A Fight With A Fury

: A Daughter Of The Sioux

The noonday sun was staring hotly down, an hour later, on a stirring

picture of frontier warfare, with that clump of cottonwoods as the

central feature. Well for Ray's half hundred, that brilliant autumn

morning, that their leader had had so many a year of Indian campaigning!

He now seemed to know by instinct every scheme of his savage foe and to

act accordingly. Ever since the command had come in sight of the Elk

Toot the conviction had been growing on Ray that Stabber must have

received many accessions and was counting on the speedy coming of

others. The signal smokes across the wide valley; the frequent essays to

tempt his advance guard to charge and chase; the boldness with which the

Indians showed on front and flank; the daring pertinacity with which

they clung to the stream bed for the sake of a few shots at the foremost

troopers, relying, evidently, on the array of their comrades beyond the

ridge to overwhelm any force that gave close pursuit; the fact that

other Indians opened on the advance guard and the left flankers, and

that a dozen, at least, tore away out of the sandy arroyo the moment

they saw the line start at the gallop;--all these had tended to convince

the captain that, now at last, when he was miles from home and succor,

the Sioux stood ready in abundant force to give him desperate battle.



To dart on in chase of the three warriors would simply result in the

scattering of his own people and their being individually cut off and

stricken down by circling swarms of their red foes. To gather his men

and attempt to force the passage of the Elk Tooth ridge meant certain

destruction of the whole command. The Sioux would be only to glad to

scurry away from their front and let them through, and then in big

circle whirl all about him, pouring in a concentric fire that would be

sure to hit some, at least, exposed as they would be on the open

prairie, while their return shots, radiating wildly at the swift-darting

warriors, would be almost as sure to miss. He would soon be weighted

down with wounded, refusing to leave them to be butchered; unable,

therefore, to move in any direction, and so compelled to keep up a

shelterless, hopeless fight until, one by one, he and his gallant

fellows fell, pierced by Indian lead, and sacrificed to the scalping

knife as were Custer's three hundred a decade before.



No, Ray knew too much of frontier strategy to be so caught. There stood

the little grove of dingy green, a prairie fortress, if one knew how to

use it. There in the sand of the stream bed, by digging, were they sure

to find water for the wounded, if wounded there had to be. There by the

aid of a few hastily thrown intrenchments he could have a little plains

fort and be ready to repel even an attack in force. Horses could be

herded in the depths of the sandy shallows. Men could be distributed in

big circle through the trees and along the bank; and, with abundant

rations in their haversacks and water to be had for the digging, they

could hold out like heroes until relief should come from the south.



Obviously, therefore, the cottonwood grove was the place, and thither at

thundering charge Field led the foremost line, while Ray waved on the

second, all hands cheering with glee at sight of the Sioux darting

wildly away up the northward slope. Ten men in line, far extended, were

sent right forward half way across the flats, ordered to drive the

Indians from the bottom and cripple as many as possible; but, if menaced

by superior numbers, to fall back at the gallop, keeping well away from

the front of the grove, so that the fire of its garrison might not be

"masked." The ten had darted after the scurrying warriors, full half way

to the beginning of the slope, and then, just as Ray had predicted, down

came a cloud of brilliant foemen, seeking to swallow the little ten

alive. Instantly their sergeant leader whirled them about and, pointing

the way, led them in wide circle, horses well in hand, back to the dry

wash, then down into its sandy depths. Here every trooper sprang from

saddle, and with the rein looped on the left arm, and from the shelter

of the straight, stiff banks, opened sharp fire on their pursuers, just

as Clayton's platoon, dismounting at the grove, sprang to the nearest

cover and joined in the fierce clamor of carbines. Racing down the

slope at top speed as were the Sioux, they could not all at once check

the way of their nimble mounts, and the ardor of the chase had carried

them far down to the flats before the fierce crackle began. Then it was

thrilling to watch them, veering, circling, sweeping to right or left,

ever at furious gallop, throwing their lithe, painted bodies behind

their chargers' necks, clinging with one leg and arm, barely showing so

much as an eyelid, yet yelping and screeching like so many coyotes, not

one of their number coming within four hundred yards of the slender

fighting line in the stream bed; some of them, indeed, disdaining to

stoop, riding defiantly along the front, firing wildly as they rode, yet

surely and gradually guiding their ponies back to the higher ground,

back out of harm's way; and, in five minutes from the time they had

flashed into view, coming charging over the mile away ridge, not a red

warrior was left on the low ground,--only three or four luckless ponies,

kicking in their last struggles or stiffening on the turf, while their

riders, wounded or unhurt, had been picked up and spirited away with the

marvellous skill only known to these warriors of the plains.



Then Ray and his men had time to breathe and shout laughing comment and

congratulation. Not one, as yet, was hit or hurt. They were secure for

the time in a strong position, and had signally whipped off the first

assault of the Sioux.



Loudly, excitedly, angrily these latter were now conferring again far

up the slope to the north. At least an hundred in one concourse, they

were having hot discussion over the untoward result of the dash. Others,

obedient to orders from the chief, were circling far out to east and

west and crossing the valley above and below the position of the

defence. Others, still, were galloping back to the ridge, where, against

the sky line, strong bodies of warriors could be plainly seen, moving

excitedly to and fro. Two little groups slowly making their way to the

crest gave no little comfort to the boys in blue. Some, at least, of the

charging force had been made to feel the bite of the cavalry weapon, and

were being borne to the rear.



But no time was to be wasted. Already from far up the stream bed two or

three Indians were hazarding long-range shots at the grove, and Ray

ordered all horses into a bend of the "wash," where the side lines were

whipped from the blanket straps and the excited sorrels securely

hoppled. Then, here, there and in a score of places along the bank and

again at the edge of the cottonwoods, men had been assigned their

stations and bidden to find cover for themselves without delay. Many

burrowed in the soft and yielding soil, throwing the earth forward in

front of them. Others utilized fallen trees or branches. Some two or

three piled saddles and blanket rolls into a low barricade, and all,

while crouching about their work, watched the feathered warriors as they

steadily completed their big circle far out on the prairie. Bullets came

whistling now fast and frequently, nipping off leaves and twigs and

causing many a fellow to duck instinctively and to look about him,

ashamed of his dodge, yet sure of the fact that time had been in the

days of the most hardened veteran of the troop when he, too, knew what

it was to shrink from the whistle of hostile lead. It would be but a

moment or two, they all understood, before the foe would decide on the

next move; then every man would be needed.



Meantime, having stationed Field on the north front, with orders to note

every movement of the Sioux, and having assigned Clayton to the minor

duty of watching the south front and the flanks, Ray was moving cheerily

among his men, speeding from cover to cover, suggesting here, helping

there, alert, even joyous in manner. "We couldn't have a better roost,

lads," he said. "We can stand off double their number easy. We can hold

out a week if need be, but you bet the major will be reaching out after

us before we're two days older. Don't waste your shots. Coax them close

in. Don't fire at a galloping Indian beyond three hundred yards. It's

waste of powder and lead."



Cheerily, joyously they answered him, these his comrades, his soldier

children, men who had fought with him, many of their number, in a dozen

fields, and men who would stand by him, their dark-eyed little captain,

to the last. Even the youngest trooper of the fifty seemed inspired by

the easy, laughing confidence of the lighter hearts among their number,

or the grim, matter of fact pugnacity of the older campaigners. It was

significant, too, that the Indians seemed so divided in mind as to the

next move. There was loud wrangling and much disputation going on in

that savage council to the north. Stabber's braves and Lame Wolf's

followers seemed bitterly at odds, for old hands in the fast-growing

rifle pits pointed out on one side as many as half a dozen of the

former's warriors whom they recognized and knew by sight, while Ray,

studying the shifting concourse through his glasses, could easily see

Stabber himself raging among them in violent altercation with a tall,

superbly built and bedizened young brave, a sub-chief, apparently, who

for his part, seemed giving Stabber as good as he got. Lame Wolf was not

in sight at all. He might still be far from the scene, and this tall

warrior be acting as his representative. But whoever or whatever he was

he had hearty following. More than three-fourths of the wrangling

warriors in the group seemed backing him. Ray, after a few words to

Sergeant Winsor, crawled over beside his silent and absorbed young

second in command, and, bringing his glasses to bear, gazed across a low

parapet of sand long and fixedly at the turbulent throng a thousand

yards away.



"It's easy to make out Stabber," he presently spoke. "One can almost

hear that foghorn voice of his. But who the mischief is that red villain

opposing him? I've seen every one of their chiefs in the last five

years. All are men of forty or more. This fellow can't be a big chief.

He looks long years younger than most of 'em, old Lame Wolf, for

instance, yet he's cheeking Stabber as if he owned the whole outfit."

Another long stare, then again--"Who the mischief can he be?"



No answer at his side, and Ray, with the lenses still at his eyes, took

no note for the moment that Field remained so silent. Out at the front

the excitement increased. Out through the veil of surging warriors, the

loud-voiced, impetuous brave twice burst his way, and seemed at one and

the same time, in his superb poise and gesturings, to be urging the

entire body to join him in instant assault on the troops, and hurling

taunt and anathema on the besieged. Whoever he was, he was in a

veritable fury. As many as half of the Indians seemed utterly carried

away by his fiery words, and with much shouting and gesticulation and

brandishing of gun and lance, were yelling approbation of his views and

urging Stabber's people to join them. More furious language followed and

much dashing about of excited ponies.



"Have you ever seen that fellow before?" demanded Ray, of brown-eyed

Sergeant Winsor, who had spent a lifetime on the plains, but Winsor was

plainly puzzled.



"I can't say for the life of me, sir," was the answer. "I don't know him

at all--and yet--"



"Whoever he is, by Jove," said Ray, "he's a bigger man this day than

Stabber, for he's winning the fight. Now, if he only leads the dash as

he does the debate, we can pick him off. Who are our best shots on this

front?" and eagerly he scanned the few faces near him. "Webber's tiptop

and good for anything under five hundred yards when he isn't excited,

and Stoltz, he's a keen, cool one. No! not you, Hogan," laughed the

commander, as a freckled faced veteran popped his head up over a nearby

parapet of sand, and grinned his desire to be included.



"I've never seen the time you could hit what you aimed at. Slip out of

that hole and find Webber and tell him to come here--and you take his

burrow." Whereupon Hogan, grinning rueful acquiescence in his

commander's criticism, slid backwards into the stream bed and, followed

by the chaff of the three or four comrades near enough to catch the

words, went crouching from post to post in search of the desired

marksman.



"You used to be pretty sure with the carbine in the Tonto Basin when we

were after Apaches, sergeant," continued Ray, again peering through the

glasses. "I'm mistaken in this fellow if he doesn't ride well within

range, and we must make an example of him. I want four first class shots

to single him out."



"The lieutenant can beat the best I ever did, sir," said Winsor, with a

lift of the hand toward the hat brim, as though in apology, for Field,

silent throughout the brief conference, had half risen on his hands and

knees and was edging over to the left, apparently seeking to reach the

shelter of a little hummock close to the bank.



"Why, surely, Field," was the quick reply, as Ray turned toward his

junior. "That will make it complete."






But a frantic burst of yells and war whoops out at the front put sudden

stop to the words. The throng of warriors that had pressed so close

about Stabber and the opposing orator seemed all in an instant to split

asunder, and with trailing war bonnet and followed by only two or three

of his braves, the former lashed his way westward and swept angrily out

of the ruck and went circling away toward the crest, while, with loud

acclamation, brandishing shield and lance and rifle in superb barbaric

tableau, the warriors lined up in front of the victorious young leader

who, sitting high in his stirrups, with one magnificent red arm

uplifted, began shouting in the sonorous tongue of the Sioux some urgent

instructions. Down from the distant crest came other braves as though to

meet and ask Stabber explanation of his strange quitting the field. Down

came a dozen others, young braves mad for battle, eager to join the

ranks of this new leader, and Ray, who had turned on Field once more,

fixed his glasses on that stalwart, nearly stark naked, brilliantly

painted form, foremost of the Indian array and now at last in full and

unimpeded view.



"By the gods of war!" he cried. "I never saw that scoundrel before, but

if it isn't that renegade Red Fox--Why, here, Field! Take my glass and

look. You were with the commissioners' escort last year at the Black

Hills council. You must have seen him and heard him speak. Isn't this

Red Fox himself?"



And to Ray's surprise the young officer's eyes were averted, his face

pale and troubled, and the answer was a mere mumble--"I didn't meet

Fox--there, captain."



He never seemed to see the glass held out to him until Ray almost thrust

it into his hand and then persisted with his inquiry.



"Look at him anyhow. You may have seen him somewhere. Isn't that Red

Fox?"



And now Ray was gazing straight at Field's half hidden face. Field, the

soul of frankness hitherto, the lad who was never known to flinch from

the eyes of any man, but to answer such challenge with his own,--brave,

fearless, sometimes even defiant. Now he kept the big binocular fixed on

the distant hostile array, but his face was white, his hand unsteady and

his answer, when it came, was in a voice that Ray heard in mingled pain

and wonderment. Could it be that the lad was unnerved by the sight? In

any event, he seemed utterly unlike himself.



"I--cannot say, sir. It was dark--or night at all events,--the only time

I ever heard him."