A Daughter of the Sioux: A Tale of the Indian frontier

  CHAPTER VIII

  MORE STRANGE DISCOVERIES

  But Frayne was far from done with excitement for the day. For a whileall eyes seemed centred on the chase, now scattered miles toward theeast, and, save for two of the number left behind, blown, spent andhopelessly out of the race, soon lost to view among the distant swalesand ravines. Then everyone turned to welcome the coming harbinger, tocongratulate him on his escape, to demand the reason for his daringessay. Gregg and his men were first to reach him, and while one of themwas seen through the levelled glasses to dismount and give the courierhis fresh horse, thereby showing that the gray was well nigh exhausted,the whole party turned slowly toward the post. Then one of their numbersuddenly darted forth from the group and came spurring at top speedstraight for the ford.

  "That means news of importance," said Webb, at the instant. "And Greggand all of his squad are coming in,--not following Blake. That means heand they are more needed elsewhere. Come on, Mr. Ross. We'll go down andmeet that fellow. Orderly, have my horse sent to the ford." So, followedby three or four of the younger officers,--the married men beingrestrained, as a rule, by protesting voices, close at hand,--thecommanding officer went slipping and sliding down a narrow, windingpathway, a mere goat track, many of the soldiers following at respectfuldistance, while all the rest of the gathered throng remained at thecrest, eagerly, almost breathlessly awaiting the result. They saw thetrooper come speeding in across the flats from the northeast; saw as hereached the "bench" that he was spurring hard; heard, even at thedistance, the swift batter of hoofs upon the resounding sod; couldalmost hear the fierce panting of the racing steed; saw horse and ridercome plunging down the bank and into the stream, and shoving breast deepthrough the foaming waters; then issue, dripping, on the hither shore,where, turning loose his horse, the soldier leaped from saddle andsaluted his commander. But only those about the major heard the stirringmessage:

  "Captain Gregg's compliments, sir. It's Rudge from the Dry Fork.Sergeant Kelly feared that Kennedy hadn't got through, for most of LameWolf's people pulled away from the Fork yesterday morning, coming thisway, and the sergeant thought it was to unite with Stabber to surroundany small command that might be sent ahead from here. Rudge was orderedto make a wide sweep to the east, so as to get around them, and that'swhat took him so long. He left not two hours after Kennedy."

  "THE SOLDIER LEAPED FROM HIS SADDLE."]

  In spite of his years of frontier service and training in self control,Webb felt, and others saw, that his face was paling. Ray, with onlyfifty men at his back, was now out of sight--out of reach--of the post,and probably face to face with, if not already surrounded by, thecombined forces of the Sioux. Not a second did he hesitate. Among theswarm that had followed him was a young trumpeter of "K" Troop, recklessof the fact that he should be at barracks, packing his kit. As luckwould have it, there at his back hung the brazen clarion, held by itsyellow braid and cord. "Boots and Saddles, Kerry, Quick!" ordered themajor, and as the ringing notes re-echoed from bluff and building walland came laughing back from the distant crags at the south, the littlethrong at the bank and the crowd at the point of the bluff had scatteredlike startled coveys,--the men full run for the barracks and stables,never stopping to "reason why."

  Nearly half an hour later, gray-haired Captain Dade stood at the pointof bluff near the flagstaff, Esther, pale and tearful, by his side,waving adieu and Godspeed to Webb, who had halted in saddle on reachingthe opposite bank and was watching his little column through theford,--three stanch troops, each about sixty strong, reinforced by halfa dozen of Ray's men left behind in the forward rush at dawn, butscorning disqualification of any kind now that danger menaced theirbeloved captain and their comrades of the sorrel troop. In all theregiment no man was loved by the rank and file as was Billy Ray.Brilliant soldiers, gifted officers, sterling men were many of hiscomrades, but ever since he first joined the ----th on the heels of thecivil war, more than any one of its commissioned list, Ray had beenidentified with every stirring scout and campaign, fight or incident inthe regimental history. Truscott, Blake, Hunter and Gregg among thejunior captains had all had their tours of detached duty--instructing atWest Point, recruiting in the big Eastern cities, serving asaide-de-camp to some general officer, but of Ray it could be said he hadhardly been east of the Missouri from the day he joined until hiswedding day, and only rarely and briefly since that time. More than anyofficer had he been prominent in scout after scout--Arizona, Mexico,Texas, the Indian Territory, Kansas, Colorado, Nebraska, Wyoming, theDakotas, Montana, even parts of Idaho and Utah he knew as he used toknow the roads and runways of the blue grass region of his native state.From the British line to the Gulfs of Mexico and California he hadstudied the West. The regiment was his home, his intense pride, and itsmen had been his comrades and brothers. The veterans trusted and sworeby, the younger troopers looked up to and well nigh worshipped him, andnow, as the story that the Sioux had probably surrounded the sorreltroop went like wild fire through the garrison, even the sick inhospital begged to be allowed to go, and one poor lad, frantic throughfever and enforced confinement, broke from the hold of the half-heartedattendant; tore over to "K" Troop barracks, demanding his "kit" ofSergeant Schreiber, and, finding the quarters deserted, the men all goneto stables, dared to burst into that magnate's own room in search of hisarms and clothing, and thereby roused a heavily sleeping soldier, whodamned him savagely until, through wild raving, he gathered that somegrave danger menaced Captain Ray. Even his befuddled senses couldfathom that! And while guards and nurses bore the patient, shrieking andstruggling, back to hospital, Kennedy soused his hot head in the coolingwaters of their frontier lavatory and was off like a shot to thestables.

  It was long before he found his horse, for the guard had taken Kilmaineto "F" Troop's stables, and Kennedy had been housed by "K." It waslonger still before he could persuade the guard that he "had a right,"as he put it, to ride after the major. Not until Captain Dade had beenconsulted would they let him go. Not, indeed, until in person Kennedyhad pleaded his cause with that cool-headed commander. Dade noted theflushed and swollen face, but reasoned that nothing would more speedilyshake the whiskey from his system than a long gallop in that gloriousair and sunshine. "Major Webb is following the trail of Captain Ray,"said he. "You follow the major's. You can't miss him, and there are nomore Indians now to interpose. You should catch him by noon--then givehim this."

  "This" was a copy of a late despatch just in from Laramie, saying thatthe revolt had reached the Sioux at the agencies and reservations on theWhite Earth, and would demand the attention of every man at the post. Noreinforcement, therefore, could be looked for from that quarter untilthe general came. It was no surprise to Dade. It could be none to Webb,for old Red Cloud had ever been an enemy, even when bribed and pettedand fed and coddled in his village on the Wakpa Schicha. His nephew ledthe bolt afield. No wonder the old war chief backed him with abundantfood, ammunition and eager warriors sent "from home."

  But it was after eleven when Kennedy drove his still wearied horsethrough the Platte and, far to the north, saw the dun dust cloud thattold where Webb's little column was trotting hard to the support of thesorrels. His head was aching and he missed the morning draught ofsoldier coffee. He had eaten nothing since his cold lunch at themajor's, and would have been wise had he gone to Mistress McGann andbegged a cup of the fragrant Java with which she had stimulated herdocile master ere he rode forth, but the one idea uppermost in Kennedy'smuddled brain was that the sorrels were trapped by the Sioux and everytrooper was needed to save them. At three in the morning he felt equalto fighting the whole Sioux nation, with all its dozen tribes anddialects. At 3:30 he had been whipped to a stand by just one of theirnumber, and, "Mother av Moses," one that spoke English as well, or asill, as any man in the ----th.

  Sore in soul and body was Kennedy, and sore and stiff was his gallantbay, Kilmaine, when these comrades of over three years' service shookthe spray of the Platte from their legs and started doggedly
northwardon the trail. Northward they went for full three miles, Kilmaine sulkyand protesting. The dust cloud was only partially visible now, hidden bythe ridge a few miles ahead, when, over that very ridge, probably fourmiles away to the right front, Kennedy saw coming at speed a singlerider, and reined to the northeast to meet him. Blake and his men hadgone far in that direction. Two of their number, with horses too slowfor a chase after nimble ponies, had, as we have seen, drifted back, andjoined, unprepared though they were for the field, the rear of Webb'scolumn. But now came another, not aiming for Webb, but heading forFrayne. It meant news from the chase that might be important. It wouldtake him but little from the direct line to the north, why not meet himand hear? Kennedy reined to the right, riding slowly now and seeking thehigher level from which he could command the better view.

  At last they neared each other, the little Irish veteran, sore-headedand in evil mood, and a big, wild-eyed, scare-faced trooper new to thefrontier, spurring homeward with panic in every feature, but rejoicingat sight of a comrade soldier.

  "Git back; git back!" he began to shout, as soon as he got withinhailing distance. "There's a million Indians just over the ridge.They've got the captain----"

  "What captain?" yelled Kennedy, all ablaze at the instant. "Spake up, yeshiverin' loon!"

  "Blake! He got way ahead of us----"

  "Then it's to him you should be runnin', not home, ye cur! Turn aboutnow! Turn about or I'll----" And in a fury Pat had seized the other'srein, and, spurring savagely at Kilmaine,--both horses instantly waking,as though responsive to the wrath and fervor of their little master,--hefairly whirled the big trooper around and, despite fearsome protests,bore him onward toward the ridge, swift questioning as they rode. Howcame they to send a raw rookie on such a quest? Why, the rookie gaspedin explanation that he was on stable guard, and the captain took thefirst six men in sight. How happened it that the captain got so farahead of him? There was no keepin' up with the captain. He was on hisbig, raw-boned race horse, chasin' three Indians that was firin' and hadhit Meisner, but there was still three of the troop to follow him, andthe captain ordered "come ahead," until all of a sudden, as they filedround a little knoll, the three Indians they'd been chasin' turned aboutand let 'em have it, and down went another horse, and Corporal Feeneywas killed sure, and he, the poor young rookie, saw Indians in everydirection, "comin' straight at 'em," and what else could he do butgallop for home--and help? All this, told with much gasping on his part,and heard with much blasphemy by Kennedy, brought the strangely assortedpair at swift gallop over the springy turf back along the line of thatpanicky, yet most natural retreat. Twice would the big fellow havebroken away and again spurred for home, but the little game cock heldhim savagely to his work and so, together, at last they neared thecurtaining ridge. "Now, damn you!" howled Kennedy, "whip out yourcarbine and play you're a man till we see what's in front! an' if yeplay false, the first shot from this barker," with a slap at the butt ofhis Springfield, "goes through your heart."

  And this was what they saw as, together, they rounded the hillock andcame in view of the low ground beyond.

  Half way down the long, gradual slope, in a shallow little dip, possiblyan old buffalo wallow, two or three horses were sprawled, and a tinytongue of flame and blue smoke spitting from over the broad, brown backstold that someone, at least, was on the alert and defensive. Out on theprairie, three hundred yards beyond, a spotted Indian pony, heels up,was rolling on the turf, evidently sorely wounded. Behind this rollingparapet crouched a feathered warrior, and farther still away, sweepingand circling on their mettlesome steeds, three more savage braves weredarting at speed. Already they had sighted the coming reinforcements,and while two seemed frantically signalling toward the northwest, thethird whirled his horse and sped madly away in that direction.

  "Millions, be damned!" yelled Kennedy. "There's only three. Come on, yescut!" And down they went, full tilt at the Sioux, yet heading to coverand reach the beleaguered party in the hollow. Someone of the besiegedwaved a hat on high. Two more carbines barked their defiance at thefeathered foe, and then came a pretty exhibit of savage daring anddevotion. Disdainful of the coming troopers and of the swift fire nowblazing at them from the pit, the two mounted warriors lashed theirponies to mad gallop and bore down straight for their imperilledbrother, crouching behind the stricken "pinto." Never swerving, neverhalting, hardly checking speed, but bending low over and behind theirchargers' necks, the two young braves swept onward and with wild whoopof triumph, challenge and hatred, gathered up and slung behind the riderof the heavier pony the agile and bedizened form on the turf; thencircled away, defiant, taunting, gleeful, yes and even more:--Withraging eyes, Kennedy sprang from saddle and, kneeling, drove shot aftershot at the scurrying pair. Two of the three troopers at the hollowfollowed suit. Even the big, blubbering lad so lately crazed with fearunslung his weapon and fired thrice into empty space, and a shout ofwrath and renewed challenge to "come back and fight it out" rang outafter the Sioux, for to the amaze of the lately besieged, to theimpotent fury of the Irishman, in unmistakable, yet mostly unquotable,English, the crippled warrior was yelling mingled threat andimprecation.

  "Who was it, Kennedy?--and where did you ever see him before?" a momentlater, demanded Captain Blake, almost before he could grasp theIrishman's hands and shower his thanks, and even while stanching theflow of blood from a furrow along his sun-burnt cheek. "What's that hesaid about eating your heart?"

  And Kennedy, his head cleared now through the rapture of battle, mindedhim of his promise to Field, and lied like a hero. "Sure, how should Iknow him, sorr? They're all of the same spit."

  "But, he called you by name. I heard him plainly. So did Meisner, here,"protested Blake. "Hello, what have you there, corporal?" he added, asyoung Feeney, the "surely killed," came running back, bearing in hishand a gaily ornamented pouch of buckskin, with long fringes and heavycrusting of brilliant beads.

  "Picked it up by that pony yonder, sir," answered the corporal, with asalute. "Beg pardon, sir, but will the captain take my horse? His is hittoo bad to carry him."

  Two, indeed, of Blake's horses were crippled, and it was high time to begoing. Mechanically he took the pouch and tied it to his waist belt."Thank God no _man_ is hurt!" he said. "But--now back to Frayne! Watchthose ridges and be ready if a feather shows, and spread out alittle--Don't ride in a bunch."

  But there was bigger game miles to the west, demanding all the attentionof the gathered Sioux. There were none to spare to send so far, andthough three warriors,--one of them raging and clamoring for furtherattempt despite his wounds,--hovered about the retiring party, Blake andhis fellows within another hour were in sight of the sheltering walls ofFrayne; and, after a last, long-range swapping of shots, with Blake andMeisner footing it most of the way, led their crippled mounts in safetytoward that Rubicon of the West--the swift flowing Platte. They werestill three miles out when Blake found leisure to examine the contentsof that beaded pouch, and the first thing drawn from its depths wasabout the last a Christian would think to find in the wallet of aSioux--a dainty little billet, scented with wood violet,--an envelope ofdelicate texture, containing a missive on paper to match, and theenvelope was addressed in a strange, angular, characteristic hand thatBlake recognized at once, to a man of whom, by that name at least, hehad never heard before:

  "MR. RALPH MOREAU, "_En Ville._"