CHAPTER XXI

THE FIGHT ON THE PEKATONIKA

Two weeks passed and Joseph was entirely healed of his wound. A slight limp at times was the only trace that remained and that promised to disappear soon. He was up and as cheerful as ever. They were still at Dixon’s Ferry and the inaction did not gall Joseph as much as it did his impetuous brother.

He spent much of his time with The Swallow, grooming and caring for the beautiful pony. He had taught the intelligent animal to come at his whistle and most of the time the horse followed at his heels in much the same manner a dog would do. Every day Joseph’s pride in his mount grew. He never ceased to wonder at the easy gait and the wonderful speed The Swallow exhibited on the frequent rides they took over the prairies.

There had been no organized fighting of late. General Atkinson had returned to Dixon’s Ferry as soon as he learned of the desertion of Major Stillman’s corps. He had left General Whiteside to carry on the pursuit of Black Hawk, while he returned with the regulars to protect the supplies left at Dixon’s Ferry.

Whiteside’s men soon became tired of soldiering, however. Black Hawk had crossed the northern border of Illinois and was now in Michigan. He had gone into the unexplored and almost impenetrable swamps of the north, the men declared, and could never be captured. At any rate they said that, being Illinois volunteers, they were not required to serve outside the state. They also claimed they had enlisted for only a month and that their time of service had expired.

After two or three days of fruitless skirmishing and before they had come to the Michigan state line, a council of officers was held and further search for Black Hawk was abandoned. They had penetrated only as far as the Kishwaukee River, not many miles north of the place where Stillman was defeated on Sycamore Creek. However, they turned and marched south to Ottawa, where, at their own request, they were mustered out of service by Governor Reynolds on the twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth of May, 1832.

On their way from the Kishwaukee to Ottawa the militiamen stopped at a farm on Indian creek where a few days before a terrible massacre of Whites had taken place. The mutilated bodies of fifteen men, women and children lay unburied upon the ground. This frightful scene instead of inspiring the troops to renewed action against the Indians, still further discouraged them. They were more eager than ever to give up the fight.

Governor Reynolds was active, however, and at once called for a fresh levy of “at least two thousand troops.” These men were to assemble at Beardstown, a place on the Illinois River south of Dixon’s Ferry, and were to serve through the war. Meanwhile the government at Washington ordered a thousand regulars under General Winfield Scott to proceed from their stations on the coast to the seat of war.

General Atkinson had been greatly disturbed by the failure of the first campaign and the cowardice of the militia shamed him deeply. At his earnest appeal three hundred mounted volunteer rangers agreed to remain in the field and protect the line of Illinois settlements until the new army could be mobilized. Colonel Henry Frye was in command of this company, and Joseph, Robert and Deerfoot lost no time in enrolling themselves with this band.

“It sounds as though we’d find something to do with them,” was Robert’s way of explaining the move. “We’ve been idle long enough and we can’t get very much revenge if we just sit and do nothing.”

“You’re right, Bob,” agreed Joseph. “My leg is all right now and I’m just as anxious as you are to be active again.”

“Oh, no you’re not,” remarked Robert. “It isn’t possible for any one to be as eager about it as I am.”

“Well, we won’t argue it anyway,” laughed Joseph. “We’ll compromise and say we’re both eager.”

“Does that suit you, Deerfoot?” inquired Robert, at the same time winking slyly at his brother.

“Ugh,” grunted Deerfoot.

“Does Joseph’s suggestion suit you?” Robert persisted.

“Sure, me suit,” replied the Pottowattomie seriously, and try as he might Robert was unable to get any other answer from the red man. The young frontiersman was full of mischief and took special delight in teasing Deerfoot. The Indian took everything seriously and never seemed to be able to appreciate the fact that white boys sometimes said things in fun that they did not mean.

“Oh, you’re hopeless,” exclaimed Robert in mock despair. “Haven’t you any sense of humor at all, Deerfoot?”

“Huh?” grunted the Indian blankly.

“Never mind,” laughed Robert. “You’re all right, Deerfoot, and if I meant all I said the way you do I guess I’d be a better citizen than I am now.”

Deerfoot did not understand what all this talk was about and he looked in amazement from one to the other of the boys. They were much amused at his bewilderment, but they soon ceased teasing him. It always made them feel that they were taking an unfair advantage of their faithful friend, and like all true sportsmen they derived no pleasure from a contest that was unequal.

“I wonder if there has been any fighting lately,” said Joseph a few moments later.

“Of course there has,” exclaimed Robert. “It is going on all the time and at this very minute I suppose some poor family is being murdered.”

“Where?” demanded Deerfoot innocently.

“I don’t know where,” said Robert. “I just said I supposed some family somewhere was being murdered.”

“Ugh,” grunted Deerfoot. He asked no more questions and merely shook his head in token that he did not understand.

The three friends were seated under a large oak tree. The time was mid-afternoon and they were enjoying the warm sunshine and the fine June weather. It was a lazy day and the three volunteers felt lazy themselves. They had done nothing for so long they had acquired the habit of being idle. At the same time the inaction was not entirely to their liking, as was evidenced by their conversation.

“I wish something would happen,” yawned Robert. “I must say I’m bored.”

As he finished speaking a man was seen approaching on horseback. This was not an unusual sight in itself, but when time hangs heavy on one’s hands almost anything is of interest. The three friends sat up and watched the horseman as he came near.

“Why, it’s John Mason!” exclaimed Joseph suddenly. “Where do you suppose he has been?”

“He’ll probably tell us in a couple of minutes,” said Robert, rising to his feet.

Mason rode straight to the tree where the three men were and quickly dismounted. He shook hands heartily all around and was accorded a most enthusiastic welcome. Innumerable questions were asked of him by the two brothers, but he made no attempt to answer them at that time. “You two boys are regular interrogation points,” he exclaimed laughingly. “Just give me a chance to catch my breath and I’ll try to reply to some of your questions.”

“Have you been in any more fights?” demanded Robert.

“I should say I had.”

“Tell us about it quick,” Robert insisted, but Joseph restrained him.

“Give Mr. Mason a chance, Bob,” he said. “Don’t you see he is tired and wants to rest? Perhaps he doesn’t want to tell us about it anyway.”

“Yes, I do, too,” exclaimed Mason. “First of all, though, I want to say we got our dispatches to Fort Armstrong safely and didn’t even seen an Indian on the way.”

“We didn’t either,” said Joseph. “We came back here without a bit of trouble.”

“I see you are safe and sound. How is the wounded leg?”

“As good as ever,” replied Joseph and he executed a war dance to prove the truth of his statement.

“Good for you,” cried John Mason. “Now, are you ready to hear about the fight?”

“I am,” exclaimed Robert quickly.

“All right then,” said Mason. “Here goes. I had been sent to Fort Hamilton from Fort Armstrong and was there on the fourteenth of June. That was just about a week ago. Word came to us on the next day that a scouting party of Sacs had killed five men the day before at the Spafford farm. The farm lies on the Pekatonika River, not far from Fort Hamilton. Colonel Henry Dodge was in command of the brigade stationed at the fort and at once started in pursuit of the Indians. Never being willing to be left out of anything I asked to be allowed to go along and received the desired permission.

“We set out with all possible speed and soon came upon the trail of the Indians. In fact we were so close to them at one time that we could see some of the warriors. We had no chance to shoot, however, and the Indians fled with amazing speed. They crossed and recrossed the Pekatonika several times, but we pressed them closer and closer, and at length when they saw that escape was impossible they made a stand. We immediately dismounted and cautiously picked our way forward. The Sacs had taken up their position in a dense thicket and were waiting for us.

“Colonel Dodge intended that we should fire a volley and then charge. The Indians, however, were on the lookout for us and fired first. One of our soldiers, a man named Apple, was killed, and a man named Jenkins was wounded. We never let up on them for a moment, however, and several were shot as they attempted to escape by swimming the river. When the fight started I think our forces were about equal in strength, but the Indians had been in the river so much that many of them had got their powder wet and so their guns were useless.”

“It should have been easy to finish them then,” remarked Robert.

“Don’t you think so!” exclaimed Mason warmly. “Their guns may have been no good to them, but they still had knives and they tried to close in on us with those. They fought desperately, but many of them were shot down. One big, burly brave came plunging directly at me. He had his gun to his shoulder and when only a few yards distant he pulled the trigger. The powder was wet, however, and it did not go off. I raised my rifle, but my powder was also damp and so nothing happened when I tried to fire, either. Meanwhile, knife in hand, the savage came toward me. My case was desperate, but I still had my revolver and when he was but a few scant feet away I drew it and shot him down.”

“Whew!” exclaimed Joseph, “That was pretty close, wasn’t it?”

“Too close to be comfortable,” said Mason grimly. “I can tell you I was frightened there for a couple of seconds.”

“You had good reason to be,” agreed Robert. “But tell me,” he continued, “how did the fight finally end?”

“As far as I know every one of the Indians was killed. Of course I can’t be sure of that, but I don’t think a single one escaped. Our men fought like demons that day.”

“That’s the way to fight!” exclaimed Robert. “At least that’s the way to do when you’re fighting demons.”

“All Indians aren’t demons,” laughed Mason. “Just look at Deerfoot here.”

“No, he isn’t one, I know,” agreed Robert. “You can fight like one just the same, can’t you, Deerfoot?”

“Ugh,” grunted the Pottowattomie, much embarrassed by the attention being paid him.

“If you had been as near to him in that fight the other day as I was,” Robert continued, “you’d have thought he was a demon all right.”

“We’re glad he’s on our side, I guess,” remarked Joseph earnestly.

“We certainly are,” echoed Robert. “How many men did you lose in that fight on the Pekatonika?” he asked, turning to Mason once more.

“Three men killed and one wounded. That wasn’t so bad considering what we did to the Indians, was it?”

“I should say not,” exclaimed Robert.

At that moment a messenger came up to the place where they were seated and handed a note to Joseph. The young volunteer tore it open at once and eagerly scanned the contents, while the others watched him with deep interest.