The Indians' Last Fight; Or, The Dull Knife Raid

by Dennis Collins

On the morning of June 27th, 1874, the Indians made their descent upon the “Adobe Walls” ranch. There had been rumors of Indian outbreaks in other parts of the country, but those present at the ranch on the occasion had not the remotest idea that there was an Indian within the neighborhood of fifty miles. As they did not come with the blare of trumpets to announce their arrival, the little party at the ranch did not know that death and destruction was prowling in the neighborhood until the early hours of the dawn, on the morning of the 27th of June. That was the hour the Redskin preferred in making his calls upon his white neighbors, especially if the visit was to be one of a warlike nature, and they were on the war-path on this occasion. There is a good deal of philosophy in the Indian’s reason for preferring the early hours of the dawn for his first attack. It gives him an opportunity to steal upon his enemy unawares. He made it his business to hide his approach so that his white foe would fall asleep in apparent security, and then with one fell swoop, rush in upon him and deal death and disaster before the unsuspecting victims could become alive to the dangers of the moment until it was too late. On this occasion, they followed their usual custom and crept silently on the sleeping inhabitants of the little hamlet. The first warning that the sleeping white men had, originated in the screams of the negro who was being done to death at the door of the ranch house. The night was hot, and for the sake of fresh air and whatever coolness he could find, he spent the night in a wagon box at the door of the ranch. Were it not for the coolness and calmness of Miller Scott, the whole party would have suffered the fate of the negro. As soon as he heard the first scream of the unfortunate black, he immediately divined that the Indians were upon them. Without a moment’s delay, he seized his gun and through the open door of the ranch poured out such a deadly fusilade of shot that the invaders were compelled to flee. The shouts of the Indians and the roar of the buffalo gun pouring out its relentless fire, soon turned the little peaceful hamlet into a den of confusion. How many there were in the attacking party at that moment he did not know, and apparently did not care, for he was determined to defend himself against all odds or die in the attempt to do so. Apparently the Indians had enough of the entertainment offered on that occasion as they withdrew in a hurried fashion to the protection of the timbers and the hills. Nor was Miller Scott the only one that took a part in giving their unwelcome guests a vigorous welcome, but the others who played their parts were rather slow in getting into action. They had just awakened from a sound sleep and it took some time for them to realize their predicament, but when they did, there was no further delay, but they set out to aid Scott in repelling the attack as vigorously as possible. When the Indians had retreated nursing their discomfiture and several wounds, the first attack was repulsed.

The object the Indians had in view was to get possession of the stock of goods and fire-arms that were in the store. Mr. Langton says that he had more than one hundred buffalo guns, and about eleven thousand rounds of ammunition. Besides these desirable commodities, there were on the outside several horses, mules, and oxen, that attracted the attention of the Indians. There was also the additional reason that they wanted to exterminate the buffalo hunters who had been killing off the game in large quantities, shipping the hides East, and leaving the bulk of the carcasses on the ground to become the food of coyotes, wolves and buzzards. They had laid their plans well, and as far as they could see, they were sure to produce a successful issue, but they had no means of knowing that a negro teamster would offer such strenuous objections to shuffling off the mortal coil that he would arouse the whole neighborhood in the loudness of his protestations. That the ranch people would be in a position to offer any vigorous resistance, they did not dream. They knew they had that little band of pale faces surrounded, and there remained only the formality of killing them with the usual amount of ferocity, take their goods and return to their camping grounds and plot another raid. For the ranch folks, there was nothing to do but fight like grim death. One thing favored the little band in the ante-chamber to eternity. The walls of the building were about three feet thick and were impervious to the bullets from such guns as the Indians then had. It was, moreover, impossible to set fire to the building from a distance, as the invaders tried that procedure later on and failed. As far as guns and fire were concerned they were as safe as if they were defended by the Rock of Gibraltar.

Nor were things inside the adobe building very inviting. They all realized that it was no holiday affair. In fact, most of them had just about come to the conclusion that they were about to assist at their own funeral with the flowers and music lacking. Nor could one blame them for feeling that things had a very hopeless appearance. There they were, a mere handful, surrounded by hundreds of hostile Indians in war dress, ready to swoop down upon them at any time, without the least chance of assistance from outside sources. If anything were to be done, it had to be done by themselves, or perish in the attempt. It was certainly critical enough to try the stoutest heart. I have no doubt that, at the first charge, there were not half a dozen of them that were fully aware of what was occurring around them, and whatever they did, they performed on the spur of the moment because they saw others doing it. Some of them became so excitedly helpless that they were unaccountable for what they did, and it was providential that they did not do anything imprudent. Others became nauseated and freely parted with the contents of their stomachs. Mr. Langton confesses that he himself became so overcome with the realization of the horror of the situation that he too parted with his supper of the night before and the only reason why he did not lose his breakfast was that he had not had time to eat it when the first attack was made. He recovered his composure hurriedly, as the exigences of the situation were such that one could readily forget a little inconvenience when one’s life was at stake. After the first display of nervousness had passed he did his duty like a man, and played a very important part in the defense of the ranch. It is not to be imagined that the Indians had not put up some kind of a fight. The fact of the matter is that they did considerable shooting in their own behalf, and that they failed to accomplish anything in the way of killing the white folks was due to the fact that they were rather hurried in their movements. How many of the Indians were killed in this first encounter, it is not possible to say, but the sight of several empty saddles, and several lifeless bodies on the ground around the ranch bore testimony to the fact that the bullets from the buffalo guns had done some execution. Stationed at the one window of the store, stood Miller Scott spiting out death and demoralization from the mouth of his buffalo gun upon the savages as they madly careered around the place on their wiry ponies. Crack, crack, as fast as he could push home the charge, went the gun, and another warrior was sent to join his forefathers in the Happy Hunting Grounds. As soon as one gun became too hot to handle, another was put in his hands to carry on the defense. Mr. Langton personally saw to it that he was amply provided with ammunition and guns to perform his duty. Nor were the other members of the party idle all the while. They punched holes in the sides of the building and through the opening did what execution their opportunity afforded them.

It was an appaling situation for a dozen people to be over a hundred miles from civilization, surrounded by five or six hundred, yelling, whooping, devil-daring redskins thirsting for their blood. There they rode, painted in all manner of colors, cavorting like demons around them, roaring defiance, and threatening at every moment to break through the zone of fire and burst in upon them in overwhelming numbers and put them to death mercilessly. It was well for them that they did not lose their nerve completely, as the situation was one to try the stoutest heart. It was well for them that Miller Scott rose to the importance of the occasion and dealt out such a rain of death dealing bullets as to appal the intrepid Indians. Outside roared and ranged the howling mob and inside things were not any too assuring. Poor Mrs. Olds fainted. She was the only woman in the hamlet. Kind hands poured water on her face until she revived. When she recovered her senses, the realization of the predicament in which they all were, and particularly the awful fate that awaited her, if they were overcome, so overpowered her that she tried to commit suicide. She set up a series of yells and screeches in her fright, that the Indians outside must have thought they were killing one another to save themselves from butchery. Strong hands prevented her from doing violence to herself, but there was no way to prevent her screeching, and the only thing to do was to give her freedom to screech until she became exhausted.

In the meantime, the Indians, feeling that their attack was somewhat of a failure withdrew to the shelter of the hills. According to the words of an old timer, the first assault upon the place was not a howling success. But the little party in the ranch knew that they would return, and they made what preparations they could to entertain them on their arrival. They did not seem to be in any particular hurry about making the second attack, as in the distance could be seen Indians riding in pairs, scurrying back and forth on their war ponies, dragging the dead and wounded between them. All of the rider that was visible was an arm and a leg. They made a dash on each side of a fallen victim, and seizing him by the hair, dragged him to a place of safety, either for the attention of the Medicine Man, or for burial. Whenever an opportunity presented itself to the little band of whites to take a shot at them, they did so, and in this manner, if they did not do much damage, they, at least, hastened their movements to a considerable degree.

The little party within the ranch was delighted with the success of the first repulse. None of them had been injured, and beyond the first nervousness, or nausea, suffered nothing. They realized to its fulness the necessity of meeting the marauders when they returned. Every man saw to it that enough weapons were within reach for immediate use, besides having near at hand a dish of cartridges for rapid reloading when the fight was at its zenith. With anxiety and nervousness they awaited the second attack. They did not have long to wait. In less than an hour after the first repulse, they saw them breaking over the hills and descending upon them in dense array. On they came chanting their war songs, or raising their raucous voices in wild war whoops in the weirdest manner possible. For some reason or other, they seemed to halt at some distance from the ranch. Out of their midst rode a chief, who swept on his way chanting wildly, dragging a dry buffalo hide by the tail. Apparently he was trying to incite them on to glory by performing a deed of valor. It may have been that they were a trifle bashful about exposing themselves to the galling fire of the little band entrenched behind the walls. Whatever the reason of their delay, it had no effect upon the lone rider who advanced fearlessly up to the very door of the ranch, gesticulating in a wild manner. He threw the hide upon the ground, and with a spring from his pony landed upon it and began a weird chant to incite his followers to follow his example. To show his contempt for those within, he seized an empty barrel that happened to be standing near and threw it with full force against the door of the building. Just as he let fly the missile, a bullet from Miller Scott’s rifle tore its way through his chest. He gave a leap into the air and with a wild shriek fell dead upon the buffalo hide. When his followers saw their chief fall, their enmity was aroused and on they came in one wild charge. Bullets spat upon them as they came, emptying many a saddle in their wild charge. Pit, pit, the bullets sank into the three foot walls of the ranch, and boom, boom responded the buffalo guns in a roar that was interrupted only for such time as it took to send another charge home, and then they boomed again. Indians were falling thick and fast, dead and dying, men and horses were tumbling about on the open plain in a confused mass. Pitilessly the little band poured out the rain of bullets, until no living being could stand the galling fire. The Indians retreated sullenly before their deadly aim, to the shelter of the hills, once more.

The little incident of throwing the empty barrel against the door, called to the attention of the defenders of the ranch the necessity of barricading it. In the excitement of the first charge they entirely overlooked that important matter, and it was only the foolhardiness of the Indian chief that called the matter to their minds. As soon as they saw how much they were exposed to danger through their oversight, willing hands began to pile sacks of corn and other commodities against the door until there must have been a ton of material stacked up against it. Apparently it was the intention of the chief to break in through the door, and had he succeeded, his followers would have completed the work begun by him. Happily for them, Miller Scott’s bullet cut short his career, and probably saved them all from death.

The death of the chief had rather a chilling effect upon the rest of the invaders. Instead of continuing the rush upon the place, they withdrew to a rather safe distance, and contented themselves with doing some long range shooting. The firing became desultory. The Indians had withdrawn for about a mile, and though the buffalo guns would carry that far, it was practically impossible to do any accurate shooting at such a distance. The only chance of doing any execution was possible when any of the Indians gathered in any prominent locality. Then a bullet from a buffalo gun would sing around them, and they would seek safety in the shelter of the hills. Another motive that impelled the besieged to save their ammunition was that they did not know how long they would have to entertain their unwelcome visitors, and it was necessary to keep that thought in mind.

The Indians seemed to have re-organized again, and once more set out to make their third attack on the resolute little band. It was galling to their pride to think that a mere handful of pale-faces were able to withstand their onslaughts so successfully. Besides, it was rather disconcerting to have the principal object of their invasion frustrated just when success seemed to perch upon their banners. The killing of the few inhabitants of the ranch was not so important as securing the arms and ammunition they knew was stored up behind the “Adobe Walls.” It was doubly galling to the Comanches to think that they had invited the Arpahoes to remain out of the fight to witness the extermination of the hated pale-face, and now they would have to suffer the humiliation of defeat where they expected to return laden with the spoils of victory. On they flew the third time, urging their little ponies to topmost speed, more maniacal than ever in their wild shouts and gestures. Around the little ranch they rode in a fusilade of shots as they passed and repassed, but all to no purpose. Their ranks were thinning through the unflinching fire of the besieged. When a buffalo gun boomed, it was a signal for an Indian to throw up his hands with a screech and fall dead or wounded from the back of his flying steed. The nearer they approached the ranch, the hotter became the fire, until it was impossible to draw sufficiently near to do any damage. They fully realized that their shooting had been in vain. They experienced no diminuation in the rapid fire of the little band within those three-foot walls. They felt that it was useless to attempt to take the place by assault, and consequently they withdrew beyond the range of the guns of the besieged, beaten. Three times seemed to satisfy their efforts for pillage and murder. They hovered around at some distance as they did not wish to abandon their dead and wounded. There was no Red Cross Society there to attend to that matter for them, nor was there any flag of truce hoisted to denote a cessation of hostilities. As far as the besieged were concerned, they took good aim and shot to kill whenever an enemy came within range.

Several times during the day they had attempted to recover the body of the chief lying before the door of the ranch, but all their efforts proved futile. They finally gave the matter up for a time, acting as though they thought the whites were using him for a bait to lure them on to destruction. They did not intend, however, to leave him there, for, during the night that followed, under the cover of darkness, they succeeded in removing the body from where it lay. Apparently one of them sneaked up during the night and fastened a rope around it, hitched the other end to a pony and dragged the body off to their encampment. He did not do this without attracting the attention of those within. Anxious ears were listening for every move outside, and when they heard the body begin to drag along the ground, they knew that someone was near, and they immediately poured out a volley upon the rescuer. If they did not hit him, they at least compelled him to hasten his footsteps on his way. They afterwards came to the conclusion that the rescuing party got away successfully as there was no sign of his dead body encumbering the plain the next morning.