CORRALLED BY INDIANS.
The sergeant in command of the escort was Mobile Buck, and he was so
enrolled. He was a fine soldier and a brave one, and had won his rank
for his good qualities.
Sergeant Mobile Buck was vary cautious, however, and he wisely
decided that it would be better to have an advance guard of one man
to take chances of an ambush, than to have his whole force in danger,
so he kept a trooper well ahead.
What that solitary trooper thought of his being selected for that
post of honor will never be known, as his sacrifice saved the
sergeant and his other men.
It was when some thirty miles from the fort, and when nearing the
time for going into camp, wild yells were heard half a mile ahead,
and soon back came the colored trooper’s horse, riderless.
This and the yells told the story, and the sergeant was quick to
take advantage of a retreat to a little hill, rocky and wooded, he
had found only a mile back. He ordered his corporal to retreat there
and go into camp, against the advice of several of his men that the
safest place to fall back on would be the fort, and in a hurry, too.
But Sergeant Mobile Buck called to two of his men to remain with
him, and he set out to discover the trouble ahead, how many Indians
there were, and what he had better do under the circumstances.
He soon discovered more than he cared to, for fully half a hundred
Indians were in sight, with no telling how many more were hidden near
by.
Back he rode to the retreating place, fully convinced that the advice
offered by a few, to fall back on the fort, was wise.
But he discovered as he came in sight of the hill, that the corporal
and his men were in trouble, for there were a number of Indians there
also, advancing to the attack.
“That cuts off retreat,” said Sergeant Buck, and he charged for the
hill with his two companions.
This charge checked the attack of the redskins and greatly pleased
Corporal Black, who did not belie his name, as he was as black as
charcoal.
The corporal was only too anxious to be relieved of his command, and
have the sergeant assume responsibility.
“We are in for it and no mistake, corporal. How many Injuns have you
seen?” said the sergeant, as he rode into the retreat.
“Some says dere is hundreds of ’em, but I ain’t seen dat many yit,
though I has seen more’n I wants ter,” was the reply.
“There were about fifty that ambushed Buck, maybe more, and perhaps
as many yonder, so we are cut off, I fear.”
“Did dey kill po’ Brick?” asked the corporal.
“I guess they did, for they are Injuns.”
“An’ scallip him, too?”
“I don’t know, for that wasn’t easy, as his hair was cut close.”
“So hit was, but mine ain’t,” and the corporal felt of his hair,
which he feared was long enough to get a grip on.
The sergeant smiled, then took in the chances of defending the hill,
being glad to see that the corporal had put the horses in as secure a
place as could be found and posted his men in fighting positions.
The corporal might be scared, but his military training stood him in
need.
“Grass, but no water here; yet we can hold ’em off for a while, for
some man has got to slip out to-night and go back to the fort for
help,” said the sergeant.
All had been listening eagerly to his words; but each one looked away
at this suggestion, fearing he would be the man picked out to go.
“Maybe Massa Bill Cody come along and sabe us,” said the corporal.
There was a cheer at this, and it showed just what the colored
troopers thought of Buffalo Bill’s powers to help them.
The sergeant seemed pleased, also, and he set to work to strengthen
his position, place his men where they could do the most good and
ordered them to throw up the earth about each one of them so as to
protect them.
They were only too anxious to do this, and worked like beavers.
“There they come--steady, men, and wait until I order you to fire!”
the sergeant said calmly.
The Indians had now united their forces, and it was evident that they
belonged to the same band, had been watching the troopers for some
time, and had arranged to ambush them all: only the advance guard of
poor Brick, sent ahead by the sergeant, had spoiled their plan, as
they had fired on him with their arrows, believing that the others
were close upon his heels.
Having united their two bands, a hundred in number, all came with a
rush upon the intrenched troopers, yelling like madmen, their ponies
at full speed, and sending showers of arrows before them with an
occasional shot from a rifle, where a brave was so unfortunate as to
have firearms, then not common among the redskins.
“We’ve got ter do ’em, men, or they’ll down us,” shouted the
sergeant, and a moment after he cried:
“Aim to kill--fire!”
Some of the troopers may have fired at random; but more did not,
and down went ponies and riders, while the repeating rifles of the
soldiers keeping up their rattle, and deadly rattle it was, checked
the onward rush of the redskins, for they wavered, turned, and fled
for the shelter of the nearest timber.
The colored troopers were jubilant with delight.
Without a white officer they had beaten off the redskins, who were
five to one against them, and killed or wounded a number of braves
and ponies.
Sergeant Mobile Buck was a hero of heroes, and he felt it, too.
Whatever his men might feel about it, he, at least, was glad he had
come. It gave the sergeant confidence, and it helped the men.
One trooper had been killed, shot through the throat with an arrow,
and three others slightly wounded.
But the dead man was removed out of sight, and the wounds of the
three men dressed, weapons reloaded, the position strengthened, and
supper cooked and sent around, for night was at hand.
“I doesn’t like dem dead red Injuns lyin’ out dere,” said a trooper,
with an awe of the dead and darkness.
“Never mind, we’ll have more of ’em soon,” said the sergeant.
Then darkness came and the men waited, each man a sentinel, for there
was no sleep for those black defenders of the hill that night.
All was silent and darkness, suddenly broken by the words:
“Who commands here?”
The voice was clear and stern, and came from a point close at hand.
Then a tall form arose from behind a group of rocks.
“Massa Buf’ler Bill!”
The cry came almost in a shout, and every man left his position and
rushed to where the scout stood, for he it was, in truth, who had
invaded the retreat of the corralled negro soldiers.