Meanwhile one stalwart warrior of magnificent physique and noble countenance carefully watched the circle of scouts from a hillock down the winding course of the Arickaree. It was Roman Nose—head chief of the Cheyennes—his face painted in alternate lines of red and black; his body naked, save for a red scarf about his waist; his head crowned with a magnificent war bonnet, from which, just above the temples and curving slightly forward, stood up two short, black buffalo horns. A long tail of eagles' feathers and herons' plumes waved gracefully from the back of his head, while a beautiful chestnut pony, held by a single deer thong, pawed the earth beneath the supple frame of the chieftain.
For days this intelligent war chief had seen and watched Forsyth's scouts as they followed the trail of his warriors. A few miles beyond, he had prepared an ambuscade for them, so, if they had not camped where they were, they would all have been undoubtedly annihilated. There were Northern Cheyennes, Oglala and Brulé Sioux, a few Arapahoes, and a number of dog, or renegade soldiers composing this savage army. In all there were almost one thousand warriors, accompanied by their squaws and children, who were eager to see the annihilation of the white men and the triumph of their brothers, husbands, and fathers. Just think of it! One thousand to fifty, and those fifty without food, without horses, and hemmed in upon a tiny island which could be easily reached, across only a few inches of water! But such a fifty had not been seen since the time of the Greeks who held the pass at Thermopylae. Listen, and hear how they made one of the most desperate stands of history!
Roman Nose was furious with anger, because he had told his men to occupy the island, and they had not done so. But he was confident that he could soon crush the white men, even as members of his tribe had annihilated Fetterman's command, a few years before, near Fort Phil Kearney, in Wyoming. Summoning his leading chiefs to him, he pointed out to them the proper position to place the warriors in, so as to get the best possible line of fire upon the entrenched camp; and, explaining to them that, while a number of them kept the whites at bay, fully five hundred should assemble around the bend in the river and prepare for a cavalry charge, he himself trotted his horse down the bed of the stream, well beyond the view of the defenders of the little island.
The clear atmosphere of a bright September day gave just the proper light for accurate rifle fire. A steady rain of bullets fell against the sides of the little mounds which the Rough Riders of '68 had erected, but the scouts only returned the shots when they saw an opportunity to effectively use their cartridges. Many a badly wounded brave could be seen crawling over the plain to a place of safety, while the wails and shrieks of the women on the bluffs sounded harshly discordant above the rattle of small arms. The horses were groaning in the agonies of death, and, as the last animal fell to the ground, one of the savages cried out in English: "There goes the last horse anyhow!" which proved that some white renegade was in the ranks of the Sioux, Arapahoes, and Cheyennes. Forsyth, who had been walking about among his men giving directions and commands, now lay down behind a gravel mound, and, as he did so, a shot hit him in the fore part of the thigh, and ranging upward, made it impossible for him to stand upon his feet. "Are you alive!" shouted several of the men, knowing that he was dangerously injured. "Yes, I'm all right," called out their commander cheerfully, but, as he spoke, the fire from several Indians who had crawled up upon the lower end of the island made him lie down close to the gravelly soil. Three of the plainsmen saw the flash of one of the rifles from the centre of a little bush, and, taking accurate aim, sent a bullet crashing into the skull of the Indian brave. A wild, half-smothered shriek welled up from the sagebrush, showing that another redskin had gone to the land of the hereafter.
But Forsyth was now struck again, the bullet shattering his leg bone about midway between the knee and the ankle. A few moments later he rashly exposed his head, and one of the Sioux riflemen immediately drew a bead upon it and sent a bullet through the top of his soft felt hat, which fortunately had a high crown, so it glanced off, ripped through the skin of his head and fractured his skull. In spite of these grievous wounds, the brave soldier kept both his nerve and his courage, and, seizing a rifle, took a shot at some Indians who dashed up on horseback within rifle range. The Doctor, who had been closely watching them, took a quick shot at the foremost, and, as he dropped from his pony's back, cried out: "That rascally redskin will not trouble us again." Immediately afterwards a dull thud told Forsyth that someone near by had been hit, and, turning around, he saw the Doctor fall upon the sand, saying: "I'm done for this time." A bullet had entered his forehead just above the eye, and the wound was a mortal one. He never spoke another rational word, and lingered for three days before dying.
At this moment, trotting up the bed of the river, appeared the wild cavalry of Roman Nose, five hundred in all, and in about eight ranks of sixty front, extended order. Before them all, upon a magnificent chestnut horse, rode Roman Nose himself; his Springfield rifle grasped in his right hand, and naked, save for his war-bonnet, silken scarf, moccasins and cartridge belt. A bugle rang out from somewhere in their midst, a bugle which had been either captured or stolen from the whites, and which some renegade, or half-breed, knew how to use; and to the shrilling note of this instrument, the savage horde came on.
From the hair of the Indians fluttered eagle feathers and plumes of the white herons, which are sometimes seen along the rivers of the great West. Their faces were painted black, with red and yellow stripes running horizontally. They were naked, save for moccasins and cartridge belts; while each held a rifle in his hand, and had a tomahawk and knife stuck into his belt, for close, hand-to-hand work. Their ponies were of every color, shade, and description, but were fat and in good condition, for the bunch grass was plentiful in the country watered by the branches of the Republican. Some had lariats of buffalo thongs wound around them, while each was held by a single strand looped around the under lip. Roman Nose was about five paces in front of the centre of the line, while slightly in advance of the left of the oncoming column was the medicine man, an equally brave, but older chieftain. Savage cries of encouragement sounded from the bluffs, where the women and children were standing by thousands, to watch the annihilation of the whites, and, as they echoed across the rolling prairie, Roman Nose waved his hand to them assuringly. Then turning towards the breastworks upon the island, he shook his clinched fist in savage defiance at the enemies of his country, and raising himself to his full height, struck the palm of his hand across his mouth as he uttered a wild, piercing battle cry. Each warrior answered it; even those lying in ambush near the river's edge took up the blood-curdling slogan.
When Wellington saw Ney's cuirassiers debouching from the huts upon the hill of La Belle Alliance, he gave the order to form in hollow squares, and said: "Reserve your fire until you can do damage, and make every shot count. Never give in to the cavalry, lads. What will they think of this in England?" With cool, Anglo-Saxon courage the men of the North met the furious charge of the soldiers of France without wincing. Eight attacks failed to break the devoted squares at Waterloo. It was this that saved the day for England and her allies. Here, thousands of miles away, were men of the same birth and breeding as those who stemmed the onslaught upon the plateau of Mount St. Jean, and, although they were to be charged by enemies that outnumbered them tenfold, they prepared for the fray with the same bulldog determination which actuated the redcoats at Waterloo. "The Indians are going to charge us," called out Lieutenant Beecher. "You are right," was Forsyth's reply. "Let the men get ready. Six shots in each rifle magazine, and one in the barrel. Have the revolvers loaded and ready, and never, under any circumstances, fire at the Indians until I give the word of command! We can break their line. Of that I am certain. Only steady, men, steady, and do not waste a single shot!"
As he ceased speaking, the gallant leader propped himself up in his rifle pit, placed his rifle and revolver before him, and calmly waited for the onrush of the followers of Roman Nose. And with a wild, earsplitting yell they came on. A withering fire poured in from the redskins in ambush, so that, for eight or ten seconds it fairly rained bullets. Then came a sudden lull, as the gallant five hundred thundered up the ravine towards the defenders of the island. They came nearer, nearer. Now they were within a hundred yards, and the expressions on their painted faces could be plainly seen. It was the time for action,—a moment which Forsyth fully realized.