do what under the
circumstances must be done; so, darling, let there be no false modesty.
I want to save you, and you want to live."
Upon this appeal she made no more resistance, but her eyes closed, and
the glow of her maiden delicacy deepened, while Jack, with the most
sacred feelings, cut open her bodice with his sheath-knife and exposed
her virgin bosom to the evening breeze. On the right side, immediately
on a line with her shoulder, he discovered an ugly lance-wound, which
had bled so profusely that she had fainted, and was almost exhausted
when Jack found her. The wound had evidently stopped flowing some time
since, and fortunately the blade had not penetrated her lungs; at least
so thought Jack in his careful and gentle examination, determining the
matter from the fact that there was no hemorrhage from her mouth, and
he silently thanked God.
It was now long after sundown. In the lingering twilight he carefully
washed the wound with water, using a portion of her skirt he had cut
off for the purpose. Completing this office, and binding on a wet
compress, Jack then moved her tenderly to a mat of soft buffalo-grass
near by, made a pillow of his saddle, and a covering for her out of his
saddle blanket, then busied himself in making her a cup of coffee, a
supply of which and a small pot he always carried with him.
The coffee and some hardtack he had, revived the wounded girl very
materially, reduced the incipient fever which had set in, and permitted
her to fall into a gentle slumber; while Jack, under the brilliant
constellations of the incomparable June night, nursed her through its
silent watches. The poor fellow leaned patiently over her with looks of
the most tender solicitude, bathing her temples now and then with water
from the spring when she became the least restless, and occasionally
running his fingers through her dark ringlets with the fondness of a
young but constantly growing affection--for it was his first love, and
he had given his soul up to it with all the strength and weakness of
his passion.
The sun, though not yet above the horizon of the valley, was just
gilding the crests of the Twin Mounds next morning when Susie awoke
with a glance of approving affection on Jack. Although she did not
speak, there is a language of looks which is sufficient for the
purposes of love. As he quietly kissed her he understood it perfectly,
and it filled his soul with joy.
Jack then, after his ablutions at the spring, made a little fire, put
on his coffee-pot, which soon boiled, and while it was settling he
tenderly washed the wounded girl's face and placed a fresh compress on
the cruel hole in her side.
After Susie had partaken of her frugal breakfast, she was able to
converse a few minutes. She expressed herself in words that were music
in Jack's ears, of the deepest gratitude and love for the care he had
bestowed upon her, assuring him that but for his opportune coming and
devotion, she would hours since have been dead.
"Do you think, Susie, you could ride on my horse?" pleadingly inquired
Jack. "We could reach Fort Harker early in the afternoon, if you have
strength enough to sit in the saddle, and can bear the fatigue. I
am certain you need a doctor's care and a woman's nursing. Were it
possible to leave you here, I would make the post in three hours, and
bring back an ambulance for you. But that would require every minute
from now until four o'clock; and to compel you to remain here and alone
until I return, with the Indians perhaps hovering around, cannot be
thought of."
Susie was now sitting up, leaning against the trunk of a big elm
to which Jack had carried her, in order that she might be more
comfortable; and in answer she said:
"I think I am strong enough, Jack. I _must_ be. That is the only thing
that can be done. I haven't much fever now, and my wound hasn't bled
any since yesterday. Let's try, at least. I've lots of courage--you
know that--and I believe that I can make the trip."
Jack then watered Tatonka, saddled him, and after tying him to a tree,
told Susie he would go up on the hill and make a reconnoissance before
they started; that he would be gone only about ten or fifteen minutes,
and not to worry during his absence.
The sun was fairly above the horizon when Jack, with only his
sheath-knife, started for the bluffs above the creek bottom, where he
could see over the country for miles. He wanted to satisfy himself
whether there were any Indians skulking in the vicinity, as he dared
not take such desperate chances, handicapped with the helpless girl, as
he would if he were going to make the trip to Fort Harker alone.
He had not forgotten his promise of the afternoon before, to join the
cavalry column and guide it to the post; consequently he was somewhat
disturbed at first. But when he left the colonel he of course never
imagined that such a fate had befallen Réaume's ranch and the girl Jack
loved. So the scout did not, when he considered the matter a moment,
weigh his duty in the scales of his affection. He would have sacrificed
place, friends and everything to save his affianced. What man would
blame him?
He had just reached the second bottom above the creek and was emerging
from the heavy growth of timber out on the prairie at the foot of
the most southerly of the Twin Mounds, when he was confronted by a
monstrous she-panther, with three young ones not more than six weeks
old. Ordinarily, that animal of the _genus felis_ will not attack
man,--preferring, rather, to shrink from his presence, unless provoked
by wounds. But in this instance both Hart and the panther were face
to face on the edge of the woods before they were aware of the fact.
Which was the more surprised, the man or the beast, it would have been
difficult to determine.
If there had been no little ones with her, in all probability the
panther would have incontinently bounded into the timber at the first
glance of Jack's eyes; but the presence of the kittens aroused
the maternal instinct for their safety. So, with a low growl and a
characteristic "spit" at him, she flew at the scout's breast, fastening
her great claws into his shoulders before he could draw his knife, and
they both fell by the sheer impetus of the cat's onset.
Jack, unfortunately for himself at this juncture, had left his carbine
and revolvers with Susie. She could use them very effectually in case
of emergency, but she was too far away to be able to hear him if he
should call, and too weak to come if she could hear him. Now, his only
dependence for defense from the murderous attack of the ferocious beast
was his knife, but he was an expert in its use.
They struggled fearfully, the infuriated animal endeavoring to
insert its teeth in the scout's throat, which luckily he succeeded
in preventing by the dexterous use of his knife. But in the awfully
unequal battle he was terribly cut by the sharp, active claws of the
enraged beast, and was bleeding profusely from more than a dozen wounds
already inflicted on his shoulders, legs and body. He had, fortunately,
been able to keep the cat's great paws off his face.
At last, by one desperate effort Jack succeeded in giving a home thrust
in the region of the creature's heart, which ended the struggle;
luckily for him, too, for at that moment he swooned from loss of blood.
The panther loosened her hold--she was dead.
This final effort of the scout occurred on the extreme edge of a
rocky shelf, whither both man and beast had been forced during their
desperate fight. Below this shelf, at a distance of only a few feet,
fortunately, the level prairie hugged the timber, the latter throwing a
deep shade over the spot. Into this grassy little place both Hart and
the panther fell--he insensible from loss of blood, with the lifeless
beast alongside him.
* * * * *
In the cavalry camp on the Saline the troopers were busily grooming
their horses at the picket-line. The captains of companies near by were
superintending this important duty, while the colonel, surrounded by
a group of officers, nearly all of whom were smoking their matutinal
pipes, stood in front of headquarters tent, drinking in the charming
landscape and delicious freshness of the early summer morning.
Suddenly, as his eyes happened to rest upon the double cones of the
Twin Mounds that loomed up blue and clearly defined in the coming light
from the east, he pointed in their direction with a field-glass he had
in his hand, and exclaimed:
"Look, gentlemen, look! A mirage! a mirage!"
Every one turned; and presently, while all were gazing with enchantment
on the strange phenomenon, far above the peaks, in the sky, but
inverted, two moving figures appeared, surrounded by that waving
purple mist characteristic of the mirage on the Great Plains. One of
the celestial apparitions was in the similitude of a man, the other
of a beast. Both were gigantic and exaggerated in outline; both were
grappling in a deadly struggle!
[Illustration: THE MIRAGE.]
Every soldier stopped his work to watch the curious picture suspended
in the heavens; some regarded it with a superstitious awe, thoroughly
frightened at the manifestation, which they never dreamed of as within
the range of possibilities.
The colonel recognized the huge figure of the man in the clouds,
disproportioned as he was, to be the scout who had left him the
afternoon before, but what the beast was none of the men could make out.
"Great Cæsar!" cried the colonel; "what a place for a battle, away up
there in the clouds! It reminds me of Lookout Mountain, when I was with
Hooker."
Every one intently watched the strange combat, filled with excitement
at the novelty of the thing, until presently the figures appeared to
fall over an immense precipice and vanish, although they seemed to
disappear with an upward movement. Then there was nothing left but the
inverted mounds, the woods and the prairie of the wonderful mirage; it,
too, was all dispelled in a few moments more.
The colonel turned to his adjutant and ordered "boots and saddles"
sounded at once.
"For we must be off," said he, addressing the officers around him
generally. "Life may depend upon our promptness in reaching the scene
of that strange conflict."
In less than a quarter of an hour the column had moved out, headed in
a "bee-line" for the Twin Mounds, every man in the whole command as
anxious as his comrade to reach the place, for all were excited over
what they had witnessed.
It required four hours of brisk marching before they arrived on the
plateau at the base of the Mounds, and by that time it was past eleven
o'clock, and intensely hot. The command halted there, while the
colonel, the adjutant, the surgeon, several other officers and a detail
of five enlisted men instituted a search for the missing scout.
In a little while they found the bodies of Hart and the panther close
together, lying in the shade of the huge oaks, where they had fallen
in their last struggle, and when they had disappeared to those who had
watched the combat from their camp on the Saline.
Upon examination, the surgeon discovered that the scout was alive, but
terribly lacerated by the sharp claws and teeth of the panther, as well
as badly bruised in consequence of his fall from the ledge of rocks,
though no bones were broken, nor were any of his wounds necessarily
serious. He had merely become insensible from loss of blood and
exhaustion incident to the awful struggle. The doctor placed a flask of
brandy to the unconscious man's mouth, which he pried open with Jack's
own knife, still clutched in his right hand when discovered; and in a
few moments, as the stimulating liquor reached his stomach, he slowly
opened his eyes, looked around in a bewildered manner at first, then
apparently taking in the situation of affairs at a glance, partially
raised himself, and in a hoarse whisper, pointing in the direction
where he had left her, said:
"Susie Réaume! Near the spring! Quick, for God's sake!"
"Who?" replied the astonished doctor; "Susie, a woman, here too?"
Jack had by this time gotten over his dizziness somewhat, and was able
feebly though intelligently to convey the story of the awful massacre
at the ranch, his relations to the wounded girl, and the state of
affairs when attacked by the panther. Then looking at the sun, and
realizing that hours must have elapsed since he had left Susie, he
urged the doctor to go at once, upon which he attempted to get on his
feet to guide him to the spot, but he was too weak yet, and would have
fallen if one of the men had not caught him.
"No! no!" exclaimed the doctor, when he divined Jack's intention;
"don't try to walk yet. I'll leave one of the troopers to look after
you and I'll go and attend to the young girl immediately. You'll be
all right in half an hour; then you can follow."
So, with directions from Jack, the doctor, the colonel and two soldiers
started for the spring, which they found without any difficulty, the
trail to that point having been explained in such a clear manner by the
anxious scout.
Entering the maze of willows by a well-beaten trail that led from the
kitchen door of the destroyed cabin, they found Susie in nearly the
same position in which Jack had left her early in the morning, sitting
on the grass against the big elm, weak and feverish. She involuntarily
gave a little cry of surprise when she saw the officers approaching,
and with a slight blush mantling her cheeks, laid the rifle she had
raised from the ground at her side when she first heard footsteps,
back in its place, and bowed her head gracefully in response to the
colonel's courteous salutation. Both he and the doctor were surprised
to find so much refinement and culture as Susie evinced, in such an
unlooked-for place.
"Miss Susie," said the colonel, as he irresistibly lifted his hat to
the charming picture of rusticity, "I have brought our surgeon, at
Jack's request, who will see what he can do for you, and then we'll
find means to transport you comfortably to Fort Harker, where you
can be properly cared for. The doctor will tell you all about Jack's
mishap--there, don't be alarmed," as Susie made a convulsive start;
"he's all right, and will be here presently." Then bowing again, the
colonel and his two men retired some distance, while the doctor, as
modestly as possible, examined the gentle girl's wounds, and told her
the story of Jack's strange adventure.
Susie Réaume was a girl of the strongest affections, but not in
the least degree demonstrative. Her grief at the horrible fate of
her father, brothers and sisters was as deep as the circumstances
were appalling, her love for the young scout as pure as it would be
enduring; but on both subjects of the sorrow which had come to her
in a single day she was reticent, or communicated so little that the
first impressions of the colonel and the doctor were that she was as
emotionless as a marble statue. There was never a greater error of
judgment: concealment of her anguish was a prominent characteristic of
her nature, while she suffered unutterable mental torture.