The Circle of Death
The quiver in Dick's blood did not cease now. He forgot for the
time being that he was bound, and stood there staring at the hill
where three horsemen had been for a few vivid moments. These men
must be proof that a white army was near; but would this army
know what an immense Sioux force was waiting for it in the valley
of the Little Big Horn?
He tried to take his eyes away from the hill, but he could not.
He seemed to know every tree and shrub on it. There at the base,
in that slight depression, the three horsemen had stood, but none
came to take their place. In the Indian village an immense
activity was going on, both on Dick's side of the river and the
other. A multitude of warriors plunged into the undergrowth on
the far bank of the stream, where they lay hidden, while another
multitude was gathering on this side in front of the lodges. The
gullies and ravines were lined with hordes. The time was about
two in the afternoon.
A chief appeared on the slope not far from Dick. It was Bright
Sun in all the glory of battle array, and he glanced at the
tethered youth. Dick's glance met his, and he saw the shadow of
a faint, superior smile on the face of the chief. Bright Sun started
to say something to a warrior, but checked himself. He seemed to
think that Dick was secured well enough, and he did not look at him
again. Instead, he gazed at the base of the hill where the horsemen
had been, and while he stood there he was joined by the chiefs
Rain-in-the-Face and Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses.
Dick never knew how long a time passed while they all waited.
The rattle of arms, the shouts, and the tread of feet in the
village ceased. There was an intense, ominous silence broken
only, whether in fact or fancy Dick could not tell, by the heavy
breathing of thousands. The sun came out more brightly and
poured its light over the town and the river, but it did not
reveal the army of the Sioux swallowed up in the undergrowth on
the far bank. So well were they hidden that their arms gave back
no gleam.
Dick forgot where he was, forgot that he was bound, so tense were
the moments and so eagerly did he watch the base of the hill.
When a long time--at least, Dick thought it so--had passed, a
murmur came from the village below. The men were but scouts
and had gone away, and no white army was near. That was Dick's
own thought, too.
As the murmur sank, Dick suddenly straightened up. The black
speck appeared again before his eyes. New horsemen stood where
the three had been, and behind them was a moving mass, black in
the sun. The white army had come!
Bright Sun suddenly turned upon Dick a glance so full of
malignant triumph that the boy shuddered. Then, clear and full
over the valley rose the battle cry of the trumpets, a joyous
inspiring sound calling men on to glory or death. Out from the
hill came the moving mass of white horsemen, rank after rank, and
Dick saw one in front, a man with long yellow hair, snatch off
his hat, wave it around his head, and come on at a gallop.
Behind him thundered the whole army, stirrup to stirrup.
Bright Sun, Rain-in-the-Face, and Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses
darted away, and then Dick thought of the freedom that he wanted
so much. They were his people coming so gallantly down the
valley, and he should be there. He pulled at the rawhide, but it
would not break; he tried to slip his wrists loose, but they
would not come; and, although unnoticed now, he was compelled
to stand there, still a prisoner, and merely see.
The horsemen came on swiftly, a splendid force riding
well--trained soldiers, compact of body and ready of hand. The
slope thundered with their hoofbeats as they came straight toward
the river. Dick drew one long, deep breath of admiration, and
then a terrible fear assailed him. Did these men who rode so well
know unto what they were riding?
The stillness prevailed yet a little longer in the Indian
village. The women and children were again running up the river,
but they were too far away for Dick to hear them, and he was
watching his own army. Straight on toward the river rode the
horsemen, with the yellow-haired general at their head, still
waving his hat. Strong and mellow, the song of the trumpet again
sang over the valley, but the terrible fear at Dick's heard grew.
It was obvious to the boy that the army of Custer intended to
cross the river, here not more than two feet deep, but on their
flank was the deadly quicksand and on the opposite shore facing
them the hidden warriors lay in the hundreds. Dick pulled again
at his bonds and began to shout: "Not there! Not there! Turn
away!" But his voice was lost in the pealing of the trumpets and
the hoof beats of many horses.
They were nearing the river and the warriors were swarming on
their flank, still held in leash by Bright Sun, while the great
medicine man, Sitting Bull, the sweat pouring from his face, was
making the most powerful medicine of his life. Nearer and nearer
they rode, the undergrowth still waving gently and harmlessly in
the light wind.
Dick stopped shouting. All at once he was conscious of its
futility. Nobody heard him. Nobody heeded him. He was only an
unnoticed spectator of a great event. He stood still now, back
to the tree, gazing toward the river and the advancing force.
Something wet dropped into his eye and he winked it away. It was
the sweat from his own brow.
The mellow notes of the trumpet sang once more, echoing far over
the valley, and the hoofs beat with rhythmic tread. The splendid
array of blue-clad men was still unbroken. They still rode heel
to heel and toe to toe, and across the river the dense
undergrowth moved a little in the gentle wind, but disclosed
nothing.
A few yards more and they would be at the water. Then Dick saw a
long line of flame burst from the bushes, so vivid, so intense
that it was like a blazing bar of lightening, and a thousand
rifles seemed to crash as one. Hard on the echo of the great
volley came the fierce war cry of the ambushed Sioux, taken up in
turn by the larger force on the flank and swelled by the
multitude of women and children farther back. It was to Dick
like the howl of wolves about to leap on their prey, but many
times stronger and fiercer.
The white army shivered under the impact of the blow, when a
thousand unexpected bullets were sent into its ranks. All the
front line was blown away, the men were shot from their saddles,
and many of the horses went down with them. Others, riderless,
galloped about screaming with pain and fright.
Although the little army shivered and reeled for a moment, it
closed up again and went on toward the water. Once more the
deadly rifle fire burst from the undergrowth, not a single volley
now, but continuous, rising and falling a little perhaps, but
always heavy, filling the air with singing metal and littering
the ground with the wounded and the dead. The far side of the
river was a sheet of fire, and in the red blaze the Sioux could
be seen plainly springing about in the undergrowth.
The cavalrymen began to fire also, sending their bullets across
the river as fast as they could pull the trigger, but they were
attacked on the flank, too, by the vast horde of warriors,
directed by the bravest of the Sioux chiefs, the famous Pizi
(Gall), one of the most skillful and daring fighters the red race
ever produced, a man of uncommon appearance, of great height,
and with the legendary head of a Caesar. He now led on the
horde with voice and gesture, and hurled it against Custer's
force, which was reeling again under the deadly fire from the
other shore of the Little Big Horn.
The shouting of the warriors and of the thousands of women
and children who watched the battle was soon lost to Dick
in the steady crash of the rifle fire which filled the whole
valley--sharp, incessant, like the drum of thunder in the ear.
A great cloud of smoke arose and drifted over the combatants,
white and red, but this smoke was pierced by innumerable flashes
of fire as the red swarms pressed closer and the white replied.
Some flaw in the wind lifted the smoke and sent it high over the
heads of all. Dick saw Custer, the general with the yellow hair,
still on horseback and apparently unwounded, but the little army
had stopped. It had been riddled already by the rifle fire from
the undergrowth and could not cross the river. The dead and
wounded on the ground had increased greatly in numbers, and the
riderless horses galloped everywhere. Some of them rushed
blindly into the Indian ranks, where they were seized.
Three or four troopers had fallen or plunged into the terrible
quicksand on the other flank, and as Dick looked they were slowly
swallowed up. He shut his eyes, unable to bear the sight, and
when he opened them he did not see the men any more.
The smoke flowed in again and then was driven away once more.
Dick saw that all of Custer's front ranks were now dismounted,
and were replying to the fire from the other side of the river.
Undaunted by the terrible trap into which they had ridden they
came so near to the bank that many of them were slain there, and
their bodies fell into the water, where they floated.
Dick saw the yellow-haired leader wave his hat again, and the
front troopers turned back from the bank. The whole force turned
with them. All who yet lived or could ride now sprang from their
horses, firing at the same time into the horde about them. Their
ranks were terribly thinned, but they still formed a compact
body, despite the rearing and kicking of the horses, many of
which were wounded also.
Dick was soldier enough to know what they wished to do. They
were trying to reach the higher ground, the hills, where they
could make a better defense, and he prayed mutely that they might
do it.
The Sioux saw, too, what was intended, and they gave forth a yell
so full of ferocity and exultation that Dick shuddered from head
to foot. The yell was taken up by the fierce squaws and boys who
hovered in the rear, until it echoed far up and down the banks of
the Little Big Horn.
The white force, still presenting a steady front and firing fast,
made way. The warriors between them and the hill which they
seemed to be seeking were driven back, but the attack on their
rear, and now on both flanks, grew heavier and almost unbearable.
The outer rim of Custer's army was continually being cut off,
and when new men took the places of the others they, too, were
shot down. His numbers and the space on which they stood were
reduced steadily, yet they did not cease to go on, although the
pace became slower. It was like a wounded beast creeping along
and fighting with tooth and claw, while the hunters swarmed
about him in numbers always increasing.
Custer bore diagonally to the left, going, in the main,
downstream, but a fresh force was now thrown against him. The
great body of warriors who had been hidden in the undergrowth on
the other side of the Little Big Horn crossed the stream when he
fell back and flung themselves upon his flank and front. He was
compelled now to stop, although he had not gone more than four
hundred yards, and Dick, from his hill, saw the actions of the
troops.
They stood there for perhaps five minutes firing into the Sioux,
who were now on every side. They formed a kind of hollow square
with some of the men in the center holding the horses, which were
kicking and struggling and adding to the terrible confusion. The
leader with the yellow hair was yet alive. Dick saw him plainly,
and knew by his gestures that he was still cheering on his men.
A movement now took place. Dick saw the white force divided. A
portion of it deployed in a circular manner to the left, and the
remainder turned in a similar fashion to the right, although they
did not lose touch. The square was now turned into a rude circle
with the horses still in the center. They stood on a low hill,
and so far as Dick could see they would not try to go any
farther. The fire of the defenders had sunk somewhat, but he saw
the men rushing to the horses for the extra ammunition--that was
why they hung to the horses--and then the fire rose again in
intensity and volume.
Confident in their numbers and the success that they had already
won, the Sioux pressed forward from every side in overwhelming
masses. All the great chiefs led them--Gall, Crazy Horse,
Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses, Grass, and the others. Bright
Sun continually passed like a flame, inciting the hordes to
renewed attacks, while the redoubtable Sitting Bull never ceased
to make triumphant medicine. But it was Gall, of the magnificent
head and figure, the very model of a great savage warrior, who
led at the battle front. Reckless of death, but always
unwounded, he led the Sioux up to the very muzzles of the white
rifles, and when they were driven back he would lead them up
again. Dick had heard all his life that Indians would not charge
white troops in the open field, but here they did it, not one
time, but many.
Dick believed that if he were to die that moment the picture of
that terrible scene would be found photographed upon his
eyeballs. It had now but little form or feature for him. All he
could see was the ring of his own blue-clad people in the center
and everywhere around them the howling thousands, men mostly
naked to the breechclout, their bodies wet with the sweat of
their toiling, and their eyes filled with the fury of the savage
in victorious battle--details that he could not see, although
they were there. Alike over the small circle and the vast one
inclosing it the smoke drifted in great clouds, but beneath it
the field was lit up by the continuous red flash of the rifles.
Dick wondered that anybody could live where so many bullets were
flying in the air; yet there was Custer's force, cut down much
more, but the core of it still alive and fighting, while the
Sioux were so numerous that they did not miss their own warriors
who had fallen, although there were many.
The unbroken crash of the rifle fire had gone on so long now that
Dick scarcely noticed it, nor did he heed the great howling of
the squaws farther up the stream. He was held by what his eyes
saw, and he did not take them from the field for an instant. He
saw one charge, a second and third hurled back, and although he
was not conscious of it he shouted aloud in joy.
"They'll drive them off! They'll drive them off for good!" he
exclaimed, although in his heart he never believed it.
The wind after a while took another change, and the dense clouds
of smoke hung low over the field, hiding for the time the little
white army that yet fought. Although Dick could see nothing now,
he still gazed into the heart of the smoke bank. He did not know
then that a second battle was in progress on the other side of
the town. Custer before advancing had divided his force, giving
a little more than half of it to Reno, who, unconscious of
Custer's deadly peril, was now being beaten off. Dick had no
thought for anything but Custer, not even of his own fate. Would
they drive the Sioux away? He ran his tongue over his parched
lips and tugged at the bonds that held his wrists.
The wind rose again and blew the smoke to one side. The
battlefield came back into the light, and Dick saw that the white
force still fought. But many of the men were on their knees now,
using their revolvers, and Dick feared the terrible event that
really happened--their ammunition was giving out, and the savage
horde, rimming them on all sides, was very near.
He did not know how long the battle had lasted, but it seemed
many hours to him. The sun was far down in the west, gilding the
plains and hills with tawny gold, but the fire and smoke of
conflict filled the whole valley of the Little Big Horn.
"Perhaps night will save those who yet live," thought Dick. But
the fire of the savages rose. Fresh ammunition was brought to
them, and after every repulse they returned to the attack,
pressing closer at every renewal.
Dick saw the leader at the edge of the circle almost facing his
hill. His hat was gone, and his long yellow hair flew wildly,
but he still made gestures to his men and bade them fight on.
Then Dick lost him in the turmoil, but he saw some of the horses
pull loose from the detaining hands, burst through the circle,
and plunge among the Sioux.
Now came a pause in the firing, a sudden sinking, as if by
command, and the smoke thinned. The circle which had been
sprouting flame on every side also grew silent for a moment,
whether because the enemy had ceased or the cartridges were all
gone Dick never knew. But it was the silence of only an
instant. There was a tremendous shout, a burst of firing greater
than any that had gone before, and the whole Sioux horde poured
forward.
The warriors, charging in irresistible masses from side to side,
met in the center, and when the smoke lifted from the last great
struggle Dick saw only Sioux.
Of all the gallant little army that had charged into the valley
not a soul was now living, save a Crow Indian scout, who, when
all was lost, let down his hair after the fashion of a Sioux, and
escaped in the turmoil as one of their own people.