Under Fire

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"Heap walk--plenty heap hungry," was the warrior's prompt response, with
appropriate pantomime and immediate lapse of dignity. Mrs. Plodder had
cut off a big slice of the steak and handed it to the mother with
reassuring gesture, but that well-disciplined wife passed it immediately
on to her lord, and in eloquent silence pleaded with open hand and eyes
for more. "The heathens!" exclaimed Mrs. Plodder. "We'd cure them of
that notion in no time, wouldn't we, Mrs. Davies?" But Mira was watching
the Minneconjou maiden, forgetful even of the adulation in the eyes of
the little five-year-old girl now licking the syrup off her slab of
soldier bread and gazing adoringly up into the shrinking donor's face.
Miss Minneconjou had caught sight of her own winsome face in a mirror
that hung in a stained-wood frame opposite Mira's seat, and with no
little shy giggling was revelling in the study of her charms even while
busily munching the big biscuit in her slender brown hand. Here was a
trait that formed a bond of sympathy, and Mira took courage. It is not
the contemplation of their nobler qualities, but their weaknesses, that
puts us on easy terms with our fellow-men. Breakfast promised to last a
long time. Gaffney, with the adaptability of the trooper of years of
service on the frontier, had been worming something of their visitors'
story out of them. The average Indian never wants to tell his name, but
gets a friend to give it for him. It proved, however, to be
Bear-Rides-Double who, with his wife, sister, and little ones, had
honored them with this early visit, and after riding double long years
among his people, this young chief had come afoot long miles to see the
Great Father's man and lodge a complaint. He had actually walked from
the Minneconjou village, five thousand yards away down-stream. But for
the chance of making a theatrical _coup_ Bear-Rides-Double could easily
have borrowed a pony, even though his own were gone to pay a poker debt
incurred within thirty-six hours, and when he waked up the morning after
the protracted play he found that Pulls Hard and the half-breed "squaw
man" with whom he had been gambling had not only played him with cogged
dice, but plied him with drugged liquor, and then gone off with his war
ponies as well as the rest. He wanted the Great Father to redress his
wrongs, recover his stock, and give him another show with straight
cards, and then he'd show Pulls Hard and Sioux Pete a trick or two of
his own. Davies had proffered chairs during this recital, which Gaffney
managed between the sign language and a species of "pidgin English,"
called "soldier Sioux," to interpret for him, but the family preferred
to squat on the floor. Mrs. Plodder, tiring of the diplomatic features,
took Miss Minneconjou into Mira's room to show her the pretty gifts the
pale-face bride had brought with her, and Mira, with her five-year-old
friend toddling alongside, speedily followed. Davies strove to make the
double equestrian understand that he had no authority in the premises,
and that McPhail was the proper person to apply to, but the warrior
wished to deal only with his kind,--a heap brave chief,--the conqueror
of the redoubtable Red Dog. He could get more to eat through him in any
event, and in the midst of it all Gaffney came in from a brief visit to
his kitchen to say that Sioux Pete, the malefactor in question, was
actually in the corral at that moment trying to sell two ponies to the
sergeant of the guard. Leaving Gaffney to the duty of entertaining his
guests, Davies went out to investigate. Pete had come over from Red
Dog's camp with some of his plunder, and had no idea the complainant had
forestalled him. Pete spoke English,--that is, plains English,--but he
shrank a little at sight of the tall, grave-faced young officer of whom
Red Dog's people spoke with bated breath.

"You want how much for these ponies?" asked the lieutenant, as though he
had heard the talk.

"Tirty dollar."

"Where are the others?"

"No got."

"You rode off with four ponies from the lodge of Bear-Rides-Double two
nights ago. Where are the other two?"

Pete turned sickly gray. Could this white-faced soldier read visions
and dreams and thoughts? Was he a medicine-man?

"No got," he sullenly answered once more.

"You will leave these two with me for safe-keeping," said Davies, "and
go and fetch the others at once, even if you have to take them from
Pulls Hard, and get back here with them at noon without fail. No, you
need not appeal to the agent, or I'll tell him that you loaded Bear with
drugged liquor and marked cards and cogged dice. Off with you, Pete," he
continued, and the half-breed rode away on his Cayuse pony with scared
face, and told in the camp of Red Dog that the young chief Davies was a
seer, a mind-reader as well as a brave who feared not to grapple their
war chief; and when he was gone, Bear-Rides-Double was summoned and
bidden to ride double if he could, but to go and sin no more with cogged
dice, and the Minneconjou looked with evident awe and wonderment upon
the grave, reticent cavalryman, and went away homeward on one of the
recovered ponies, his women-folk, laden with Mira's discarded finery and
leading the other, trudging contentedly along behind him afoot.

"You'll be a heap bigger man among the Indians than the agent can ever
hope to be, lieutenant," said Gaffney, with an Irish grin.

But Davies said nothing. Had he overstepped his authority? Would McPhail
approve? The point was soon settled. Through the hangers-on about the
store McPhail heard rumors flitting like lightning among the villages.
The young officer was a medicine-man, a mind-reader, and far and wide
the Indians spoke of him in fear and reverence. It might be a good
thing, said the canny Scot, to back him up and reap the benefit. "Just
so long as I can keep him here in charge of the guard we can run things
to suit ourselves, for no red-skin will dare buck against him."

CHAPTER XXVI.

For nearly a fortnight there was sunshine at the agency,--sunshine and
prosperity, and then came manifestation of that pride which goeth before
destruction. Because there were more of the Ogallalla tribe than of
others herded there when originally established the agency on the
Chasing Water had been given this name, but after the stirring events of
the winter and the revolt of Red Dog, it happened that rather more of
the Minneconjou and not a few of the Uncapapa backsliders were gathered
among the grimy tepees. Two Lance and his people, having made their way
to the fold of Spotted Tail, were permitted to abide with him as a
result of the earnest plea made in their behalf by the general in
command of the department. Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses and some other
chiefs of the wiser--the peace element, had also been transferred, and
such Brules as remained under the wing of McPhail were of the class old
Spot denounced as "devil-dreamers," men who would stir up a row in any
community, men he wouldn't entertain among the lodges of his people. The
Uncapapas were of Sitting Bull's own tribe, malcontents almost to a
man, "mouth-fighters" who, like some recent exponents of Southern
oratory, were far more conspicuous after than during the battle days,
and between these breeders of devilment and the renegade Brules, there
lay the village of Red Dog's reviving band,--three gangs of aboriginal
jail-birds who looked upon Red Dog's release as virtual confession on
part of the White Father that he dare not keep him, and they were only
waiting until the grass sprouted and their ponies could wax fat and
strong to take the war-path for another summer, and take all they could
carry with them when they did it. April had come. The last vestiges of
ice and snow were slipping away out of the broad, sun-kissed valley. Up
at the cantonments a stalwart infantry major had a battalion of the
Fortieth out along the prairie slopes for over two hours every morning,
drilling, drilling, drilling, until officers and men came
double-quicking in at 11.30, exuding profanity and perspiration from
every pore, but owning up to it, after a rub down and a rest and a
hearty dinner, that old Alex was a boss soldier who knew how to take the
conceit out of the cavalry, even if he did nearly have to run his
bandy-legs off, and the lean shanks of his men, in doing it. The cavalry
major was far less energetic. He sent his troops out under their
respective chiefs, and ambled around among them after a while making
audible comment to this captain and that, but never drawing sabre
himself. Cranston had a capital troop and was a born cavalryman who
needed neither coach nor spur and there were others nearly as good as
he, but each worked on his own system, whereas the doughboys pulled
together. Not to be outdone, Davies laid out a riding-school back of
the agency corral, and every day had his detachment out for a vigorous
mounted gymnastic drill as well as another at platoon exercise. He was
wiry, athletic, and an enthusiastic teacher, and presently it was noted
that the Indians, who for a time hovered impartially all over the
prairies and slopes, watching the manoeuvres of the soldiers, began
gathering in daily augmenting crowds about the agency grounds,
frequently applauding the leaping and hurdling, but only too readily
jeering the awkwardness of some of the men in mounting and dismounting
at the gallop, a thing they had learned and practised since early
boyhood. Then Cranston and the other troop leaders got to working down
toward the agency and, during the rests, moving close up to the corral
and watching the riding-school. It was capital work, said Cranston and
his contemporaries, though some jealous youngsters used to say to their
cynical selves that Parson probably "put up a prayer-meeting as a
stand-off." McPhail and his people began to come out and look on, and
Mira to watch from the window, for she still trembled and shrank at
sight of the savage painted faces and glittering eyes of the Indians,
and equally shrank from meeting the Cranstons. But presently Mrs.
Cranston and other women came driving over in their ambulances, the
generic term by which army carriages were known in the days when a
provident Congress first began curtailing the transportation facilities
of the line where, _sous entendu_, all great reformatory experiments
were tried, the staff being, of course, beyond even congressional
suspicion, and so it resulted that about eleven o'clock every fine day
the biggest gathering of the people, red and white, in all the broad
valley of the Chasing Water, as far east as its confluence with the
shadowy Niobrara and thence to the shores of the Big Muddy, was that to
be found about the rectangular space where the Parson held forth to his
faithful squad.

Now, McPhail came back to his recaptured children with conciliation for
his watchword, willing, eager to shake hands with one and all from Red
Dog down, or up, according to the proper plane of that warrior on the
scale of merit; but as he noted the humility of bearing exhibited by all
except a truculent few, and the evident awe with which even these looked
upon the stern and taciturn commander of his guard, the agent began,
like Mulvaney after his fifth drink, "to think scornful av elephints,"
in other words, of the red wards of his bailiwick, and with McPhail to
"think scornful" was to act. Just in proportion as he was meek and
cringing before did he become arrogant and abusive now. There was no
Boynton on hand to warn him with what he termed brutal bluntness that he
was tempting Providence again. Even the worm will turn, and the
difference between the worm and the Indian is that one can anticipate
the former and prepare for the blow. Up to the 10th of April Red Dog had
held himself haughtily apart from the whites--agent, officers, troops,
and all, but there were half-breeds and scouts who warned them that the
humiliation of his capture still rankled in his bosom, and that a mad
thirst for revenge possessed him. "Watch him as you would a snake," said
old Spotted Tail himself, when he came down to visit the agency. "He
never sleeps without dreaming of vengeance." The agent told Davies what
the loyal old chief had said, and Davies looked grave, but made no
reply. He was thinking, however, of Mira's danger. Indians could not be
put under bonds to keep the peace, however: the Bureau's system being to
let them kill first and explain afterwards. It wasn't pleasing to the
relatives of the deceased or even to the army, but what were they among
so many?--the millions of Indian sympathizers dwelling at discreet
distance.

One morning half a dozen ladies drove down from the cantonment, and
their wagons were ranged up close alongside the rail near the high
hurdle. Around them were thickly clustered a number of squaws and
children and a few Indian boys, though most of the men, old or young,
kept to their ponies around on the south and east sides. McPhail came
out later with his household, and really was not unprepared to find his
usual place, on a little raised platform, pre-empted by a score of
blanketed "reds." Mac had some odd views. He couldn't understand why the
soldiers should not be made to salute him as they did their own
officers, who, having occasionally to report to him for instructions,
might be considered as his inferiors. He liked to impress the ladies of
the cantonment with the extent of his power and authority, and had more
than once interrupted the proceedings in the ring by loudly-shouted
orders to some of the Indians on the other side. This annoyed Davies,
but he said nothing. McPhail spoke of the detachment as "My guard,"
etc., and once or twice in the presence of the army ladies had
addressed Davies in the crisp, curt tone of the superior officer, or
such imitation of it as he was enabled to compass, and this, too, the
young man had suffered without remark, though with a quiet smile. Seeing
the swarm of Indians on McPhail's platform, Mrs. Cranston and Miss
Loomis presently called to him to bring Mrs. McPhail to a seat in their
wagon, but the agent sprang up on the flimsy structure, sharply ordering
off the Indians right and left, and emphasizing his order with his boot
toes. Mac's twelve-year-old son, taking the cue from his father,
proceeded to deliver a vicious kick at a slowly-moving, blanketed form,
and the very next instant was screaming for help, flat on his back among
a swarm of Indian boys. All in a second the little savage had flashed
out of his blanket like lightning from a black cloud, and, grappling,
had hurled McPhail junior to earth. The agent made a furious lunge to
the rescue of his first-born, and the squaws and young girls scattered
shrieking at his charge. Startled and excited, the horses of Cranston's
wagon whirled sharply around, nearly capsizing the vehicle. Other horses
followed suit despite the efforts of their drivers, and in less than a
moment all the young braves on the opposite side came lashing their
ponies at mad gallop around the long rectangle just as McPhail
reappeared on the platform, bringing captive a furiously struggling
Indian boy screaming with rage and yelling for help. In less than that
moment too, it seemed, Percy Davies had leaped his horse over the
breast-high barrier and spurred to the heads of Cranston's team, seizing
the reins of the near horse. "Come right on," he shouted to the driver.
"Let them follow me." Out through the surging, scurrying crowd he guided
them to the edge of the road, then, pointing to the cantonment, called
to the driver, "Home with you, quick!" And with hardly a glance at the
grateful occupants, whirling his horse about, he burst his way back
again through the excited crowd until he found himself at the edge of
the platform. Already a dozen Indians were furiously demanding the
release of the prisoner. Little McPhail had scudded for home; Mira's
white face had disappeared from her window. Some of the guard had darted
into the corral for their arms, others, unarmed, had pressed to the
support of the agent. Before Davies could reach him four warriors were
out of their blankets and high-pommelled saddles, and had hurled
themselves on McPhail. "Rescue! Help!" he screamed, with ashen face,
releasing the Indian boy and vainly striving to draw his revolver. Away
sped the escaped captive, darting between the legs of struggling braves,
sheltered by the robes of hurrying squaws; away, right, left, anywhere,
everywhere, scattered the blanketed, jabbering groups, leaving on the
scene of action only the agent, the quickly rallying guard, and upward
of fivescore of jeering, taunting screeching warriors, at least a dozen
of them now dismounted, dancing and brandishing knife and tomahawk,
rifle or revolver, about the still writhing group rolling upon the
wooden floor,--McPhail and his assailants. Into the midst of this mad
mellay sprang the cavalryman, turning loose his horse, which animal,
urged by shrill yells and slyly administered lashings, went tearing away
over the prairie. Right at the lieutenant's back, almost as he had
fought his way with him, nozzle in hand, into the ruck of the rioting
crowd at Bluff Siding, striking out scientifically with his clinched
fists, charged young Brannan, only three days since transferred to the
agency guard. Vaulting the low rail and lunging in among the
devil-dreamers, came Sergeant Lutz and a squad of his fellow-troopers,
and in a dozen seconds, breathless and dust-begrimed, half stifled, but
practically unhurt, the agent was dragged from among the whirl of
moccasined feet and propped up, panting and swearing, against the rail,
while burly forms in trooper blue were hustling the half-raging,
half-jeering crowd of warriors off the platform. Even in the moment of
mad excitement they knew too much to use their weapons. Wise old heads
had been cautioning them against any deed of blood so long as the grass
was barely beginning to shoot. All they demanded was the instant release
of that boy, the chieftain's son, but incidentally, if McPhail insisted
on wrestling, they could not deny the Great Father's man or spare him
vigorous handling while about it. Davies had seized one brawny, muscular
throat and sent a gauntleted fist plump against the sweat-gleaming jaw
of a second brave. Brannan had backed him with half a dozen
well-delivered blows, but even these had evoked neither shot nor knife.
The instant the savages realized that it was the young commander of the
guard, they seemed to give way without further struggle, and so it
resulted that in a moment more every red-skin was off that sacred square
of board, and that a thick, deep semicircle of warriors, some few afoot,
but most of them astride their ponies, glowered in silence now at the
tall soldier who, interposing between them and the victim of their rude
horse play, stood confronting them with grave, set, indomitable look in
his pale face, on which the sweat was already starting. Behind the
officer, leaping up on the platform, were now a little squad of his men,
and McPhail, fuming and raging malevolently. "Arrest those blackguards,
arrest them instantly, Davies! Every man of them, by God! They shall pay
for this or there's no power in Washington." But Davies never moved hand
or foot. Calmly eying the surrounding crowd, he was searching for some
familiar face among the scowling warriors. Some few were men well on in
years, others mere striplings. Some were still covertly fuming with rage
for battle, others slyly tittering at the agent's expense, but all faces
were turned in instant interest, all ears attent when Davies began to
speak. "Where is Charging Bear?" he asked. "What is the meaning of this
riot?"

Probably not ten Indians in the throng could speak a dozen words of
reputable English; probably not ten, however, failed to read his
meaning.

"Charging Bear is not here," suddenly spoke in deep guttural a grizzly
Indian, who urged his pony forward. "The son of McPhail struck and
kicked the son of White Wolf,--the son of a clerk struck the first-born
of a war chief, and the Great Father's man would punish, not the
striker, but the struck."

"Nab that damned lying scoundrel, Davies. He put 'em up to this whole
business. He's another of your mission whelps. I know you, Thunder
Hawk," continued McPhail, his courage and his choler rising alike as he
saw that the Indians were slowly recoiling, and evidently meant no
further mischief. "I know you, and I order your arrest right here and
now. As for the young dog that attacked my son, I'll demand him of White
Wolf in half an hour with five hundred soldiers at my back."

"Then bring your own, who gave the first blow, if you want him in
exchange. As for me," continued the old man, in calm dignity, "I have
done no wrong, but my people shall not be made to suffer because of me.
I know the power of the Great Father, but he would not demand my
surrender to such as you. Here is the chief to whom the Indian yields,"
he said, turning to the lieutenant, and then, riding a pony length
closer, gravely swung his handsome repeating rifle from its
gayly-fringed sheath of skins and extended it, butt foremost, to Davies.

But before that officer could receive the proffered rifle a warning cry
came from the outskirts of the swarm. There was instantaneous lashing of
quirts, a sudden scurry and rush, and like one great herd of elk smitten
with sudden panic, away surged and sped the entire throng, Thunder
Hawk's stampeded pony bearing him irresistibly away with the rest. Only
a cloud of dust settling slowly to earth remained to greet the long line
of Cranston's troop as it came sweeping in from the foot-hills at
thundering gallop. Far out across the prairie the manoeuvring cavalry
had sniffed the "sign" of trouble at the agency, and his was the first
to answer the alarm.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Again was there scene of mad excitement among the Indian villages on the
Chasing Water. Again was Red Dog in saddle, exhorting, declaiming,
prophesying, but with no such ready result as during the winter days
gone by. It was one thing to rally to the standard of a war chief and
follow him on a raid against the agent of the Great Father when but a
handful of soldiers could back the authorities. It was quite another to
rise in revolt when five hundred war-trained blue-coats were aligned to
defend him. Within two hours after the exciting scene at the corral the
Indians in every band knew that McPhail had launched his ultimatum at
the little village of White Wolf. "Send in Chaska, the assailant of my
son, and Thunder Hawk, the boaster, or there is war between the Great
Father and you and yours."

Already had Chaska and Chaska's mother, with three trusty friends,
mounted on swift ponies, been spirited away northward, with instructions
to ride all night through the devious trails of the Bad Lands, and never
draw rein until they reached the shelter of the Uncapapa lodges beyond
the Wakpa Schicha. Already had Red Dog dashed over to the lodge of
Thunder Hawk, offering him asylum in the heart of his tribe, and
pledging his uttermost brave to his defence. But the old Indian would
none of him. Long years before, a fatherless boy, he had been reared
and taught by a priest of the Church of Rome,--is there a people they
do not know, a peril they do not dare?--and when finally his friend and
teacher and protector was gathered to his fathers and laid in the old
mission churchyard, the boy drifted back to his tribe, a mature and
thoughtful man, to find his kindred among the tents of the
Ogallallas,--among, worse luck, the malcontents of Red Cloud. From this
time on he had cast his lot with them, marrying, rearing children, yet
but slowly gaining influence among them. When his great and cruel chief
lured the garrison of a mountain stockade into the neighboring hills and
massacred every man, Hawk had refused to take part. His heart was not at
war with the whites. When swarms of the warriors left to join the great
renegade bands gathering under Crazy Horse and Gall to reinforce Sitting
Bull, Hawk had held aloof. "The people of Red Cloud," said he, "have no
grounds for war. The Great Father has done everything he promised them
and more," and Red Cloud called him dastard and squaw; but when an
Indian girl was missing from her lodge, and the gossips told how she had
been lured by a white soldier to the distant banks of the Laramie, Hawk
rode thither, rode into the presence of the post commander and told her
story and his, and found and brought her back to her people. He strove
to find the man for whose sake she had abandoned her father's lodge and
forfeited her good name. Hawk well knew how futile was her trust that
the white chief would ever claim her as his wife, but among so many
comrades he was concealed, and Hawk left his message. Sooner or later
his people should find the white man who had wrought the wrong and his
days were numbered. Every knife in all his band was whetted for that
particular scalp. And now again, when Indian blood had been fired by the
insult to the son of White Wolf, he stepped forward to interpose between
his people and the fury of the Great Father's man. He had repressed, not
incited the wrath of his brothers, but the agent in authority ruled
otherwise and demanded his surrender. His people would have fought to
save him. He would suffer willingly rather than that one drop of blood
should be spilt on his account. Refusing Red Dog's clamorous offer,
Thunder Hawk mounted his pony and, despite the wails and lamentations of
his village, rode forth in calm dignity to meet the coming soldiery, to
offer in silent submission his hands to the clinch of the steel.

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