by Charles King
CHAPTER XIII.
SURROUNDED.
"One thing is certain: we ought to get word over to Wayne or he'll becut off." The speaker was old Stannard, and his auditors were a knot ofhalf a dozen officers of the --th. It was just daybreak, cold, crisp,and clear. It was about a week after the news of the battle of theLittle Horn had reached the regiment. Already its two strongestbattalions were marching to join Crook at the Big Horn, but a littlesquadron--two troops under command of Captain Wayne--lay nearly twodays' march away, lower down the broad valley towards the southeast. Thetidings that had come by special couriers were exciting, even alarming.A great outbreak had occurred among the Indians still at the agencies onWhite River. Nearly a thousand of the Southern Cheyennes, who hadnothing whatever to do with the quarrel of Sitting Bull and his people,who had no grievance whatever against the government, but had been fed,clothed, petted, and pampered for six or eight years, and who up to thistime remained at the reservations, had become so emboldened at thesuccess of the renegades and warriors in the Big Horn country, soenvious of their great massacre of Custer and his men, that they hadsuddenly thrown off all disguise, loaded up with all the provisions,arms, and ammunition they could buy or steal, and had jumped for theNorthwest, murdering and pillaging as they went. Waiting no orders,dropping, indeed, the retrograde movement he was ordered to make beforethis outbreak was known, the regimental commander had turned his columnsand shot "cross country" on a night march to head them off. A soldierwho doubted the "grit" of his officers and men, who was himselfindisposed to dare so strong and savage a foe, could easily have takenrefuge in these orders and, marching as directed, avoid the Cheyennesentirely. They were known to be the fiercest, sharpest, trickiestfighters of the plains, full of pluck and science, superb horsemen, fineshots, splendidly mounted and equipped. A foe, indeed, the average manwould think twice before "tackling," especially in the light of thefearful exhibition of Indian prowess of the 25th of June. But the leaderof the --th never thought twice. No sooner did the breathless couriersreach him with the news than he formed his plans instanter. Within anhour every horse and man in the --th seemed to know they had a race anda fight ahead. Eighty miles of rough country to ride over before theycould strike the line on which the Cheyennes were moving, and then the--th could speak for themselves. The news of the tragedy of the LittleHorn came like a stunning blow to many a fellow who had lost old andtried comrades in the fray; but while laugh and jest seemed banished forthe time, there was no doubting the spirit of the regiment for thecoming business. They had turned sharply from their course late in theafternoon of the previous day, had marched nearly all night, had haltedto make coffee and give the horses water and a good feed as they reachedthe sheltering cottonwoods by the stream; and now, while some of theofficers with their field-glasses were lying prone upon the commandingridges studying the distant valley for signs, another party was gatheredhere around the colonel, who had been having a brief chat with "oldStannard."
"Wayne has been warned by this time. I sent two of the scouts acrossfrom the Rawhide last evening," was the colonel's quiet reply to theimpulsive outburst of his junior.
"He is off their line of march entirely, I know," admitted Stannard,"but those fellows have had eyes out in every direction. They know justwhere he is. They know just where that wagon-train is, and up to lastevening they knew just where we were, though they are puzzled now, Ireckon. All I'm afraid of is that the moment they find we're not insupporting distance, they'll drop what they're after and turn on Wayne.He ought to be only forty odd miles down this valley,--considerably offtheir line,--and if he has kept close and not fooled away his time he issafe enough; but Wayne is Wayne, colonel, and I've known him to gopoking off on side scouts and losing time 'topogging' over prettycountry when he ought to have been making tracks for home." (Stannard_would_ use the vernacular of the frontier when at all excited.) "Now itwould be just like Wayne to have lost a day in just such a manner. Ihope not,--but I fear it."
"He has Ray with him," suggested Captain Turner.
"I know that; but Wayne is butt-headed as a billy-goat on some points,and one is that he can't be taught anything about Indians. He's asinnocent and unsuspicious and incapable of appreciating their wiles asthe average Secretary of the Interior; and Wayne isn't the kind of manto be influenced by Ray's opinions. He'd be more apt to tell Ray to keepthem to himself. It couldn't be helped, of course, but it's a pity twocompanies had to be sent on that scout. I'd feel safer under Ray withone troop than under Wayne with two."
"I confess I wish we could see just where they were and what they weredoing," said the colonel, with an anxious look on his sun-blisteredface; "but we have our hands full as it is. Come, Mr. Adjutant, it'stime we were off! Get the men in saddle and have the arms and ammunitioninspected,--fifty rounds to the man, at least. Major Stannard, wherewould you locate Truscott's command this morning? I shall send couriersback from here to find him and tell him to join Wayne."
To join Wayne! Well, just at that particular moment Wayne was wishingthat he might,--or somebody equally strong. And if the colonel could buthave seen the fix that doughty dragoon was in--fifty miles away--theconcern on his ruddy face would have been intensified. Wayne hadsucceeded in justifying everything Stannard had said of him. He had,indeed, been "fooling away his time" on side scouts, and now, before hehad fairly dreamed of the possibility of such a thing, the hills aroundhim were alive with Indians.
Ray, with his troop, had been assigned to the captain's command for ascout of some importance over towards the reservations three days beforethis unlucky morning. Rumors of the disaffection of the Cheyennes hadcome to the colonel. Everybody knew that the Indians would be wild withdelight over the news from Sitting Bull. Indeed, there was reason tobelieve that it was being whispered at the reservations before thetelegraph flashed the tidings broadcast on the 5th of July. Were therenot two days there on the Mini Pusa--the 2d and 3d of July--when littleparties of Indians were chased towards as well as from the White River?Wayne's orders were to scout the valley and report whether Indians wereventuring out that way. Before he had been two days away from theregiment he found trail after trail of war-parties crossing the valleynorthward. Signal-smokes and night-fires were in the hills beyond. Theevidence was conclusive to expert eyes, but Wayne said that, all told,no more than one hundred warriors could have gone out. He was bent ongoing farther and seeing how many more there were. Ray, as second inrank among the five officers present, ventured to suggest that they hadseen quite enough, and that without delay they should either returndirectly to the regiment or send word. Wayne would not send because onlya hundred tracks had been seen, and by the time he had run over doublethat number the two scouts with them refused to go back. "We would becut off and killed, sure as fate," was their comprehensive reason. Theybivouacked that night in the timber, keeping out strong guards andpickets, but with early dawn were astir, moving back up the valley. Onceagain had Ray offered a suggestion,--that they should put back duringthe night, but Wayne was nettled at the fact that Ray's prophecy hadcome true. They had stayed too long and gone too far. He was a John Bullsort of fellow, full of the ponderous, bumptious courage which promptsthe men of that illustrious island empire to be shot down like cattle byBoers and Zulus and Arabs and Afghans, adhering rigidly to the tacticsof Waterloo to fight the scientific light troops of the savages soonerthan depart from that which was the conventional British method ofmaking war. Wayne was lacking only in moral courage. He was afraid tosay he was wrong and Ray was right. Before they had gone two miles hewas forced to admit it. He was hemmed in on every side.
The valley had narrowed considerably just here, and the bare, roundedbluffs came down to within two hundred and fifty yards of the timberalong the stream. Willows in sparse groups and cottonwoods insun-bleached foliage were scattered along the level bench on both sidesof the river-bed. Broad wastes of sand extended in places from bank tobank, and what water there was lay in heated pools. Here and there thewhite incrustation on the san
d told of the strongly alkaline nature ofthe soil and the consequent impurity of the fluid. The little column,with scouts well out on front and flanks, was moving four abreast up thesouth bank along their trail of the previous day. Every now and thensome officer or man would note a new signal-smoke puffing up to the skyamong the hills some distance off the valley, and Wayne was riding inrather sulky dignity at the head of the command. He had come to theconclusion that he had done an idiotic thing the morning previous, inpushing on down the valley after discovering beyond question that somany Indians were already on the move. He well knew that Ray was thelast man in the regiment to counsel avoiding danger, unless it weredanger which would prove overwhelming and for encountering which therecould be no excuse. He _knew_ he had been idiotic now, for he could seeindications that Indians were closing in on him from every side; but,worse than that, he knew that he had added to his idiocy a performancethat was simply asinine: he had lost his temper and said an outrageousthing to Ray, and some of the men had heard it. From earliest dawn thelieutenant had been out with the pickets eagerly scanning thesurrounding country. Indians, of course, were not to be seen. They keptout of sight behind the bluffs and ridges, but their signals werefloating skyward from half a dozen different points, and Ray knew itmeant that they were calling in their forces to concentrate on this lonecommand. At last he had gone to Wayne, who was sipping his coffee withas much deliberation as though the troops had nothing on earth to do allday.
"Captain Wayne. May I ask if anything further has been done towardsgetting word back to the regiment?"
Wayne looked curiously at his junior a moment. He had the unpleasantconviction that whatever his own views might be, the regiment generallywould be more apt to back Ray's opinions as to the chances in Indianfighting than they would his. He could not complain of the lieutenant'smanner in the least, but all the same he felt certain that Ray had ahigher opinion of his own judgment than he had of his, the squadroncommander's. It was time to take him down.
"Why do you ask, Ray?" he said, with assumed composure, setting downhis tin cup and motioning to the attendant that he desired to have itrefilled.
"Because--we are now pretty well hemmed in, and unless word _has_ gone,there will be little chance of sending any."
"Well, Mr. Ray, why _should_ we send any?"
"Because, Captain Wayne, we have neither ammunition nor provisions for asiege, and the chances are in favor of our having to stand one."
"Oh, trash! Ray. I expected more nerve of you, and you are the first manin the crowd to get stampeded."
For an instant there was danger of an explosion. Ray's eyes blazed withwrath. He would have burst into a fury of denunciation, captain or nocaptain, but there--close at hand--stood many silent groups of the men.For once in his life Ray said not a word. For one long ten seconds hestood there, looking Wayne straight in the eye, then turned on his heeland left him.
The captain would have given much to recall the words. He knew theirutter injustice. He knew, worse luck! that if they succeeded in gettingback to the --th in safety, about the very first thing he would becalled upon to do would be to eat them. For the moment he was Ray'scommanding officer and there was no resenting them; but once back withthe --th, then there _would_ be fun!
Wayne rode for the first mile or so in sulky dignity, as has been said.Ray was out in front with the scouts. He had gone without saying a wordto the commander, and though that was a breach of etiquette, thecaptain well knew that there of all others was the place for Ray to be.None of his other subalterns came near him. There were only two,--Danaand Hunter,--and they were riding each at the head of the troop to whichhe was attached. A young assistant surgeon was with the party, and acivilian who had charge of the half-dozen pack-mules ambling alongside,but even these men seemed indisposed to chat with the commandingofficer. The column was riding "at ease," but in silence. No whistling,joking, or singing was going on. To the right was the timber throughwhich, well to the front, half a dozen skirmishers were pushing so as tosecure the main body against surprise. To the left, full eight hundredyards away, rose the low line of bluffs, sweeping around the left frontso as to approach the stream. Two or three men rode warily along theircrest, keeping sharp lookout to the south, while scattered across thevalley a like distance ahead were half a dozen active troopers, the twoguides, and Ray. The latter, easily recognized at that distance by hisriding and by "Dandy's" elastic stride, had discarded his coat, and wasmoving rapidly from point to point in his dark-blue scouting-shirt.
Nearing the bluffs that bent around their front, it could be seen thatthe guides were hanging back a little, so were the skirmishers inadvance; but the men on the flanks pushed ahead. No Indians could beseen from their more elevated position.
"They're shy of that bluff," said Wayne between his teeth. "Here, Mr.Dana, send a sergeant and two sets of fours forward, and stir them up alittle. Wait a moment! There goes Ray."
Sure enough, Ray and a couple of horsemen, opening out considerably,could be seen spurring diagonally across the bottom towards a point ofbluffs that rose higher than the general line off to the left. Beforethey had gone two hundred yards, out from the very crest of the bluffthere leaped half a dozen quick puffs of smoke; half a dozen littlespirts of dust and sand flew up from the prairie near the three horsemenfarthest to the front, two of whose steeds were seen to veer and shyviolently, and then six sharp, spiteful, half-muffled reports were borneon the still air.
Even before the shots were heard Wayne was turning in his saddle.
"Deploy to the front, Dana; only your first platoon," he added, as theyoung officer was about throwing forward the whole troop. "Look out forthe bluffs on your left. I'll have Hunter face them. Half front yourline that way so as not to let them enfilade you. I'm going right out tothe front." With that he rode back, said a few words to Hunter, andthen, followed by his orderly trumpeter, went thumping off at ponderousgallop towards his distant advance.
Almost at the same instant the flankers on the bluffs to the left wereseen waving their hats and spurring about in violent excitement,pointing towards the south. Then they fired two or three wild shots inthat direction, and, ducking as though to avoid return fire, camesweeping down the slopes at full speed.
It was stirring to mark the bearing of the little command just then.Every man knew that the unseen foe was present in front and flank inheavy force. Every hand seemed nerved to sudden strength. The horsestossed their heads and pricked up their ears, looking eagerly in thedirection of the firing. In obedience to his orders, Dana was rapidlydeploying his leading platoon, and a sheaf of skirmishers wentscattering out to the front in support of the advance, while Hunter,left for the moment alone, divined in an instant that the Indians werecoming with a rush upon the southern flank. He wheeled his fours to theleft, and, dismounting his skirmishers, sent them at the double-quickout across the prairie. Not an instant too soon! Almost simultaneouslythe ridge to the south, the bluffs out in front, and even the narrowlevel between them and the timber fairly bristled with daring, dashinghorsemen,--the Cheyennes in all their glory.
Oh, what a brilliant sight they made with plume and pennon, floatingwar-bonnet, lance and shield; the sunlight dancing on their barbaricornaments of glistening brass or silver, on brightly-painted, nakedforms, on the trappings of their nimble ponies, on rifle and spear! Allat full speed, all ayell, brandishing their weapons, firing wildly intothe valley, leaping, some of them, for an instant to the ground to takebetter aim, then, like a flash, to saddle and top speed again; throughevery little swale, over every ridge they popped like so many savageJacks-in-the-box, and came swooping, circling down on the little columnat the old-time tactics of the stampede. Warily though, with all theirclamor, for though they whoop and yell and shoot and challenge, theyveer off to right or left long before they get within dangerous range ofthose silent skirmishers of Hunter's, now sprawling in long blue lineout on the dusty prairie, _ventre a terre_, and every fellow with hiscarbine at the front just praying the painted sca
mps will come a littlecloser. Warily in front, too, where Ray is skilfully retiring, face tothe foe, but keeping them back while Wayne has time to return to thecolumn and move his horses into the sheltering timber and prepare forvigorous defence.
It is the only course now open to him. This is not civilized warfare,remember, and far different rules must govern. It would be no difficultmatter against ordinary troops to lead a dashing charge, cut through theopposing line, and so make his way back to the regiment. Of course manymen might be unhorsed and wounded, and so left behind, but they would becared for as prisoners until exchanged or the war was at an end. But warwith the Indian means, on his side, war _a outrance_,--war to thecruellest death he can devise. When _he_ is cornered, all he has to dois surrender and become the recipient of more attention and the victimof higher living than he ever dreamed of until he tried it, and found itso pleasant that it paid him to go on the war-path every spring, to havea royal old revel in blood and bestiality until fall, and then yield tothe blandishments of civilization for the winter. But to officer orsoldier capture means death, and death by fiendish torture as a rule.The Indian fights for the glory and distinction it gives him. He haseverything to gain and nothing to lose. The soldier of the United Statesfights the red man only because he is ordered to. He has nothing togain--even glory, for the Senate has fixed a bar sinister on gallantryin Indian warfare. He has everything to lose. However, no words of minewill ever effect a change of political heart in such matters. The factremains that the one thing left for Wayne to do--finding himself cut offby some two hundred Cheyennes--was to take to the timber and stand themoff.
By this time the fray was spirited and picturesque in the extreme. Thewhole line of bluffs was alive with Indians dashing to and fro,occasionally swooping down as though to burst through or over theslender skirmish line. Others had swung clear around to the left, andwere circling about in the valley below them. From all but the northside, therefore, the bullets came whistling in, and occasionally somestricken horse would plunge and snort madly, and one or two men werebeing assisted to the bank of the stream, where the young doctor hadalready gone to work. Hunter's dismounted men, sturdily fronting thesouth and southeast, were holding five times their force in check, whileRay's and Dana's mounted skirmishers, fronting southwest and west, wereslowly falling back fighting. The Cheyennes encircled them on every sidebut the north.
Busy in getting his horses into shelter under the bank, which was a fewfeet high, and directing where the provisions and pack-mules should beplaced, Wayne was suddenly accosted by Ray.
"If twenty men can be spared, sir, I'll put them on that island,"pointing to a clump of willows and cottonwoods that stood along theopposite shore. "The Indians are crossing above and below, and we'llsoon have their fire on our backs."
Wayne was soldier enough to see the force of the suggestion. He was manenough, too, to want to ask Ray's pardon for his language of themorning, but there was only time to accede to the request. TheKentuckian, still mounted on Dandy, was darting across the sandy spacewith a dozen or more of his men at his heels. The island was a Godsend.In less than five minutes the warriors who had ventured across, and werenow seeking for a shot at the safety-roost along under the bank, weremet by a score of well-aimed bullets that drove them to cover, draggingwith them the lifeless body of one of their number.
"Spread out there, men!" shouted Wayne. "Seize every point you can geton t'other shore. Run up-stream fifty yards or so and scoop holes foryourselves in the sand." And then he rode out to the front again tosuperintend the retirement of his slender lines.
But all this time the firing had been rapid and almost incessant. As thetroopers came slowly in towards the timber and the Cheyennes realizedthat it was impossible to drive them into panic or stampede, they seemedto give far more attention to the accuracy of their aim, and for thispurpose the best shots had thrown themselves from their ponies and werestriving to pick off the officers and prominent sergeants. Still, thegreater number remained in saddle whooping and yelling and darting toand fro at a comparatively safe distance, banging away at anything oranybody within the soldier lines, and offering tempting though difficultmarks for the sorely-tried skirmishers. Until he noted the distantwar-parties crossing to the north side of the stream, Ray had beenriding up and down the lines checking the useless waste of ammunition.Everywhere his voice could be heard, placid, almost laughing at times,as he rebuked the senseless long-range shooting of the men.
"Hold your fire, men. You can't hit those skipping jack-rabbits half amile away. What on earth are you shooting at, Mulligan? You couldn't hita whole barn at that distance."
But all the same he was seriously worried. He knew well that at theutmost there were no more than fifty rounds per man with the troopers,and that rapid firing would soon reduce this to next to nothing. Theindications were that once hemmed in to the timber they would need everyshot to stand off the Cheyennes until relief could come, and beforegalloping off to secure the timbered island in rear of their positionand so form a partially protected "corral" for the horses, he hadcautioned Dana and Hunter to be most sparing in their fire,--to allow noshot unless the Indians charged.
The foe, on the contrary, were flush with ammunition. Mr. ----'scartridges were abundant among them, and from east, south, and west thebullets were whizzing overhead, ripping up little grass tufts from theprairie and raising a dust wherever they struck. The mounted skirmisherssheered off into the timber quite early, as they were being shot at fromthree sides, sprang from their horses and took to the trees, but beforethey could do so several casualties had occurred. Six horses were lyingdead out on the prairie, others were wounded and bleeding, but worsethan that, two old Arizona sergeants, veterans of a dozen fights, andfive of the men were severely wounded. Ray's efforts to keep down thereturn fire were futile. As long as the men had cartridges and he wasnot about, they would fire. Just as Wayne the second time rode out tothe front he found Dana slowly dismounting.
"Are you hit?" he asked.
Dana nodded, pressed his hand to his side, and saying nothing, walked upto a neighboring cottonwood and leaned against it, looking rather pale.
"Damn the luck!" growled Wayne. "This won't do. I must get the wholecrowd under cover."
"You get under yourself," grinned Dana. "That hat of yours looks like asieve now. Yi-ip! There goes your horse." And forgetting his own pain,he strove to aid the captain, whose horse had suddenly plunged forward,and was now rolling and kicking in the agony of death.
"I'm all right, Dana. Poor old Ned! he's carried me many a mile. Here,sergeant, help the lieutenant back to the doctor. Go, Dana! I'll get themen where they belong. We're all right, once we get in the timber."
And so, little by little, slowly and steadily the skirmishers fell backto the shelter of the trees. There in big semicircle they weredistributed, each in a little, hastily constructed rifle-pit or shelterof his own, and by nine o'clock this bright July morning the first phaseof the combat was at an end, and there was time to "take account ofstock."
Dana was shot through the side by a Henry or Winchester bullet, and waslying under the bank faint, thirsty, but plucky. Sergeant Gwinn and twoof the men were dead, and eight men now needed the care of the surgeon;three of them were senseless, probably mortally hurt. At least fifteenhorses were killed or rendered useless; the others were "corralled"under the bank, where, in a deep bend, they were safe except fromlong-range fire. Ray's men on the island had improved their advantage byseizing defensible positions on the north bank, and, as against twohundred and fifty Indians, with two days' rations left, with abundantwater to be had by digging in the sand, with pluck and spirit left foranything, they were not badly off, provided the Indians were not heavilyreinforced and provided their ammunition held out.
The Cheyennes now resorted to other tactics. Leaving but few warriorsscurrying about on the open prairie, both north and south, they gatheredin force in the timber up- and down-stream and began their stealthyapproaches, keeping up all the time a
sharp fire upon Wayne's position.Every now and then would come a frantic cry from some stricken horse asa random bullet took effect, but few struck among the men. The surgeonand the wounded were well sheltered in a concave hollow of the bank.
There was fortunately little wind. With a gale blowing either up- ordown-stream, the Indians could have fired the timber and soon driventhem out. This was well understood on both sides. But the besieged knewas well that other methods would be resorted to, and speedily they weredeveloped. The rattling fire that had been kept up ever since the firstassault had died away to an occasional shot, when suddenly from thedown-stream side there came a volley, a chorus of frantic yells, andthen a pandemonium of shots, shouts, howls, and screeches, answered bythe soldiers with their carbines and the billingsgate of someirrepressible humorist. A savage attack had begun on Hunter's men. Evenas Wayne and Ray, bending low to avoid the storm, went scurrying throughthe trees to his assistance, followed by some half a dozen of the "oldhands," there came from up-stream just such another assault, and in tenseconds every able man in the command was hotly engaged.
"For God's sake, captain, don't let them waste their fire!" shouted Ray."I'll go back to the other front and hold them there."
"All right! I understand, Ray. You watch the same thing over there,"answered Wayne, who at another time would have resented any suggestions,but had seen the value of Ray's words a dozen times that day. "Damn it!men. Fire slow. Don't throw away a shot. _Let_ them come closer; that'swhat we want," he shouted to the soldiers, who, lying behind logs orkneeling among the trees, were driving their missiles through thetimber, where the smoke-wreaths told of the otherwise invisible foe. Outon the prairie, too, the mounted warriors went careering about, dashingat full speed towards the woods, as though determined to charge, butinvariably veering off to right or left as they came within threehundred yards. Of course, there was no direction from which the bulletsdid not come whizzing into the timber, and men were more likely to behit in the back than elsewhere,--one of the many disheartening featuresof such warfare. Almost every moment somebody _was_ hit, though at thetime it could not be seen or known, as all were too busy with what wasin their front to look around. Once in a while, too, some lucky shotwould send an Indian pony to his knees out on the prairie, or a warriorwould drop and be borne off by a ducking, dodging trio of his fellows.Then there would be a shout of triumph from the timber, answering yellsof rage and defiance from the foe; but finally, after nearly an hour ofsuch savage work, the Cheyennes seemed to give it up. Then came anotherrespite, another "taking of stock."
One of the scouts, one who had refused to try and ride through to theregiment, was shot dead, and lay on his face among the trees. So, too,were two more of the men, while six were wounded, and Wayne himself hada flesh wound in the thigh. The hot sun of noonday was pouring down, andmatters looked ugly.
"Do you know how much ammunition we have left?" asked Mr. Ray, in a lowtone, of the commanding officer about an hour later.
"No," said Wayne, looking anxiously in his face.
"Not twelve rounds to the man."