Crooked Trails

by Frederic Remington

  A SERGEANT OF THE ORPHAN TROOP

  WHILE it is undisputed that Captain Dodd's troop of the Third Cavalry isnot an orphan, and is, moreover, quite as far from it as any troop ofcavalry in the world, all this occurred many years ago, when it was, atany rate, so called. There was nothing so very unfortunate about it,from what I can gather, since it seems to have fought well on its ownhook, quite up to all expectations, if not beyond. No officer at thattime seemed to care to connect his name with such a rioting,nose-breaking band of desperado cavalrymen, unless it was temporarily,and that was always in the field, and never in garrison. However, inthis case it did not have even an officer in the field. But let me go onto my sergeant.

  This one was a Southern gentleman, or rather a boy, when he refugeed outof Fredericksburg with his family, before the Federal advance, in awagon belonging to a Mississippi rifle regiment; but nevertheless someyears later he got to be a gentleman, and passed through the VirginiaMilitary Institute with honor. The desire to be a soldier consumed him,but the vicissitudes of the times compelled him, if he wanted to be asoldier, to be a private one, which he became by duly enlisting in theThird Cavalry. He struck the Orphan Troop.

  Physically, Nature had slobbered all over Carter Johnson; she hadlavished on him her very last charm. His skin was pink, albeit the yearsof Arizona sun had heightened it to a dangerous red; his mustache wasyellow and ideally military; while his pure Virginia accent, fired interse and jerky form at friend and enemy alike, relieved his naturalforce of character by a shade of humor. He was thumped and bucked andpounded into what was in the seventies considered a proper frontiersoldier, for in those days the nursery idea had not been lugged into thearmy. If a sergeant bade a soldier "go" or "do," he instantly "went" or"did"--otherwise the sergeant belted him over the head with hissix-shooter, and had him taken off in a cart. On pay-days, too, when menwho did not care to get drunk went to bed in barracks, they slept undertheir bunks and not in them, which was conducive to longevity and a goodnight's rest. When buffalo were scarce they ate the army rations inthose wild days; they had a fight often enough to earn thirteen dollars,and at times a good deal more. This was the way with all men at thattime, but it was rough on recruits.

  So my friend Carter Johnson wore through some years, rose to be acorporal, finally a sergeant, and did many daring deeds. An atavism from"the old border riders" of Scotland shone through the boy, and he tookon quickly. He could act the others off the stage and sing them out ofthe theatre in his chosen profession.

  There was fighting all day long around Fort Robinson, Nebraska--abushwhacking with Dull-Knife's band of the Northern Cheyennes, theSpartans of the plains. It was January; the snow lay deep on the ground,and the cold was knife-like as it thrust at the fingers and toes of theOrphan Troop. Sergeant Johnson with a squad of twenty men, after havingbeen in the saddle all night, was in at the post drawing rations for thetroop. As they were packing them up for transport, a detachment of FTroop came galloping by, led by the sergeant's friend, CorporalThornton. They pulled up.

  "Come on, Carter--go with us. I have just heard that some troops havegot a bunch of Injuns corralled out in the hills. They can't get 'emdown. Let's go help 'em. It's a chance for the fight of your life. Comeon."

  Carter hesitated for a moment. He had drawn the rations for his troop,which was in sore need of them. It might mean a court-martial and theloss of his chevrons--but a fight! Carter struck his spurred heels,saying, "Come on, boys; get your horses; we will go."

  The line of cavalry was half lost in the flying snow as it cantered awayover the white flats. The dry powder crunched under the thudding hoofs,the carbines banged about, the overcoat capes blew and twisted in therushing air, the horses grunted and threw up their heads as the spurswent into their bellies, while the men's faces were serious with theinterest in store. Mile after mile rushed the little column, until itcame to some bluffs, where it drew reign and stood gazing across thevalley to the other hills.

  Down in the bottoms they espied an officer and two men sitting quietlyon their horses, and on riding up found a lieutenant gazing at theopposite bluffs through a glass. Far away behind the bluffs a sharp earcould detect the reports of guns.

  "We have been fighting the Indians all day here," said the officer,putting down his glass and turning to the two "non-coms." "The commandhas gone around the bluffs. I have just seen Indians up there on therim-rocks. I have sent for troops, in the hope that we might get upthere. Sergeant, deploy as skirmishers, and we will try."

  12 MILE AFTER MILE RUSHED THE LITTLE COLUMN]

  At a gallop the men fanned out, then forward at a sharp trot across theflats, over the little hills, and into the scrub pine. The valleygradually narrowed until it forced the skirmishers into a solid body,when the lieutenant took the lead, with the command tailing out insingle file. The signs of the Indians grew thicker and thicker--askirmisher's nest here behind a scrub-pine bush, and there by the sideof a rock. Kettles and robes lay about in the snow, with three "bucks"and some women and children sprawling about, frozen as they had died;but all was silent except the crunch of the snow and the low whispers ofthe men as they pointed to the telltales of the morning's battle.

  As the column approached the precipitous rim-rock the officer halted,had the horses assembled in a side canon, putting Corporal Thornton incharge. He ordered Sergeant Johnson to again advance his skirmish-line,in which formation the men moved forward, taking cover behind the pinescrub and rocks, until they came to an open space of about sixty paces,while above it towered the cliff for twenty feet in the sheer. There theIndians had been last seen. The soldiers lay tight in the snow, and noman's valor impelled him on. To the casual glance the rim-rock wasimpassable. The men were discouraged and the officer nonplussed. Ahundred rifles might be covering the rock fort for all they knew. Oncloser examination a cutting was found in the face of the rock which wasa rude attempt at steps, doubtless made long ago by the Indians. Caughton a bush above, hanging down the steps, was a lariat, which, at thebottom, was twisted around the shoulders of a dead warrior. They hadevidently tried to take him up while wounded, but he had died and hadbeen abandoned.

  After cogitating, the officer concluded not to order his men forward,but he himself stepped boldly out into the open and climbed up. SergeantJohnson immediately followed, while an old Swedish soldier by the nameof Otto Bordeson fell in behind them. They walked briskly up the hill,and placing their backs against the wall of rock, stood gazing at theIndian.

  With a grin the officer directed the men to advance. The sergeant,seeing that he realized their serious predicament, said:

  "I think, lieutenant, you had better leave them where they are; we areholding this rock up pretty hard."

  13 THE HORSES ASSEMBLED IN A SIDE CANYON]

  They stood there and looked at each other. "We's in a fix," said Otto.

  "I want volunteers to climb this rock," finally demanded the officer.

  The sergeant looked up the steps, pulled at the lariat, and commented:"Only one man can go at a time; if there are Indians up there, an oldsquaw can kill this command with a hatchet; and if there are no Indians,we can all go up."

  The impatient officer started up, but the sergeant grabbed him by thebelt. He turned, saying, "If I haven't got men to go, I will climbmyself."

  "Stop, lieutenant. It wouldn't look right for the officer to go. I havenoticed a pine-tree, the branches of which spread over the top of therock," and the sergeant pointed to it. "If you will make the men coverthe top of the rim-rock with their rifles, Bordeson and I will go up;"and turning to the Swede, "Will you go, Otto?"

  "I will go anywhere the sergeant does," came his gallant reply.

  "Take your choice, then, of the steps or the pine-tree," continued theVirginian; and after a rather short but sharp calculation the Swededeclared for the tree, although both were death if the Indians were onthe rim-rock. He immediately began sidling along the rock to the tree,and slowly commenced the ascent. The sergeant took a few steps up thecu
tting, holding on by the rope. The officer stood out and smiledquizzically. Jeers came from behind the soldiers' bushes--"Go it, Otto!Go it, Johnson! Your feet are loaded! If a snow-bird flies, you willdrop dead! Do you need any help? You'd make a hell of a sailor!" andother gibes.

  The gray clouds stretched away monotonously over the waste of snow, andit was cold. The two men climbed slowly, anon stopping to look at eachother and smile. They were monkeying with death.

  At last the sergeant drew himself up, slowly raised his head, and sawsnow and broken rock. Otto lifted himself likewise, and he too sawnothing Rifle-shots came clearly to their ears from far in front--manyat one time, and scattering at others. Now the soldiers came brisklyforward, dragging up the cliff in single file. The dull noises of thefight came through the wilderness. The skirmish-line drew quicklyforward and passed into the pine woods, but the Indian trails scattered.Dividing into sets of four, they followed on the tracks of smallparties, wandering on until night threatened. At length the main trailof the fugitive band ran across their front, bringing the commandtogether. It was too late for the officer to get his horses before dark,nor could he follow with his exhausted men, so he turned to the sergeantand asked him to pick some men and follow on the trail. The sergeantpicked Otto Borde-son, who still affirmed that he would go anywhere thatJohnson went, and they started. They were old hunting companions, havingconfidence in each other's sense and shooting. They ploughed through thesnow, deeper and deeper into the pines, then on down a canon where thelight was failing. The sergeant was sweating freely; he raised his handto press his fur cap backward from his forehead. He drew it quicklyaway; he stopped and started, caught Otto by the sleeve, and drew a longbreath. Still holding his companion, he put his glove again to his nose,sniffed at it again, and with a mighty tug brought the startled Swede tohis knees, whispering, "I smell Indians; I can sure smell 'em,Otto--can you?" Otto sniffed, and whispered back, "Yes, plain!" "We areambushed! Drop!" and the two soldiers sunk in the snow. A few feet infront of them lay a dark thing; crawling to it, they found a largecalico rag, covered with blood.

  14 THE TWO MEN CLIMBED SLOWLY]

  "Let's do something, Carter; we's in a fix." "If we go down, Otto, weare gone; if we go back, we are gone; let's go forward," hissed thesergeant.

  Slowly they crawled from tree to tree.

  "Don't you see the Injuns?" said the Swede, as he pointed to the rocksin front, where lay their dark forms. The still air gave no sound. Thecathedral of nature, with its dark pine trunks starting from gray snowto support gray sky, was dead. Only human hearts raged, for the formswhich held them lay like black bowlders.

  "Egah--lelah washatah," yelled the sergeant.

  Two rifle-shots rang and reverberated down the canon; two more repliedinstantly from the soldiers. One Indian sunk, and his carbine wentclanging down the rocks, burying itself in the snow. Another warriorrose slightly, took aim, but Johnson's six-shooter cracked again, andthe Indian settled slowly down without firing. A squaw moved slowly inthe half-light to where the buck lay. Bordeson drew a bead with hiscarbine.

  "Don't shoot the woman, Otto. Keep that hole covered; the place is alivewith Indians;" and both lay still.

  A buck rose quickly, looked at the sergeant, and dropped back. Thelatter could see that he had him located, for he slowly poked his rifleup without showing his head. Johnson rolled swiftly to one side, aimingwith his deadly revolver. Up popped the Indian's head, crack went thesix-shooter; the head turned slowly, leaving the top exposed. Crackagain went the alert gun of the soldier, the ball striking the head justbelow the scalp-lock and instantly jerking the body into a kneelingposition.

  Then all was quiet in the gloomy woods.

  After a time the sergeant addressed his voice to the lonely place inSioux, telling the women to come out and surrender--to leave the bucks,etc.

  An old squaw rose sharply to her feet, slapped her breast, shouted"Lelah washatah," and gathering up a little girl and a bundle, shestrode forward to the soldiers. Three other women followed, two of themin the same blanket.

  "Are there any more bucks?" roared the sergeant, in Sioux.

  "No more alive," said the old squaw, in the same tongue.

  "Keep your rifle on the hole between the rocks; watch these people; Iwill go up," directed the sergeant, as he slowly mounted to the ledge,and with levelled six-shooter peered slowly over. He stepped in andstood looking down on the dead warriors.

  A yelling in broken English smote the startled sergeant. "Tro up yourhands, you d---- Injun! I'll blow the top off you!" came through thequiet. The sergeant sprang down to see the Swede standing with carbinelevelled at a young buck confronting him with a drawn knife in hishands, while his blanket lay back on the snow.

  "He's a buck--he ain't no squaw; he tried to creep on me with a knife.I'm going to kill him," shouted the excited Bordeson.

  "No, no, don't kill him. Otto, don't you kill him," expostulatedJohnson, as the Swede's finger clutched nervously at the trigger, andturning, he roared, "Throw away that knife, you d------Indian!"

  The detachment now came charging in through the snow, and gatheredaround excitedly. A late arrival came up, breathing heavily, dropped hisgun, and springing up and down, yelled, "Be jabbers, I have got among omat last!" A general laugh went up, and the circle of men broke into astraggling line for the return. The sergeant took the little girl up inhis arms. She grabbed him fiercely by the throat like a wild-cat,screaming. While nearly choking, he yet tried to mollify her, while hermother, seeing no harm was intended, pacified her in the soft gutturalsof the race. She relaxed her grip, and the brave Virginian packed herdown the mountain, wrapped in his soldier cloak. The horses were reachedin time, and the prisoners put on double behind the soldiers, who fedthem crackers as they marched. At two o'clock in the morning the littlecommand rode into Fort Robinson and dismounted at the guardhouse. Thelittle girl, who was asleep and half frozen in Johnson's overcoat, wouldnot go to her mother: poor little cat, she had found a nest. Thesergeant took her into the guard-house, where it was warm. She soon fellasleep, and slowly he undid her, delivering her to her mother. On thefollowing morning he came early to the guard-house, loaded with triflesfor his little Indian girl. He had expended all his credit at thepost-trader's, but he could carry sentiment no further, for "To horse!"was sounding, and he joined the Orphan Troop to again ride on theDull-Knife trail. The brave Cheyennes were running through the frostyhills, and the cavalry horses pressed hotly after. For ten days thetroops surrounded the Indians by day, and stood guard in the snow bynight, but coming day found the ghostly warriors gone and theirrifle-pits empty. They were cut off and slaughtered daily, but thegallant warriors were fighting to their last nerve. Towards the end theywere cooped in a gully on War-Bon-natt Creek, where they fortified; buttwo six-pounders had been hauled out, and were turned on their works.The four troops of cavalry stood to horse on the plains all day, waitingfor the poor wretches to come out, while the guns roared, ploughing thefrozen dirt and snow over their little stronghold; but they did not comeout. It was known that all the provisions they had was the dead horse ofa corporal of E Troop, which had been shot within twenty paces of theirrifle-pits.

  15 BRAVE CHEYENNES RUNNING THROUGH THE FROSTY HILLS]

  So, too, the soldiers were starving, and the poor Orphans had onlycrackers to eat. They were freezing also, and murmuring to be led to"the charge," that they might end it there, but they were an orphantroop, and must wait for others to say. The sergeant even asked anofficer to let them go, but was peremptorily told to get back in theranks.

  The guns ceased at night, while the troops drew off to build fires, warmtheir rigid fingers, thaw out their buffalo moccasins, and munchcrackers, leaving a strong guard around the Cheyennes. In the nightthere was a shooting--the Indians had charged through and had gone.

  The day following they were again surrounded on some bluffs, and thebattle waged until night. Next day there was a weak fire from the Indianposition on the impregnable bluffs, and presently
it ceased entirely.The place was approached with care and trepidation, but was empty. TwoIndian boys, with their feet frozen, had been left as decoys, and afterstanding off four troops of cavalry for hours, they too had in somemysterious way departed.

  16 THROUGH THE SMOKE SPRANG THE DARING SOLDIER]

  But the pursuit was relentless; on, on over the rolling hills swept thefamishing troopers, and again the Spartan band turned at bay, firmlyintrenched on a bluff as before. This was the last stand--nature wasexhausted. The soldiers surrounded them, and Major Wessells turned thehandle of the human vise. The command gathered closer about the doomedpits--they crawled on their bellies from one stack of sage-brush to thenext. They were freezing. The order to charge came to the Orphan Troop,and yelling his command, Sergeant Johnson ran forward. Up from thesage-brush floundered the stiffened troopers, following on. They ranover three Indians, who lay sheltered in a little cut, and these killedthree soldiers together with an old frontier sergeant who wore longhair, but they were destroyed in turn. While the Orphans swarmed underthe hill, a rattling discharge poured from the rifle-pits; but the troophad gotten under the fire, and it all passed over their heads. On theypressed, their blood now quickened by excitement, crawling up the steep,while volley on volley poured over them. Within nine feet of the pitswas a rim-rock ledge over which the Indian bullets swept, and here thecharge was stopped. It now became a duel.

  Every time a head showed on either side, it drew fire like a flue-hole.Suddenly our Virginian sprang on the ledge, and like a trill on a pianopoured a six-shooter into the intrenchment, and dropped back.

  Major Wessells, who was commanding the whole force, crawled to theposition of the Orphan Troop, saying, "Doing fine work, boys. Sergeant,I would advise you to take off that red scarf "--when a bullet cut themajor across the breast, whirling him around and throwing him. Asoldier, one Lannon, sprang to him and pulled him down the bluff, themajor protesting that he was not wounded, which proved to be true, thebullet having passed through his heavy clothes.

  The troops had drawn up on the other sides, and a perfect storm ofbullets whirled over the in-trenchments. The powder blackened the facesof the men, and they took off their caps or had them shot off. To raisethe head for more than a fraction of a second meant death.

  Johnson had exchanged five shots with a fine-looking Cheyenne, and everytime he raised his eye to a level with the rock White Antelope's gunwinked at him.

  "You will get killed directly," yelled Lannon to Johnson; "they have youspotted."

  The smoke blew and eddied over them; again Johnson rose, and again WhiteAntelope's pistol cracked an accompaniment to his own; but with movementlike lightning the sergeant sprang through the smoke, and fairly shovinghis carbine to White Antelope's breast, he pulled the trigger. A50-calibre gun boomed in Johnson's face, and a volley roared from thepits, but he fell backward into cover. His comrades set him up to see ifany red stains came through the grime, but he was unhurt.

  17 THIS TIME THE AIR GREW CLEAR]

  The firing grew; a blue haze hung over the hill. Johnson again lookedacross the glacis, but again his eye met the savage glare of WhiteAntelope.

  "I haven't got him yet, Lannon, but I will;" and Sergeant Johnson againslowly reloaded his pistol and carbine.

  "Now, men, give them a volley!" ordered the enraged man, and as volleyanswered volley, through the smoke sprang the daring soldier, andstanding over White Antelope as the smoke swirled and almost hid him, hepoured his six balls into his enemy, and thus died one brave man at thehands of another in fair battle. The sergeant leaped back and lay downamong the men, stunned by the concussions. He said he would do no more.His mercurial temperament had undergone a change, or, to put it better,he conceived it to be outrageous to fight these poor people, fiveagainst one. He characterized it as "a d---- infantry fight," andrising, talked in Sioux to the enemy--asked them to surrender, or theymust otherwise die. A young girl answered him, and said they would liketo. An old woman sprang on her and cut her throat with a dull knife,yelling meanwhile to the soldiers that "they would never surrenderalive," and saying what she had done.

  Many soldiers were being killed, and the fire from the pits grew weaker.The men were beside themselves with rage. "Charge!" rang through the nowstill air from some strong voice, and, with a volley, over the workspoured the troops, with six-shooters going, and clubbed carbines. Yells,explosions, and amid a whirlwind of smoke the soldiers and Indiansswayed about, now more slowly and quieter, until the smoke eddied away.Men stood still, peering about with wild open eyes through blackenedfaces. They held desperately to their weapons. An old bunch of buckskinrags rose slowly and fired a carbine aimlessly. Twenty bullets rolledand tumbled it along the ground, and again the smoke drifted off themount. This time the air grew clear. Buffalo-robes lay all about, bloodspotted everywhere. The dead bodies of thirty-two Cheyennes lay, writhedand twisted, on the packed snow, and among them many women and children,cut and furrowed with lead. In a corner was a pile of wounded squaws,half covered with dirt swept over them by the storm of bullets. Onebroken creature half raised herself from the bunch. A maddened trumpeterthrew up his gun to shoot, but Sergeant Johnson leaped and kicked hisgun out of his hands high into the air, saying, "This fight is over."