Part 17 (2/2)
”Arrest him!” ordered McPhail, who then turned and ran in-doors,--after his pistol, as he said, possibly forgetting that it was already on his hip. Boynton and his men were at the picket-line grooming horses, three hundred yards away at the moment, and the young brave mounted his pony and dared any one to take him, and rode singing defiantly down the snow-covered valley. Only the previous day the mail rider had gone on his weekly trip, and now a special messenger was needed to convey the agent's despatch to the railway, for the flimsy single wire to the reservation was down and useless. The Indian who attempted to carry the letter was pulled off his pony by frolicsome friends of the murderer and treated to a cold bath in the Niobrara. Not until Sunday night did he get back, half frozen, and tell his story. Meantime there was more defiance, so another attempt was made. Sergeant Lutz said he'd take it this time, and he rode through to Braska on a single horse,--seventy-three miles in thirty hours. The Interior Department asked immediate a.s.sistance of the War Department to make arrests, and the general commanding at Omaha was instructed by wire to place a sufficient force with the agent to enable him to overpower two or three turbulent Indians. This sent Davies and twenty troopers to reinforce Boynton, and the very day they started ushered in the coldest wave of the winter and further tragedy at Ogallalla.
Drunk and defiant, the exulting murderer with two or three reckless friends had ridden up to the agency, renewed their boasts and jeers and yells, while Boynton and his men, as instructed by the agent, were over at the village of Two Lance, a long mile away, rounding up their pony herd to prevent the warriors making an a.s.sault on Red Dog's more distant towns.h.i.+p. A shot rang out from somewhere among the agency buildings, and the days of the boaster were numbered. Back, bearing the body, scurried the trio of friends, and in less than an hour, in fury and transport and grief and rage, the women were tearing their hair and prodding themselves with knives, while the warriors, singing the death-song, were painting themselves for battle. In vain the agent despatched messengers to say he and his men were innocent of blood and would bring the murderer of the murderer, some prowling Brule, to vengeance. Swift return couriers bade him beware,--Red Dog and all his band were coming to avenge the deed. Boynton was summoned in hot haste. He and his party came sweeping in on the foremost wave of the wind, and between the two a vengeful band of two hundred seasoned warriors, veterans of many a foray, were held at bay from Wednesday night. It was too cold even for fighting.
And Friday morning, after hards.h.i.+p and suffering there was no time to tell, Lieutenant Davies with his party reached the threatened agency, and was greeted with ringing cheers. That evening the grasp of the Ice King was loosened by the soft touch of the south wind, and Red Dog rode in state to the adjoining camp to claim the alliance of his brother chiefs in his attempt to wrest from the agent the perpetrator of the murder of his tribesman. That the dead Indian was himself a murderer had no bearing on the matter, said Red Dog. He had simply knifed in self-defence a beggarly Brule who quarrelled with him over a girl. The blood of Lone Wolf cried aloud for vengeance, and the agent should not be permitted to harbor or conceal his slayer. ”You've got no time to lose,” said Boynton, who had kept his scouts on the alert. ”You should arrest that old villain at once or he'll stir the whole reservation into mutiny.” The agent thought he could accomplish more by seeing him and having a talk. ”Indians are always ready for a talk,” said he. ”I'll take Mr. Davies and a couple of men just for appearance's sake and ride right over to the village. He's at Kills Asleep's now.”
Boynton argued, but the agent was afraid to adopt the only course an Indian respects,--prompt and forceful measures. ”Talk” means to him delay, compromise, confession of weakness. ”Well, if you must palaver,”
said Boynton, finally, ”take me along. I've had more to do with those beggars than Davies, and,” he added to himself, ”I'll make it possible to nab that fellow.”
A most impressive scene was that which met the eyes of the little party as they rode to the village across the frozen stream. The moon was s.h.i.+ning almost at full in a clear and cloudless sky. The neighboring slopes, the distant ridge, the broad level of the valley, all blanketed in glistening snow. Half a mile away down-stream in one dark cl.u.s.ter of jagged-topped cones lay the village of Red Dog's people. Away up-stream a long mile, black against the westward slope, the corral and storehouses, the school and office and quarters of the agency, the watch-lights twinkling like the stars above. Close at hand, loosely huddled along the bank, the grimy, smoke-stained lodges of Kills Asleep's sullen band, and in their midst, surrounded at respectful distance by a squatted semicircle of old men and braves, all m.u.f.fled in their blankets, and by an outer rim of hags and crones and young squaws and children and snarling dogs and s.h.a.ggy ponies, there with trailing war-bonnet and decked with paint and barbaric finery, his robe cast aside,--there like an orator of old stood the Indian chief in the heat of his impa.s.sioned appeal. All eyes were upon him, all ears drinking in his words. Guttural grunts of approval rewarded each resounding period.
”You're too late,” muttered Boynton. ”He's been getting in his work to good effect. You should have arrested him an hour ago.”
The agent reined in his panting horse and looked and listened. ”He won't talk to me now, I suppose. It would be an affront to his dignity to interrupt. Best let him finish what he's begun. What shall we do meantime?”
”What you'd best do is to give me orders to nab the old sinner in my own way and go back to the agency as quick as you can. Your life won't be worth a pin in that crowd when he's done speaking. Go while there's yet time and tell Mr. Davies to send me Sergeant Lutz and six men mounted.
Keep the rest under arms in the corral. I'll land Red Dog inside the walls within an hour if you'll only say the word. d.a.m.n it, man! you've _got_ to, or your influence is gone.”
”He's got more influence now than I ever had, and the whole Indiana delegation backed me for the place,” wailed McPhail. ”What in heaven I thought to gain by coming out here and taking such a job is more than I can guess now. Every one said there was money in it; no one thought of the danger. If my wife and kids were only safe at home I wouldn't care so much. It's that that I'm thinking of. Can't we do this somehow without bringing on a row?”
”The row's here now and growing worse every minute. His own bucks are ready for battle. He'll have every son of a squaw in this camp painting himself chrome-yellow inside an hour, and he'll never rest till he's harangued every village in the valley twixt this and morning. Our one chance is to nab him midway when he rides from here to Little Big Man's roost up-stream. Tell Lutz to meet me at the willows, and for G.o.d's sake go!”
And still the agent hesitated. Barely six months had he served in his new and unaccustomed sphere. Old-world nations, either monarchies that take no thought for the morrow's vote of the ma.s.ses, or republics that have outlived their illusions, suit their servants to the work in hand.
Uncle Sam, having hosts of importunate sons demanding recognition irrespective of merit, and being as yet barely a centenarian, is at the mercy of his clamorous and inconsiderate millions. Each salaried office in his gift calls with each new administration for a new inc.u.mbent, whose demanded qualifications are not ”what can he do to improve the service?” but ”what has he done to benefit the party?” In this way do we manufacture consuls who know next to nothing of the manners, customs, language, and business abroad, and agents who know even less of the Indians at home.
But the problem in hand was settled for the sorely troubled official in a most unlooked-for way. Sharp-eyed squaws spied the little squad of hors.e.m.e.n at the outskirts of the village, the agent in his wolf-skin overcoat, the troopers in the army blue, with the collars of their overcoats up about their ears, and some one ran to Red Dog with the news. With all ”the majesty of buried Denmark” he paused in his speech, faced the intruders, then came striding slowly towards them, warriors, women, squaws, and children opening out and making a lane for his royal progress.
”Whatever you do, no words with him here,” whispered Boynton to the agent, now trembling with excitement and nervous apprehension. ”Stand to your terms. He can talk with you only at your office,--the agency.”
With the stately war-bonnet of eagle feathers trailing down his back and dragging along the ground, the chief came stalking on, never hastening, never slackening his stride, and after him flocked the warriors and women of the tribe, the men eager and defiant, the women trembling in fearsome dread.
”Shall we turn and ride away?” asked the agent, his blue lips twitching.
”No. Face him now,--cool as you can. Look him straight in the eye. Make no answer,--I'll do that. Ride slowly away when I say '_now_' and not before. Advance carbine there, men! Fetch 'em up slowly.”
Ten feet away from them Red Dog halted and stood erect, drawn up to his full height. Slowly he folded his arms, and sternly he bent his gaze upon the four white men. Silently his followers ranged up in big circle, almost enveloping the stolid troopers. For a moment nothing was heard but the shuffling of moccasined feet, the quick breathing or murmured words of the squaws, the feeble wail of some Indian baby left to its own devices in the parental lodge. Sniffing the tainted air the horses shrank a bit, rallying under the prompt touch of the spur and standing with erect, quivering ear and starting eyeball, staring at the coming throng and uttering low snorts of fear. And then at last in the Dakota tongue Red Dog hailed his visitors just as down the valley the monotonous throb of the Indian drum began.
”Why are these soldiers here?”
To the agent it was, of course, unintelligible: he had been among the tribe too short a time. Boynton understood, and in low tone muttered, ”Pay no attention to him whatever. Look around as though you were in search of somebody you knew and wanted to see.” Then aloud he called, authoritively, ”Come, step out there, some one of you who can speak soldier English. Where's Elk? He'll do if you want to ask questions.”
And presently Elk-at-Bay, he who bore the chieftain's message and confiscated the agent's cigars, edged his way to the front, but with far less truculence of mien than when the agent stood unsupported by soldiers.
”Red Dog asks why soldiers here,” said he.
”Tell him we're here to enjoy the scenery, if you know how to do it, and minding our own business,” was Boynton's reply.
”Red Dog not speak to soldiers. He asks the man the Great Father sends him.”
”Well, you tell him the agent of the Great Father will talk with him there, at his office, and nowhere else,” said Boynton, ”and that to-night's his last chance to hear what the Great Father has to say to him.”
Unfolding his arms, the chief took a splendid stride forward. He understood Boynton, as Boynton well knew, and now was preparing for an outburst of oratory. The instant he opened his mouth to speak Boynton turned to the agent and whispered, ”Now,” and coolly and indifferently as he knew how, that official reined his broncho around and headed him for the twinkling lights of the distant buildings. Red Dog began in sonorous Dakota, with magnificent sweep of his bare, silver-banded arm, and Boynton touched up his charger impatiently and rode a length closer, his two troopers sitting like statues with the b.u.t.ts of their carbines resting on the thigh, the muzzles well forward.
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