First Sight Of The Foe

: A Daughter Of The Sioux

Ray's gallant half hundred, as has been said, took the route for the

north at break of day. Before them spread the open prairie, apparently

level and unbroken for full five miles to the front and either flank,

the distant slopes and ridges bounding the level expanse growing more

distinct with every moment, and presently lighting up in exulting

radiance in response to the rosy blushes of the eastward sky. Scorning

the d sty stage road, the troop commander pointed to a distant height

just visible against the northward horizon, bade the leading guide march

straight on that; then gave the order "Right by Twos," that he might the

more readily note the gait and condition of every horse and the bearing

and equipment of his rider. There was still time to weed out weaklings

of either class should any such there be. Riding slowly along the left

flank, one after another, he carefully scanned every man and mount in

his little detachment, then, at quicker pace, passed around to the

eastward side of the column, and as critically, carefully studied them

from that point of view. A light of quiet satisfaction shone in his

fine, dark eyes as he finished, for, next to his wife and children,

that troop was Ray's supreme delight. The preliminary look-over by

lantern light had been all sufficient. This later inspection on the move

revealed not a steed amiss, not an item of equipment either misplaced or

lacking. "Steady as planets," barring the irrepressible tendency of some

young, high-spirited horse to dance a bit until quieted by the monotony

of the succeeding miles, at quick, light-hoofed walk, the sorrels

tripped easily along in precise, yet companionable couples. "One yard

from head to croup," said the drill book of the day, and, but for that,

the riders might have dropped their reins upon the pommel as practically

unnecessary. But, for the first hour or so, at least, the tendency

toward the rear of column was ever to crowd upon the file leaders, a

proceeding resented, not infrequently, in less disciplined commands than

Ray's, by well-delivered kicks, or at least such signs of equine

disapprobation as switching tail or set-back ears. But Ray's troop

horses moved like so many machines, so constant and systematic had been

their drill; and Ray's men rode in the perfection of uniform, so far as

armament and equipment were concerned. Each greatcoat, precisely rolled,

was strapped with its encircling poncho at the pommel. Each blanket, as

snugly packed, with the sidelines festooned upon the top, was strapped

at the cantle. Lariat and picket pin, coiled and secured, hung from the

near side of the pommel. The canteen, suspended from its snap hook, hung

at the off side. Saddle-bags, with extra horse shoes, nails, socks,

underwear, brushes and comb, extra packages of carbine and revolver

cartridges and minor impedimenta, equally distributed as to weight,

swung from the cantle and underneath the blanket roll. From the broad,

black leather carbine sling, over each trooper's left shoulder, the

hard-shooting brown barrelled little Springfield hung suspended, its

muzzle thrust, as was the fashion of the day, into the crude socket

imposed so long upon our frontier fighters by officials who had never

seen the West, save, as did a certain writer of renown, from a car

window, thereby limiting their horizon. Ray despised that socket as he

did the Shoemaker bit, but believed, with President Grant, that the best

means to end obnoxious laws was their rigorous enforcement. Each man's

revolver, a trusty brown Colt, hung in its holster at the right hip.

Each man was girt with ammunition belt of webbing, the device of an

old-time Yankee cavalryman that has been copied round the world, the

dull-hued copper cartridges bristling from every loop. Each man wore, as

was prescribed, the heavy, cumbrous cavalry boot of the day and

generation, but had stowed in his saddle-bags light moccasins and

leggings with which to replace them when, farther afield, their

clear-headed commander should give the word. Each man, too, wore the

gauntlets of Indian-tanned buckskin, a special pattern that Ray had been

permitted to use experimentally. Each man was clad in dark blue flannel

shirt and blouse, the latter soon probably to be stored with the big,

weighty boots in Truscott's saddle room at Beecher, with, probably too,

many of the light blue riding breeches, saddle-pieced with canvas--the

uniform at the start destined, in the case of veteran troopers, at

least, to be shed in favor of brown duck hunting trousers, or even,

among certain extremists, fringed, beaded and embroidered buckskin, than

which the present chronicler knows no more uncomfortable garb when

soaked by pelting rains or immersion in some icy mountain stream. Even

the brown campaign hats, uniformly "creased," as the fifty left the

ford, would soon be knocked out of all semblance to the prescribed

shape, and made at once comfortable and serviceable. Add to these items

the well-filled haversack and battered tin quart cup, (for on a forced

march of two or three days Captain Ray would have no pack mules,) and

the personal equipment of his men was complete. As for the mounts, each

sorrel tripped easily along under the sextuple folds of the saddle

blanket, and the black-skinned McClellan saddle tree, with its broad

horsehair cincha and hooded wooden stirrups, minus the useless skirts

and sweat leathers. Neither breast strap, crupper nor martingale

hampered the free movements of the sturdy, stocky little weight

carriers. The black, single-reined curb bridle, fastened as to the

throat latch by a light buckle, was slipped on over the headstall of the

so-called watering bridle, whose toggled and detachable snaffle bit was

generally "toted" from start to finish of a field scout in the saddle

bags,--a twist of the flexible lariat, Indian fashion, between the

complaisant jaws of his pet, being the troop's ready substitute. Add to

this that, full, free and unmutilated, in glossy waves the beautiful

manes and tails tossed in the upland breeze (for the heresies of

Anglomania never took root in the American cavalry) and you have Ray's

famous troop as it looked, fresh started from old Fort Frayne this

glorious autumn morning of 188-, and with a nod of approbation, and "It

couldn't be better, sergeant," to his devoted right hand man, the

veteran senior non-commissioned officer of the troop, Ray rang out the

command "At ease," and placed himself beside the silent young lieutenant

at the head of column.






As has been said, Ray's senior subaltern was on detached service. His

junior, Mr. Clayton, had joined but the year before, and this threw Mr.

Field in command of the leading platoon and to the side of the leading

guide. Now, as the senior officer took the head of column and Mr.

Clayton fell back to the rear, the silence of the first mile of march

was broken and, though sitting erect in saddle and forbidden to lounge

or "slouch," the troop began its morning interchange of chaff and

comment. Every mother's son of them rejoiced to be once more afield with

a chance of stirring work ahead.



"It's time to throw out our advance, Field," said Ray, in kindly,

cordial tone, as he scanned the low divide still some miles ahead and

reined in beside the stern-faced young soldier. "Send Sergeant Scott

forward with three men and the same number on each flank--corporals in

charge."



He had more than liked Webb's adjutant. He had been his stanchest

friend and supporter among the troop and company commanders, and was

eager to befriend him now. He had expressed no wish to have him sent on

the hurried move, but well he knew the post commander's reasons and

approved his course. Still, now that Field was being removed, for the

time at least, from the possibility of an entangling alliance that might

prove disastrous, in every way in his power Ray meant to show the

mortified, indeed sorely angered, officer that his personal regard for

him had suffered no change whatever. If he could succeed in winning

Field's confidence it might well be that he could bring him to see that

there were good and sufficient grounds for the post commander's

action--that for Field's own good, in fact, it was a most desirable

move. The soul of loyalty and square dealing himself, Ray had never for

a moment dreamed that anything other than a foolish escapade had

occurred--a ride by moonlight, perhaps, demanded of her devotee by a

thoughtless, thoroughbred coquette, whose influence over the young

fellow was beginning to mar his usefulness, if not indeed his future

prospects. Just what to think of Nanette Flower Ray really did not know.

Marion, his beloved better half, was his unquestioned authority in all

such matters, and it was an uncommon tenet of that young matron never to

condemn until she had cause. Instinctively she shrank from what she had

seen of Miss Flower, even though her woman's eye rejoiced in the

elegance of Miss Flower's abundant toilets; and, conscious of her

intuitive aversion, she would utter no word that might later prove

unjust. Oddly enough, that instinctive aversion was shared by her

closest friend and neighbor, Mrs. Blake; but, as yet, the extent of

their condemnation had found vent only in the half whimsical, half

petulant expression on part of the younger lady--Blake's beautiful wife,

"I wish her name weren't--so near like mine," for "Nan" had been her pet

name almost from babyhood. Vaguely conscious were they both, these lords

of creation, Messrs. Blake and Ray, that the ladies of their love did

not approve of Miss Flower, but Ray had ridden forth without ever asking

or knowing why, and so, unknowing, was ill prepared to grapple with the

problem set before him. It is easier to stem a torrent with a shingle

than convince a lover that his idol is a shrew.



Without a word of reply, Field reined out of column, glanced along the

double file of his platoon, nodded a signal "Fall out" to Sergeant

Scott, and the men nearest him at the front, merely said "Advance

guard," and then proceeded to choose his corporals and men for flankers.

No need to tell Scott what to do! He had been leading scouts in Arizona

long ere Field had even dreamed of West Point. In five minutes, riding

at easy lope, carbines advanced, three little parties of four troopers

each were spreading far out to the front and flank, guarding the little

column against the possibility of sudden assault from hidden foe. Here

upon the level prairie one would think such precaution needless, but

every acre of the surface was seamed and gullied by twisting little

water courses, dry as a chip at the moment, and some of them so deep as

to afford cover even for the biggest pony of the wild warriors of the

plains. Then, to the front, the barrier ridges, streaked with deep

winding ravines, were now billowing against the northward sky, and once

among those tangled land waves no chances could be taken now that it was

known that the Sioux had declared for war, and that Stabber's band was

out to join their red brethren in the oft recurring outbreak. Until

their lands were criss-crossed by the railways and their mountain haunts

re-echoed to the scream of the iron horse, next to nothing would start

an Indian war: it took so long to reach the scene with troops in

sufficient numbers to command their respect.



And at this moment the situation was grave in the extreme. There had

been bad blood and frequent collision between the cattlemen, herders,

"hustlers,"--especially hustlers,--and the hunting parties of the Sioux

and the Northern Cheyenne, who clung to the Big Horn Range and the

superb surrounding country with almost passionate love and with jealous

tenacity. There had been aggression on both sides, then bloodshed, then

attempts on part of frontier sheriffs to arrest accused or suspected red

men, and equally determined and banded effort to prevent arrest of

accused and identified whites. By due process of law, as administered in

the days whereof we write, the Indian was pretty sure to get the worst

of every difference, and therefore, preferred, not unnaturally, his own

time-honored methods of settlement. In accordance therewith, had they

scalped the sheriff's posse that had shot two of their young braves who

had availed themselves of a purposely given chance to escape, and then

in their undiscriminating zeal, the Sioux had opened fire from ambush on

Plodder's hunting parties and the choppers at the wood camp, who

defended themselves as best they could, to the end that more men, red

and white, were killed. The Indians rallied in force and closed in about

Fort Beecher, driving the survivors to shelter within its guarded lines,

and then, when Plodder needed every man of his force to keep the foe at

respectful distance, so that his bullets could not reach the quarters

occupied by the women and children at the post, there reached him by

night a runner from the stage station far over to the southeast, on a

dry fork of the Powder, saying that the north and south bound stages had

taken refuge there, with only ten men, all told, to stand off some fifty

warriors, and therefore imploring assistance. Not daring to send a

troop, Plodder called for volunteers to bear despatches to Major Webb,

at Frayne, and Pat Kennedy, with half a dozen brave lads, had promptly

stepped forward. Kennedy had managed to slip through the encircling

Sioux by night, and to reach Fort Frayne after a daring and almost

desperate ride. Then Ray was ordered forth, first to raise the siege at

the stage station, then, either to hold that important relay ranch or go

on to reinforce Plodder as his judgment and the situation might dictate.



He knew enough of the stout adobe walls of the corral on the Dry Fork,

and of the grit of the few defenders, to feel reasonably sure that,

with ammunition, provisions and water in plenty, they could easily hold

out a week if need be against the Sioux, so long as they fought on the

defensive and the Indians were not strongly reinforced. He reasoned that

Stabber and his people were probably gone to strengthen the attack, and

that having an hour's start at least, and riding faster, they would get

there somewhat ahead of him. But one of his own old sergeants, a veteran

of twenty years in the cavalry, was now stationmaster on the Dry Fork,

and all the Sioux from the Platte to Paradise couldn't stampede old Jim

Kelly. Many a forced march had Ray made in the past, and well he knew

that the surest way to bring his horses into action, strong and sound at

the finish, was to move "slow and steady" at the start, to move at the

walk until the horses were calm and quiet, was his rule. Then on this

bright September day would come the alternating trot and lope, with

brief halts to reset saddles; then, later still, the call upon his

willing men and mounts for sustained effort, and by sunset he and they

could count on riding in, triumphant, to the rescue, even though Stabber

himself should seek to bar the way.



And that Stabber meant to watch the road, if not to block it, became

evident before the head of column began the gradual ascent of Moccasin

Ridge, from whose sharp crest the little band could take their last

look, for the time, at least, at the distant walls of Frayne. Somewhere

toward seven-thirty Corporal Connors' foremost man, far out on the left

flank, riding suddenly over a low divide, caught sight of a bonneted

warrior bending flat over his excited pony and lashing that nimble,

fleet-footed creature to mad gallop in the effort to reach the cover of

the projecting point of bluff across the shallow ravine that cut in

toward the foothills. Stone, the trooper, lifted his campaign hat on

high once, and then lowered his arm to the horizontal, hat in hand,

pointing in the direction the darting savage was seen, and thus, without

a syllable having been spoken at the front, word was passed in to Ray

that one Indian had been sighted far out to the northwest.



"They may try to hold us among the breaks of the Mini Pusa," said he, to

his still unreconciled second in command. Field had been civil,

respectful, but utterly uncommunicative in his replies to the captain's

repeated cordialities. Any attempt to even remotely refer to the causes

that led to his being ordered out with the detachment had been met with

chilling silence. Now, however, the foe had been seen and could be

counted on to resist if his rallied force much exceeded that of the

troop, or to annoy it by long-range fire if too weak to risk other

encounter. The command halted one moment at the crest to take one long,

lingering look at the now far-distant post beyond the Platte; then,

swinging again into saddle, moved briskly down into the long, wide

hollow between them and the next divide, well nigh three miles across,

and as they reached the low ground and traversed its little draining

gully, a muttered exclamation "Look there!" from the lips of the first

sergeant, called their attention again to the far left front. Stone,

the trooper who had reported the first Indian, had turned his horse over

to the second man, as had the corporal on that flank, and together they

were crouching up along the eastward face of a billowing hillock, while,

straight to the front Sergeant Scott, obedient to a signal from his left

hand man, was speeding diagonally along the rise to the north, for all

three advance troopers had halted and two were cautiously dismounting.

Ray watched one moment, with kindling eyes, then turned to his young

chief of platoons:



"Take your men, Field, and be ready to support. There's something behind

that second ridge!"