Wigwam and War-path Or the Royal Chief in Chains Part 43

Slolux joins them, and Bogus, placing the muzzle of a gun towards the doctor's head, sends another bullet cras.h.i.+ng through it. The red devils now strip him of his clothing, jesting and mocking his words of prayer, and finally turn him face downwards, while through the blood from the wounds on his lips he cries, "Come, Lord--" and the prayer is smothered forever.

When the signal for the attack was given, Schonchin was in position, and, springing to his feet, he draws a revolver from his left side, and, with his other hand, unsheathes a knife. He is so near his victim that he dare not trust to a pistol alone. He is very much excited, and is not so quick as the others in c.o.c.king his pistol.

Meacham draws his Derringer, and pus.h.i.+ng the muzzle squarely against the heart of Schonchin, pulls the trigger, but, alas! it does not fire. Why?

Oh! why? He tries again, and still the hammer does not fall. He now discovers that it is but _half-c.o.c.ked_. Too late! too late! Schonchin thrusts _his_ pistol forward, almost touching Meacham's face. The latter jumps back and stoops, while the ball from Schonchin's pistol tears through the collar of his coat, vest, and s.h.i.+rt on the left shoulder, so close that the powder burns his whiskers and the bullet bruises him. He runs backwards with the pistol now ready for use, but with Schonchin pursuing him and firing as fast as he can until his pistol is empty. Now he drops it on the ground, and, _drawing another from his right side_, he continues the attack, but dare not close on the Derringer still in the hands of Meacham. Why does not the pursued man fire? He is a good shot.

Why don't he drop the old scoundrel? He was very much frightened when the attack began, but, like a soldier in battle, he has pa.s.sed that, and is terribly cool now. He dare not risk his only shot, for fear of missing Schonchin, and because of the danger of hitting Tobey, for she is now interposing for his life, and, putting her hand on Schonchin's pistol, turns it away again and again, while pleading, "Don't kill him! don't kill Meacham! He is the friend of the Indians." Slolux joins Schonchin, and, with his gun, strikes the woman on the head, while Shacknasty, s.n.a.t.c.hing it from him, says, "I'll fetch him," at the same time sitting down and taking deliberate aim. Meacham, striking his breast with his left hand, shouts, "Shoot me there, you cowardly red devil!" Tobey strikes down the gun. Shacknasty threatens her, and again takes aim and fires just as Meacham leaps over a low ledge of rocks and falls. "I hit him, high up! He is all right!" shouts Shacknasty.

Meacham now decides to fire his _only_ shot, and pus.h.i.+ng the pistol up over the rocks, carefully raises his head, with it thrown back, and just as his eye comes above the rocks, he sees Schonchin sitting with his revolver resting on his knee. Instantly a flash and a sting, and a ball strikes Meacham in the forehead, between the eyes. Strange freak of the bullet that pa.s.ses under the eye-brow and out over the left eye, but does not blind the other eye. Meacham now fires at Schonchin, who leaps up and falls on the rocks, wounded. Almost at the same instant a ball pa.s.ses through Meacham's right arm. The pistol drops. Another ball cuts away the upper part of his right ear, and still another strikes him on the right side of the head and glances off. He quivers, and his limbs are outstretched, denoting the death-struggle. Shacknasty is the first to reach him, and he proceeds to strip him of his clothing, first pulling his boots off, then his pantaloons, and, while taking off his coat, tears the vest down at the side and throws it away. Then he strips him of his s.h.i.+rt, for it is a good one, and Shacknasty saves it for his own use.

While he is unb.u.t.toning the s.h.i.+rt at the neck, Slolux comes up, and, placing the muzzle of the gun close to the temple of the wounded man, sets the hammer, and as he raises it up to his face to get it in range, Shacknasty pushes it away, saying in Modoc, "You needn't shoot. He is dead. He won't get up." Hearing the voice of Captain Jack calling, they leave the scene, saying to Tobey, "There lies another of your brothers, you white-hearted squaw! Go and take care of him. You are no Modoc."

This hour seems to have inherited even the wrath of the Almighty. The blackness of unnatural night hangs over this scene of blood. Gen. Canby's limbs have straightened on yonder rocks, but a few steps to the west, and his stark body looks ghastly in the awful gloom. Twenty yards to the east the form of Dr. Thomas, his body half stripped and covered with blood, is still convulsing, while his face presses the cold rocks.

The chief calls again to the red-handed demons and bids them flee to the stronghold. They gather around him with the clothing of the slain still dripping blood upon their feet. They are exulting by wild shouts of half-satiated thirst for blood. While glancing towards the soldiers' camp they reload their arms.

"I am going to have old man Meacham's scalp to put on my shot-pouch," says Boston, pa.s.sing the doctor's clothing to a companion standing near.

"_He has no scalp_," breaks in Hooker Jim, "_or I would have it myself_."

Boston now runs to where the bleeding man is lying, and takes from his pocket a small two-bladed, black-handled knife which had been taken from the pocket of a soldier who was killed in the January battle. The Indian woman is wiping the blood from the mutilated face, now upturned with closed eyes. Boston thrusts her aside, and with his left hand, still red with the blood of Dr. Thomas, grasps the largest locks, and makes a stroke with the knife. The woman remembers that the prostrate man over whom Boston is bending has been _her_ benefactor, and that through his official action, in 1869, he compelled Frank Riddle to make her a _lawful wife_, and that, had it not been for this man, she would now, perhaps, be a _cast-off squaw_. She cannot restrain her indignation, but rushes against the red cut-throat and hurls him back on to the rocks. He rises and threatens to take her life if she again interferes, taunting her with being a "white woman." Stamping on the prostrate man's head, he places one foot on his neck, and renews his attempt to secure an _ornament for his shot-pouch_, swearing because he found no better scalp, but saying that he would take one ear with it. With his left hand resting on the head, he cuts square down to the skull a long, half-circular gash preparatory to taking off the side lock and ear, too, with his knife.

Tobey now resorts to strategy to accomplish what she cannot do otherwise.

Looking towards the soldiers' camp she claps her hands and shouts, "Bos-tee-na soldiers. Kot-pumbla!"--("The soldiers are coming!") Boston, without waiting to ascertain the truth of the warning, starts suddenly and leaves the woman alone with the dead.

Tobey's warning to Boston has reached the ears of the band of murderers at the council fire, who, hastily putting the slightly wounded old sinner, Schonchin, on "Joe Lane," while the blood-stained uniform of Gen. Canby and the gray suit of the doctor, together with Meacham's clothes, are lashed on Dyer's horse, turn away, leaving Boston behind, who grasps the rein of Tobey's horse. She shouts to Jack, who turns and orders Boston to leave him.

Jack and his party scamper over the rocks, looking back, expecting to hear the guns of the white soldiers who are coming to the rescue.

Tobey again wipes the blood from the face of her benefactor, and, stooping down, places her hand over his heart. "It stop! It stop!" she cries. With her finger she opens his eyes. They do not see her. They are overflowing with blood from the wound in his face and on his head. Again with her dress she wipes the blood from his face. She straightens his limbs and body. Then, standing alone a moment, with three dead men in sight, she sorrowfully mounts her horse and starts for the soldiers' camp.

While this scene of terror is being enacted at the council tent, another, a little less b.l.o.o.d.y, is in progress on the opposite side of the Modoc stronghold, the plans for which have been mentioned. Curly-haired Jack (c.u.m-ba-twas) and Curly-haired Doctor have gone out towards Col. Mason's camp, with a flag of truce, to decoy the "Little Tyee" (Col. Mason) among the rocks. But he is an old Indian fighter, and cannot be caught by such devices.

Maj. Boyle is there, and, notwithstanding the fact that on the day before Meacham had told him of the threatened treachery, he proposes to Lieut.

Sherwood to go out and meet the flag of truce. The major was Indian agent at Umatilla, and had been successful in managing peaceable Indians. He had been with Gen. Crook in Arizona, also; and, having confidence in his sagacity to manage still, he volunteered to go now.

Having obtained the consent of Col. Mason, they leave the picket-line behind them and the guard of the day on the lookout. They go cautiously, and, when within hailing distance, the Modocs, under cover of the flag of truce, ask for the "Little Tyee."

"He will not come," replies Boyle. The quick eye of the major catches sight of a musket behind the flag of truce. He turns and flees, calling on Sherwood to "Run! run for your life!"

They run. But see! Sherwood falls! A bullet from the musket of Curly-haired Jack has broken his thigh. The guard rush to the rescue. The Modocs fire a volley, and then flee to their stronghold, pursued by the guard. The signal-station at Mason's camp says, "Boyle and Sherwood attacked, under a flag of truce." Capt. Adams, of the signal corps, on the bluff above Gilliam's camp, receives and dictates it to his secretary, who, after writing, sends it to Gen. Gilliam, in the camp, one hundred yards below. The general reads the dispatch, and calls for Dr. Cabanis to come in, while he writes a message to send by the doctor, informing the commissioners of the attack on Mason's men. The general has written but a line, when Maj. Biddle, who has the other gla.s.s at the signal station, shouts, "_Firing on the commissioners!_" The officers order the men to "Fall in!" Soon the bugle repeats the a.s.sembly call. The men spring to their arms, and in a few moments the five hundred men are ready to rush to the rescue. Each company forms in line in the order in which they are encamped,--Col. Miller's company occupying the left front, Lieut. Eagan's next on the left, and Maj. Throckmorton taking his position behind Eagan's company; the cavalry companies are on the right.

Gen. Gilliam is astounded, petrified. He hesitates; he does not give the order to march; he seems bewildered. Maj. Biddle rushes down from the signal station and cries, "I saw Canby fall." The men are frantic. They do not understand the delay. The officers swear, and threaten to move _without_ orders.

Gen. Gilliam now awakes from his lethargy, and gives the order, "March, and deploy from the left in skirmish line!"

"_Forward!_" shouts Col. Miller.

"Forward!" rings out along the lines, while Maj. Riddle's bugle sounds "Forward!" Maj. Thomas is ordered to remain with his battery and guard the camp.

Now that the order to march is given, the men go flying towards the scene of blood in skirmish line. Behind the army are the surgeons with the stretchers.

The newspaper reporters are there, also, and foremost among them "Bill Dad" of the "Sacramento Record." While waiting for orders Bill Dad says to a citizen, "I will give you fifty dollars to carry my message to Yreka ahead of all others. Yes, seventy-five!"

"All right," responds the man, anxious to make money out of the occasion.

Other reporters engage couriers.

Col. Miller nears the council tent, urging his men on. He is behind them, pus.h.i.+ng them forward, expecting every moment to see a Modoc blaze of fire in front. They soon after meet Dyer, who, breathless, says, "They are all killed but me." Soon after they discover Riddle, who cries, hurriedly, "They are all killed." But now they meet Tobey, who sobs, "_Canby, Thomas, Meacham, all_ 'kill.'"

Thirty minutes have pa.s.sed, and Meacham is struggling to get upon his feet. He hears a voice. "Up, on the left! Forward, my boys!" Faintly the sound reaches his ears. "Steady, right! Up! up on the left, you d----d scoundrels!" Distinctly and clearly he hears the words, "Steady, right!

Guide, centre!" Then the sound of men's feet on the rocks mingles with the words of command. The men near the centre level their guns.

"That's an Indian," says one of the men.

"Don't shoot, he's a white man!" shouts Col. Miller.

The line pa.s.ses over the wounded man still in skirmish order, as they expect a Modoc volley. As they pa.s.s, Dr. Cabanis comes up and says, "Bring a stretcher here. Take Meacham. He's not dead."

"I am dead! I am dead!" murmurs the wounded man.

The soldiers lift the mutilated body on a stretcher.

"Water! water! give me water!" moans the wounded man.

The doctor puts a canteen of _brandy_ to his lips. The lips refuse.

"_I can't drink brandy._ I am a temperance man," says Meacham.

"Stop your nonsense. No time for temperance talk now. Down with it! down with it!" cries the doctor.

"Am I mortally wounded, doctor?" asked Meacham. The surgeon hastily thrusts his finger into the several wounds and replies, "Not unless you are wounded internally."

"I am shot through the left shoulder," said the wounded man.

"Now, boys, for the hospital! Quick! Lose no time, and we will save him,"

cries the doctor.

"I hit Schonchin in the right side. He fell over just in front of me,"

says the man on the stretcher.

"Never mind Schonchin," says the doctor. "We'll look out for him. Here, take some more brandy. Now, boys, quick! He'll stand it until you reach the hospital."

Four pairs of strong hands grasp the handles of the stretchers, and four other pairs carry the arms, and walk beside to relieve the carriers. A soldier covers the man with his coat as they hurry along. Listen, now, to the sad wail of young Scott, Canby's orderly, who was with him through the war of the Rebellion. When he reaches the body of his beloved general, who was more than a father to him, he throws himself on the prostrate form, and, frantic with grief, raves like a madman. "Bill Dad" and a soldier lift him up and cover the body with their coats.

Men with stretchers come up, and, while they lift the general, Bill Dad cuts the side of the council tent out and covers him over. Strange that this council tent should become Gen. Canby's winding-sheet! The body of Dr. Thomas is also placed on a stretcher, and it, too, is covered with a part of the tent. It is his winding-sheet, also.

While these affairs are taking place at the scene of the terrible tragedy, the quartermaster, at the camp, is putting the hospital in order for the reception of patients, ordering cooks to prepare food for the men, packing mules with supplies, stretchers, water-casks, and such other things as are necessary for the men while fighting, never doubting but that they will be needed. The animals are ready and waiting for orders from the general commanding.

But lo! behold! The glistening bayonets above the rocks _come nearer_! The army of five hundred men are _returning to camp_. "Why is this?" ask the men. "Why did we not follow the murderers to their den?" demand the officers.