The Way of a Man

  CHAPTER XVII

  SIOUX!

  The record of this part of my life comes to me sometimes as a series ofvivid pictures. I can see this picture now--the wide gray of the flatvalley, edged with green at the coulee mouths; the sandy spots where thewind had worked at the foot of the banks; the dotted islands out in theshimmering, shallow river. I can see again, under the clear, sweet,quiet sky, the picture of those painted men--their waving lances, theirswaying bodies as they reached for the quivers across their shoulders. Ican see the loose ropes trailing at the horses' noses, and see the lightleaning forward of the red and yellow and ghastly white-striped andblack-stained bodies, and the barred black of the war paint on theirfaces. I feel again, so much almost that my body swings in unison, thegathering stride of the ponies cutting the dust into clouds. I see thecolor and the swiftness of it all, and feel its thrill, the strength andtenseness of it all. And again I feel, as though it were to-day, thehigh, keen, pleasant resolution which came to me. We had women with us.Whether this young woman was now to die or not, none of us men would seeit happen.

  They came on, massed as I have said, to within about two hundred andfifty yards, then swung out around us, their horse line rippling up overthe broken ground apparently as easily as it had gone on the level floorof the valley. Still we made no volley fire. I rejoiced to see the coolpallor of Belknap's face, and saw him brave and angry to the core. Ourplainsmen, too, were grim, though eager; and our little band of cavalry,hired fighters, rose above that station and became not mongrel privatesoldiers, but Anglo-Saxons each. They lay or knelt or stood back of thewagon line, imperturbable as wooden men, and waited for the order tofire, though meantime two of them dropped, hit by chance bullets fromthe wavering line of horsemen that now encircled us.

  "Tell us when to fire, Auberry," I heard Belknap say, for he hadpractically given over the situation to the old plainsman. At last Iheard the voice of Auberry, changed from that of an old man into thequick, clear accents of youth, sounding hard and clear. "Ready now! Eachfellow pick his own man, and kill him, d'ye hear, _kill_ him!"

  We had no further tactics. Our fire began to patter and crackle. Ourtroopers were armed with the worthless old Spencer carbines, and I doubtif these did much execution; but there were some good old Hawkin riflesand old big-bored Yagers and more modern Sharps' rifles and otherbuffalo guns of one sort or another with us, among the plainsmen andteamsters; and when these spoke there came breaks in the flaunting linethat sought to hedge us. The Sioux dropped behind their horses' bodies,firing as they rode, some with rifles, more with bows and arrows. Mostof our work was done as they topped the rough ground close on our left,and we saw here a half-dozen bodies lying limp, flat and ragged, thoughpresently other riders came and dragged them away.

  The bow and arrow is no match for the rifle behind barricades; but whenthe Sioux got behind us they saw that our barricade was open in therear, and at this they whooped and rode in closer. At a hundred yardstheir arrows fell extraordinarily close to the mark, and time and againthey spiked our mules and horses with these hissing shafts that quiveredwhere they struck. They came near breaking our rear in this way, for ourmen fell into confusion, the horses and mules plunging and trying tobreak away. There were now men leaning on their elbows, blood drippingfrom their mouths. There were cries, sounding far away, inconsequent tous still standing. The whir of many arrows came, and we could hear themchuck into the woodwork of the wagons, into the leather of saddle andharness, and now and again into something that gave out a softer,different sound.

  I was crowding a ball down my rifle with its hickory rod when I felt ashove at my arm and heard a voice at my ear. "Git out of the way,man--how can I see how to shoot if you bob your head acrost my sightsall the time?"

  There stood old Mandy McGovern, her long brown rifle half raised, herfinger lying sophisticatedly along the trigger guard, that she might nottouch the hair trigger. She was as cool as any man in the line, and asdeadly. As I finished reloading, I saw her hard, gray face drop as shecrooked her elbow and settled to the sights--saw her swing as though shewere following a running deer; and then at the crack of her piece I sawa Sioux drop out of his high-peaked saddle. Mandy turned to the rear.

  "Git in here, git in here, son!" I heard her cry. And to my wonder now Isaw the long, lean figure of Andrew Jackson McGovern come forward, acarbine clutched in his hand, while from his mouth came some sort ofeerie screech of incipient courage, which seemed to give wondrouscomfort to his fierce dam. At about this moment one of the Sioux,mortally wounded by our fire, turned his horse and ran straight towardus hard as he could go. He knew that he must die, and this was hisway--ah, those red men knew how to die. He got within forty yards,reeling and swaying, but still trying to fit an arrow to the string, andas none of us would fire on him now, seeing that he was dying, for amoment it looked as though he would ride directly into us, and perhapsdo some harm. Then I heard the boom of the boy's carbine, and almost atthe instant, whether by accident or not I could not tell, I saw the redman drop out of the forks of his saddle and roll on the ground with hisarms spread out.

  Perhaps never was metamorphosis more complete than that which now tookplace. Shaking off detaining hands, Andrew Jackson sprang from our line,ran up to the fallen foe and in a frenzy of rage began to belabor andkick his body, winding up by catching him by the hair and actuallydragging him some paces toward our firing line! An expression ofabsolute beatitude spread over the countenance of Mandy McGovern. Shecalled out as though he were a young dog at his first fight. "Whoopee!Git to him, boy, git to him! Take him, boy! Whoopee!"

  We got Andrew Jackson back into the ranks. His mother stepped to him andtook him by the hand, as though for the first time she recognized him asa man.

  "Now, boy, _that's_ somethin' _like_." Presently she turned to me. "Somesays it's in the Paw," she remarked. "I reckon it's some in the Maw; an'a leetle in the trainin'."

  Cut up badly by our fire, the Sioux scattered and hugged the shelter ofthe river bank, beyond which they rode along the sand or in the shallowwater, scrambling up the bank after they had gotten out of fire. Our menwere firing less, frequently at the last of the line, who came swiftlydown from the bluff and charged across behind us, sending in ascattering flight of arrows as they rode.

  I looked about me now at the interior of our barricade. I saw EllenMeriwether on her knees, lifting the shoulders of a wounded man who layback, his hair dropping from his forehead, now gone bluish gray. Shepulled him to the shelter of a wagon, where there had been drawn fourothers of the wounded. I saw tears falling from her eyes--saw the samepity on her face which I had noted once before when a wounded creaturelay in her hands. I had been proud of Mandy McGovern. I was proud ofEllen Meriwether now. They were two generations of our women, the womenof America, whom may God ever have in his keeping.

  I say I had turned my head; but almost as I did so I felt a sudden jaras though some one had taken a board and struck me over the head withall his might. Then, as I slowly became aware, my head was utterly andentirely detached from my body, and went sailing off, deliberately, infront of me. I could see it going distinctly, and yet, oddly enough, Icould also see a sudden change come on the face of the girl who wasstooping before me, and who at the moment raised her eyes.

  "It is strange," thought I, "but my head, thus detached, is going topass directly above her, right there!"

  Then I ceased to take interest in anything, and sank back into the armsof that from which we come, calmly taking bold of the hand of Mystery.