The Watchers of the Plains: A Tale of the Western Prairies

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXIX

  HARD PRESSED

  During those first terrible days of the Indian outbreak the horrors thatbefell could only be guessed at. The government, the people living withoutthe danger zone, gradually learned the full details, but those mostconcerned only knew what was happening in their immediate neighborhood.Every one, even those who had made a life-study of their red-skinnedneighbors, were taken unawares. The methods of the untried chieftain hadproved themselves absolutely Napoleonic.

  There could be no doubt that the whole campaign was the result of long andsecret preparation. But it had been put into execution at thepsychological moment, which was its warrant of success. That this momenthad been unpremeditated, and that something very like chance alone hadprecipitated matters, afforded neither hope nor consolation.

  And this chance. A frail white woman; Rosebud's return to the farm--hervisit in Nevil Steyne's company to the Reservation. For a few moments thewild, haughty chieftain had stood observing her as she rode through theencampment; and in those few moments the mischief was done.

  The old trading fort offered little resistance to the Indian attack, andthe handful of troops within it very little more. Being soldiers they weretreated to the Indians' first attention. An overwhelming horde of pickedwarriors was sent to deal with them, and, by the end of the second day,the massacre and sacking of the post were accomplished.

  In this way a large reinforcement was added to the party threateningBeacon Crossing. Intoxicated with their first success the whole armyrushed upon the unfortunate township. And all the more fierce was theonslaught for the reason that the attack was made up of rival tribes.

  The Rosebuds had wiped out the troops, and, in consequence, the men ofPine Ridge, fired by jealousy, advanced like a raging torrent mad with thedesire for slaughter. Utterly unprepared for such rapid movements, the menat the Crossing, unorganized, hardly realizing what had happened, felleasy victims.

  The township, like the fort, was wiped from the fair face of the buddingprairie-land. The horrors of the massacre were too terrible to be dealtwith here. Every man, woman, and child now living in the country has heardthe tales of that awful week. Few people escaped, and those only by takingto the Black Hills, where they suffered untold privations from want andexposure.

  Having thus disposed of the two principal centres from which interferencemight spring, the Indians proceeded to devote themselves to the individualsettlers upon the prairie. Not a farm escaped their attention. North andsouth, east and west, for miles and miles the red tide swept over the faceof the plains, burning, sacking, murdering.

  A track of blood was left behind them wherever they went. Charredmonuments marked the tombs of hardy settlers caught in the red flood;where peace and prosperity had so recently reigned, now were only ruin anddevastation.

  With each succeeding day the horror grew. The northern Indians threw intheir lot with their warlike Sioux brothers, and all the smaller and moredistant tribes, numerically too weak for initiative, hastened to thebloody field of battle. The rebellion grew; it spread over the countrylike a running sore. The Bad Lands were maintaining their title.

  At first the news that filtered through to the outside world was meagre,and devoid of reliable detail. Thus it happened that only a few troopswere hurried to the scene of action. It was not until these, like thehandful at the fort, had served to swell the roll of massacre, and thefact became known that the northern posts, where large forces were alwayskept in readiness, were cut off from all communications, that the worldlearned the full horror that had befallen the Indian territory of Dakota.

  Through these days the one place to hold out against the fierce onslaughtof an overwhelming foe was the fortified farm of White River. But it wasin a desperate plight.

  So far only the foresight of the defenders had saved them. The vaststrength of the stockade and the inner earthworks, hurriedly thrown up atthe last moment, and the unswerving devotion of the little band ofsettlers within its shelter, had formed a combination of stout resistance.But as the time passed, and each day brought with it its tally ofcasualties, the position became more and more desperate.

  With each attack the fortifications suffered. Twice the ramparts werebreached, and only nightfall had saved the situation. At long rangefighting the white defenders had the best of it, but hand to hand theissue was reversed. Each day saw one or two of the white men laid low, andthe burden of the rest proportionately increased. Thus, out of a total ofthirty available men and youths, at the end of six days the force wasreduced by nearly a third.

  But worst of all was the strain. Every man within the stockade, and forthat matter, most of the women, too, knew that the pressure could notendure much longer without disastrous results. Ammunition was plentiful,provisions also, and the well supplied all the water necessary. It wasnone of these; it was the nerve strain, the lack of proper rest and sleep.The men only snatched odd half hours in the daytime. At night every eyeand ear had to be alert.

  Seth and Parker headed everything. In the councils they were the leaders,just as they were in the fighting. And on them devolved the full controlof affairs, from the distribution of rations, in which Ma Sampson andMiss Parker were their lieutenants, to the regulations for the sanitationof the fort.

  All the time Nevil Steyne was never lost sight of. He was driven to fightbeside his leader with Rube close behind him ready for any treachery. Heknew that Seth knew him, knew his secret, knew his relations with theIndians, and he quite understood that his only hope lay in implicitobedience, and a watchful eye for escape. His nature was such that he hadno qualms of conscience in regard to opposing his red-skinned friends.That part he accepted philosophically. He had so long played a game ofself-seeking treachery that his present condition came quite easily tohim.

  For Seth, who shall say what that dreadful period of suspense must havebeen? He went about his work with his usual quiet, thoughtful face, aperfect mask for that which lay behind it. There was no change of manneror expression. Success or disaster could not alter his stern, unyieldingways. He fought with the abandon and desperation of any Indian warriorwhen it came to close quarters, returning to his quiet, alert manner ofcommand the moment the fighting was over. He was uncomplaining, alwaysreassuring those about him, and carrying in his quiet personalitysomething that fired his companions to exertions which no words ofencouragement could have done.

  Yet he was passing through an agony of heart and mind such as few men aresubmitted to. Rosebud had gone, vanished, and no one could answer thequestion that was forever in his mind. He had looked for her return whenJoe Smith's party came in, only to be confounded by the fact that she hadnot even been seen by them. That night he had risked everything for her.He scouted till dawn, visiting Wanaha's hut, but only to find it deserted.Finally he returned to the farm, a broken-hearted man, bitter with thereflection that he alone was to blame for what had happened.

  The girl's loss cast a terrible gloom over the whole fort. It was only hersense of responsibility which saved Ma from breaking down altogether. Rubesaid not a word, but, like Seth, he perhaps suffered the more.

  It was on the seventh day that a curious change came over the situation.At first it was greeted with delight, but after the novelty had passed, agrave suspicion grew in the minds of the worn and weary defenders. Therewas not a shot fired. The enemy had withdrawn to their distant camps, anda heavy peace prevailed. But the move was so unaccountable that all soughtthe reason of it.

  Counsel was taken by the heads of the defence, and the feeling ofuneasiness grew. The more experienced conceived it to be the herald of afinal, overwhelming onslaught. The younger preferred optimistic views,which they found unconvincing. However, every one took care that advantagewas taken of the respite.

  Seth had his supper in one of the upper rooms in company with Parker andNevil Steyne. He sat at the open window watching, watching with eyesstraining and nerves painfully alert. Others might rest, he could not,dared not.

  The sun dipped below t
he horizon. The brief spring twilight changed fromgold to gray. A footstep sounded outside the door of the room where thethree men were sitting. A moment later Mrs. Rickards came in. Rosebud'scousin had changed considerably in those seven days. Her ample proportionswere shrunken. Her face was less round, but had gained in character. Theeducation of a lifetime had been crowded into the past week for her. Andit had roused a spirit within her bosom, the presence of which she had noteven suspected.

  "Rube wants you, Seth," she announced. "He's on the north side of thestockade. It's something particular, I think," she added. "That's why heasked me to tell you."

  With a few words of thanks, Seth accompanied her from the room and moveddown-stairs. It was on their way down that Mrs. Rickards laid a hand,already work-worn, upon the man's arm.

  "They're advancing again. Seth, shall we get out of this trouble?"

  The question was asked without any expression of fear, and the man knewthat the woman wanted a plain, truthful answer.

  "It don't seem like it," he answered quietly.

  "Yet, I kind o' notion we shall." Then after a pause he asked, "What'syour work now?"

  "The wounded."

  "Ah! Did you ever fire a gun, ma'am?"

  "No."

  "Have you a notion to try?"

  "If necessary."

  "Mebbe it's going to be."

  "You can count on me."

  Wondering at the change in this Englishwoman, her companion left her tojoin Rube.

  He found the whole garrison agog with excitement and alarm. There was alarge gathering at the north side of the stockade, behind the barn andoutbuildings. Even in the swift falling darkness it was evident that a bigmove was going on in the distant Indian camps. Nor did it take long toconvince everybody that the move was in the nature of an advance.

  After a long and earnest scrutiny through a pair of old field-glasses,Seth, followed by Rube, made a round of the fortifications. The movementwas going on in every direction, and he knew that by morning, at any rate,they would have to confront a grand assault. He had completed the round,and was in the midst of discussing the necessary preparations with Rube,still examining the outlook through the glasses, when suddenly he brokeoff with a sharp ejaculation. The next moment he turned to the old manbelow him.

  "Take these glasses, Rube," he said rapidly, "an' stay right here. GuessI'm goin' to drop over. I'll be back in awhiles. There's somethin' movin'among the grass within gunshot."

  With a cheery "aye," Rube clambered to the top of the stockade as theyounger man disappeared on the other side.

  Seth landed on his hands and knees and moved out in that manner. Whateverhis quarry the plainsman's movements would have been difficult ofdetection, for he crept along toward his goal with that rapid, serpentinemovement so essentially Indian.

  Rube watched him until darkness hid him from view. Then, stooping low, andscanning the sky-line a few minutes later, he distinctly made out thesilhouette of two men standing talking together.

  Seth found himself confronting an Indian. The man was plastered withwar-paint, and his befeathered head was an imposing sight. But, even inthe darkness, he recognized the broad face and slit-like eyes of thescout, Jim Crow. He was fully armed, but the white man's gun held himcovered. In response to the summons of the threatening weapon, the manlaid his arms upon the ground. Then he stood erect, and, grinning in hishabitual manner, he waved an arm in the direction of the moving Indians.

  "Wal?" inquired Seth, coldly.

  "I, Jim Crow, come. I know heap. Fi' dollar an' I say."

  Seth thought rapidly. And the result was another sharp inquiry.

  "What is it?"

  "Fi' dollar?"

  "If it's worth it, sure, yes."

  "It heap worth," replied the scout readily.

  Seth's comment was short.

  "You're a durned scoundrel anyway."

  But Jim Crow was quite unabashed.

  "See, it this," he said, and for the moment his face had ceased to grin."I see much. I learn much. See." He waved an arm, comprehensively takingin the whole countryside. "White men all dead--all kill. Beacon--it gone.Fort--it gone. Farm--all gone. So. Miles an' miles. They all kill.Soldiers, come by south. They, too, all kill. Indian man everywhere. So.To-morrow they eat up dis farm. So. They kill all."

  "Wal?" Seth seemed quite unconcerned by the man's graphic picture.

  At once Jim Crow assumed a look of cunning. His eyes became narrower slitsthan ever.

  "So. It dis way," he said, holding up a hand and indicating each finger ashe proceeded to make his points. "Black Fox--him angry. Much. Big soldiermen come from north. They fight--very fierce, an' tousands of 'em. Theydrive Indian back, back. Indian man everywhere kill. So. They come. Chiefhim much angry. Him say, 'They come. But I kill all white men first.' Soto-morrow he burn the farm right up, an' kill everybody much dead."

  "And the soldiers are near?"

  The white man's words were coldly inquiring, but inwardly it was verydifferent. A mighty hope was surging through him. The awful suspense hadfor the moment dropped from his sickening heart, and he felt like shoutingaloud in his joy. The Indian saw nothing of this, however.

  "Yes, they near. So. One sun."

  Seth heard the news and remained silent. One day off! He could hardlyrealize it. He turned away and scanned the horizon. Jim Crow grewimpatient.

  "An' the fi' dollar?"

  There was something so unsophisticated in the man's rascality that Sethalmost smiled. He turned on him severely, however.

  "You've been workin' with your countrymen, murderin' an' lootin', an' nowyou see the game's up you come around to me, ready to sell 'em same asyou'd sell us. Say, you're a durned skunk of an Indian!"

  "Jim Crow no Indian. I, Jim Crow, scout," the man retorted.

  Seth eyed him.

  "I see. You figger to git scoutin' agin when this is through. Say, you'rewuss'n I thought. You're wuss'n----"

  He broke off, struck with a sudden thought. In a moment he had dropped histone of severity.

  "See, I'm goin' to hand you twenty dollars," he said, holding the other'sshifty eyes with his own steady gaze, "if you've a notion to earn 'em an'act squar'. Say, I ken trust you if I pay you. You ain't like the whiteInjun, Nevil Steyne, who's bin Black Fox's wise man so long. After he'dfixed the mischief he gits around to us an' turns on the Indians. He'sfought with us. An' he's goin' to fight with us to-morrow. He's a traitorto the Indians. You belong to the whites, and you come to help us when youcan. Now, see here. You're goin' to make north hard as hell 'll let you,savee? An' if the soldiers git here at sundown to-morrow night, I'm goin'to give you twenty dollars, and I'll see you're made head scout agin."

  Seth waited for his answer. It came in a great tone of self-confidence.

  "I, Jim Crow, make soldiers dis night. So."

  "Good. You act squar'. You ain't no traitor to the white man, same asNevil Steyne's traitor to the Indian, which I guess Black Fox likely knowsby this time."

  "Yes. Black Fox know."