Not fifty miles from Standing Rock Agency, surrounded by devoted followers, dwelling in Indian ease and comfort, but rejoicing in new opportunities for evil, Sitting Bull, said the spokesman, was holding frequent powwows with the ghost-dancers, urging, exciting, encouraging all, and still the Indian Bureau would not--and the army, therefore, could not--interfere. Everywhere from the Yellowstone to the confines of Nebraska the young braves of the allied bands were swarming forth and holding their fierce and ominous rites, and the autumn air of the Dakotas rang with the death song and war-whoop. The blood craze was upon them and would not down. The messiah had appeared to chief after chief, warning him the time had come to rise and sweep the white invaders from the face of the earth, promising as reward long years of plenty and prosperity, the return of the vanished buffalo, the resurrection of their famous dead, a savage millennium the thought of which was more than enough to array the warriors for battle. "It's coming; it's _bound_ to come!" said the captain, in his decisive way, "and if old Bull isn't choked off speedily we'll have work for a dozen regiments as well as ours."

Graham listened, fascinated, yet praying his mother might not hear.

Secure in the possession of her stalwart son, full of joy in their present and pride in his past, she chatted merrily on. Mrs. Frazier, too, had joined them, another woman who had reason to rejoice in Geordie's prowess at Silver Shield. They were so blithely, busily, engaged that he presently managed to slip un.o.bserved away and join the little group about the speaker. Colonel Hazzard, too, was there and held forth a cordial hand to the new-comer. Geordie's father never betrayed half the pride in him that the colonel frankly owned to.

"This must interest you not a little," said he.

"More than I can tell you, sir," was the quick answer. "More than I dare let mother know! But I have come for advice. I've a letter from Mr. Connell. Read it, sir, and tell me how to go about it. Before mother can get wind of it, I want orders to report at Niobrara."

CHAPTER XIV

A SCOUT FOR THE SIOUX

The dawn of an autumn day was breaking over a barren and desolate landscape. The mist was rising from the silent pools of the narrow stream that alternately lay in lazy reaches and sped leaping and laughing in swift rapid over pebbly bed--the Mini Chaduza of the Sioux.

The sun was still far below the eastward horizon, but the clouds were gorgeous with his livery of red and gold, and the stars had shrunk from sight before the ardor of his beams. The level "bench" through which the stream meandered, the billowing slopes to the north and south, were bare of foliage and uninviting to the eye, yet keen and wary eyes were scanning their bald expanse, studying every crest and curve and ridge in search of moving objects. Only at the very brink of the flowing waters, and only in far-scattered places along the stream, little clumps of cottonwood-trees gave proof that nature had not left the valley utterly without shade and refuge when the summer's sun beamed hotly down upon the lower lands of the Dakotas. And now only among these scattered oases could even practised eyes catch any sign of life.

Here and there under the banks and shielded from outer view, near-by watchers might discover little, dull-red patches glowing dimly in the semi-darkness. Here and there among the timber and along the brink little groups of dark objects, shifting slowly about, betrayed the presence of animal life, and afar out upon the prairie slopes tiny black spots on every side, perhaps a dozen in all, told the plains-practised eye that here was a cavalry bivouac--a little detached force of Uncle Sam's blue-shirted troopers, thrown out from the shelter of fort or garrison, and lurking for some purpose in the heart of the Indian country.

For Indians there were by scores right here at the old antelope crossing only the night before. The sands of the ford were still trampled by myriad hoofs of ponies and streaked by the dragging poles of the travois. The torn earth on the northward rise out of the stream was still wet and muddy from the drip of s.h.a.ggy breast and barrel of their nimble mounts. No need to call up Iron Shield or Baptiste or young Touch-the-Skies, Sioux scouts from the agency, to interpret the signs and point the way. The major commanding and all his officers and most of his men could read the indications as well as the half-breeds, natives to the soil. A big band of young warriors, with a few elders, had yielded to the eloquence of the messengers of Sitting Bull and were out for mischief. They had been missing from the agencies several weeks; had been ghost-dancing with their fellows from Pine Ridge to the west, and were by this time probably on their way to swell the ranks and stiffen the back of that big chief of the Minniconjou Sioux--"Big Foot," as known to the whites, Si Tanka, as known to the Indian Bureau, and "Spotted Elk," so said Iron Shield, the scout, as known to the Sioux themselves.

A famous character was Si Tanka. Next to Sitting Bull, now that Gall was out of the way, dying of illness and old age, Si Tanka had more influence than any chief afield, and he longed to be acknowledged head of the allied Sioux. He had been to Washington, had been photographed side by side with Mr. Blaine on the steps of the Capitol; had sold to the whites the right of way for a railway through his Cheyenne River lands. He belonged to the Cheyenne River Agency far to the east, and declined to live there. He had his own village up in the Cherry Creek country, midway between the troops at Fort Meade in the Black Hills and Fort Bennett on the Missouri. He had white man's log-cabins, wagons, furniture, horses, hens, and chickens. He had, moreover, hundreds of cartridges, and the means and appliances wherewith to reload his sh.e.l.ls, and he had, what was worse, a lively son, Black Fox, who had more Winchesters than he knew what to do with, and an insatiable longing to use them against the whites.

Ever since the ghost-dancing had begun, Si Tanka stayed in the open.

Agents went forth and begged him to come in where he belonged--to the Cheyenne Agency at the east, or to the Pine Ridge to the southwest, or the Rosebud to the southeast, or, if his lordship preferred, he might even go camp near Fort Meade, or surrender at Standing Rock Agency to the northeast, but to be out in the wilds and barely one hundred miles from Sitting Bull, also posing as a private and sovereign citizen, accepting government support but declining government supervision--that was something the Indian Bureau viewed with alarm, and well it might, for if Tatanka Iyotanka (Bull Sitting Big) and Siha Tanka, Si for short (Foot Big), should take it into their dusky heads to be allies and not rivals, if the great Uncapapa and the big Minniconjou were to join forces, there would be the mischief to pay all over the West. So the Bureau sent and civilly requested. Si Tanka most uncivilly replied, and Tatanka Iyotanka scorned to reply at all.

What made matters bad was this, that young braves were eternally getting crazy over the ghost-dancing and going off to join these big chiefs. "_Akichita hemacha_" ("I am a warrior"), being all they had to say to friends and teachers who sought to dissuade them.

Away up at Fort Meade, in the Black Hills, were some high-mettled fellows, cavalry and infantry, who were eagerly watching the indications, one burly major of Horse fairly losing his temper over the situation, and begging the powers to let him take his capital squadron, with one or two companies of infantry, and, between his hors.e.m.e.n, his "walkaheaps," and himself, st.u.r.dy "Napa Yahmni," as the Sioux had named him, swore he'd bring Big Foot to his senses and back to the agency.

Napa yahmni meant "three fingers," that being all that were left on one of his hands after a scrimmage with Southern sabres during the great Civil War. Really, there was reason why something should be done, or surely the settlers and ranch folk would be made to suffer. And with troops there at Fort Meade, in the Hills, and over at Fort Yates, on the Missouri, and at Fort Robinson off to the southwest, or Niobrara here to the east, it was high time Mr. Big Foot was made to behave, and still the government stayed its orders and held its hand.

One cool-headed, nervy, mild-mannered young officer had taken his life in his hands, and a half-breed interpreter in civilized clothing, visited Si Tanka's big village and had a talk with his turbulent braves, to the end that as many as forty decided to quit, go home and be good, give up evil spirits, intentions, and ghost-dancing, to the rage of Black Fox and the amaze of Napa Yahmni, but it wasn't a week before another Messiah broke loose among the sand-hills of western Nebraska, and braves by the dozen sped thither to hear him; and presently both agencies had another influx of outsiders, urging revolt and uprising, and the old men counselled vainly, and preachers and teachers pleaded without avail. The young wards of the nation were ripe for mischief. The day of their deliverance had come. The Messiah was calling his chosen to the wild wastes of the Bad Lands, where they could sing and shout and dance till they dropped, and then if they went mad with religion, and away to the warpath, it meant woe for western Nebraska and for the Dakotas far and near. This was the situation that called for a scout from Fort Niobrara, and thus it happened that for over a fortnight a little column of cavalry had been patrolling the breaks and the valleys away to the northwest, peering into the old haunts of the Sioux along the headwaters of the pretty streams rising among the hills beyond the weather-beaten landmark of Eagle's Nest.

They found lodge poles a-plenty on Black Pipe Creek, and the ashes of many a little fire along Pa.s.s Creek and Bear-in-the-Lodge, and away to the Yellow Medicine. They circled clear round the wild worshippers, it seems, far west as the Wounded Knee, without ever encountering one; and yet keeping them on the move had broken up their incantations, and, as the major believed, had worn out their obstinate determination to stick to their medicine-men and Messiahs whether the Great White Father would have it or not.

For two days the column had followed, eastward now, the trail of a big band, and just when Baptiste and Touch-the-Sky, interpreters, would have it that the crazy chiefs and their followers had been fairly headed off and balked of their purpose of joining Big Foot beyond the Cheyenne, just when it seemed likely that another day would enable the troops to overhaul them and herd them peaceably, if possible, forcibly, if not, back to the sheltering wing of the agency and the Indian police, lo, just at sunset, after a long day's march, a corporal had come galloping, full cry, from the rear-guard, while the scouts were still far out to the front: "The Indians are back of us at least six miles, going like mad for the north!"

Then the major commanding said things that made his pilots' ears tingle. It was all gospel truth. Finding themselves followed and being steadily pressed onward toward the fort and the settlements, the astute warriors had left a goodly sized party ambling along in front, to lead the cavalry on; had dropped away all afternoon by twos and threes as though looking for antelope or black tail, not northward where the valley of the upper Chaduza was open and shallow and they could be seen for miles, but southward among the breaks and ravines where they were hidden entirely; had rea.s.sembled on a little branch to the southwest and then, when the column was well out of sight, had rushed for the north and the wild country so recently left; had forded the Chaduza and by moonrise were doubtless safely camped for the night on the south fork of White River. All the major could do was order his men to the right-about, march to the crossing (another weary six miles after the thirty-six of the day), and, with drooping horses and riders, unsaddle, cook supper, and settle for the night, then send couriers to the post in the morning.

And now morning had come and couriers had not yet gone, for an hour before the first break of day--the _anpaniya_ of the Sioux--there had come galloping from the northeast a riderless horse, at sight of whose blood-stained saddle and stirrup hood the herd-guard woke the officer of the pickets. The captain unrolled from his blanket, took one look by the light of the moon, and bade the corporal find Baptiste, who needed not to see the saddle; he knew the horse at a glance.

"Pete Gamble's," said he. "They've begun killing!" And Pete Gamble was a ranchman well known to them all, both Indian and white. "If they would kill _him_," said he, "they would kill anybody."

And as if this were not enough, barely half an hour later two men, mad with terror, came spurring in over the northward ridge, almost delirious with joy to find themselves in the presence of friends. Their little hunting camp, they said, had been suddenly "jumped" early in the night. They had managed to get out with stampeded horses, but every one else was butchered, and the Indians were after _them_. The major doubled his guards to the north and awaited the Indian coming. He would not rouse his wearied men until actually a.s.sailed.

But now it was fairly broad daylight, and not an Indian feather had shown nor an Indian shot been heard. Slowly, sleepily, at the gruff summons of their sergeants, the troopers were crawling out of their blankets and stretching and yawning by the fires. No stirring trumpet-call had roused them from their dreams. A stickler for style and ceremony was the major in garrison, but out on Indian campaign he was "horse sense from the ground up," as his veterans put it. He observed all formalities when on ordinary march, and none whatever when in chase of the Indians.

He had let them sleep to the very last minute, well knowing he might have stern demands to make that day. He and his adjutant had reduced the statements of the hunters to writing, and a brief, soldierly report was now ready to go to the general commanding the department, who had come out to Fort Niobrara to be nearer the scene of action. The fort lay nearly fifty miles away, south of east, the agency even farther to the north and east, and the recalcitrant braves were heading away through the wilds of their old reservation, and might stop only for occasional bite, sup, or sleep until they joined forces with Big Foot or Black Fox, full a hundred miles as the crow flies, for now were they branded renegades in the light of the law.

In the crisp, chill air of the late autumn morning tiny smokes from the cook-fires sailed straight aloft, melting speedily into the blue. For nearly half a mile along the stream horses and pack-mules were scattered upon the "bench," browsing eagerly on the dew-laden bunch gra.s.s. Farther out beyond them on every side, with their campaign hats pulled down over their grim eyebrows and their heads deep in the collars of their cavalry overcoats, the men of the guard still kept vigilant watch. Long years of experience on the Indian frontier had taught their leaders the need of precaution, and the sentries took their cue from the "old hands." By a little camp-fire, booted, spurred, slouch-hatted, like his troopers, and m.u.f.fled in a light-blue overcoat that could not be told from theirs, the major commanding was giving brief directions to three troopers who stood silently before him, their carbines dangling from their broad shoulder-belts, with the reins of their chargers in hand. Wiry and gaunt were these chargers, wiry and gaunt were the men, for those were days when neither horse nor rider went over-weight on campaign, or came back with a superfluous ounce. But horses and men had stripped for the day's work. Blanket, poncho, and overcoat, saddle-bags, side lines, lariat, and picket-pin--everything, in fact, but themselves, their arms, cartridges, canteens, saddles, saddle-blankets, and bridles--had been left to the pack-train. A good breakfast to start with, a few hardtack and slices of bacon in the breast-pocket of the hunting-shirt, settled the question of subsistence. They were to start at once, deliver those despatches at Niobrara, unless headed off by Indians, long before set of sun, and be back with reply before its rise on the morrow.

Then came the question as to the fate of the poor fellows of Gamble's and the hunters' camp.

"Mr. Willard," said the major to his adjutant, as the couriers mounted and rode away, "send one platoon over to Gamble's camp--it'll take 'em all day--and another back on the trail of the teamsters, and see what they can find of the outfit. They'll have to hunt for it themselves.

The hunters say they wouldn't go back for a million apiece."

The adjutant was figuring in his note-book. He closed it, arose at once, and looked about him. Officers and men, the six troops, or companies, of the detachment seemed busy at breakfast. The aroma of soldier coffee floated on the keen morning air, and under the gentle, genial influence of the welcome stimulant men began to thaw out, and presently the firesides were merry with chaff and fun. A curious and sympathetic group, to be sure, hovered about the survivors of the hunters' camp, listening rather doubtfully to their tales, for the tales had taken devious turns under cross-examination. But for the b.l.o.o.d.y trappings of Pete Gamble's horse, telling mutely of tragedy, the hunters might have met only contempt and scoffing. Indian scares were old as the trails.

"Whose turn is it?" presently questioned the major, as Mr. Willard started away. The adjutant halted and faced about:

"'D' and 'F' troops, sir."

"All right. One officer and twenty men from each will be enough."

And then came striding forward, with quick, elastic steps, a young soldier in dark-blue campaign shirt and riding-breeches, a three weeks'

stubble on his clear-cut, sun-burned face, a field-gla.s.s slung over one shoulder, a leather-covered note-book tucked away inside his cartridge-belt. No sign of rank was visible about his dress, yet there could be little doubt of it. The major looked up, smiling.

"Fast going for topographical notes yesterday, wasn't it, Mr. Connell?"

"I'm afraid so, sir. Indeed, I'm ashamed to submit them, but I wouldn't have missed this scout for a month's pay, all the same."

"Well, we don't often see the engineers on this sort of duty. I'm glad the general sent you along. What is it, captain?" he broke off, turning to a gray-mustached, choleric-looking veteran who came suddenly upon them, breathing rather hard.

"Major," began the stout man, impetuously, "this makes the third time in ten days 'F' Troop's been ordered on side scout, or some part of it.

Now we're ordered back to hunt up what's left of that wagon camp, and--"

"One moment, captain," interposed the commander, placidly. "You say 'we.' My orders are only one officer and twenty men."

"Well, I have only one officer with me, and _he_ don't belong," was the querulous rejoinder. "He's simply a volunteer with the command, and so utterly inexperienced that I consider it necessary to go myself. I can't trust my men to a mere boy just out of school."

"That will do, Captain Garrett," said the major, promptly, yet with absolutely unruffled tone and temper. "If _I_ can, _you_ may. Mr.

Graham has had more experience than you are aware of."

"Does Mr. Graham go--in command?" asked Connell, eagerly, as Captain Garrett, silenced, but swelling with amaze, stood helplessly by. "May _I_ go with him, sir?"

"By all means, Mr. Connell, if you wish."

CHAPTER XV

FIRST SIGHT OF THE FOE

In half an hour the sun was up and two little detachments of cavalry were up and away--one of them, under Lieutenant O'Fallon, filing out of the cotton-woods, at the eastward verge, and heading straight on the trail of the couriers, who were already out of sight down the valley; the other, leaving a few minutes later, was just disappearing from view of the watchers in the bivouac, over the low ridge or divide that spanned the northward sky-line. Once before, five years back, Geordie Graham had led a little cavalry command on a swift and successful chase after a gang of frontier desperadoes who had robbed the bank at Argenta. Now, for the first time in his life, he was both guide and commander. Now, as they had done time and again in cadet days, Connell and Graham, "Badger" and "Coyote," went side by side, almost hand in hand, on the path of stirring and at last perilous duty.

To Connell the scout had thus far been one of almost unalloyed enjoyment and profit. Attached to the staff of the commander as engineer and topographical officer, he had ridden at will on the flanks of the column, a single orderly his sole attendant, a prismatic compa.s.s his only instrument. Then with the declining hours of the day came the making up of his notes, and after supper the hours of confab with Geordie, who, whenever possible, would come over to headquarters camp-fire. There was no sociability at his own.