Under Fire

by Charles King

  CHAPTER XXX.

  If there be any truth in the saying that a burnt child shuns the fire,the two officers who led "C" troop in its dash on the village shouldhave been almost anywhere else, and at least ten of Cranston's men borethe scars of previous battle, either in the South or on the frontier.The captain was still reminded of his ugly wound, received the previoussummer, by sharp, burning twinges of pain. Davies, the junior, as weknow, had not yet recovered his strength, and had gone on this suddenraid, stepping practically from a sick-bed to the saddle. Twice thatmorning, as the captain looked with ill-concealed anxiety into the faceof his friend and subaltern, he noted its pallor, despite the expressionof stern determination. Had there been time he would covertly havewarned three or four "stalwarts" of the first platoon not to lose sightof their lieutenant, and to hold themselves close in support, but therewas no time. Indeed, as the sequel proved, there was no need. Soldierstories fly fast among the rank and file, and the men of "C" Troop hadheard from many a source how the young officer on his first campaign haddenied himself, stinted himself, starved himself, nearly, in order toshare his scant supply of food with the weak and suffering in his owntroop, and so they welcomed his presence with them now when the columnmarched from the cantonment, and spoke among themselves their admirationof the pluck of the young officer in being so soon again on duty.

  "LOOK OUT! DON'T HARM THE WOMEN."

  Page 431.]

  And so it happened that as the pace quickened that stirring June morningand the long line swept down upon the rousing, shrieking village, andthe first shot came singing over their heads and the wild cheer leapedto their lips as the trumpet sounded charge, while many troopers soughttheir own course through and among the fire-spitting lodges, SergeantGrant with Donovan and two others drove their horses close at the heelsof the lieutenant's. Only squaws or children appeared among the tepeesas they dashed furiously in. "Look out! Don't harm the women!" theyheard him cry, as he held his own pistol hand well aloft, but in anothersecond a scowling, painted faced flashed one brief instant into view astheir leader went lunging by, a shot rang on the air, and flame andsmoke jetted from the lodge opening. Three pistols barked in answer andDavies galloped on unhurt, but poor Donovan, with an Irish howl, droppedhis revolver, clapped his hands to his stomach as he toppled out ofsaddle. "My God, fellers, I've got it," was his moan, as Davies, asuperb rider, quickly turned his horse about, and in the twinkling of aneye leaped to the ground to the trooper's side.

  "Quick, sergeant. Quick, men, help me lift him on my saddle, I'm tooweak," was his almost breathless order, and gallantly did they answerhim.

  "Are ye badly hit, Jimmy?" gasped an honest Irish lad, as he strove toraise him from the ground. But deathly pallor and staring, sightlesseyes were the sole reply. "My God, lieutenant, he's killed outright.There's no use staying," cried another trooper. "Mount, sir, mount forGod's sake! They'll be on us in a minute." But tugging still at the limpand lifeless form, Davies did not seem to hear. The fierce clamor of thecharge was receding. Already the second and third platoons had clearedthe village and were reining about and rallying on the flats up-stream.Already the pony herds, driven full tilt by Canker's squadron, were outof sight in the dense dust-cloud and could be heard thundering up thevalley. Only a portion of Truman's troop could be dimly seen through thesettling dust, but, worst of all, the warriors recovering from theirpanic came rushing from their lodges, and in a moment all would be overwith the struggling little group of blue-coats. Fortunately, they wereat the western skirt of the village, and almost all the rallying braveswere running, rifle in hand, down to the southern edge, the direction ofthe chase. Some few, springing upon the scattered ponies left among thetepees, rode furiously away into the dust-cloud in the hope ofrecapturing some of their stampeded stock, and so it happened that,except for some shrieking women, only one or two Indians appeared awareof the little knot of troopers still in their midst, but that was morethan enough. Davies's horse, pierced by a rifle bullet, went rolling inagony upon the ground just as a devoted Irishman was trying to bolsterthe almost exhausted officer into saddle, and, luckily for him, Davieswas borne to earth out of the way of the shots that came driving at themfrom the surrounding lodges. "Save yourselves," he faintly called to theremaining men. Already Grant had darted away for help, receiving hisdeath wound as he rode. Then down came another horse, while Donovan's,snorting, tore away among the tepees, and then there was help for it.The little Irishman, Carney, bending low, strove to drag his prostrateleader, stunned by a kick from his dying horse, around behind thenearest lodge, when he, too, was sent blindly stumbling forward andsprawling in the dust, shot through and through from an unseen rifle notten feet away, and the gallant fellow never heard the furious cheer withwhich "C" Troop came charging back to the rescue.

  It is one thing to dash into an Indian village; it is another to get outof it. Wounded or unhorsed, any men left behind are doomed to cruel andcertain death. Within another minute, Cranston and his men came tearingin, firing right and left at every dusky form that appeared. Within aminute the prostrate bodies were found, and half a dozen men, Brannanamong them, had sprung from their saddles, while the others rodeblazing with their revolvers at the nearest lodges, some bringing theircarbines into play. But even within that minute the scalping-knife hadbeen at work, and poor Donovan's mutilated head lay in a pool of blood.Short-lived triumph for the scalper, sneaking to shelter with hishideous prize, for Cranston's pistol stretched him in his tracks, andSergeant Buckner's big charger knocked the foremost of the rescuingwarriors scrambling back between the lodges, where other troopers drovetheir horses trampling them under foot. But every wigwam had itsgarrison. The village swarmed with maddened braves, who now came rushingto the scene, and, they on foot and the troopers in saddle, they withtheir repeating rifles, the troopers with their pistols orsingle-shooters, annihilation of the latter could be but a question of afew moments. Even before Davies and his brave defenders could be liftedto the saddle and led away, two or three more of Cranston's horses wentdown, and Corporal Bertram was shot through both thighs. Then came theeffort to retire fighting, covering their dead and wounded. There wasonly one way to go,--out across the westward flat, where the ponies werepeacefully grazing when the attacking column hove in sight. Even as heshouted his orders to his savagely fighting troop, Cranston looked backwith keen anxiety. To what pitiless fire must they be exposed inretreating over that prairie! Yet, with Indians on every hand within thevillage, it was manifestly his duty to get out. "Go on with thewounded!" he cried to the men afoot. "Go on! We'll cover you." And thenDavies slowly opened his eyes and began to look feebly about him. Oh,if Truman would only come! Every second the fight waged fiercer, hotter,and more men dropped as they backed slowly away. Down went Buckner'shorse. Down went the guidon, and then, when it seemed as though half thetroop must fall before they could reach the open field, thehalf-frenzied, half-joyous cheer of Truman's men rose shrill above theclamor, and again the dancing, howling Indians dove for cover underneaththe tepees as "F" Troop came thundering through.

  "By the Lord, but that's the hottest place I ever struck!" criedSergeant Buckner a moment later, as, slowly falling back now, most ofthe men fighting on foot, with the led horses and the disabled soldierswell beyond them, "C" Troop was making its way southwestward towards theclump of Cottonwoods and willows, close along the stream. Truman's men,after their spirited and successful charge, were now rallying well tothe north of the village beyond the ridge, where for the time being theywere safe from the Indian fire. But once more now the warriors in thevillage were swarming along its western limit and, flat on theirbellies, firing vengefully on Cranston's retiring line, now threehundred yards away, and every moment some horse would rear and plunge,stung by the hissing lead, but only one more soldier had been hit.Davies, faint and dizzy and only semi-conscious still, was riding slowlyaway with Brannan's supporting arm about him. The bodies of Carney andDonovan were thrown across led horses and lashed on with lariats, andCranston had
just sent a corporal to tell the horse-holders to move morequickly when, up the slopes to the north, the men caught sight of ahorse and rider darting toward them from the distant ridge over whichTruman's men had disappeared. Straight as an arrow's flight they came,heedless of the fact that their course was along the western edge of theIndian village and barely two hundred yards away. "My God, fellers, it'slittle Millikin!" cried an excited trooper. "Ride wide, you youngidiot!" yelled another, but all to no purpose. The boy trumpeter who hadborne the message to Truman and charged with him through the village wasnow on his homing flight to rejoin his own. Vengeful yells andwar-whoops rang from the village as warrior after warrior caught sightof him and blazed away. Throwing himself out of saddle, Indian fashion,and clinging like a monkey to the off side, the young dare-devil drovestraight onward, the bullets nipping the bunch grass and kicking up thedust under his racer's flying feet, yet mercifully whizzing by him.Running the gauntlet of more than half the length of the village, thelittle rascal darted, grinning, through the cheering skirmish line, andtumbled to his feet before his beloved chief.

  "Captain Truman's compliments, sir, and he'll rejoin you at the timber,"was his message, delivered while his quivering horse stood flicking hislong tail at a red seam in his silky coat where one bullet at least hadscored its way, and Cranston bade him take his horse--and no more suchfool chances--and get under cover straightway.

  But now in falling back the skirmish line had made an irregular halfwheel to the southward with a flying pivot toward the village, and theIndians were darting or crawling out south of the tepees so as to getan enfilading fire on the line. Cranston's quick eyes saw the danger andwarned his right skirmishers. "Back there! Fall back, you men! Run forit!" he shouted; and to the jeering rage of the Indians the run began,the men halting and refacing the village as soon as beyond danger offlank fire, and then came still another excitement. Even while fallingsteadily back, with wary eyes on the smoking lodge lines, the men at theright became suddenly aware of a rush of several Indians to the pointwhere the troop had re-formed after its initial charge. "They're makingfor the timber," was the first cry, for a few scattered, stunted treesgrew along the low ridge. Then came a yell from the rear, from thesergeant in charge of the led horses.

  "It's one of our men lying there wounded. For God's sake save him!" andthat was enough. Every carbine along the line was brought to bear on thestooping, crouching, scurrying warriors who had ventured so far out fromthe sheltering tepees. Obedient to Davies's order, Brannan and two orthree men in saddle left the wounded to take care of themselves, andspurred headlong across the prairie to the scene, and Cranston, catchingsight of the affair at the same instant, waved his cap in eager signal,while his voice, now hoarse and choked, could hardly be heard in theorder "By the right flank." Truman's column of fours, reappearing at theinstant at the north, but well to the westward of the village, could notimagine what that distant manoeuvre meant, but it was no time to askquestions. "Gallop" was the order, and down they came. And so ithappened that barely twenty minutes after the first shot was fired thecomrade troops of the Eleventh were once more united, and, facing nearlynorth, were in furious fight with an overwhelming force of Indians,while Chrome, turning deaf ear to Sanders's supplications, was vainlystriving to round up a galloping herd of several hundred ponies fullthree miles away. Picking up the body of Sergeant Grant, saved fromscalping and mutilation by the dash of Brannan and his squad, "C" Troopwas once more wearily retiring toward the timber along the Wakon, andTruman deploying his dismounted skirmishers to their relief.

  And then, as the horses were huddled at last under the bank, and thewounded were tenderly lowered to the shade of the willows, and the dead,with soldier reverence, laid, blanket covered, under a spreading tree,the captains met to compare notes and sum up the losses. Grave indeedwere their faces, for two of the best sergeants were killed as well asfive veteran troopers, and nearly a dozen were more or less severelywounded. Davies, unscarred by bullet, lay faint from loss of blood, anddizzy and dazed from the blow from his horse's hoof. The knife wound,Red Dog's treacherous work, had reopened as a result of his violentthrow to earth, and there was no surgeon nearer than Chrome's battalion,now out of sight far up the Ska. "Thank God! they've got few poniesleft," said Cranston, fervently. "We can hold them here until helpcomes."

  And help was coming, hard and fast,--harder and faster than Cranstondreamed, but not to them. Within the next quarter hour, greeted byfrantic acclamations from the hostile village, there rode into view onthe opposite bluff, and came shouting their war-song, brandishingfeathered lance or gleaming rifle, more than a hundred redwarriors,--Ogallallas, Brules, Minneconjous all, with Red Dog himself,escaped from durance at the agency, madly revelling in their midst.