Meanwhile, the two troops of cavalry, under Lieutenant Dick Danforth
and Captain Keyes respectively, plowed their way through the massed
redskins. They met, and Captain Keyes heartily greeted the men from
Fort Resistence.
“God bless you, Danforth--and you, Mercer! You’ve come just in time to
save us, for we are completely out of ammunition. Where’s Cody?”
“Gone to head off Oak Heart’s messenger to the men he had hidden up the
cañon to fall upon us--had we come that way,” said Danforth.
“And there is the rest of your column appearing!” cried Keyes.
His seniority gave him command. He raised his saber on high and stood
up in his stirrups.
“Now, charge back to the fort, my bully boys, and give these red devils
what they are looking for!”
The redskins were not inactive, and there were already empty saddles
in the troop; but the tribesmen were demoralized. They began fleeing
toward the river across the valley. Out upon the ridge spurred the guns
belonging to Captain Taylor’s command, unlimbered, and opened fire on
the fleeing reds, the shells screaming over the heads of the charging
troops in blue. Down into the valley poured the remainder of Taylor’s
column, eager to have some part in the rout.
Upon this scene rode Buffalo Bill and his beautiful captive as they
left the cañon’s mouth. The Indians were in wild flight. The whites
were forcing them toward the river.
Buffalo Bill pulled in his horse, and his keen glance swept the field
of carnage. He saw that the battle was practically over. Oak Heart’s
warriors had shown the white feather. The unexpected coming of the
rescue-party had knocked out completely the reds’ plans, and they could
not rally.
Then the scout looked down at the sorrowful face of White Antelope.
“Yonder flies the White Antelope’s father, the great chief, Oak Heart,
and his people,” Cody said gravely. “The palefaces are greater than the
red men. They always have been. They always will be. Remember, White
Antelope, that Pa-e-has-ka says this, and he is wise, and he knows.
The red men must melt away before the white men, or else become as
the white men are--tillers of the soil, traders, homesteaders. The
red men, who learn this lesson soon, will be saved. There is no other
gospel to preach to the red men--and Pa-e-has-ka preaches it.
“The White Antelope’s mother was white,” continued the old scout,
seeing that he had the girl’s attention, and he spoke with trembling
voice. “She was a beautiful woman--and Oak Heart loved her greatly.
While she lived the Sioux remained for years at peace with the white
men. Now Oak Heart is influenced by less wise counselors than thy
mother. And see what has come of it!
“Many men are dead. Much bitterness is engendered. The strife has been
bloody, and now the red men go back to their squaws and children like
whipped dogs!
“The whites and reds will now be against each other for a long time
because of this trouble. And what have the people gained, White
Antelope? A few scalps? Aye, but they have lost more. Many women will
tear their hair and mourn in the lodges of the Sioux because of this
battle.
“Let the White Antelope remember this. She has influence beyond her
years with her people. Let her remember what Pa-e-has-ka says and
counsel her father and the other chiefs to make peace with the white
men while they may.
“Now, Pa-e-has-ka sends the White Antelope back to Chief Oak Heart.
Tell thy father how the Long Hair had thee in his power, and did thee
no harm. I am thy friend, White Antelope. See! that is the way to the
river. Keep behind the trees, and the bluecoats will not see thee. Fly!
For the time is short. Soon your people will be in full retreat, and
the old chief will believe his daughter is lost to him.”
The scout set the girl down upon her feet. His voice trembled as he
ceased speaking, and he looked closely into her face to see if it had
been moved at all by his speech. But he saw there only fright and
wonder--the terror of the wild creature unexpectedly released from the
trap.
So he let her go and saw her flee on feet as fleet as a deer’s through
the undergrowth toward the river, which the vanguard of the Indians
were already crossing. Then the scout set spurs to Chief and tore after
the column of blue which had hastened to the support of Keyes and
Danforth.
Although the rifles and pistols of the men from the fort were empty,
their blades were sharp. Before Cody reached the field of action it had
become merely a drive of redskins to the river. The bluecoats rode them
down, hacking them as they passed, pressing Oak Heart hard.
Horses and white men went down in the mêlée; but when the war-cry of
Buffalo Bill was heard that seemed to drive the last atom of courage
from the Sioux, and they ran like a herd of frightened deer, flinging
away their arms, and leaping from the high river-bank into the shallows.
Some were swept away by the deeper current in the middle and drowned.
Had there been a ford near at hand, the soldiers would have crossed
over and continued the massacre on the farther side. But the stream
afforded Oak Heart a chance to rally his braves.
Sheltered somewhat by the high bank, his riflemen could pick off the
soldiers as they appeared, and it became dangerous for the cavalrymen
to ride to the very brink of the bluff. This allowed the frightened
Indians to escape across the stream, Oak Heart and a few others
guarding their retreat.
While Buffalo Bill was receiving the congratulations of Captain Keyes
and Texas Jack, the voice of the old chief, Oak Heart, suddenly rose
from below.
“I know you, Great White Chief Buffalo Bill! Oak Heart never forget.
You save your people--kill my young men--make Sioux run! Me remember,
Pa-e-has-ka!”
“He’s got it in for you, Bill, sure enough!” cried Texas Jack.
Raising his trumpetlike voice, the great scout replied to the threat of
the beaten Indian chief:
“Pa-e-has-ka knows the voice of Oak Heart--and the heart of Oak Heart.
He will not forget!”
The Border King might have picked off the chief with his rifle as he
climbed the farther bank of the stream on his wearied pony. But he
scorned to do such an act. Besides, far up the river he saw a slender
figure dive down the bank, plunge into the stream, and fight the fierce
current to the other side, where it quickly scrambled out, up the bank,
and ran to join the fleeing Indians.
“What become of the girl, Cody?” whispered Dick Danforth, getting him
aside.
The Border King pointed to this figure following the trail of the
defeated warriors.
“There she goes, Dick,” he whispered. “Remember your promise!”
It was indeed a great victory for the whites. The Sioux had lost many
ponies and more than a hundred slain, although some of the dead had
been taken away. In wounded the Indians had suffered more heavily still.
However, it was a costly victory for the whites. More than twenty
troopers lay dead within the fort, and several were scattered upon the
plain. There were more than half a hundred seriously injured, while of
minor casualties there were so many that the garrison had ceased to
note them. Almost everybody within Fort Advance showed, at least, some
slight mark of the conflict.
Upon every tongue was heard the name of Buffalo Bill, the Border
King; for, but for him, how different might have been the result! All
felt that the great scout had saved Fort Advance, and, as Texas Jack
said, “put a crimp in the Sioux that they’d remember till they were
gray-headed.” Indeed the fame of this deed for many years made Buffalo
Bill’s name a household word along the frontier.
Embarrassed by the praise bestowed upon him, the scout looked to the
care of his horse, Chief, and then slipped away to hide and rest, Texas
Jack keeping his hiding-place a secret that he might not be disturbed.
When he slipped out of his retreat the next day he was greeted with
a cheer, and Major Baldwin sent for him at parade that evening and
complimented him publicly for his work, with a word of praise for Texas
Jack, as well.
When matters had quieted down a little at the fort and the rescuers had
returned to Fort Resistance, Buffalo Bill had a talk with Major Baldwin.
“Somebody should make an attempt to see what old Oak Heart is about
now,” said the scout. “And I reckon I’m the man, major. There are
still a lot of masterless Indians in these hills, and we want to know
what they’re up to. There is another matter I wish to scout around
about, too. On my way down from Denver I crossed the trail of Boyd
Bennett.”
“You don’t mean that despicable deserter has dared show up again?”
cried the major.
“I believe he is in the neighborhood. There have been several robberies
of stage-coaches and mail-wagons up north, and they bear the ear-marks
of Boyd Bennett. At any rate, this clue I speak of will bear following
up.”
“Very well, Cody. I’ll excuse you from your other duties. I wish I was
giving you a quiet vacation, however.”
The scout smiled.
“Excitement is the breath of life to me, major. Wait till I get old.
Perhaps I may want to settle down then.”
This Boyd Bennett was an old enemy of Buffalo Bill’s. He was a deserter
from the United States Army, and had become the leader of one of those
bands of road-agents that cropped up so thickly soon after the close
of the Civil War. The West was overrun with disbanded guerrillas who
had fought on both sides of the great struggle--wild and masterless men
who had lived so long by the power of the sword, that they would not
conform to law and order when legitimate fighting was supposed to be
ended.
These cursed the growing West. Boyd Bennett had committed several
crimes, but had as yet escaped apprehension and punishment.
An army paymaster was soon to make the rounds by coach, paying off
the several garrisons; and so it was important to locate Boyd Bennett,
the overland bandit, and his gang, and make sure that they were not
plotting to seize the paymaster’s treasure.
After a couple of days’ trailing into the Indian country, the scout
found that Oak Heart and his warriors were seemingly too much battered
by the battle at Fort Advance to think of making another raid at
present. They were likely to lie low for awhile.
So Buffalo Bill went in search of Boyd Bennett and his gang. He
knew that the rendezvous of the road-agents was usually near some
stage-road, and the scout chanced upon the road leading from Fort
Advance to Alikon. He knew the time of the coach-running, and after
riding along the trail for a couple of miles he came upon the coach as
he expected.
That is, he expected to find the coach about here; but the scene
presented to his gaze, when he beheld it, was most startling.
There was the coach; the horses were standing patiently in the trail;
and yet no driver was on the box, nor did he see any one near at first.
Spurring forward, Buffalo Bill beheld the driver sprawling on the
ground, with the reins still clutched tightly in his hands. It was Bud
Sharkey, whom the scout knew well; and the unfortunate fellow had been
shot from his seat on the stage-coach.
There were three other dead bodies on the ground--an officer and two
soldiers. They were all dead, and, furthermore, the scout noted now
that the four had been scalped.