by Charles King
CHAPTER III.
DANGER IN THE AIR.
When the head of the cavalry column reached the bridge over Lodge PoleCreek a march of about twenty-five miles had been made, which is anaverage day's journey for cavalry troops when nothing urgent hastenstheir movements.
Filing to the right, the horsemen moved down the north bank of therapidly-running stream, and as soon as the rearmost troop was clear ofthe road and beyond reach of its dust, the trumpets sounded "halt" and"dismount," and in five minutes the horses, unsaddled, were rolling onthe springy turf, and then were driven out in herds, each company's byitself, to graze during the afternoon along the slopes. Each herd waswatched and guarded by half a dozen armed troopers, and such horses aswere notorious "stampeders" were securely "side-lined" or hobbled.
Along the stream little white tents were pitched as the wagons rolled inand were unloaded; and then the braying mules, rolling and kicking intheir enjoyment of freedom from harness, were driven out and disposedupon the slopes at a safe distance from the horses. The smokes of littlefires began to float into the air, and the jingle of spoon andcoffee-pot and "spider" and skillet told that the cooks were busygetting dinner for the hungry campaigners.
Such appetites as those long-day marches give! Such delight in life andmotion one feels as he drinks in that rare, keen mountain air! Some ofthe soldiers--old plainsmen--are already prone upon the turf, theirheads pillowed on their saddles, their slouch hats pulled down overtheir eyes, snatching half an hour's dreamless sleep before the cooksshall summon them to dinner.
One officer from each company is still in saddle, riding around thehorses of his own troop to see that the grass is well chosen and thathis guards are properly posted and on the alert. Over at the road therestands a sort of frontier tavern and stage station, at which is atelegraph office, and the colonel has been sending despatches toDepartment Head-Quarters to announce the safe arrival of his command atLodge Pole _en route_ for Fort Laramie. Now he is talking with Ralph.
"It isn't that, my boy. I do not suppose there is an Indian anywherenear the Chugwater; but if your father thought it best that you shouldwait and start with us, I think it was his desire that you should keepin the protection of the column all the way. Don't you?"
"Yes, sir, I do. The only question now is, will he not come or sendforward to the Chug to meet me, and could I not be with mother two daysearlier that way? Besides, Farron is determined to go ahead as soon ashe has had dinner, and--I don't like to think of little Jessie being upthere at the Chug just now. Would you mind my telegraphing to father atLaramie and asking him?"
"No, indeed, Ralph. Do so."
And so a despatch was sent to Laramie, and in the course of an hour,just as they had enjoyed a comfortable dinner, there came the reply,--
"All right. Come ahead to Phillips's Ranch. Party will meet you there ateight in the morning. They stop at Eagle's Nest to-night."
Ralph's eyes danced as he showed this to the colonel who read it gravelyand replied,--
"It is all safe, I fancy, or your father would not say so. They havepatrols all along the bank of the Platte to the southeast, and noIndians can cross without its being discovered in a few hours. I supposethey never come across between Laramie and Fetterman, do they, Ralph?"
"Certainly not of late years, colonel. It is so far off their line tothe reservations where they have to run for safety after theirdepredations."
"I know that; but now that all but two troops of cavalry have gone upwith General Crook they might be emboldened to try a wider sweep. That'sall I'm afraid of."
"Even if the Indians came, colonel, they've got those ranch buildings soloop-holed and fortified at Phillips's that we could stand them off aweek if need be, and you would reach there by noon at latest."
"Yes. We make an early start to-morrow morning, and 'twill be justanother twenty-five miles to our camp on the Chug. If all is well youwill be nearly to Eagle's Nest by the time we get to Phillips's, and youwill be at Laramie before the sunset-gun to-morrow. Well, give myregards to your father, Ralph, and keep your eye open for the mainchance. We cavalry people want you for our representative at West Point,you know."
"Thank you for that, colonel," answered Ralph, with sparkling eyes. "Isha'n't forget it in many a day."
So it happened that late that afternoon, with Farron driving his load ofhousehold goods; with brown-haired little Jessie lying sound asleep withher head on his lap; with Sergeant Wells cantering easily alongside andRalph and Buford scouting a little distance ahead, the two-horse wagonrolled over the crest of the last divide and came just at sunset insight of the beautiful valley with the odd name of Chugwater.
Farther up the stream towards its sources among the pine-crested BlackHills, there were many places where the busy beavers had dammed itsflow. The Indians, bent on trapping these wary creatures, had listenedin the stillness of the solitudes to the battering of those wonderfultails upon the mud walls of their dams and forts, and had named thelittle river after its most marked characteristic, the constant "_chug,chug_" of those cricket-bat caudals.
On the west of the winding stream, in the smiling valley with tinypatches of verdure, lay the ranch with its out-buildings, corrals, andthe peacefully browsing stock around it, and little Jessie woke at herfather's joyous shout and pointed out her home to Ralph.
There where the trail wound away from the main road the wagon andhorsemen must separate, and Ralph reined close alongside and took Jessiein his arms and was hugged tight as he kissed her bonny face. Then heand the sergeant shook hands heartily with Farron, set spurs to theirhorses, and went loping down northeastward to the broader reaches of thevalley.
On their right, across the lowlands, ran the long ridge ending in anabrupt precipice, that was the scene of the great buffalo-killing by theIndians many a long year ago. Straight ahead were the stage station, theforage sheds, and the half dozen buildings of Phillips's. All was asplacid and peaceful in the soft evening light as if no hostile Indianhad ever existed.
Yet there were to be seen signs of preparation for Indian attack. Theherder whom the travellers met two miles south of the station washeavily armed and his mate was only short rifle-shot away. The men wavedtheir hats to Ralph and his soldier comrade, and one of them called out,"Whar'd ye leave the cavalry?" and seemed disappointed to hear they wereas far back as Lodge Pole.
At the station, they found the ranchmen prepared for their coming andglad to see them. Captain McCrea had telegraphed twice during theafternoon and seemed anxious to know of their arrival.
"He's in the office at Laramie now," said the telegraph agent, with asmile, "and I wired him the moment we sighted you coming down the hill.Come in and send him a few words. It will please him more than anythingI can say."
So Ralph stepped into the little room with its solitary instrument andlonely operator. In those days there was little use for the line exceptfor the conducting of purely military business, and the agents oroperators were all soldiers detailed for the purpose. Here at "The Chug"the instrument rested on a little table by the loop-hole of a window inthe side of the log hut. Opposite it was the soldier's narrow camp-bedwith its brown army blankets and with his heavy overcoat thrown over thefoot. Close at hand stood his Springfield rifle, with the belt ofcartridges, and over the table hung two Colt's revolvers.
All through the rooms of the station the same war-like preparations werevisible, for several times during the spring and early summer warparties of Indians had come prowling up the valley, driving the herdersbefore them; but, having secured all the beef cattle they could handle,they had hurried back to the fords of the Platte and, except on one ortwo occasions, had committed no murders.
Well knowing the pluck of the little community at Phillips's, theIndians had not come within long rifle range of the ranch, but on thelast two visits the warriors seemed to have grown bolder. While most ofthe Indians were rounding up cattle and scurrying about in the valley,two miles below the ranch, it was noted that two warriors, on thei
rnimble ponies, had climbed the high ridge on the east that overlookedthe ranches in the valley beyond and above Phillips's, and wereevidently taking deliberate note of the entire situation.
One of the Indians was seen to point a long, bare arm, on which silverwristlets and bands flashed in the sun, at Farron's lonely ranch fourmiles up-stream.
That was more than the soldier telegrapher could bear patiently. He tookhis Springfield rifle out into the fields, and opened a long range fireon these adventurous redskins.
The Indians were a good mile away, but that honest "Long Tom" sent itsleaden missiles whistling about their ears, and kicking up the dustaround their ponies' heels, until, after a few defiant shouts and suchinsulting and contemptuous gestures as they could think of, the two hadducked suddenly out of sight behind the bluffs.
All this the ranch people told Ralph and the sergeant, as they wereenjoying a hot supper after the fifty-mile ride of the day. Afterwardsthe two travellers went out into the corral to see that their horseswere secure for the night.
Buford looked up with eager whinny at Ralph's footstep, pricked hispretty ears, and looked as full of life and spirit as if he had neverhad a hard day's gallop in his life. Sergeant Wells had given him acareful rubbing down while Ralph was at the telegraph office, andlater, when the horses were thoroughly cool, they were watered at therunning stream and given a hearty feed of oats.
Phillips came out to lock up his stable while they were petting Buford,and stood there a moment admiring the pretty fellow.
"With your weight I think he could make a race against any horse in thecavalry, couldn't he, Mr. Ralph?" he asked.
"I'm not quite sure, Phillips; the colonel of the Fifth Cavalry has ahorse that I might not care to race. He was being led along behind thehead-quarters escort to-day. Barring that horse Van, I would ride Bufordagainst any horse I've ever seen in the service for any distance from aquarter of a mile to a day's march."
"But those Indian ponies, Mr. Ralph, couldn't they beat him?"
"Over rough ground--up hill and down dale--I suppose some of them could.I saw their races up at Red Cloud last year, and old Spotted Tailbrought over a couple of ponies from Camp Sheridan that ran like astreak, and there was a Minneconjou chief there who had a very fastpony. Some of the young Ogallallas had quick, active beasts, but, takethem on a straight-away run, I wouldn't be afraid to try my luck withBuford against the best of them."
"Well, I hope you'll never have to ride for your life on him. He'spretty and sound and fast, but those Indians have such wind and bottom;they never seem to give out."
A little later--at about half after eight o'clock--Sergeant Wells, thetelegraph operator, and one or two of the ranchmen sat tilted back intheir rough chairs on the front porch of the station enjoying theirpipes. Ralph had begun to feel a little sleepy, and was ready to turn inwhen he was attracted by the conversation between the two soldiers; theoperator was speaking, and the seriousness of his tone caused the boy tolisten.
"It isn't that we have any particular cause to worry just here. With oursix or seven men we could easily stand off the Indians until help came,but it's Farron and little Jessie I'm thinking of. He and his two menwould have no show whatever in case of a sudden and determined attack.They have not been harmed so far, because the Indians always crossedbelow Laramie and came up to the Chug, and so there was timely warning.Now, they have seen Farron's place up there all by itself. They caneasily find out, by hanging around the traders at Red Cloud, who livesthere, how many men he has, and about Jessie. Next to surprising andkilling a white man in cold blood, those fellows like nothing betterthan carrying off a white child and concealing it among them. Thegypsies have the same trait. Now, they know that so long as they crossbelow Laramie the scouts are almost sure to discover it in an hour ortwo, and as soon as they strike the Chug Valley some herders cometumbling in here and give the alarm. They have come over regularly everymoon, since General Crook went up in February, _until now_."
The operator went on impressively:
"The moon's almost on the wane, and they haven't shown up yet. Now, whatworries me is just this. Suppose they _should_ push out westward fromthe reservation, cross the Platte somewhere about Bull Bend or evennearer Laramie, and come down the Chug from the north. Who is to giveFarron warning?"
"They're bound to hear it at Laramie and telegraph you at once,"suggested one of the ranchmen.
"Not necessarily. The river isn't picketed between Fetterman andLaramie, simply because the Indians have always tried the lowercrossings. The stages go through three times a week, and there arefrequent couriers and trains, but they don't keep a lookout for ponytracks. The chances are that their crossing would not be discovered fortwenty-four hours or so, and as to the news being wired to us here,those reds would never give us a chance. The first news we got of theirdeviltry would be that they had cut the line ten or twelve miles thisside of Laramie as they came sweeping down.
"I tell you, boys," continued the operator, half rising from his chairin his earnestness, "I hate to think of little Jessie up there to-night.I go in every few minutes and call up Laramie or Fetterman just to feelthat all is safe, and stir up Lodge Pole, behind us, to realize thatwe've got the Fifth Cavalry only twenty-five miles away; but the Indianshaven't missed a moon yet, and there's only one more night of this."
Even as his hearers sat in silence, thinking over the soldier's words,there came from the little cabin the sharp and sudden clicking of thetelegraph. "It's my call," exclaimed the operator, as he sprang to hisfeet and ran to his desk.
Ralph and Sergeant Wells were close at his heels; he had clicked hisanswering signal, seized a pencil, and was rapidly taking down amessage. They saw his eyes dilate and his lips quiver with suppressedexcitement. Once, indeed, he made an impulsive reach with his hand, asif to touch the key and shut off the message and interpose some idea ofhis own, but discipline prevailed.
"It's for you," he said, briefly, nodding up to Ralph, while he went onto copy the message.
It was a time of anxious suspense in the little office. The sergeantpaced silently to and fro with unusual erectness of bearing and afirmly-compressed lip. His appearance and attitude were that of thesoldier who has divined approaching danger and who awaits the order foraction. Ralph, who could hardly control his impatience, stood watchingthe rapid fingers of the operator as they traced out a message which wasevidently of deep moment.
At last the transcript was finished, and the operator handed it to theboy. Ralph's hand was trembling with excitement as he took the paper andcarried it close to the light. It read as follows:
"RALPH MCCREA, Chugwater Station:
"Black Hills stage reports having crossed trail of large war party going west, this side of Rawhide Butte. My troop ordered at once in pursuit. Wait for Fifth Cavalry.
"GORDON MCCREA."
"Going west, this side of Rawhide Butte," said Ralph, as calmly as hecould. "That means that they are twenty miles north of Laramie, and onthe other side of the Platte."
"It means that they knew what they were doing when they crossed justbehind the last stage so as to give no warning, and that their trail wasnearly two days old when seen by the down stage this afternoon. It meansthat they crossed the stage road, Ralph, but how long ago was that, doyou think, and where are they now? It is my belief that they crossed thePlatte above Laramie last night or early this morning, and will be downon us to-night."
"Wire that to Laramie, then, at once," said Ralph. "It may not be toolate to turn the troop this way."
"I can only say what I think to my fellow-operator there, and can't evendo that now; the commanding officer is sending despatches to Omaha, andasking that the Fifth Cavalry be ordered to send forward a troop or twoto guard the Chug. But there's no one at the head-quarters this time o'night. Besides, if we volunteer any suggestions, they will say we werestampeded down here by a band of Indians that didn't come withinseventy-five miles of u
s."
"Well, father won't misunderstand me," said Ralph, "and I'm not afraidto ask him to think of what you say; wire it to him in my name."
There was a long interval, twenty minutes or so, before the operatorcould "get the line." When at last he succeeded in sending his despatch,he stopped short in the midst of it.
"It's no use, Ralph. Your father's troop was three miles away before hismessage was sent. There were reports from Red Cloud that made thecommanding officer believe there were some Cheyennes going up to attackcouriers or trains between Fetterman and the Big Horn. He is away northof the Platte."
Another few minutes of thoughtful silence, then Ralph turned to hissoldier friend,--
"Sergeant, I have to obey father's orders and stay here, but it's mybelief that Farron should be put on his guard at once. What say you?"
"If you agree, sir, I'll ride up and spend the night with him."
"Then go by all means. I know father would approve it."
