Bad News From The Front

: A Daughter Of The Sioux

It might well be imagined that a man returning from such a morning's

work as had been Blake's could be excused from duty the rest of the day.

He and his little party had had a spirited running fight of several

hours with an evasive and most exasperating trio of warriors, better

mounted for swift work than were the troopers. He had managed eventually

to bring down one of the Indians who lingered a little too long within

short range of the carbines, but it was the pony, not the rider, that

they killed. Meanwhile other Indians had appeared on distant divides,

and one feathered brave had galloped down to meet his comrades, and fire

a few shots at the pursuing pale faces. But at no time, until near their

supports and far from the fort, had the Sioux halted for a hand to hand

fight, and Blake's long experience on the frontier had stood him in good

stead. He saw they were playing for one of two results;--either to lure

him and his fellows in the heat of pursuit far round to the northwest,

where were the united hundreds of Lame Wolf and Stabber stalking that

bigger game, or else to tempt Blake himself so far ahead of his fellows

as to enable them to suddenly whirl about, cut him off, and, three on

one, finish him then and there; then speed away in frenzied delight,

possessors of a long-coveted scalp.



They well knew Blake,--almost as well as they did Ray. Many a year he

had fought them through the summer and fed them through the winter.

They, their squaws and pappooses, had fattened on his bounty when the

snows were deep and deer were gone, and their abundant rations had been

feasted or gambled away. Many of their number liked him well, but now

they were at the war game again, and, business is business with the

aborigines. Blake was a "big chief," and he who could wear at his belt

the scalp of so prominent a pale face leader would be envied among his

people. "Long Legs," as they called him, however, was no fool. Brave and

zealous as he was, Blake was not rash. He well knew that unless he and

his few men kept together they would simply play into the hands of the

Indians. It would have been easy for him, with his big racer, to

outstrip his little party and close with the Sioux. Only one of the

troopers had a horse that could keep pace with Pyramus, but nothing he

could gain by such a proceeding would warrant the desperate risk.

Matchless as we have reason to believe our men, we cannot so believe our

mounts. Unmatched would better describe them. Meisner's horse might have

run with the captain's, until crippled by the bullets of the Sioux, but

Bent's and Flannigan's were heavy and slow, and so it resulted that the

pursuit, though determined, was not so dangerous to the enemy but that

they were able to keenly enjoy it, until the swift coming of Kennedy

and his captive comrade turned the odds against them, for then two of

Blake's horses had given out through wounds and weakness, and they had

the pursuers indeed "in a hole."



That relief came none too soon. Blake and his fellows had been brought

to a stand; but now the Sioux sped away out of range; the crippled party

limped slowly back to the shelter of Frayne, reaching the post long

hours after their spirited start, only to find the women and children,

at least, in an agony of dread and excitement, and even Dade and his

devoted men looking grave and disturbed. Unless all indications failed,

Ray and his people must have been having the fight of their lives. Two

couriers had galloped back from Moccasin Ridge to say that Major Webb's

scouts could faintly hear the sound of rapid firing far ahead, and that,

through the glass, at least a dozen dead horses or ponies could be seen

scattered over the long slope to the Elk Tooth range, miles further on.

Webb had pushed forward to Ray's support, and Blake, calling for fresh

horses for himself and two of his men, bade the latter get food and

field kits and be ready to follow him. Then he hastened to join his

devoted young wife, waiting with Mrs. Ray upon the piazza. Dade, who had

met him at the ford, had still much to tell and even more to hear; but

at sight of those two pale, anxious faces, lifted his cap and called out

cheerily, "I hand him over to you, Mrs. Blake, and will see him later,"

then turned and went to his own doorway, and took Esther's slender form

in his strong arms and kissed the white brow and strove to think of

something reassuring to say, and never thought to ask Blake what he had

in that fine Indian tobacco pouch swinging there at his belt, for which

neglect the tall captain was more than grateful. It was a woman's

letter, as we know, and that, he argued, should be dealt with only in a

woman's way.



Sorely puzzled as Blake had been by the discovery, he had been able on

the long homeward march,--walking until in sight of Frayne and safety,

then galloping ahead on the corporal's horse,--to think it out, as he

said, in several ways. Miss Flower had frequently ridden up the valley

and visited the Indian village across the Platte. Miss Flower might

easily have dropped that note, and some squaw, picking it up, had

surrendered it to the first red man who demanded it, such being the

domestic discipline of the savage. The Indian kept it, as he would any

other treasure trove for which he had no use, in hopes of reward for its

return, said Blake. It was queer, of course, that the Indian in whose

pouch it was found should have been so fluent a speaker of English, yet

many a Sioux knew enough of our tongue to swear volubly and talk ten

words of vengeance to come. There were several ways, as Blake reasoned,

by which that letter might have got into the hands of the enemy. But at

any rate, with everything said, it was a woman's letter. He had no right

to read it. He would first confide in his wife, and, if she said so, in

Mrs. Ray. Then what they decided should decide him.



But now came a new problem. Despite the long morning of peril and chase

and excitement, there was still much more ahead. His men were in saddle;

his troop was afield; the foe was in force on the road to the north; the

battle, mayhap, was on at the very moment, and Frayne and home was no

place for him when duty called at the distant front. Only, there was

Nan, silent, tremulous, to be sure, and with such a world of piteous

dread and pleading in her beautiful eyes. It was hard to have to tell

her he must go again and at once, hard to have to bid her help him in

his hurried preparations, when she longed to throw herself in his arms

and be comforted. He tried to smile as he entered the gate, and thereby

cracked the brittle, sun-dried court plaster with which a sergeant had

patched his cheek at the stables. The would-be glad-some grin started

the blood again, and it trickled down and splashed on his breast where

poor Nan longed to pillow her bonny head, and the sight of it, despite

her years of frontier training, made her sick and faint. He caught her

in his left arm, laughing gayly, and drew her to the other side. "Got

the mate to that scoop of Billy's," he cried, holding forth his other

hand to Mrs. Ray. "'Tisn't so deep, perhaps, but 'twill serve, 'twill

do, and I'll crow over him to-night. Come in with us, Mrs. Ray. I--I've

something to show you."



"One minute," said that wise young matron. "Let me tell the children

where to find me. Sandy and Billy are on post at the telescope. They

wouldn't leave it even for luncheon." With that she vanished, and

husband and wife were alone.



"You must go, Gerald," she sobbed--"I know it, but--isn't there some

way?--Won't Captain Dade send more men with you?"



"If he did, Nan, they'd only hamper me with horses that drag behind. Be

brave, little woman. Webb has swept the way clear by this time! Come, I

need your help."



And the door closed on the soldier and his young wife. They never saw

that Nanette Flower, in saddle, was riding swiftly up the row, and, for

the first time since her coming to Frayne, without an escort. Dade

reappeared upon his front gallery in time to greet her, but Esther,

after one quick glance, had darted again within. Dade saw unerringly

that Miss Flower was in no placid frame of mind. Her cheeks were pale;

her mouth had that livid look that robbed her face of all beauty; but

her eyes were full and flashing with excitement.



"What news, captain?" she hailed, and the joyous, silvery ring had gone

from her voice. "They tell me Captain Blake is back--two horses

crippled, two men hit, including himself."



"His own share is a scratch he wouldn't think of mentioning outside the

family, Miss Flower," answered Dade, with grim civility. He had his

reasons for disapproving of the young woman; yet they were not such as

warranted him in showing her the least discourtesy. He walked to his

gate and met her at the curb beyond and stood stroking the arching neck

of her spirited horse--"Harney" again.



"Did they--were there any Indians--killed?" she asked, with anxiety

scarcely veiled.



"Oh, they downed one of them," answered the captain, eying her closely

the while and speaking with much precision, "a fellow who cursed them

freely in fluent English." Yes, she was surely turning paler.--"A bold,

bad customer, from all accounts. Blake thought he must be of Lame Wolf's

fellows, because he--seemed to know Kennedy so well and to hate him.

Kennedy has only just come down from Fort Beecher, where Wolf's people

have been at mischief."



"But what became of him? What did they do with him?" interrupted the

girl, her lips quivering in spite of herself.



"Oh,--left him, I suppose," answered the veteran, with deliberate

design. "What else could they do? There was no time for ceremony. His

fellow savages, you know, can attend to that."



For a moment she sat there rigid, her black eyes staring straight into

the imperturbable face of the old soldier. No one had ever accused Dade

of cruelty or unkindness to man or woman, especially to woman; yet here

he stood before this suffering girl and, with obvious intent, pictured

to her mind's eye a warrior stricken and left unburied or uncared for on

the field. Whatever his reasons, he stabbed and meant to stab, and for

just one moment she seemed almost to droop and reel in saddle; then,

with splendid rally, straightened up again, her eyes flashing, her lip

curling in scorn, and with one brief, emphatic phrase ended the

interview and, whirling Harney about, smote him sharply with her whip,

and darted away:--



"True!" said she. "Civilized warfare!"



"If that girl isn't more than half savage," said Dade, to himself, as

Harney tore away out of the garrison on the road to the ford, "I am more

than half Sioux. Oh, for news of Ray!"



Ray indeed! It was now nearly four o'clock. Telegrams had been coming

and going over the Laramie wire. "The Chief," as they called their

general, with only one of his staff in attendance, had reached Cheyenne

on time, and, quitting the train, declining dinner at the hotel and

having but a word or two with the "Platform Club,"--the little bevy of

officers from Fort Russell whose custom it was to see the westbound

train through almost every day--had started straightway for Laramie

behind the swiftest team owned by the quartermaster's department, while

another, in relay, awaited him at the Chugwater nearly fifty miles out.

Driving steadily through the starlit night, he should reach the old

frontier fort by dawn at the latest, and what news would Dade have to

send him there? Not a word had he uttered to either the officers who

respectfully greeted, or reporters who eagerly importuned, him as to the

situation at Frayne; but men who had served with him in Arizona and on

the Yellowstone many a year before, knew well that grave tidings had

reached him. Dade had, in fact, supplemented Webb's parting despatch

with another saying that Blake's little party, returning, had just been

sighted through the telescope nine miles out, with two men afoot. But

not until the general reached Lodge Pole Creek did the message meet him,

saying that Webb's advance guard could hear the distant attack on Ray.

Not until he reached the Chugwater in the early night could he hope to

hear the result.



It was nightfall when the awful suspense of the garrison at Frayne was

even measurably lifted. Blake, with three troopers at his back, had then

been gone an hour, and was lost in the gloaming before Dr. Tracy's

orderly, with a face that plainly told the nervous tension of his two

hours' ride, left his reeking, heaving horse at the stables and climbed

the steep path to the flagstaff, the shortest way to the quarters of the

commanding officer. Despite the gathering darkness, he had been seen by

a dozen eager watchers and was deluged with questions by trembling,

tearful women and by grave, anxious men.



"There's been a fight; that's all I know," he said. "I was with the pack

mules and the ambulances and didn't get to see it. All I saw was dead

ponies way out beyond Ten Mile Ridge. Where's the major?--I mean the

captain?" No! the orderly didn't know who was killed or wounded, or that

anybody was killed and wounded. All he knew was that Dr. Tracy came

galloping back and ordered the ambulances to scoot for the front and him

to spur every bit of the way back to Frayne with the note for Captain

Dade.



All this was told as he eagerly pushed his way along the board walk;

soldiers' wives hanging on his words and almost on him; officers' wives

and daughters calling from the galleries or running to the gates, and

Dade heard the hubbub almost as quickly as did Esther, who hurried to

the door. By the light of the hall lamp the commander read the pencilled

superscription of the gummed envelope and the word "Immediate" at the

corner. The same light fell on a dozen anxious, pleading faces beyond

the steps. His hand shook in spite of himself, and he knew he could not

open and read it in their presence. "One moment," he said, his heart

going out to them in sympathy as well as dread. "You shall hear in one

moment," and turned aside into the little army parlor.



But he could not turn from his wife and child. They followed and stood

studying his pale face as he read the fateful words that told so little,

yet so much:--



Reached Ray just in time. Sharp affair. Dr. Waller will have to

come at once, as Tracy goes on with us to rescue stage people at

Dry Fork. Better send infantry escort and all hospital attendants

that can be possibly spared; also chaplain. Sergeants Burroughs and

Wing, Corporal Foot and Troopers Denny, Flood, Kerrigan and

Preusser killed. Many wounded--Lieutenant Field seriously.



WEBB.



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