Black Feather barely slowed down as he swerved to avoid the body of the falling sentry and sprinted to the front gate. It took but a moment to throw back the heavy wooden bar and push the gate open. When he ran back to the center of the stockade, followed by four Cheyenne braves, Little Wolf was already there directing his small force toward the troop tent area. When Black Feather approached, Little Wolf silently directed his friend toward the mess tent and the cook fire glowing before it. Black Feather knew what to do without being told. He and his four comrades quickly lit the fire arrows they had prepared. Little Wolf watched unhurriedly until all arrows were burning steadily. The stockade was still bathed in the half light of dawn, the garrison unaware as yet that a hostile force was inside the walls. When he was sure the arrows were burning, he directed his bowmen by hand signal, firing at one target after another in the order of importance. First the commander’s tent. Little Wolf knew the commanding officer in this small outpost was not a high-ranking officer and would be out with the main body protecting the workmen. He knew there should be no more than one or two soldiers inside now but they would probably be armed. So they would deal with these men first. Next to be burned would be the larger tents on either side of the command tent in case a second in command was left behind in the commander’s absence. Then the mess tent was to be fired to flush out the guard detail that would surely be eating before relieving the present sentries. Within minutes, the tents were ablaze and the confused and panic-stricken soldiers, sleep still in their eyes, emptied out into the compound, cursing and yelling.
Little Wolf’s raiding party was small but he had planned his raid well, counting heavily on surprise and confusion on the part of the soldiers. He suspected they would never anticipate an attack on their outpost. They had grown accustomed to the hostiles raiding like all the Sioux war parties they had fought before; with sudden attacks on the workers, out in the open, where they could strike swiftly and then withdraw. Little Wolf had ideas of his own about the most efficient way to battle the soldiers. Foremost in his planning was the safety of his fellow warriors. He would lose the confidence of his braves if he allowed heavy casualties when he led a raid. With this in mind, he had stationed his best bowmen to watch the soldiers bolting from the burning tents. He had instructed them to target those soldiers with weapons to eliminate any danger to the raiding party. They would deal with the unarmed after all those with rifles had been eliminated. Sleeps Standing and two others were positioned where they could watch the rows of tents where the troops slept in the event some had not gone with the main column.
As he had anticipated, the attack caught the small outpost completely by surprise. Not one shot was fired by the soldiers. In all, nine soldiers were killed and several more wounded. The few remaining soldiers, most of them cooks and the stable detail, put up no resistance, having been mesmerized by the suddenness and efficiency of the attack. Horrified, they watched as their captors moved among the dead, taking scalps and counting coup. At Little Wolf’s command, the prisoners were tied up to the stockade walls while the Indians selected their best horses and loaded them with rifles, ammunition, food, clothing and anything else that might prove useful.
Bloody Claw approached Little Wolf, who was preparing to mount a tall bay mare that had caught his eye. “We are ready, Little Wolf. Let us kill these snakes and be gone.”
Little Wolf hesitated. He knew his companions were anxious to kill all the soldiers. Their goal, after all, was to kill as many soldiers as possible and chase the white man from their hunting grounds. He tried to recall the image he had seared into his mind of Spotted Pony lying in a pool of his own blood and Buffalo Woman lying facedown across her cook fire. He had vowed to fight the army but still he did not like the idea of executing defenseless men, white or red. After a moment he spoke.
“Wait. Let these others live.” Seeing the frown on Bloody Claw’s face and the look of puzzlement on the faces of those braves who had heard his decision, he added, “These dogs are not fighting men. They are like women who cook and take care of the horses. We will leave them to tell the other soldiers that we have been merciful this day but they must take this as a warning. We will not allow the road to be built through these lands. They will also tell that this brave deed was done by the mighty Cheyenne and Arapaho so that they may know who their enemy is.”
His statement was met with many blank stares as his men mulled over his suggestion. Little Wolf was not officially in command—as a war chief, he led by popular choice and his leadership was open for question at any time by any member of the band.
“This is a good thing.” Black Feather spoke first, always in support of his friend. “We don’t want the Dakota to take the credit for our bravery.”
This seemed to receive favorable reactions from most of the warriors. Little Wolf was quick to take advantage of the moment. “We all have won the honor to count coup on all these that we leave behind.” The young Indians accepted this. After all, it was more honorable to count coup on an enemy that still lives. “Good,” he announced, “it is decided.” As an afterthought, he added, “Strip them of their uniforms. We may have need of them.”
They quickly went about stripping the clothing from the terrified prisoners and, when they had taken everything they could pack on the captured horses, Little Wolf shouted to the bewildered prisoners in English. “It is Little Wolf and the Cheyenne who have done this. When you tell of this, you must warn your people that Little Wolf will not be so merciful next time. Next time we may do as the cowardly soldiers who slaughtered our people at Sand Creek did!”
The warriors crossed the river and headed across the rolling plains toward the distant mountains. Little Wolf was intent upon gaining the protection of the mountain draws and valleys before the main body of soldiers had an opportunity to pursue them. The raid had been extremely successful. Although the total number of enemies killed had not been great, his band of warriors had inflicted great damage upon the tiny outpost. They would sorely feel the loss of horses, ammunition and food stores Little Wolf’s companions now herded toward the mountains. And, most important to Little Wolf, he would return to Red Cloud’s camp with every man who rode out with him.
Once they reached the protection of the hills, the raiding party relaxed their caution, secure in the knowledge that no army patrol would dare to venture this close to Red Cloud’s camp. They knew the army had no concentration of troops large enough to mount an attack on the Sioux village. They were spread too thin, trying to protect the different groups of army workers and the many wagons that came up the Powder. Now Little Wolf allowed time to congratulate himself on selecting the mare. She had been well trained and cared for. Many of his band rode good army mounts now. Indian ponies were accustomed to the wild country and were more reliable but the army mounts were well-bred and strong. His choice would be envied.
* * *
Spirits were high in Red Cloud’s camp when Little Wolf and his braves returned. Word had come to the chief that the army was pulling out of several outposts along the intended line of the road to the Montana goldfields. It was beginning to look like the constant harrassment by the Sioux war parties had not only taken effect, they had beaten the blue coats and driven them out of their sacred hunting grounds. Confidence was rising like a fever and spreading like wildfire through the encampment as Red Cloud’s war chiefs hastily organized their war parties to pursue the departing soldiers. There was a general feeling that the army was in full retreat, which was not the case. In fact, they had only given up on most of the work sites, and were just withdrawing to the established forts. But this fuel added to the fire already burning in the hearts of every young warrior. Little Wolf’s comrades joined in the dancing and singing and soon were pressing him to join the battle with their Dakota brothers. Little Wolf was hesitant. He was not sure why, but he preferred to fight as they had been fighting, as a small raiding force, operating independently of the main body of Sioux.
“We must finish the ba
ttle with the blue coats,” Bloody Claw insisted.
Little Wolf could see that he was going to be outvoted if he did not concur. “I agree, my brother. We will fight until the soldiers have all left this country.” By the expressions on the faces of his young followers, he could see that this was what they had expected to hear. “We will go to fight the soldiers that were camped at the fort we have just attacked.” He smiled and added, “Maybe they would like to see their horses again.”
Black Feather grinned and threw back his head and offered a loud war whoop to the heavens.
* * *
Lieutenant Tom Allred shifted his weight in the saddle in an attempt to ease the ache now running the length of his backbone. It didn’t seem to help, so he dismounted and walked a few yards away from his horse. The animal immediately started to graze on the buffalo grass that covered the hilltop. Tom stretched. Taking out his watch, he studied it for several seconds, as if he wanted to make sure it had not stopped. “Damn,” he swore, gazing down across the grassland where the engineers were working. He hated escort duty. He felt like a guard over a group of convicts, waiting for the time to pass, and time was in no hurry when waited upon. At times he almost wished hostiles would attack, if only to break the monotony. Things had been pretty quiet since the fort had been attacked four days before. “Damn,” he uttered again when he thought of the damage that raid had done on his men and supplies. It was not his decision to make, but had he been the ranking officer, he would not have left so small a detail to defend the fort. Captain Wes Bluefield was a competent officer, having proven himself as a first-rate Indian fighter and Tom wouldn’t second-guess him. He just made an error in judgment and got caught. Tom knew that everybody made mistakes. This one cost nine lives plus horses and ammunition, not to mention the weapons that would now be used against them.
The sound of hooves below him broke into his thoughts and he turned to see Sergeant Erwin Hale coming up the hill at a gallop. “Sir, Lieutenant Perry says to form up the men. We’re going back to the fort.”
“It’s a bit early, ain’t it?” Tom looked at his watch again.
Sergeant Hale shrugged. “That’s what he said, form ’em up.”
“All right.” Tom stretched once more and stepped up into the saddle. “Signal the outriders in.” He watched for a moment as Hale galloped down from the hill. It suited him fine to go back early. It was getting too damn cold to sit around out on the prairie all day. Like as not, the winter snows would stop all work along the road before the month was out anyway. The last of the immigrant trains had gone through long ago and travel would not likely start again before late spring. Christmas was only four days away. They had been lucky the weather had held this long, with only a few light snows. Guiding his horse down the hill, he couldn’t help but smile as he formed a picture in his mind of Lieutenant Perry, thin and shivering in the cold wind that was now sweeping across the prairie.
Lawson Perry and Tom were friends. Since Lawson was senior to him by a full year in grade, he was in command when Bluefield stayed at the post. Lawson made no bones about the fact that he had not gone through West Point just to fashion a career of chasing ragtag savages around the Western frontier, freezing his ass off in the winter and burning up in the summer. His every day was spent marking time, awaiting orders that he was sure would someday come to deliver him from this wilderness and transfer him to a post back East. He often expressed his amazement that Tom didn’t expend any energy on regret. He even envied Tom’s attitude, that one place was about as good as another. As far as Tom was concerned, he wasn’t a West Pointer, he had come up through the ranks and he more than likely had no future in the army outside this duty station.
By the time he rode down into the basin, the column was already forming. The engineers and civilian workers, more than happy to call it a day, were loading the wagons and hitching the teams. Lawson Perry sat stiffly in the saddle, off to the side, watching the preparations with the bored expression of a man who had seen it a hundred times. Tom pulled up beside him.
“What’s the matter, Lawson? Your backside get too cold?”
Lawson laughed. “I suppose yours isn’t,” he replied in his precise manner of speaking, a manner that offered evidence of his education and West Point background.
“Why, no, I was just thinking how pleasant it is out here.”
Lawson’s face sobered as he confided in his friend. “Look at this mess,” he said, gesturing toward the half finished log bridge across a deep ravine, his tone laced with sarcasm. “You know damn well it’s a waste of time and effort to build a bridge out here in the middle of nowhere. Even if the damn Indians let it stand, who’s going to use it? Hell, anybody going to Montana has got the whole country in front of them. Why would they have to cross over this bridge over this little ravine?”
“I don’t know, Lawson. Why would they?”
Lawson knew Tom was baiting him. “Ah, why am I wasting my time telling you? You don’t clutter your mind with serious thoughts.”
Tom laughed at his friend’s exasperation. Lawson was right, however. Tom didn’t clutter his mind with the why of things. Whether the bridge made sense or not was not his concern. His job was to guard the workers. He didn’t worry about what the workers were doing. Seeing that the column was ready to move, he asked, “Want me to move ’em out?”
“Yeah, let’s go get some hot food.”
As the column topped the first line of hills, Tom saw Andy Coulter cutting across a grassy slope to join them. He soon pulled in beside the two officers and reined up next to Tom.
“Quittin’ a mite early, ain’t you?”
Tom laughed. “Yeah, Lieutenant Perry’s backside is getting cold.”
Lawson glared at them with mock disgust. “You know the brass will have to recall all of us off this silly damn detail anyway. It’s a damn fool project and a waste of an officer’s time.”
To Tom, it was a waste of time debating the issue so he changed the subject. Turning to Andy, he asked, “See anything out there?”
Andy shook his head. “No, nary a sign. I scouted all the way to the river to the east, all the way back to them foothills to the west. I believe the Injuns took the day off.”
“It’s just getting too cold,” Lawson offered. “They probably won’t do too much more before spring.”
“I don’t know . . .” Andy took his hat off and thoughtfully scratched his head. “Some folks hold that Injuns don’t like to go to war in the wintertime. And I reckon for the most part that’s a fact. But I’ve seen ’em fight in the winter, seen ’em fight plenty. And this here Red Cloud is pretty dang serious about protecting his huntin’ grounds.”
Lawson shrugged, not wanting to recant completely. “Well, maybe some small raids, but I doubt they’ll start anything major.”
“Hard to say,” Andy replied, after launching a stream of tobacco juice over his shoulder.
“S’pose we’ll get another visit from that bunch that hit the post?” Tom wondered aloud.
“Doubt it,” Andy answered. “They got what they was after, guns and ammunition. Besides, that was that bunch of Cheyennes that’s been raidin’ all summer. They don’t usually hit the same place twice. That ain’t their style.”
“Little Wolf,” Tom uttered, almost under his breath.
“What?” Andy asked.
“Little Wolf,” Tom repeated. “Said his name was Little Wolf, said it in pretty good English according to the mess sergeant.”
“Well, the bunch he’s running with is Cheyenne all right.” He paused to spit for punctuation. “Least the arrows I seen had Cheyenne markings.”
* * *
The column was approximately halfway back to the post when the point man suddenly came back to them at a gallop.
“Hey-yooooo!” Lieutenant Perry halted the column and rode out with Andy and Tom to meet the rider.
“Lieutenant!” he called as soon as he was in voice range. “Gunfire! Over toward the river!”
> “How many?” Lawson asked as the trooper pulled up and wheeled his mount around to parallel them.
“Hard to say, sir. I heard half a dozen shots, maybe more.”
Both officers looked to Andy Coulter for a possible explanation but he was as puzzled as they were. There were no patrols out in that area. In fact, there were no patrols out anywhere since Bluefield insisted that the escort detail not be diluted. He had ordered that all engagements with the hostiles were to be defensive. They were vastly outnumbered if the savages decided to join forces in an assault on their little post. He felt his strength was in keeping his firepower in concentration.
“Want me to go have a look?” Tom offered. “Maybe some immigrants or prospectors run into some Indians.”
“Yeah,” Lawson quickly agreed. “Take Andy and a half dozen men.” Tom started to leave. “And Tom, you be careful.”
“Right.” Tom reined his horse around and called out, “Sergeant Hale! Pick five men, on the double!”
With Andy in the lead, they galloped away from the column in the direction pointed out by the advance guard. After covering about a mile, Andy held up his hand to halt the detail. They could hear the gunfire distinctly and it appeared to come from the river, some seven hundred yards in front of them.
“Peers to me it’s coming from just the other side of that bluff, where the river takes a turn around that clump of trees.” Andy looked to Tom for agreement. When he got a nod in return, he kicked his horse into a canter, headed for a little hill before the river in order to find a place for a better look. Once they had reached the shelter of the hill, they dismounted and Andy, Tom and Sergeant Hale crawled up to the top to have a look.
Wind River Page 17