Part 13 (2/2)

They saw from the hill-side the scowling braves of Big Foot, led forth from camp and seated on the ground, shrouded in their blankets, in long, curving lines. They saw the designated troops of a rival regiment drawn up in silent array, facing the sullen warriors. They saw the women and children of the latter huddled at the edge of the Indian camp, while officers, sergeants, and soldiers were sent searching through the frowzy lodges for secreted arms. Through their gla.s.ses they saw the old medicine-man, in the centre of the Indian ranks, glancing furtively, savagely, right and left, his lips moving in muttered incantation, while the searchers among the lodges came forth from one after another, baffled, empty-handed, suspicious. Why had not some one suggested it would be wise to search, individually, each brave before conducting him to the line?

”There's going to be trouble, Con!” cried Graham, suddenly dropping his field-gla.s.s. ”Look! There goes McCrea!” And surely enough, at that very instant, as though he, too, had noted the ominous signs, their elder comrade came galloping diagonally across the front, heading straight for the spot where stood the commander of the silent little battalion.

”He's going to warn them,” answered Connell. ”Let's join him.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”UP WENT TWO LITTLE PUFFS OF EARTH”]

And just as he spoke, and before either could turn to the waiting horses, up into air went the hands of the chanter, up went two little puffs of earth, sand, and gravel as he tossed them on high; and before even they could come sifting and showering downward, up in a flash sprang the muttering line, off went every blanket, and out leaped a warrior, armed and painted for battle. Suddenly they whirled on the searchers advancing upon them. Crash went their wild volley, downing both friend and foe, for the first shots tore straight through the huddle of women, and their shrieks followed swift on the deadly clamor of the guns.

And then for a moment there was dire confusion. In the s.p.a.ce of a second, it seemed, the red line had leaped to its feet, then dashed through the smoke of its volley, straight for the cowering forms of old men, women, and children. Another second and, sheltered by the skirts of their squaws, the warriors were blazing away at the astonished soldiery. ”Good G.o.d, boys, we can't fire on women and children!”

shouted one brave young sergeant. ”Down on your faces! Down!” And ”down” was his last word, as down on his bullet-riven face he plunged, shot dead through the brain.

Almost at the same moment McCrea's galloping steed stumbled heavily forward and rolled stiffening on the frozen earth, his gallant rider flung headlong beyond him. Another moment and Geordie and Connell, leaping from saddle, had run to his aid, even as the crash of a volley, at the word of command, told that the troopers had answered the furious challenge. Another moment still, and a young surgeon sprang to the relief of the signalling officers; and then, leaving their senseless friend to his care, all athrill with the fury of battle, Graham and Connell, ”Badger” and ”Coyote,” whipping out their revolvers, rushed on down the slope to join the blue line just springing afoot to the charge.

Of the moment that followed, the wild cheer and onward dash, the race over blood-stained snow-patches, the stumble over falling forms (some friend, some foe), the ripping and slas.h.i.+ng at fire-spitting lodges, in which some of the band had sought refuge, the agonized screaming of children, the appalling shrieks of the squaws--of all this it was difficult later to give clear account. Geordie only knew that he, and those nearest him in the rush through the smoke, lost many a shot rather than risk killing fleeing women and babes, spared warriors who would never spare them, for down went first one comrade, down went another, and all on a sudden something bit, stung, and tore through his thigh, and down on his outflung arms, with Con sobbing over him, went Geordie Montrose Graham, first captain the year agone, fireman in July, and now junior lieutenant of Company ”E.”

Many a Christmas holiday was spoiled that winter by the news from Wounded Knee. ”Bud” Graham, Columbia freshman, spending a fortnight with father and mother at the Point, had gone with them and Colonel Hazzard to Grant Hall one starlit evening. Orders were to be published to the corps of cadets at supper, and the commandant wished them to hear. They ascended the broad stone steps, Mrs. Graham on the arm of the colonel, Mrs. Hazzard escorted by grim ”Dr. Sawney,” who was wondering not a little what might be coming. Two or three officers from the mess joined the little family party, and they all cl.u.s.tered at the big folding-doors--Bud breathless with antic.i.p.ation and excitement. The cadet corporal of the guard saluted at sight of the distinguished arrivals, and, at a sign from the colonel, held open the portal on one side so that, without being seen, the visitors could distinctly hear what might be read within.

And presently it came. In ringing tones the adjutant ordered attention.

The chatter and clamor instantly ceased. Briefly the young officer rattled off the details for the morrow, and then announced:

”The following communication is published for the information of the battalion of cadets:

”FIELD HEADQUARTERS, ”FORT NIOBRARA, NEB., _December_ --, 1890.

”COMMANDING OFFICER, --TH CAVALRY, ”_In the Field, near Wounded Knee._

”SIR,--The general commanding the military division directs me to notify you of the return of the detachment under Major Berry, --d Cavalry, after a thorough scout of some three weeks'

duration, resulting in the breaking up and scattering of several of the bands of 'ghost-dancers,' and the capture of at least one large party now being sent under escort to Pine Ridge Agency.

”One most important result of the scout was the discovery and arrest of certain white men engaged in selling arms and ammunition to the Indians, the capture of much of their 'outfit,' and the rescue, under circ.u.mstances of imminent peril, of two of the party whom the Indians were in the very act of putting to death by torture.

”The entire credit for this exploit, which was conducted with excellent judgment and most commendable dash and daring, is given by Major Berry to Lieutenant George Montrose Graham, of your regiment, and the division commander--

But he could be heard no further. The iron discipline of West Point was powerless to stem the torrent of cadet enthusiasm at this public mention of their beloved leader of the year gone by. Up sprang the entire corps, and the rafters rang with the thunder of their cheers--a thunder that seemed to redouble rather than dwindle at sight of the silver-haired commandant, smiling in through the opening door.

And from such a scene as that, with streaming eyes and trembling lips and a heart overflowing with pride, joy, grat.i.tude, and the longing to throw herself upon her knees and pour out her very soul in praise and thanksgiving, this devoted mother was summoned to another.

The doctor had fled away from the bevy of friends who had hastened to congratulate and shake him by the hand. He had finally escaped to his little den, trying to compose himself, and write calmly and judiciously, as became a father, to his soldier son. Bud, nearly wild with delight, had finally been ”fired,” as he expressed it, from Cadet Frazier's room by the officer-in-charge, and started for home toward half-past ten o'clock, when in front of the officers' mess he was suddenly hailed by a grave-faced professor:

”You're needed at home, Bud,” and, running, he found Colonel Hazzard and his father at the library door, a telegram open in the latter's trembling hand.

”Not a word now, son. Just read this and then--call mither.”

With paling face and suddenly swimming eyes, Bud read the dancing words:

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