CHAPTER XV

BUFFALO!

EFORE dawn had broken, the clear bugle notes of reveille sounded and set the camp astir. Presently the smokes of cook fires arose, and in the gray light we could see the horse guards bringing in the mounts. By the time the sun was faintly tingeing the edge of the valley, we were drawn up for our hot coffee. A half hour later the wagon masters called "Roll out! Roll out!" The bugles again sounded for the troopers to take saddle, and we were under way once more up the trail.

Thus far we had seen very little game in our westward journeying, a few antelope, occasional wolves, but none of the herds of buffalo which then roamed the western plains. The monotony of our travel was to be broken now. We had hardly gone five miles beyond the ruined station house -which we passed at a trot so that none might know what had happened there when we saw our advance riders pull up and turn. We caught it also the sound of approaching hoofs. All joined in the cry: "Buffalo! Buffalo!" In an instant every horseman was plying whip and spur. The thunderous rolling sound approached, heavy as that of artillery going into action. We saw dust arise from the mouth of a little coulee on the left, running down toward the valley, and then, rolling from its mouth with the noise of a tornado and the might of a mountain torrent, we saw a vast, confused, dark mass, which rapidly spilled out across the valley ahead of us. Half hid in the dust of their going, great dark bulks were rolling and tossing.

A blur of rumbling hoof sounds backed the blurred giant picture. Thus, close at hand, I saw for the first time in my life the buffalo.

We were almost at the flank of the herd before they reached the river bank. We were among them when they paused stupidly at the stream. The front ranks rolled back upon those behind, which, crowded from the rear, resisted. The whole front of the mass wrinkled up mightily, dark humps arising two or three deep. Then the whole line sensed the danger all at once, and with as much unanimity as they had lacked in their late confusion, they wheeled front and rear, and rolled off up the valley.

In such a chase speed and courage of one's horse are the main essentials. My horse, luckily for me, was able to lay me alongside my game within a few hundred yards. I coursed close to a big black bull, and obeying injunctions old Auberry had often given me, did not touch the trigger until I found I was holding well forward and rather low. I could scarcely hear the crack of the rifle, such was the noise of hoofs, but I saw the bull switch his tail and push on as though unhurt, in spite of the trickle of red which sprung on his side. As I followed on, fumbling for a pistol at my holster, the bull suddenly turned, head down and tail stiffly erect, his mane bristling. My horse sprang aside, and the herd passed on. The old bull, his head lowered, presently stopped, deliberately eying us, and a moment later he deliberately lay down, presently sinking lower, and at length rolling over dead.

I got down, fastening my horse to one of the horns of the dead bull. As I looked up the valley, I could see others dismounted, and many vast dark blotches on the gray.

Here and there, where the pursuers still hung on, I could see blue smoke cutting through the white. Certainly we would have meat that day, enough and far more than enough. The valley was full of carcasses, product of a few moments of our wasteful white man's hunting.

I found the great weight of the bull difficult to turn, but at length I hooked one horn into the ground and, laying hold of the lower hind leg, I turned the carcass on its back. I was busy skinning when my old friend Auberry rode up.

"The Indians," said Auberry, "don't bother to turn a bull over. They split the hide down the back and skin both ways. The best meat is on top, anyhow," and then he gave me lessons in buffalo values, which later I remembered.

We had taken some meat from my bull, since I insisted upon it in spite of better beef from a young cow Auberry had killed not far above, when suddenly I heard the sound of a bugle, sharp and clear, and recognized the notes of the "recall." The sergeant of our troop, with a small number of men, had been left behind by Belknap's hurried orders. Again and again we heard the bugle call, and now we saw hurrying down the valley all the men of our little command.

"What's up?" inquired Auberry, as we pulled up our galloping horses near the wagon line.

"Indians," was the answer.

"Fall in." In a moment most of our men were gathered at the wagons. We could all now see, coming down from a little flattened coulee to the left, the head of a ragged line of mounted men, who doubtless had been the cause of the buffalo stampede which had crossed in front of us. The shouts of teamsters and the crack of whips punctuated the crunch of wheels as our wagons swiftly swung into the stockade of the prairies.

After all, there seemed no immediate danger. The column of the tribesmen came on toward us fearlessly, as though they neither dreaded us nor indeed recognized us. They made a long cavalcade, two hundred horses or more, with many travaux and dogs trailing on behind. They were all clad in their native finery, and each was arrogant as a king. They passed us contemptuously, with not a sidelong glance.

Not a word was spoken on either side. The course of their column took them to the edge of the water a short distance above us. They drove their horses down to drink, scrambled up the bank again, and then quietly rode on a quarter of a mile or so, and pulled up at the side of the valley. They saw abundance of meat lying there already killed, and perhaps guessed that we could not use all of it.

"Auberry," said Belknap, “we must go talk to these people, and see what's up."

"Sioux," said Auberry, "and like enough the very devils that cleaned out the station down below."

Belknap and Auberry took with them the sergeant and a dozen troopers. I pushed in with these, and saw Orme at my side. Two or three hundred yards from the place where the Indians halted, Auberry advised Belknap to halt his men. We four rode forward a hundred yards farther, halted and raised our hands in sign of peace. There rode out to us four of the head men of the Sioux, beautifully dressed, each a stalwart man. Both parties laid down their weapons on the ground, and so approached each other.

"Watch them close, boys," whispered Auberry, "they've got plenty of irons around them somewhere, and plenty of scalps too, maybe."

"Talk to them, Auberry," said Belknap, and as the former was the only one of us who understood the Sioux tongue he acted as interpreter.

"What are the Sioux doing so far east?" he asked of their spokesman, sternly.

"Hunting," answered the Sioux, as Auberry informed us. "The white soldiers drive away our buffalo. The white men kill too many. Let them go. This is our country." It seemed to me I could see the black eyes of the Sioux boring straight through every one of us, glittering, not in the least afraid.

"Go back to the North and West, where you belong," said Auberry. "You have no business here on the wagon trails."

"The Sioux hunt where they please," was the grim answer. "But you see we have our women and children with us, the same as you have"-and he pointed toward our camp, doubtless knowing the personnel of our party as well as we did ourselves.

"Where are you going?" asked our interpreter.

The Sioux waved his arm vaguely. "Heap hunt," he said. "Where you go?" he asked in return, using broken English. Auberry was also a diplomat, and answered that we were going a half sleep to the west to meet big war party coming down the Platte, the white men from Laramie.

The Indian looked grave at this. "Is that so?" he asked calmly. "I had not any word from my young men of a war party coming down the river. Many white tepees on wheels going up the river; no soldiers coming down this way."

"We are going on up to meet our men," said Auberry sternly. "The Sioux have killed some of our people below here. We shall meet our men and come and wipe the Sioux off the land if they come here into the valley where our road runs west." "That is good," said the Sioux. "As for us, we hunt where we please. White men go."

Auberry now turned and informed us of the nature of this talk. "I don't think they mean trouble, Lieutenant," he said, "and I think the best thing we can do is to let them alone and go on up the valley. We're too strong for them, and their medicine don't seem to be for war right now."

Belknap nodded, and Auberry turned again to the four Sioux, who stood, tall and motionless, looking at us with fixed, glittering eyes. I shall remember the actors in that little scene so long as I live. "We have spoken," said Auberry. "That is all we have to say."

There is no such word as good-bye in the Indian tongue, so now both parties turned and went back to their companions. Belknap, Auberry and I had nearly reached our waiting troopers, when we missed Orme, and turned back to see where he was. He was standing close to the four chiefs, who had by this time reached their horses. Orme was leading by the bridle his own horse, which was slightly lame from a strain received in the hunt.

"Some buck 'll slip an arrer into him, if he don't look out," said Auberry. "He's got no business out there."

We saw Orme making some sort of gestures, pointing to his horse and the others.

"Wonder if he wants to trade horses," mused Auberry, chuckling. Then in the same breath he called out “Look out! By God, look!”

We all saw it. Orme's arm shot out straight, tipped by a blue puff of smoke, and we heard the crack of the dragoon pistol. One of the Sioux, the chief who by this time had mounted his horse, threw his hand against his chest and leaned slightly back, then straightened up slightly as he sat. As he fell, or before he fell, Orme pushed his body clear from the saddle and with a leap was in the dead man's place and riding swiftly toward us, leading his own horse by the rein. It seemed that it was the Sioux who had kept faith after all. Orme rode up laughing and unconcerned. "The beggar wouldn't trade with me at all," he said. "By Jove, I believe he'd have got me if he'd had any sort of tools for it."

"You broke treaty," ejaculated Belknap; "you broke the council

"Did that man make the first break at you?" Auberry blazed at him. "You murdered him. Do you forget we've women with us?"

Orme only laughed. He could kill a man as lightly as a rabbit, and think no more about it. But none of us ratified his act by any smile.

"It's fight now," said Auberry. "Back to the wagons and get your men ready, Leftenant. As soon as the Sioux get shut of their women, they'll come on, and come a-boilin', too. You damned fool!" he said to Orme. "You murdered that man!"

"What's that, my good fellow," said Orme sharply. "Now, I advise you to keep a civil tongue in your head, or I'll teach you some manners.'

In answer old Auberry spurred alongside him, his rifle at a ready. "By God, man! if you want to teach me any manners, begin it now. You make your break."

Belknap spurred in between them. "Here, you men," he cried, with swift sternness. "Into your places. I'm in command here. I'll shoot the first man who raises a hand. Mr. Orme, take your place at the wagons. Auberry, you keep with me. We'll have fighting enough

without anything of this."

"He murdered that Sioux, Leftenant," reiterated Auberry.

"Damn it, sir, I know he did, but this is no time to argue about that. Look there!"

A long, ragged, parti-colored line, the squaws and children of the party, was whipping up the sides of the rough bluffs on the left of the valley. We heard wailing, the barking of dogs, the crying of children. The men, remaining behind, were riding back and forth, whooping and holding aloft their weapons. We heard the note of a dull war drum beating, the clacking of their rattles, the shrill notes of their war whistles.

"They'll fight," said Auberry. "Look at 'em."

"Here they come," said Belknap quietly.

CHAPTER XVI

SIOUX

The record of this part of my life comes to me sometimes as a series of vivid pictures. I can see this picture now-the wide gray of the flat valley edged with green at the coulee mouths; the sandy puffs where the wind worked at the foot of the banks; the dotted islands out in the shimmering, shallow river. I can see again, under the clear, sweet, quiet sky, the picture of those painted men-their waving lances, their swaying bodies as they reached for the quivers across their shoulders. I can see the loose ropes trailing at the horses' noses, and see the light leaning forward of the red and yellow and ghastly white-striped and black-stained bodies, and the barred black of the war paint.

"Tell us when to fire, Auberry," I heard Belknap say, for he had practically given over the situation to the old plainsman's handling. At last I heard the voice of Auberry, changed from that of an old man into the quick, clean accents of youth, sounding hard and clear. "Ready now! Each fellow pick his own man, and kill him, d'ye hear, kill him!"

We had no farther tactics. Our fire began to patter and crackle. Our troopers were armed with the incredibly worthless old Spencer carbines, and I doubt if these did much execution; but there were some good Hawken rifles and old big-bored Yagers, a few of the new Sharps' rifles, heavy and powerful, and buffalo guns of

one sort or another with us, among the plainsmen and teamsters, and when these spoke there came breaks in the rippling horse line that sought to circle us. The Sioux dropped behind their horses' bodies, firing as they rode. Most of our work was done as they topped the rough ground close on our left, and we saw here a dozen bodies lying limp and flat and ragged, though presently others came and dragged them away.

The bow and arrow is no match for the rifle behind barricades, but when the Sioux got behind us they saw that our barricade was open in the rear, and at this they whooped and rode in closer. At a hundred yards their arrows came close to the mark, and time and again they spiked our mules and horses with these hissing shafts that quivered where they struck. They came near breaking our front in this way, for our men fell into confusion, the horses and mules plunging and trying to break away. There were now men leaning on their elbows, blood dripping from their mouths. There were cries, far away, inconsequent to us still standing. The whir of many arrows came, and we could hear them chuck into the woodwork of the wagons, into the leather of saddle and harness, and now and again into something that gave out a softer, different sound.

I was crowding a ball down my rifle with a hickory rod when I felt a shove at my arm and heard a voice at my ear. "Git out of the way, man! How can I see to shoot if you bob your head acrost my sights all the time?"

There stood old Mandy McGovern, her long brown rifle half raised, her finger lying sophisticatedly along the trigger guard, that she might not prematurely touch the hair trigger. She was as cool as any man in the line, and as deadly. As I finished reloading, I saw her hard, gray face drop as she crooked her elbow and settled to the sights-saw her swing as though she were following a running deer, and then at the crack of her piece I saw a Sioux drop out of his high-peaked saddle. Mandy turned to the rear.

"Git in here, git in here, son!" I heard her cry. "Good shootin' here!" And to my wonder now I saw the long, lean figure of Andrew Jackson McGovern come forward, a carbine clutched in his hand, while