SOLDIERS TO THE RESCUE.
"Who fired that shot?"
Clear and stern rang out the question from the lips of Lieutenant
Carey, as he beheld the great Sioux chief reel in his saddle from a
shot fired by one of the Indian police.
To take Sitting Bull alive had been his orders, and only in case of
direst necessity to fire a shot.
It was true that Sitting Bull had called his redskins to the rescue,
yet the gallant officer and the Indian guard were in full flight, well
mounted, and could have, perhaps, escaped with their prisoner.
Not until the last desperate moment would Kit Carey have dealt death
upon the Sioux chief.
But an Indian officer had been stung to madness by a wound, there were
hundreds of Sioux warriors pressing on in hot haste to the rescue, and
many men were mounting to aid in tearing their loved leader from his
captors.
Upon all sides redskins, mounted and on foot, were appearing. They had
been the ones to open fire upon the capturers of Sitting Bull, and thus
had the struggle for life or death been precipitated in an instant of
time.
The Indian officer who had fired the shot at the Sioux chief had but
avenged himself, for he had received his own death wound and fell from
his horse even before the one he had turned his bullet upon did.
[Illustration: "'Fire!' The order of Kit Carey was obeyed, and as the
fighting became general, the death-knell of Sitting Bull rang out."
(See page 29)]
Sitting Bull had reeled under the death wound, and then broke from
between his teeth his death-cry and another command, his last
utterance, calling his braves to the rescue.
With firm hand upon the bridle rein Kit Carey led the plunging horse of
the chief onward, determined to carry him to safety, for he knew not
that the wound was mortal.
Then suddenly Sitting Bull straightened up in his saddle, his arms were
extended, his lips parted, yet no word came from them, and he fell
headlong to the ground beneath the feet of the horses in their mad
flight.
The Sioux saw their leader fall, and knew that he had gone to the happy
hunting grounds of their people.
They could not rescue him alive, but they could avenge him dead.
And then went up one wild wail of woe, ending in a yell of rage and
hatred that was appalling.
Kit Carey well knew the meaning of that weird, terrible cry, and the
Indian guards knew it but too well also.
Was the little band doomed?
All glanced into the face of their young leader, who, surrounded now by
odds too numerous to break through, had stood at bay.
"Stand and die right here, over the body of the Sioux chief!" cried
Lieutenant Carey, and his red cavalrymen rallied around him.
But though shots rang out thick and fast, though the Indian guards fell
dead and wounded, and the Sioux went down under the fire of the little
band, they were not doomed to be sacrificed, for with a ringing cheer
the gallant Boys in Blue, led by Captain Fechet, came dashing to the
rescue, and now the cry became, "Soldiers to the rescue!"
Like an avalanche they came on, breaking the Indian line about the
little band of captors, hurling back the surprised Sioux, and forcing
them upon their village in temporary disorder.
But still the odds were terribly against the soldiers, and, maddened
into frenzy by the death of their chief, the Sioux again formed for
a rush, when into sight dashed Colonel Dunn and his infantry at a
run, the machine guns being brought up in good style, and before this
onslaught the followers of the mighty Tatanka Yotanke broke in wild
disorder and fled.
Loud roared the guns, as the soldiers pursued, and the Sioux only
stopped their flight when they reached the shelter of the ravines,
where the small force dare not follow them.
Then suddenly the firing ceased, but the battle was won, and the Sioux
chieftain lay dead upon the field where he had fallen.
"Lieutenant Carey, I congratulate you upon your escape, for it was a
miraculous one. We knew you had gotten into trouble when we heard the
firing, but, though we came to the rescue at a run, we expected to find
you dead, you and every man of your force. Again, I congratulate you,
sir," and the commanding officer warmly grasped the hand of the young
soldier, who said in his modest way:
"It was a close call, sir, and your coming when you did, alone saved
us. I am sorry Sitting Bull was killed, but the Sioux began the fight,
and the man who killed him had already received his death wound. I
shall never forget the look of reproach that the chief turned upon me
as he felt the death grip upon him. There was a world of meaning in it."
"Well, Carey, it was just your luck to be in at the death of the most
noted of Indian chiefs, and to escape complete annihilation afterward.
I have heard you spoken of as a man of destiny and a man of luck, and
if the two can be reconciled I believe you are both," a young infantry
officer said, sauntering up and joining the group.
"Well, lieutenant, you can carry the body of the dead chief into
headquarters when you will," the commander remarked.
"Yes, and no one can now say that Sitting Bull is not a good Indian,"
ventured a cavalry lieutenant, but though his remark was appreciated he
was "frowned down" for appearance's sake.
But he was sustained by Kit Carey's decided response, almost vehement
in fact:
"Yes, and when there are many more Indians made good in the same way
this whole frontier will be the better for it. It is their nature to
be savage, to rebel against restraint, and yet when they do unbury
the hatchet they are not put down as they should be, with a lesson
that will last them for all time, and which will do more to teach
them civilization than anything else that can be done. The moment a
redskin is killed certain humanitarians raise a howl of horror, not
seeming to care how many officers and soldiers are slain, or the wives
of settlers sacrificed, and their homes raided by these red wards of
the Government; but, pardon me, I did not mean to speak so warmly upon
a subject an officer, I suppose, has no right to discuss; but, mark
my words, the killing of Sitting Bull will be denounced as cowardly,
investigated, and wept over by people in the East, when, had his
capture or death been delayed six hours longer, he would have led
thousands of warriors into the field and deluged this whole borderland
with the blood of settlers, their wives and children, not to speak of
the soldiers," and Kit Carey wheeled on his heel and strode away, while
the looks that passed between those who had heard his words showed that
he had voiced the sentiments of those who understood the situation as
it was.