A Daughter of the Sioux: A Tale of the Indian frontier

by Charles King

  CHAPTER III

  A NIGHT ENCOUNTER

  Comforted by abundant food, refreshed and stimulated by more than two orthree enthusiastic toasts to the health of the major the men so loved,Trooper Kennedy, like a born dragoon and son of the ould sod, bethoughthim of the gallant bay that had borne him bravely and with hardly a haltall the long way from Beecher to Frayne. The field telegraph had indeedbeen stretched, but it afforded more fun for the Sioux than aid to theoutlying posts on the Powder and Little Horn, for it was down ten daysout of twelve. Plodder, lieutenant colonel of infantry commanding atBeecher, had been badly worried by the ugly demonstrations of theIndians for ten days past. He was forever seeing in mind's eye thehideous details of the massacre at Fort Phil Kearny, a few miles furtheron around the shoulder of the mountains, planned and carried out by RedCloud with such dreadful success in '67. Plodder had strong men at hisback, whom even hordes of painted Sioux could never stampede, but theywere few in number, and there were those ever present helpless,dependent women and children. His call for aid was natural enough, andhis choice of Kennedy, daring, dashing lad who had learned to ride inGalway, was the best that could be made. No peril could daunt thelight-hearted fellow, already proud wearer of the medal of honor; but,duty done, it was Kennedy's creed that the soldier merited reward andrelaxation. If he went to bed at "F" Troop's barracks there would be nomore cakes and ale, no more of the major's good grub and rye. If he wentdown to look after the gallant steed he loved--saw to it that Kilmainewas rubbed down, bedded, given abundant hay and later water--sure then,with clear conscience, he could accept the major's "bid," and call againon his bedward way and toast the major to his Irish heart's andstomach's content. Full of pluck and fight and enthusiasm, and onlyquarter full, he would insist, of rye, was Kennedy as he strodewhistling down the well-remembered road to the flats, for he, withCaptain Truscott's famous troop, had served some months at Frayne beforelaunching forth to Indian story land in the shadows of the Big Hornrange. Kennedy, in fact, essayed to sing when once out of earshot of theguard-house, and singing, he strolled on past the fork of the windingroad where he should have turned to his right, and in the fulness of hisheart went striding southward down the slope, past the once familiarhaunt the store, now dark and deserted, past the big house of the posttrader, past the trader's roomy stables and corral, and so wended hismoonlit way along the Rawlins trail, never noting until he had chantedover half a mile and most of the songs he knew, that Frayne was wellbehind him and the rise to the Medicine Bow in front. Then Kennedybegan to laugh and call himself names, and then, as he turned about toretrace his steps by a short cut over the bottom, he was presentlysurprised, but in no wise disconcerted, to find himself face to facewith a painted Sioux. There by the path side, cropping the dewy grass,was the trained pony. Here, lounging by the trail, the thick blackbraids of his hair interlaced with beads, the quill gorget heaving athis massive throat; the heavy blanket slung negligently, gracefullyabout his stalwart form; his nether limbs and feet in embroideredbuckskin, his long-lashed quirt in hand; here stood, almost confrontinghim, as fine a specimen of the warrior of the Plains as it had ever beenTrooper Kennedy's lot to see, and see them he had--many a time and oft.

  In that incomparable tale, "My Lord the Elephant," the great Mulvaneycomes opportunely upon a bottle of whiskey and a goblet of water. "Thefirst and second dhrink I didn't taste," said he, "bein' dhry, but thefourth and fifth took hould, an' I began to think scornful ofelephants." At no time stood Kennedy in awe of a Sioux. At this time heheld him only in contempt.

  "How, John," said he, with an Irishman's easy insolence, "Lookin' for achance to steal somethin'--is it?" And then Kennedy was both amazed andenraptured at the prompt reply in the fervent English of the farfrontier.

  "Go to hell, you pock-marked son-of-a-scut! Where'd _you_ steal yourwhiskey?"

  For five seconds Kennedy thought he was dreaming. Then, convinced thathe was awake, an Irishman scorned and insulted, he dashed in to theattack. Both fists shot out from the brawny shoulders; both missed theagile dodger; then off went the blanket, and with two lean, red, sinewyarms the Sioux had "locked his foeman round," and the two were strainingand swaying in a magnificent grapple. At arms' length Pat could easilyhave had the best of it, for the Indian never boxes; but, in a bear hugand a wrestle, all chances favored the Sioux. Cursing and straining,honors even on both for a while, Connaught and wild Wyoming strove forthe mastery. Whiskey is a wonderful starter but a mighty poor stayer ofa fight. Kennedy loosed his grip from time to time to batter wildly withhis clinched fists at such sections of Sioux anatomy as he could reach;but, at range so close, his blows lacked both swing and steam, and fellharmless on sinewy back and lean, muscular flanks. Then he tried aGalway hitch and trip, but his lithe antagonist knew a trick worth tenof that. Kennedy tried many a time next day to satisfactorily accountfor it, but never with success. He found himself speedily on the broadof his back, gasping for breath with which to keep up his vocaldefiance, staring up into the glaring, vengeful black eyes of hisfurious and triumphant foeman. And then in one sudden, awful moment herealized that the Indian was reaching for his knife. Another instant itgleamed aloft in the moonlight, and the poor lad shut his eyes againstthe swift and deadly blow. Curses changed to one wordless prayer toheaven for pity and help. He never saw the glittering blade go spinningthrough the air. Vaguely, faintly he heard a stern young voice ordering"Hold there!" then another, a silvery voice, crying something in astrange tongue, and was conscious that an unseen power had loosed thefearful grip on his throat; next, that, obedient to that samepower,--one he dare not question,--the Indian was struggling slowly tohis feet, and then for a few seconds Kennedy soared away into cloudland,knowing naught of what was going on about him. When he came to again, heheard a confused murmur of talk about him, and grew dimly aware that hislate antagonist was standing over him, panting still and slightlyswaying, and that an officer, a young athlete, was saying rebukefulwords. Well he knew him, as what trooper of the ----th didnot?--Lieutenant Beverly Field; but, seeing the reopened eyes it was theIndian again who sought to speak. With uplifted hand he turned from therescuer to the rescued.

  "You're saved this time, you cur of a Mick," were, expurgated ofunprintable blasphemy, the exact words of the semi-savage lord of thefrontier, "but by the God that made us both I'll get you before anothermoon, dash dash you, and when I do I'll cut out your blackguard heartand eat it." Then bounding on his pony, away he sped at mad gallop,westward.

  For a moment no further word was spoken. The officer presently helpedthe soldier to his feet and stayed him, for the latter's legs seemedwobbly. Field let his salvage get its breath before asking questions.Yet he was puzzled, for the man's face was strange to him. "Who areyou?" he asked, at length, "and what on earth are you doing out herethis time of night?"

  "Kennedy, sir. Captain Truscott's troop, at Fort Beecher. I got in withdespatches an hour ago--"

  "What!" cried Field. "Despatches! What did you do--"

  "Gave 'em to the major, sir. Beg pardon; they was lookin' for theadjutant, sir, an' Sergeant Hogan said he wasn't home."

  Even in the moonlight the Irishman saw the color fade from the youngofficer's face. The hand that stayed him dropped nerveless. With utterconsternation in his big blue eyes, Field stood for a moment, stunnedand silent. Then the need of instant action spurred him. "I must go--atonce," he said. "You are all right now--You can get back? You've beendrinking, haven't you?"

  "The major's health, sir--just a sup or two."

  "I've no time now to listen to how you came to be out here. I'll see youby and by." But still the young officer hesitated. One hand grasped therein of his horse. He half turned to mount, then turned again."Kennedy," he faltered, "you'd have been a dead man if we--if I--hadn'treached you at that moment."

  "I know it, sir," burst in Pat, impetuously. "I'll never forget it--"

  "Hush, Kennedy, you _must_ forget--forget that you saw--spoke withme--forget that you saw or heard--any other soul
on earth out hereto-night. Can you promise?"

  "I'll cut my tongue out before I ever spake the word that'll harm thelieutenant, or the--the--or any one he says, sir. But never will Iforget! It ain't in me, sir."

  "Let it go at that then. Here, shake hands, Kennedy. Now, good-night!"Another instant and Field was in saddle and speeding away toward thepost where lights were now dancing about the quartermaster's corral, andfirefly lamps were flitting down the slope toward the stables on theflats. Ray's men were already up and doing. Slowly, stiffly following,Pat Kennedy rubbed his aching head, with a hand that shook as never didhis resolution. His bewildered brain was puzzling over a weightyproblem. "The lieutenant's safe all right," he muttered, "but what'sgone wid the squaw that was shoutin' Sioux at that murdherin' buck?"

  Meantime all Fort Frayne had seemed to wake to life. No call had soundedon the trumpet. No voice had been raised, save the invariable call ofthe sentries, passing from post to post the half hours of the night; butthe stir at the guard-house, the bustle over at the barracks, the swiftfootsteps of sergeants or orderlies on the plank walk or resoundingwooden galleries, speedily roused first one sleeper, then another, andblinds began to fly open along the second floor fronts, and white-robedforms to appear at the windows, and inquiring voices, male and female,hailed the passerby with "What's the matter, sergeant?" and the answerwas all sufficient to rouse the entire garrison.

  "Captain Ray's troop ordered out, sir," or "ma'am," as the case mightbe. No need to add the well-worn cause of such night excursions--"Indians."

  The office was brightly lighted, and there, sleepy-eyed and silent, weregathered many of the officers about their alert commander. Ray was downat his stables, passing judgment on the mounts. Only fifty were to go,the best half hundred in the sorrel troop, for it was to be a forcedmarch. Neither horse nor man could be taken unless in prime condition,for a break down on part of either on the way meant delay to the entirecommand, or death by torture to the hapless trooper left behind. Smallhope was there of a march made unobserved, for Stabber's band ofOgalallas had been for weeks encamped within plain view. Less hope wasthere of Stabber's holding aloof now that his brethren at the Big Hornhad declared for war. He was a recalcitrant of the first magnitude, asub-chief who had never missed the warpath when the Sioux were afield,or the consolation trip to Washington between times. Where Stabber wenthis young men followed unquestioning. It was a marvel that Kennedy hadsucceeded in getting through. It meant that the Indian runners, or theIndian smokes and signals, had not at once so covered the country withscouts that couriers could by no possibility slip between them. But nowthe signal fire was gleaming at Eagle Butte, and an answering blaze hadflared from Stabber's camp. Invisible from Fort Frayne, they had bothbeen seen by shrewd non-commissioned officers, sent scouting up thePlatte by Major Webb within half an hour of the coming of the alarm.

  "Ray will push ahead at once," said Webb, to his silent subordinates."You see Colonel Plodder has only two troops up there, and he will needall his infantry to defend the post. I've wired to Laramie and toDepartment Headquarters, and further orders will come before noon. Letall the cavalry be ready. Then if we push out, Dade, we leave FortFrayne to you. They'll hardly venture south of the Platte this time."

  "Is--Mr. Field going with Captain Ray?" presently ventured young Ross,who knew Ray had but one subaltern for duty at the moment, and whosesoul was burning with eagerness to accompany the first troop to take thefield.

  "No," said the major, shortly. "Captain Ray needs no more."

  "I only asked because Field isn't here, and I thought--maybe--" stumbledRoss, ingloriously, but the mischief was done.

  "Mr. Field is--busy," answered the major, still more shortly, thenreddened to his bushy brows, for at the doorway, in riding dress, andwith a face the color of parchment, stood the officer in question. Itwas a moment that threatened panic, but Webb met the crisis with markedaplomb.

  "Oh, Field," he cried, "there's another matter. I want two good men toslip out at once and see how many of Stabber's people start or havestarted. It may be daybreak before they can tell. Sergeant Schreiberwould be a tiptop man for one--and little Duffy. You 'tend to it."

  And so, mercifully, he sent the lad away until the crowd should havedispersed. Only Blake and Ray were with him when, after awhile, Mr.Field returned and stood silently before them. Well he knew that thepost commander could hardly overlook the absence of his adjutant at sucha time.

  "Have you anything to tell me, Field?" was the major's only query, histone full of gentle yet grave reproach.

  "I was restless. I could not sleep, sir. I went out--purposely."

  "You know no horse can be taken from the stables at night except inpresence of the sergeant or corporal of the guard."

  "I took none, sir," was the answer, and now both faces were white. "Irode one of--Mr. Hay's."

  For one moment there was no sound but the loud ticking of the big officeclock. Then came the question.

  "Who rode the others, Field? The sentries say they heard three."

  There was another moment of silence. Ray stepped on tiptoe to the dooras though he wanted not to hear. Blake looked blankly out of the window.Then the young soldier spoke.

  "I--cannot tell you, sir."

  For full ten seconds the post commander sat with grave, pallid face,looking straight into the eyes of his young staff officer. White as hissenior, but with eyes as unflinching, Field returned the gaze. At lastthe major's voice was heard again, sad and constrained.

  "Field, Captain Ray starts on a forced march at once for Fort Beecher.I--wish you to go with him."