THE COMING OF THE SIOUX
MCGUIRE had been at Plainfield just a month, and had begun to believe
that the place was not so dangerous after all. He was watching the
sunset, and the darkness deepening upon the desert waste one evening,
when he saw a speck upon the plain just where the earth met the sky. It
was a shapeless bunch, too big for a wolf and too small, he thought,
for a horse. As he looked it moved along the plain to the north-west
and soon disappeared in the gathering gloom. The agent was still
seated upon the box at the door of the depot when a big black bunch
showed up just where the other smaller object had disappeared. Nearer
and nearer it came, and finally stopped a few hundred yards from the
station shanty. Two horsemen rode out of the black spot and approached
the station. They had feathers in their hair and rifles on their
arms, seeing which, the agent brought out his rifle and let it rest
upon his lap. A hundred yards from the station the two men stopped and
called to the agent in a strange tongue, and when he made no reply they
rode slowly up to the little station. They made sign for drink, but
the man stood at the door and shook his head. They would eat, but the
agent refused to understand, and one of the Indians started to enter
the station. The agent sprang inside, slammed the door and shoved his
rifle out through the small square hole in the centre of the shutter.
The Indians climbed upon their cayuses, wiggled their heels, and rode
slowly back to where the band was waiting. McGuire listened at the
shed door, and in a little while heard the unshod feet of the Indian
ponies beating the dusty plain. They seemed to have separated, and
were now galloping to surround the station. Peeping through the small
port-holes the agent could see the dark line of horses closing in upon
the little wooden shanty. Turning to the key he called Kearney and
told them that he was being surrounded by the Sioux. Major North was
notified, and started a company of scouts for Plainfield. The operator
called McGuire, but got no answer, and all believed that the young
station-master had been killed immediately after sending his Macedonian
message. McGuire was busy. He had opened the exercises himself, firing
first from one side and then from the other, to show the enemy that
he was numerous and well armed. The Indians returned the fire, and
the lead fairly hailed upon the house. They had charged the station,
but some of the horses having been hit by the bullets fired from the
stuffed walls, the Sioux fell back. They had no thought, however, of
abandoning the fight, and before McGuire had succeeded in reloading
his fire-arms they charged again. This time they reached the shanty,
and, dismounting, beat upon the sand-filled doors in a vain effort
to batter them down. The agent had been almost panic stricken at the
sound of the first volley that rattled like rain upon the boarded
sides of the little depot, but now all feeling of fear had left him,
and he determined to give a good account of himself. Dodging from one
part of the building to another he kept pouring the lead out through
the narrow port-holes until the Indians were driven away again. Many
were wounded, some were dead, and the rest desperate. Leaving their
horses out of range of the agent’s rifle, the band concentrated their
efforts upon the front door. By the sound of the bullets that hailed
upon the house, the agent could tell that they were coming only from
one direction, and so kept his place at the side of the shanty nearest
the track. He could hear them ripping boards from the framework of the
water tank, and with them beating upon the heavy door. Upon the low
table he had arranged boxes of cartridges and now stood in the dark
room loading and emptying his revolvers. The noise of the assault upon
the outer walls of the wooden building became deafening, and the horror
of his surroundings almost chilled the blood of the besieged; but he
had nothing to hope for at the hands of these desperate Indians, and
so fought on doggedly, leaving the rest with God, the despatcher, and
Major North.
Suddenly they hit the door a blow that shook the walls and the very
floor of the house. They had succeeded in loosening a tie, and with
it were ramming the shanty. At the same time the agent became aware of
smoke in the station, and instantly started for his tunnel. They had
fired the shed at the rear while assaulting the front, and the smoke
almost choked McGuire as he groped his way to the opening. Through
cracks in the roof he could see the fire eating its way. Already the
outer wall had burned off, the sand had fallen out, and now the end of
a cross-tie was driven through the ceiling, and fell, amid a shower of
sparks and burning splinters, upon the floor at the agent’s feet.
The front door now gave way under the heavy blows, but smoke and flames
filled the place and made it impossible for the Indians to enter. As
McGuire took to the tunnel he heard the yell of victory that went up
from the wild band as the door fell in.
In a few moments McGuire, almost exhausted and gasping for breath,
found himself in the base of the tank. When he had rested himself, he
climbed to the top of the tank and, peeping from a small window, saw
the painted devils prancing over the plain waiting impatiently for him
to come from the burning building. In the light of the flaming station
he could see them plainly, and he longed to make targets of their
feathered heads, but he feared to attract their notice.
As the flames devoured the little pine house and the heat grew less
intense, the blood-thirsty band peered into the ruins, and when they
could see no sign of the late occupant of the place, began circling
round, searching in the sage-brush for the missing man. Satan seemed to
have inspired one of the imps at this moment, for, taking a brand from
the ruined station, he ran and placed it against the tank. When McGuire
saw what the Sioux had done he gave him a shot, and so published the
secret of his hiding-place.
The moment he had fired he realized his mistake, for when once they
had discovered him there would be no shadow of a show for him. Those
of the Indians who had heard the shot and had seen the Sioux fall, ran
about the tank looking for the agent. Presently one of the savages
stopped and pointed toward the top of the tank. A great crowd had now
collected, and when they had jabbered about the dead Indian, the tank,
and the telegrapher for a few moments they threw up their guns and sent
a shower of shot against the wooden structure. The agent, crouching
close to the water tub, kept out of the way and held his fire.
Presently he heard them batter the door down. A moment later he knew
that they were climbing up the narrow ladder. He waited at the top, and
when the first feathered head showed above the landing at the bottom of
the tank proper he brought the barrel of his rifle down and the Sioux
fell upon the one following him, knocking him from the ladder, and so
they all went tumbling to the ground. Leaning from his hiding-place,
McGuire emptied a six-shooter into the confused band, and they were
glad enough to escape, dragging their dead and wounded with them. Being
sure of the whereabouts of the white man, the Indians determined to
have him out at any cost. While the major part of the band trained
their guns upon the tank, a half-dozen Indians carried fire-brands and
heaped them up against the framework. The splinters of the broken door
were used for kindling, and soon the flames were running up the side of
the tank, lighting up the plain for five hundred yards around.
With a sinking heart McGuire saw the semi-circle of light from his
funeral-pyre drive the darkness from the desert, and knew that in
a little while he must choose between this burning refuge and the
blood-thirsty band below. The fight, of which he had been so full
a few moments ago, had all gone out of him, and for the first time
in his life he lost heart. He was so appalled at the thought of the
awful death that awaited him that it became a labor to breathe. His
limbs grew leaden. His rifle was so heavy that he laid it down, and,
leaning over the top of the tank, ran his fingers through his hair
and was surprised that it was tangled and wet, like fine grass heavy
with dew. Clasping his empty hands he lifted his eyes to heaven to ask
for help, but his glance was arrested at the horizon where a big star
burned above the plain. As he looked the star grew brighter, and he was
reminded of the story of a world that had been as hopelessly lost as he
seemed now, when a star burned in the east and the world was saved.
Suddenly behind the star a yellow light flared, fan-shaped, from the
earth, and he knew that the star was the headlight of a locomotive and
the flash was from the furnace where the fireman was shovelling coal
for dear life. Now the rails that were glistening in the glare of the
headlight and bridging the darkness to the edge of the light of the
burning tank began to sing, and the Indians took warning and fled into
the darkness.
“Too late, too late!” said the captain of the scouts, who was riding in
the cab.
The engineer made no reply, but tugged at the throttle, that was
already wide open, and kept his eyes fixed upon the burning building.
“That will do,” he said to the fireman as the light of his head-lamp
reached the other light. He made a motion with his left hand as of a
man drinking, and the fireman put on the left-hand pump to save the
boiler, for the water was low in the lower gauge.
“Too late, too late!” mused McGuire, as the flames climbed to the
top and a red tongue lipped the edge of the tank as a mad dog laps
a running brook. Until now he had not thought of trying to escape,
for only death had waited at the bottom, but seeing the Sioux hunting
cover, he peered over the edge, and the smoke and flames were all about
the ladder. Now the fire burst through and the smoke came up blinding
and hot, and he took a last stand on the narrow bridge that ran over
the top of the water tub. As he climbed up his hands touched the water
in the tank, which till now he had not thought of. The tank was level
full, and with his hands he began to scoop the water out, and in a
little while succeeded in checking the fire that was eating round to
the rear; but it was too far advanced in front, next to the track, to
be put out so easily. With a great effort he managed to reach the rope
that was fixed to the valve in the bottom of the tank, and when he had
opened it the great volume of water rushed out and deadened the fire,
so that by staying in the bottom of the empty tank McGuire was able to
survive until the captain of the scouts and a couple of Pawnees reached
the top of the charred structure and carried him, almost lifeless,
into the fresh open air.
“Little emergency runs like that,” said the superintendent to the
engineer afterwards, “make men appreciate the value of time.”