BACK FROM THE WINTER CAMP
"Well, Captain?" It was partly a greeting full of relief, partly an
eager inquiry, as Colonel Cummings came hurrying out of his library to
meet Oliver in the entry.
The latter straightened a little, but hesitated deprecatingly before
taking the colonel's hand. "I've nothing to report but failure, sir," he
said.
The stinging wind that had blown the command home into barracks, and
scourged the humped shoulders of the men and the thin flanks of their
mounts, had cut the flesh over the captain's high cheek-bones until it
was red and raw. The lower part of his face was hidden under a growth
that matched his drooping moustache. On his forehead and about his eyes,
the skin was a dark sallow, marked by a lattice of deep lines--lines of
worry and weariness.
"Nothing to report but failure," he repeated, and let the orderly pull
off his stiffened overcoat.
"The troop?" asked Colonel Cummings, anxiously.
"All safe." The other hung his cap on a nail, his belt upon his
overcoat.
"Thank Heaven! That storm--I was afraid. Where did it catch you?"
"On the Knife. We put up with some half-breeds. It was hard on the
horses, but a rest for the men."
The colonel led the way into the library.
On his entrance, a figure in the dusk behind the stove sprang up with a
questioning cry. It was young Jamieson.
"Easy, easy, for God's sake!" begged the captain. He put out one arm as
if to ward off a blow.
Jamieson brought up. He saw the look of defeat in Oliver's bloodshot
eyes, and his voice quaked, his body shuddered in mortal terror of what
he was to hear.
"It's bad news, but not as bad as it might be," began the captain.
Colonel Cummings offered him a chair. He dropped into it. "It is said
that your mother and sister are alive, and will be delivered up to us in
the spring, provided there are no executions here. But--I didn't see
them, and I don't know where they are."
Jamieson coughed down a heart-broken protest, and, as if stunned,
tottered weakly toward the stove.
Colonel Cummings knotted his hands together. "Where's Matthews?" he
asked.
He was answered by the slamming of the outside door, and by a voice in
the entry; a moment later, there was a sharp tattoo on the library door.
The colonel opened it and answered the interpreter's salute.
With Matthews seated on the army cot, and the commanding officer pacing
to and fro, Captain Oliver made his report. He stood at the window, his
arms folded, his eyes following his superior.
"We located the camp easily," he said. "The directions given by the
hostages were exact. But that is about the only thing that did come
easily. The rest was all procrastination.
"At noon, on the tenth day out, we saw, ahead of us on a ridge, a single
Indian. I selected four men to make a swift detour, thinking that
perhaps they would discover a hunting-party just over the crest. But the
slope beyond was unoccupied, and there were only the marks of one pair
of moccasins. I concluded that the solitary brave was scouting, and I
was right.
"A few miles farther, we sighted a half-dozen Indians. They were
watching us from a hill. I called a halt. Then I took two men and Mr.
Matthews and made forward. We carried a truce flag. They let us come
within talking distance. They knew, I am sure, why we were there. But
they asked no questions--just told us that the command was expected to
advance no farther than a grove that lay a little ahead, to our right. I
assented to that, and said I wished a conference with their head-chief.
They promised me an answer later on, and at once withdrew to a rise a
mile behind. There they stayed until, after a careful reconnoitre, we
entered the grove.
"Late that afternoon, Mr. Matthews and I again rode forward to speak to
a trio of warriors. One of them, a big, bony fellow in a splendid
bonnet, asked what we wanted. The interpreter told him. The Indian said
that the head-chief was very sick, and that he could not leave his
lodge. He told us we might accompany them to the village, which lay a
few miles farther up. Of course I rejected the proposal.
"Well, I saw there was no use to haggle in that fashion. I ordered the
interpreter to go into particulars. He proceeded to state your terms."
At this point in the narrative, Colonel Cummings stood still. Captain
Oliver advanced toward him a step, and met his eyes in a curious,
helpless way.
"It was queer," he continued, "but what Mr. Matthews told them didn't
seem to scare them any."
"Oh, it didn't!" cried the colonel, angrily, and once more began to
pace.
"No, they grinned at him, and chattered together. Then they rode away.
When dark came on, fearing treachery, we left the grove for a sheltered
place farther down. Our scouts then set out for the Indian village,
going across the river, and far around to the right. On their return,
they said that the Sioux camp numbered several hundred wigwams. While
just above was a village of Dog Soldiers.
"The night passed quietly. In the morning, a single brave came riding
toward us. He stopped beyond rifle-reach. I sent the interpreter out. He
returned to say that the chief promised him fair treatment if he would
come alone. I took it that the camp was anxious for a little
entertainment, and that one white was to furnish it. I didn't consider
this second proposal a minute--it was worse than foolish, I thought.
But"--he looked toward the cot--"Mr. Matthews didn't agree with me. He
went. It was a magnificent bit of courage, sir."
The colonel wheeled. "By Jupiter!" he exclaimed. "_You did that?_"
Matthews smiled and crossed his legs awkwardly. "Oh, it wa'n't nothin',"
he said, forbearing to glance up. "I savvy Injuns, you know. I--I was
willin' to take the chances."
Colonel Cummings looked down. After a moment, and without changing the
position of his body, he turned his face slowly in Oliver's direction.
The eyes of the two officers met, and flashed messages of doubt.
When the commanding officer looked at the interpreter again, it was on
his lips to say, "But you were afraid to enter the stockade with me." He
checked himself, however, and, instead, reached for Matthews' hand. "It
_was_ a magnificent bit of courage," he agreed. "Tell us what happened."
Matthews fingered the blanket on the cot. "I seen the chief," he said,
"and told him what you told me to tell him. When I got it all out, he
says to me, 'The white women ain't here; they're with the Wyomin' band,
and the Wyomin' band's up in Canada. Now,' he says, 'the band'll come
south in the spring. So tell Colonel Cummin's, if he don't do no
hangin', I'll send the white women home then.'"
A low groan came from behind the stove. Young Jamieson came out, his
features distorted with grief and shining with tears. "Think of it!
think of it! Not till spring! Are they well? How are they treating
them?"
"Oh,--so-so," said Matthews, significantly.
Young Jamieson understood. He went back to his seat, sobbing with the
hysterical weakness of a sick man. "He's bungled the business, Colonel,"
he said bitterly. "Oh, God! If you had only let _me_ go!"
"Yes, yes, my dear boy," answered the other, soothingly. "But please
remember that you couldn't have talked with them. The conference would
have been carried on through Mr. Matthews just the same."
There was a silence, broken only by Jamieson's weeping.
"Is that--all?" asked Colonel Cummings, at last, addressing himself to
the interpreter.
"Yes, sir."
Shortly afterward, when he was gone, the two officers left the library
for the reception-room, and discussed the expedition in low tones.
"I have a feeling, Colonel, that our interpreter wasn't fair in this
thing," was Captain Oliver's first confidence. They were standing at a
front window, watching Matthews cross the parade-ground to the
barber-shop.
"The same thought occurred to me."
"And yet--it doesn't seem possible----"
"Oh, if Bond had only come sooner!"
"Bond! He here?"
"Yes--just half a day too late."
While they were talking, Matthews was losing his tow beard and moustache
and a good length of hair. This over, and his supper eaten, he
reappeared at headquarters, and went with Colonel Cummings to the
stockade.
Much to his chagrin, he found the evangelist there, ready to be present
at the interview with the hostages. But the Indians understood his
predicament, and accepted the speech he made for the little it was
worth. It was a speech that, repeated by David Bond, set Colonel
Cummings' last suspicion at rest.
Lounsbury arrived at Fort Brannon the next day, appearing in time for
breakfast. His early advent, which he explained away nonchalantly, was
the cause of some good-natured teasing.
"Say, Lounsbury," observed one officer, "I thought you were keeping a
store."
"Get out!" he retorted. "I'm down here to see that you fellows do
something for the good money Uncle Sam pays you."
"Why, don't you know?" said Major Appleton. "John's here to sell the
sutler some sandy sugar."
"That's right!" agreed the storekeeper. "And I'm going to put up a plant
to make brown sugar out of the Muddy."
Lounsbury could afford to laugh with them, not being the only butt of
the jokers. Fraser suffered, too. For a tattling private, who had spent
the night at Shanty Town, let it out to a corporal, who told it to a
sergeant, who told it to a cub of a second-lieutenant, who told it to
every officer in post (with the single exception of the "K. O.") that
Fraser--the good, the discreet, the unimpeachable--had played poker with
Matthews at The Trooper's Delight from taps to "revelly," and lost his
last dollar!
The tale had leaked by the hour of Lounsbury's arrival. When the
storekeeper heard it, together with the embellishments it carried by
reason of its having so often changed hands, he first gave Fraser a grip
to show his gratitude, and then sat back and enjoyed the fun. Fraser,
sorely tried by the taunts of his brother-officers, repaid Lounsbury
with glances of wounded reproof.
"Blame it all! old man," he cried, when he could get a quiet word with
the other, "why didn't you help me out? You're a nice one! Letting these
chaps think I'm a sport! When you know----"
But Lounsbury only laughed the harder. And was among the first to dub
the lieutenant "a sad devil."
The storekeeper did have business with the sutler, though not the kind
suggested by the major. For, after being closeted with that worthy a
half-hour, Squaw Charley was despatched to the Lancasters' with a
basket, and a note which read:
"Mr. Evan Lancaster, Dear Sir--Owing to the fact that a lot
of B troop's surplus rations in the way of beans, butter,
bacon, flour, salt, pepper, dried apples, prunes, rice,
vinegar, molasses, etc., etc., are piling up on my hands, I
wish to dispose of same in some way at once and at any
sacrifice. Would it be possible for you to relieve me of
some of these goods and pay me back next summer out of your
garden? Also hope you can find room for a table, benches,
and extra lumber on same terms. If you can do this, you will
greatly oblige,
"Yours very truly,
"JAMES MADISON BLAKELY,
"Sutler, Fort Brannon, Dakota Terr.
"P. S. Enclosed find samples which please keep if satisfactory.
J. M. B."
When Squaw Charley returned from the shack, he bore an empty basket, and
the following reply:
"Dear Sir--Thank you. We would like to do what you said if
you will please chalk it down. We will pay next summer, and
maybe before. I will keep count too.
"DALLAS LANCASTER."
It was Lounsbury who took possession of the note. He smiled over it, and
put it carefully away in his innermost pocket.
And now there remained one other thing to do. He dropped into the
billiard-room and commenced playing, occasionally going to a window that
commanded the river. When, after a game or two, he saw a man approaching
from Shanty Town, he put up his cue, sauntered opportunely out, and met
the interpreter.
"Well, Matthews," was his greeting.
"Well?"
"I just wanted to be sure that you know Lancaster's got that tenth point
I spoke about cinched."
"Yes?"
"And that what I said before you went away still goes. You hear?"
"I ain't deef," said Matthews, non-committal.
"That's all." And Lounsbury went back to his billiards.
The interpreter continued on to the stockade, where he was more
fortunate in the delivery of the true message he had brought.
"The white women were not at the winter camp," he said, "so they could
not be sent. But your brothers promise to come to save you. Watch for
signals from Medicine Mountain."