BUFFALO BILL AND YELLOW HAND (1876)
A PLAINS-DAY DUEL
The war parties of Kiowas, Comanches and Southern Cheyennes from the
Indian Territory reservation rode about for a year, plundering
settlers, fighting the soldiers, and trying to drive the
buffalo-hunters off the range. Colonel Miles had charge of the
campaign against them, which extended through the summer of 1874, and
the winter, and well into the spring of 1875. Many brave deeds were
done.
The Southern Cheyennes surrendered first, in March. Then the Kiowas
and Comanches began to appear at Fort Sill, Indian Territory, and give
themselves up. Chief Quana's Antelope Eaters were the last. They
surrendered in June.
So the Military Department of the Missouri seemed a little more quiet;
a few bands of outlaw Indians still roved in southwestern Kansas,
southern Colorado, New Mexico and northern Texas, but the
buffalo-hunters again established their camps as they pleased. General
Sheridan, the commander of the whole western country to the Rocky
Mountains, had said that the only way to bring real peace was to kill
off the buffalo; then the Indians would have to stay on the
reservations, or starve.
Trouble now thickened in the north, especially in the Department of
Dakota and in Wyoming of the Department of the Platte. Forts had been
planned in Chief Red Cloud's Powder River country of Wyoming, and
miners were entering the Sioux and Northern Cheyennes' hunting reserve
of the famous Black Hills of South Dakota. Another railroad, the
Northern Pacific, was about to cross the northern buffalo range.
On their reservations in South Dakota the Sioux and Cheyennes were
getting restless. Chief Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull the medicine
worker stayed far outside, to hunt and fight as free men. They refused
to lead their bands in, and warriors on the Dakota reservations kept
slipping away, to join them.
In the spring of 1876 General George Crook, the Gray Fox, commanding
the Department of the Platte, at Omaha, and General Alfred H. Terry,
commanding the Department of Dakota, at St. Paul, started out to round
up the Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull bands, in the Powder River and Big
Horn Valley country of northern Wyoming and southeastern Montana.
General John Gibbon was to close in, with another column, from Fort
Ellis, Montana, on the west.[1]
Among the troops ordered to unite with General Crook's main column on
the march, were the fighting Fifth Cavalry, with headquarters at Fort
Hays, Hays City, Kansas, on the Kansas Pacific Railway half way between
Fort Leavenworth and Denver. Their commander was Lieutenant-Colonel
(brevet Major-General) Eugene A. Carr.
The Fifth were glad to go. They already had made a great record on the
plains, protecting the Union Pacific and the Kansas Pacific railroads;
were just back from scouting against the Apaches in Arizona; and now
they eagerly unpacked their campaign kits for another round. "Buffalo
Bill" Cody, their old chief-of-scouts, was sent for, in the East where
he had been acting on the stage with Texas Jack. He came in a hurry,
and was given three cheers.
The Fifth Cavalry were to rendezvous at Cheyenne. The four companies
at Fort Hays went by railroad, first to Denver and then north to
Cheyenne. On the seventh of June there they were. They marched north
to old Fort Laramie. Here the regiment was ordered to guard the great
Sioux and Cheyenne trail that crossed country from the South Dakota
reservations to the hostile Powder River and Big Horn villages.
There were several skirmishes, but the traveling Indians got away. On
July 1 the new colonel joined the regiment. He was Brevet
Major-General Wesley Merritt, from General Sheridan's staff at Chicago
division headquarters. As he was a full colonel, he outranked
Lieutenant-Colonel Carr, and became commander.
On July 6 terrible word was received from Fort Laramie. Buffalo Bill
first announced it, as he came out of General Merritt's tent.
"Custer and five companies of the Seventh have been wiped out of
existence, on the Little Big Horn, by the Sioux. It's no rumor;
General Merritt's got the official dispatch."
"What! When?"
"June 25. It's awful, boys."
Sunday, of last week! Twelve days ago, and they only just now heard!
And while they had been longing for Indians, and envying other columns
that might be having fights,--even a little jealous of the dashing
Custer's rival Seventh, who were hunting Indians instead of watching a
trail--this same Seventh had been battling for their lives.
Of course, reinforcements would be rushed in at once. The Fifth would
have their chance. And sure enough, the order came for the Fifth
Cavalry to march north in earnest and find the General Crook column in
the Big Horn country.
The route lay from southeastern Wyoming north-west through Fort Laramie
and Fort Fetterman (which was farther up the North Platte River), and
on to the Big Horn. But suddenly the march was stopped. A dispatch
from the Red Cloud agency of the Sioux and Cheyenne reservation said
that eight hundred Cheyennes had prepared to leave on the next day,
Sunday, July 16, to join Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull.
There was only one thing for General Merritt to do: throw his troops
across the-war-trail between the reservation and the wagon-road of the
white settlers to the Black Hills, and turn the runaways back. War
Bonnet Creek of extreme southwestern South Dakota, west of the Red
Cloud reservation, was the place where the red trail struck the white
trail; Chief-of-Scouts Buffalo Bill knew it well. The troops must be
there by Sunday night. It now was Saturday noon; the distance, by
round-about route, was eighty-five miles; the Cheyennes had only
twenty-eight to come. General Merritt resolved to get there first.
[Illustration: Buffalo Bill. (From the Painting by Rosa Bonheur)]
So he did. With his seven companies of cavalry, about four hundred
men, he swung back, leaving his wagon-train and a small escort to
follow after. From one o'clock noon until ten o'clock at night he
rode; at the end of thirty-five miles camped until three o'clock in the
morning; led again by Buffalo Bill rode all day Sunday, and at nine
o'clock unsaddled, in the star-light, at the war-trail crossing of War
Bonnet Creek, twenty-eight miles from the reservation. The seven
companies had traveled their eighty-five miles over hill and plain in
thirty-one hours, and had won the race. The Cheyennes had not yet
passed here.
This night Lieutenant Charles King of K troop was in charge of the
outposts stationed toward the south-east, and covering the trail from
the reservation. At dawn he moved his posts farther on, to a steep
little hill, from which the view was better. Much farther, two miles
in the south and southeast, there was a high ridge, breaking the trail
from the reservation. The Cheyennes would cross it. In the southwest,
or to the right from the outpost hill, there was the Black Hills
wagon-road, from which the cavalry had ridden to the War Bonnet here.
Lieutenant King and Corporal Wilkinson of the guard lay upon the hill
slope, watching the morning brighten upon the war-trail ridge. It was
nearing five o'clock, of July 17. The Cheyennes would be coming soon.
"Look, lieutenant! There they are! The Indians!"
Yes, at last! Five or six mounted figures had appeared atop the
distant ridge. The number increased rapidly. But they did not come
on. They galloped wildly back and forth, dodging the slopes that
opened to the west, and seeming to care not at all that they might be
seen from the north.
Evidently they knew nothing of the cavalry camp. It was concealed from
them, by the outpost hill and by the bluffs along the War Bonnet. Then
why didn't they hasten on, if they were in a hurry to join Crazy Horse
and Sitting Bull, and share in the plunder to be gained from the fights?
At five o'clock they dotted the ridge on a front of three miles. They
were fascinated by something in the west. What? Colonel Merritt and
Lieutenant-Colonel Carr had been notified. They arrived at the hill,
and they also scanned with their field-glasses. And still--
"What ails the rascals?" That was the question.
It took half an hour of waiting and wondering, to solve the problem.
Then--the wagon train! The wagon train under Lieutenant and
Quartermaster William P. Hall had trundled into sight, coming in to
camp by the Black Hills road toward the right, in the southwest,
opposite the ridge.
There it was, a white-topped line, apparently guarded by only a few
cavalry troopers; but two hundred infantry were with it and Lieutenant
Hall had stowed them _in the wagons_. The Cheyennes were waiting,
their mouths watering; it looked like a rich plum; they could not see
inside the wagons; they would meet a double surprise--one from the
cavalry gathered at the War Bonnet, the other from the infantry riding
in the wagons.
"Have the men had their coffee?" General Merritt asked, not a whit
excited.
"Yes, sir," replied Lieutenant and Adjutant William Forbush.
"Then let them saddle up and close in mass under the bluffs."
Buffalo Bill Cody had arrived on the hill, with two other scouts: Tait,
and "Chips" whose real name was Charley White. "Chips" imitated
Buffalo Bill in every way; seemed to think that Bill made the world.
He was Buffalo Bill's understudy.
Scout Cody did not wear buckskin, to-day. He wore one of his stage
costumes--a Mexican suit of short black velvet jacket trimmed with
silver buttons and silver lace, and black velvet trousers also with
silver buttons down the sides, and slashed from the knee down with
bright red. His brown hair was long and curling.
"What in thunder are those vagabonds down yonder fooling about?" he
growled, on a sudden.
What, indeed? Something new had cropped out. From the ridge in the
southeast a long ravine ran down, crossed in front of the hill and met
the wagon-road trail at the right of the hill. It and the road formed
a V; the two arms of the V were separated by a stretch of high ground,
and the hill was at the point of the V.
Where the ravine headed at the base of the ridge a mile and a half
southeast, thirty or forty Indians had collected, all ready to dash on.
But why? Ah, see! Lieutenant Hall had sent two cavalry couriers
forward, with dispatches for General Merritt. Two miles distant they
were galloping hard, up the road, bent upon reaching the War Bonnet.
The Indians knew. The warriors in the ravine were about to follow it
down to the trail and kill the couriers.
The couriers could not see the Indians, on account of the high ground
between. The Indians could not now see the couriers, for the same
reason. But the Lieutenant King party on the hill could see
everything, on both sides. The couriers, unconscious of their danger,
could not possibly escape. They were far ahead of the wagon train,
they were loping steadily on--were now within a mile of the War Bonnet
camp, and as if at a signal the Indians in the ravine started,
pellmell, to cut them off on their way.
The two parties, couriers and warriors, were converging for the west
side of the hill. It might have been a pretty race to watch, had life
not been the stake. But what to do? The couriers should not be
sacrificed, of course; yet to send the cavalry forward now would spoil
the bigger game.
Buffalo Bill exclaimed, his eyes bright, his face aglow.
"General! Now's our chance! Why not let our party mount here out of
sight, and we'll tend to those fellows, ourselves!"
"Good! Up with you, then. King, you stay here and watch until they're
close under the hill; then give the word. Come down, every other man
of you, where you won't be seen."
Besides the general and Lieutenant King, the party on the hill numbered
Adjutant Forbush, Lieutenant Pardee, old Sergeant Schreiber, Corporal
Wilkinson, the four privates of the picket, the general's orderly
private, Scouts Buffalo Bill, Tait and "Chips": twelve in all. They
will charge the thirty Cheyennes; or some of them will.
Alone, Lieutenant King watched, careful to lie flat and poke only his
head over the brow of the hill. Much depended upon him. If he
signaled too soon, the Cheyennes would wheel and escape. If he
signaled too late, they would have passed in front of the hill and
attacked the two couriers.
He waited. On the farther side of the slope Buffalo Bill, Scouts Tait
and "Chips" and the five privates were mounted and set for a charge.
Eight, to turn the Cheyennes! Just behind Lieutenant King were the
general and the two lieutenants of his staff, crouching, ready to
repeat the signal. And behind them were Sergeant Schrieber and
Corporal Wilkinson, on hands and knees, to pass the signal back to
Buffalo Bill, at the base of the hill, and then join the fight or their
company.
The Cheyennes swiftly approached, swerving through the winding ravine,
intent upon striking their unconscious prey. Their feathers, their
pennoned lances, their rifles, their trailing war bonnets, their brass
and silver armlets, their beaded leggins, were plain to Lieutenant
King's field-glasses. He might read the legend painted on the leader's
shield. He let them come.
They were within five hundred yards; they were within three hundred
yards; they were within two hundred yards. He did not need his
glasses, now. He might see them slinging their rifles and poising
their lances. It was to be lance work; they did not wish to alarm the
wagon train with gun-shots. One hundred yards! Half a minute more and
they would be rounding the point where the ravine bordered the hill
slope, and would be upon the two couriers.
Ninety yards--
"Ready, general!"
"All right. When you say."
"Now! Into 'em!"
"Now, men!"
It occurred in an instant. With cheer and thud and scramble Buffalo
Bill's little detachment had spurred from the covert of the hill. The
carbines spoke in a volley. General Merritt is first to the top of the
hill, to gaze; Corporal Wilkinson bounds beside him, takes quick aim
and fires at the Cheyenne leader in the cloud of dust below. The
leader (he is a young chief) had reined his pony in a circle sharply
out and to the left; he notes the group on the hill--he notes
everything; he ducks to the far side of his horse and still at full
speed shoots back from under his mount's neck. The bullet almost
grazes General Merritt's cheek!
Down in front there was lively work for a few minutes, as Buffalo
Bill's little command charged in. The Cheyennes scattered, astonished;
they turned for their main body.
"Look!" Lieutenant Forbush cried. "Look to the ridge!"
Pouring down the ridge, all the Cheyennes were coming, to the rescue
and the attack.
"Send in the first company," General Merritt ordered; and with his
adjutant galloped away. The real fight was about to begin.
Out upon the plain the Buffalo Bill men were chasing the Indians,
knowing that the cavalry would soon follow. At a short distance the
Cheyennes made another stand. Their young chief cantered out in front
of them, his hand raised. He called clearly to Buffalo Bill.
"I know you, Pa-he-haska (Long Hair). If you want to fight, come and
fight me."
He rode boldly up and down along his line, waiting. Buffalo Bill
galloped forward alone.
"Stand back," he ordered, of the men. "Fair play."
The young chief saw him coming, and with a shout gladly hammered to the
meeting. They had started one hundred and thirty yards apart. They
each rode at top speed for fifty yards, when from thirty yards, as they
swerved, they fired. Down plunged Buffalo Bill's horse; he had only
stepped in a badger-hole. Down also plunged the chief's pony; but he
was dead and the bullet that had killed him had passed through the
chief's leg, first.
They sprang to their feet. They were now twenty yards apart. The
young chief tottered--they fired together, again; they had to act very
quickly. The chief missed; Buffalo Bill had shot true. He leaped
forward, as the chief reeled, and sank his knife to the hilt. All was
over in a moment.
A great howl of rage arose from the Cheyennes. They charged, for
revenge. They were a fraction of a minute too late; the cavalry were
coming. As Troop K, Lieutenant King's company, tore past, Buffalo Bill
waved his captured war bonnet.
"First scalp for Custer!" he shouted. Custer and the Seventh Cavalry
were to be avenged.
Seeing troop after troop of blue-shirts spurring over the divide and
down, the Cheyennes, every one of their eighteen hundred, turned in
flight. Away they went, the cheering troopers hard after, back up the
trail for the reservation. The pursuit was so hot that they threw
aside their blankets, rations, whatever they might drop. They lost
several ponies and two warriors besides the young chief, but they won
the race and were in their reservation by noon!
Here they hid their guns and their ammunition, washed off their paint;
and when at seven o'clock that evening General Merritt's tired column
filed in, they were strolling about, in their fresh blankets, perfectly
peaceful.
Nevertheless, they and all the other Indians on the reservation were
keen to see Pa-he-haska, the white man who had killed the skillful
young chief Yellow Hand in single combat. They followed Buffalo Bill
about, admiringly. Yellow Hand's father, old Cut Nose, a head chief,
offered four mules in exchange for Yellow Hand's war bonnet, shield and
arms; but that was not to be. Buffalo Bill saved them, and used them
on the stage.
[1] For the story of Sitting Bull, see "Boys' Book of Indian Warriors."