. . . . . . . . The hatchet is fallen, the struggle is o'er. --From an Old Poem. . . . . . . . . . . . . So he bade his family good-by, and set forth. He knew all the Indian
ways, and had ridden back and forth through the Pokanoket country,
between his Aquidneck home on Rhode Island, and Plymouth and Boston on
the Massachusetts coast. That was a surprise. No use. A second
time he wrenched free. However, that did not stay the angry Captain Church. He began to shout for help from his own people, hiding in the
swamp. The on-comer did not reply, which was a bad sign for the
captain. Very soon the man arrived. "Old Annawan is out," he said. You have been poorly paid, but I want hands to go
with me to hunt him." "We will go with you wherever you please to take us, as long as there
is an Indian left in the woods," they answered. It was Lightfoot. Lieutenant Howland was
waiting there, with them. "Fifty or sixty." The old man proved to be one of Annawan's councillors. He gave the
same answers as the young squaw, his daughter. We know the
men with him. the captain next asked, of Caleb
Cook. He sent his horse back. The old man bowed low to him. He was a courtly old man. Come and I will show you." "We must wait here," the old man replied. "Let us go on," he said. The old man shook his head. "No, great captain. "Very well," said the captain. This they set about to do. The old man and his daughter climbed the
slope of the rock pile, and passed over, and down by the narrow trail,
for the fires at the bottom. His six men trod after. When she began to pound
again, they hastened. The trail ended just at one side of Captain
Annawan. The old man and daughter passed on--and suddenly darting
forward Captain Church stepped right over the son's head, at Annawan's
feet, and stood by the stacked guns. He was here. The surprise was perfect. he gasped. None,
there, dreamed that he had only the six men. As for you," he spoke to Annawan, "you
will be well treated, also; and at Plymouth I will ask my masters to
spare your life." His nerve
had won out for him. he asked. "You see I have come to sup with
you." "Taubut (beef)." he
queried. But he was so nervous that he
closed his eyes in vain. But he was much alarmed. Now they had
passed to Captain Church, the conqueror of both. He
appreciated bravery. Then he went with these also, to Plymouth. However, he was
ordered out upon another hunt, which resulted in the surrender, this
time, of Chief Tispaquin. He was tall, silent, swarthy--as dark as the
Indians whom he tracked. Then
there came the women, in September: for Boonesborough, Daniel Boone's
wife Rebecca and their daughters; for Harrod's, Mrs. Hugh McGary, Mrs.
Hogan and Mrs. Denton. The "Long Hunters" had arrived, to stay. The Indians only hunted
and warred here. The Indians cunningly took their time. The Indians! He had four bullets to carry. Now he was working hard to crawl for the gate. The Indians let him alone; the men
and women peered anxiously through the cracks in the palisades--his
frenzied wife and children cried piteously, urging him on. The Indians evidently were waiting for just such a try. "No. Keep the savages off us. No, not yet. The gate swung wider. He was here--he panted in, out-sped by the balls
but still on his feet. "No. Never mind me; watch the walls." It was a forlorn hope, but he slipped out amidst the darkness, by way
of a loosened picket in the rear of the stockade, and vanished. The
garrison strained their ears, listening. They heard nothing, and
breathed a sigh of relief. Two weeks passed. Be careful. It's I--Logan." He told his story. This was August 23. Indians were running. The Indians were too
thick. All was quiet. Could it be true, at last! This was the Zane settlement away up in the panhandle of North-Western
Virginia; to-day the city of Wheeling, West Virginia. They all were of the roving "wild-turkey" breed, and
bolder spirits never wore buckskin or sighted a rifle. On the contrary, he helped them when he might. To this time young Wheeling had been little bothered by the Indians. "The Indians are planning to attack Wheeling. Fort Henry is Indian proof." The night of the last day of August Captain Ogle returned to the fort
from a scout with twelve of his men. They met the six
decoys. "Six is all we counted. Out he marched, with fourteen of his company. Shelter
beckoned, faintly seen. Midway, the sergeant dropped. "No use, Cap. I've got to stay. Take my gun and save yourself. Better one, here, than two." It had to be. They,
too, were ambushed, and wiped out. You may do your worst." But the Indian soon saw that it did not
awaken. The Indians withdrew as quickly as they had come, and from the cover of
the cabins shot furiously. The little garrison had a
breathing space, sorely needed. The Indians had been strangely quiet since before daylight. It was decided to send out
two scouts, to see. They
looked. The McCollochs lived there. The Indians were upon
him--they out-stripped him, as he turned late, and before his horse had
caught its stride they were between him and the gates. The Indians afoot could not catch him, no bullet caught him; he would
make it--he would make it; there he goes, up the hill. Now we got you, Sam!" Yelling gleefully, the Indians ran after. Now they had Sam. They peered over. Other Indians panted in, to peer. It was saved. The Indians were flocking into
the trail, and one was about to scalp Sam. The Indians had eaten his heart, to make them as bold, they
said in after years, as he had been. Salt is a habit. But there was no great hurry. A
month had passed. He, too, was stiff, and his fingers grew numb. "Come out, Boone," they called. "Come out. No fight, no get hurt. Many Injuns near." "We will surprise them, too, and kill them. "I will tell them to surrender," he promised. "I have your word." "That is good," Black Fish answered. He stated just what had happened,
and what was likely to happen now if they resisted. However, Chief Black Fish proved true. Still, they could not help themselves. "I will not sell. He is my son. He will stay
with me. You see that I have him." The Indian life was the best life, the Shawnees the greatest of
nations, and he would be a chief! A cunning man, was Daniel Boone. Finally, to test him, they sent him out alone--but they watched him. He only counted
the bullets, each time, by doling out two or three. "Here are your bullets. For each bullet, a
deer." "That is good," replied Big Turtle. But if it
had been attacked, he would have heard. So he waited. "You are right, my son. It is time. Go, as you say." Yes, his home was
safe, and so was he. That was a record, white or red. No guards were posted, on the
look-out. At the cry, the people flocked to greet him. "Yes." "Yes; all right. "Thank God. I do not blame her." "But Jemimy's here. She didn't go." Jemima, aged seventeen, rushed into
his arms. "Gal, gal! Bless you, gal! "I wanted to be here if you came back, father. I knew you'd come." He thrust
Jemima aside, for sterner duty. "Gather everybody into the fort. When I left Chillicothe four days ago the Injuns had armed and
painted for the war-path and they'll be on us any moment." It was
a roomy fort; the walls of palisades a foot thick and twelve feet high
fenced almost an acre. Inside the fort a well had been excavated, at sign of a spring. The Indians did not appear. Then, on July 17, William
Hancock came in. So they put off their march for three weeks." A few spies were seen, near the
fort. That was a close call. He made
for a tree. The Indians had numbered thirty. "The varmints are
rallying. We've no time to lose." They scouted
for the trail of the red army, and found it. It was broad and fresh. They had flags, both French and British. Of course, while he knew what he himself would rather do, he had no
right yet to speak for the rest. But we thank you for giving us
notice, and time in which to provide for our wants. As for your
preparations, we laugh at them. We do not fear painted faces. His men agreed with him. They carried no
arms, for Captain Chêne was unarmed. He was all politeness
and smiles. The terms were these, said Captain Chêne: only these. "We will sign," remarked Daniel Boone. An oily old rascal, he. However, they had
got in too deep to stick at trifles, but they smelled a mouse. "It is good," said Daniel Boone. shouted Chief Black Fish, exultant. Somebody, in the
timber, was doing good shooting, with a rifle. They watched for him. The Indians' tunnel became rain-soaked
and caved in; they knew that the fort was digging also, and after
having bored for forty yards, they quit. Inside the fort there was not an idle hand,
among the living. Then, on the morning of September 20, the sun rose in silence. The siege was lifted. They reported the coast clear. The
gates were opened. However, this was the last siege of Boonesborough. It was nip and tuck. Simon lay and took it, saying no word. His mind was active. An idea occurred to him. Down he tumbled, also, tripped in
his efforts. This was more than bargained for. Horrified, Simon plunged
into the wilderness, just as he was. He kept
his name of Butler. Soon he liked the young man. But he spoke roundly--for him. He was the restless
kind. When danger did not come to him, he went out to seek it. It was a large
town, of the Shawnee round bark houses, and surrounded by a rude
palisade fence. They
followed him. Simon was determined to steal all; the two others agreed to it. "To the tall timber and keep goin'," Simon panted. I'll follow." They listened keenly. They heard no sound of pursuit. He could not keep up with the horses, and
they refused to cross without a guide. In fact, they wanted to go home. I've got to rest a spell." queried Montgomery. "The Injuns are hot after, you can be sure of that," said Clark. "We can't cross 'em; that's sartin, in the state o' the water; hoss or
man either can't swim it," Montgomery declared. "I vote to stay with
'em, myself. It'd give us distance, anyway." They agreed. The water had become so rough that even the raft would be
swamped; and to try with the horses was beyond reason. And so it did. The river was smooth and peaceful in the sunrise. They
all balked, and scampered. Clark gasped. "Our time's up. I feel
Injuns. "No, sir! Not a step without those hosses," vowed Simon. "I'll leave
not a one. "All right. Hosses and all, then. He threw his rifle to his shoulder, for a scalp, and a signal shot to
his comrades. "The goose is cooked," thought Simon. He had had no time in which to
freshen his priming. No use. The Indian on horseback acted very good-natured; smiled widely, held
out his hand, as he approached, and greeted with: "Brudder. How-do,
brudder?" "No harm, brudder. Treat good. No shoot, no get hurt. Fine man." The Indian arrived, to shake hands. Simon watchfully consented. Let go, I tell you!" It all
was up with Simon. He struggled in vain. Other Indians rushed joyously in. "Hoss tief, hey? Big rascal, hey? Maybe he acted wisely. Anyway, he arrived at Logan's, by himself. He could not move an inch! How you like tief? The Indians were not yet done with him, here. They
mounted Simon upon him bareback, his hands tied behind him and his feet
tied together under the colt's belly. "Thank you," thought Simon. He, also, was in
bad humor. He eyed Simon
scowlingly, Simon eyed the switch. "Yes." "No. I did it of my own accord." They proceeded on for the town. Beyond doubt, he would
be burned alive. His reputation was bad. There he was. But they did not burn him. They wanted to make the most of him,
so they untied him and hustled him on into the town, for another day's
sport. That was a reminder. The next thing, he was led out, to run the
gauntlet. They would
initiate him! The lines were closed by a man beating a drum. "Not for me," thought Simon. It was sanctuary. That was another Shawnee town, about seventy miles north. Simon asked. Simon cogitated. That looked bad; it meant that he was being
saved for the stake. Now, or never! It was a larger town. It about finished him. A pitiable object she
was, too. He was greeted with a general, savage scowl. "Sit down." "I don't know. "I know him well. He is an old friend." "Simon Butler." Girty stared as if paralyzed. I've got to save you." He turned upon the astonished warriors, who did not understand. Now he
wished only the life of this man, his former brother. Here was a
very bad man. Girty leaped up and spoke again, at length. He was answered. Those who struck the floor
with it, voted for death. Those who merely passed it on, voted for
life. Simon watched intently. "Well, my friend, you are safe. Come with me." Made him one of the
family. The Indians all treated him
kindly. It seemed
too good to be true. They heard a shrill
whoop; an Indian came running from Wakatomica. "We must go at once." Hands
were shaken, but not the hand of Simon. Let him be executed. They carried the day. "My friend, I think you must die. He left. Simon was immediately hustled out by the collar and arms, and
led by a rope around his neck was marched afoot, guarded by horsemen,
for the north. Now he was to be
killed. he scolded. "You act like a fool. This man is for the
stake. "They certainly do," Simon admitted ruefully. I am a great chief. They talk of burning you there. Alas, the
chief's face was sober. That
was all. Simon sighed. Simon was roundly welcomed, but was not made to run another gauntlet. "Good, good!" the council grunted. I should like to
take him. When I bring him back, you may do with him as you
choose. It was a wise idea. "You are reprieved. Now you will come with me." They
mounted horses, and rode north, with one chief. The Indians do not like to be robbed of their spoil, and I
have engaged to return you. You will certainly be burned, if I do. But that rests with you. Reply to my
questions, and talk straight, and all will be well. "Lor' bless you," laughed Simon. "I believe you," he said. Perhaps so have I." But they went on, to Detroit. Simon was saved. They would
be only too glad to catch Simon again. Mrs. Harvey said that she would get the
guns. He opened. Mrs. Harvey was there. She beckoned him
into the darkness, and spoke rapidly. She was out of breath from
running. "Sh! I have the guns--three. They are Indians' guns. Come at midnight. The guns will be in the pea patch. Goodby." She scurried away. He commanded respect. The trail had one
object to them: scalps and revenge. Of the sons, Martin was the eldest. However, he had done well; the rifle
had been aimed to kill, and only the smartness of his frontier training
had saved his life. He fell. Now they had him and Jacob too. He was resolved, though, that the Indians should pay for this, some
day. And he did make them pay, not only for this but for other matters. panted Jacob. The Indians tied the boys tightly. "Don't you beller, Jakie," Lewis bade. He could see Jacob,
and the forms of the Indians stretched around. He moved more. Nobody
else stirred, not a breath was interrupted. Not an Indian even so much as turned over. He began to walk about,
treading carelessly, to test them out. He
might have stolen off, but of course he had to take Jacob. Jacob was asleep. "Come on," he whispered. Jacob shook his head, afraid. "No." "Yes." "We'll be caught." "No, we won't. Hurry
up." Jacob was only twelve. "It'll be
easy." Lewis stopped. "You wait here. "No, Lewis! They'll catch you." "No, they won't. Lewis scudded for the camp. That was better. But
Lewis halted again. "Wait. I'm going to get father a gun!" "No, Lewis! Let's hurry. "Yes, we do. You
wait right here." Back Lewis scudded, a second time. He was a boy without fear. Jacob gasped. "No. Our legs are too short. You do as I say,
Jakie. That's the
way." They hurried, but they kept listening. Lewis, clutching Jacob
to keep him quiet, waited. Lewis chuckled. "Hide," Lewis whispered. It was done at once, by a silent dart to the left and a squatting
behind bushes. The Indians passed; their keen
eyes noted nothing suspicious; their sounds died away--
"All right, Jakie." They two stopped short, and poised, heads turned. They came to a good spot, and hid. "We'll
strike right east, for the river. The sun rose, and they were still trudging fast, and no Indians had
followed them. The Indians had been fooled nicely. Lewis panted. "Hooray, Jakie! "Let's yell, Lewis, so somebody'll come for us." "No. They did. "Not whilst we live." "Lie down in the bottom," he gasped. "That'll save you. He acted as target, while paddling his best. He was buried here. It said, only: "J. W., 1787." That was
the Brady way. The Indians of the upper country, above Pittsburgh, or Fort Pitt, were
threatening trouble. The three whites dressed as Indians, in paint and
feathers. This was the heart of the Indian country. He hated to waste time. For several hours they watched. "Did you make it, Sam?" "Yes; but be quick. We must cut loose. Now it was Indian
against Indian, for they three were up to all Indian tricks. They took
to the streams, they stepped from dry log to dry log, and from rock to
rock. He began to snore so loudly that
the very trees quivered. Then he heard a twig crack, and
looked, and amidst the forest aisles he saw an Indian cautiously
stealing forward. "A dead Injun. Get out o' here. He took aim, but the rifle flashed in the pan. Off
ran the deer. There they were,
coming, the three on one horse, the baby tied fast to the warrior. He had only the one load, but he did
not hesitate to use it. At 'em, at 'em! The Indians would think that he had an army. she cried. ), I'm Sam Brady. Quick, now! Come with me and I'll save you both." The Indians dared not charge, but they pelted him with bullets as he
dashed through the brush, carrying the baby and dragging Jenny by the
hand. "We got you, Sam Brady," they jeered. "You no lose Injun; Injun no
lose Sam." She darted in, to
strike him. He bounded into the nearest brush;
won the river, first; wading and swimming crossed it, and a wide
country lay before. That was expected
of him, but only in the unexpected might he find safety. The Indian whoops sounded; the enemy were there before
him--they held the ford and they hemmed him in on either flank. Not yet. He increased his speed, and set all his muscles. The Indians clustered for just a moment, to stare with amazement. It was his last resort. The Indians reached the pond, and saw his tracks leading
in. All that day they searched
and waited; they were there until late into the night; soaked and cold
and cramped, he felt as though he could not stand it much longer; but
he gritted his teeth and determined that he would die, of himself,
rather than yield them his scalp. All
was quiet. No jump; flew," they declared. He defied
them and lived on. "It will only make Dru a widow," he said. That was a blow to the enemy. Much dependence was placed upon John Slover. He, also, had served in the Revolution, as a sharpshooter. His
duty was plain. He could not stay behind or refuse to aid. It showed not a
sign of life. He, also, was mystified. To them, the air was full of
threat. Their horses mired. But many did not come. Of these, few ever did return. He was the "Big Captain"--he must die, and Chief Pipe,
another "Big Captain," ordered him to terrible torture. That was an
afternoon and night of horror. A warrior armed with gun and hatchet and knife should have no fear of a
midget white man who had been well beaten. He showed
no fear. He began to make up to his guard, whose name was Tutelu. "Yes," he said. answered Tutelu, much impressed. "See,
to-morrow." "All right," Tutelu grunted. He laid down the coal, and
drew long breath. gasped Tutelu. Instantly
he was up, before the doctor might strike again. He ran howling, with
his head bloody. But he was so excited that in cocking the rifle he broke
the lock. He was no woodsman. He could not fix the gun, and finally threw it
away. He could not chew, but he knew the herbs and weeds that were
good to eat, and he sucked on these. He panted in with a big story. The Indians
laughed long and loud. Treat good." Scout Slover
saw himself trapped, and could not reply. He figured that unless he
could explain matters he was in for a bad time. The Indians took the three of them to Wakatomica; painted the oldest
man black and made them all run the gauntlet; killed the man who had
been painted for death, but let John and the other man reach the posts
of the council-house. Then the other man was led away, to another
town; he never appeared again, and John Slover was left alone in
Wakatomica. He had found some friends,
but he had more enemies. The worst was James Girty, a brother to Simon
Girty. It lasted fifteen days. He knew many of the chiefs by name. He spoke well. "I am here. I am not ashamed. You gave me
many chances, but I was red. Your cabins were my home. When I left, I did not run away. I had found my
own blood. It called to me. I said good-by, and shook your hands. You were willing. It was done in the open, there at Fort Pitt. That
was a peace council. We
all were to be brothers. When I lived with you, I would have helped
you fight your enemies. Your country was then my country. Their country was my
country. I am in your power. I am alone. I have not spoken with him. You know me. I am not a child; I am a man. No. He is an enemy to all whites. He
lies, in order to kill me. I am done." He went to the
dances. All this might mean little, but he
took hope. "The war is over," John explained. There is peace talk. "No one has told us. We will ask if it is true." "That is a lie," they said. We say so, and we know." This angered the town, again. John waited. You'll eat fire." There they and the other people beat him for an hour. He was Indian enough to know. Mequa-chake was to be his finish. It was only half roofed. But he was to be scorched, not
consumed at once. They strapped him as
tightly as a mummy. It was fast work. The evening was beautiful, save for a hard wind. A warrior thrust a torch into the piles of hickory. He would bear himself like a man, and utter never a
groan. A gasp of astonishment, almost awe, arose. The Indians gained courage. "You will burn in the morning," they jeered. asked a tall young chief, Half Moon. "Very well; we will all sleep, so that you may be fresh to eat fire
to-morrow." Now it was eleven o'clock, by the stars. He was taken to a log cabin,
under three guards. The three guards smoked their pipes and made themselves disagreeable by
telling him about to-morrow. The old man had sat
up. No. John instantly busied himself. He sank back again, exhausted. "One more try," he said, to himself. Now he might die
fighting, at least. He wasted no time. Day was
at hand. He must have a horse, or he never would get away with such a short
start. Fortune favored him, for he was
brave. Mile after mile they forged, never
slackening. The sun was up, and shining strongly. He rode. He pitied the horse, but kept it at the gallop. The sun rose
high and higher, and they still were galloping free, up hill and down,
through forest, swamp and prairie. He saw it, before. The time was verging upon noon. The sun was past the noon mark. A gallant horse, but he could not stop to mourn. The horse had done well,
and he had to trust to his own legs. That was a spur. He stiffly stood, and
ran and walked from midnight to morning. However, he had no mind to be caught. Once he was obliged to sit down, sick. He vomited, and this eased him,
so he could go on again. But he struck another river. "I am John Slover. Take me to Fort Henry." "You're an Injun. He's dead. I am Slover. So he did. The man took him into the canoe. He was saved. He was the
true never-say-die kind, and lived for many a year yet, to tell of his
adventures and to put them upon paper. And he was a lad of great spirit, as will now be
shown. Luckily for him, the two Indians gave him up. He could not travel
fast, but he used his wits. He knew all the tricks of the trail. So this day he ate only a few berries. He could have a fire, to
cook with. No matter. He must have a horse. He could
tell little. However, in
about ten days it grew better. She
was in their cabin doorway, peering up the road. News was slow,
in those days. For she was a widow and he was her only boy. So had his gallant young son, John--and others. And she cried and cried. They all were alarmed at the unexpected triumph of the Long
Knife people, and were fearful lest they had lost their prized
hunting-ground, Kentucky. The Indians well knew
how the white men were crowding in upon them, from Virginia--were
stealing Kentucky and threatening the Ohio country. Now was
the time. Those are good words. And there were many chiefs. The Indians had lured him within reach, by
tinkling a horse bell that they had taken. Help was needed. The night had been unbroken; peace
seemed to smile in the sparkle of the early morning dew. That was a piece of great fortune
for Bryant's Station. The fort gates, at one end, were being unbarred. The men rushed to the pickets, to peer. That was not to be borne. "No, boys. Wait a bit. It's a trick. "We can't march to Hoy's, this day." "No. We'll need help, ourselves. Somebody'll have to go for it." "First, to send for help. Be firming those loose pickets, too. "The women'll have to go for the water, boys." They gathered, indignant. If you're men, go yourselves. Go. "No. Listen here. Not a foot stumbled,
not a figure wavered. It almost passed belief. Now the head of the procession was at the gate, and in safety. Then, at the last, they hastened, fast and faster. We're almost there, dears. Mother's coming. The gate swung to, in an instant. "Not too far, but make all the racket you can. And when you hear our scrimmage, turn for home." The Indians fell back, egging them on. Their time had
arrived. Aid would be coming. To the fort, boys! They heard the
volleys; they cared not a whit for numbers, and seeing little they
bolted through the tall stalks for the battle, in order to help their
comrades. The Indians' guns were empty; the thirty Long Knives knew that their
own safety lay in the threat of powder and ball. Down went Simon Girty, knowing now that he
had mistaken his man. He was up
again. All the Indians who saw,
stopped. That was now a harder task, for the garrison had been increased by the
sixteen horsemen. "I will talk to the Long Knives. From there he called. They heard. Listen. I bring you terms. You have
fought well, and done all that you can do. They will be here shortly. They are
not like rifles. "You lie. Girty demanded, with a show of being much hurt. "Do
you know my name, sir? I am Simon Girty." "We know you very well. As for
your reinforcements, there are plenty now coming to our aid likewise. I'll have you know that more are to follow those already here. Your blood is on your own heads. I grieve at your fate. The night passed. That was all. Not an Indian remained. This was the first week in September, 1782. He swam the river, and arrived with the word just in
time. This time, here he stayed. "That is what
talks for us." "You may have till to-night," he shouted. Captain Pratt posted his forces. Food was prepared. It had stood other attacks. "We know
you, Girty. "Really got him, have you? "Laugh while you can," Girty retorted. The Indians jeered and gestured. they challenged. The little "bull-dog" belched smoke. Captain Pratt rushed in, waving his sword. "Stand back! Stand back, you fools!" he bawled. And there wasn't. The Indians had wildly scampered for safety. They charged and fell back and charged
again. How you like that, you Injun man!" The Indians seemed busy at something. A long, dangerous piece, too. Watch, everybody! Hope
not. They rammed that also, and wadded it. "We
wish you a dozen such guns." But that was not to the mind of the lad
Francis Duke--Colonel Shepherd's son-in-law, aged not much over twenty,
and rashly brave. I'm going in, or die for it." he shouted, as he neared. He was seen, and heard. The gate swung for him. "The fort will supply
us. "I'll go, brother Eb. "No, you sha'n't, Betty. "I _shall_ go. Tell me what to do." She stamped her foot. "I _shall_ go. "No. You can go next time, Molly. "All right, Betty. Her eyes were snapping, her cheeks were red. Her
brother himself opened the gate, in the side, for her. With a bound
she was out, her slim ankles twinkling as she ran. The Indians stared, puzzled. The enemy guessed. No; not yet. It had to hold out, after a deed like
that, by a girl. The Indians, urged by the white chiefs and by the British Rangers,
raged. They tried with wood. She would
have done it, too. The sun was an hour high, when--listen! There they go! The siege had been lifted. The little settlement crossed to the mainland on the Kentucky side, and
the present city of Louisville was founded. It was a backwoods
school. Of course, on Saturday the school had vacation. "Aw, let's go home," said Wells. "All right. Let's." Run, boys!" It was sharp work, but soon over. He was the best runner at school,
and gave the Indians a pretty chase among the trees before they caught
him at last. Five boys, all captured. Still, the
same had happened to other boys, and to trained scouts. The Indians now began to question them in broken English. "Louisville." "You lie. Where live?" "Louisville." "You lie. Mebbe get killed. Where live, fat boy?" "Louisville." One and all they stuck to the story. The Indians grunted in disgust, put the boys in their midst and hustled
them to the river. "Guess we're in for it," remarked William Wells. "Reckon so. Or Potawatomis. Don't you cry,
brother," he warned. Don't you bawl, yourself!" "Aw, the Injuns would have followed you. "We're all
right. The river was crossed on the slushy
ice. All that day they traveled northward; and all the next day, and
the next, and the next, and on and on. The Indians were Miamis. Pluck always does. That was a shrewd guess. "Don't you show the white feather, any of you. That's the way to do." The littler Linn was shoved forward, to lead the race. He was the
smallest, and would hold the other boys back--and he had been the
spunkiest, all the way up, because he had a quick temper and was prompt
to fight. The Indians had liked to tease him. shouted the chief Indian. They ducked their heads, and ran. The Indian boy's mother
and the other women shrieked angrily. The lines broke, and yelling, chased after. The largest of the Indian boys rushed him, to down him. It might have gone
hard with Master Linn had not his four partners joined the fray. Then
there was a lively fracas. "I don't care," wheezed Buck Elk. "Well, we told him to hold his temper. "But we licked 'em, anyhow." He stayed with the Miamis for eight years; was named
Black Snake; grew up with them; lived in Chief Little Turtle's town
near the Fort Wayne, Indiana, of to-day; married Chief Little Turtle's
sister; and was much thought of by the Miamis. He could not fire
upon his own nation. The four other boys remained here, in this town. They wanted to go home. Still, they rather preferred school, after all; and home. Indian boys do not
work. They are free to loaf or hunt, and train for warriors. Only the
girls work, so as to make women who will work. If one goes, all'll have to go, though. "Of course. "That's so. Just the same, we can make it if we have a good start." And he winked. "All of us. And southward, far, far southward, their real
home called to them. "To-night, huh?" "So can we. "All right. We'll make their tongues hang out." "I'll go, you bet," agreed the fourth, also. "My folks need me. "Well, we'll all lie down to sleep; and in the middle of the night I'll
wake you up," proposed Buck Elk. "Sure. He
nudged the next boy, the next boy nudged the next, and the nudge was
passed on. Fat Bear led. He was a good woodsman. Then the sun guided them, until about noon, when they had to
stop and rest. "Twenty-five miles, I guess. Come on. Follow me," bade crafty Fat Bear. That was an anxious afternoon. It took them three weeks. "Blame it, guess we
do look some like Injuns, in our rigs." They hurried. And there was home, just across! The raft, when finished, did not amount to much. "You get on. I'm the
heaviest. I'm the best swimmer, too. They tumbled aboard, with branches for oars. That was so. "Yes, I'm all right. You keep paddling." He could not manage himself. Your folks had give you up. Been three weeks." But the Indians clung to their old hopes that a portion at least of
their lands between the Great Lakes and the Ohio would be left to them. Lieutenant Jurney had
been captain in the Illinois Rangers raised for service upon the
frontier; but a year ago he had been appointed first lieutenant in the
Government Rangers, of the army. The Indians to be feared hereabouts were roving Sacs, Potawatomis and
Winnebagos from the north; yes, and the Prairie Kickapoos from the
Wabash River on the east. However, the block-house was not a very stirring place; and when in the
evening of August 30 the Lieutenant Jurney men saw a bunch of Indians
reconnoitering at a short distance out, they had high hopes of a little
"brush" in the morning. That was rash, but plucky. So he waited, behind his tree, until the smoke thinned. The Indians had not seen him; he would reach
the fort and report that he had accomplished a little, anyway. "No, I won't. Come on, Joe. Get aboard. We'll make in,
double." "Can't do it, Tom. Leg's busted." "Never mind. But that wouldn't do. He turned, with lifted gun. The two
other Indians were now coming, also. I'll have to draw his fire, Kentucky way." They would wait for the fall of the hammer and the
flash of the priming in the pan, and would spring aside before the ball
reached them. But he was too slow. He bounded up. Tom ran, likewise, as fast as he could, which was not
very fast, now. The Indians leveled their guns. Up he got. The three Indians came on with
spears and knives, to finish him. Down went Tom Higgins. The third Indian rushed, with a knife. The Indian proved much the stronger, but he had no liking for this
knife work. "We'd save Tom if we could, but the Injuns are ten to one. A cry welled. He's fainted. "No, it isn't." "After her, boys! Never mind the fort." Tom Higgins was the hero, but Mrs. Pursley was the heroine. "It'll be fifty dollars." Not much, by golly! For less I'll fetch it out, myself." he bade. He went through. He was no
greenhorn. After all, an Indian was an Indian,
although these plains Indians like the Sioux and Blackfeet numbered
thousands and seemed to think themselves much better than the white man. In the fall his partners went "out," to take their furs to St. Louis. He set out with the news. But he
met them in battle. John Potts agreed to go with John Colter. John Potts was another of the Lewis and Clark men: had served as a
soldier enlisted at Carlisle Barracks, Pennsylvania, by Captain Lewis
himself. It was
a reunion. spoke John. That sounds like Injuns. John Potts laughed. "Them's buff'ler. "Jest as you say, then," the other John replied. But those are
buff'ler, I tell you." "Watch out. Stop paddling. Drop
your traps." "Come on, and I'll talk with
'em." "Not I," the other John growled. It was an alarming welcome. John Potts was still in his own canoe, in mid-stream. The Indians
again called to him, and the chief beckoned. "I'll not. You--"
A bow twanged angrily. Down he fell, in the bottom of his canoe. Then he heard. "Yes. The only point
to be discussed was, how should he die? he ordered, in the Crow tongue. Then the old Indian scuttled after him, very impatient. Even gave him a shove, or two. After all, the Blackfeet were treating him like a man. And he was a swift
runner; few men that he knew were his equal. He wasted no moments now in picking his way through the
prickly-pears; had to step on them with his bare soles, whether or no;
and he gathered the stinging spines as a pin-cushion gathers pins. He wasted no moments, either, in looking back. But he was half way to the Madison. But the Indian's-mind had been made up. He, too, was wellnigh all in, and stumbled as he tried to
thrust. The spear broke, and the Indian fell flat. He had run his five miles, but he
had not won his life. He plunged for it, and commenced to swim. He had quick wit,
did John Colter. The water was some ten feet deep, at the house. He held his breath and
took a deep, deep dive. Luck was with him, to reward him. Here he panted and waited, in the darkness. He was chilled stiff, soaked with the icy water. But he hung on. Finally silence reigned. He grimly waited, too. At last he
could stand the place no more. However, the Blackfeet doubtless were before him, to cut him off in the
pass. Soon he was into snow. He might yet be
seen, and captured. That was a terrible journey, for a man in his shape. After all, the white American is a hard fighter to down. He had had enough. He pricked up his ears, and did not
stir. Not he. Goodby." But he would not leave his wife. Of course, the American trapper and trader did not stay away, on this
account. He was there
at the Three Forks in the spring of 1810, when five trappers had been
killed or captured and John Colter had decided to pull out. The Assiniboines
stole all his horses. He stayed at the mouth of the Yellowstone until
he had traded for more, from the Crows; went on to the Great Falls--and
the Blackfeet again smashed him and sent him back down-river, minus
four good men. In spite of
his size, he was marvelously quick. Besides, he had a short temper. No use. She was after him at once; so were the cubs, as eager as she. He was a frightful sight. On the fifth day they gave him up. "No. "What'll we do, then?" "Wall, youngster, thar's only one thing to do. He could not possibly last through till morning; and by
morning they might be well upon their way. But he was scarred redly from head to foot, had lost part of his
whiskers and part of his hair; was peeled to the bone, in places. That looked like a long, long distance for a man who could not walk
straight and had not even a knife. But he was bound to go, get patched
up, and find those two villains who had abandoned him--who had left him
as dead when he wasn't dead at all! He managed to find roots, and more berries. He stayed here a short time. He went on, stronger. He
was very hungry again. He embarked. "How, yoreself, young feller. But he it was. "Wall, I ain't, not by a jugful. "I'll git 'em yit," vowed old Hugh. In February he started for Atkinson, with four other men. Fitzgerald was at Atkinson, enlisted in the army. The one
escaped, to tell his friends. Of course, after this nothing but war
could be expected from the southwest Indians, who would be only too
glad of an excuse to capture the white man's goods and teams. It was
about half way. The Indians loved to catch a
caravan in here. The going was very bad, in the hot, flowing
sand. Whether the passage
opened into the country beyond, nobody knew. Gee, Buck!" "Haw, Spot! Haw, Whity! A host in
himself, was Charles Bent. We're
all right. But corral, corral!" they shouted. "The Injuns got him, first fire." Unlimber," Captain Bent was shouting. That was desperate work. The men, lying flat, shifted wearily. The animals
dropped their heads, and panted. The Indians need only wait. "But we're in Mexico. "Never mind. The Indians could not
fail to see them. Now if the Indians only would hold off for a few hours, the caravan was
saved. The Indians had seen the couriers ride out,
they might be laying an ambush. Every ear was
pricked, every eye searched right and left. The silence was very mysterious. The word was passed that every wheel and hoof and foot should be
muffled as much as possible, and the infantry were halted, to await the
baggage train. They proceeded. The Indians had not discovered them; the caravan
out-posts had not discovered them: either side might have surprised the
other side, evidently, but neither side knew. In fact, they had not
been expected before morning. This was military
regulations, but gave the Indians warning. "We will go," the chiefs decided. It
was no place in which to fight. With the
rise of the sun, a gale also arose. The pool was wet. Captain
Bent took the caravan on, to Santa Fe. The Indians called William Bent "Hook-Nose Man" or "Roman Nose." He was the governor of the fort. They dickered. Texas was another
Kentucky. The knife was an accident. The Indians did not wish
to have their silver taken; and they set out to close the mines. The Indians found them very promptly; in the early morning drove them
from their shaft to the rock fort, and besieged them hotly all the day. He figured the situation over. He turned to Jim, by his side. "See here, Jim. No, sar, Marse Jim! No, sar!" "All right, Jim." "You'll be safe. We'll cover every head with our guns and you sha'n't be hurt. Just fill the canteens, and come back with
them." Out went Negro Jim, as brave as the bravest. But the canteens clinked, a warrior peeked and saw, and the whoop
of alarm rang. The Indians' guns spoke; the fort replied briskly; dark forms sprang
from shelter, to cut the water-carrier off, and through the whizz of
balls black Jim legged for the fort, with the canteens bouncing on his
back and shanks. Oh, Marse Jim! That looked likely. "Never mind now, Marse Jim. Oh, glory!" No, sar! He knew all the men well, and they all
knew him. They filled his dreams. "We shore will." No. "No," Jim Bowie replied. If they are so many, you
would only die with us. We do not wish to fight. Adios." That was not to be. They're a-comin', boys." The guards ran in, to join the line. But
plenty more behind." If we can
come to terms, so as to pull out with what we have, all right. Otherwise, we'll fight. "No; you stay here, Jim, and boss matters. I'll go," spoke his brother
Rezin. "I'm with you," said Dave Buchanan. "Go ahead, then. We'll cover you. I want to
talk." Down lurched Dave. "Got me in the leg," he gasped. "I'll take you in." "Got me twice more," Dave gasped. Dave was badly hurt, but not fatally. "I am." That was Caephus Ham. Caephus drew careful bead, and fired. The Indians
scampered to the safe side of the hill. "Into the chaparral," ordered Jim Bowie. Never mind the horses." From here they raked the creek bed, and cleared it. That was
better. They fought
cunningly. The Indians could locate them only by the powder smoke from
the gun muzzles; but the instant that they fired, the Texans squirmed
aside for six or eight feet, and the answering bullets were wasted. The Indians were still getting the worst of it. The sun was high. "No. He's foxy." "I fetched him, boys! The grass was fired, nevertheless, in several spots. The Indians might be dimly seen,
running about in the drifting veil and carrying off their killed and
wounded. The Indians
whooped, gleeful, and shot briskly. The Indians started another fire, on the
north. We may be roasted here, but it's sure death for us
outside." "The Indians," said Rezin Bowie,
"fired about twenty shots a minute," riddling the thicket. It's all we've got, boys. That seemed true. The Indians had taken away their dead and wounded;
they were commencing to follow, but some of them remained in sight. The sun set. It
was found out afterward that they were in a cave, not far off. The fattest mule was killed, as food,
but he proved very tough. The hill was open, and exposed to weather
and the enemy's view. He himself had been lanced twice, and was not a young man. The boy was a native of this country, and knew the
trails. That was
good. "Take off yore shoes, lieutenant. They make too much noise. Lieutenant Beale did the same; so did the
cautious Indian. Lieutenant Beale was hoping that now an open way lay before. Lieutenant
Beale flattened; the Indian, third in the file, had flattened. He was
another of the patrols. Whether they had been seen, who might tell? Lieutenant Beale broke. "Kit, we're gone. "No, no, boy. The Indian might have got through, but
Lieutenant Beale, never. "Put on yore shoes, boy. Lieutenant Beale laid his hand to his belt. "I've lost my shoes, Kit." "So've I. Come on. The Indian said that they were
within twelve miles of San Diego. Lieutenant, you head off to
southward; amigo (that to the Indian boy, in Spanish), you go on
straight; I'll take around north'ard, whar the _Mexicanos_ probably are
thickest to close the Los Angeles trail. "All right, sir," agreed the lieutenant. It was understood. He was building Fort
Stockton, to command the town. 'Twas the Indian boy. The Indian was still telling his story in breathless Spanish, when
another of the couriers arrived--carried by two marines. He was
Lieutenant Beale, unable to walk. Now he, too, needed a surgeon. The Indians of the Plains
saw their chance. Lieutenant
Hallowell was his companion. Lieutenant Hallowell had a canvas or wagon-sheet cover fitted over his
wagon: stretched tightly upon bows and puckered to enclose the rear end
with the exception of a hole in the middle there about the size of
one's head. "Oh, pshaw! "Oh, pshaw!" Don't you worry yourself." What, then? Men on horses. "Look there, Hallowell. "Injuns, by Jiminy! We're in for it." Hold on, Hallowell. They may be part of the escort." Lieutenant Hallowell was wiser. "No, no! I know Injuns when I see 'em. "Well, by thunder, I'll see for myself." asked the lieutenant, braced to the lines. That they were. "How many, Cap?" "About thirty." "Oh, dear!" "Never mind Lizzie. Let's get ourselves out of here, first." "All right, Cap," replied Lieutenant Hallowell, briskly. The
mules bolted free, twitching the wagon over the ruts. "How far now, Cap?" "Still coming fast, and getting closer." "Still coming. Hi! He could see the Indians very
plainly. He turned quickly. Lieutenant Hallowell had an arrow stuck
in his head above his right ear! But he was whipping and yelling,
regardless. "No. Pull ahead. Hi! Out came the arrow. The Indians had charged beyond the mules, in delivering their arrows. They wheeled, and back they came. So he was. "No, not much. Hi! But driving was no joke. The Indians were about to make a third
charge. That was a
powerful bow. The Indians
whooped gladly, ready to pick him up. It was an appeal. That was poor shooting, all around. The Indian began to
notch an arrow upon the bow-string; he was going to shoot. He could not see the Indian's body; could see only half his leg, hooked
over the pony's back. cheered the captain, excitedly. Hi! The Indians had halted, to examine their dead warrior, and yell over
him. Hi! The Indians behind were yelling louder. "All right. Guess we'll make it. Hi! Yes, the Indians were coming. "Hit again, Cap!" "In the back." He was pinned fast to
the canvas, by an arrow. "Right in the back, Cap." "Some. No matter. Pull it out. Hi! He kept driving. "Off to the left, Cap! he shouted. Ha, ha! The Indians knew that he couldn't shoot. "Off to the left, Cap! This Indian was wiser. He only grinned
and notched his arrow, and took his time for a sure shot. Only one revolver was left, and it had been emptied. But the captain
was given no pause, to load. "In the hand." "No. Hi! The Indians seemed to have shot most of their arrows, but were not
done. Lieutenant Hallowell hauled with all his might on the rein; Captain
Booth climbed forward to the step opposite the Indian and kicked the
nearest mule. He threw his revolver. It did not strike the Indian,
but it struck the pony, and the pony ran away. Other Indians promptly came up. He tossed out his suitcase. The Indians
behind stopped, to inspect. It was a funny sight. But others
came on. Out goes yours, next." "All right. A warrior fitted
an arrow, drew to the point, and let go. That was a lucky shot, for the wagon. The
other mule saw the blood, and smelled it. The Indians were gaining rapidly. "I agree." Lieutenant Hallowell could not stand up. "I dunno. He could not use his right arm, either. "I don't know. So he was. It had to be cut out. All that day the fight was waged. The Indians would
not know that anybody had escaped. Quiet reigned all around, except for the yapping of the coyotes. The Indians, Scout Stillwell learned
afterward from chiefs themselves, were watching all the river channel
and all the ravines, this night. They would
be seen instantly by daylight. The arroyo
was empty. The night had passed, and here they were, abroad in the very thick of
the Indians, to face a day of unknown perils. The sun rose, flooding the world above the arroyo. The arroyo grew stifling hot. But they dared not move on. It was a ford. This gave hope, still. Will you risk day travel with me, so we
can finish up. "I'm game, 'Pet.'" So they did not stop, with daylight. The Indians came straight on. If so, goodby to life
and to the message. The screen was very
thin, for concealment on all sides. But the Indians granted no time. The Indians halted before reaching the wallow; they could see that it
contained no water. If
they moved, he would coil, and rattle. The Indian sentinel would
hear, would gaze, would be curious, would suspect, would approach; and
then--death to two scouts, despair for the island. Oh, if he would only veer off! But he was
determined. And yonder, still sat the vigilant Indian. He was chewing tobacco. "Sh! I'll fix him," he whispered. And aiming his
best, Jack spat. The stream spurted truly. Jack chuckled and shook. That was a great relief. They pushed on. It
was a foggy day, and they did not stop. Jack now had to furnish the
brains and the strength, and do the bracing. But he was equal to it;
he selected the trail and helped his staggering partner. The Indians awakened to the fact that soon there would be no buffalo
left for them. It was arranged. My
medicine says so." Then she died. And likewise some twenty others. The night was warm. The man
came running back, shouting and pointing. He led. Whether this broke the medicine, I-sa-tai did not say. Horses were down and kicking, in the street. The
boys in there were up and shouting, too. Hi! But this was not the end. Anybody might know that. The Indian found himself in a hot place. His pony was
killed. But that would not do. He was a danger to the premises, and should be
routed. "Bet I scorched him," Billy Dixon chuckled. The Indians were outside, the frontiersmen were inside, and no help
near. The sun rose. The Chief Quana men soon learned this. The Indians between the main
party and the fort would spring up, run a few steps, and drop again
before a bullet caught them. The men in the saloon bolted out, and ran into the store. The Indians now were mostly out
of sight, beyond. he asked,
curiously. The Chief Quana Comanches went
south, to their own range. The Indians fled southwest, for the Staked Plain. The trains were far in
the rear, and may have been cut off. So they rode out, in the evening of September 10. They've seen us, too. "Yep; Injuns and heap Injuns," rapped Scout Chapman. "No. barked the sergeant. They plunged in, could go no farther. The Indians volleyed from the ravine edge. It was done in a
jiffy. "This is no place," panted Scout Chapman. "We'll all be dead, without
a chance. The open is better, where we can see around. Come on,
everybody." "As skirmishers, men. Out they lunged, into the very face of the enemy. The Indians gave way
before but closed in behind. "Fall back, fall back! Steady, now. Hold your intervals," Sergeant
Woodall warned. Don't waste a shot, but shoot to kill." The Indians (there were
one hundred and fifty) formed their circle; skimming around and around,
shooting and whooping. Then the six men had to jump up, and run on, shouting and firing. They all were having fun. "Never mind him," Scout Chapman said. Tend to the others." The Indians knew; they were growing even bolder. "We've got to
make it. Now, all together, and don't stop. There we'll stay." The Indians knew. One by one they
vaulted upon their ponies and dashed across the route. The six shot
briskly and carefully, to clear the way. The cup was only a foot or two deep, but the
grassy rim helped. The Indians veered from the black muzzles resting
upon the ring, and drew off, to wait and jeer, and form another circle. cried somebody. "That's
tough, fellows. It was a
long way to go, and a longer way back under a load. We got you now, Amos!' The Indians didn't stay
around there a minute; the boys kept it red-hot; so I jumped up, picked
up Smith, and got safe into the wallow." "No, I'm not. panted Amos. Why, look at your leg!" "I never knew it," he said. "Prop me sitting, boys," he begged. The Indians
circled closer, swerving in and out, firing. They would have had no water, except for the rain. They did their best for George, who lay dying. They agreed. He could shoot only one at a time, and the Indians would
kill him. But he was shaky, the light was poor, and he killed only the
horse. "No matter. "I see others," Amos cried, craning and squinting. "Yonder; out
beyond. He came in a hurry,
and was given three cheers. "June 25. It's awful, boys." Of course, reinforcements would be rushed in at once. Lieutenant King and Corporal Wilkinson of the guard lay upon the hill
slope, watching the morning brighten upon the war-trail ridge. There they are! The Indians!" Yes, at last! But they did not come
on. he
growled, on a sudden. Ah, see! Lieutenant Hall had sent two cavalry couriers
forward, with dispatches for General Merritt. The Indians knew. The Indians could not now see the couriers, for the same
reason. It might have been a pretty race to watch, had life
not been the stake. Up with you, then. Come down, every other man
of you, where you won't be seen." Much depended upon him. He waited. He let them come. "All right. When you say." "Now, men!" It occurred in an instant. Lieutenant Forbush cried. If you want to fight, come and
fight me." "Stand back," he ordered, of the men. All was
over in a moment. They charged, for
revenge. he shouted. General Crook rather
believed that he did not have a force large enough to break through to
find the principal villages of Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, or to join
General Terry, in the Rosebud country south of the Yellowstone River;
so with his wounded he had fallen back from southern Montana into
northern Wyoming. General Crook was a
fighter; he never quit a trail and he liked to travel fast and light,
and strike the enemy. Lieutenant Sibley was directed to take twenty-five picked men, from his
regiment, and two scouts; reconnoiter northwestward along the base of
the Big Horn Mountains, and find the Sioux village if he could. General Crook was exceedingly anxious to know where Chief Crazy Horse
lived when at home. He stayed with Chief Crazy Horse, until a chance of escape came. And he was brave. Baptiste Fourier was half French, half Sioux. At last he said shortly:
"All right, sir. Lieutenant Sibley was glad. This sounded like business, to Reporter Finerty. Anyway, the mystery was not very comforting. The little column watched him keenly. "Follow me for your lives." To this time only Frank and Baptiste knew, apparently. That meant Sioux, with a vengeance. Lieutenant Sibley said nothing. There they were--the Sioux, riding up the
valley. "Don't act like it. They all
stiffened. The Indians on right and left of him hastened in. "Well, we've just one chance of escape. That is, to make into the
mountains and try to cross them. "Very well," the lieutenant agreed. Lieutenant Sibley spoke briefly. "Men, the Indians have discovered us. Die in your tracks, for
these Indians will show no mercy." "All right, sir." That was all they said. "Mount." The going was
steep, and the horses puffed and groaned. The trail was good. They pushed on at a trot, never sparing the
horses. After five miles more, Scouts Gruard and Big Bat stopped. "Yes, if it's safe. The word was welcome. "The Indians, lieutenant! "To the left, men! Lieutenant Sibley took command. "Give them a few shots, sergeant, till we can tie our horses." At the carbine reports the Indians in sight, out in the park, dived for
shelter. "Now tie your horses short, to the trees, men." That was done. "As skirmishers. Fire carefully, only when you see a mark. Don't waste ammunition." The Indians were
making certain of the cavalry mounts. How they had come in so
cunningly, was a mystery. But that cut no
figure. He
might be glimpsed, now and then, as he darted about, placing his
warriors. "Eh, Bat?" "Think so," Big Bat nodded. Pass the word
to get him, when we can." The Indians tried no more charges across the park. However, they were
growing in strength. You are all dead. "The rest are retiring, sir. Lieutenant Sibley says for us to do the
same." That was so. Lieutenant
Sibley, his lips set firmly, was still in position, to be the last. The Indians are
getting all around us; our only chance, Gruard thinks, is to make back
through the timber while we can, on foot." It's drying fast. So, knowing Indians
and knowing the country, we put it up to him, for yes or no. He's
agreed." One by one the men dodged back, among the
trees and rocks. The Indians had charged. "Now come on. The Indians might
follow, and might not; but distance was the only safety. But they got out. It was decided to venture into a valley of the foothills, and find
water. His senses were keen. Lieutenant
Sibley motioned. Yes, the spot was a strong one, for defense. On one side there was a
stream, bounded by a lofty cliff, over-hanging. On the other side
there was an open slope, with no cover for the attackers. In front the
timber was very thin. There would be no fight. The next six miles required four hours, to travel. The men were very
weak, and their boots were in tatters. "We're
going on to camp, and we'll fight." But the Indians hesitated, and stayed at a distance. The Sibley men
stopped short, to lie on the ground, and wait. General Crook was away, on a hunt. Lieutenant-Colonel William B.
Royall of the Third Cavalry was temporarily in command. Lieutenant
Sibley wearily went to him, to report.