CHAPTER XVIII.
Remonstrance on part of his men would have been a violation of theirrules of order. Obedient to the lieutenant's instructions, SergeantBruce, with evident reluctance, lowered his hand. Whoever these Indianswere they well understood the principles that governed civilizedwarfare. They well knew that the white soldiers would respect a flag oftruce, though in their own vernacular they referred to the sacred emblemonly as a "fool flag," and sometimes used it, as did the Modocs fiveyears later, to lure officers into ambush and deliberately murder them.They knew the white soldiers would take no advantage of foemen gatheredfor a conference or parley, and thus far the Sioux themselves hadobserved the custom which the Modocs basely violated when in cold bloodthey slaughtered General Canby and the peace commissioners sent to treatwith them. Confidently, therefore, came the two young warriors, but asDean raised himself from the ground and was about to step forward, thesergeant spoke:
"Beg pardon, sir, but these fellows know all our officers. They wouldrecognize you at once. The word would go to Red Cloud faster than anypony could gallop. Let me meet them, or let one of the men."
The ponies were coming at the lope now, and not an instant was to belost. The safety of his command might possibly depend on their not beingrecognized as of the troop before whose carbines Chaska, brother toLizette, had met his death.
"Perhaps you're right," said Dean. "Halt them again. Conroy, you go withSergeant Bruce."
Eagerly a young trooper, carbine in hand, sprang up and stood by thesergeant's side as the latter repeated his warning signal. Obediently,yet not too promptly, showing evident desire to get where they couldpeer over into the ravine and count the number of the white men andhorses, the Indians again drew rein, this time barely one hundred yardsaway. Then Bruce and Conroy, holding up their emptied hands, strodeforward along the grassy slope, making the further sign, "Dismount."
In those days few of our cavalry wore, when on Indian campaign, theforage-cap with its crossed sabres and distinguishing letters. Nothingin the dress or accoutrements of the two men thus advancing to meet theIndian emissaries would give to the latter any clew as to the troop orregiment to which they belonged. Could they see the horses, however, thematter would be settled at once. The U. S. brand, with that of thenumber of the regiment and letter of the troop showed on every cavalrymount in the service, and the Ogallallas knew the earmarks of two, atleast, of our cavalry regiments in '68 as well as they did the cut oftheir own hair. But in the modesty of the non-commissioned officer Brucehad underrated his own prominence in Indian eyes. Not only did thesekeen observers know every officer by sight, and have for him somedistinguishing name of their own, but many a trooper, easily singled outfrom his fellows because of his stature, or the color of his hair, orsome other physical peculiarity, was as well known as his captain orlieutenant, and Bruce, ex-trooper of the Scots Greys, and now a modelsergeant of Yankee cavalry, was already a marked man in the eyes of thesouthern Sioux. Brule, Minneconjou and Ogallalla knew him well--hisaquiline beak, to which the men would sometimes slyly allude, having wonhim the Indian appellative of Posh Kopee or Big Nose.
Before the two parties came within fifty yards of each other, therefore,watchers along the ravine saw the quick exchange of significant glancesbetween the young braves. "Twig that?" whispered Trooper Blaine, in low,emphatic tone. "Those fellows know 'Scotty' just as well as we do."
All the same, leaving their trained ponies to nibble at the scanty bunchgrass, the two came straight forward with extended hands and cordial"How, colah!" on their lips, one of them adding, in agency English,"Want talk chief. Indian poor. Heap sick." (And here he clasped hisstomach with both hands.) "Want coffee, sugar, bread."
"All right," said Bruce promptly, noting the while how the roving blackeyes searched the edge of the ravine. "Stay here. Don't come nearer. Yougot buffalo meat?"
A grunt was the reply of one, a guttural "Buffalo, yes," the answer ofthe other.
"Bring tongues, then," and Bruce touched his own. "Five," and he threwforward the outspread right hand, rapidly touching in succession thethumb and four fingers. "We give both hands full--coffee, sugar,hardtack," and Bruce illustrated as he spoke. "That's all!" he finishedabruptly, with the well-known Indian sign that plainly tells "I havespoken--there is nothing more to say," then calmly turned his back and,bidding Conroy follow, started to return to his comrades at the ravine.
But Indian diplomacy was unsatisfied. The Sioux had found "Big Nose" tobe one of the soldiers in the field. He, at least, was of the hatedtroop that fought and chased Burning Star and killed Chaska. The trailtold them there were nearly a dozen in the party, all on shod horses,with two in lead-spare mounts or pack-horses, doubtless--so they hadextra rations and had come far; but why were they going this way, so farwest of the usual road to the Big Horn posts? Why were they so few innumber? Where were the rest? Why were they hiding here in the ravine,instead of marching? Answer to this last question was easy enough. Itwas to keep out of sight of Indian eyes and needed no excuse. There wassomething behind this mysterious presence of ten or twelve soldiers inthe southern foothills, and Machpealota would expect of his scouts fullinformation, hence the instant movement on the part of one of the twobraves to follow.
Impressively, Bruce turned again and waved him back. "Go, get buffalotongue," said he, "or no trade. Keep away from our tepees," and he drewwith his spurred boot-heel a jagged line across the turf. "Your side,"said he, indicating the slope to the southeast of the line. "This--ours.That's all!" And this time the Indian knew he must come no nearer.
"I've got 'em talking trade, lieutenant," reported Bruce, the instant hereached Dean's side. "We don't need the tongues, but we've got morecoffee and sugar than we are apt to want, and at least we can keep theminterested until dark, then we can slip away. Of course, they've sentword to their main body that we're over here, but I believe they can'tcome in force before night."
"They knew you, sergeant, and they know it is probably our troop," saidhe. "There must be only a small party near us. Make your trade, butwhile you're doing it we'll saddle. I mean to get out of this and intothe thick of the timber before they can surround us. Stand 'em off, now,while we get ready."
Promises must be kept when made to an Indian, even if they are otherwisesometimes broken. In ten minutes, with coffee, sugar and hardtack intheir hands, the sergeant and his comrades were back at the front. Onebrave was still there, the other had vanished. Five minutes, neitherparty saying a word, the troopers waited; then Bruce turned to Conroy."I knew they had nothing to trade. Take this sack with you and fallback. Tell our fellows to keep me well covered till I follow." Theinstant the soldier started with the sack swung over his shoulder, theIndian, who had been squatted on the turf, sprang up and began rapidexpostulation in fluent Ogallalla. "It's no use, young man," interposedBruce. "Your chum there has no buffalo tongues, and he knew it. Here'ssome hardtack for you," and he spread one liberally with sugar andhanded it to the ever-receptive paw, outstretched to grasp it. A glanceover the shoulder showed that Conroy was nearly at the edge. Then,quietly, Bruce, too, began to retire. He had not got ten paces, stillfacing his unwelcome visitor, when the Indian gave a shrill, sudden cryand tossed up his hands. Not a second too soon Bruce turned and dartedfor cover. The Indian flung himself flat on the turf and rolled awayinto a depression where he could find partial shelter from bullets fromthe ravine, whence he evidently looked for them, and out from behind theknoll, bridles held high, "quirts" lashing at their ponies' flanks,darted half a dozen painted savages, tearing down upon the spot at thetop speed of their agile mounts. Only two men remained on watch at themoment, Dean and one trooper. Most of the others, already in saddle,were filing away up the game trail that threaded the windings of theravine, the two lead horses with them, while a few yards behind theyoung officer and his comrade, halfway down the reverse slope, twoothers, afoot, handled the reins of their own horses and those of thelieutenant and men still held at the edge. It was an exciting moment.Bruce had on
ly a hundred yards to run before he could get under cover,and there was no chance of their hitting him at that range, yet a puffof smoke rose from the knoll, and a bullet, nearly spent, came tumblingand singing up the turf, and the dashing warriors, yelling wildly,applauded the shot. Bruce took matters coolly. Leaping behind theshelter of the ledge, he reached for his carbine, and in a moment more,as the pursuing Indians came lashing within long range, four seasonedcavalry carbines, each with a keen eye at the sight and a steady fingerat the trip, were leveled on the coming foe. Dean's young heart beathard, it must be owned, for hitherto the Indians had been fighting inretreat or on the defensive, while now they came as though confident ofsuccess; but there was soldier exultation and something like savage joymingling with the thrill of excitement.
"There's more behind those beggars, sir," growled Conroy, a veteran atIndian work, "but they'll sheer off when they get within three hundredyards." On they came, shields and lances dangling, ponies on the keenjump, feathers and pennons streaming on the wind. But, just as Conroysaid, no sooner was Bruce safely under cover and they felt themselvesdrawing within dangerous range than, fan-like, they opened out to rightand left, and, yelling still like fiends, veered in wide circle fromtheir line of attack, and ducking over their ponies' shoulders, clingingwith one leg to the upright part of the cantle, they seemed to invitethe fire of their white foe--and got it. A daring fellow in the leadcame streaking slantwise across the front, as though aiming to pick upthe comrade lurking in the dip of the prairie-like slope, and Conroy'scarbine was the first to bark, followed almost instantly by Dean's. Thescurrying pony threw up his wall-eyed head and lashed with his featheredtail, evidently hit, but not checked, for under the whip he rushedgamely on until another bullet, whistling within a foot of his neck,warned the red rider that he was far too close for safety, for withhalting gait the pony turned and labored off the field, and presentlywas seen to be staggering. "Score one for our side," laughed theIrishman, in glee. "Now's your time, sergeant."
But Bruce, reloading, was gazing sternly at the distant knoll. The otherwarriors, riding right and left, were now chasing crosswise over thebillowy slopes, keeping up a fire of taunt and chaff and shrillwar-cries, but never again venturing within three hundred yards--neverwasting a shot.
"I thought so," suddenly cried the sergeant. "They're signaling from theknoll. They never would have attacked with so few, unless there weredozens more within sight. Now's our time, lieutenant. We can mount andride like hell to the timber--I beg your pardon, sir," he broke offsuddenly. "I didn't mean to say what the lieutenant should do."
"No apologies," laughed Dean, his eyes snapping with the vim of thefight. "Glad you see the truth of what I said. Come on. Mount quickly,men."
Two minutes more and the entire party of blue-coats were spurringswiftly northward up the winding gorge, the pack-horses lumberingalongside. Eagerly Dean and Bruce in the lead looked right and left fora game trail leading up the slope, for well they knew that the momenttheir reinforcements came the warriors would dash into the ravine and,finding their antagonists fled, would pursue along the banks. It wouldnever do to be caught in such a trap. A gallop of a quarter of a mileand, off to the right, a branch ravine opened out to higher ground, andinto this the leaders dove and, checking speed, rode at the trot untilthe ascent grew steep. Five minutes more and they were well up towardthe head of the gulch and presently found themselves nearly on a levelwith the hillsides about them. Here, too, were scattered pine-trees anda few scrub-oak. The timber, then, was close at hand. Signaling halt tothe climbing column, Dean and Bruce, springing from saddle, scrambled upthe bank to their right and peered cautiously back down over thetumbling waves of the foothills, and what they saw was enough to blanchthe cheek of even veteran Indian fighters.
Far over to the east, beyond an intervening ridge and under the duncloud of dust, the earth was black for miles with herds of runningbuffalo. Far down to the southeast, here, there and everywhere over theland, the slopes were dotted with little knots of Indian braves--theycould be nothing else--all riding like mad, coming straight toward them.Machpealota probably had launched his whole force on the trail of theluckless troopers.