Part 7

The march was to be from Fort Hays and the valley of the Smoky Hill in central Kansas north across the broad plains country 250 miles to Fort McPherson on the Platte River in southwestern Nebraska. But although through the center of this country flowed down the Republican River, on whose upper waters 1000 hostile Sioux and Cheyennes were rumored to be lurking, without a fight the Seventh Cavalry arrived at Fort McPherson, named for General John McPherson, once commander of the Army of Tennessee.

Fort McPherson, in the Department of the Platte, was only a handful of cedar-log cabins, helping to guard the Overland Trail and the new Union Pacific Railroad, as in the south Fort Harker, Hays, and all guarded the Smoky Hill trail and the new Kansas Pacific Railroad. It was garrisoned by two troops of the Second Cavalry.

Ahead of the Seventh Cavalry had arrived, by railroad as far as McPherson, and thence by stage, General Sherman. He now was at Fort Sedgwick, west, near to Julesberg of northeastern Colorado Territory.

General Custer sent Lieutenant Moylan ahead into the post, with dispatches for General Sherman, and to get any dispatches that might be waiting. Lieutenant Moylan returned, meeting the column as it prepared to make temporary camp. The adjutant had word.

“Pawnee Killer and some of his Sioux are encamped about ten miles out, general,” he announced. “A post scout just brought in the news.”

“What are they doing?”

“Nothing, I understand. They arrived about the same time we did. They pretend to be peaceful.”

“We’d better find out, then,” declared the general. “What do you think, Comstock? Shall we try a conference?”

“Corral the whole outfit, gentlemen, while you have the chance, is _my_ guess,” answered Scout Will Comstock.

“Well, I can’t adopt any harsh measures without orders,” replied the general. “We’ve got to encourage the Indians to be friendly.”

“All right,” said Comstock, rather gloomily. “I s’pose ’cordin’ to those thar peace people out East, soldiers an’ everybody ought to wait an’ let the Injuns shoot fust; an’ then if they miss, give ’em another try, so as to keep ’em amused!”

General Custer made no answer; but by the little smile under his tawny moustache he seemed to agree with Comstock’s disgusted opinion.

Word was sent to Pawnee Killer to come into camp, for a talk; and that afternoon in he came. But the talk amounted to nothing. Soon was it seen that the suave and crafty Sioux intended to find out what the soldiers were up to, and not to tell what he was up to. General Custer said to him that he must move his people in near to the forts, so that they would not be mistaken for hostiles. Pawnee Killer blandly replied that he would, as fast as he could. In order to please the visitors the general directed that they be given sugar and coffee; and they rode away again.

None of the men believed what Pawnee Killer had said; and some rather thought that the general had been foolish to treat him so well, and let him think that he was hoodwinking the white chief. Upon the arrival, again, of General Sherman, from Sedgwick, the Seventh was ordered south to the Forks of the Republican, to find Pawnee Killer’s village.

General Sherman rode with General Custer for fifteen miles, talking matters over with him. Ned, behind, could hear much of the conversation, and it showed matters to be considered serious. The Sioux of the north were sending warriors down to join with the Sioux and Cheyennes of the south; the Arapahos were uneasy, although Little Raven and Black Kettle were promising to hold them steady; a friendly band of Brulé or Burnt Thigh Sioux under Chief Spotted Tail had been forced to move from the Republican Forks north across the Platte at Julesberg—because, said Spotted Tail, his young warriors were getting excited; and down on the Arkansas, Satanta, wearing the major-general uniform that had been given him, had driven off the horse-herd from Fort Dodge itself! Stage stations had been burned on the Platte River route—yes, not far from Fort McPherson; and on the Smoky Hill route. Union Pacific and Kansas Pacific Railroad surveying parties had been attacked. On the Republican and other settled streams ranches had been pillaged. It looked as though a real Indian war was brewing.

By Eastern people the army on the plains was being much criticized. Some of these people depended upon the Indian trade for business; but some thought that the Indian was abused. It did not seem right to them that General Hancock had destroyed the village on Pawnee Fork. The Indians, said these people through the newspapers and in speeches, should be left to the control of the agencies. The soldiers wished only fighting.

However, General Sherman appeared to be little influenced by the criticisms of the Eastern peace party; although he did say, rather angrily:

“I tell you, Custer, there’ll be no peace on the plains until the Indians are so subdued that they can be controlled by constables instead of soldiers. Meantime the War Department ought to have complete charge of the tribes. Now while we’re doing the fighting at one end of the line to enforce our terms, the civil agents make a treaty at the other end, on different terms. Then the treaty is broken and the work must be done all over again. And if the agents and the traders are to be permitted to supply the savages with arms, in defiance of the orders of the military, I believe in withdrawing every soldier from the district and letting the civil authorities settle affairs. We have a hard enough task, without being called upon to face weapons furnished by our own government.”

All peaceful was that rolling plains country, during the four days’ march of seventy-five miles down to the Forks of the Republican. From the crest of each rise was to be seen the same vista before as behind: the grasses, the June flowers, the willows and cottonwoods, the sandstone uplifts, the long swells, with the only moving creatures the elk, the antelope, the buffalo, the black-tail deer, the wolf, rabbit and prairie dog.

The Forks of the Republican also seemed deserted; but who might tell here, as on the march, what Indian heads were peering from ravines, over hillocks, or through bushes, spying upon the horses, the wagons and the blue-bloused men.

North to Fort Sedgwick, seventy-five miles, were sent with dispatches for General Sherman, Major Joel Elliot and picked escort of ten men. South to Fort Wallace, eighty miles, was sent for supplies a wagon-train under command of Lieutenant (colonel, they called him) William Cook and Lieutenant Samuel Robbins. Major West was escort. By Colonel Cook went a letter to Mrs. Custer, telling her that she might come back with him, by way of Fort Wallace, to the camp.

Some of the men criticised this as not wise in the general, not safe for Mrs. Custer. Indians surely were about, and they would take big chances to make a white woman captive. Anybody who knew Mrs. Custer, also knew that she would come. Fire, water or savages would not stop her from trying to join the general. So there was dubious shaking of heads, when the news leaked out.

Yes, the Indians were watching. That was soon to be shown. However, calm and sweet was the twilight. Gradually the western glow faded, while busily grazed the horses and mules. The men lounged about, and contentedly smoked and chatted. To and fro paced the sentries. The stream rippled. Over it and over the wide prairie swooped low the night-hawks. Scarcely a coyote barked. Even the general’s dogs found nothing to do.

At dusk the animals were brought in close and tethered along the picket ropes. Stable guards were stationed for them. At half-past eight Ned blew the long sweet call of “Taps.” The notes floated musically over the wide expanse. Every light was extinguished; and amidst the loneliness the camp of the Seventh Cavalry, United States Army, lay down to sleep. The white tents glimmered; the horses and mules snorted; the sentinels paced their beats.

In his tent beside the adjutant’s Ned was wakened in a jump. It seemed that he had just fallen asleep—but the interior of the tent was gray; dawn was at hand. The smart crack of a carbine was echoing in his ears—and now he heard a sharp, excited voice:

“They’re here!” That was Lieutenant Custer, the general’s brother, rushing past, warning the general. He was officer of the day. And out rang a perfect volley of shots, and a great peal of shrill, savage whoops.

Grabbing bugle and belt Ned dived from his tent. He was in time to witness the front of the general’s tent burst open, like a paper bag, and General Custer come bolting through. The general wore a bright red flannel night-gown—but he carried in his hand his Spencer rifle. He was ready for business.

On ran the general, toward the spot of the firing and the shouting. He was no quicker than his men; they streamed from their tents, and clad in shirts and drawers, but bearing cartridge-belts and carbines, they rallied to the defence. Scarcely any orders were necessary, although Lieutenant Tom Custer and all the officers were there to give them. The voice of the general rose high, urging, commanding, cheering. His red flannel night-shirt flamed hither and thither; his long bright locks tossed like a mane; he wore no shoes or stockings. Ned saw him in a new guise: Old Curly, the fighting Chief with the Yellow Hair.

The carbines crackled, as in irregular line the troopers, lying or kneeling, rapidly fired. Beyond, in the thin morning, the Indians dashed swiftly back and forth. From the soldiers issued jeers and threats and challenges, as well as lead.

“I got one! I got one!” yelped the lawyer recruit. “No; I got two! There goes another off his horse!”

“Shut up!” growled Sergeant Henderson. “Do you think that every time you fire you knock over an Injun? They only hang on the far side of their horses, lad!”

That was so. At the discharges from the carbines whole squads of the scampering reds seemed to be swept from their saddles; when, no, there they were, again, upright, and gesturing derision! It was enough to fool any white man, fighting them for his first time. But many were the jokes leveled at the recruits, by the veterans in the firing-line.

However, the Indians didn’t succeed. There must have been two or three hundred of them, attacking, while about fifty tried for the camp horses. They had shot the picket. He was lying wounded. He would have been scalped if his comrades had not run out and dragged him in. After a few volleys from the Spencers of the soldiers the red enemy retreated. They could be seen gathered about a mile away, in council.

IX

DANGER ON EVERY SIDE

It could be seen that General Custer was thoroughly indignant. But first he must ask about the wounded picket, who proved to be badly hurt, not fatally. Then he must change his night-gown for a more practical field costume. When he emerged from his tent, he was again ready for business.

“I’d like to know who those fellows are, and what they mean,” he denounced, furiously, among his officers. “We’ve done nothing, to make them attack us. Send out an interpreter, Moylan, and ask for a parley.”

The Indians were still collected, upon their ponies, about a mile distant. Their figures showed black in the dawn brightening across the vast, boundless prairie. Where in the far east prairie met sky was a strip of glowing pink.

The interpreter, a squaw-man from Fort McPherson, with a Sioux wife, rode out and on the river bank made circles with his horse. This signalled: “We want to talk.” One of the Indians answered with the same sign, and a part of them came forward.

“Tell them that seven of us will meet seven of them, at the river, for a talk,” directed the general to the interpreter.

Riding forward again the interpreter cried across the space to the Indians, and the matter was quickly arranged.

“Captain Hamilton, you will assume command here,” directed the general. “Keep the men under arms, and be ready to move forward to us at the first signal by the trumpeter. Dr. Coates, you’d better come along with the rest of us; you’re anxious to know the Indians. Moylan, Thompson, Tom Custer, Yates, Johnson. Change your revolvers from your holsters to your belts, gentlemen. Then you can get at them, in case of need. Those fellows (and he jerked his head toward the Indians) are not to be trusted, evidently.”

They rode away, Ned of course accompanying. From the opposite direction were approaching to meet them the seven chiefs. The river was the conference point, for it lay about in the middle between the two parties. Just before reaching it the general halted, and dismounted. Dismounted all except Ned.

“Hold these horses, orderly,” instructed the general, to Ned; “and watch sharp. Watch the Indians, especially, and at the least trouble or any sign of treachery you blow the ‘advance.’”

“Yes, sir,” replied Ned.

Surrounded by the seven horses he sat, their lines in his hands, while the general and the other officers proceeded on, down to the edge of the water.

The banks on this side were smooth and grassy; on the other they were cut by arroyos or ravines and grown with willows. So the officers waited, for the Indians to cross to the open side. The chiefs also dismounted, and began to take off their leggins, to wade. Through the shallow current they boldly splashed, holding high their moccasins and guns, out of the wet.

“Huh!” from his horse suddenly ejaculated Ned, scarce believing his eyes. For the leading chief was Pawnee Killer himself!

But Pawnee Killer did not appear at all abashed, nor confused by the fact that after having visited the general in camp at Fort McPherson and having promised to be peaceable, he had tried here to steal the column’s horses and to rush the camp.

“How?” he grunted, shaking hands with the officers. And “How?” grunted in turn all his squad.

They were well armed. Usually in a conference weapons are left behind; but this was a conference with the weapons ready. Ned sat intent, gazing hard, to catch every movement of the seven chiefs and also of the main party, at the distance. He could not hear much of what was being said. He learned afterward that the general did not say anything about the attack on the camp, but wanted to know about the village; and that Pawnee Killer did not say anything about the village, but wanted to know where the cavalry were going. And neither side found out much about the other!

While Ned was peering, and waiting, alert, he saw another Indian suddenly step forth from among the willows, and cross as had the chiefs. This was a younger Indian, fully armed. He shook hands all around, saying “How?” Scarcely had he finished, and the talk was continuing, when yet another Indian crossed, in exactly the same manner.

Ned fidgeted. That was a great scheme: for the Sioux warriors to steal up, through the ravines and the willows, and one by one cross. Pawnee Killer could not think very highly of General Custer’s smartness, if he supposed that these additions, one at a time, were not noticed. Because the general was young and new to Indian fighting, and had been lied to, and still was being deceived, apparently, Pawnee Killer must consider that he did not amount to much.

Presently two more Indians had crossed, so that now there were eleven, to the seven whites. Ned’s heart beat rapidly. The situation was getting serious. He shifted the lines of the horses, so as to use his right hand to raise the bugle to his lips. The “Advance” repeated itself over and over in his brain. But listen! General Custer’s voice rose emphatic.

“Tell this chief that if another man of his crosses the river, my men will all advance ready to fight. Tell him that bugler is watching, ready to blow the signal.”

When this was translated to Pawnee Killer (who had understood by the tone) he made some sort of a reply, but he waved his hand at his party, signing them to stay back. He had found out that the young white chief with the yellow hair was not such a fool, after all.

Then the conference broke up. As the general and the other officers started away, Pawnee Killer stretched out his hand, demanding something. The general spoke abruptly:

“No. I should say not. Not until he moves his village in close to a post, as he promised.” And returned to mount his horse, the general still was grumbling, half enraged, half amused. “Sugar, coffee and ammunition! He’s the most consummate rascal I ever met. He wants us to feed him so that he can follow us, and equip him so that he can kill us. He ought to have saved some of the ammunition that he used on us so recklessly this morning!”

Pawnee Killer and his chiefs and warriors had gone galloping off, and soon the whole party were retreating across the plains. General Custer angrily ordered “Boots and Saddles,” for a pursuit, to see where the village lay. But Pawnee Killer was again too cunning for the yellow haired general. Away went the Sioux, racing freely; after them pressed the cavalry, the general in the lead. Had all the cavalry horses been like Phil Sheridan the troops might at least have kept the Indians in sight; as it was, the lightly laden ponies and their easy riders dwindled and dwindled, and soon disappeared in the horizon. So the cavalry must quit, before getting too far from camp.

Now more Indians were sighted, in another direction.

“My compliments to Captain Hamilton, and tell him to take his troop and see what those other fellows are up to,” ordered the general, promptly, to Adjutant Moylan.

Away gladly trotted the troop of young Captain Hamilton, whose first lieutenant was Colonel Tom Custer. With two such officers, this was a crack troop of fighters. Besides, there went the active Doctor Coates, also. The general smiled.

“The doctor’s bound to get as close to the Indians as he can. First thing we know he’ll join a tribe! Now,” he added, gravely, his face showing anxious lines, “I wish we knew that Elliot was all right, and was getting through to Sedgwick. There’s the chance that the Indians don’t know he’s gone. His escort is so small he can travel fast. That’s one comfort. Cook and Robbins can take care of themselves, pretty well, as long as their escort stays together.”

Captain Hamilton’s troop had been swallowed up among the swales to the north; and while the general and his staff discussed ways and means, many eyes were directed northward, and many ears were strained, to catch any token of a fight or of further pursuit.

Nothing came back, drifting in from the northward. The general and the adjutant and other officers talked, and the men sat more at ease, and the minutes passed. The sun was high in the east; a strong breeze blew across the plains, waving the longer grasses. Then, on a sudden, there was thud of rapid hoofs, a panting and a snorting, and almost before anybody could turn about, into the camp had rushed, at top speed of his horse, Doctor Coates. Scarcely drawing rein he fell off, rather than dismounted, and lay gasping, trying to speak.

To him rushed officers and men.

“What’s the matter, doctor?”

“Hurt?”

“Speak, man!”

“Can’t you talk?”

“Where’s Hamilton?”

“Attacked?”

The doctor nodded violently.

“Boots and saddles, there!” ordered the general, sharply. “Hurry, men!”

Smartly Ned blew the call. The men ran hither, thither, tugging their horses into line. Now the doctor was able to speak.

“Indians! Over yonder! Got him—surrounded. Almost got me—too.”

“How far?”

“About five miles.”

The general’s voice pealed louder than Ned’s trumpet.

“Prepare to mount—mount! Fours right, trot—march!”

Out from camp sallied, at brisk trot, the remnants of the squadrons, to the rescue of Captain Hamilton and Lieutenant Tom Custer and their troop. The doctor, on his blown horse, acted as guide.

There was no sound of firing; but as the column pushed on, trying to make best speed and yet save strength for the fight, the doctor explained.

“Indians tolled us on, then separated. Hamilton took after one party, Tom after other. I went with Tom, until I dropped out at one side, somehow, while I was looking about. Next thing I knew I was lost. Pretty soon I heard a lot of firing, and when I reconnoitered I saw Hamilton’s detachment, only half a mile away, with Indians all around them. Thought I’d ride right through and help him; but the Indians saw me first, and away they came, six or eight of ’em, making for me. Almost got me, too, I tell you! Closed up within arrow range, and if my horse hadn’t been as frightened as I was, and if camp hadn’t appeared just when it did, my scalp would have been gone. I’m afraid Hamilton is in a bad box. They out-numbered him, and had plenty of ammunition.”

“Tom may join him.”

“Yes, if Tom isn’t in the same fix. Country is full of Indians, I believe.”

Two of the five miles had been put behind. It was scarce to be expected that carbine shots could yet be heard; but nevertheless the silence seemed ominous, as if the battle might be over; and with victory to which side?

Trot, trot; jingle, jingle; across the grassy plain, with every man leaning forward in his saddle, as if to get there sooner. Then Fall Leaf, the Delaware, signaled back, from a little rise: “People in sight.” The general and Adjutant Moylan clapped their glasses to their eyes, and forthwith the general threw up his gauntleted hand in gesture of relief.

“There they come,” he said. “Good! I see the troop guidon.”

Captain Hamilton’s troop it was, with all the men uninjured, and with only one horse wounded. Captain Hamilton reported that he had killed two warriors and had driven the other Indians away, without any assistance from Lieutenant Tom Custer. Lieutenant Tom had pursued the second knot of Indians, until after they had drawn him far enough they had given him the slip. These Sioux were clever.

Blood had been shed. This was war. The Indians now would be hot for revenge. And Major Elliot was still out, and so was the wagon train for Fort Wallace. Returning with the wagon-train would come Mrs. Custer. That was now the main thought in the camp. The Indians surely would not miss a chance at such a prize as wagons of supplies. Why had the general been so foolish as to send for Mrs. Custer, when it was well known that Indians were abroad?

The general grew haggard all in an hour. Before night he had sent a squadron under command of Major (who was a lieutenant-colonel) Myers, to push right through and meet the train.

Then there was nothing to do but to wait. Three days passed, and in rode the little party of Major Elliot, with the dispatches from Fort Sedgwick. On the next day, hurrah! Here approached, weaving across the plain like a huge snake, the white-topped army wagons and the escort troops.

Out rode the general, to meet them; and particularly to meet Mrs. Custer. The wagons all were there—twenty of them; the column of troops looked intact; but from the wagons or from horse no handkerchief waved greeting, and Ned, on Buckie thudding along behind the general, felt a sudden cold chill. What if anything had happened to the sweet Mrs. Custer, or to Diana of the dancing curls?

Major (who was also colonel) West was in command of the column, for he was the senior officer.

“All right, colonel?” demanded the general, his eyes roving anxiously along the winding line.

“All right, general. But we had quite a brush. That is, Cook and Robbins did. Myers and I arrived just in time to see the enemy disappear.”

“Mrs. Custer here?” queried the general, sharply.

“No, general. She didn’t leave Hays, fortunately. Cook can tell you about it.”

Didn’t leave Hays! The general seemed to heave a great sigh of relief. Camp and trail were no places for a white woman, even so plucky a one as Mrs. Custer, or as pretty Diana. He dashed along the column, seeking Lieutenant Cook.