Part 8 (1/2)
Meantime Al and Captain Feilner galloped on, some distance behind the corporal. But the Captain's horse was becoming badly winded and at last he swung off to one side and took a long distance shot, without result.
Al, though his horse, too, was beginning to show some signs of weariness, kept on until about fifty yards from the flank and rear of the herd when, not wis.h.i.+ng to exhaust his horse, he decided to take his chance on a long shot. He accordingly pulled up and, taking hasty aim with the long Spencer rifle he was carrying, fired at the nearest animal he could see through the dust. Then he lowered his rifle and looked, but the buffalo seemed to be running as fast and as steadily as ever. He was about to turn back, disappointed, to join Captain Feilner, when he heard the corporal, a little way behind, shouting at him,
”You hit her! You hit her! Keep going; use your revolver!”
Somewhat doubtful, Al urged his horse again to a gallop and kept on after the herd, Captain Feilner and the corporal following him. But, true enough, before he had covered a quarter of a mile he saw the animal he had fired at begin to drop behind the others. In another quarter of a mile he had overtaken it. It proved to be a good sized cow, which, as he approached, stopped and turned upon him with lowered head, frothing mouth and angry eyes. He drew his revolver, the one that had belonged to his father and that he had used at Fort Ridgely, and cautiously urged his frightened horse toward the cow. As he came within twenty-five or thirty feet, she charged at him, but he spurred his horse forward and as she pa.s.sed behind him, he fired at her eye. It was a lucky shot, for she rolled over like a log and lay still. In a moment Captain Feilner and the corporal rode up, the latter's saddle already loaded with thirty or forty pounds of choice meat cut from his own quarry. He dismounted and walked up to Al.
[Ill.u.s.tration: She charged at him as he fired]
”That was a fine shot at the distance,” said he. ”I didn't think you would make a hit. And you finished her in good shape. Do you know where to cut off the best pieces for eating?”
”No, I don't,” replied Al. ”I never killed one before.”
”Let me show you,” said the other, drawing out his knife, ”so that you'll know next time.”
”What is your name?” asked Al, as they worked, handing up the pieces to the Captain, who tied them to his own and Al's saddles. ”You must be a veteran at it, the way you knocked over that big fellow.”
”Oh, I've killed a few of them,” answered the cavalryman, modestly. ”It isn't much of a trick when you know how. My name is Charles Wright, corporal in Company A, First Dakota Cavalry.”
They were soon riding back to the column with the welcome supply of fresh meat, joining on the way the members of the other party, who had killed three buffalo of the bunch they had followed. On arriving at the column they were soundly berated by General Sully for their temerity in venturing so far; for if a party of Indians of any size had cut in between them and the main body they might easily have all been killed.
Captain Feilner, who, being an engineer and also, incidentally, a naturalist, was fond of wandering aside from the line of march to examine the country, laughed incredulously at the General's misgivings.
”General, I do not believe there are enough Indians within one hundred miles to endanger the number of us who went out there,” said he.
”Well, there are,” replied General Sully, positively, ”don't make any mistake about that. And if you're not more careful, Feilner, you'll get your scalp lifted some day on one of your foolhardy side trips after buffalo or rocks or petrified beetles. As for you, Briscoe,” he continued, addressing Al, ”if you want to die young, just keep on following those Coyotes wherever they lead.” With a grim smile, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the dusty squadron just behind them, who at the moment were welcoming Corporal Wright and his meat-laden companions with yells and whoops of delight. ”Those fellows are the most reckless devils in the Northwest and they'll get you into more tight holes than you can get out of unless you're as bad as they are.”
Al felt that this was the highest compliment possible to the Dakota boys and so, indeed, General Sully meant it to be. That night at supper in the bivouac the staff and the Coyotes, at least, fared sumptuously, with hot and tender buffalo steaks to go with their hardtack, fried potatoes and coffee.
It was several days after the buffalo hunt, on June 28, to be exact, that the command broke camp at daylight and marched forward toward the crossing of the Little Cheyenne River. The troops marched in two columns, as usual, the supply train being in the centre between them, while the Dakota Cavalry rode a short distance in advance. Their commander, Captain Nelson Miner, was that day acting field officer of the day, having charge of the guard details. As the day wore on it became hot and sultry and the dust suffocating. Every one was suffering with thirst and finally, as they approached within a few miles of the Cheyenne, Captain Feilner decided to ride ahead to that stream in search of water. Two soldiers from one of the commands in the main column volunteered to accompany him. Al was working over his books in one of the wagons of the train when the Captain rode past and called out to him,
”I am going on to the Little Cheyenne to get a drink. Do you want to go with me?”
”I should like to,” Al called back, ”but I'm busy now. Look out for Indians.”
”Oh, yes,” replied the Captain, smiling, ”There are three of us. I guess we can force a pa.s.sage against all the Indians we shall see.”
He waved his hand and disappeared through the dust up the column, the two soldiers trotting hard after him. Al resumed his work and in a moment forgot all about Captain Feilner. When he had finished he mounted his horse and rode up to the head of the column where he fell in with the rest of the staff around General Sully. They had been riding along in leisurely fas.h.i.+on for some time, their weary horses walking with drooping heads, the riders lolling in their saddles, when Al's glance, wandering aimlessly over the desolate landscape ahead, was arrested by two small dots which suddenly appeared on the top of a prairie ridge far in front and came racing down the exposed slope in the direction of the column. Something in their appearance made his heart jump into his throat. Instinctively he reached out and touched the arm of General Sully, who was talking to Lieutenant Dale.
”General,” he cried, pointing ahead. ”Look there! What are those specks?”
The general, startled, glanced in the direction indicated. His expression changed to one of dismay.
”By G.o.d,” he exclaimed, s.n.a.t.c.hing out his field-gla.s.ses, ”something's happened over there; there are only two of them. Feilner's got in trouble; I knew he would.”
He touched his horse and started forward at a trot, his staff following.
The riders, coming at a furious pace, soon reached them. They were the two soldiers who had ridden ahead with the Captain, hatless and without arms, their horses panting with the frantic pace they had been making.
The leading trooper jerked up in front of the General and, saluting, cried breathlessly,