A Happy Meeting
When Dick Howard saw that the raging Sioux covered the field and
that the little army was destroyed wholly he could bear the sight
no longer, and, reeling back against the tree, closed his eyes.
For a little while, even with eyes shut, he still beheld the red
ruin, and then darkness came over him.
He never knew whether he really fainted or whether it was merely
a kind of stupor brought on by so many hours of battle and fierce
excitement, but when he opened his eyes again much time had
passed. The sun was far down in the west and the dusky shadows
were advancing. Over the low hill where Custer had made his last
stand the Sioux swarmed, scalping until they could scalp no
more. Behind them came thousands of women and boys, shouting
from excitement and the drunkenness of victory.
It was all incredible, unreal to Dick, some hideous nightmare
that would soon pass away when he awoke. Such a thing as this
could not be! Yet it was real, it was credible, he was awake and
he had seen it--he had seen it all from the moment that the
first trooper appeared in the valley until the last fell under
the overwhelming charge of the Sioux. He still heard, in the
waning afternoon, their joyous cries over their great victory,
and he saw their dusky forms as they rushed here and there over
the field in search of some new trophy.
Dick was not conscious of any physical feeling at all--neither
weariness, nor fear, nor thought of the future. It seemed to him
that the world had come to an end with the ending of the day.
The shadows thickened and advanced. The west was a sea of
dusk. The distant lodges of the village passed out of sight.
The battlefield itself became dim and it was only phantom
figures that roamed over it. All the while Dick was unnoticed,
forgotten in the great event, and as the night approached the
desire for freedom returned to him. He was again a physical being,
feeling pain, and from habit rather than hope he pulled once more
at the rawhide cords that held his wrists--he did not know that
he had been tugging at them nearly all afternoon.
He wrenched hard and the unbelievable happened. The rawhide,
strained upon so long, parted, and his hands fell to his side.
Dick slowly raised his right wrist to the level of his eyes and
looked at it, as if it belonged to another man. There was a red
and bleeding ring around it where the rawhide had cut deep,
making a scar that took a year in the fading, but his numbed
nerves still felt no pain.
He let the right wrist sink back and raised the left one. It had
the same red ring around it, and he looked at it curiously,
wonderingly. Then he let the left also drop to his side, while
he stood, back against the tree, looking vaguely at the dim
figures of the Sioux who roamed about in the late twilight still
in that hideous search for trophies.
It was while he was looking at the Sioux that an abrupt thought
came to Dick. Those were his own wrists at which he had been
looking. His hands were free! Why not escape in all this
turmoil and excitement, with the friendly and covering night also
at hand. It was like the touch of electricity. He was instantly
alive, body and mind. He knew who he was and what had
happened, and he wanted to get away. Now was the time!
The rawhide around Dick's waist was strong and it had been
secured with many knots. He picked at it slowly and with
greatest care, and all the time he was in fear lest the Sioux
should remember him. But the sun was now quite down, the last
bars of red and gold were gone, and the east as well as the west
was in darkness. The field of battle was hidden and only voices
came up from it. Two warriors passed on the slope of the hill
and Dick, ceasing his work, shrank against the trunk of the tree,
but they went on, and when they were out of sight he began again
to pick at the knots.
One knot after another was unloosed, and at last the rawhide fell
from his waist. He was free, but he staggered as he walked a
little way down the slope of the hill and his fingers were numb.
Yet his mind was wholly clear. It had recovered from the great
paralytic shock caused by the sight of the lost battle, and he
intended to take every precaution needed for escape.
He sat down in a little clump of bushes, where he was quite lost
to view, and rubbed his limbs long and hard until the circulation
was active. His wrists had stopped bleeding, and he bound about
them little strips that he tore from his clothing. Then he threw
away his cap--the Sioux did not wear caps, and he meant to look
as much like a Sioux as he could. That was not such a difficult
matter, as he was dressed in tanned skins, and wind and weather
had made him almost as brown as an Indian.
Midway of the slope he stopped and looked down. The night had
come, but the stars were not yet out. He could see only the near
lodges, but many torches flared now over the battle field and in
the village. He started again, bearing away from the hill on
which Custer had fallen, but pursuing a course that led chiefly
downstream. Once he saw dusky figures, but they took no notice
of him. Once a hideous old squaw, carrying some terrible trophy
in her hand, passed near, and Dick thought that all was lost. He
was really more afraid at this time of the sharp eyes of the old
squaws than those of the warriors. But she passed on, and Dick
dropped down into a little ravine that ran from the field. His
feet touched a tiny stream that trickled at the bottom of the
ravine, and he leaped away in shuddering horror. The soles of
his mocassins were now red.
But he made progress. He was leaving the village farther behind,
and the hum of voices was not so loud. One of his greatest
wishes now was to find arms. He did not intend to be recaptured,
and if the Sioux came upon him he wanted at least to make a
fight.
A dark shape among some short bushes attracted his attention. It
looked like the form of a man, and when he went closer he saw
that it was the body of a Sioux warrior, slain by a distant
bullet from Custer's circle. His carbine lay beside him and he
wore an ammunition belt full of cartridges. Dick, without
hesitation, took both, and felt immensely strengthened. The
touch of the rifle gave him new courage. He was a man now ready
to meet men.
He reached another low hill and stood there a little while,
listening. He heard an occasional whoop, and may lights flared
here and there in the village, but no warrior was near. He saw
on one side of him the high hill, at the base of which the first
cavalrymen had appeared, and around which the army had ridden a
little later to its fate. Dick was seized with a sudden
unreasoning hatred of the hill itself, standing there black and
lowering in the darkness. He shook his fist at it, and then,
ashamed of his own folly, hurried his flight.
Everything was aiding him now. If any chance befell, that chance
was in his favor. Swiftly he left behind the field of battle,
the great Indian village, and all the sights and sounds of that
fatal day, which would remain stamped on his brain as long as he
lived. He did not stop until he was beyond the hills inclosing
the valley, and then he bent back again toward the Little Big
Horn. He intended to cross the river and return toward the
village on the other side, having some dim idea that he might
find and rescue Albert.
Dick was now in total silence. The moon and the stars were not
yet out, but he had grown used to the darkness and he could see
the low hills, the straggling trees, and the clumps of
undergrowth. He was absolutely alone again, but when he closed
his eyes he saw once more with all the vividness of reality that
terrible battle field, the closing in of the circle of death, the
last great rush of the Sioux horde, and the blotting out of the
white force. He still heard the unbroken crash of the rifle fire
that had continued for hours, and the yelling of the Sioux that
rose and fell.
But when he opened his eyes the silence became painful, it was so
heavy and oppressive. He felt lonely and afraid, more afraid
than he had even been for himself while the battle was in
progress. It seemed to him that he was pursued by the ghosts of
the fallen, and he longed for the company of his own race.
Dick was not conscious of hunger or fatigue. His nerves were
still keyed too high to remember such things, and now he turned
down to the Little Big Horn. Remembering the terrible quicksand,
he tried the bank very gingerly before he stepped into the
water. It was sandy, but it held him, and then he waded in
boldly, holding his rifle and belt of cartridges above his head.
He knew that the river was not deep, but it came to his waist
here, and once he stepped into a hole to his armpits, but he kept
the rifle and cartridges dry. The waters were extremely cold,
but Dick did not know it, and when he reached the desired shore
he shook himself like a dog until the drops flew and then began
the perilous task of returning to the village on the side
farthest from Custer's battle.
He went carefully along the low, wooded shores, keeping well in
the undergrowth, which was dense, and for an hour he heard and
saw nothing of the Sioux. He knew why. They were still
rejoicing over their great victory, and although he knew little
of Indian customs he believed that the scalp dance must be in
progress.
The moon and stars came out. A dark-blue sky, troubled by
occasional light clouds, bent over him. He began at last to feel
the effects of the long strain, mental and physical. His clothes
were nearly dry on him, but for the first time he felt cold and
weak. He went on, nevertheless; he had no idea of stopping even
if he were forced to crawl.
He reached the crest of a low hill and looked down again on the
Indian village, but from a point far from the hill on which he
had stood during the battle. He saw many lights, torches and
camp fires, and now and then dusky figures moving against the
background of the flames, and then a great despair overtook him.
To rescue Albert would be in itself difficult enough, but how was
he ever to find him in that huge village, five miles long?
He did not permit his despair to last long. He would make the
trial in some manner, how he did not yet know, but he must make
it. He descended the low hill and entered a clump of bushes
about fifty yards from the banks of the Little Big Horn. Here he
stopped and quickly sank down. He had heard a rustling at the
far edge of the clump, and he was sure, too, that he had seen a
shadowy figure. The figure had disappeared instantly, but Dick
was confident that a Sioux warrior was hidden in the bushes not
ten yards away.
It was his first impulse to retreat as silently as he could, but
the impulse swiftly gave way to a fierce anger. He remembered
that he carried a rifle and plenty of cartridges, and he was
seized with a sudden vague belief that he might strike a blow in
revenge for the terrible loss of the day. It could be but a
little blow, he could strike down only one, but he was resolved
to do it--he had been through what few boys are ever compelled
to see and endure, and his mind was not in its normal state.
He turned himself now into an Indian, crawling and creeping with
deadly caution through the bushes, exercising an infinite
patience that he might make no leaf or twig rustle, and now and
then looking carefully over the tops of the bushes to see that
his enemy had not fled. As he advanced he held his rifle well
forward, that he might take instant aim when the time came.
Dick was a full ten minutes in traveling ten yards, and then he
saw the dark figure of the warrior crouched low in the bushes.
The Sioux had not seen him and was watching for his approach from
some other point. The figure was dim, but Dick slowly raised his
rifle and took careful aim at the head. His finger reached the
trigger, but when it got there it refused to obey his will. He
was not a savage; he was white, with the civilized blood of many
generations, and he could not shoot down an enemy whose back
was turned to him. But he maintained his aim, and using some
old expression that he had heard he cried, "Throw up your hands!"
The crouching figure sprang to its feet, and a remembered voice
exclaimed in overwhelming surprise and delight:
"Dick! Dick! Is that you, Dick?"
Dick dropped the muzzle of his rifle and stared. He could not
take it in for the moment. It was Albert--a ragged, dirty,
pale, and tired Albert, but a real live Albert just the same.
The brothers stared at each other by the same impulse, and then
by the same impulse rushed forward, grasped each other's hands,
wringing them and shouting aloud for joy.
"Is it you, Al? How on earth did you ever get here?"
"Is it you, Dick? Where on earth did you come from?"
They sat down in the bushes, both still trembling with excitement
and the relief from suspense, and Dick told of the fatal day, how
he had been bound to the tree on the hill, and how he had seen
all the battle, from its beginning to the end, when no white
soldier was left alive.
"Do you mean that they were all killed, Dick?" asked Albert in
awed tones.
"Every one," replied Dick. "There was a ring of fire and steel
around them through which no man could break. But they were
brave, Al, they were brave! They beat off the thousands of that
awful horde for hours and hours."
"Who led them?"
"I don't know. I had no way of knowing, but it was a gallant man
with long yellow hair. I saw him with his hat off, waving it to
encourage his men. Now tell me, Al, how you got here."
"When they seized us," replied Albert, "they carried me, kicking
and fighting as best I could, up the river. I made up my mind
that I'd never see you again, Dick, as I was sure that they'd
kill you right away. I expected them to finish me up, too, soon,
but they didn't. I suppose it was because they were busy with
bigger things.
"They pushed me along for at least two miles. Then they crossed
the river, shoved me into a bark lodge, and fastened the door on
me. They didn't take the trouble to bind me, feeling sure, I
suppose, that I couldn't get out of the lodge and the village,
too; and I certainly wouldn't have had any chance to do it if a
battle hadn't begun after I had been there a long time in the
darkness of the lodge. I thought at first that it was the Sioux
firing at targets, but then it became too heavy and there was too
much shouting.
"The firing went on a long time, and I pulled and kicked for an
hour at the lodge door. Because no one came, no matter how
much noise I made, I knew that something big was going on, and
I worked all the harder. When I looked out at last, I saw many
warriors running up and down and great clouds of smoke. I
sneaked out, got into a smoke bank just as a Sioux shot at me,
lay down in a little ravine, after a while jumped up and ran
again through the smoke, and reached the bushes, where I lay
hidden flat on my face until the night came. While I was there I
heard the firing die down and saw our men driven off after being
cut up badly."
"It's awful! awful!" groaned Dick. "I didn't know there were so
many Sioux in the world, and maybe our generals didn't, either.
That must have been the trouble."
"When the darkness set in good," resumed Albert. "I started to
run. I knew that no Sioux were bothering about me then, but I
tell you that I made tracks, Dick. I had no arms, and I didn't
know where I was going; but I meant to leave those Sioux some
good miles behind. After a while I got back part of my courage,
and then I came back here to look around for you, thinking you
might have just such a chance as I did."
"Brave old Al," said Dick.
"You came, too."
"I was armed and you were not."
"It comes to the same thing, and you did have the chance."
"Yes, and we're together again. We've been saved once more, Al,
when the others have fallen. Now the thing for us to do is to
get away from here as fast as we can. Which way do you think
those troops on your side of the village retreated?"
Albert extended his finger toward a point on the dusky horizon.
"Off there somewhere," he replied.
"Then we'll follow them. Come on."
The two left the bushes and entered the hills.