by Charles King
CHAPTER VII.
BLACK CANYON.
The red sun is going down behind the line of distant buttes, throwinglong shadows out across the grassy upland. Every crest and billow of theprairie is bathed in crimson and gold, while the "breaks" and ravinestrending southward grow black and forbidding in their contrasted gloom.Far over to the southeast, in dazzling radiance, two lofty peaks, stillsnow-clad, gleam against the summer sky, and at their feet dark waves offorest-covered foot-hills drink in the last rays of the waning sunshineas though hoarding its treasured warmth against the chill of comingnight. Already the evening air, rare and exhilarating at this greataltitude, loses the sun-god's touch and strikes upon the cheek keen asthe ether of the limitless heavens. A while ago, only in the distantvalley winding to the south could foliage be seen. Now, all in thosedepths is merged in sombre shade, and not a leaf or tree breaks formiles the grand monotony. Close at hand a host of tiny mounds, eachtipped with reddish gold, and some few further ornamented by miniaturesentry, alert and keen-eyed, tell of a prairie township already laid outand thickly populated; and at this moment every sentry is chipping hispert, querulous challenge until the disturbers of the peace are closeupon him, then diving headlong into the bowels of the earth.
A dun cloud of dust rolls skyward along a well-worn cavalry trail, andis whirled into space by the hoofs of sixty panting chargers trottingsteadily south. Sixty sunburned, dust-covered troopers ride grimly on,following the lead of a tall soldier whose kind brown eyes peeranxiously from under his scouting-hat. It is just as they pass thevillage of the prairie dogs that he points to the low valley down to thefront and questions the "plainsman" who lopes along by his side,--
"That Black Canyon down yonder?"
"That's it, lieutenant: I didn't think you could make it to-night."
"We _had_ to," is the simple reply as again the spur touches the jadedflank and evokes only a groan in response.
"How far from here to--the Springs?" he presently asks again.
"Box Elder?--where they found the bodies?--'bout five mile, sir."
"Where away was that signal smoke we saw at the divide?"
"Must have been from those bluffs--east of the Springs, sir."
Lieutenant Lee whips out his watch and peers at the dial through thetwilight. The cloud deepens on his haggard, handsome face. Eighto'clock, and they have been in saddle almost incessantly since yesterdayafternoon, weighed down with the tidings of the fell disaster that hasrobbed them of their comrades, and straining every nerve to reach thescene.
Only five days before, as he stepped from the railway car at the supplystation, a wagon-train had come in from the front escorted by Mr. Lee'sown troop; his captain with it, wounded. Just as soon as it could reloadwith rations and ammunition the train was to start on its eight days'journey to the Spirit Wolf, where Colonel Stanley and the --th werebivouacked and scouring the neighboring mountains. Already a battalionof infantry was at the station, another was on its way, and supplieswere being hurried forward. Captain Gregg brought the first reliablenews. The Indians had apparently withdrawn from the road. Thewagon-train had come through unmolested, and Colonel Stanley wasexpecting to push forward into their fastnesses farther south the momenthe could obtain authority from head-quarters. With these necessaryorders two couriers had started just twelve hours before. The captainwas rejoiced to see his favorite lieutenant and to welcome PhilipStanley to the regiment. "Everybody seemed to feel that you too would becoming right along," he said; "but, Phil, my boy, I'm afraid you're toolate for the fun. You cannot catch the command before it starts fromSpirit Wolf."
And yet this was just what Phil had tried to do. Lee knew nothing of hisplan until everything had been arranged between the young officer andthe major commanding the temporary camp at the station. Then it was toolate to protest. While it was Mr. Lee's duty to remain and escort thetrain, Philip Stanley, with two scouts and half a dozen troopers, hadpushed out to overtake the regiment two hundred miles away. Forty-eighthours later, as the wagon-train with its guard was slowly crawlingsouthward, it was met by a courier with ghastly face. He was one ofthree who had started from the ruined agency together. They met noIndians, but at Box Elder Springs had come upon the bodies of a littleparty of soldiers stripped, scalped, gashed, and mutilated,--nine inall. There could be little doubt that they were those of poor Philip andhis new-found comrades. The courier had recognized two of the bodies asthose of Forbes and Whiting,--the scouts who had gone with the party;the others he did not know at all.
Parking his train then and there, sending back to the railway for aninfantry company to hasten forward and take charge of it, Mr. Lee neverhesitated as to his own course. He and his troop pushed on at once. Andnow, worn, weary, but determined, the little command is just in sight ofthe deep ravine known to frontiersmen for years as Black Canyon. It wasthrough here that Stanley and his battalion had marched a fortnightsince. It was along this very trail that Phil and his party, pressingeagerly on to join the regiment, rode down into its dark depths and wereambushed at the Springs. From all indications, said the courier, theymust have unsaddled for a brief rest, probably just at nightfall; butthe Indians had left little to aid them in forming an opinion. Utterlyunnerved by the sight, his two associates had turned back to rejoinStanley's column, while he, the third, had decided to make for therailway. Unless those men, too, had been cut off, the regiment by thistime knew of the tragic fate of some of their comrades, but the colonelwas mercifully spared all dread that one of the victims was his onlyson.
Nine were in the party when they started. Nine bodies were lying therewhen the couriers reached the Springs, and now nine are lying hereto-night when, just after moonrise, Romney Lee dismounts and bends sadlyover them, one after another. The prairie wolves have been here first,adding mutilation to the butchery of their human prototypes. There islittle chance, in this pallid light and with these poor remnants, tomake identification a possibility. All vestiges of uniform, arms, andequipment have been carried away, and such underclothing as remains hasbeen torn to shreds by the herd of snarling, snapping brutes which isdriven off only by the rush of the foremost troopers, and is nowdispersed all over the canyon and far up the heights beyond the outposts,yelping indignant protest.
There can be no doubt as to the number slain. All the nine are here, andMr. Lee solemnly pencils the despatch that is to go back to the railwayso soon as a messenger and his horse can get a few hours' needed rest.Before daybreak the man is away, meeting on his lonely ride othercomrades hurrying to the front, to whom he briefly gives confirmation ofthe first report. Before the setting of the second sun he has reachedhis journey's end, and the telegraph is flashing the mournful details tothe distant East, and so, when the "Servia" slowly glides from hermoorings and turns her prow towards the sparkling sea, Nannie McKay issobbing her heart out alone in her little white state-room, crushingwith her kisses, bathing with her tears, the love-knot she had given hersoldier boy less than a year before.
Another night comes around. Tiny fires are glowing down in the darkdepths of Black Canyon, showing red through the frosty gleam of themoonlight. Under the silvery rays nine new-made graves are ranked alongthe turf, guarded by troopers whose steeds are browsing close at hand.Silence and sadness reign in the little bivouac where Lee and hiscomrades await the coming of the train they had left three days before.It will be here on the morrow, early, and then they must push ahead andbear their heavy tidings to the regiment. He has written one sorrowingletter--and what a letter to have to write to the woman he loves!--totell Miriam that he has been unable to identify any one of the bodies asthat of her gallant young brother, yet is compelled to believe him tolie there, one of the stricken nine. And now he must face the fatherwith this bitter news! Romney Lee's sore heart fails him at theprospect, and he cannot sleep. Good heaven! _Can_ it be that three weeksonly have passed away since the night of that lovely yet ill-fatedcarriage-ride down through Highland Falls, down beyond picturesqueHawkshurst?
Out on the b
luffs, though he cannot see them, and up and down the canyon,vigilant sentries guard this solemn bivouac. No sign of Indian has beenseen except the hoof-prints of a score of ponies and the bloody relicsof their direful visit. No repetition of the signal-smokes has greetedtheir watchful eyes. It looks as though this outlying band of warriorshad noted his coming, had sent up their warning to others of theirtribe, and then scattered for the mountains at the south. All the same,as he rode the bluff lines at nightfall, Mr. Lee had charged thesentries to be alert with eye and ear, and to allow none to approachunchallenged.
The weary night wears on. The young moon has ridden down in the west andsunk behind that distant bluff line. All is silent as the graves aroundwhich his men are slumbering, and at last, worn with sorrow and vigil,Lee rolls himself in his blanket and, still booted and spurred,stretches his feet towards the little watch-fire, and pillows his headupon the saddle. Down the stream the horses are already beginning to tugat their lariats and struggle to their feet, that they may crop thedew-moistened bunch grass. Far out upon the chill night air the yelpingchallenge of the coyotes is heard, but the sentries give no sign.Despite grief and care, Nature asserts her sway and is fast lulling Leeto sleep, when, away up on the heights to the northwest, there leaps outa sudden lurid flash and, a second after, the loud ring of the cavalrycarbine comes echoing down the canyon. Lee springs to his feet and seizeshis rifle. The first shot is quickly followed by a second; the men aretumbling up from their blankets and, with the instinct of oldcampaigners, thrusting cartridges into the opened chambers.
"Keep your men together here, sergeant," is the brief order, and in amoment more Lee is spurring upward along an old game trail. Just underthe crest he overtakes a sergeant hurrying northward.
"What is it? Who fired?" he asks.
"Morris fired, sir: I don't know why. He is the farthest post up thebluffs."
Together they reach a young trooper, crouching in the pallid dawn behinda jagged parapet of rock, and eagerly demanded the cause of the alarm.The sentry is quivering with excitement.
"An Indian, sir! Not a hundred yards out there! I seen him plain enoughto swear to it. He rose up from behind that point yonder and started outover the prairie, and I up and fired."
"Did you challenge?"
"No, sir," answers the young soldier, simply. "He was going away. Hecouldn't understand me if I had,--leastwise I couldn't 'a understoodhim. He ran like a deer the moment I fired, and was out of sight almostbefore I could send another shot."
Lee and the sergeant push out along the crest, their arms at "ready,"their keen eyes searching every dip in the surface. Close to the edge ofthe canyon, perhaps a hundred yards away, they come upon a little ledge,behind which, under the bluff, it is possible for an Indian to stealunnoticed towards their sentries and to peer into the depths below. Someone has been here within a few minutes, watching, stretched prone uponthe turf, for Lee finds it dry and almost warm, while all around thebunch grass is heavy with dew. Little by little as the light growswarmer in the east and aids them in their search, they can almost tracethe outline of a recumbent human form. Presently the west wind begins toblow with greater strength, and they note the mass of clouds, gray andfrowning, that is banked against the sky. Out on the prairie not amoving object can be seen, though the eye can reach a good rifle-shotaway. Down in the darkness of the canyon the watch-fires still smoulderand the men still wait. There comes no further order from the heights.Lee, with the sergeant, is now bending over faint footprints justdiscernible in the pallid light.
Suddenly up he starts and gazes eagerly out to the west. The sergeant,too, at the same instant, leaps towards his commander. Distant, butdistinct, two quick shots have been fired far over among those tumblingbuttes and ridges lying there against the horizon. Before either mancould speak or question, there comes another, then another, then two orthree in quick succession, the sound of firing thick and fast.
"It's a fight, sir, sure!" cries the sergeant, eagerly.
"To horse, then,--quick!" is the answer, as the two soldiers bound backto the trail.
"Saddle up, men!" rings the order, shouted down the rocky flanks of theravine. There is instant response in the neigh of excited horses, theclatter of iron-shod hoofs. Through the dim light the men go rushing,saddles and bridles in hand, each to where he has driven his own picketpin. Promptly the steeds are girthed and bitted. Promptly the men comerunning back to the bivouac, seizing and slinging carbines, then leadinginto line. A brief word of command, another of caution, and then thewhole troop is mounted and, following its leader, rides ghost-like up awinding ravine that enters the canyon from the west and goes spurring tothe high plateau beyond. Once there the eager horses have ample room;the springing turf invites their speed. "Front into line" they sweep atrapid gallop, and then, with Lee well out before them, with carbinesadvanced, with hearts beating high, with keen eyes flashing, and everyear strained for sound of the fray, away they bound. There's a fightahead! Some one needs their aid, and there's not a man in all old "B"troop who does not mean to avenge those new-made graves. Up a littleslope they ride, all eyes fixed on Lee. They see him reach the ridge,sweep gallantly over, then, with ringing cheer, turn in saddle, wave hisrevolver high in air, clap spur to his horse's flank and go darting downthe other side.
"Come _on_, lads!"
Ay, on it is! One wild race for the crest, one headland charge down theslope beyond, and they are rolling over a band of yelling, scurrying,savage horsemen, whirling them away over the opposite ridge, drivingthem helter-skelter over the westward prairie, until all who escape theshock of the onset or the swift bullet in the raging chase finallyvanish from their sight; and then, obedient to the ringing "recall" ofthe trumpet, slowly they return, gathering again in the little ravine;and there, wondering, rejoicing, jubilant, they cluster at the entranceof a deep cleft in the rocks, where, bleeding from a bullet-wound in thearm, but with a world of thankfulness and joy in his handsome face,their leader stands, clasping Philip Stanley, pallid, faint, well-nighstarved, but--God be praised!--safe and unscathed.