“The ‘Red Dog’ was a big medicine man. Having filled and lighted the magic pipe, he first touched the heel of it to the ground, then raised and pointed the stem to the sun, drew a few solemn whiffs, forcing the smoke through his nostrils, and passed the pipe to his neighbor on the right, by whom it was passed on, until the ceremony was performed by every man in the circle, and the pipe returned from right to left without ceremony to the hands of the medicine man. He refilled it, and it was circulated again from left to right. Painted sticks with colored sacks of medicine attached were then stuck in the ground in the centre of the enchanted circle, and the whole company arose, broke into a guttural graveyard chant, and commenced the war-dance around the medicine, the chief meantime waving over it his coo-stick. This over, the medicine with great solemnity was given to the sun.
“During the half-hour thus occupied by the Indians, we were engaged also in making medicine, and we made it strong. Our ten large Colt’s revolvers were carefully loaded, our Henry rifles cleaned, and their magazines filled with cartridges. We were impatiently awaiting the assault when it came. Naked, hideously striped with red and black paint, dancing, contorting their bodies, showering arrows thick and fast into and around the boat, blowing war whistles made of the bones of eagles’ wings, whooping and yelling, they rushed to the onset as if all the devils of pandemonium had been suddenly let loose. For their arrows and bullets we were prepared, but this terrific vocal accompaniment for the moment scattered our courage to the winds. We could well understand how the stoutest hearts would quail in presence of such an infernal demonstration. Our hair rose up like quills, and we could feel our hearts sink within us as the noise and din increased, filling the forest with horrible reverberations.
“Our little boat, breasting the sluggish current, floated at a distance of twenty feet from the shore, to which she was fastened by a strong painter. The red-skins, still shouting and firing, evidently anticipating an easy victory, rushed madly onward to the water’s edge, when at a word, we all rose up and opened a deadly and incessant fire upon them with our rifles. Our hopes were more than realized in seeing several fall, and the others beat a hasty retreat to the cottonwoods. It was now our turn to shout, and we made the welkin ring with cheers of victory as we jumped from the boat and waded rapidly to the shore, and pursued the flying demons to their log covert in a coppice of willows. ‘Forty-niner,’ reminded that his banqueting hour had arrived, forgetful of his wounds, rushed impetuously to the charge, brandishing his inevitable bowie-knife with one hand, his unerring pistol firmly clasped in the other, and his powerful voice raised to the highest pitch of angry utterance.
“‘Scatter, you infernal demons!’ he cried, ‘scatter, for not a devil of you shall escape us.’
“Too true, alas! for Ta-Skun-ka-Du-tah, were these words of doom. The medicine which he deemed invincible, failed to protect him from the deadly aim of ‘Forty-niner,’ a bullet from whose pistol passed through his heart. With a convulsive leap into the air, and an agonizing death yell, he fell prone to the earth, grasping the coo-stick and medicine which had lured him to his fate. Six lifeless bodies of his followers lay around, and how many were killed or wounded on the opposite bank in the early part of the contest, we had no means of ascertaining. ‘Forty-niner’ made medicine over the fallen chief, and removed his scalp in a manner which even he would have approved. Little Johnny displayed great courage in the fight, and was always near me in the thickest of it, seemingly ready to avenge any harm that might befall his benefactor.
“The twilight was fading into darkness, when the Indians on the opposite side of the river fired upon us for the last time. Assembling upon the bank in a group a few hundred yards above us, they were speedily rejoined by the survivors of the attacking party, who, as we learned from their melancholy death howl, had communicated to them the disasters of the battle. The wailing notes, attuned to a dismal cadence, ringing in echoes through the forest, harmonized gloomily with the joy and thankfulness which our escape had inspired. We had no sorrow to squander upon the savages in their distress, but there was something so heartfelt in the expression of their grief, that it filled us all with sadness. And there was no heart in the loud and repeated cheers and firing of rifles with which we deemed it necessary to respond, lest they should return and seek to avenge the death of their fallen comrades. It was simply an act of self-defence; for had the Indians known our fear of future and immediate attack, and the anxious plans we made for prompt departure, our doom would have been certain.
“When the last faint note of the retreating Sioux assured us of freedom from immediate danger, we took careful note of our injuries, and made preparations to resume our voyage. Five of our company had been wounded, none fatally, but all needed attention and service which we could not bestow. Our boat and baggage had been pierced by hundreds of bullets. A companion, who was disqualified by the recent amputation of his leg from service during the fight, had received a wound in the back that would have proved fatal but for the interposition of his wooden leg, which happened to be in range. Another had an arrow point in his shoulder, and still another one in the hip. Then there were Humphrey and ‘Forty-niner,’ so badly wounded as to be incapable of service. Before daylight a thousand Indians, thirsting for revenge, might assemble at some point below us, intent upon our destruction. There was no alternative;—we must leave with all possible speed, and reach Fort Buford, about one hundred and thirty miles distant, at the mouth of the Yellowstone, without detention of any sort. Those of us who were uninjured by the fight, set about repairing the boat. An hour before midnight we dropped into the current, and under cover of intense darkness were borne rapidly down the turbid river. Jostled by frequent snags, arrested by sand-bars and by various collisions, kept in constant fear of wreck, we contrived to hold our course until daylight. Through the succeeding day our field-glass was in constant use, but as no Indians were visible, we ventured, while passing a bottom, to fire into a large herd of antelopes. Two were killed. We disembarked, threw out pickets, and prepared a hasty meal, and sailed onward. Until its close, the remainder of the day was without incident; but just at dark, our boat ran hard aground upon a sand-bar, and obliged us to remain there during the night. This was not without risk, for if the Indians had come upon us we would have been an easy prey. Our ever-faithful Johnny, who had slept during the day, volunteered as guard, and wrapped in his blanket, he sat down on the deck, his clear eye peering into the darkness, and his keen ears detecting the slightest unusual noise. Several times he mistook the whistle of an elk, and howl of the wolf, for the Indian, but no Indian came, and we were aroused at daylight by our trusty sentinel with the welcome announcement that a large human habitation was visible. We sprung to our feet, and beheld, at a distance of three miles ahead, the stockade and bastions of Fort Union. Fears for our safety and for the poor fellows whose wounds produced the most intense physical suffering, were instantly relieved; and every able-bodied man in the party put forth his best exertions with hearty good will to remove the boat from the sand-bar. This accomplished, we soon effected a landing at the fort, but finding no surgeon there, crossed the point with our wounded, a distance of two miles, to Fort Buford, then in process of construction at the mouth of the Yellowstone. Here we found a Company of the Thirteenth United States Infantry, under command of Col. W. G. Rankin, quartered in tents until the completion of the post. More than half the time their attention was diverted from work upon the fort by attacks of Sioux, large bands of whom were prowling through this region. The colonel received us very kindly, placed a large tent at our disposal, furnished us with commissary stores, and consigned our wounded to the skilful treatment of the surgeon.
“We had been two weeks at Fort Buford, when the steamer Luella arrived with three hundred passengers. Our taste for adventure having lost its flavor, we reluctantly bade the kind colonel and his Company good-bye, and took passage on her for Sioux City. The run down, unmarked by any unusual incident, and after frequent detentions upon sand-bars, was accomplished to the head of the great bend above the town in fourteen days. One of our party crossed the bend, which is but a few miles in width, to the city, to provide means upon our arrival for the conveyance of the company to the Northwestern Railroad, not then completed to the Missouri. I had just finished a game of whist, when my comrade Johnny, who was seated beside me, drew me aside and inquired if I intended to leave the boat at Sioux City. On receiving, with an affirmative reply, an urgent request to accompany me to Chicago, he broke into tears and expressed great regret that we must part so soon, as by remaining on the boat he could reach his friends and home much sooner than by any other route.
“‘Come with me on the deck,’ he continued, putting his arm in mine. ‘I have something to tell you in confidence, which will greatly surprise you.’
“I had often had occasion during our trip to think that Johnny would unfold the mystery which enveloped him, before we separated, and I readily accompanied him to the place indicated. With much nervous embarrassment, he then said to me,