The Way of a Man

  CHAPTER XIV

  AU LARGE

  At our little village on the following morning, Auberry and I learnedthat the _River Bell_ would lie up indefinitely for repairs, and that atleast one, perhaps several days would elapse before she resumed herjourney up stream. This suited neither of us, so we sent a negro downwith a skiff, and had him bring up our rifles, Auberry's bedding, myportmanteaus, etc., it being our intention to take the stage up toLeavenworth. By noon our plans were changed again, for a young Armyofficer came down from that Post with the information that ColonelMeriwether was not there. He had been ordered out to the Posts up thePlatte River, had been gone for three weeks; and no one could tell whattime he would return. The Indians were reported very bad along thePlatte. Possibly Colonel Meriwether might be back at Leavenworth withinthe week, possibly not for a month or more!

  This was desperate news for me, for I knew that I ought to be startinghome at that very time. Still, since I had come hither as a last resort,it would do no good for me to go back unsuccessful. Should I wait here,or at Leavenworth; or should I go on still farther west? Auberry decidedthat for me.

  "I tell you what we can do," he said. "We can outfit here, and take theCut-off trail to the Platte, across the Kaw and the Big and LittleBlue--that'll bring us in far enough east to catch the Colonel if he'scomin' down the valley. You'd just as well be travelin' as loafin', andthat's like enough the quickest way to find him."

  The counsel seemed good. I sat down and wrote two more letters home,once more stating that I was not starting east, but going still fartherwest. This done, I tried to persuade myself to feel no furtheruneasiness, and to content my mind with the sense of duty done.

  Auberry, as it chanced, fell in with a party bound for Denver, five menwho had two wagons, a heavy Conestoga freight wagon, or prairieschooner, and a lighter vehicle without a cover. We arranged with thesemen, and their cook as to our share in the mess box, and so threw in ourdunnage with theirs, Auberry and I purchasing us a good horse apiece. Bynoon of the next day we were on our way westward, Auberry himself nowmuch content.

  "The settlements for them that likes 'em," said he. "For me, there'snothing like the time when I start west, with a horse under me, and run_au large_, as the French traders say. You'll get a chance now to seethe Plains, my son."

  At first we saw rather the prairies than the Plains proper. We werefollowing a plainly marked trail, which wound in and out among lowrolling hills; and for two days we remained in touch with the scatteredhuts of the squalid, half-civilized Indians and squaw men who still hungaround the upper reservations. Bleached bones of the buffalo we saw hereand there, but there was no game. The buffalo had long years since beendriven far to the westward. We took some fine fish in the clear watersof the forks of the Blue, which with some difficulty we were able toford. Gradually shaking down into better organization, we fared on andon day after day, until the grass grew shorter and the hills flatter. Atlast we approached the valley of the Platte.

  We were coming now indeed into the great Plains, of which I had heardall my youth. A new atmosphere seemed to invest the world. The talk ofmy companions was of things new and wild and strange to me. All my oldlife seemed to be slipping back of me, into a far oblivion. A feeling ofrest, of confidence and of uplift came to me. It was difficult to besad. The days were calm, the nights were full of peace. Nature seemed tobe loftily above all notice of small frettings. Many things became moreclear to me, as I rode and reflected. In some way, I know not how, itseemed to me that I was growing older.

  We had been out more than two weeks when finally we reached the greatvalley along which lay the western highway of the old Oregon trail, nowworn deep and dusty by countless wheels. Our progress had not been veryrapid, and we had lost time on two occasions in hunting up strayedanimals. But, here at last, I saw the road of the old fur traders, ofAshley and Sublette and Bridger, of Carson and Fremont, later ofKearney, Sibley, Marcy, one knew not how many Army men, who had foryears been fighting back the tribes and making ready this country forwhite occupation. As I looked at this wild, wide region, treeless,fruitless, it seemed to me that none could want it. The next thought wasthe impression that, no matter how many might covet it, it wasexhaustless, and would last forever. This land, this West, seemed to allthen unbelievably large and limitless.

  We pushed up the main trail of the Platte but a short distance thatnight, keeping out an eye for grazing ground for our horses. Auberryknew the country perfectly. "About five or six miles above here," hesaid, "there's a stage station, if the company's still running throughhere now. Used to be two or three fellers and some horses stayed there."

  We looked forward to meeting human faces with some pleasure; but an houror so later, as we rode on, I saw Auberry pull up his horse, with astrange tightening of his lips. "Boys," said he, "there's where it_was!_" His pointing finger showed nothing more than a low line ofruins, bits of broken fencing, a heap of half-charred timbers.

  "They've been here," said Auberry, grimly. "Who'd have thought the Siouxwould be this far east?"

  He circled his horse out across the valley, riding with his head bentdown. "Four days ago at least," he said, "and a bunch of fifty or moreof them. Come on, men."

  We rode up to the station, guessing what we would see. The buildings laywaste and white in ashes. The front of the dugout was torn down, thewood of its doors and windows burned. The door of the larger dugout,where the horses had been stabled, was also torn away. Five dead horseslay near by, a part of the stage stock kept there. We kept our eyes aslong as we could from what we knew must next be seen--the bodies of theagent and his two stablemen, mutilated and half consumed, under theburned-out timbers. I say the bodies, for the lower limbs of all threehad been dismembered and cast in a heap near where the bodies of thehorses lay. We were on the scene of one of the brutal massacres of thesavage Indian tribes. It seemed strange these things should be in a spotso silent and peaceful, under a sky so blue and gentle.

  "Sioux!" said Auberry, looking down as he leaned on his long rifle."Not a wheel has crossed their trail, and I reckon the trail's blockedboth east and west. But the boys put up a fight." He led us here andthere and showed dried blotches on the soil, half buried now in theshifting sand; showed us the bodies of a half-dozen ponies, killed acouple of hundred yards from the door of the dugout.

  "They must have shot in at the front till they killed the boys," headded. "And they was so mad they stabbed the horses for revenge, the waythey do sometimes. Yes, the boys paid their way when they went, Ireckon."

  We stood now in a silent group, and what was best to be done none atfirst could tell. Two of our party were for turning back down thevalley, but Auberry said he could see no advantage in that.

  "Which way they've gone above here no one can tell," he said. "They'reless likely to come here now, so it seems to me the best thing we can dois to lay up here and wait for some teams comin' west. There'll be newsof some kind along one way or the other, before so very long."

  So now we, the living, took up our places almost upon the bodies of thedead, after giving these the best interment possible. We hobbled andside-lined our horses, and kept our guards both day and night; and so welay here for three days.

  The third day passed until the sun sank toward the sand dunes, and casta long path of light across the rippling shallows among the sand bars ofthe Platte; but still we saw no signs of newcomers. Evening wasapproaching when we heard the sound of a distant shot, and turning sawour horse-guard, who had been stationed at the top of a bluff near by,start down the slope, running toward the camp. As he approached hepointed, and we looked down the valley toward the east.

  Surely enough, we saw a faint cloud of dust coming toward us, whether ofvehicles or horsemen we could not tell. Auberry thought that it wasperhaps some west-bound emigrant or freight wagon, or perhaps a stagewith belated mails.

  "Stay here, boys," he said, "and I'll ride down and see." He gallopedoff, half a mile or so, and then we saw him pause, throw up his h
and,and ride forward at full speed. By that time the travelers were toppinga slight rise in the floor of the valley, and we could see that theywere horsemen, perhaps thirty or forty in all. Following them came thedust-whitened top of an Army ambulance, and several camp wagons, to thebest of our figuring at that distance. We hesitated no longer andquickly mounting our horses rode full speed toward them. Auberry met us,coming back.

  "Troop of dragoons, bound for Laramie," he said. "No Indians back ofthem, but orders are out for all of the wagons and stages to hole uptill further orders. This party's going through. I told them to campdown there," he said to me aside, "because they've got women with 'em,and I didn't want them to see what's happened up here. We'll move ourcamp down to theirs to-night, and like enough go on with themto-morrow."

  By the time I was ready to approach these new arrivals, they had theirplans for encampment under way with the celerity of old campaigners.Their horses were hobbled, their cook-fires of buffalo "chips" were lit,their wagons backed into a rude stockade. Guards were moving out withthe horses to the grazing ground. They were a seasoned lot of Harney'sfrontier fighters, grimed and grizzled, their hats, boots and clothinggray with dust, but their weapons bright. Their leader was a younglieutenant, who approached me when I rode up. It seemed to me Iremembered his blue eyes and his light mustaches, curled upward at thepoints.

  "Lieutenant Belknap!" I exclaimed. "Do you remember meeting me down atJefferson?"

  "Why, Mr. Cowles!" he exclaimed. "How on earth did you get here? Ofcourse I remember you."

  "Yes, but how did you get here yourself--you were not on my boat?"

  "I was ordered up the day after you left Jefferson Barracks," he said,"and took the _Asia_. We got into St. Joe the same day with the _RiverBelle_, and heard about your accident down river. I suppose you came outon the old Cut-off trail."

  "Yes; and of course you took the main trail west from Leavenworth."

  He nodded. "Orders to take this detachment out to Laramie," he said,"and meet Colonel Meriwether there."

  "He'll not be back?" I exclaimed in consternation. "I was hoping to meethim coming east."

  "No," said Belknap, "you'll have to go on with us if you wish to seehim. I'm afraid the Sioux are bad on beyond. Horrible thing your mantells me about up there," he motioned toward the ruined station. "I'mtaking his advice and going into camp here, for I imagine it isn't anice thing for a woman to see."

  He turned toward the ambulance, and I glanced that way. There stood nearit a tall, angular figure, head enshrouded in an enormous sunbonnet; apersonality which it seemed to me I recognized.

  "Why, that's my friend, Mandy McGovern," said I. "I met her on the boat.Came out from Leavenworth with you, I suppose?"

  "That isn't the one," said Belknap. "No, I don't fancy that sisterMcGovern would cut up much worse than the rest of us over that matter upthere; but the other one--"

  At that moment, descending at the rear of the ambulance, I saw the otherone.