CHAPTER IV
ON THE NAKED PLAIN
It was two hundred and eighteen miles, as the crow flies, between oldFort Bethune and the rock ford crossing the Bear Water, every foot ofthat dreary, treeless distance Indian-haunted, the favoriteskulking-place and hunting-ground of the restless Sioux. Winter andsummer this wide expanse had to be suspiciously patrolled by numerousmilitary scouting parties, anxious to learn more regarding theuncertain whereabouts of wandering bands and the purposes ofmalecontents, or else drawn hither and thither by continually shiftingrumors of hostile raids upon the camps of cattlemen. All this involvedrough, difficult service, with small meed of honor attached, whilenever had soldiers before found trickier foemen to contend against, orfighters more worthy of their steel.
One such company, composed of a dozen mounted infantrymen, accompaniedby three Cree trailers, rode slowly and wearily across the brownexposed uplands down into the longer, greener grass of the wide valleybottom, until they emerged upon a barely perceptible trail which woundaway in snake-like twistings, toward those high, barren hills whoseblue masses were darkly silhouetted against the western sky. Uponevery side of them extended the treeless wilderness, the desolateloneliness of bare, brown prairie, undulating just enough to bebaffling to the eyes, yet so dull, barren, grim, silent, and colorlessas to drive men mad. The shimmering heat rose and fell in greatpulsating waves, although no slightest breeze came to stir the stagnantair, while thick clouds of white dust, impregnated with poisonousalkali, rose from out the grass roots, stirred by the horses' feet, topowder the passers-by from head to foot. The animals moved steadilyforward, reluctant and weary, their heads drooping dejectedly, theirdistended nostrils red and quivering, the oily perspiration streakingtheir dusted sides. The tired men, half blinded by the glare, lolledheavily in their deep cavalry saddles, with encrusted eyes staringmoodily ahead.
Riding alone, and slightly in advance of the main body, his mount arangy, broad-chested roan, streaked with alkali dust, the drooping headtelling plainly of wearied muscles, was the officer in command. He wasa pleasant-faced, stalwart young fellow, with the trim figure of atrained athlete, possessing a square chin smoothly shaven, hisintelligent blue eyes half concealed beneath his hat brim, which hadbeen drawn low to shade them from the glare, one hand pressing upon hissaddle holster as he leaned over to rest. No insignia of rank servedto distinguish him from those equally dusty fellows plodding gloomilybehind, but a broad stripe of yellow running down the seams of histrousers, together with his high boots, bespoke the cavalry service,while the front of his battered campaign hat bore the decorations oftwo crossed sabres, with a gilded "7" prominent between. His attirewas completed by a coarse blue shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, aboutwhich had been loosely knotted a darker colored silk handkerchief, andacross the back of the saddle was fastened a uniform jacket, the singleshoulder-strap revealed presenting the plain yellow of a secondlieutenant.
Attaining to the summit of a slight knoll, whence a somewhat widervista lay outspread, he partially turned his face toward the menstraggling along in the rear, while his hand swept across the drearyscene.
"If that line of trees over yonder indicates the course of the BearWater, Carson," he questioned quietly, "where are we expected to hitthe trail leading down to the ford?"
The sergeant, thus addressed, a little stocky fellow wearing a closelyclipped gray moustache, spurred his exhausted horse into a brief trot,and drew up short by the officer's side, his heavy eyes scanning thevague distance, even while his right hand was uplifted in perfunctorysalute.
"There 's no trail I know about along this bank, sir," he repliedrespectfully, "but the big cottonwood with the dead branch forking outat the top is the ford guide."
They rode down in moody silence into the next depression, and beganwearily climbing the long hill opposite, apparently the last beforecoming directly down the banks of the stream. As his barely movinghorse topped the uneven summit, the lieutenant suddenly drew in hisrein, and uttering an exclamation of surprise, bent forward, staringintently down in his immediate front. For a single instant he appearedto doubt the evidence of his own eyes; then he swung hastily from outthe saddle, all weariness forgotten.
"My God!" he cried, sharply, his eyes suspiciously sweeping the bareslope. "There are two bodies lying here--white people!"
They lay all doubled up in the coarse grass, exactly as they hadfallen, the man resting face downward, the slender figure of the girlclasped vice-like in his arms, with her tightly closed eyes upturnedtoward the glaring sun. Their strange, strained, unnatural posture,the rigidity of their limbs, the ghastly pallor of the exposed youngface accentuated by dark, dishevelled hair, all alike seemed toindicate death. Never once questioning but that he was confronting theclosing scene of a grewsome tragedy, the thoroughly aroused lieutenantdropped upon his knees beside them, his eyes already moist withsympathy, his anxious fingers feeling for a possible heart-beat. Amoment of hushed, breathless suspense followed, and then he beganflinging terse, eager commands across his shoulder to where his menwere clustered.
"Here! Carson, Perry, Ronk, lay hold quick, and break this fellow'sclasp," he cried, briefly. "The girl retains a spark of life yet, butthe man's arms fairly crush her."
With all the rigidity of actual death those clutching hands held theirtenacious grip, but the aroused soldiers wrenched the interlacedfingers apart with every tenderness possible in such emergency, shockedat noting the expression of intense agony stamped upon the man's facewhen thus exposed to view. The whole terrible story was engraventhere--how he had toiled, agonized, suffered, before finally yieldingto the inevitable and plunging forward in unconsciousness, written aslegibly as though by a pen. Every pang of mental torture had leftplainest imprint across that haggard countenance. He appeared old,pitiable, a wreck. Carson, who in his long service had witnessed muchof death and suffering, bent tenderly above him, seeking for some faintevidence of lingering life. His fingers felt for no wound, for to hisexperienced eyes the sad tale was already sufficiently clear--hunger,exposure, the horrible heart-breaking strain of hopeless endeavor, hadcaused this ending, this unspeakable tragedy of the barren waterlessplain. He had witnessed it all before, and hoped now for little. Theanxious lieutenant, bareheaded under the hot sun-glare, strode hastilyacross from beside the unconscious but breathing girl, and stood gazingdoubtfully down upon them.
"Any life, sergeant?" he demanded, his voice rendered husky by sympathy.
"He doesn't seem entirely gone, sir," and Carson glanced up into theofficer's face, his own eyes filled with feeling. "I can distinguishjust a wee bit of breathing, but it's so weak the pulse hardly stirs."
"What do you make of it?"
"Starving at the bottom, sir. The only thing I see now is to get themdown to water and food."
The young officer glanced swiftly about him across that dreary pictureof sun-burnt, desolate prairie stretching in every direction, his eyespausing slightly as they surveyed the tops of the distant cottonwoods.
"Sling blankets between your horses," he commanded, decisively. "Movequickly, lads, and we may save one of these lives yet."
He led in the preparation himself, his cheeks flushed, his movementsprompt, decisive. As if by some magic discipline the rude, effectivelitters were rapidly made ready, and the two seemingly lifeless bodiesgently lifted from off the ground and deposited carefully within. Downthe long, brown slope they advanced slowly, a soldier grasping the reinand walking at each horse's head, the supporting blankets, securelyfastened about the saddle pommels, swaying gently to the measured treadof the trained animals. The lieutenant directed every movement, whileCarson rode ahead, picking out the safest route through the shortgrass. Beneath the protecting shadows of the first group ofcottonwoods, almost on the banks of the muddy Bear Water, the littleparty let down their senseless burdens, and began once more theirseemingly hopeless efforts at resuscitation. A fire was hastilykindled from dried and broken branches, and broth was made,
which wasforced through teeth that had to be pried open. Water was usedunsparingly, the soldiers working with feverish eagerness, inspired bythe constant admonitions of their officer, as well as their owncuriosity to learn the facts hidden behind this tragedy.
They advanced slowly, the supporting blankets swayinggently to the measured tread.]
It was the dark eyes of the girl which opened first, instantly closingagain as the glaring light swept into them. Then slowly, and withwonderment, she gazed up into those strange, rough faces surroundingher, pausing in her first survey to rest her glance on the sympatheticcountenance of the young lieutenant, who held her half reclining uponhis arm.
"Here," he exclaimed, kindly, interpreting her glance as one of fear,"you are all right and perfectly safe now, with friends to care foryou. Peters, bring another cup of that broth. Now, miss, just take asup or two of this, and your strength will come back in a jiffy. Whatwas the trouble? Starving?"
She did exactly as he bade her, every movement mechanical, her eyesfastened upon his face.
"I--I reckon that was partly it," she responded at last, her voicefaint and husky. Then her glance wandered away, and finally restedupon another little kneeling group a few yards farther down stream. Alook of fresh intelligence swept into her face.
"Is that him?" she questioned, tremblingly. "Is--is he dead?"
"He was n't when we first got here, but mighty near gone, I'm afraid.I've been working over you ever since."
She shook herself free and sat weakly up, her lips tight compressed,her eyes apparently blind to all save that motionless body she couldbarely distinguish. "Let me tell you, that fellow's a man, just thesame; the gamest, nerviest man I ever saw. I reckon he got hit, too,though he never said nothing about it. That's his style."
The deeply interested lieutenant removed his watchful eyes from off hischarge just long enough to glance inquiringly across his shoulder."Has the man any signs of a wound, sergeant?" he asked, loudly.
"A mighty ugly slug in the shoulder, sir; has bled scandalous, but Iguess it 's the very luck that's goin' to save him; seems now to becomin' out all right."
The officer's brows knitted savagely. "It begins to look as if thismight be some of our business. What happened? Indians?"
"Yes."
"How far away?"
"I don't know. They caught us in a canyon somewhere out yonder, maybethree or four days ago; there was a lot killed, some of them soldiers.My dad was shot, and then that night he--he got me out up the rocks,and he--he was carrying me in his arms when I--I fainted, I saw therewas blood on his shirt, and it was dripping down on the grass as hewalked. That's about all I know."
"Who is the man? What's his name?"
The girl looked squarely into the lieutenant's eyes, and, for somereason which she could never clearly explain even to herself, liedcalmly. "I don't know; I never asked."
Sergeant Carson rose stiffly from his knees beside the extended figureand strode heavily across toward where they were sitting, lifting hishand in soldierly salute, his heels clicking as he brought them sharplytogether in military precision.
"The fellow is getting his eyes open, sir," he reported, "and isbreathing more regular. Purty weak yit, but he'll come round in time."He stared curiously down at the girl now sitting up unsupported, whilea sudden look of surprised recognition swept across his face.
"Great guns!" he exclaimed, eagerly, "but I know you. You're old manGillis's gal from Bethune, ain't ye?"
The quickly uplifted dark eyes seemed to lighten the ghastly pallor ofher face, and her lips trembled. "Yes," she acknowledged simply, "buthe's dead."
The lieutenant laid his ungloved hand softly on her shoulder, his blueeyes moist with aroused feeling.
"Never mind, little girl," he said, with boyish sympathy. "I knewGillis, and, now the sergeant has spoken, I remember you quite well.Thought all the time your face was familiar, but could n't quite decidewhere I had seen you before. So poor old Gillis has gone, and you areleft all alone in the world! Well, he was an old soldier, could nothave hoped to live much longer anyway, and would rather go fighting atthe end. We 'll take you back with us to Bethune, and the ladies ofthe garrison will look after you."
The recumbent figure lying a few yards away half lifted itself upon oneelbow, and Hampton's face, white and haggard, stared uncertainly acrossthe open space. For an instant his gaze dwelt upon the crossed sabresshielding the gilded "7" on the front of the lieutenant's scouting hat,then settled upon the face of the girl. With one hand pressed againstthe grass he pushed himself slowly up until he sat fronting them, histeeth clinched tight, his gray eyes gleaming feverishly in their sunkensockets.
"I'll be damned if you will!" he said, hoarsely. "She 's my girl now."
Bob Hampton of Placer Page 4
