CHAPTER IX
THE LAST STAND
However daring the pen, it cannot but falter when attempting to picturethe events of those hours of victorious defeat. Out from the scene ofcarnage there crept forth no white survivor to recount the heroic deedsof the Seventh Cavalry. No voice can ever repeat the story in itsfulness, no eye penetrate into the heart of its mystery. Only inmotionless lines of dead, officers and men lying as they fell whilefacing the foe; in emptied carbines strewing the prairie; in scattered,mutilated bodies; in that unbroken ring of dauntless souls whoselifeless forms lay clustered about the figure of their stricken chiefon that slight eminence marking the final struggle--only in such tokenscan we trace the broken outlines of the historic picture. The actorsin the great tragedy have passed beyond either the praise or the blameof earth. With moistened eyes and swelling hearts, we vainly strive toimagine the whole scene. This, at least, we know: no bolder, noblerdeed of arms was ever done.
It was shortly after two o'clock in the afternoon when that compactcolumn of cavalrymen moved silently forward down the concealing_coulee_ toward the more open ground beyond. Custer's plan wassurprise, the sudden smiting of that village in the valley from therear by the quick charge of his horsemen. From man to man thewhispered purpose travelled down the ranks, the eager troopers greetingthe welcome message with kindling eyes. It was the old way of theSeventh, and they knew it well. The very horses seemed to feel theelectric shock. Worn with hard marches, bronzed by long weeks ofexposure on alkali plains, they advanced now with the precision of menon parade, under the observant eyes of the officers. Not a canteentinkled, not a sabre rattled within its scabbard, as at a swift,noiseless walk those tried warriors of the Seventh pressed forward tostrike once more their old-time foes.
Above them a few stray, fleecy clouds flecked the blue of the archingsky, serving only to reveal its depth of color. On every side extendedthe rough irregularity of a region neither mountain nor plain, a landof ridges and bluffs, depressions and ravines. Over all rested thegolden sunlight of late June; and in all the broad expanse there was nosign of human presence.
With Custer riding at the head of the column, and only a little to therear of the advance scouts, his adjutant Cook, together with avolunteer aide, beside him, the five depleted troops filed resolutelyforward, dreaming not of possible defeat. Suddenly distant shots wereheard far off to their left and rear, and deepening into a rumble,evidencing a warm engagement. The interested troopers lifted theirheads, listening intently, while eager whispers ran from man to manalong the closed files.
"Reno is going in, boys; it will be our turn next."
"Close up! Quiet there, lads, quiet," officer after officer passed theword of command.
Yet there were those among them who felt a strange dread--that firingsounded so far up the stream from where Reno should have been by thattime. Still it might be that those overhanging bluffs would muffle anddeflect the reports. Those fighting men of the Seventh rode steadilyon, unquestioningly pressing forward at the word of their belovedleader. All about them hovered death in dreadful guise. None amongthem saw those cruel, spying eyes watching from distant ridges, peeringat them from concealed ravines; none marked the rapidly massing hordes,hideous in war-paint, crowded into near-by _coulees_ and behindprotecting hills.
It burst upon them with wild yells. The gloomy ridges blazed intotheir startled faces, the dark ravines hurled at them skurryinghorsemen, while, wherever their eyes turned, they beheld savage formsleaping forth from hill and _coulee_, gulch and rock shadow. Horsesfell, or ran about neighing; men flung up their hands and died in thatfirst awful minute of consternation, and the little column seemed toshrivel away as if consumed by the flame which struck it, front andflank and rear. It was as if those men had ridden into the mouth ofhell. God only knows the horror of that first moment of shrinkingsuspense--the screams of agony from wounded men and horses, the dies offear, the thunder of charging hoofs, the deafening roar of rifles.
Yet it was for scarcely more than a minute. Men trained, strong, clearof brain, were in those stricken lines--men who had seen Indian battlebefore. The recoil came, swift as had been the surprise. Voice aftervoice rang out in old familiar orders, steadying instantly the startlednerves; discipline conquered disorder, and the shattered column rolledout, as if by magic, into the semblance of a battle line. On foot andon horseback, the troopers of the Seventh turned desperately at bay.
It was magnificently done. Custer and his troop-commanders broughttheir sorely smitten men into a position of defence, even hurled themcheering forward in short, swift charges, so as to clear the front andgain room in which to deploy. Out of confusion emerged discipline,confidence, _esprit de corps_. The savages skurried away on theirquirt-lashed ponies, beyond range of those flaming carbines, while thecavalry-men, pausing from vain pursuit, gathered up their wounded, andre-formed their disordered ranks.
"Wait till Reno rides into their village," cried encouraged voicesthrough parched lips. "Then we'll give them hell!"
Safe beyond range of the troopers' light carbines, the Indians, withtheir heavier rifles, kept hurling a constant storm of lead, huggingthe gullies, and spreading out until there was no rear toward which theharassed cavalrymen could turn for safety. One by one, continuallyunder a heavy fire, the scattered troops were formed into somethingmore nearly resembling a battle line--Calhoun on the left, then Keogh,Smith, and Yates, with Tom Custer holding the extreme right. Theposition taken was far from being an ideal one, yet the best possibleunder the circumstances, and the exhausted men flung themselves downbehind low ridges, seeking protection from the Sioux bullets, thoseassigned to the right enjoying the advantage of a somewhat higherelevation. Thus they waited grimly for the next assault.
Nor was it long delayed. Scarcely had the troopers recovered, refilledtheir depleted cartridge belts from those of their dead comrades, whenthe onslaught came. Lashing their ponies into mad gallop, now sittingerect, the next moment lying hidden behind the plunging animals,constantly screaming their shrill war-cries, their guns brandished inair, they swept onward, seeking to crush that thin line in one terribleonset. But they reckoned wrong. The soldiers waited their coming.The short, brown-barrelled carbines gleamed at the level in thesunlight, and then belched forth their message of flame into the veryfaces of those reckless horsemen. It was not in flesh and blood tobear such a blow. With screams of rage, the red braves swerved to leftand right, leaving many a dark, war-bedecked figure lying dead behindthem, and many a riderless pony skurrying over the prairie. Yet theirwild ride had not been altogether in vain; like a whirlwind they hadstruck against Calhoun on the flank, forcing his troopers to yieldsullen ground, thus contracting the little semicircle of defenders,pressing it back against that central hill. It was a step nearer theend, yet those who fought scarcely realized its significance. Exultantover their seemingly successful repulse, the men flung themselves againupon the earth, their cheers ringing out above the thud of retreatinghoofs.
"We can hold them here, boys, until Reno comes," they shouted to eachother.
The skulking red riflemen crept ever closer behind the ridges, drivingtheir deadly missiles into those ranks exposed in the open. Twicesquads dashed forth to dislodge these bands, but were in turn drivenback, the line of fire continually creeping nearer, clouds of smokeconcealing the cautious marksmen lying prone in the grass. Custerwalked up and down the irregular line, cool, apparently unmoved,speaking words of approval to officers and men. To the command of thebugle they discharged two roaring volleys from their carbines, hopefulthat the combined sound might reach the ears of the lagging Reno. Theywere hopeful yet, although one troop had only a sergeant left incommand, and the dead bodies of their comrades strewed the plain.
Twice those fierce red horsemen tore down upon them, forcing the thin,struggling line back by sheer strength of overwhelming numbers, yet nomadly galloping warrior succeeded in bursting through. The hot brownbarrels belched forth their
lightnings into those painted faces, andthe swarms of savagery melted away. The living sheltered themselvesbehind the bodies of their dead, fighting now in desperation, theirhorses stampeded, their ammunition all gone excepting the fewcartridges remaining in the waist-belts. From lip to lip passed theone vital question: "In God's name, where is Reno? What has become ofthe rest of the boys?"
It was four o'clock. For two long hours they had been engaged inceaseless struggle; and now barely a hundred men, smoke-begrimed,thirsty, bleeding, half their carbines empty, they still formed animpenetrable ring around their chief. The struggle was over, and theyrealized the fact. When that wave of savage horsemen swept forth againit would be to ride them down, to crush them under their horses'pounding hoofs. They turned their loyal eyes toward him they loved andfollowed for the last time, and when he uttered one final word ofundaunted courage, they cheered him faintly, with parched and feveredlips.
Like a whirlwind those red demons came,--howling wolves now certain oftheir prey. From rock and hill, ridge, ravine, and _coulee_, lashingtheir half-crazed ponies, yelling their fierce war-cries, swingingaloft their rifles, they poured resistlessly forth, sweeping down onthat doomed remnant. On both flanks of the short slender line struckGall and Crazy Horse, while like a thunderbolt Crow-King andRain-in-the-Face attacked the centre. These three storms converged atthe foot of the little hill, crushing the little band of troopers.With ammunition gone, the helpless victims could meet that mightyon-rushing torrent only with clubbed guns, for one instant of desperatestruggle. Shoulder to shoulder, in ever-contracting circle, officersand men stood shielding their commander to the last. Foot by foot,they were forced back, treading on their wounded, stumbling over theirdead; they were choked in the stifling smoke, scorched by the flamingguns, clutched at by red hands, beaten down by horses' hoofs. Twentyor thirty made a despairing dash, in a vain endeavor to burst throughthe red enveloping lines, only to be tomahawked or shot; but the mostremained, a thin struggling ring, with Custer in its centre. Then camethe inevitable end. The red waves surged completely across the crest,no white man left alive upon the field. They had fought a good fight;they had kept the faith.
Two days later, having relieved Reno from his unpleasant predicament inthe valley, Terry's and Gibbons's infantry tramped up the ravine, andemerged upon the stricken field. In lines of motionless dead they readthe fearful story; and there they found that man we know. Lying upon abed of emptied cartridge-shells, his body riddled with shot andmutilated with knives, his clothing torn to rags, his hands grasping asmashed and twisted carbine, his lips smiling even in death, was thatsoldier whom the Seventh had disowned and cast out, but who had comeback to defend its chief and to die for its honor,--Robert HamptonNolan.
CHAPTER X
THE CURTAIN FALLS
Bronzed by months of scouting on those northern plains, a graver, olderlook upon his face, and the bars of a captain gracing the shoulders ofhis new cavalry jacket, Donald Brant trotted down the stage roadbordering the Bear Water, his heart alternating between hope and dread.He was coming back as he had promised; yet, ardently as he longed tolook into the eyes of his beloved, he shrank from the duty laid uponhim by the dead.
The familiar yellow house at the cross-roads appeared so unattractiveas to suggest the thought that Naida must have been inexpressiblylonely during those months of waiting. He knocked at the sun-warpeddoor. Without delay it was flung open, and a vision of flushed faceand snowy drapery confronted him.
"Why, Lieutenant Brant! I was never more surprised in my life. Do,pray, come right in. Yes, Naida is here, and I will have her sent forat once. Oh, Howard, this is Lieutenant Brant, just back from hisawful Indian fighting. How very nice that he should happen to arrivejust at this time, is n't it?"
The young officer, as yet unable to discover an opportunity for speech,silently accepted Mr. Wynkoop's extended hand, and found a convenientchair, as Miss Spencer hastened from the room to announce his arrival.
"Why 'just at this time'?" he questioned.
Mr. Wynkoop cleared his throat. "Why--why, you see, we are to bemarried this evening--Miss Spencer and myself. We--we shall be sodelighted to have you witness the ceremony. It is to take place at thechurch, and my people insist upon making quite an affair out of theoccasion--Phoebe is so popular, you know."
The lady again bustled in, her eyes glowing with enthusiasm. "Why, Ithink it is perfectly delightful. Don't you, Howard? Now LieutenantBrant and Naida can stand up with us. You will, won't you, Lieutenant?"
"That must be left entirely with Miss Naida for decision," he replied,soberly. "However, with my memory of your popularity I should supposeyou would have no lack of men seeking such honor. For instance, one ofyour old-time 'friends' Mr. William McNeil."
The lady laughed noisily, regardless of Mr. Wynkoop's look ofannoyance. "Oh, it is so perfectly ridiculous! And did n't you know?have n't you heard?"
"Nothing, I assure you."
"Why he--he actually married the Widow Guffy. She 's twice his age,and has a grown-up son. And to think that I supposed he was so nice!He did write beautiful verses. Is n't it a perfect shame for such aman to throw himself away like that?"
"It would seem so. But there was another whose name I recall--JackMoffat. Why not have him?"
Miss Spencer glanced uneasily at her chosen companion, her cheeksreddening. But that gentleman remained provokingly silent, and she wascompelled to reply.
"We--we never mention him any more. He was a very bad man."
"Indeed?"
"Yes; it seems he had a wife and four children he had run away from,back in Iowa. Perhaps that was why his eyes always looked so sad. Sheactually advertised for him in one of the Omaha papers. It was aterrible shock to all of us. I was so grateful to Howard that hesucceeded in opening my eyes in time."
Mr. Wynkoop placed his hand gently upon her shoulder. "Never mind,dearie," he said, cheerfully. "The West was all so strange to you, andit seemed very wonderful at first. But that is all safely over withnow, and, as my wife, you will forget the unpleasant memories."
And Miss Spencer, totally oblivious to Brant's presence, turnedimpulsively and kissed him.
There was a rustle at the inner door, and Naida stood there. Theireyes met, and the color mounted swiftly to the girl's cheeks. Then hestepped resolutely forward, forgetful of all other presence, andclasped her hand in both his own. Neither spoke a word, yet eachunderstood something of what was in the heart of the other.
"Will you walk outside with me?" he asked, at last. "I have much tosay which I am sure you would rather hear alone."
She bent her head, and with a brief word of explanation to the others,the young officer conducted her forth into the bright July sunshine.They walked in silence side by side along the bank of the littlestream. Brant glanced furtively toward the sweet, girlish face. Therewas a pallor on her countenance, a shadow in her eyes, yet she walkedwith the same easy grace, her head firmly poised above her whitethroat. The very sadness marking her features seemed to him an addedbeauty.
He realized where they were going now, where memory had brought themwithout conscious volition. As he led her across the rivulet sheglanced up into his face with a smile, as though a happy recollectionhad burst upon her. Yet not a word was spoken until the barrier ofunderbrush had been completely penetrated, and they stood face to faceunder the trees. Then Brant spoke.
"Naida," he said, gravely, "I have come back, as I said I would, andsurely I read welcome in your eyes?"
"Yes."
"And I have come to say that there is no longer any shadow of the deadbetween us."
She looked up quickly, her hands clasped, her cheeks flushing. "Areyou sure? Perhaps you misunderstand; perhaps you mistake my meaning."
"I know it all," he answered, soberly, "from the lips of Hampton."
"You have seen him? Oh, Lieutenant Brant, please tell me the wholetruth. I have missed him so much, and since the day he rode away to
Cheyenne not one word to explain his absence has come back to me. Youcannot understand what this means, how much he has become to me throughyears of kindness."
"You have heard nothing?"
"Not a word."
Brant drew a long, deep breath. He had supposed she knew this. Atlast he said gravely:
"Naida, the truth will prove the kindest message, I think. He died inthat unbroken ring of defenders clustered about General Custer on thebluffs of the Little Big Horn."
Her slight figure trembled so violently that he held her close withinhis arms.
"There was a smile upon his face when we found him. He performed hisfull duty, Naida, and died as became a soldier and a gentleman."
"But--but, this cannot be! I saw the published list; his name was notamong them."
"The man who fell was Robert Nolan."
Gently he drew her down to a seat upon the soft turf of the bank. Shelooked up at him helplessly, her mind seemingly dazed, her eyes yetfilled with doubt.
"Robert Nolan? My father?"
He bent over toward her, pressing his lips to her hair and stroking ittenderly with his hand.
"Yes, Naida, darling; it was truly Robert Hampton Nolan who died inbattle, in the ranks of his old regiment,--died as he would have chosento die, and died, thank God! completely cleared of every stain upon hishonor. Sit up, little girl, and listen while I tell you. There is inthe story no word which does not reflect nobility upon the soldier'sdaughter."
She uplifted her white face. "Tell me," she said, simply, "all youknow."
He recounted to her slowly, carefully, the details of that desperatejourney northward, of their providential meeting on the Little BigHorn, of the papers left in his charge, of Hampton's riding forwardwith despatches, and of his death at Custer's side. While he spoke,the girl scarcely moved; her breath came in sobs and her hands claspedhis.
"These are the papers, Naida. I opened the envelope as directed, andfound deeds to certain properties, including the mine in the BlackRange; a will, duly signed and attested, naming you as his sole heir,together with a carefully prepared letter, addressed to you, giving afull account of the crime of which he was convicted, as well as someother matters of a personal nature. That letter you must read alone ashis last message, but the truth of all he says has since been proved."
She glanced up at him quickly. "By Murphy?"
"Yes, by Murphy, who is now lying in the hospital at Bethune, slowlyrecovering. His sworn deposition has been forwarded to the Departmentat Washington, and will undoubtedly result in the honorable replacingof your father's name on the Army List. I will tell you briefly theman's confession, together with the few additional facts necessary tomake it clear.
"Your father and mine were for many years friends and army comrades.They saw service together during the great war, and afterward upon theplains in Indian campaigning. Unfortunately a slight misunderstandingarose between them. This, while not serious in itself, was made bitterby the interference of others, and the unaccountable jealousies ofgarrison life. One night they openly quarrelled when heated by wine,and exchanged blows. The following evening, your father chancing to beofficer of the guard and on duty, my father, whose wife had then beendead a year, was thoughtless enough to accompany Mrs. Nolan home at alate hour from the post ball. It was merely an act of ordinarycourtesy; but gossips magnified the tale, and bore it to Nolan. Stillsmarting from the former quarrel, in which I fear my father was in thewrong, he left the guard-house with the openly avowed intention ofseeking immediate satisfaction. In the meanwhile Slavin, Murphy, and atrooper named Flynn, who had been to town without passes, and werehalf-drunk, stole through the guard lines, and decided to make amidnight raid on the colonel's private office. Dodging along behindthe powder-house, they ran suddenly upon my father, then on the way tohis own quarters. Whether they were recognized by him, or whetherdrink made them reckless of consequences, is unknown, but one of themen instantly fired. Then they ran, and succeeded in gaining thebarracks unsuspected."
She sat as if fascinated by his recital.
"Your father heard the shot, and sprang toward the sound, only to fallheadlong across my father's lifeless body. As he came down heavily,his revolver was jarred out of its holster and dropped unnoticed in thegrass. An instant later the guard came running up, and by morningCaptain Nolan was under arrest, charged with murder. Thecircumstantial evidence was strong--his quarrel with the murdered man,his heated language a few moments previous, the revolver lying besidethe body, having two chambers discharged, and his being found therealone with the man he had gone forth to seek. Slavin and Flynn bothstrengthened the case by positive testimony. As a result, a courtmartial dismissed the prisoner in disgrace from the army, and a civilcourt sentenced him to ten years' imprisonment."
"And my mother?" The question was a trembling whisper from quiveringlips.
"Your mother," he said, regretfully, "was an exceedingly proud woman,belonging to a family of social prominence in the East. She feltdeeply the causeless gossip connecting her name with the case, as wellas the open disgrace of her husband's conviction. She refused toreceive her former friends, and even failed in loyalty to your fatherin his time of trial. It is impossible now to fix the fault clearly,or to account for her actions. Captain Nolan turned over all hisproperty to her, and the moment she could do so, she disappeared fromthe fort, taking you with her. From that hour none of her oldacquaintances could learn anything regarding her whereabouts. She didnot return to her family in the East, nor correspond with any one inthe army. Probably, utterly broken-hearted, she sought seclusion insome city. How Gillis obtained possession of you remains a mystery."
"Is that all?"
"Everything."
They kept silence for a long while, the slow tears dropping from hereyes, her hands clasped in her lap. His heart, heavy with sympathy,would not permit him to break in upon her deep sorrow with words ofcomfort.
"Naida," he whispered, at last, "this may not be the time for me tospeak such words, but you are all alone now. Will you go back toBethune with me--back to the old regiment as my wife?"
A moment she bowed her head before him; then lifted it and held out herhands. "I will."
"Say to me again what you once said."
"Donald, I love you."
Gently he drew her down to him, and their lips met.
The red sun was sinking behind the fringe of trees, and the shadowednook in which they sat was darkening fast. He had been watching her insilence, unable to escape feeling a little hurt because of her graveface, and those tears yet clinging to her lashes.
"I wish you to be very happy, Naida dear," he whispered, drawing herhead tenderly down until it found rest upon his shoulder.
"Yes, I feel you do, and I am; but it cannot come all at once, Donald,for I have lost so much--so much. I--I hope he knows."
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