It was barely sunrise when Chrome's battalion struck the hostile camp
this hot June day, and two hours later the situation was comfortless
enough--for the strikers. Hampered with their wounded and having lost a
dozen horses killed, the two troops of the Eleventh on whom had devolved
the harsher share of the work had been compelled to halt in the timber
and stand off the now exultant Indians. With a hundred mounted warriors
at his back and as many more afoot in the village, Red Dog promptly took
the offensive, sent his yelling braves in big circle all around the
clump of timber in which Truman and Cranston had posted their men, cut
off communication with Chrome's party, now "doing herd guard duty half a
dozen miles up the Ska," as some of Cranston's men derisively said, and
then, little by little, established the dismounted braves in every
hollow, behind every little ridge or mound, and soon had a complete
circle of fire all about the wearied little force. As senior officer,
Captain Truman was now in command of the detachment, but between him
and Cranston there was a bond of cordial esteem and comradeship, and the
command was purely a matter of form. Each had had long years of
experience in frontier warfare, each knew just what had to be done, and
neither regarded the situation as either desperate or particularly
dangerous. It would have been an easy matter to cut their way out
anywhere but for the helpless wounded, who would be butchered to a man
if left behind. Here in the timber, with water in abundance, and
comparative shelter for the disabled men and for the horses under the
banks, they could remain until relief should reach them. This with
Chrome's two troops not very far away and their own old colonel, with
half the regiment, somewhere over in the hills to the southwest, they
felt very well assured ought to be only a matter of a few hours. "It was
big luck," said Truman, "that our little pack-train got in when it did.
Ten minutes later and they'd have been cut off and massacred."
But the further advantage lay with the Indians that they just knew
exactly where Chrome was and Tintop, too, and knew that neither one was
making the first effort to relieve his surrounded comrades, Tintop
because he was twenty miles away and had no knowledge of what was going
on at the mouth of the Spirit River, and Chrome because he was utterly
rattled by the mounted warriors now beginning to appear in increasing
numbers around him. He had sustained no loss to speak of. None of his
men had been hit. Only two horses had been struck by their long-range
fire. He was, to use his own words, "Really provoked at Truman and
Cranston. They might know he needed them in holding such a big herd of
ponies." Poor Sanders was in a miserable state of anxiety. He begged the
major to let him take ten men and go back to find them, or even to let
him go back alone. He pointed out that they must have had a fierce
fight. He had found Sergeant Grant dead, and heard the fierce battling
in the villages where both troops were engaged, and then he had galloped
through the dust-cloud to Chrome, narrowly escaping death as he did so,
and told him the situation, confidently expecting that Chrome would turn
the ponies loose, rally his men and dash back to the village; but Chrome
did nothing of the kind. "They should have come to me," he said. "We're
the ones in need," then sent him with an order to Canker, who, out on
the right flank, was making the morning blue with blasphemy, and Sanders
poured his tale into Canker's ears, and begged him to come and make
Chrome understand the situation, and Canker replied that nothing short
of a pile-driver could hammer an idea into a skull as thick as Chrome's,
and nothing short of a blast get anything out of it. The man was a born
idiot and had no more idea how to command cavalry in the field than he,
Canker, had of teaching Sunday-school. Oddly enough, many of Canker's
contemporaries said the same of him, but one never knows and rarely
suspects half what one's brethren say or think of him. The valley was
black with ponies, the troopers were black with dust, and a pall as of
night hung over the herd, so dense that the sun rays were swallowed up
in its depths and gave but little light below, and tears of rage and
misery that started from Sanders's eyes trickled down through a sandy
desert on each sun-blistered cheek. He rode back to his temporary chief
just as an Indian bullet had whizzed in front of the major's nose and
made his eyes almost pop from his head. "Don't you see," he urged,
reproachfully, "how very much more they are around us? If Truman or
Cranston needed help they would have let us know long ago."
After a brisk gallop of three or four miles up the valley of the Ska,
the troopers of the --th had permitted the stampeded ponies to take
things more leisurely, and so it resulted that by six o'clock many of
their number were stopping occasionally to nibble at the grass which
grew here luxuriantly, but there was, all the same, a steady, persistent
movement of the living mass,--an enforced migration at the rate of at
least three miles an hour. Well out on the foot-hills Canker's troop had
thrown its flankers, while the other in long skirmish line, with
appropriate reserves, interposed between the herd and possible Indian
attack from the north. The eastern banks of the Ska along here were high
and steep, and the stream flowed deep and rapid at their base, so attack
from that quarter was not to be dreaded. All the same, occasional
warriors could be seen along the bluff, scampering from point to point,
firing long-range chance shots at the officers or men distinguishable
through the edge of the dust-cloud, but venturing no closer. It was
Chrome's idea, as he frankly said, to keep moving southwestward until
Tintop's scouts should see the huge column of dust, and send forth to
meet and guide him with his prizes to the colonel's camp. Every
quarter-hour, therefore, was taking him farther and father away from his
corralled comrades down-stream, but he refused to see it. "Oh, they'll
come along all right, Sanders," he declared, as he saw how his
adjutant's eyes constantly gazed back beyond the dispersed line of
skirmishers, "and we'll have a regular jubilee when we meet your colonel
this evening. Some day, perhaps, you'll get a brevet for this."
"Damn the brevet!" groaned the youngster. "Give me a sight of 'C' and
'F' Troops safe and sound, and I'd rather have it than any brevet in
creation." Then a brilliant idea struck him. "By the way, major, suppose
they don't come along, what will you do for breakfast and dinner?
They've got the pack-train--unless the Indians have."
"By heavens, I never thought of the packs. They were way behind when we
struck the village," said the major, whipping out his watch. "It's 6.30
now. Sanders, I reckon you'll have to go back and see what's become of
them. Take six or eight men from the reserves here and try to rejoin us
by eight." And glad enough to slip out from the shadows of that
overhanging pall, Sanders went, half a dozen Arizona "jayhawkers" riding
silently with him.
And that was the last Major Chrome saw of his battalion adjutant, of the
"Eleventh" half of his battalion, and of all but one of the six
jayhawkers referred to, in many a long week. One of the latter made his
way back afoot in the course of half an hour, saying his horse was shot
under him in the valley, which was thick with Indians, and Chrome looked
yellow-white and a trifle undecided. But again the big herd of ponies
from some unseen cause was in rapid motion, loping away southwestward.
All the guards and flankers were on the run, and it was half an hour
before things quieted down again, and when eight o'clock came Canker
sent in word that there were dozens of Indians on the bluffs ahead where
the valley narrowed, and it would be well to halt and round up the herd
right there and wait for Cranston and Truman, and Chrome so ordered.
Presently the dust-cloud began to settle, and by and by, when it floated
slowly to earth again, half a dozen at a time, under cover of their
comrades' carbines, the troopers ventured to the stream to fill their
canteens and souse their grimy heads. There, peacefully grazing again,
were the Indian ponies by the hundreds and their dusty guardians by the
score; but, far as eye could see down the beautiful valley, not a sign
of Sanders, his party, his comrades of the Eleventh, or, worse than all,
of the pack-train, and Chrome and his people were getting hungry.
There were still with him the sergeant and trumpeter who had brought the
despatch from Colonel Winthrop, and to them again did Chrome appeal for
an estimate of the probable distance and direction of the colonel's
camp. With an officer and twenty troopers as an escort they rode to the
summit of the nearest bluff on the western shore, and with their
field-glasses studied the landscape for miles. Far to the southwest lay
the placid valley, unvexed now by sign of hostile force of any kind, and
the sergeant indicated, some fifteen miles away, the butte near which
they made their crossing of the stream the previous day. Far to the west
and northwest rolled a wild, tumbling sea of prairie upland, wave after
wave of gray-green earth, spanned at the horizon by the black,
pine-covered range of the Medicine Hills, pierced nearly due west from
them by the deep slit the sergeant said was Slaughter Cove. To the
northwest they could trace the general course of the Wakon valley,
though the stream itself was nowhere in view, even among the broader
levels toward its mouth, for everything down the Ska beyond a point
three miles away was hidden from their sight by the bold cliffs that
jutted out almost into the foaming waters. "Somewhere off there, fifteen
or twenty miles," said the sergeant, pointing towards Slaughter Cove,
"the colonel is probably marching." He had pursued the warriors into the
hills after their heavy fight, and wouldn't let up on them till he ran
them back to the agency, but the camp where he had left his wounded, his
wagons, and supplies and their guard couldn't be more than twenty miles
farther up the valley. Of the Indian village they had attacked at
sunrise nothing could be seen. Eastward and south westward the opposite
bluffs cut off the view, and such Indians as watched them did so from
the concealment of the ridges and ravines. Chrome's triumphant rejoicing
of the early day was rapidly giving place to uneasiness. In the absence
of rations even martial fame is an empty thing. It was a bitter pill to
have to go down and consult with Canker, but he did not know what else
to do. Noon found him, watched by the lurking Indians among the bluffs,
still guarding his captured herd and waiting for Sanders to come along
with the pack-train. But there was no dinner for Chrome's command that
day, and, by nightfall, even the ponies were gone.
Barely two hours after the triumphant appearance of Red Dog and his
reinforcements on the scene of the morning's fight, Truman and Cranston,
making the rounds together, came upon Davies among the rifle-pits on the
north front, instead of resting with the wounded under the banks. He was
still pallid and ill, but, having dressed and bandaged his wound and had
a refreshing dip in the stream, he had made his way out among the men.
He shook his head gravely in answer to Truman's suggestion that he ought
to be lying down. "We _are_ lying down all around here, sir," he said,
"and I can get more rest out here than under the banks."
But Truman did not know that, weak as he was, the Parson was dividing
his time between the wounded and the effectives, ministering to the one
and cautioning the other, for the latter could not always resist the
temptation to fire at such Indians as appeared in view within five or
six hundred yards, and ammunition might be scarce before the siege was
ended. Grimly, but without uneasiness, the command watched Red Dog's
scientific manoeuvres in his "surround," the mounted warriors being
gradually replaced, except on the open prairie, by the bereaved
villagers. "Oh, we can stand off double their force easily," was the
confident saying of the old hands. "We have food, water, ammunition, and
a smart chance for more fighting," so what more could soldier ask? There
was even jollity in the little command, despite the losses of the early
morning. There was keen and lively interest in Red Dog's movements when,
by nine o'clock, it was seen that he was calling most of the mounted
warriors around him and could be heard haranguing them at the farther
end of the village. None of the lodges had been taken down,--there were
no ponies to haul them away,--but those nearest the southern end were
now deserted of women and children and used only as shelter for a few
lurking braves. Presently on every side the Indian prowlers opened sharp
fire on the troops, a long-range and hap-hazard fusillade, for what with
logs and earth, sand, trees, and river-banks and little wooded isles,
the defence was well covered, only some of the horses being where they
could be plainly seen. The bullets came zipping overhead or spitting
vengefully into the sand, doing little harm, yet teaching the troopers
to lie low; and then in the midst of it all Red Dog rode magnificently
away from the north end of the village, across the open prairie, heading
for some point far up the valley of the Wakon, and sixty braves rode
valiantly at his back. He was a good half-mile away from the defence,
but the troopers let drive a few shots, "for old acquaintance' sake," as
one of them expressed it, but without disturbing the pomp and dignity of
the procession. It was soon out of sight, and then the encircling fire
slackened. "Now, what on earth are they up to?" was the question.
And in less than an hour after his disappearance there came new
excitement, and the men set up a cheer. Sharp firing was heard toward
the south. What could it mean but that their comrades of the --th were
fighting their way back to join them? Then four or five horsemen
appeared along the southward slopes, darting and dashing about as only
Indians ride, evidently firing at something between them and the Ska,
and Truman ordered a platoon to mount and drive away the Indians on that
front so as to open a road for the new-comers to enter. This was
accomplished with little loss, for the Indians broke from before the
spirited dash, but rallied, of course, far out on the flanks, and again
poured in their rapid fire from their repeating rifles, and then after a
while the troops could be seen slowly retiring, firing as they fell
back, some afoot now, and some leading and supporting in saddle others
who were evidently wounded, and finally, as these latter came within a
few hundred yards of the rifle-pits, the cry went up that it was
Lieutenant Sanders and some of the --th, and so it proved. Four more
wounded to care for, and Sanders, faint and heart-sick, among them.
"I tried to get old Chrome to drop that herd and come back to you," he
moaned, "but it was useless. He wouldn't have let me come--only to get
him something to eat. Damn this having to fight Indians under office
soldiers anyhow!" And with this pithy protest on his blue lips the
little bantam fainted away.
Then Chrome wasn't coming. Truman looked grave and Cranston angry. "No
matter. We can lick them endwise by staying just where we are," he said.
"Relief is bound to come to-night."
Later that afternoon, under the shadows of the willows, there gathered a
little group, perhaps a score of officers and men, all who could be
spared from their stations in the rifle-pits, listening to the solemn
tones of one of their number reading the service for the burial of the
dead. Never did Cranston take the field without Margaret's stowing in
the corner of his saddlebag a little prayer-book of her church, and this
the captain had handed silently to Davies. Side by side the forms of the
two sergeants and their comrade troopers were laid in the sandy pit.
Reverently the bearded, war-worn men uncovered and stood with drooping
heads while their grave young officer read the solemn words. Here and
there along the big circle of their surrounding foe the faint distant
crack of the rifle punctuated the sentences as they fell from soldier
lips, and every moment a bullet whistled overhead. Somewhere down the
valley, borne on the wings of the breeze, the wail of Indian women
mourning their braves slain in the earlier battle echoed and almost
overwhelmed the solitary voice that rose in soldier tribute to the
soldier dead. Then with one brief, fervent prayer, the solemnly murmured
"Amen," carving no line, raising no stone, but tamping deep and heavy
the earth upon their blanket-shrouded forms, without the trooper
volleys, with only the faint soft winding of the trooper's last earthly
trumpet-call singing "lights out" to sadly listening ears, the little
group dispersed, each man going to his post.
An hour later still and the bluffs were throwing long shadows across the
valley, and the crack of Indian rifles and occasional loud bark of the
carbine close at hand seemed growing more frequent, and watchers at the
outskirts became conscious of increasing excitement among the warriors
up the valley to the west as well as over to the south, and listening
men, laying their ears to earth, declared that there was tremor and
vibration, and dull distant thunder of myriad hoofs, and over in the
village there was hurrying to and fro and growing clamor of squaws and
children, and dusky women could be seen clutching their little ones and
speeding away towards the hills down-stream, while others began rapidly
tearing down the painted lodges of hide or cloth, and such Indians as
had no mount, but were skulking under the banks or among the bluffs
across the stream, could be seen leaping and crouching and racing back
toward the village, and presently there went up a shout from the
lookouts towards the upper Ska: "Big dust-cloud coming. Must be the pony
herd again!" And men began springing to their feet and scrambling out of
their shelters, and staring around them and waving their hats and
shouting congratulation and encouragement, and ducking suddenly as more
bullets came whistling in, and from a low rumble the sound rose to
distant thunder, and from that to nearer uproar, and Truman and Cranston
made a rush for their own herds, ordering the men to side line and
hopple instantly, for the surviving horses were excitedly sniffing the
air, pawing and snorting, and then there hove in sight up the valley the
wiry leaders of the herd, galloping wearily, behind them a dull,
dust-hidden, laboring mass, the main body of the Indian prizes swept
away at sunrise. But who and what were these darting along the flanks of
the coming host, lashing furiously in and out, ever guiding,
controlling, commanding even while hurrying on? No blue-shirted,
slouch-hatted, broad-belted troopers these! No cheering comrades of the
stalwart --th, but in their stead few, but far more skilful, the most
accomplished herdsmen in all creation,--Indians by the dozen. And then
at last, amid the yell and clamor and shot and shout and furious rush of
riderless steeds, came explanation of the mysterious foray up the Spirit
valley. Circling far to the west and south, riding like the wind when
once well out of sight of watching foes, the Ogallallas had swung around
between the Ska and Winthrop's distant column, threaded ravines and
depressions well known to them from boyish days, and finally creeping
behind the curtaining bluffs into full view of the great herd drowsily
nibbling in the broad, sunny valley, had burst with maddening yell and
waving blankets and banging rifles, with sudden fury from their covert,
tearing by the weary pickets, stampeding their horses, and so had gone
thundering down upon the startled herd and, skilfully encircling it from
the south, reckless of rallying cry and rapid shot from Canker's men,
had sent the whole pack, with many a cavalry charger too, whirling
before them in wild triumph down the echoing valley, back to the waiting
village whence they came. "Red Dog versus Chrome Yaller," wailed little
Sanders from his bed of leaves. "Who wouldn't have bet on the bay?"
Vain the major's valiant effort to mount and follow. Forty at least of
his horses were swept away in the rush, his own among them; vain
long-range shots and Canker's vivid blasphemy. Black in the face with
rage, he mounted such men as had managed to restrain their horses and
went charging after, leaving Chrome to the care of his fellows. Vain the
rapid and telling fire opened upon herd and herders by Truman's men as
they came within range. Down went two or three yelling, painted
warriors, down a dozen ponies here and there, but on went the leaders,
plunging breast-deep into the stream, and, followed by the whole mass,
forded the Wakon in a flood of foam and splash and spray, losing only a
trivial few in the glorious effort, and then, sweeping well around the
rifle-pits of the command, were welcomed with mad rejoicing and acclaim
in the heart of the thronging village.
Instantly now did they send forward their own skirmish line,--scores of
Indians crawling, snake-like, through the grass, and from all sides
pouring rapid fire in on Cranston's front to keep him and his fellows
from attempting to mount or attack, which, indeed, would have been a
hopeless effort. The timber rang with the fierce volleying, and in the
excitement and exposure that resulted four more of the little command
were shot, Truman himself receiving a painful wound in the side. For
half an hour there was yell and clamor and furious crash of firearms,
but all this time the lodges were rapidly disappearing, the Indian
households were piling their goods and chattels, their babies, the old
and the wounded and the helpless, even their dead, on travois and drag
of lodge-poles, and then, guided by old chiefs, whole families were
flitting away down the Ska, and finally, as darkness lowered on the
valley, and the last lodge was down and gone, and the last warriors drew
away from their front, and silence and peace settled down upon the
exhausted command, Cranston, laying his broad hand on Davies's shoulder,
looked into his tired eyes with a world of soldier trust and admiration
in his own, and said, "If there was such a thing with us as promoting a
man on the battlefield, my lad, this day's work would win it for you."
And before the other could answer, far up the valley of the Wakon hailed
a trumpet call. Over from the bluffs across the stream another answered,
and man after man sprang from his blanket to give a welcome cheer. "We
might have known those beggars would have been in no such hurry to get
away," said Truman, faintly, "but for old Tintop's coming with the whole
command."