Rube was perplexed. Were they going to engage the enemy after all?
Scouts who had been sent out returned with the report that the enemy was quickly advancing through a gap in the foothills. They would soon appear in sight.
Leaving his reserves in ambush, Kiddie now led his own division slowly forward across the plain, the armies of Falling Water and Short Nose forming his right and left wings, well in his rear.
He had covered hardly half the distance between the creek and the near foothills when the Sioux appeared, emerging like a huge serpent through the gap. They were riding in single file, across the Crows' line of march, clearly with the purpose of surrounding them and cutting them off from the ford. They continued in a straight, unbending column, but were still beyond range, when suddenly the Crows halted, turned right about face, and retired once again in the direction of the creek, apparently unwilling to engage so formidable an enemy.
For the first time in his experience Rube Carter suspected Kiddie of cowardice, or at least of indecision. If he were not meaning to fight, why had he not retreated earlier, while there was time to escape?
To the Sioux, as well as to Rube Carter, it must have appeared that Falling Water was owning himself defeated before even a blow had been struck.
Kiddie, however, was but following out his own plan of campaign. He was manoeuvring his forces for position. While appearing to be in retreat, he was keeping his divisions in perfect order, and at the same time alluring the Sioux towards that part of the plain which he had chosen for his battle ground. His reserves had already secured possession of the ford, and they were ready to join in the battle if their support should be needed.
The crucial moment came when the leading warriors of the Sioux' long column were level with the rear of Kiddie's division.
Then, as by a pre-arranged plan of action, the Crows wheeled round to a new position, the three divisions joining and forming an unbroken semi-circle confronting the Sioux, and completely heading them off from the ford to which they had been advancing.
So quickly and so accurately was the manoeuvre performed, that the Sioux might well have been astounded. The result of it was that the Crows had concentrated the whole of their strength against less than half the forces of their enemy, whose files from the centre back to the rear were wholly out of action.
Urging their ponies to the full gallop, the Crows charged down upon the Sioux like a hurricane, assailing them with bullets and arrows as they swept into close contact.
The Sioux were not prepared for this sudden change of front, but they made the best of the situation by a quick turn, which brought them face to face with the attacking hordes, while the rear of their long column, issuing from the gap in the hills, broke off from the centre, with the purpose of surrounding the Crows' third division.
Falling Water's army might thus have been adroitly caught between two fires, had it not been for Kiddie's forethought in sending his reserves to the support of his right wing. It accordingly followed that, while numerically the inferior force, the Crows continued to hold the great advantage they had gained by concentrating their strength upon a weak point at the most fitting moment.
Rube Carter saw but little of the battle. He was not called upon to engage in the actual fighting. Instead, he acted as a messenger, or dispatch rider.
Just as the turning movement was being made, Kiddie sent him to the rear to order the reserves to break cover, and advance across the plain to the support of Short Nose. This order he delivered by means of signs and gestures, which were well understood and very promptly obeyed.
Rube then rode back to a spot where Kiddie had told him to wait, and it was from here that he watched as much as could be seen of the progress of the battle.
When the two conflicting sides were apart, he could realize the meaning of all they did. He saw the Crows advancing to surround the van of their enemy; he saw the Sioux turn sharply to confront them. And then, with a loud thudding of horses' hoofs, the two contending armies rushed one at the other in a rising cloud of prairie dust.
There was a crackle of rifle fire, mingled with thrilling war-cries and wild, barbaric yells. Arrows flew from side to side, making a visible arch between.
As the rifle fire lessened at close quarters the yells and shouts grew louder and fiercer. And now Rube lost all power of distinguishing one side from the other, for it was all one vast mass of horses and men, swaying this way and that in wild confusion.
It seemed to Rube that even the horses were fighting, for they were rearing and plunging, kicking and biting, as they forced themselves through the crowd. Many of them fell, many were riderless. Some of them had two or even three Indians mounted on their backs, wielding their clubs and tomahawks.
Through the dust and powder-smoke Rube could see that the ground was thickly strewn with killed and wounded horses and men. There were wide gaps in what had been the ranks, but no order was kept, and the combatants broke off into dense groups. Here and there a chief or important warrior would draw off his section, rallying and forming them into line for a new attack, again to become mixed up in a grand scrimmage.
Rube could distinguish the chiefs by their feathered war bonnets, and amongst them he thought he recognized the young chief Broken Feather riding to and fro in the rear of his warriors as if urging them to new movements or increased effort.
Kiddie was not so easily to be distinguished, as he wore only a very simple head-dress, but Rube, knowing him by his piebald prairie pony, saw him once or twice in the forefront of the battle, and again leading a retirement to take up a fresh position on the field where the fighting was most severe.
Then for a long time there was no sign of Kiddie, and Rube began to fear that he had been killed or seriously wounded. So much did this fear oppress him that he resolved to risk his own safety by riding forward to make a search. He knew that Kiddie's main object in posting him here where he waited was to keep him out of danger. But what if Kiddie himself were in danger, or badly wounded, and needed help?
Rube Carter had often said that what he wanted more than anything else was to be of vital help to Kiddie in some situation of great peril, and the idea that such a situation was now at hand so took possession of him that caution and obedience alike were put aside. With the impulsive recklessness of boyhood, he started off to search for Kiddie in the very midst of the fighting. He had only the very vaguest notion of where Kiddie might be. He was aiming at getting to the place where he had last seen him riding at the head of a large company of the Crows to encounter an equally large company of the Sioux. The fighting at this point had now ceased, and the ground was covered with dead and dying horses and fallen warriors.
Rube did not reflect that his mount was a trained Indian war-horse, accustomed to the excitement of battle, and when he tugged and pulled at the halter rein to make the pony stop and let him dismount to go on foot amongst the wounded, the animal tossed its mane and galloped on and on to join a troop of its fellows charging across the battle front.
All Rube's efforts to keep out of the actual fighting were useless. Wholly against his will he was carried into it. Arrows and spears were flying about his head; bullets hummed past him; he saw tomahawks raised aloft to strike at him.
Suddenly the horse immediately in front of him staggered and rolled over. Rube's own mount reared and swerved to clear the obstacle. His knees lost their grip, and he was thrown to the ground.
The long halter rope, wound round his wrist, almost wrenched out his arm. He was dragged for a little distance, but his hand was open, and the loops of the lariat uncoiled themselves as the horse plunged onward, leaving him behind.
The fighting continued round about him for a while, but the Crows pressed their enemies back and back until none remained excepting those who had lost their horses; and these, instead of following the battle on foot, went among the killed and wounded collecting scalp locks.
Some of the braves seized riderless ponies, leapt on their backs, and gallope
d off to join the throng. Rube also looked round in search of a pony that might carry him back to the rear. There was one not many yards away, tugging at the halter that held it.
Rube rose to his knees, only to realize that in his fall he had injured his hip, and could not even crawl. How, then, could he hope to mount a strange horse without help?
He was still on his knees, trying to rise to his feet, when something like the sting of a whip struck his right cheek and ear. He put up his hand to his face, and drew it away wet and stained. The warm crimson moisture trickled down his neck, and dripped from his chin. He opened and shut his mouth.
"Gee!" he exclaimed ruefully. "Seems I'm wounded. Jaw ain't put outer gear, though. Might ha' bin worse—heaps worse."
"Lie down flat, Rube! Lie down flat!"
It was Kiddie's voice. Rube instinctively obeyed the command, without even looking round to see where the voice had come from. But as he prostrated himself, he glanced forward and saw quite near to him a young Sioux chief mounted on a fine black horse, and wearing a magnificent feathered war-bonnet.
It was Broken Feather.
The chief was aiming with his revolver at a mark beyond where Rube lay. He pressed the trigger; but the chambers were empty, the cartridges all spent; and when no shot followed, he gripped the gun by its muzzle end, flung back his arm, and threw the weapon from him with all his force.
Rube had turned his head to look back over his shoulder, and now, just at the moment when the weapon was thrown, he saw Kiddie stretch out his hand and adroitly catch it, as he might have caught a cricket ball. Kiddie, still riding the same lank, piebald prairie pony; still unhurt in the battle; still cool and self-contained.
"So it's you—you—that have been leading these Crows against me?" snarled Broken Feather, with an angry scowl.
"Well," returned Kiddie, dropping the chief's revolver and drawing back his hand under his blanket; "you may take it that way if you choose. It seems I'm here. Anyhow, I guess you're pretty well beaten this time."
Broken Feather had seized the haft of his tomahawk, and was holding his bridle rein ready to make a desperate charge forward to a hand to hand encounter.
But Kiddie had foreseen his intention.
"Steady, there, steady!" he cried, quickly withdrawing his hand and levelling his fully-loaded six-shooter at a point between Broken Feather's eyes. "Put up your hands! You can't get at me before my bullet reaches you, see?"
For many moments Broken Feather stared at the shining ring of steel in front of Kiddie's steadily held hand. He saw Kiddie's finger twitching against the trigger, and knew for a certainty that Kiddie would not hesitate to shoot if his command were disobeyed.
"Put up your hands," Kiddie reiterated.
Broken Feather's tomahawk was now hanging by its thong from his wrist. Slowly and very reluctantly he raised his two empty hands above his head.
"Right," Kiddie nodded, lowering his weapon, but still keeping it turned in the same direction. "You've saved your precious life. And now you'd best call off your warriors before there's any more blood spilt. D'you understand? Put an end to this needless battle, and quit right away, with what's left of your army. You're tryin' to fly a bit too high, my man. But you're not made big enough. Give up tryin'. Go back to your reservation, and try to live a decent, honourable life of peace and usefulness."
Broken Feather drew down his hands, and folded his arms across his chest, sitting very upright astride of his horse.
"I have not asked advice from you, Lord St. Olave," he said.
"It isn't advice I'm giving you," returned Kiddie. "It's a command. Draw off your warriors right now, and quit, while you have the chance."
He again raised his weapon, and urged his pony a few steps nearer. But Broken Feather did not wait. Seizing his bridle, he pulled his mustang round and galloped away.
Kiddie then advanced to where Rube Carter was lying. He dismounted.
"Why did you let him off like that, Kiddie?" Rube asked, one hand up to his wounded cheek. "You might have shot him easy. Why don't you go after him?"
"What?" said Kiddie, going down on his knees; "and leave you here, without help? Not likely. My! you do look pretty, with all that blood about your face. Take away your hand, and let's have a look at where you're hurt. What's become of your pony?"
"Dunno," Rube answered feebly. "I was thrown, an' he ran off on his own. I've hurt my hip some. Don't think I c'n walk. Wound on my cheek ain't much, is it, Kiddie?"
"Nothing serious," Kiddie told him, taking out his pocket case. "A strip or two of stickin' plaster 'll fix it up till we get home. Bullet went very near your eye, though. Say, how d'you happen to be here? I expected to find you away back there, where I told you to wait. Got tired of waitin', I guess."
"Don't blame me, Kiddie; I didn't think you really wanted me ter stop thar. An' when the fightin' was at its worst, I got anxious about you; figured as you might be badly wounded an' needin' help, or—or even that you might be killed. So I came along ter search for you, see?"
"Yes, Rube, I see," nodded Kiddie. "And instead of you finding me, it was I who found you, eh? Well, I'm real sorry to disappoint you, but it can't be helped."
"No; but it's allus the same," Rube regretted. "It's allus you that helps me. How many times have you saved my life since we come out on this yer trip? I never get half a chance to save yours. Never!"
"Keep your face still, can't you?" ordered Kiddie. "How d'you expect me ter fix up this cut on your cheek if you keep on waggin' your jaw?"
He was not long over the operation of getting a pad of lint on the wound and binding a rough bandage round Rube's head. Then he stood up.
"Now let me give you a leg up on to my pony," he said.
"What about yourself?" objected Rube. "Ain't yer goin' to do any more fightin'? The battle ain't finished yet."
"Fightin'?" repeated Kiddie. "Oh, no; not now. I'm going to take you back to the rear. Besides, it wouldn't be at all gentlemanly if I were to continue fightin' after having told Broken Feather that he must put an end to it all."
He stopped and lifted Rube bodily from the ground, planting him securely astride the piebald pony, which he led away across ground that was thickly strewn with dead and wounded Indians and horses. Rube's injured hip was exceedingly painful; every movement of the pony gave him a new twinge; but he bore the pain stoically, not wishing to let Kiddie know how much he was hurt.
Near the fording place they came to a halt. Rube was left lying on a blanket while Kiddie, re-mounting the piebald, rode back to the battlefield to put a stop to all scalping and mutilating and looting, to attend to the wounded, and to draw off the Crows as Broken Feather had drawn off the Sioux.
Amongst the dead and wounded Crows he discovered Simon Sprott kneeling at the side of the chief Falling Water, whose body had been pierced by a dozen arrows.
"Poor old Falling Water's done in, Little Cayuse," Simon announced. "He's gone right away to the Happy Hunting Grounds. But I guess he'd a big thought for you just before he started on the Long Trail. Asked me to thank you for leading the Crows to victory, he did."
CHAPTER XIX
KIDDIE'S ANSWER
It was late in the evening when the surviving Crows arrived in their village. Rejoicings over their victory were mingled with lamentations over the death of their chief—ceremonies in which neither Kiddie nor Rube took any personal interest.
They were both lying very weary and silent on a pile of soft buffalo robes within their teepee, when Simon Sprott entered, accompanied by several of the warriors and counsellors.
"We've been having a big talk," began Simon Sprott. "We've lost our chief, and the Crows have elected a successor. Their choice of Little Cayuse was quickly made." He saluted Kiddie. "And we're hoping you won't refuse."
Kiddie looked puzzled. He glanced round at Rube.
"Well?" said Rube. "Chief of the Crow nation. That's what they're offerin' you. Why don't you answer?"
Kiddie stood irresolute.
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"Why don't you answer?" Rube repeated, impressed by the importance of the occasion. He was very much interested in the deputation of Indians waiting so patiently for Kiddie's decision.
Kiddie still looked puzzled, as if he had difficulty in making up his mind concerning the offer that had been made to him to become the head chief and lawman of the Crow nation.
"There's no need for you to hurry, Little Cayuse," said Simon Sprott. "Take your own time to consider the proposition. Think about it deeply, all round, from all sides. The Crows will wait. They will leave you alone with your own thoughts. They do not ask for your answer right now. They would wish you to sleep upon it. When the sun has risen over Washakee Peak they will come again into the wigwam of Little Cayuse. He will then give them his answer. If it is Yes, they will rejoice; all the Crow nation will be glad. If it is No, their hearts will be heavy. For Little Cayuse alone is the leader they would follow and obey. I have spoken. What I have said is said by all the Crows."
He turned to his companion medicine men and warriors, and told them what he had said. Then he took from one of them a magnificent war bonnet of white eagles' plumes, and from another a robe of soft doeskin adorned with beautiful designs in coloured beads and porcupine quills and needlework in brilliant silk. From a third he took a chief's staff of office, and from a fourth a pair of richly-decorated moccasins. All these he spread with great ceremony at Kiddie's feet, evidently expecting him to wear them when next he should appear in public.
Kiddie bowed to them as the counsellors filed slowly out of the lodge. When they had closed the door-flap behind them he turned round to Rube Carter.
"Feelin' better now, Rube?" he asked. "I'll dress that cut on your cheek again, 'fore you go to sleep. Dunno about your hip. Is it painin' you?"
"Some," Rube answered. "But don't you worry. I ain't thinkin' about my wounds. I'm thinkin' about you. What's the matter with that head-dress? Ain't you goin' ter put it on, and lemme see how you look in it? What about a dress rehearsal?"
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