To The Front Part 11

"It is too bad," Major Berry had confided to Connell the third day out.

"It just so happened that 'Old Grumbly' was the one captain without a subaltern when Mr. Graham reported for duty with us, and your fine young cla.s.smate had to take the place of one of the absentees. The colonel couldn't help himself. Grumbly is a good soldier in his way, Mr. Connell, and knows his trade, too. I suppose Graham has--sized him up?" This with a c.o.c.k of his head and a keen glance.

"Shouldn't wonder, sir; but if he has, he's kept it to himself."

"Well, if Garrett gets to bothering Graham too much, you let me know."

"I will, sir, if Graham lets _me_ know, but--I'm mistaken in Graham if he opens his head on the subject."

And though the scout was now in its third week, and things had been said and done by "Grumbly" Garrett that set other men to talking, not a word had come from "Coyote."

But it soon transpired that if Graham wouldn't speak of his troop commander _pro tem._, neither did he speak to him, save when occasion required. Day after day on the march it was noted that while the senior lieutenant of each troop rode side by side with his captain, the young West Pointer serving with "F" was almost always at the rear of its column of twos, where, as it transpired, Garrett had given him orders to march and see that the men kept closed. But no complaint came from Graham.

Now, however, as the two old chums rode away on a side scout of their own, it might well be expected that "Coyote" would be less reticent.

The eyes of half the command had followed them appreciatively as the detachment started, Graham and Connell in the lead, Sergeant Drum, and his nineteen following in compact column of twos. No sooner did they reach the outlying sentries, however, than it was noted that the young leader looked back over his shoulder, and the next moment two troopers detached themselves from the rest and spurred out ahead until full six hundred yards in the lead. Then two others obliqued out to the right and left until nearly as a great a distance on the flanks.

"Knows his biz," said the adjutant, sententiously.

"Knows nothing but what I've taught him day by day," snarled Captain Garrett. "And I wash my hands of all responsibility for that detachment once it's out of sight of us."

"Shut up," growled a junior. "The 'Old Man's' got ears, and he'll hear you."

"Well, I _want_ him to hear--it's time he _did_ hear--and heed," was the surly answer. But "Grumbly's" eyes were wisely watching the major as he spoke, noting that the "Old Man" was busy with his binocular, following Graham's movements up the long, gradual, northward slope. The moment the major dropped it and turned toward the group, Captain Garrett changed his tone. "What I'm most afraid of is his getting lost," said he.

"You needn't be, captain," said the bearded commander, placidly. "Mr.

Graham knows this country better than we do. He spent long months here before ever we set eyes on it."

Garrett's jaw dropped. "Then why didn't he tell me? How was I to know?"

"Princ.i.p.ally, I fancy," drawled the adjutant, who loved to rub "Old Grumbly's" fur the wrong way, "because you told him two weeks ago that when you wanted advice or information on any subject from him you'd ask it."

But while Graham had as yet won no friend in Captain Garrett, he had found many among the troopers. His fine horsemans.h.i.+p, his kind, courteous manner to them, his soldierly bearing toward their irascible captain, had appealed to them at the start and held them more and more toward the finish. They saw the second day out that he was no novice at plainscraft. The captain had asked his estimate of the distance from a ford of the Chaduza to a distant b.u.t.te, and promptly scoffed at his answer; indeed, it surprised most of them. Yet "Plum" Gunnison, pack-master, who had served seven years at the post, said the lieutenant was right. They saw within the fourth day that the new-comer was an old stager in more ways than one. "Touch-the-Sky," scout and interpreter, said the lieutenant knew sign talk, which was more than their captain did. They were to see still more within the compa.s.s of a day's march, but they had seen enough in their two weeks' comrades.h.i.+p to give them confidence in the young officer they never felt for their own and only "Grumbly," who, with all his experience, would often blunder, and Grumbly's blunders told on his troop, otherwise they might not have cared.

In low tone the troopers were chatting as they crossed the divide and once more came in view of the two far out in advance, riding now northeastward. They were following back, without much difficulty, the hoof-prints of the two fugitives who, riding in terror and darkness, had so fortunately found their bivouac at break of day. And it was of these two both the men and their young officers were talking as the little party jogged steadily on.

Peaceful hunters and law-abiding men the pair had represented themselves. They were originally five in all--three "pardners," a wagoner, and a cook. Their "outfit" consisted of a covered wagon with four draught and three saddle horses. They indignantly spurned the suggestion that they had whiskey to swap with the Indians for fur and peltries. They had a ranch down on Snake River, were well known in Valentine, had never made trouble, nor had trouble, with the Indians; but the game was all gone from their home neighborhood, and so long as they kept off the reservation they knew there was no reason for the Indians troubling them. And here came another suggestion. The "Old Man," Major Berry, had somewhat bluntly asked if they did not know they had been trespa.s.sing, had been well within the reservation lines and north of Nebraska, and the two swore stoutly that Lem Pearson, partner and projector of the enterprise, had said he knew the country perfectly, had been there half a dozen times, and they left it all to him. They never dreamed they were doing wrong until their camp was "jumped" in the dead of night, and the Sioux chased them every inch of the way till they got in sight of the cavalry.

Yet here was the detachment, at six o'clock of this sparkling morning, clear out of sight of the rest of the cavalry, and half-way across the long swale of the next divide, and, though the print of the shod horses was easily followed, not once yet, anywhere--although the little troop was spread out in long extended line and searched diligently--not once had they found the print of a pony hoof. Now they were full an hour, and nearly four miles, out from camp, and Geordie signalled, slowly swinging his campaign hat about his head, for his men to a.s.semble, then dismount and take their ten minutes' rest.

"Con," said he, presently, "it's my belief those scamps were lying. The only Indians near the Chaduza were those that skipped for White River last night and are probably heading for Eagle's Nest now. Their trail must be three miles or more west of us here, and South Fork isn't three miles ahead. We'll see it from yonder ridge."

Connell was squatting, tailor fas.h.i.+on, on the turf, and thoughtfully playing "mumble-t'-peg" with his hunting-knife, while his troop horse cropped thriftily at the bunch gra.s.s. Graham had been giving a glance over his little command, watching the resetting of a saddle or a careful folding of a blanket. It would presently be time to mount and start, but there was something on his mind, and, as of old, he wanted to have it out with his chum.

Connell drew his knife from the sod, then, with the point on the tip of the left forefinger and the haft deftly held between the thumb and finger of his right, s.h.i.+fted it over by his right ear and sent it whirling down, saw it sink two inches in the sand, bolt upright, then queried: "They said their camp was on the Fork ten miles away northward. Could that be?"

"It might. The Fork turns almost square to the north and runs back of Rosebud. But what I mean is, they weren't chased by the Sioux. I doubt if they fought them at all."

"How about Gamble's horse?--and the blood? There's been some kind of a fight. Look, Con! There's a signal!"

Surely enough. As Connell sprang to his feet and the men quickly turned to their grazing horses, one of the troopers, far in advance, could be seen close to the crest of the divide. He had dismounted to creep forward and peer over, and now, half-way back to where he had left his horse, was waving his hat, with right arm extended from directly over his head down to the horizontal and to the east.

"Mount!" said Geordie, quietly, springing lightly to saddle with a thrill of excitement in his young heart. "Follow at a walk, sergeant, off to the northeast. That's where we're needed, Con."

For the advance-guard, mounting quickly, was now loping along parallel with the divide, yet keeping well down below its backbone, and, putting spurs to their horses, "Badger" and "Coyote," the chums of old, darted swiftly away to join them.

Five minutes more, while a trooper held the horses of the young officers and their guides, while in silence and with eager eyes the little detachment came jogging over the swale to the support of the leaders, three forms were crouching forward to the top of the wavelike ridge, and presently three heads, uncovered, were peering over into the valley beyond. Then the arm of one of them was outstretched, pointing.

Then the field-gla.s.ses of two others were unslung, fixed and focused on some distant object; and then back, still crouching, came one of the number, signalling to Sergeant Drum to come on. Whereupon, without a word of command, simply following the example of their foremost man, the riders gave the bridle-hand, and with the other whipped the ready carbines from their sockets, and with the b.u.t.ts resting on the right thigh, the brown muzzles advanced, came on at a swift trot, those in rear unconsciously pressing forward on those in front.

Then another signal--this time from their young commander, who had come running down afoot, leaving "Badger" at the crest. In the eagerness of the forward rush the riders were opening out, coming right and left front into line, as the soldiers say, and Graham's gauntleted hands--the same gauntlets Big Ben had coveted three months earlier--were extended full to right and left, the length of each arm, and then brought "palms together" in front. "Close in," it said, as plain as day, and almost instantly Drum's gruff voice could be heard in rebuke; almost as quickly the practised riders could be seen closing the outer leg and rein. Another moment and the little line was trotting almost boot to boot. Then as they neared the point where the slope became abrupt, Graham's right hand, palm forward, went straight aloft, a gesture instantly repeated by the sergeant, and in two seconds more the horses, panting a little with excitement, were pawing the turf, and Drum's voice, low and compelling, ordered, "Count fours!" The next moment the odd numbers darted forward four yards, and halted. The next, with carbines swung over their shoulders, numbers one, two, and three were swinging from saddle, the next all horses were again in one line, with every fourth trooper still seated in saddle; and the dismounted men deftly las.h.i.+ng their reins to the headstalls of numbers two and three, while three himself pa.s.sed his reins up to number four. Then, nimbly, with carbines at trail, up came a dozen wiry young fellows in dusty campaign rig, running swiftly up the slope, and in another moment were sprawling on their stomachs close to the crest, their slouch hats flung aside.

And this was what they saw: Before them, to the right front, stretching away to the north, lay a broad valley, through which meandered a wider, bigger stream than the familiar Chaduza. It came winding down from the west before making its sweeping bend to the northward. It was fringed in spots by cotton-woods, and bare to the very banks in others. It was desolate and lifeless far as the eye could see, west and north. But away to the northeast, perhaps seven miles or so, a faint column of smoke was rising against the skies. Away to the northwest, perhaps a dozen miles, in alternate puffs, another and narrower smoke column was rising--Sioux signals, as they knew at once--and right down here before their eyes, midway between the s.h.i.+ning river and the foot of the northward slope, perhaps two thousand yards out--a little more than a mile--was coming toward them a four-horse wagon, its white top a wreck, its struggling team lashed by the whip of the driver and the quirts of half a dozen dusky outriders, while others still circled and shouted and urged them on, while afar back on the east bank of the stream other riders could be seen darting about in keen excitement. All on a sudden, but by no means all unprepared, "Corporal Pops" and his little command found themselves facing a new proposition and a band of turbulent Sioux.

CHAPTER XVI

PROOF POSITIVE OF GUILT

And the first words spoken came from the lips of Sergeant Drum--like many another old campaigner among the old-time regulars, a privileged character.

"Didn't I tell ye those fellers were lyin'? Here's their wagon now, that was burnt over their heads!"

At intervals of several paces, as they could best find points from which to see without being seen from the northern side, the little detachment lay sprawled along the crest, the brown barrels of the carbines well forward. Graham and Connell, peering through their field-gla.s.ses, their elbows resting on the turf, were side by side about the centre. Behind them, nearly a hundred paces down the southward slope, stood the horses in an irregular line, a corporal remaining in charge, keenly watching the movements of his superiors, yet keeping constant control of the four horse-holders, who, like himself, remained in saddle. There could be no telling what moment they might be needed.

For an odd and perplexing situation was this in which the young commander was placed. Ordered to follow back the trail of the fugitive hunters to the point where they claimed to have been "jumped" by hostile Indians; ordered to find, if possible, the remains of the victims, men and horses, and of the burned wagon and "outfit"; ordered also to search for signs by which the a.s.sailants might be discovered, the command had come suddenly in sight of a wagon and horses that answered the description of those said to have been destroyed, and if that wasn't a white man driving them, both binoculars were at fault.

But what did it mean that the captors should be coming southwestward with their booty? Why had they not burned the wagon? They could never use it at the reservation. Many young men, of course, were out and afield with the ghost-dancers, but the elders, the native police, and the agent would quickly hear of it, and trouble would follow for somebody. George Sword, Sioux chief of police and stanch adherent of General Crook--"Wichahnpi Yahmni" (Three Stars), as they called him whom so long the Sioux had honored, and whom now they were so deeply mourning--George Sword was a man who did his duty well; Geordie, as a boy, had known him, and known how the general trusted him. A wagon like this would be of no more use to the captors than a locomotive; yet here they were, a dozen of them, urging it on, while others of their kind, afar back down-stream, were darting about, little black dots of hors.e.m.e.n scampering over the distant slopes, evidently watching some parties still farther away and invisible to the lurking cavalry.

Could it be that they were trying to repeat an old-time deed of chivalry told to this day of their fathers--restoring lost property to the legitimate owners? Could it be that, knowing the presence of the squadron on the Mini Chaduza, and the probability of the frightened owners having found refuge there, these Indians were now actually driving thither? They were still on their reservation. There was nothing but the fugitives' statement to warrant the belief that the camp had been attacked and burned. There was nothing, in fact, to justify an attack upon the present possessors. They would probably scatter, rush to the reservation, tell their tale to the agent, and the press and the peace societies would presently be flooding the country with columns concerning the murderous onslaught on a friendly people made by a reckless soldiery.

Yet something had to be done, and that right speedily; for now, instead of breasting the long slope, and coming, as at first, straight toward the ridge, the Indians were las.h.i.+ng the leaders in gradual turn to the westward. Now they were skirting the foot of the incline and moving parallel to the ridge, and then it was that Geordie saw the reason.

They had made the wide sweep outward in order to circle the head of a ravine which, starting only a few hundred yards out to the left front, went winding deeper and steeper through the "bench" until it finally opened out into the creek bottom a long mile away.

Yes, the whole scheme was evident now. They had captured the camp and the wagon with its contents, and, knowing the difficult country and crossings along the lower Fork, were scurrying with their booty around the great southward bend, hoping to get away to the west, reach the trail of the war-party that had evaded the cavalry, and follow on with their prize. Or else, still keeping within the reservation line, to drive on westward for the valley of the Wounded Knee and their red brethren of the Pine Ridge Agency, the Brules of old Spotted Tail's (Sinte gleshka's) long famous band.

Yet there, too, this wagon would be a white elephant. Why had they not divided among themselves the simple contents of a hunter's camp outfit, cut loose with the horses, and burned the big vehicle, which they could not use?

Then all in a moment the truth flashed upon Geordie. Years before he had heard of such traffic, heard the fierce denunciation lavished by officers and men upon the miscreants who, for love of gold, would sell to Indians, at fabulous price, the means of murdering their fellow-men.

All on a sudden his voice was heard:

"Back to your horses, men! Mount, sergeant, and follow. Come on, Connell! That's why it takes four horses to lug it--that wagon is loaded with lead!"

One minute more and from the lips of one wary Indian, well out on the "bench," went up a shrill whoop of warning. Away up the the gra.s.sy incline, from over the ridge and spurring straight for the wagon, now at the head of the ravine, came two lithe young hors.e.m.e.n, riding like the wind, the right hand of the foremost far uplifted in the signal known the plains over--to halt. Behind these two came an orderly trooper full gallop. Behind these three, presently, there popped into view a score of slouch-hatted, blue-bloused, st.u.r.dy dragoons, and with many a screech of wrath and disgust, away went the last of the Sioux, scooting for the shelter of the creek bank beyond. Shoot they longed to, yet dare not. The word had not yet gone forth. The medicine-men still said nay. The time was not yet ripe. A few days more must they suffer until Si Tanka and his braves were met, until, in overwhelming force, they could turn on the scattered and helpless settlers. That was easier warfare than fighting soldiers, and counted for just as much in scalps and glory. Away they went to the cotton-wood bottom, and one wellnigh exhausted, thoroughly demoralized white man collapsed on the driver's seat, and four sweating, staggering horses pulled up, panting and blowing, and the score of blue-coated riders came thundering on, to rein up in triumph around a silent but obviously excited brace of lieutenants, one of whom simply pointed into the depths of the wagon body. From under a lot of dingy camp equipage peeped out three or four little boxes the soldiery knew at sight. Sergeant Drum spurred alongside and whisked off what was left of the cover, and a dirty blanket or two, and there was a larger box, half filled with magazine rifles. There were ten boxes of Winchester cartridges, one thousand to the box. There was the secret of the "hunter's camp." They had been selling arms to the Sioux.

"Good find, that, Geordie," grinned Connell, as his comrade sat pencilling a brief despatch to the major, while three of the men, with liberal sprinklings from their canteens and brisk fanning with their hats, were striving to revive the collapsed wagoner.

"I need his story," said our plains-wise Pops. "Pull him to, if possible," and then went on with his writing.