by Charles King
CHAPTER XX.
A day had dawned on the Big Horn never to be forgotten by those whowatched the conflict from the stockade, never to be recalled by thosewho went forth to fight. Broad daylight had come and the sun was peepingover the far horizon as strong arms bore the unconscious officer withinthe post, and the commander eagerly questioned the men who came withhim. Their story was quickly told. They had fled before overpoweringnumbers of the Sioux the night before, had made their way through thetimber in the darkness and come ahead all night, groping their way fromridge to ridge until at the peep of day they found themselves in sightof familiar landmarks, and could see the gleam of the waters of the Forkdancing away under the dawn. And then, as they essayed to ride on theyfound the Indians all around them. Whichever way they turned the foeappeared, but only in scattered parties and small numbers. Not once didmore than half a dozen appear in sight, and then confident of speedysuccor from the fort, they had decided to make a dash for it, and sorode boldly out into the open. But now a score of warriors popped up andbarred the way, while others far out at flank or rear kept up long rangefire. One man was shot through the body and fainted and had to be bornealong. Then the lieutenant was shot in the leg, but no one knew it untilthey saw his boot was running over with blood, and he was growingghastly white, even though he kept encouraging and directing. But whenat last the cavalry met them and brushed the Indians away from thefront, Captain Drum, who rode at their head, ordered Mr. Dean takenright into the post while he dashed on to punish the Sioux, "and he isgiving them hell, too," said the excited trooper, "for there couldn'thave been more than a hundred Indians all told."
Ah, not in sight, perhaps, poor lads!--not in sight of horse, foot orfort; for if there were only a hundred, how came it that the fire grewfiercer still, and that presently every musket in the infantry skirmishline, too, was blazing on the foe. By this time cavalry and infantryboth had disappeared over the curtaining ridge, and the colonel's facegrew grave and haggard as he listened. Three-fifths of his littlegarrison were out there battling against unknown numbers. They had goneto rescue the detachment and bring it safely in. That rescue wasaccomplished. The precious package for which so much had been risked washere--but what detained the command? Why did they not return? Beyonddoubt far more Indians were out there now than when first the firingbegan. "Gallop out, Mr. Adjutant, and tell the major to withdraw hisline and fall back on the stockade," was the order--and with a lump inhis throat the young officer mounted again and started. He was a pet inthe garrison, only in his second year of commission. They saw him gallopthrough the gate, saw him ride gallantly straight for the curtainingridge beyond which the smoke was rising heavily now, saw him breastingthe slope, his orderly following, saw him almost reach it, and thensuddenly the prairie seemed to jet fire. The foremost horse reared,plunged, and went rolling over and over. They saw--plainly saw throughtheir glasses, and a shriek of agony and horror went up from among thewomen at the sight--half a dozen painted savages spring out from behindthe ledge, some on pony back, some afoot, and bear down on the strickenform of the slender young rider now feebly striving to rise from theturf; saw the empty hand outstretched, imploring mercy; saw jabbinglances and brandished war-clubs pinning the helpless boy to earth andbeating in the bared, defenseless head; saw the orderly dragged fromunder his struggling horse and butchered by his leader's side; saw thebloody knives at work tearing away the hot red scalps, then ripping offthe blood-soaked clothing, and, to the music of savage shouts of gleeand triumph, hacking, hewing, mutilating the poor remains, reckless ofthe bullets that came buzzing along the turf from the score ofSpringfields turned loose at the instant among the loopholes of thestockade. It was eight hundred yards away in the dazzling light of therising sun. Old Springfields did not carry as do the modern arms.Soldiers of those days were not taught accurate shooting as they arenow. It was too far for anything but chance, and all within a minute ortwo the direful tragedy was over, and the red warriors had darted backbehind the ridge from which they came.
"My God! sir," gasped the officer who stood at the side of theawe-stricken post commander, "I believe it's Red Cloud's entire band,and they've got our poor boys surrounded! Can't we send help?"
"Send help! Merciful heaven, man, who's to help us? Who's to protectthese poor women and children if we go? I have but two companies left.It's what those fiends are hoping--have been planning--that I'll sendout my last man to the aid of those already gone, and then they'll dartin on the fort, and what will become of these?"
Great drops of sweat were pouring down the colonel's face as he turnedand pointed to the huts where now, clinging to one another in terror,many poor wives and children were gathered, and the air was filled withthe sobbing of the little ones. Up from the stockade came two youngofficers, their faces set and rigid, their eyes blazing. "In God's name,colonel," cried the foremost, "let me take my men and clear that ridgeso that our people can get back. One charge will do it, sir."
But solemnly the commander uplifted his hand. "Listen," said he, "thebattle is receding. They are driving our poor fellows southward, awayfrom us. They are massed between them and us. It would only be playinginto their hands, my boy. It's too late to help. Our duty now is here."
"But good God, sir! I can't stay without raising a hand to help. Ibeg--I implore!"
"Go back to your post at once, sir. You may be needed any minute. Lookthere! Now!"
And as he spoke the colonel pointed to the southeast. Over the scenebeyond the divide to the south hung the bank of pale-blue smoke. Out onthe slope lay the ghastly remains of the young adjutant and his faithfulcomrade who, not ten minutes before, had galloped forth in obedience totheir orders and met their soldier fate. Out to the southeast the ridgefell gradually away into the general level of the rolling prairie, andthere, full a thousand yards distant, there suddenly darted into viewthree horsemen, troopers evidently, spurring madly for home.
"They've cut their way through! Thank God!" almost screamed thespectators at the parapet. But their exultation died an instant later.Over the ridge, in swift pursuit came a dozen painted, feathered braves,their ponies racing at lightning speed, their arrows and bulletswhizzing along the line of flight. The horse of the foremost trooper wasstaggering, and suddenly went plunging headlong, sending his ridersprawling far out on the turf. He was up in a second, dire peril nervinghim to desperate effort. His comrades veered at his cry for help andglanced back over their shoulders. One, unnerved at sight of the dashingfoemen in pursuit, clapped spurs again, and bending low, rode madly on.The other, gallant fellow! reined about in wide, sweeping circle, andturned back to meet his running comrade. They saw him bend to lend ahelping hand, saw him bend still lower as three of the Indians leapedfrom their ponies and, kneeling, loosed their rifles all at once; sawhim topple out of saddle, and his stricken horse, with flapping rein,trot aimlessly about a moment before he, too, went floundering in histracks; saw the other soldier turn to face his fate by his dyingcomrade's side, fighting to the last, overwhelmed and borne down by therush of red warriors. Strong men turned aside in agony, unable to lookon and see the rest--the brutal, pitiless clubbing and stabbing, thefearful hacking of lance and knife--but others still, in the fascinationof horror, gazed helplessly through the smoke drifting upward from theblazing loopholes, and once a feeble cheer broke forth as one shot tookeffect and a yelling Indian stretched out dead upon the sward. Then fora brief moment all eyes centered on the sole survivor who came sweepingdown the slope, straight for the stockade. Almost it seemed as though hemight yet escape, despite the fact that his horse, too, was lurching andstumbling and his pursuers were gaining rapidly, defiant of the fire ofthe little fort. Reckless of order and discipline, a dozen soldiersnearest the gate rushed out upon the open bench, shouting encouragementand sending long range, chance shots. But with every stride the fleeingsteed grew weaker, stumbled painfully and slackened speed, and soon theysaw him slowing down despite the frantic jabbing of the spurs, and withdrooped head and bleeding nostrils givin
g up the fight. And then, atsound of the triumphant yells and jeers of his pursuers, the poor wretchin saddle threw one fearful glance behind him, one despairing looktoward the comrades and the refuge still a quarter of a mile away, andwith shaking hand he turned the brown revolver on his own temple andpulled trigger, and then went tumbling earthward, a corpse. There atleast was one scalp the Sioux could covet in vain, for with shouts ofvengeance, the little squad of infantry, deaf to all orders or theclamor of the bugle recall, dashed out over the level bench, firingfuriously as they ran, and, whether from the superstitious awe withwhich the Indians view the suicide, or the dread of close combat withthe gallant band of blue-coats, the mounted warriors turned and scurriedaway across the prairie, and were presently out of range beyond theridge again. Then, and not till they had reached and lifted and bornethe lifeless form of the trooper, did the little party condescend toanswer the repeated summons from the fort. Then at last they slowlyreturned, unrebuked, for no man had the heart to chide their daring.
Only once more was there further sight of the one-sided battle. Half amile or more beyond the bare divide there rose against the southern skya bold, oblong height or butte, studded with bowlders and stunted pine,and watchers at the fort became aware as the sun climbed higher that thesmoke cloud, thinning gradually but perceptibly, was slowly driftingthither. The fire, too, grew faint and scattering. The war-whoops rangand re-echoed among the rocks, but all sound of cheering had long sincedied away. At last, an hour after the fury of the fight began, thecolonel, gazing in speechless grief, through his field-glass, mutteredto the officer at his side:
"Some of them are still left. They are fighting for their lives alongthat butte."
Only a few, though. One by one the dark dots among the bowlders ceasedto stir and move about. Little by little the fire slackened, and all butoccasional scattered shots died utterly away. Then other forms,feathered and bedizened, were seen rushing in numbers up the distanthillside, and that meant all was over, and the brutal knives were busilyat work. Little by little all sound of conflict, all sight ofcombatants, disappeared entirely, and the unclouded sunshine streameddown upon a scene on which the silence of death indeed had fallen. Whenat last, late that afternoon, the watchers reported a vast body ofIndians drifting away eastward toward the distant Powder River, andventuresome scouts stole out to reconnoiter, backed by skirmish linesfrom the stricken post, they found the grassy slopes beyond thatcurtaining ridge one broad field of death, strewn with the stripped andhacked and mangled forms of those who had so gallantly dashed forth tothe aid of comrade soldiery at the break of day, so torn and mutilatedand disfigured that only a limited few were ever identified. Officersand men, one after another, had died in their tracks, victims of RedCloud and the Ogallalla Sioux.
And all for what? Late that night the quartermaster in wild agitationsought his colonel's door, a package in his hands. "For God's sake, sir,look at this!" he cried.
The cords had just been cut, the seals just broken, the stout papercarefully opened and the contents of the precious packet exposed toview. It held no money at all, nothing but layer on layer of waste andworthless paper!
