“How many soldiers are there?” Yellow Wolf asked.
Standing Bear, the Indian who was reporting the sighting, flashed both hands twice. “They are following the water this way.” Standing Bear pointed toward the north.
“We are only twelve, the soldiers have too many. We should go this way so that they will not see us,” Spotted Eagle suggested, pointing toward the west.
“No,” Yellow Hawk said. “We will go to the place on the water with the high sides. Ride swiftly, we must get there before they arrive.”
Yellow Hawk slapped his legs against the side of his horse and the agile animal leaped forward at a full gallop. The others followed, and the small band of Indians closed the distance between them and the “place of the water with the high sides” very quickly.
The water they were talking about was Raw Hide Creek, and the “high sides” were the one-hundred-foot high bluffs that created a rather narrow passage for the creek. Just before they reached the bluffs, Yellow Hawk called for a stop.
“Spotted Eagle, you will take some and go on the other side of the water. I will stay on this side with the others. When the soldiers enter into the place between the two high sides, they will be below us, and there will be no place for them to hide.”
“Ayiee!” Spotted Eagle said with a broad smile. “That is good! We will have the soldiers trapped and we can kill many!”
“Let us move quickly so that we can be ready when the soldiers ride into the place between the two high sides.”
Spotted Eagle led five men across to the other side of the creek. Then the Indians on both sides moved quickly until they reached the top of the bluffs, Yellow Hawk on one side, Spotted Eagle on the other.
Moving their horses back so they couldn’t be seen, the Indians took up positions and waited.
In the distance, they could see the army troops approaching in a long, orderly column of two abreast.
“Ha!” Yellow Hawk said. “The soldiers line up and make it easy for us.” He jacked a round into the chamber of his Winchester.
“Lieutenant,” Sergeant Caviness called. “I recommend we leave the creek.”
“Do you, now?” Scott replied.
“Yes, sir.”
Scott held his hand up to stop the column, and Sergeant Caviness breathed a bit easier because it appeared as if Scott was going to take his suggestion.
“Men,” Scott said, standing in the stirrups to address the others. “We will continue to ride up the creek bed. We will start at a canter, continue the canter for ten minutes, then slow to a trot. Above all, keep it closed up, and keep moving!”
“Sir, you don’t mean the creek bed, do you?” Caviness asked. “Surely, you mean we are going to be riding along the ridgeline, following the creek bed.”
“I most definitely do mean the creek bed, Sergeant. We can move much faster by staying in the creek bed than we can by riding up on the ridgeline where we will constantly be traversing gullies.”
“Lieutenant, that’s not a very good idea,” Trooper Jones said. “If we’re on the creek bed, we’ll—”
“Trooper Jones, if you question my orders one more time, I’ll have you in the stockade as soon as we return to garrison,” Scott said, angrily.
“Yes, sir, I’ll say nothin’ else, sir,” Jones said in a quiet and acquiescing voice.
“Forward, ho!” Lieutenant Scott ordered, and the platoon started forward at the canter.
“Sam,” Trooper Jones said to Caviness a short time later, “look up ahead. See how them walls close in on the creek bed like that? Once we get in there, it will be too narrow for maneuvering. That’s what I was tryin’ to tell the lieutenant, but you better believe I ain’t goin’ to say nothin’ to him now.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Caviness said. “Maybe I’d better see what the lieutenant has planned.”
Caviness rode ahead to catch up with Lieutenant Scott.
“Lieutenant Scott, may I recommend that we leave this creek bed and take the high ground, just until we are through that restricted canyon ahead?”
“Return to your position, Sergeant,” Scott ordered.
“Sir, I’m pretty sure the first sergeant selected me because he wanted me to give you the benefit of my experience. And I strongly recommend that we not go through there, what with them walls so close and all.”
“I am perfectly aware of your recommendation, Sergeant Caviness,” Scott replied. “Now, kindly return to your position.”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Caviness replied.
Caviness dropped back to ride alongside Jones.
“What did he say?”
“What do you think the son of a bitch said?” Caviness replied quietly.
“He’s goin’ to get some folks killed,” Jones said.
“Yeah, well, if we’re lucky, he’ll be the first one to go down,” Caviness said with a low growl.
On top of the bluffs that looked down onto the stream, Yellow Hawk smiled as he saw the soldiers advancing. He looked across the creek to the bluff on the other side, and saw Spotted Eagle. He pointed to the approaching soldiers, and Spotted Eagle nodded. Then, the Indians all got into position behind rocks and shrubbery so that they couldn’t be seen by the approaching soldiers.
They watched as the soldiers continued to come toward the narrow pass. Yellow Hawk saw a soldier with yellow stripes on his sleeve approach the soldier who had yellow boards on his shoulders, so Yellow Hawk knew that this was a chief.
The soldier with the stripes pointed toward the place between the two high sides, and for a moment, Yellow Hawk feared that the soldiers might not come into the ambush he had waiting for them. But the soldier who was the chief shook his head, and they continued to come. Yellow Hawk smiled. This would be a great victory, and not just against unarmed farmers and travelers. This would be a victory against the long knives.
As Yellow Hawk waited for the soldiers, he thought of what it would be like around the campfires as stories were shared about his victories. Some said that the day of the Indian warrior was over, but he would prove that it is not.
Scott and the others were halfway through the narrow canyon and it was beginning to look as if they might make it all the way without incident, when one of the soldiers suddenly shouted.
“Lieutenant! Injuns atop the hills!”
Immediately after the soldier’s shout, the steep walls of the bluff reverberated with the sound of rifle fire. Looking up, Scott saw Indians firing down from the top of the bluffs, on either side of the narrow draw.
“Dismount! Dismount!” Scott ordered.
“Lieutenant, no! We can’t dismount! If we do that, we’ll be trapped in here! We’ve got to keep moving!” Sergeant Caviness shouted.
“Goddamnit, Caviness! Quit questioning my commands!” Scott screamed.
Caviness looked into Lieutenant Scott’s eyes and he wasn’t sure what he saw. Was it confusion? Panic? Whatever it was, it wasn’t confidence.
“I said dismount!” Scott ordered again.
First Sergeant Cobb had selected the troopers of this scout from a cadre of seasoned cavalrymen who knew that the moment a body of cavalry dismounted, it would lose one-fourth of its effective fighting force by virtue of the fact that every fourth man was detailed to hold the horses of the other three.
“What the hell, Sergeant?” one of the more seasoned troopers said. “Does the lieutenant have any idea what the hell he’s doin’? If we dismount here, we’re goin’ to be sittin’ ducks!”
“You plannin’ on disobeying the lieutenant, are you, Reeves?” Caviness asked.
“Lieutenant, we’ve got to get the hell out of . . . unh!” That was as far as Trooper Jones got before he was struck down by a bullet.
“J.C.!” Caviness shouted as he saw his friend go down.
Two other soldiers were struck down as well. The Indians had the superior position, and not only were they pouring down accurate fire on the cavalry troopers below, their own position was such that it was nearly impossible fo
r the soldiers to return fire.
“Lieutenant! Lieutenant! We’ve got to get out of here now!” Caviness shouted.
“Uh . . .” Scott replied, but he was completely unable to speak.
“Lieutenant, give the command to withdraw!” Caviness said. “If you don’t, you’re goin’ to lose ever’ man!”
Scott nodded. “Y . . . Yes,” he said. “Yes, we’ll withdraw.”
Caviness waited for a moment for Scott to give the command, but Scott seemed frozen in place, unable to make a sound.
“Troopers! Mount up!” Caviness ordered. “Withdraw with fire!” he shouted and, pointing his pistol toward the top of the overhang, he began firing as he urged his horse into a gallop. The others, including Lieutenant Scott, followed.
“Yip, yip, yip, yee, yee, yee!” Yellow Hawk shouted and he and the others stood and fired at the retreating soldiers. Then, when all the soldiers were gone, Yellow Hawk and his men climbed down the side of the bluff and hurried over to the fallen soldiers. The Indians began firing into the bodies of the soldiers, and then they stripped, scalped, and mutilated them.
Chapter Ten
Fort Laramie
By the time the detail returned to the fort, Scott had recovered enough from the paralysis induced by his fear that he was once more in charge of his column. Just as he approached the gate, he halted his men, then orchestrated their entry in the way he wanted them to proceed for what he knew would be a pass in review.
When the entire detail was inside the post, the massive gates were closed behind them. Practically the entire post had turned out to watch their return, and some had already noticed that there were fewer soldiers returning, than had departed.
Scott, mindful that he and his men were the center of attention, led them to the center of the parade ground, near the flagpole. There, he halted his command, brought them around in parade front formation, called them to attention. Then he galloped to the flagpole to render his report to Colonel Gibbon, who, with the others of the post, had turned out to welcome the troops home.
“Sir, Lieutenant Scott reporting the return of the scouting party, authorized by you to search out, and engage the enemy. I am pleased to report that we did locate a large force of Shoshone Indians, under Yellow Hawk, and did engage them in battle, resulting in numerous Indian casualties. I now request the privilege of leading my command in a pass in review.”
Colonel Gibbon returned Lieutenant Scott’s salute, then invited him to pass in review.
Scott galloped back to the men who were in one long, company front formation.
“Form column of twos to the left! Pass in review!” Scott said.
Pershing and Holbrook were standing out on the porch of the supply room, watching the proceedings out on the parade ground.
“That’s a little grandiose, isn’t it?” Pershing asked. “Passing in review with only twenty men?”
“Seventeen men,” Holbrook corrected. “Three are missing, and I don’t see Trooper Jones. I wonder what happened.”
“Apparently, they engaged hostiles,” Pershing said.
After passing in review, Lieutenant Scott dismissed his men, and they left the parade grounds, leading their horses to the stable. One of the privates took Scott’s horse, so Scott could render a more complete report to Colonel Gibbon.
Pershing and Holbrook remained out on the porch as the soldiers, leading their horses, came walking by. The expressions on their faces were difficult to read. They weren’t joyful as one might expect of returning troops.
“Sergeant Caviness,” Holbrook called down.
Caviness stopped, but he didn’t come over to the supply room.
“Yes, sir?” Caviness asked.
“I count three men short. Will they be in later?”
“No, sir, they won’t be comin’ back.”
“Where are they? What happened?”
“They was all three kilt, sir.”
“Trooper Jones?”
“Yes, sir, he was kilt.”
“What happened?”
“Lieutenant, I’m just a sergeant. It ain’t my place to be a’ givin’ any report. You want to know that, you’ll have to be gettin’ it from Lieutenant Scott.”
“Very well, Sergeant. Carry on.”
“By your leave, sir,” Caviness said, saluting.
Both Pershing and Holbrook returned the salute.
“I don’t know what happened,” Holbrook said. “But I’ve got a feeling that your classmate didn’t do all that well.”
“Yes,” Pershing said. “From what little bit Sergeant Caviness told us, or more precisely, didn’t tell us, I think you are right.”
In the commandant’s office at Old Bedlam, Scott was giving his report.
“We encountered the hostiles and exchanged gunfire. During the ensuing battle, I regret to say, we sustained three killed: Troopers Jones, Travis, and Calhoun.”
“Trooper Jones was killed?”
“Yes, sir.”
Colonel Gibbon stroked his chin. “Trooper Jones will be quite a loss. Of course, so will Troopers Travis and Calhoun. But Jones was an old soldier and, despite his occasional lapses into the bottle, he was very much a stabilizing influence on the younger soldiers. Where are they?”
“They are where they fell, sir.”
“You mean to tell me that you abandoned three troopers?” Colonel Gibbon asked.
“We had no choice, Colonel,” Lieutenant Scott replied. “We were under direct fire from Indians who held the high ground to either side of us. Also, we were outnumbered.”
“How many Indians were there?”
“I’d say there were at least fifty, Colonel, and maybe more. And remember, I had only twenty men with me.”
“Well, we can’t just leave our men out there,” Colonel Gibbon said.
“They’re dead, sir,” Scott said. “They were dead when we left, or I would never have left them.”
Colonel Gibbon nodded, and stroked his chin. “Yes,” he said. “Still, I don’t know what’s left of them now. Those devils do love to mutilate bodies.”
“Give me an entire troop to command this time, Colonel, and I’ll retrieve the bodies.”
“I will send an entire troop, but I’m going to put Captain Kirby in charge. I want you to go as his second in command, since you have now had experience with the Indians.”
“Colonel, I hope you aren’t blaming me for this,” Scott said. “When the Indians attacked, I harkened back to some of the tactical classes I took while at West Point, and realized that being badly outnumbered by a foe that held the high ground, situation and terrain were against me. I felt that it was my duty to look out for the safety of my men. I didn’t want to wind up like Custer or Fetterman.”
“No, I’m not blaming you,” Colonel Gibbon said. “I’m sure that, under the circumstances, you had no choice. In fact, you are to be commended for not losing any more men than you did.”
“When will we be going out again, sir? I’m anxious to recover the bodies of those brave troopers.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Colonel Gibbon said. “I want you to get with Captain Kirby tonight and give him as much information as you can about what you encountered today. Also, write out a report about the action, so I can send it up through channels. There has been some talk of closing Fort Laramie because, and I’m quoting the War Department here, ‘All Indian hostilities have ceased and the need no longer exists for a military presence in the Territory of Wyoming.’ Perhaps information from your experience will convince them that closing Fort Laramie now might be a bit premature.”
“Yes, sir,” Scott said.
When Scott stepped out of the company headquarters building, he heard the bang of the signal cannon. Then, as the bugler played retreat, the flag was lowered. Scott came to attention and saluted, holding his salute until the music stopped.
A few minutes later, Lieutenant Scott and Captain Kirby were in the sutler’s store sharing a table at the officers’ bar.
&
nbsp; “Perhaps it was my fault to ride into a narrow draw like that,” Scott admitted. “But the information I had was that we were after only a few Indians, no more than ten, or so. And, quite frankly, it was my intention to draw them out, to entice them to attack us. I was certain that my superior manpower, and firepower, would win out.
“What I didn’t realize was that he had not ten, but at least fifty men with him, and every one of them was armed with a repeater rifle. The next thing I knew, we were facing a veritable hurricane of bullets.”
“Damn! What did you do?” Kirby asked.
“I did the only thing I could do,” Scott said. “I ordered us to engage the hostiles as we withdrew.”
“I understand that Trooper Jones was one of the three men who was killed.”
“Yes, Jones, Travis, and Calhoun. Jones, as I’m sure you know, was one of our most experienced men.”
“Yes, with a Medal of Honor,” Captain Kirby said. He raised his beer. “Here’s to Troopers Jones, Travis, and Calhoun. May we meet them again at Fiddler’s Green.”
“Fiddler’s Green,” Lieutenant Scott replied, lifting his own beer.
Over in the barracks, Sergeant Caviness was going through the belongings of Troopers Jones, Travis, and Calhoun. First Sergeant Cobb was with him, and the two sergeants were alone in the barracks.
“Here’s J.C.’s medal,” Caviness said, laying the ribbon-suspended star on Jones’s bunk.
“What are we goin’ to do with it?” Cobb asked. “Does he have any relatives that you know of?”
“He’s got a sister back in Ohio that he’s spoke about some. She’s married to a preacher man. I figure we can send the medal to her.”
“What about Travis and Calhoun?”
Caviness shook his head. “I tell you the truth, Top, I ain’t even sure that’s their real names. We get folks like that in the army, you know. They’re runnin’ away from somethin’: the law or, more times than not, a wife, and they give some phony name to join the army. I’ve done been through their things and there ain’t neither one of ’em got anything worth sendin’ anywhere, anyhow. Same as Jones, ’cept for the medal.”
MacCallister, the Eagles Legacy: Dry Gulch Ambush Page 8