[VI]
THE ABANDONED INDIAN VILLAGE
Recalled by one of the aides, the scouts had slowly ridden back, the Delawares especially being reluctant to leave the fore. As they passed, General Custer called out, to Wild Bill:
“Is it a fight, Bill?”
“Looks peculiar,” answered Wild Bill, jogging on. He was not a man of many words. But California Joe neglected no opportunity to talk, and obligingly pausing, in front of the cavalry, from his mule he took up the conversation.
“If we do fight it’s goin’ to be the gol-durndest fracas ever you got into. Those Injuns seem to think they can whip the hull Yewnited States army. An Injun’ll beat a white man runnin’, every time, so I ’spect our best holt is fittin’; but marcy on us, look at ’em! Thar ain’t ’nough of us to go half round. It’s a big thing, I tell ’ee, an’ if we lick those varmints we got to get up an’ dust. Mebbe it won’t be fittin’; mebbe it’ll be jest wipin’ ’em out. But they got a powerful lot o’ weepons, furnished ’em by the Injun department to kill soldiers with. See those rifles, will ye? They’ll outshoot these hyar sawed-off carbines o’ yourn. Well, reckon I’ll jine the infantry,” and still maundering on California Joe leisurely rode through an interval, and posted himself elsewhere. His voice, amiably addressing all around him, never ceased; but nobody longer paid attention to him. The crisis was too acute, when two such lines, of the red and of the white, in battle array faced one another.
The plains back of the Indians’ line was dotted with more Indians, in bunches, like reserves, and in little squads, as if for courier duty. The chiefs had faced about, watchful of the soldiers’ line; and for a moment intense silence reigned. Each line eyed the other, waiting for the first movement.
General Hancock, accompanied by Guerrier the interpreter, and Wild Bill the chief of scouts, and by several officers of his staff, boldly rode forward, halting when midway. Guerrier called with a loud voice, in Cheyenne, and made sign, for a conference. Thereupon out from the ranks of the Indians rode a party of chiefs, holding aloft, on a lance butt, a white rag. At a signal from General Hancock, and the start of an aide, General Custer advanced to take part in the interview.
California Joe, poking forward again, coolly took his place before the cavalry line, and proceeded to talk, as usual.
“Now thar’ll be more palaver,” he announced, to all hearers, “an’ meanwhile the village is packin’ up an’ skadoodlin’. Know those ’er chiefs? The big feller with the flag o’ truce is Roman Nose, Cheyenne—an’ he ain’t no slouch, boys, either. T’others o’ the Cheyennes are Bull Bear, White Horse, Gray Beard an’ Medicine Wolf; rest are Sioux, bein’ that rascal Pawnee Killer, Bad Wound, Left Hand, Little Bear, Little Bull, an’ Tall Bear That Walks Under the Ground. Shakin’ hands, are they? Wall, reckon we don’t fight to-day. Mebbe next time. Guess I’ll go see. Giddap!” And away cantered California Joe, backward in nothing, to overhear the conference.