CHAPTER XVIII. A Prisoner at Last
"So this is scouting for Indians, is it?" exclaimed Fred, when the bugle blew one morning and Guy began buckling on his sword. "We have been out two weeks, and during that time we have not seen one single Indian, nor the sign of one. I thought they would be all around us. That is the way they act in storybooks."
"We are not dealing with storybooks now, but with solid flesh-and-blood Sioux," said Guy, who was making all haste to answer the bugle call. "We have seen signs enough, even if we have not seen Indians. We have followed their trail for a week, and that is as much as I want to see."
"But why don't we follow them up and whip them? All we have to do is to go back there in the 'bad lands,' and there we would find them."
Before we go any further we should like to inquire if you have any idea of how these "bad lands" look. We have often heard that hostile Indians find refuge there when badly pressed by the troops, but how do they appear and in what shape are they? You have often seen a clay field after a long and hot drought in summer, how it is seamed over with innumerable cracks, perfectly perpendicular, leaving miniature chasms between. This, magnified by a thousand, are the "bad lands" of the Northwest. They are immense patches of clay soil, baked by the long and intense drought of that climate into chasms four or five feet wide and perhaps twenty feet deep, absolutely impassable for wagons, quagmires in the early spring, and a labyrinth of deep gullies in summer. The hostiles know every one of these ravines, where it leads to and the springs of water that are to be found on the banks of it, and the troops that are sent after them do not. Once fairly inside the "bad lands," the Indians disappear and leave no trace behind.
"We do not want to be whipped badly enough to go into those 'bad lands,'" said Guy, with a laugh. "The moment Colonel Smith saw where the trail led to, he said that we were not strong enough to go in there after them, and when he said that, he hit me right on top of the head. I don't want to go in there either. I am perfectly willing to go back to the Fort, without seeing any of them. You don't know how an ambush looks. I have seen one of them from a distance, and I don't want to see another."
"Well, good-by, if you call that going," said Fred, as Guy swung himself upon his horse. "Keep your eyes open, and don't let any Sioux come down on us."
Guy fell in beside his Company, waved his hand as a farewell signal to Fred, and rode out with the cavalrymen to act as eyes for the infantry, who were guarding the train. These marched along pretty nearly as they pleased, giving no thought to danger, for they knew that the cavalry, who skirted their flanks at a distance of three or four miles, would see the Sioux long before they could and easily warn them, so that they could get into line of battle. Presently the bugle sounded again, and that was a call for Fred. In a few minutes the entire expedition was under way, bound for the Fort, without having seen a warrior since they had been out.
"They are all in the 'bad lands,'" said Colonel Smith, who felt somewhat crestfallen over his bad luck. "I really wish that I had about four times as many men as I have with me. I would follow them into their retreats and drive them out."
That was the way that more than one man felt in regard to the disappearing Sioux, and many a soldier clutched his piece with a firmer grip and cast his eyes toward the hills on which he had last seen the cavalry, in the hope that they would come over the swells in haste with the report that the Sioux were not far behind them. That would give him a chance to knock over one or two to pay them for the number they had killed during the massacre at the Fort. That was something the soldiers could not get out of their minds. They had already made it up among them that "Remember Fort Phil Kearney" should be their battle cry the next time they went into action. And the opportunity came for them much sooner than they had expected. They had marched until pretty near twelve o'clock and the commanders were holding a consultation about what they had better do for dinner, whether to halt the column at the top of the nearest swell and have dinner there, or go on until four o'clock and then have dinner and supper together, when suddenly, and without the least warning, they heard the rattle of carbines behind the nearest hill on the right. A squad of cavalry, numbering perhaps twenty men or more, had discovered the Sioux. They had seen the squad more than half an hour before, and they were going along as if everything were all right.
"Indians! Indians!" burst from a score of throats.
"Remember Fort Phil Kearney!" chimed in some others.
"That is Guy's squad, as sure as you live," exclaimed Fred, and his face turned a little pale as he drew his sword from its scabbard. "I guess Guy knows how it is to see an ambush close by."
"Major Powell, take two hundred men and hurry to help that cavalry," shouted Colonel Smith. "The others are to guard the wagons. Lieutenant Bowen, we will keep right ahead at the rate we were going. Close up, everybody."
These orders were obeyed almost as soon as they were issued. By the time the one hundred men had closed up about the wagons, Major Powell had brought his men together, and moving at double quick they ran toward the hill which separated them from the view of the hostiles. Fred's company was with Major Powell, and although the color had not come back to his face, he did his duty as though they were going out for drill. "Close up, men. Don't lag behind," was the way in which he urged them to keep up their formation, although before he was half way to the swell he was "winded," and would have been glad to sit down for a rest.
There were other things besides the rattle of carbines to which the men had to listen. Before they had gone many steps a whole chorus of loud and fiendish yells came plainly to their ears, and caused the hearts of some of the soldiers to beat a trifle faster. A moment afterward the remnant of the squad of cavalry they had come out to help suddenly appeared at the top of the hill. Fred took one look at it and the fears which he had before experienced came back to him with redoubled force.
"Only six men left," said he to himself. "They numbered twenty at first. What has become of the balance?"
A few steps more and the whole matter was revealed to him. Of course there were orders to be obeyed, such as "Aim! Right oblique, fire!" and their bullets whistled over fifteen or more Sioux who, lying flat upon their horses' backs, were rapidly leaving the field; but in spite of them all, Fred had time to look about him and to see, if he could, what had become of his friend, Guy Preston.
"By gracious!" exclaimed one man. "They have some prisoners with them."
"Where, where?" stammered Fred.
"Don't you see those feet hanging out over the side of that horse that is just going over the hill?" replied the soldier. "There's another and another. My fingers are all thumbs, and I don't see why I cannot load my gun. Shoot those men. They are taking some captives away with them."
The soldiers were keenly alive to the fate of their prisoners, and more than one bullet was aimed for the warriors who had them on their horses; but they all flew wild, and before the men could load their guns again the last of the Sioux had disappeared. It was merely a bold dash. The Sioux had intended to wipe out a squad of cavalry and had succeeded. The other squads of cavalry were sent off as fast as they came, until there were nearly a hundred in pursuit of the Sioux; but all to no avail. They got a few shots at them, and that was all.
Meanwhile the infantry had broken ranks and spread themselves over this new battlefield of the Sioux—to succor the wounded, if there were any, and to bury the dead. The first proved unnecessary because there was not a wounded man on the field; the Indians had made sure work of them. Fred was hunting for Guy. He was not among those who retreated to the top of the swell, so he must be among the dead or else—
"It is awful to think of," murmured Fred, who was almost afraid to go any further, for fear that his prediction might come out true. "I declare, there is his horse. Shot through the head. But where is Guy?"
Tom, the horse which Guy had told the Colonel could beat any Indian pony that ever lived, had met his end at last, but his rider was gone. His saddlebags were there, but everything in the way of weapons had disappeared. Guy had been carried away by the Sioux, when they retreated. While Fred stood wondering what was to be his fate, one of the soldiers who had been at the Fort at the time of the massacre stepped up and touched his cap to him.
"Did you know Cyrus, sir?" said he.
"Cyrus?" repeated Fred. "What was his other name?"
"He hasn't any that I know of, sir," replied the soldier. "I just wanted to tell you that he is among the dead."
Fred accompanied the soldier to the spot where Cyrus lay, but he took one look at him before he turned away. He did not want to see any more of a battlefield, and he would have been glad, if he had never seen it at all. Cyrus lay as he had fallen from his horse, with a scowl of hatred upon his features, and the mark upon his shirt just above his heart told how he had given up his life.
"Why don't we fall in and go away from here?" said Fred impatiently. "I wish I were back at the Fort."
"This isn't anything to what the old battlefield was, sir. With Mr. Preston gone and Cyrus done up for good, it seems as though we have lost everything worth living for."
And where was Guy Preston during all this time? He fell in with his men in response to the call and rode away on the right to keep watch for the Sioux. Their squad of twenty men was led by a First Lieutenant, a bold fighter, but rather inexperienced, so far as Indian tactics were concerned. But Cyrus was with him, and if the Lieutenant followed his advice, it was likely that he would keep out of trouble. Until twelve o'clock they saw nothing but the prairie on each side of them; they thought that they were alone, but Cyrus thought he knew a little better than that.
"You can't always tell about these thievish rascals that we are after," said he, as he rode forward with the officer. "Now there is a place that is the best kind for an ambush. When you come to a deep gully like that, you want to do one of two things: either keep out of the way of it entirely, or go a mile or two above the opening and cross there."
"Why, if there were any Sioux in there, they would get out," said the Lieutenant.
"Of course, and that is what you want. If the Indians were in there, they would be right in the mouth of the gully; and they are too sharp to let you get behind them. They would dig out."
This advice was all right, if the Lieutenant had seen fit to follow it; but he chose to do as he pleased about keeping away from the ravines. Three or four of them were passed in this way and still he saw no Sioux; and finally he began to think that Cyrus was talking merely because he had nothing else to do. Of course this made Cyrus very angry, and he fell back until he could speak to Guy.
"That Lieutenant knows more than anybody else on the job," said he, "but you will see some fun before long."
"I suppose that he thinks the hostiles are all in the 'bad lands,'" replied Guy. "They would not come out just to follow us up, would they?"
"The only safe Indian is a dead Indian. Of course they would come out even for the sake of shooting at us. There! What did I tell you? We are gone up."
While Cyrus was talking in this way the squad happened to cross one of those ravines that opened into the prairie along which they were traveling, and seemed to be deserted like the rest; but in an instant it became alive with Sioux. They did not yell when they made their charge as they almost always did, for they did not want the men who were behind the swells to know anything about their attack until they were through with it, but came out silently and swiftly and opened fire upon the soldiers before they knew it. It seemed as if half the men and horses went down at the first volley. The Lieutenant was greatly surprised, but he was still untouched, and prepared to do his duty as any soldier should.
"Steady, there!" he shouted. "Right front into line! Revolvers! Give them the best you've got!"
The next moment the officer raised his hands above his head and fell from his horse, but the rest of the soldiers heard his command and obeyed it. When Guy was fairly turned toward the Indians he was thunderstruck, for there seemed to be no end to them. He had just time to draw his revolver and fire twice, when he felt himself pitched headlong on the prairie. Tom would never get frightened and run away with him again. Guy was stunned, so forcibly had he struck the ground, and before he could get his wits about him or make a move to draw that loaded Derringer he carried in his hip pocket, he felt himself seized by the collar and lifted bodily from the ground. To be sure he struggled and made an effort to get hold of his saber which hung from his wrist, but of what use was it while he was taken at every disadvantage? Ere he was aware of it, he had been thrown across a mustang in front of a stalwart rider, his feet swaying from one side of the horse and his head bobbing up and down on the other, and was being carried rapidly away. He was helpless. The warrior held him by the throat with one hand and with the other hand he lifted his rifle and shook it at the soldiers, while he raised a shout of defiance at them. The soldiers saw Guy as he was carried away in this manner, and more than one bullet sped toward the brave that had captured him; but in their excitement the soldiers all shot wild. Guy was a prisoner now, and his medicine that had been given to him by Winged Arrow was the only thing that could avail him. Was that medicine strong enough to help him?