THE TRUTH OF THE EYES
The soldiers who had been in the wagon-train fight carried John Ermine's
fame into cantonments, and Major Searles never grew tired of the pæan:--
"I do not go to war for fifty dollars,
You can bet your boots that isn't not me lay.
When I fight, it's only glory which I collars,
Also to get me little beans and hay."
But his more ardent admirers frowned on this doggerel, and reminded the
songsters that no one of them would have made that courier's ride for a
thousand acres of Monongahela rye in bottles. As for Wolf-Voice, they
appreciated his attitude. "Business is business, and it takes money to
buy marbles," said one to another.
[Illustration]
But on the completion of the rude huts at the mouth of the Tongue, and
when the last wagon train had come through, there was an ominous
preparation for more serious things. It was in the air. Every white
soldier went loping about, doing everything from greasing a wagon to
making his will.
"Ah, sacre, John," quoth Wolf-Voice, "am much disturb; dese
Masta-Shella[13] waas say dis big chief--what you call de Miles?--she
medicin fighter; she very bad mans; she keep de soldiers' toes sore all
de taime. She no give de dam de cole-moon, de yellow-grass moon; she
hump de Sioux. Why for we mak to trouble our head? We have dose box,
dose bag, dose barrel to heat, en de commissaire--wael 'nough grub las'
our lifetaime; but de soldier say sure be a fight soon; dat Miles she
begin for paw de groun'--it be sure sign. Wael, we mak' a skin dat las
fight, hey, John?"
[13] White men.
Ermine in his turn conceived a new respect for the white soldiers. If
their heels were heavy, so were their arms when it came to the final
hug. While it was not apparent to him just how they were going to whip
the Sioux and Cheyenne, it was very evident that the Indians could not
whip the soldiers; and this was demonstrated directly when Colonel
Miles, with his hardy infantry, charged over Sitting Bull's camp, and
while outnumbered three to his one, scattered and drove the proud
tribesmen and looted their tepees. Not satisfied with this, the grim
soldier crawled over the snow all winter with his buffalo-coated men,
defying the blizzards, kicking the sleeping warriors out of their
blankets, killing and chasing them into the cold starvation of the
hills. So persistent and relentless were the soldiers that they fought
through the captured camps when the cold was so great that the men had
to stop in the midst of battle to light fires, to warm their fingers,
which were no longer able to work the breech-locks. Young soldiers cried
in the ranks as they perished in the frigid atmosphere; but
notwithstanding, they never stopped. The enemy could find no deep defile
in the lonely mountains where they were safe; and entrench where they
would among the rocks, the steady line charged over them, pouring
bullets and shell. Ermine followed their fortunes and came to understand
the dying of "the ten thousand men." These people went into battle with
the intention of dying if not victorious. They never consulted their
heels, no matter what the extremity. By the time of the green grass the
warriors of the northern plains had either sought their agencies or fled
to Canada. Through it all Ermine had marched and shot and frozen with
the rest. He formed attachments for his comrades--that enthusiastic
affection which men bring from the camp and battle-field, signed by
suffering and sealed with blood.