Part 8

“Well, Cook! Had a fight, I hear.”

“Yes, sir. They attacked us pretty severely, on our way out from Wallace, before West and Myers joined us. We saw them coming, and formed with the men on foot and the wagons and horses in the middle. Then we kept right on moving forward, but they circled us savagely. There were between six and seven hundred of them, weren’t there, Comstock?”

“Fully so,” agreed Scout Will Comstock, who was riding near. “But there ain’t as many now, gen’ral. We toppled five of ’em for keeps, an’ there’s more red hides that’s got troublesome holes in ’em. But it looked for a time as though our scalps was goin’ to pay. Six or seven hundred Injuns warn’t goin’ to let fifty men stop ’em from gettin’ at the sugar an’ coffee in those wagons.”

“Mrs. Custer didn’t start, then?” asked the general, of Lieutenant Cook.

“No, sir. Thank God she didn’t. She was ready to, had her baggage tied up, and General Hancock forbade. I don’t think she liked that very well. I have a letter for you from her.”

General Custer took the letter, and read it in the saddle.

From the talk it appeared that the wagon-train had fought hard and well, for three hours. The wagons were scarred with bullets; in them were several wounded men; and throughout the column were a number of wounded horses and mules. Ned heard a conversation between Lieutenant Cook and another officer, that showed how serious had been the situation.

“Would you have done it, Cook?” asked the officer, keenly.

Lieutenant Cook firmly nodded.

“I should. When the attack developed I said to myself, at once: ‘If Mrs. Custer were here, in my charge, the first thing I must do would be to ride to her ambulance and mercifully shoot her. That is my solemn promise to the general.’”

“Whew!” sighed the other officer, gravely. “That would be horrible. But not so horrible,” he added, “as to let her or any other white woman fall alive into the hands of the Indians.”

“We promised the general, in regard to Mrs. Custer,” said the lieutenant. “He made us promise, and he knows that we intended to keep our word.”

“You’d have waited, a little?” pursued the officer.

Lieutenant Cook shook his head.

“No, sir. Not a moment. I love Mrs. Custer like a sister; and the thought that she was dependent on me, and helpless in the ambulance, would have driven me distracted. I should have obeyed orders—and you know what they are. Then I should have fought to the last, and should not have expected to face the general. My course, first and last, was clear. But it didn’t come necessary.”

A Canadian was Lieutenant William Cook, with long black side-whiskers and handsome kindly face. He had served through the Civil War, and was accounted one of the best officers in the Seventh. By reason of his birth they called him “Queen’s Own” Cook.

X

SAD NEWS FOR THE ARMY BLUE

The soldiers who had fought in the wagon-train swaggered through the camp, and talked much like veterans. The camp, also, had its tales to tell, of attack and scalps and victory. So that the Seventh Cavalry had made a start on the battle-roll to be emblazoned on their standards.

Major Elliot had brought orders from General Sherman to march north again, toward the Platte. The Platte was struck near Riverside stage station, in Colorado fifty miles west from Fort Sedgwick. No Indians had been sighted; but Indians were still around, for the very evening before the arrival of the Seventh at Riverside the hostiles had attacked the next station west, and had killed three men.

But this was not all. Evidently something else had occurred. Upon reading his dispatches from General Sherman, General Custer immediately had sent out for his officers, and was holding a consultation, at his tent. The discussion easily reached the ears of Ned, standing at his post, ready for orders from the general or Adjutant Moylan.

Kidder—a Lieutenant Lyman S. Kidder, Second Cavalry, had been sent out from Fort Sedgwick, with dispatches for the Seventh Cavalry camp at the Forks of the Republican. He had only ten men, he ought to have arrived there or else have overtaken the column before it reached the Platte. But he had not been sighted. He was a young officer, this was his first scout. What had happened to him?

Red Bead, a friendly Sioux chief, was his guide, so he could not have lost his way; but upon such a long ride ten men were altogether too few, when Indians by the hundreds infested the whole district.

Speedily the news spread through the ranks. There was shaking of heads. In the opinion of the older sergeants, a great error had been committed.

“My idea is,” voiced Henderson, who was as level-headed as anybody, “that this young left’nant may have struck our camp; but if he did, like as not he took the wagon trail on south’rd, thinkin’ it was our trail. In that case, he’ll run into that same gang o’ reds who attacked the train ’twixt the Republican and Wallace, an’ they’ll wipe him out; they’ll wipe him out. It was a crime to send him on the scout with scarce a dozen, all told, in his party. An’ him new to the business, too. The time has come when the Army ought to know it can’t fight Injuns that way. They’re better armed than we are, an’ they’re mighty smart, boys.”

The suggestion put forth by Henderson seemed to be that of the council of officers also.

More bad news was received. Cholera had broken out at Forts Wallace and Hays, and scurvy on account of the bad rations.

Therefore when over the wire the Kidder dispatches were repeated, ordering the column to return to Wallace, very ready was the general to go. Lieutenant Kidder might be found, and Mrs. Custer might be removed to safer quarters. So camp was broken at daylight.

During the march a sharp lookout was maintained for sign of the missing Second Cavalry detachment; but none appeared.

“What’s your opinion now, Comstock?” queried again the general, anxiously, as at the head of the column, where rode he and Adjutant Moylan and Will Comstock, he scanned the ground and the horizon. Will Comstock only shook his head.

“I’m not sayin’, gen’ral,” finally he replied. “It’s ’arly yet to make a guess. He may be all right—an’ agin he may _not_.”

The Forks of the Republican came into sight; and the former camping place. Here were the tracks of the Seventh, and from here proceeded the trail made by the wagon-train, to Fort Wallace. But trace of Lieutenant Kidder, or of any new horsemen, could not be found, even by the Delawares searching so keenly.

About the headquarters camp-fire, that night, Scout Will Comstock at last did speak, more definitely, but still dubiously. And the officers listened eagerly.

“Well, gentle-_men_,” drawled Comstock, “before a man kin form any ijee as to how this thing is likely to end, thar are several things he ort to be acquainted with. For instance, now, no man need tell me any p’ints about Injuns. Ef I know anything, it’s Injuns. I know jest how they’ll do anything an’ when they’ll take to do it; but that don’t settle this question, an’ I’ll tell you why. Thar’s more’n jest Injuns consarned in the matter. Ef I knowed this young lootenint—I mean Lootenint Kidder—ef I knowed what for sort of a man he is, I could tell you mighty near to a sartinty what he did an’ whar he went; for you see Injun huntin’ an’ Injun fightin’ is a trade all by itself, an’ like any other bizness a man has to know what he’s about. I have lots of confi_dence_ in the fightin’ sense of Red Bead the Sioux chief, who is guidin’ the lootenint an’ his men, an’ ef that Injun kin have his own way thar’s a fair show for his guidin’ ’em through all right. But is this lootenint the kind of a man who is willin’ to take advice, even ef it does come from an Injun? My experience with you army folks has allus been that the youngsters among ye think they know the most, an’ this is partic’larly true ef they have jest come from West P’int. Ef some of them young fellers knowed half as much as they b’lieve they know, you couldn’t tell ’em nothin’. As to rale book-l’arnin’, why, I s’pose they’ve got it all; but the fact of the matter is, they couldn’t tell the dif’rence ’twixt the trail of a war party an’ one made by a huntin’ party to save their necks. Half of ’em when they fust come here can’t tell a squaw from a buck, jest ’cause both ride astraddle; but they soon l’arn. I’m told this lootenint we’re talkin’ about is a new-comer, an’ that this is his fust scout. Ef that be the case, it puts a mighty onsartin look on the whole bus’ness, an’ twixt you and me, gentle-_men_, he’ll be mighty lucky ef he gets through all right. Tomorrer we strike the Wallace trail, an’ I kin mighty soon tell ef he has gone that way.”

This speech, so lengthy for the usually silent Will Comstock, made everybody feel more anxious than ever. Evidently the scout had his great fears, which he had tried to keep to himself.

Therefore, with dawn all were alert to strike the wagon-trail to Fort Wallace. Comstock and the Delawares forged ahead, to examine it first before the cavalry column should mark it up. The general and his staff urged forward, to get the report.

“Well, Comstock. Have they passed?” queried the general, reining short.

Comstock had been on foot, peering closely. The Delawares and he seemed to have agreed, for now he remounted.

“Yes, sir. They’ve gone toward Wallace, sure,” he said, soberly. “They’ve mistook this here trail for the main trail of the column. The trail shows that twelve American horses, shod all ’round, have lately passed at a walk, in direction of the fort. When they come by this p’int they were all right, ’cause their hosses were movin’ along easy, an’ there are no pony tracks behind ’em, as would be the case ef Injuns had got an eye on ’em.” Comstock rubbed his cheek, dubiously. “I mought as well say that in _my_ opinion, gentle-_men_, it’ll be astonishin’ ef that lootenint an’ his lay-out gets into the fort without a scrimmage. He may, but _ef_ he does, it’ll be a scratch ef ever thar was one, an’ I’ll lose my confi_dence_ in Injuns.”

That sounded bad. It was only two days’ march to the fort, but what would those two days uncover?

“We’ll soon know, then,” spoke the general. “Let us hope that if they did reach the fort, they didn’t attempt to return and hunt us further, and that we’ll find them there. You and the Delawares watch close, Will, to catch any sign of their having left the trail, at either side.”

Comstock nodded.

Still the plains stretched lonely and unbroken, with never a sight of moving figure save occasional rabbit or wolf. Then, toward noon, at last something did appear—a white object, dotting the trail a mile in advance. A skeleton? A tent? A patch of alkali? At every guess Comstock, gazing, shook his head; and even the Delawares were mystified.

But General Custer never delayed.

“Come on,” he bade. “Let’s look into that.” And away he galloped, with Adjutant Moylan and Major Elliot and Major West and a couple of other officers, the scouts, and Ned faithfully following. Where went the general, went he, the orderly.

“It’s a hoss! A dead hoss, gentle-_men_,” pronounced Comstock, before they were more than half way. The general did not pause to level his glasses again; Comstock’s word was enough.

Sure enough, a horse it was; a white horse, lying stiff and bloody in the trail, with a bullet-hole through its head.

“A cavalry horse,” exclaimed the general, quickly. “There’s the U. S. on its shoulder, and saddle marks on its back.”

“It’s out of the Second Cavalry, too, general,” added Major Elliot. “When I was at Sedgwick I noticed a full company mounted on white horses.”

“Do you see any Indian sign, Comstock?—As to who did this? Or whether there’s been a fight?” demanded the general.

Scout Comstock and the Delawares examined the carcass, and the ground around-about, for token of arrow or cartridge-shells or pony tracks; but they could find nothing. The horse had been shot and stripped; that was all.

“Then there’s the chance, isn’t there,” proposed Major Elliot, “that the animal may have dropped out, and that they shot him and took his saddle and bridle to prevent the Indians making use of him?”

“We must hope so,” answered the general.

Yes, they all hoped so; but presently, on the march, Comstock spoke, from where he was skirting the wagon-trail.

“There’s somethin’ wrong, sure, gen’ral. Now we’re diskivverin’ signs that talk. This here party we’re follerin’ has quickened up an’ spread out more irregular, so they’re on both sides the trail, as well as in it.”

“And there’s another dead horse, isn’t it?” directed Major Elliot.

Yes, a second dead white horse awaited, just ahead; shot in the trail, and stripped, like the first.

“Pony tracks, too, gentle-_men_,” announced Comstock, the moment that he scanned the ground about. “It’s Injuns. I knowed it. An’ the very wust place for attack, too. Nothin’ but level ground, whar they kin circle an’ shoot an’ t’other party can’t find shelter, to make a stand. Shod hosses are movin’ at a full gallop, now; so are ponies. This lootenint an’ his men are ridin’ hard for kivver. That’s plain.”

“Would they make it, do you think?”

“Wall,” said Comstock, again dubious, “it’s doubtful. Tryin’ to run away from a big party of Injuns, in open country, is dangerous matter—specially if you depend on speed alone. I take it this lootenint was ridin’ an’ not fightin’; an’ fust thing he’ll know he’ll be surrounded, with his hosses all tuckered out.”

The pony tracks extended far on either side of the trail, showing that the Indians had been in large numbers. However, no more dead horses were found, nor any other sign of damage; and Ned began to hope, again, that the lieutenant and his men had escaped, after all. Nevertheless, it was still forty miles to Fort Wallace; a long, long way in a ride for life.

Suddenly the level country dropped away into a wide valley, through which flowed a creek marked by a border of willows and high weeds. No doubt this sight had cheered the fleeing lieutenant and his party; for in the willows they might make a stand.

“That’s Beaver Creek, gentle-_men_,” informed Comstock. “Whar the trail crosses we’re liable to find out a good deal of what we don’t yit know. But there’s no fightin’ goin’ on down there now; that’s sartin.”

No; no sound of battle rose to the valley’s rim; and neither did any smoke of camp or of signal upwell. All was silence; utter silence. As they rode down the slope, and the stream itself was yet a mile away, General Custer pointed, without speaking. Off to the left, and ahead, several black buzzards were circling lazily and low.

“Whew!” exclaimed Comstock. “Smell it? I reckon, gentle-_men_, that tells the story. Let’s go over there.”

The air was thick with rank odor of decaying flesh. General Custer and his staff turned aside, following the scouts, to search for the source. It might be only dead buffalo; but probably it was——?

The brush and grass were high; at the edge Ned halted; he would let the others enter; he was a soldier, but he would rather stay where he had stopped. They did not require him; of course they didn’t. The Delawares, and Will Comstock, and the officers, rode back and forth. It was only after a long time that, on a sudden, General Jackson, Fall Leaf’s nephew, gave a loud shout; and instantly he was off his horse and stooping.

He had found something.

The general and all the officers and scouts hastened to him. The general beckoned for the men to come. Even Ned pushed forward; he could not help himself, for he feared to see and yet he wanted to see.

There they lay, all, white horses and white men and one red man; what was left of them after the enemy had taken vengeance. It was not a peaceful sight, for the bodies bristled with arrows, shot in and left, and knife and tomahawk had cruelly gashed. But there were many empty cartridge shells, showing that Lieutenant Kidder and his little command had fought desperately and bravely.

“Surrounded an’ cut off. I knowed they’d be,” declared Comstock. “The Injuns got here fust, like as not. Sioux. Know why? ’Cause while they scalped Red Bead they didn’t take his scalp away. There ’tis, lying beside him. It’s agin Injun rules to bear off scalp of one of their own tribe. So these must have been Sioux, same as Red Bead. Pawnee Killer’s band, like as not.”

That terrible Pawnee Killer!

“Which is the lieutenant, I wonder?” mused the general. “Have you found any marks that tell, Comstock?”

“Not a one. No, sir; I doubt if even his own mother could pick him out.”

That was so. Only Red Bead could be recognized. All the others were stripped of their clothing, and were so hacked about the face that scarcely a feature was left. Fall Leaf the Delaware bent and pointed at something. It was a black-and-white checked collar-band still encircling a neck. That was all.

After a mournful shuddering survey of the bloody field, the soldiers of the Seventh could only dig a trench and gently place therein these remains of young officer, his brave men, and his faithful Sioux guide.

XI

GRIM DAYS ALONG THE TRAIL

When on the third day into the outskirts of Fort Wallace rode with their melancholy news the returning column, they found the little post hard-put. Sacks of sand had been piled up for additional barricades; mounds of earth betokened dug-outs. Twice the Indians had attacked it. Yes, the Cheyennes under Chief Roman Nose had insultingly cantered up, and when boldly had out-charged the two small companies of the Seventh, led by Captain (Colonel) Alfred Barnitz, they were met by a counter-charge from the Indians. Only after a hand-to-hand fight were Roman Nose’s warriors at last driven off. Sergeant Anderson thought that he had wounded Roman Nose. Half a dozen negro soldiers, on outpost picket duty, had dashed forward, waiting no orders, in a wagon, to help the cavalry; and the fort officers were loud in their praise of the act.

So poor little Fort Wallace, alone amidst the burning or freezing plains, last post of the line to protect the road to Denver, was in sore straits.

The telegraph was two hundred miles east, at Fort Harker; even the stages had stopped running, save at long intervals, in pairs, when a guard of soldiers could be furnished; dispatches and supplies had been interrupted. Now the bad rations were rapidly growing worse, and scurvy and cholera were aiding the Indians. The scurvy was caused by lack of fresh meat and of vegetables; none of the doctors knew just why the cholera appeared; it seemed to come from the heat and the ground.

The condition of plucky Fort Wallace worried the general much. Succor must be brought in, of course. His own column had arrived pretty much exhausted by long marches; but he decided to take one hundred of the better mounted men and make a forced march to Fort Harker, for supplies. Captain Barnitz had not been able to spare any men for that purpose.

To Ned this was the most exciting march yet. It must be made mainly at night, for coolness and to evade the Indians. All the stage route from Wallace to Harker was said to be closely watched by the Cheyennes and Sioux. The stations were abandoned; or else the men had collected in their dug-outs, entered by underground passages from the station-house or the stable.

To approach these dug-outs, especially at night, was no pleasant matter. The first appeared as only a low mound of earth dimly outlined against the dusky horizon. In fact, the scouts must get off their horses and stoop against the ground, to see it. On slowly filed the column—and as the next thing that happened, out from the mound spurted a jet of fire—another—two more; and to “Crack! Bang-bang! Crack!” bullets hummed viciously past the general, and Captain Hamilton (who commanded the column), and Ned himself.

“What’s the matter there?” sung out loudly the general and the captain. “We’re friends! White men! Cavalry!”

“Bang! Bang-bang! Crack!” And more bullets.

“Get your men out of here quick, captain. Those fellows are crazy,” directed the general. “Send somebody forward to parley, and tell ’em who we are.”

Lieutenant Tom Custer volunteered.

“You’d better crawl,” advised the general.

Colonel Tom advanced, in the dusk, toward the low mound beside the station buildings. Presently he had disappeared; he was crawling. “Bang!” greeted him a shot.

“Hello!” he hailed. “Don’t shoot. We’re cavalry, I tell you.”

“Come in close then; stand up an’ show yourself, if you’re white,” retorted a voice.

“I’m coming,” answered Tom. “I’m Lieutenant Custer of the Seventh.”

The lieutenant arrived, and the column, listening, could hear him earnestly explaining. Now from the dug-out a light flickered, and the lieutenant shouted to the column to come on.

The dug-out held five station-men. They were waiting, on the outside, and even in the starlight they were sombre-eyed and haggard.

“What’s the meaning of this, sirs?” demanded the general, angrily.

“Well, cap’n, you see it’s this way,” explained the leader, a huge man with great full beard reaching to his waist. “We thought you was Injuns, an’ we ain’t takin’ any chances, these days.”

“But you heard us hail you in good English.”

“Certain we did; but that didn’t prove much. No, sir-ee. There are Injuns who speak as good English as you do, an’ that’s one o’ their latest tricks. They’re up to every sort o’ scheme, cap’n; an’ while we’re sorry to shoot at you, lettin’ strangers get near at night is too risky a matter. Speakin’ English don’t count with us fellows. We’re on to that Injun trick.”

Therefore every occupied stage station must be approached with great caution. Besides the station dug-outs, the negro infantry posted in squads along the route to protect it had their dug-outs, too. These were of a more military nature than the station dug-outs, and were styled “monitors,” after the Monitor which fought the Merrimac, during the Civil War.

The negro squads first dug out a square hole about breast deep, and large enough—say fifteen feet or more square—to hold them all. About the rim they piled up the dirt and sod; and from side to side they laid a roof of planks covered with more sod. Then they cut small loop-holes in the low walls, and ran a tunnel out a short distance, with a trap door. And they were well fixed. They could not be touched by fire or arrow or bullet.

These queer fortifications, like huge squat mushrooms upon the flat surface of the bare prairie, did indeed resemble a “cheese-box on a raft.” At one of them, when the column arrived, the five negro soldiers under a corporal were bubbling with glee.

“Yes, suh,” narrated the corporal, to the general and anybody else who could hear, “we done had a fight. But ’twarn’t a fight; it was jes’ a sort o’ massacree. After we got this heah monitor ’bout finished, a whole lot o’ Injuns come ridin’ along. Reckon dey must have been five hunderd or five thousand. Fust t’ing dey see, dey see dis ol’ hump a stickin’ up. Don’t know what it-all means. No, suh. Got mighty curyus. We-all lay low, an’ let ’em look an’ talk. Dey got so curyus dey couldn’t hold off any longer, so dey rode in, cranin’ an’ stretchin’ laike chickens. When dey come right close, ‘Gin it to ’em!’ say I. ‘Gin it to ’em!’ An’ we did gin it to ’em, out the loop-holes. We gin it to ’em, an’ when dey skadoodled we gin it to ’em some more, an’ kep’ ginnin’ it to ’em till dey’s out o’ range. Hi-yah-yah! Dey shore was scared.”

And—“Hi-yah-yah!” shouted in laughter his five privates.

“Good!” praised the general. “How many did they leave on the field, corporal?”

“Well, dey didn’t leab no one on the field, gin’ral,” answered the corporal. “But I reckon we mus’ have killed ’bout half, an’ other half was nigh scyared to deff.”

The general was in a great hurry to reach Fort Hays, where (as all supposed) was Mrs. Custer; and to reach Fort Harker, where could be obtained the medicines and the food for suffering Fort Wallace.