Warrior Gap: A Story of the Sioux Outbreak of '68.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  Obedient to his orders the Irish sergeant, with a little squad at hisheels, had kept straight on. A few minutes later, rounding the bluff atthe gallop, eyes flashing over the field in front of them, the partywent racing out over the turf and came in full view of the scene of thefight. Five hundred yards further down stream was a deep bend in theLaramie. Close to the water's edge two horses lay stretched upon theground, stone dead. Out on the open prairie lay an Indian pony stillkicking in his dying agony, and as the soldiers came sweeping into viewtwo men rose up from behind the low bank of the stream and swung theirhats--Hal Folsom and one of his hands safe, unwounded, yet with a lookin their gray faces that told of recent mortal peril.

  "We're all right! Go on after them. They've run off a dozen of my besthorses," said Folsom, "and I'm afraid they cut off Jake."

  "No! Jake reached the ranch all right--leastwise somebody did," saidShaughnessy. "That's how we got the news. They got somebody, or elsethey were only bluffing when they waved that scalp. How many werethere?"

  "At least a dozen--too many for you to tackle. Where's the rest of thetroop?"

  "Close at their heels. The lieutenant led them right over the ridge.Listen!"

  Yes, far up in the foothills, faint and clear, the sounds of the chasecould now be heard. Dean's men were closing on the fleeing warriors, forevery little while the silence of the range was broken by the crack ofrifle or carbine. Shaughnessy's fellows began to fidget and look eagerlythither, and he read their wish. "Two of you stay with Mr. Folsom," hesaid, "and the rest come with me. There's nothing we can do here, isthere? Sure, you're not hit?"

  "No, go on! Give 'em hell and get back my horses. I'd go with you, butthey've killed what horses they couldn't drive. All safe at the ranch?"

  Shaughnessy nodded as he spurred away. "We'll be gettin' the lieutenanta brevet for this," said he, "if we can only close up with thoseblackguards." And these were the words Folsom carried back with him, as,mounting a willing trooper's horse, he galloped homeward to reassure hiswife, thanking God for the opportune coming of the little command, yetswearing with close compressed lips at the ill-starred work of the day.Thus far he had striven to keep from her all knowledge of the threats ofthe Ogallallas, although he knew she must have heard of them. He hadbelieved himself secure so far back from the Platte. He had doneeverything in his power to placate Red Cloud and the chiefs--to convincehis former friends that he had never enticed poor Lizette, as Baptistehad called the child, from her home and people. They held he shouldnever have left her, though she had accused him of no wrong. BurningStar, in his jealous rage, hated him, because he believed that but forlove of the paleface Lizette would have listened to his wooing, andFolsom's conscience could not acquit him of having seen her preferenceand of leading her on. He could not speak of her to his wife withoutshame and remorse. He had no idea what could have been her fate, for thepoor girl had disappeared from the face of the earth, and now, at last,this day had proved to him the threats of her lover and her brotherswere not idle. He had had so narrow a squeak for his life, so sharp andsudden and hard a fight for it that, now that the peril was over, hisnerve began to give way, his strong hands to tremble. Armed withbreech-loaders, he and his two friends had been able to stand off theattacking party, killing two ponies, and emptying, they felt sure, twosaddles; but little by little the Indians were working around theirposition, and would have crawled upon them within an hour or two but forJake's daring ride for help and the blessed coming of the blue-coats inthe nick of time. Folsom swore he'd never forget their services thisday.

  And as he cantered homeward he could still hear the distant firing dyingaway in the mountains to the north. "Give 'em hell, Dean!" he mutteredthrough his set teeth. "They're showing fight even when you've got 'emon the run. I wonder what that means?"

  Not until another day was he to know. Late on the evening of the attack,while he was seated with his wife by Jake's bedside, half a dozentroopers, two of them wounded and all with worn-out horses, camedrifting back to camp. Twice, said they, had the fleeing Indians made astand to cover the slow retreat of one or two evidently sorely stricken,but so closely were they pressed that at last they had been forced toabandon one of their number, who died, sending his last vengeful shotthrough the lieutenant's hunting shirt, yet only grazing the skin. Dean,with most of the men, pushed on in pursuit, determined never to desistso long as there was light, but these who returned could not keep up.

  Leaving the dead body of the young brave where it lay among the rocks,they slowly journeyed back to camp. No further tidings came, and atdaybreak Folsom, with two ranchmen and a trooper, rode out on the trailto round up the horses the Indians had been compelled to drop. Mrs. Halclung sobbing to him, unable to control her fears, but he chided hergently and bade her see that Jake lacked no care or comfort. The bravefellow was sore and feverish, but in no great danger now. Five miles outin the foothills they came upon the horses wandering placidly back tothe valley, but Folsom kept on. Four miles further he and a singleranchman with him came upon three troopers limping along afoot, theirhorses killed in the running fight, and one of these, grateful for along pull at Folsom's flask, turned back and showed them the body of thefallen brave. One look was enough for Hal and the comrade with him."Don't let my wife know--who it was," he had muttered to his friend. "Itwould only make her more nervous." There lay Chaska, Lizette's eldestbrother, and well Hal Folsom knew _that_ death would never go unavenged.

  "If ever a time comes when I can do you a good turn, lieutenant," saidhe that afternoon as, worn out with long hours of pursuit and scout, thetroop was encountered slowly marching back to the Laramie, "I'll do itif it costs me the whole ranch." But Dean smiled and said they wouldn't'have missed that chance even for the ranch. What a blessed piece of luckit was that the commanding officer at Frayne had bidden him take thatroute instead of the direct road to Gate City! He had sent men riding into both posts on the Platte, with penciled lines telling of the Indianraid and its results. Once well covered by darkness the little band hadeasily escaped their pursuers, and were now safe across the river andwell ahead of all possibility of successful pursuit. But if anythingwere needed to prove the real temper of the Sioux the authorities hadit. Now was the time to grapple that Ogallalla tribe and bring it toterms before it could be reinforced by half the young men in thevillages of the northern plains. The Platte, of course, would bepatrolled by a strong force of cavalry for some weeks to come, and nonew foray need be dreaded yet awhile. Red Cloud's people would "lay low"and watch the effect of this exploit before attempting another. If theWhite Father "got mad" and ordered "heap soldiers" there to punish them,then they must disavow all participation in the affair, even though oneof their best young braves was prominent in the outrage, and had paidfor the luxury with his life--even though Burning Star was trying tohide the fresh scar of a rifle bullet along his upper arm. Together Deanand Folsom rode back to the ranch, and another night was spent therebefore the troop was sufficiently rested to push on to Emory.

  "Remember this, lieutenant," said Folsom again, as he pressed his handat parting, "there's nothing too good for you and "C" Troop at my home.If ever you need a friend you'll find one here."

  And the time was coming when Marshall Dean would need all that he couldmuster.

  Two days later--still a march away from Emory--a courier overtook himwith a letter from his late post commander: "Your vigorous pursuit andprompt, soldierly action have added to the fine record already made andmerit hearty commendation." The cordial words brought sunshine to hisheart. How proud Jess would be, and mother! He had not had a word fromeither for over a week. The latter, though far from strong, was contentat home in the loving care of her sister, and in the hope that he wouldsoon obtain the leave of absence so long anticipated, and, after Jess'sbrief visit to Pappoose's new home, would come to gladden the eyes ofkith and kin, but mother's most of all, bringing Jessie with him. Littlehope of leave of absence was there now, and less was he the man to ask
it with such troubles looming up all along the line of frontier posts tothe north. But at least there would be the joy of seeing Jess in a fewdays and showing her his troop--her and Pappoose. How wonderfully thatlittle schoolgirl must have grown and developed! How beautiful a girlshe must now be if that photograph was no flatterer! By the way, wherewas that photo? What had he done with it? For the first time in fourdays he remembered his picking it up when Mrs. Hal Folsom collapsed atsight of Jake's swooning. Down in the depths of the side pocket of hisheavy blue flannel hunting shirt he found it, crumpled a bit, and allits lower left-hand corner bent and blackened and crushed, Chaska's lastshot that tore its way so close below the young soldier's boundingheart, just nipping and searing the skin, had left its worst mark onthat dainty _carte de visite_. In that same pocket, too, was anotherpacket--a letter which had been picked up on the floor of the hut atReno after Burleigh left--one for which the major had searched in vain,for it was underneath a lot of newspapers. "You take that after him,"said the cantonment commander, as Dean followed with the troop next day,and little dreamed what it contained.

  That very day, in the heavy, old-fashioned sleeping-cars of the UnionPacific, two young girls were seated in their section on the northwardside. One, a dark-eyed, radiant beauty, gazed out over the desolateslopes and far-reaching stretches of prairie and distant lines of baldbluff, with delight in her dancing eyes. The other, a winsome maid ofnineteen, looked on with mild wonderment, not unmixed withdisappointment she would gladly have hidden. To Elinor the scenes of herchildhood were dear and welcome; to Jessie there was too much that wassomber, too little that was inviting. But presently, as the long trainrolled slowly to the platform of a rude wooden station building, therecame a sight at which the eyes of both girls danced in eager interest--arow of "A" tents on the open prairie, a long line of horses tethered tothe picket ropes, groups of stalwart, sunburned men in rough blue garb,a silken guidon flapping by the tents of the officers. It was one ofhalf a dozen such camps of detached troops they had been passing eversince breakfast time--the camps of isolated little commands guarding thenew railway on the climb to Cheyenne. Papa, with one or two cronies, wasplaying "old sledge" in the smoking compartment. At a big station a fewmiles back two men in the uniform of officers boarded the car, one ofthem burly, rotund, and sallow. He was shown to the section just infront of the girls, and at Pappoose he stared--stared long and hard, sothat she bit her lip and turned nervously away. The porter dusted theseat and disposed of the hand luggage and hung about the new arrivals inadulation. The burly man was evidently a personage of importance, andhis shoulder straps indicated that he was a major of the general staff.The other, who followed somewhat diffidently, was a young lieutenant ofinfantry, whose trim frock-coat snugly fitted his slender figure.

  "Ah, sit down here, Mr.--Mr. Loomis," said the major patronizingly. "Soyou are going up to the Big Horn. Well, sir, I hope we shall hear goodaccounts of you. There's a splendid field for officers of the rightsort--there--and opportunities for distinction--every day."

  At sound of the staff officer's voice there roused up from the oppositesection, where he had been dozing over a paper, a man of middle age,slim, athletic, with heavy mustache and imperial, just beginning to turngray, with deep-set eyes under bushy brows, and a keen, shrewd face,rather deeply lined. There was a look of dissipation there, a shade ofshabbiness about his clothes, a rakish cut to the entire personalitythat had caused Folsom to glance distrustfully at him more than once theprevious afternoon, and to meet with coldness the tentatives permissiblein fellow travelers. The stranger's morning had been lonesome. Now heheld his newspaper where it would partly shield his face, yet permit hiswatching the officers across the aisle. And something in his stealthyscrutiny attracted Pappoose.

  "Yes," continued the major, "I have seen a great deal of that country,and Mr. Dean, of whom you spoke, was attached to the troop escorting ourcommission. He is hardly--I regret to have to say it--er--what youimagine. We were, to put it mildly, much disappointed in his conduct theday of our meeting with the Sioux."

  A swift, surprised glance passed between the girls, a pained look shotinto the lieutenant's face, but before the major could go on the manacross the aisle arose and bent over him with extended hand.

  "Ah, Burleigh, I thought I knew the voice." But the hand was notgrasped. The major was drawing back, his face growing yellow-white withsome strange dismay.

  "You don't seem sure of my identity. Let me refresh your memory,Burleigh. I am Captain Newhall. I see you need a drink, major--I'll takeone with you."