LIBRARY^ 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 -n 
 
 Class 
 

 MAJOR-GENERAL GEORGE CROOK, U. S. A. 
 
AMPAIGNING WITH CROOK 
 AND STORIES OF ARMY LIFE 
 
 BY 
 
 CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "BETWEEN THE LINES" "A WAR- TIME WOOING' 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 1890 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by 
 
 CHARLES KING, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 Copyright, 1890, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 All righto retervtd. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 TEN years ago, at the request of the editor of a 
 paper at my old home, these sketches of the Sioux 
 Campaign of 1876 were written and, finding favor 
 with comrades to whom a few were sent, were pub- 
 lished in pamphlet form. Now, reinforced by certain 
 other sketches which have since appeared, they are 
 given a new framework. 
 
 They were the first-fruits, so to speak, of a pen that 
 has since been seldom idle. They were rough sketches, 
 to be sure, but no rougher than the campaign ; and 
 in the early days of a divorce from associations 
 that were very dear, and of a return to surroundings 
 once familiar, yet, after twenty years of absence, so 
 changed that a cat in a strange garret could hardly 
 have felt less at home, I laid their faint tribute of re- 
 spect and honor at the feet of the soldier who had 
 been our commander in the wild days in Arizona, our 
 leader from the Platte to the Yellowstone and our 
 comrade in every hardship and privation Brigadier- 
 General George Crook, United States Army. 
 
 224238 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 Only enough of these pamphlets were printed to 
 reach the few hundred comrades who rode the grim 
 circuit of " The Bad Lands " in that eventful cen- 
 tennial year. The little edition was long ago ex- 
 hausted. The years that followed only served to 
 strengthen the ties that bound me to the revered com- 
 mander of old cavalry days. Many a name recorded 
 in these pages no longer graces our muster-rolls. Ma- 
 son, our soldier major, gallant Emmet Crawford, brave 
 old Munson, daring Philo Clark ; Rodgers and Price, 
 Egan and Dewees, Bache and Hunter, have been called 
 from the ranks in which they won such honor, and, 
 only a few short months ago, the leader whom they 
 so faithfully served rejoined them on the farther shore 
 of the dark and silent river. The mountains and 
 prairies over which we marched and fought know no 
 longer the war-cry of painted savage or the din of 
 thrilling combat. Herds of browsing cattle crowd 
 the lovely valleys through which we drove the buffalo. 
 Peaceful homes and smiling villages dot the broad 
 Northwest where hardly a roof -tree was in place when 
 Crook essayed the task of subjugating the foeman to 
 settlement and civilization. Another star had been 
 added to the one awarded him for the campaign which 
 left the fierce Apaches conquered and disarmed. The 
 highest grade in the army had been attained when, 
 all too soon, he was summoned to answer to his name, 
 " beyond the veil." 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 Better pens than mine shall tell our people of his 
 long years of brave and faithful service in which this 
 campaign of '76 so pregnant with interest to us who 
 rode the trail, and with result to a waiting nation 
 was, after all, only an episode ; but, just as in honor 
 and in loyalty, these faint pictures of the stirring 
 scenes through which he led us were inscribed to him 
 at their birth, so now, with added honor and in affec- 
 tionate remembrance tenfold increased, is that humble 
 tribute renewed. 
 
 CHARLES KING, 
 
 Captain, U.S.A. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK 1 
 
 CAPTAIN SANTA GLAUS 173 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF 'MAIIBIN MILL . . . . 209 
 
 PLODDER'S PROMOTION. . . .265 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 MAJOR-GENERAL GEORGE CROOK, U. S. A. . . . Frontispiece. 
 
 FORT FETTERMAN Facing p. 44 
 
 SUPPLY CAMP, HEAD OF TONGUE RIVER ... " 54 
 
 CROOK'S COLUMN ON TONGUE RIVER .... " 68 
 
 A SICK SOLDIER ON A "TRAVOIS" " 134 
 
 DEADWOOD CITY, BLACK HILLS OF DAKOTA. . " 146 
 
 "THE DANDY FIFTH" " 158 
 
 "'COME, JACK,' SAID THE CAPTAIN, REASSUR- 
 INGLY" " 180 
 
 " ONE MOMENT MORE, AND, MUFFLED IN RED 
 SILK, HER BIGGEST LANTERN SWUNG GLOW- 
 ING IN THE WINDOW" " 206 
 
 "CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS" " 208 
 
 . 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK 
 
CHAPTER I. > 
 FORT HAYS AND THE START. 
 
 THE disastrous battle on the Little Horn, which 
 resulted in the annihilation of General Ouster and 
 his five favorite companies of the Seventh Cavalry, 
 occurred on the 25th of June, 1876. On the 4th of 
 that month, we of the Fifth Cavalry were far to the 
 south, scattered over the boundless prairies of Kan- 
 sas. Regimental headquarters and four companies 
 occupied the cosey quarters of Fort Hays, nearly 
 midway between Leavenworth and Denver, Missouri 
 and the mountains, and Company " K," of which I then 
 was first lieutenant, had pitched its tents along the 
 banks of a winding fork of the Smoky Hill River, won- 
 dering why we had been "routed out " from our snug 
 barracks and stables at Fort Riley, and ordered to 
 proceed, " equipped for field service," to Hays City, 
 by rail. Ordinarily, Uncle Sam pays the costly rail- 
 way fare for horsemen and their steeds only when 
 danger is imminent. The two posts were but a week's 
 easy march apart ; not a hostile Indian had been seen 
 or heard of in all Kansas since the previous winter ; 
 General Pope, who commanded the department, had 
 won the hearts of the ladies and children of the offi- 
 cers' families by predicting that there would be no 
 
4, , ^ c l ^ cMPAIGNItfG, WITH CROOK. 
 
 separation from husbands and fathers that summer 
 at least; all the ladies had "joined," and, after our 
 long sojourn in the wilds of Arizona, where but few 
 among them had been able to follow us, we were re- 
 joicing in their presence and luxuriating in the pretty 
 homes ornamented and blessed by their dainty handi- 
 work. Some among their number had never before 
 appeared in garrison, and were taking their first les- 
 son in frontier experience. Some, too, had only been 
 with us six short weeks, and did not dream that the 
 daily parades in which they took so much delight, 
 the sweet music of our band, the brilliant uniforms 
 and dancing plumes that lent such color and life to 
 rapid drill or stately guard-mounting, were one and 
 all but part and parcel of the preparation for scenes 
 more stirring, far less welcome to such gentle eyes. 
 
 Fort Hays was joyous with mirth and music and 
 merry laughter, for some of the ladies of the regi- 
 ment had brought with them from the distant East 
 younger sisters or friends, to whom army life on the 
 plains was a revelation, and in whose honor a large 
 barrack-room had been transformed into "the loveli- 
 est place in the world for a german," and Strauss's 
 sweetest music rose and fell in witching invitation 
 after the evening tattoo. Riding, driving, and hunt- 
 ing parties were of daily occurrence, and more than 
 one young fellow's heart seemed in desperate jeopardy 
 when the summons came. 
 
 The sun was setting in a cloudless sky as I reined 
 in my horse in front of General Carr's quarters and 
 dismounted, to make my report of a three days' hunt 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 5 
 
 along the valley of the Saline for stampeded horses. 
 The band, in their neat summer dress, were grouped 
 around the flagstaff, while the strains of "Soldaten 
 Lieder " thrilled through the soft evening air, and, 
 fairly carried away by the cadence of the sweet mu- 
 sic, a party of young ladies and officers had dropped 
 their croquet mallets and were waltzing upon the 
 green carpet of the parade. Seated upon the veran- 
 das, other ladies and older officers were smilingly 
 watching the pretty scene, and on the western side 
 of the quadrangle the men in their white stable frocks 
 were just breaking ranks after marching up from the 
 never-neglected care of their horses. Half a dozen 
 laughing children were chasing one another in noisy 
 glee, their bright sashes and dainty dresses gleaming 
 in the last rays of the golden orb. The general him- 
 self was gazing thoughtfully at the distant line of 
 willows that fringed the banks of the stream, and 
 holding an open newspaper in his hand as I entered 
 and made my report. 
 
 " Have you heard the news ?" he asked me. " Schuy- 
 ler has gone to join General Crook as aide-de-camp. 
 Got a telegram from him just after you left on this 
 scout, and started last night. It's my belief that 
 Crook will have a big campaign, and that we'll be 
 sent for.'* 
 
 Ten minutes after, as the trumpets rang out the 
 "retreat," and the last echoes of the evening gun 
 died away over the rolling prairie, we noted a horse- 
 man coming at rapid gait along the dusty road from 
 Hays City, as the railway station was hopefully 
 
6 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 named. He disappeared among the foliage in the 
 creek bottom. The soft hush of twilight fell upon 
 the garrison, the band had gone away to supper, the 
 bevy of sweet-faced girls with their tireless escorts 
 had gathered with a number of officers and ladies in 
 front of the general's quarters, where he and I were 
 still in conversation, when the horseman, a messenger 
 from the telegraph office, reappeared in our midst. 
 " Despatch for you, general ; thought you'd better 
 have it at once," was all he said, as he handed it to 
 "the chief," and, remounting, cantered away. 
 
 Carr opened the ugly brown envelope and took 
 out, not one, but three sheets of despatch paper, close- 
 ly written, and began to read. Looking around upon 
 the assembled party, I noticed that conversation had 
 ceased and a dozen pair of eyes were eagerly scruti- 
 nizing the face of the commanding officer. Anxious 
 hearts were beating among those young wives and 
 mothers, and the sweet girl-faces had paled a little in 
 sympathy with the dread that shone all too plainly in 
 the eyes of those who but so recently had undergone 
 long and painful separation from soldier husbands. 
 The general is a sphinx ; he gives no sign. Slowly 
 and carefully he reads the three pages ; then goes 
 back and begins over again. At last, slowly, thought- 
 fully he folds it, replaces the fateful despatch in its 
 envelope, and looks up expectant of question. His 
 officers, restrained by discipline, endeavor to appear 
 unconcerned, and say nothing. The ladies, either from 
 dread of the tidings or awe of him, look volumes, but 
 are silent. Human nature asserts itself, however, and 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 7 
 
 the man and the commander turns to me with, " Well, 
 what did I tell you ?" And so we got our orders for 
 the Sioux campaign of 1876. 
 
 To the officers, of course, it was an old story. There 
 was not one of our number who had not seen hard 
 campaigning and sharp Indian fighting before. But 
 could we have had our choice, we would have prefer- 
 red some less abrupt announcement. Hardly a word 
 was spoken as the group broke up and the ladies 
 sought their respective homes, but the bowed heads 
 and hidden faces of many betrayed the force of the 
 blow. 
 
 The officers remained with General Carr to receive 
 his instructions. There was no time to lose, and the 
 note of preparation sounded on the spot. General 
 Sheridan's orders directed four companies from Fort 
 Hays to proceed at once to Cheyenne by rail, and 
 there await the coming of the more distant companies 
 eight in all, to go on this, the first alarm. 
 
 Companies "A," B," "D," and "K" were desig- 
 nated to go ; " E " to stay and " take care of the shop." 
 Those to go were commanded by married officers, each 
 of whom had to leave wife and family in garrison. " E " 
 had a bachelor captain, and a lieutenant whose better 
 half was away in the East, so the ladies of the regiment 
 were ready to mob the general for his selection ; but 
 there was wisdom in it. In ten minutes the news was 
 all over the post. A wild Celtic " Hurray, fellows, 
 we're going for to join Crook," was heard in the bar- 
 racks, answered by shouts of approval and delight 
 from every Paddy in the command. Ours is a mixed 
 
8 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 array of nationalities Mulligan and Meiswinkel, Cra- 
 paud and John Bull, stand shoulder to shoulder with 
 Yanks from every portion of the country. In four 
 regiments only is exclusiveness as to race permitted 
 by law. Only darkies can join their ranks. Other- 
 wise, there is a promiscuous arrangement which, oddly 
 enough, has many a recommendation. They balance 
 one another as it were the phlegmatic Teuton and 
 the fiery Celt, mercurial Gaul and stolid Anglo-Saxon. 
 Dashed and strongly tinctured with the clear-headed 
 individuality of the American, they make up a com- 
 pany which for personnel is admirably adapted to the 
 wants of our democratic service. The company of 
 the Fifth Cavalry most strongly flavored with Irish 
 element in the ranks was commanded by Captain 
 Emil Adam, an old German soldier, whose broken 
 English on drill was the delight of his men. "The 
 representative Paddy," as he calls himself, Captain 
 Nick Nolan, of the Tenth Cavalry, has an Ethiopian 
 lieutenant (a West-Pointer) and sixty of the very best 
 darkies that ever stole chickens. But wherever you 
 meet them, the first to hurray at the chance of a fight 
 is the Pat, and no matter how gloomy or dismal the 
 campaign, if there be any fun to be extracted from 
 its incidents, he is the man to find it. 
 
 And so our Irishmen gave vent to their joy, and 
 with whistling and singing the men stowed away 
 their helmets and full-dress uniforms, their hand- 
 some belts and equipments, and lovingly reproduced 
 the old Arizona slouch hats and "thimble belts," and 
 the next evening our Fort Hays command, in two 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 special trains, was speeding westward as fast as the 
 Kansas Pacific could cany us. The snow-capped 
 peaks of the Rockies hove in sight next day, and 
 Denver turned out in full force to see us go through. 
 At evening on the 7th, we were camping on the 
 broad prairie near Cheyenne. Here Major Upham 
 joined us with Company "I." A week after we were off 
 for Laramie. On the 22d, our companies were ordered 
 straight to the north to find the crossing of the 
 broad Indian trail from the Red Cloud and Spot- 
 ted Tail reservations, by which hundreds of Indians 
 were known to be going to the support of Sitting 
 Bull and Crazy Horse. 
 
 We were to hide in the valley of the South Chey- 
 enne, near the base of the Black Hills, and cut off the 
 Indian supplies. Buffalo Bill had joined us, his old 
 comrades of the Sioux war of 1868-69 ; and though 
 we feared the Indians would be quick to detect our 
 presence, and select others of a dozen routes to the 
 Powder River country, we hoped to be able to nab 
 a few. 
 
 On the 24th, we had begun our march at 6 A.M. from 
 the Cardinal's Chair, at the head of the Niobrara, and 
 before noon had descended into the valley of " Old 
 Woman's Fork," of the South Cheyenne. We had 
 with us two half-breed Sioux scouts and an Indian 
 boy, " Little Bat," who had long been employed by 
 the Fort Laramie officers as a reliable guide. Camp- 
 ing at noon along the stream, I was approached by 
 Major Stanton, who had joined our column under in- 
 structions from General Sheridan, and informed that 
 
10 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 he was going to push ahead of the column at once, 
 as the scouts reported recent Indian signs. It was 
 necessary, he said, that, he should get to the Chey- 
 enne as quickly as possible, and he wanted me to go 
 as commander of the escort. In half an hour we were 
 in saddle again, Major Stanton with his blunderbuss 
 of a rifle, " Little Bat " in his semi - civilized garb, 
 Lieutenant Keyes with forty men of Company " C," and 
 myself. The general detained me a moment to con- 
 vey some earnest instructions, and to post me on cer- 
 tain points in Sioux warfare which experience with 
 Apaches was supposed to have dulled, and, with the 
 promise, " I'll follow on your trail to-morrow," waved 
 his hand, and in two minutes we were out of sight 
 down the winding valley. 
 
 Three P.M. is early on a long June day. We rode 
 swiftly, steadily, but cautiously northward ; the val- 
 ley widened out to east and west ; we made numerous 
 cut-offs among the bends of the stream, crossing low 
 ridges, at each one of which Bat, well to the front, 
 would creep to the top, keenly scrutinize all the country 
 around, and signal " come on." At 5 o'clock he sud- 
 denly halted and threw himself from his horse, and I 
 cantered forward to see what was up. We had struck 
 our first trail of the campaign, and the yielding soil was 
 thick with pony tracks. Coming from the east, the 
 direction of the reservation, they led straight down the 
 valley, and we followed. Every now and then other 
 tracks from the east joined those we were on, and 
 though at least four or five days old, they were of in- 
 terest. Half an hour before sunset, far off among 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 11 
 
 the hills to the northeast, a thin column of smoke 
 shot up into the clear sky. Ten minutes more another 
 rose in the west. They were Sioux signals, and we 
 were discovered. But the country was open all 
 around us ; not a tree except the cottonwoods along 
 the narrow stream-bed, no fear of ambuscade, and we 
 must not halt until within sight of the Cheyenne val- 
 ley ; so on we go. Just at twilight, Bat, five hun- 
 dred yards in front, circles his horse rapidly to the 
 left, and again I join him. It is the recent trail of a 
 war -party of Sioux, crossing the valley, and disap- 
 pearing among the low hills to the northwest. They 
 number fifty warriors, and those whose tracks we 
 have been following took the same direction the 
 short cut towards the Big Horn mountains. Our 
 march is very cautious now advance, flankers, and 
 rear guard of old, tried soldiers, well out ; but on we 
 jog through the gathering darkness, and at nine P.M., as 
 we ride over a ridge, Bat points out to me a long, low 
 line of deeper shade, winding six or seven miles away 
 in the moonlight. It is the timber along the Chey- 
 enne, and now we may hunt for water and give our 
 tired horses rest and grass. The valley is broad ; 
 the water lies only in scanty pools among the rocks 
 in the stream-bed. There has been no rain for a 
 month, and there is not a blade of grass nearer than 
 the bluffs, a mile away. Our horses drink eagerly, 
 and then in silence we fill our canteens and move off 
 towards the hills. Here I find a basin about two hun- 
 dred yards in diameter, in which we " half lariat " and 
 hobble our horses ; dig holes in the ground, wherein, 
 
12 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 with sage brush for fuel, we build little fires and boil 
 our coffee, while Keyes and I take a dozen of our 
 men and post them around our bivouac at points com- 
 manding every approach. No Indian can reach us 
 unseen through that moonlight. ISTo Indian cares to 
 attack at night, unless he has a " sure thing ;" and 
 though from five different points we catch the blaze 
 of signal fires, we defy surprise, and with ready car- 
 bine by our side we eat our crisp bacon, sip the wel- 
 come tin of steaming coffee, then light our pipes and 
 chat softly in the cool night air. Little we dream that 
 two hundred miles away Ouster is making his night 
 ride to death. Our supports are only twenty-five miles 
 away. We dread no attack in such force that we can- 
 not "stand off" until Carr can reach us, and, as I 
 make my rounds among the sentinels to see that all 
 are vigilant, the words of the Light Cavalryman's 
 song are sounding in my ears : 
 
 " The ring of a bridle, the stamp of a hoof, 
 
 Stars above and the wind in the tree ; 
 A bush for a billet, a rock for a roof, 
 
 Outpost duty's the duty for me. 
 Listen ! A stir in the valley below 
 
 The valley below is with riflemen crammed, 
 Cov'ring the column and watching the foe ; 
 
 Trumpet-Major ! Sound and be d ." 
 
 Bang ! There's a shot from below, and the biv- 
 ouac springs to life. 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE TRAIL AND THE CHASE. 
 
 A SHOT in the dead of night from an outpost in 
 the heart of the Indian country is something that 
 soon ceases to be either exciting or of great interest, 
 but the first that is heard on the campaign makes the 
 pulses bound. Men sprang to their feet, horses 
 pawed and snorted, and the sergeant of the guard 
 and myself made rapid time to the point from which 
 the alarm had come. There was the sentinel alone, 
 unharmed, but perturbed in spirit. To the question, 
 somewhat sternly put, " Who fired that shot ?" he re- 
 plies, with evident chagrin, "I did, sir ; somethin' was 
 crawlin' right up that holler, an' I challenged an' he 
 didn't answer, an' I fired ; but danged if I know what 
 it was." Before there is time to say a word of re- 
 buke, plainly enough in the bright moonlight some- 
 thing does come crawling up out of a " hollow " two 
 hundred yards away something of a yellow or red- 
 dish brown, on four legs, with a long, smooth, sneak- 
 ing shamble that carries the quadruped rapidly over 
 the ground, then changes to an ungainly lope, which 
 takes him to a safe distance in six seconds ; and there 
 the creature turns, squats on his haunches, and coolly 
 surveys us. Turning away in silent indignation, as I 
 
14 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 
 
 get almost out of earshot it is some comfort to hear 
 the sergeant's pithy commentary, " Ye wall-eyed gut- 
 ter-snipe, your grandmother would ha' known that was 
 nothin' but a cayote." 
 
 Then follows the inevitable volley of chaff with 
 which the Paddy greets every blunder on the part of 
 his fellow-soldiers, and for a few minutes the silent 
 bivouac is rollicking with fun. That some recent at- 
 tempt has been made to instruct the troopers of Com- 
 pany " C " in the finesse of sentry duty is apparent 
 from the shouted query, "Hi, Sullivan, if it was two 
 cayotes would you advance the saynior or the junior 
 wid the countersign ?" at which there is a roar, and 
 Lieutenant Keyes visibly blushes. In half an hour 
 all is quiet again. Officers and men, we watch turn 
 and turn about during the night, undisturbed, save at 
 3 o'clock the outlying sentries report that they dis- 
 tinctly heard the rapid beat of many hoofs dying 
 away towards the west. 
 
 We are astir at the first gray of dawn, rolling our 
 blankets and promptly saddling, for we must ride 
 well down the Cheyenne and find the Mini Pusa, the 
 dry north fork, before breakfast can be attended to. 
 No stirring trumpet marks our reveille. We mount 
 in silence, and like shadowy spectres ride away north- 
 ward in the broadening valley. The stars are not yet 
 paling in the west, but Bat's quick eye detects fresh 
 hoof-prints not two hours old in the springy soil of the 
 hillside, half a mile out from camp. Sure enough. 
 They had prowled around us during the night, long- 
 ing for our scalps, but not daring to attack. Only a 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 15 
 
 few venturesome spies had galloped down to take 
 observations, and had then ridden away to join their 
 brothers in arms, and plot our destruction. We 
 laughed as we shook our bridle-reins and jogged 
 along, thinking how confounded they would be 
 when they caught sight of our main body, who, 
 with General Can* at their head, would be along by 
 noon. A six - mile ride brought us into the belt of 
 cottonwoods and willows along the bed of the 
 stream, but the South Cheyenne had sunk out of 
 sight. Broad reaches of streaked and rippled sand 
 wound through the timber, clearly showing where, 
 earlier in the season, a rapid, sweeping torrent had 
 borne great logs and heaps of brushwood upon its 
 tawny breast ; but it had dwindled away to nothing, 
 and our thirsty horses looked reproachfully at their 
 masters as, dismounting, we ploughed up the yield- 
 ing sand, in hopes of finding the needed water be- 
 neath. This is one of the dismal peculiarities of the 
 streams of the Far West. On the 1st of May we 
 would have found that valley barely fordable ; on 
 the 25th of June it was as dry as a bone. 
 
 Mounting again, and scattering through the timber 
 "down stream," a shout from Major Stanton had the 
 effect of the trumpet rally on skirmish drill. 
 
 Our party came together with eager haste, and 
 found him under a steep bank, shaded by willows, his 
 horse fetlock deep in what remained of a once deep 
 pool ; and two or three at a time our chargers slaked 
 their thirst. It was poor water warm, soapy, alka- 
 line but better than none at all. 
 
16 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 Just before noon we were clambering up the hills 
 on the northeast of the Mini Pusa. Our orders were 
 to proceed with the utmost caution on nearing the 
 trail. General Sheridan had clearly indicated that it 
 must cross the valley of the South Cheyenne some 
 distance west of the Beaver, and very near its conflu- 
 ence with the Mini Pusa. Stanton and I, with our 
 field - glasses in hand, were toiling up through the 
 yielding, sandy soil with Little Bat ; Lieutenant Keyes 
 and the escort, leading their horses, following. Once 
 at the top of the ridge we felt sure of seeing the 
 country to the eastward, and hardly had Bat reached 
 the crest and peered cautiously over than he made a 
 quick gesture which called the major and myself to 
 his side. He pointed to the southeast, and, sweeping 
 our glasses in that direction, we plainly saw the broad, 
 beaten track. It looked like a great highway, de- 
 serted and silent, and it led from the thick timber in 
 the Cheyenne valley straight to the southeast up the 
 distant slope, and disappeared over the dim, misty 
 range of hills in the direction of the Red Cloud and 
 Spotted Tail reservations. 
 
 General Sheridan was right. Sitting in his distant 
 office in Chicago, he was so thoroughly informed that 
 he could order out his cavalry to search through a re- 
 gion hitherto known only to the Sioux, and tell them 
 just where they would find the highway by which the 
 vast hordes of hostiles under Sitting Bull were receiv- 
 ing daily reinforcements and welcome supplies of am- 
 munition from the agencies three and four hundred 
 miles to the southeast. 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 17 
 
 This was the traffic which General Carr and the 
 Fifth Cavalry were ordered to break up ; and here, 
 just at noon, our little band of three officers and 
 forty men, far in the advance, had struck the trail, 
 as General Sheridan predicted. Keeping horses and 
 men well under cover, we crept to a farther ridge, 
 and from there our glasses commanded a grand sweep 
 of country : the valley of the South Cheyenne for fifty 
 miles to the southeastward, until the stream itself was 
 lost in the tortuous canon of the Southern Black 
 Hills ; the great, towering range of the Black Hills 
 themselves forty miles to the eastward, and the lone 
 peak far to the northeast that the Sioux called (pho- 
 netically spelling) Heengha Kahga. The earliest maps 
 simplified that into " Inyan Kara," and now the school- 
 children of Dead wood talk glibly of the big hill that, 
 higher than Harney's or Caster's Peak, their geogra- 
 phy terms the "Indian Carry." Why can't we keep 
 the original names ?" 
 
 Once thoroughly satisfied of our proximity to the 
 trail, Major Stanton directed the escort to retrace its 
 steps to the thick timber along the Mini Pusa, where 
 it would be out of sight, while he and I, with our pow- 
 erful binoculars, kept watch upon the Indian high- 
 way. The afternoon was hot and cloudless ; not a 
 breath of air stirred the clumps of sage-bush, the 
 only vegetation along the bluffs and slopes. The at- 
 mosphere was dazzlingly clear, and objects were visi- 
 ble to us through our glasses that we knew to be miles 
 away. The signal smokes to the west, and our front 
 of the day before, had disappeared ; not a living thing 
 
18 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 was in sight. Our men and horses were hidden among 
 the dense cottonwoods a mile behind us, but, though 
 invisible to us, we well knew that trusty eyes were 
 keeping watch for the first signal from the hill- 
 side. 
 
 Three four o'clock came, and not a soul had ap- 
 peared upon the Indian trail. Away over the inter- 
 vening ridge to the rear we could see the valley of 
 Old Woman's Fork, down which we had come the 
 day previous, and our glasses detected, by an hour 
 after noon, clouds of dust rising high in air, harbingers 
 of the march of General Carr and the main body. At 
 last the major closed his glasses with a disgusted snap 
 and the remark, "I don't believe there's an Indian 
 stirring to-day." 
 
 Not in our sight not within our hearing, perhaps. 
 The blessed Sabbath stillness falls on all within our 
 ken ; our steeds are blinking, our men are drowsing 
 in the leafy shades below. Only the rising dust, miles 
 to the southward, reveals the coming of comrade sol- 
 diery. Far to the northwest, a single dark speck, 
 floating against the blue of heaven, attracts the lin- 
 gering inspection of my field-glass. Eagle or buz- 
 zard, I do not know. The slow, circling, stately flight 
 in ascending spiral carries him beyond our vision, but 
 from his altitude the snow-capped peaks of the Big 
 Horn range are clearly visible, and on this still Sab- 
 bath afternoon those mighty peaks are looking down 
 upon a scene of carnage, strife, and slaughter that, a 
 week hence, told only by curt official despatches, will 
 thrill a continent with horror. Even as we watch 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 19 
 
 there on the slopes by the Mini Pusa, Stanton and I, 
 grumbling at our want of luck in not sighting an Ind- 
 ian, many a true and trusted comrade, many an old 
 cadet friend of boyish days, many a stalwart soldier 
 is biting the dust along the Little Horn, and the names 
 of Ouster and his men are dropping from the muster- 
 rolls. The heroes of a still mightier struggle, the vic- 
 tors of an immortal defence of national honor, are fall- 
 ing fast till all are gone, victims of a thankless warfare. 
 
 No wonder the Indians have no time to bother with 
 us. We bivouac in undisturbed serenity that night, 
 and join our regiment in the Cheyenne valley at noon 
 next day without so much as an adventure. That 
 night Company "I" is thrown forward to scout the 
 trail, while the regiment camps out of sight among 
 the cotton woods, and for the next week we keenly 
 watch the neighborhood, all the companies making 
 thorough scouts in each direction, but finding nothing 
 of consequence. Small parties of Indians are chased, 
 but easily escape, and there isn't a doubt that the 
 reservation Indians know of our whereabouts, and so 
 avoid us. 
 
 Late in the afternoon of July 1st, our new colonel, 
 Wesley Merritt, famous as a cavalry commander dur- 
 ing the War of the Rebellion, arrives and assumes the 
 reins of government, relieving General Carr, who falls 
 back to second in command. We are all agog to see 
 what will be our new chief's first move. He is fresh 
 from Sheridan's staff in Chicago, and is doubtless 
 primed with latest instructions and wishes of the lieu- 
 tenant-general. He is no stranger to us, nor we to 
 
20 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 him, and his first move is characteristic. At dawn of 
 day of the 2d, he marches us four miles down stream 
 to better grass and a point nearer the big trail ; sends 
 Montgomery with his grays to scout over towards 
 the Black Hills, and Hayes and Bishop with Com- 
 pany " G " to lie along the trail itself but no Indian 
 is sighted. 
 
 The sun is just rising on the morning of the 3d of 
 July when my captain, Mason, and I roll out of our 
 blankets and set about the very simple operations of 
 a soldier's campaign toilet. The men are grooming 
 their horses ; the tap of the curry-comb and the im- 
 patient pawing of hoofs is music in the clear, crisp, 
 bracing air. Our cook is just announcing breakfast, 
 and I am eagerly sniffing the aroma of coffee, when 
 General Merritt's orderly comes running through the 
 trees. " Colonel Mason, the general directs Com- 
 pany " K " to get out as quickly as possible Indians 
 coming up the valley!" "Saddle up, men ! lively 
 now !" is the order. We jump into boots and spurs, 
 whip the saddles from saplings and stumps, rattle the 
 bits between the teeth of our excited horses, sling 
 carbines over shoulder, poke. fresh cartridges into re- 
 volver chambers, look well to the broad horsehair 
 " cinches," or girths. The men lead into line, count 
 fours, mount, and then, without a moment's pause, 
 " Fours right, trot," is the order, and Mason and I 
 lead off at a spanking gait, winding through the tim- 
 ber and suddenly shooting out upon the broad, sandy 
 surface of the dry stream-bed. There the first man 
 we see is Buffalo Bill, who swings his hat. " This 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CEO OK. 21 
 
 way, colonel, this way," and away we go on his tracks. 
 "K" is a veteran company. Its soldiers are, with few 
 exceptions, on their second and third enlistments. Its 
 captain ranks all the line officers of the regiment, and 
 admirably commanded it during the war while the 
 field officers were doing duty as generals of volun- 
 teers. There is hardly a trace of nervousness even 
 among the newest comers, but this is the first chase of 
 the campaign for us, and all are eager and excited. 
 Horses in rear struggle to rush to the front, and as 
 we sputter out of the sand and strike the grassy slopes 
 beyond the timber belt all break into a lope. Two or 
 three scouts on a ridge five hundred yards ahead are 
 frantically signalling to us, and, bending to the left 
 again, we sweep around towards them, now at a gal- 
 lop. Mason sternly cautions some of the eager men 
 who are pressing close behind us, and, looking back, I 
 see Sergeant Stauffer's bronzed face lighting up with 
 a grin I used to mark in the old Apache campaigns 
 in Arizona, and the veteran " Kelly" riding, as usual, 
 all over his horse, but desperately bent on being ahead 
 when we reach the scene. Left hands firmly grasp 
 the already foaming reins, while throughout the col- 
 umn carbines are " advanced " in the other. 
 
 "Here comes Company 'I,' fellers," is the muttered 
 announcement from the left and rear, and, glancing 
 over my left shoulder, I see Kellogg with his bays and 
 Lieutenant Reilly swinging out along the slope to our 
 left. As we near the ridge and prepare to deploy, ex- 
 citement is subdued but intense Buffalo Bill plung- 
 ing along beside us on a strawberry roan, sixteen 
 
22 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 
 
 hands high, gets a trifle of a lead, but we go tearing 
 up the crest in a compact body, reach it, rein up, 
 amazed and disgusted not an Indian to be seen for 
 two miles across the intervening "swale." Away to 
 the left, towards the Cheyenne, scouts are again ex- 
 citedly beckoning, and we move rapidly towards them, 
 but slower now, for Mason will not abuse his horses 
 for a wild-goose chase. Ten minutes bring us thither. 
 Kellogg has joined forces with us, and the two com- 
 panies are trotting in parallel columns. Still no Indian ; 
 but the scouts are ahead down the valley, and we fol- 
 low for a brisk half-hour, and find ourselves plunging 
 through the timber ten miles east of camp. Another 
 hour and we are dashing along a high ridge parallel 
 with the Black Hills, and there, sure enough, are Ind- 
 ians, miles ahead, and streaking it for the Powder 
 River country as fast as their ponies can carry them. 
 We have galloped thirty miles in a big circle before 
 catching sight of our chase, and our horses are pant- 
 ing and wearied. Every now and then we pass pack- 
 saddles with fresh agency provisions, which they had 
 dropped in their haste. Once our scouts get near 
 enough to exchange a shot or two, but at last they 
 fairly beat us out of sight, and we head for home, 
 reach camp, disgusted and empty-handed, about four 
 P.M. Two " heavy weights " ( Colonel Leib's and 
 Lieutenant Reilly's) horses drop dead under them, 
 and the first pursuit of the Fifth is over. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE FIGHT ON THE WAR BONNET. 
 
 THE chase of July 3d, besides killing two and using 
 up a dozen horses, rendered our further presence in 
 the valley of the Cheyenne clearly useless. No more 
 Indians would be apt to come that way when they 
 had the undisturbed choice of several others. Gen- 
 eral Merritt was prompt to accept the situation, and 
 as prompt to act. Early the next morning, " K " and 
 " I," the two companies engaged in the dash of the 
 day before, took the direct back track up the valley 
 of Old Woman's Fork, guarding the chief and the 
 wagons. General Carr, with companies "B," "G," 
 and " M," marched eastward towards the Black Hills, 
 while Major Upham, with A," " C," and " D," struck 
 out northwestward up the valley of the Mini Pusa. 
 Both commands were ordered to make a wide detour, 
 scout the country for forty-eight hours, and rejoin 
 headquarters at the head of what was then called 
 Sage Creek. We of the centre column spent the glo- 
 rious Fourth in a dusty march, and followed it up on 
 the 5th with another. 
 
 On the 6th, a courier was sent in to Fort Laramie, 
 seventy miles away, while the regiment camped along 
 the stream to wait for orders. Towards ten o'clock 
 
24 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 on the following morning, while the camp was prin- 
 cipally occupied in fighting flies, a party of the junior 
 officers were returning from a refreshing bath in a 
 deep pool of the stream, when Buffalo Bill came hur- 
 riedly towards them from the general's tent. His hand- 
 some face wore a look of deep trouble, and he brought 
 us to a halt in stunned, awe-stricken silence with the 
 announcement, " Ouster and five companies of the 
 Seventh wiped out of existence. It's no rumor Gen- 
 eral Merritt's got the official despatch." 
 
 N~ow we knew that before another fortnight the 
 Fifth would be sent to reinforce General Crook on 
 the Big Horn. Any doubts as to whether a big cam- 
 paign was imminent were dispelled. Few words were 
 spoken the camp was stilled in soldierly mourning. 
 That night Lieutenant Hall rode in with later news 
 and letters. He had made the perilous trip from Lar- 
 amie alone, but confirmed the general impression that 
 we would be speedily ordered in to the line of the 
 North Platte, to march by w r ay of Fetterman to Crook's 
 support. On Wednesday, the 12th, our move began, 
 no orders having been received until the night before. 
 Just what we were to do, probably no one knew but 
 Merritt ; he didn't tell, and I never asked questions. 
 Evening found us camping near the Cardinal's Chair 
 at the head of the Niobrara, in a furious storm of 
 thunder, lightning, and rain, which lasted all night, 
 and, wet to the skin, we were glad enough to march 
 off at daybreak on the 13th, and still more glad to 
 camp again that evening under the lee of friendly 
 old Rawhide Peak. 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 25 
 
 We were now just one long day's march from 
 Fort Laramie, and confidently expected to make it 
 on the following day. At reveille on the 14th, how- 
 ever, a rumor ran through the camp that Merritt 
 had received despatches during the night indicating 
 that there was a grand outbreak among the Indians 
 at the reservation. Of course we knew that they 
 would be vastly excited and encouraged by the in- 
 telligence of the Ouster massacre. Furthermore, it 
 was well known that there were nearly a thousand 
 of the Cheyennes, the finest warriors and horsemen 
 of the plains, who as yet remained peaceably at the 
 Red Cloud or Spotted Tail Reservations along the 
 White River, but they were eager for a pretext on 
 which to "jump," and now they might be expected 
 to leave in a body at any moment and take to the 
 war-path. Our withdrawal from the Cheyenne River 
 left the favorite route again open, and the road to the 
 Black Hills was again traversed by trains of wagons 
 and large parties of whites on their way to the mines, 
 a sight too tempting for their covetous eyes. Major 
 Jordan, commanding the post of Camp Robinson, had 
 hurriedly described the situation in a despatch to 
 Merritt, and when " Boots and saddles " sounded, and 
 we rode into line, we saw the quartermaster guiding 
 his wagons back over the ridge we had crossed the 
 day before, and in a few minutes were following in 
 their tracks. Away to the east we marched that morn- 
 ing, and at noon were halted where the road connect- 
 ing Fort Laramie with the reservation crossed the 
 Rawhide Creek. Here Captain Adam with Company 
 
26 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 " C " left us and pushed forward to the Niobrara Cross- 
 ing, twenty-five miles nearer the Indian villages, while 
 the indefatigable Major Stanton, "our polemical pay- 
 master," was hurried off to Red Cloud, to look into 
 the situation. The rest of us waited further develop- 
 ments. 
 
 On Saturday, the 15th of July, just at noon, General 
 Merritt received the despatch from the Red Cloud 
 Agency which decided the subsequent movement of 
 his command. It led to his first "lightning march" 
 with his new regiment ; it impelled him to a move at 
 once bold and brilliant. It brought about an utter 
 rout and discomfiture among the would-be allies of 
 Sitting Bull, and, while it won him the commendation 
 of the lieutenant-general, it delayed us a week in 
 finally reaching Crook, and there was some implied 
 criticism in remarks afterwards made. 
 
 In a mere narrative article there is little scope for 
 argument. Merritt's information was from Major 
 Stanton, substantially to the effect that eight hundred 
 Cheyenne warriors would leave the reservation on 
 Sunday morning, fully equipped for the war-path, and 
 with the avowed intention of joining the hostiles in 
 the Big Horn country. To continue on his march to 
 Laramie, and let them go, would have been gross, if 
 not criminal, neglect. To follow by the direct road 
 to the reservation, sixty-five miles away, would have 
 been simply to drive them out and hasten their move. 
 Manifestly there was but one thing to be done : to 
 throw himself across their path and capture or drive 
 them back, and to do this he must, relatively speak- 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 27 
 
 ing, march over three sides of a square while they 
 were traversing the fourth, and must do it undiscov- 
 ered. 
 
 If Merritt hesitated ten minutes, his most intimate 
 associates, his staff, did not know it. Leaving a small 
 guard with the wagon train, and ordering Lieutenant 
 Hall to catch up with us at night, the general and 
 seven companies swing into saddle, and at one o'clock 
 are marching up the Rawhide, away from the reser- 
 vation, and with no apparent purpose of interfering 
 in any project, howsoever diabolical, that aboriginal 
 fancy can suggest. We halt a brief half-hour under 
 the Peak, fourteen miles away, water our thirsty horses 
 in the clear, running stream, then remount, and, fol- 
 lowing our chief, lead away northwestward. By five 
 P.M. we are heading square to the north ; at sunset 
 we are descending into the wide valley of the Nio- 
 brara, and just at ten P.M. we halt and unsaddle under 
 the tall buttes of the Running Water, close by our 
 old camp at Cardinal's Chair. Only thirty-five miles 
 by the way we came, but horses must eat to live, and 
 we have nothing but the buffalo grass to offer them. 
 We post strong guards and pickets to prevent sur- 
 prise, and scatter our horses well out over the hill- 
 sides to pick up all they can. Captain Hayes and I 
 are detailed as officers of the guard and pickets for 
 the night, and take ourselves off accordingly. At mid- 
 night, Lieutenant Hall arrives with his long wagon 
 train. At three A.M., in the starlight, Merritt arouses 
 his men; coffee and bacon are hurriedly served; the 
 horses get a good breakfast of oats from the wagons, 
 
28 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEO OK. 
 
 and at five A.M. we are climbing out of the valley to 
 the north. And now, Messieurs les Cheyennes, we'll 
 see who first will bivouac to-night upon the War Bon- 
 net. You are but twenty -eight miles from it; we 
 are fifty to the point where your great trail crosses 
 the little stream. The Sioux, in their picturesque no- 
 menclature, called it after the gorgeous headpiece of 
 bead-work, plume and eagles' feathers, they wear in 
 battle, the prized War Bonnet. The frontiersman, 
 scorning the poetic, considers that he has fittingly, 
 practically, anyway, translated it into Hat Creek, and 
 even for such a name as this, three insignificant creeks 
 within a few miles of one another claim precedence 
 and Indian and Horsehead creeks are placidly willing 
 to share it with them. 
 
 The sun rises over the broad lands of the Sioux to 
 the eastward as we leave the shadowy Niobrara be- 
 hind. Merritt's swift - stepping gray at the head of 
 the column keeps us on our mettle to save our dis- 
 tance, and the horses answer gamely to the pressing 
 knees of their riders. At 10.15 we sight the pali- 
 sade fortifications of the infantry company which 
 guards the spring at the head of old Sage Creek, and 
 Lieutenant Taylor eagerly welcomes us. Here, offi- 
 cers, men, and horses take a hurried but substantial 
 lunch. We open fresh boxes of ammunition, and 
 cram belts and pockets until every man is loaded 
 like a deep-sea diver, and fairly bristles with deadly 
 missiles. Then on we go. East -northeast over the 
 rolling, treeless prairie, and far to our right and rear 
 runs the high, rock -faced ridge that shuts out the 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 29 
 
 cold north winds from the reservation. The day is 
 hot ; we are following the Black Hills road, and the 
 dust rises in heavy clouds above us. But 'tis a 
 long, long way to the Indian crossing, and we must 
 be the first to reach it. At sunset a winding belt 
 of green in a distant depression marks the presence 
 of a stream. At eight r.M., silently under the stars, 
 we glide in among the timbers. At nine the seven com- 
 panies are unsaddled and in bivouac close under the 
 bluffs, where a little plateau, around which the creek 
 sweeps in almost complete circle, forms excellent 
 defensive lair, secure against surprise. We have 
 marched eighty -five miles in thirty -one hours, and 
 here we are, square in their front, ready and eager 
 to dispute with the Cheyennes their crossing on the 
 morrow. 
 
 No fires are lighted, except a few tiny blazes in 
 deep -dug holes, whence no betraying flame may 
 escape. Horses and men, we bivouac in a great cir- 
 cle along the steep banks of a sluggish stream. The 
 stars shine brightly overhead, but in the timber the 
 darkness is intense. Mason, my captain, and I are 
 just unstrapping our blankets and preparing for a 
 nap, when Lieutenant Forbush, then adjutant of the 
 regiment, stumbles over a fallen tree, and announces 
 that Company " K " is detailed for guard and picket. 
 I had " been on " all the night before with Captain 
 Hayes, and would gladly have had a sound sleep be- 
 fore the morrow's work ; but when Mason, after re- 
 porting for orders to General Merritt, comes back 
 and tells me that I am to have command of the out- 
 
30 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 posts to the southeast, the direction from which the 
 foe must come, there is compensation in the supposed 
 mistake in the roster. 
 
 We grope out in the darkness, and post our pick- 
 ets in hollows and depressions, where, should the biv- 
 ouac be approached over the distant ridges, they can 
 best observe objects against the sky. The men are 
 tired ; and, as they cannot walk post and keep awake, 
 the utmost vigilance is enjoined on non-commissioned 
 officers. Hour after hour I prowl around among the 
 sentries, giving prompt answer to the muffled chal- 
 lenge that greets me with unvarying watchfulness. 
 At one o'clock Colonel Mason and I, making the 
 rounds together, come suddenly upon a post down 
 among the willows next the stream, and are not 
 halted ; but we find the sentinel squatting under the 
 bank, only visible in the starlight, apparently dozing. 
 Stealing upon him from behind, I seize his carbine, 
 and the man springs to his feet. Mason sternly re- 
 bukes him for his negligence, and is disposed to or- 
 der him under guard ; but old Sergeant Schreiber, 
 who was never known to neglect a duty in his life, 
 declares that he and the sentry were in conversa- 
 tion, and watching together some object across the 
 stream not half a minute before we came upon them. 
 Everywhere else along our front we find the men 
 alert and watchful. At three o'clock the morning 
 grows chilly, and the yelping of the coyotes out over 
 the prairie is incessant. My orders are to call the 
 General at half -past three; and, making my way 
 through the slumbering groups, I find him rolled in 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 31 
 
 his blanket at the foot of a big cottonwood, sleeping 
 " with one eye open," for he is wide awake in an in- 
 stant, and I return to my outpost towards the south- 
 east. 
 
 Outlined against the southern sky is a high ridge, 
 some two miles away. It sweeps around from our 
 left front, where it is lost among the undulations of 
 the prairie. Square to the northeast, some twenty 
 miles distant, the southernmost masses of the Black 
 Hills are tumbled up in sharp relief against the dawn. 
 A faint blush is stealing along the Orient ; the ridge 
 line grows darker against the brightening sky ; stars 
 overhead are paling, and the boughs of the cotton woods 
 murmur soft response to the stir of the morning 
 breeze. Objects near at hand no longer baffle our 
 tired eyes, and the faces of my comrades of the 
 guard look drawn and wan in the cold light. We are 
 huddled along a slope which did well enough for night 
 watching ; but, as the lay of the land becomes more 
 distinct, we discern, four hundred yards farther out to 
 the southeast, a little conical mound rising from a 
 wave of prairie parallel to our front but shutting 
 off all sight of objects between it and the distant 
 range of heights, so I move my outpost quickly to 
 the new position, and there we find unobstructed 
 view. 
 
 To our rear is the line of bluffs that marks the tor- 
 tuous course of the stream, and the timber itself is 
 now becoming mistily visible in the morning light. 
 A faint wreath of fog creeps up from the stagnant 
 water where busy beavers have checked its flow, 
 
32 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 and from the southward not even an Indian eye 
 could tell that close under those bluffs seven compa- 
 nies of veteran cavalry are crouching, ready for a 
 spring. 
 
 Turning to the front again, I bring my glasses to 
 bear on the distant ridge, and sweep its face in search 
 of moving objects. Off to the right I can mark the 
 trail down which we came the night before, but not a 
 soul is stirring. At half-past four our horses, saddled 
 and bridled, are cropping the bunches of buffalo 
 grass in the " swale " behind us ; the four men of the 
 picket are lying among them, lariat in hand. Corpo- 
 ral Wilkinson and I, prone upon the hill- top, are ea- 
 gerly scanning the front, when he points quickly to 
 the now plainly lighted ridge, exclaiming : 
 
 " Look, lieutenant there are Indians !" 
 
 Another minute, and two miles away we sight an- 
 other group of five or six mounted warriors. In ten 
 minutes we have seen half a dozen different parties 
 popping up into plain sight, then rapidly scurrying 
 back out of view. At five o'clock they have ap- 
 peared all along our front for a distance of three 
 miles, but they do not approach nearer. Their move- 
 ments puzzle me. We do not believe they have seen 
 us. They make no attempt at concealment from our 
 side, but they keep peering over ridges towards the 
 west, and dodging behind slopes that hide them from 
 that direction. 
 
 General Merritt has been promptly notified of their 
 appearance, and at 5.15 he and General Carr and 
 two or three of the staff ride out under cover of our 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 33 
 
 position, and, dismounting, crawl up beside us and level 
 their glasses. 
 
 " What can they be after ? What are they watch- 
 ing?" is the question. The Black Hills road is off 
 there somewhere, but no travel is possible just now, 
 and all trains are warned back at Taylor's camp. At 
 half-past five the mystery is solved. Four miles away 
 to the southwest, to our right front, the white covers 
 of army wagons break upon our astonished view. It 
 must be our indefatigable Quartermaster Hall with 
 our train, and he has been marching all night to reach 
 us. He is guarded by two companies of stalwart in- 
 fantry, but they are invisible. He has stowed them 
 away in wagons, and is probably only afraid that the 
 Indians won't attack him. Wagon after wagon, the 
 white covers come gleaming into sight far over the 
 rolling prairie, and by this time the ridge is swarm- 
 ing with war -parties of Cheyennes. Here you are, 
 beggarly, treacherous rascals ; for years you have 
 eaten of our bread, lived on our bounty. You are 
 well fed, well cared for ; you, your pappooses and po- 
 nies are fat and independent ; but you have heard of 
 the grand revel in blood, scalps, and trophies of your 
 brethren, the Sioux. It is no fight of yours. You have 
 no grievance, but the love of rapine and warfare is 
 the ruling passion, and you must take a hand against 
 the Great Father, whom your treaty binds you to 
 obey and honor. And now you have stuffed your wal- 
 lets with his rations, your pouches with heavy loads 
 of his best metallic cartridges, all too confidingly sup- 
 plied you by peace-loving agents, who (for a consid- 
 3 
 
34 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEO OK. 
 
 eration) wouldn't suspect you of warlike designs for 
 any consideration. You are only a day's march from 
 the reservation ; and here, you think, are your first 
 rich victims a big train going to the Black Hills un- 
 guarded. No wonder you circle your swift ponies to 
 the left in eager signals to your belated brethren to 
 come on, come on. In half ^an hour you'll have five 
 hundred here, and the fate of those teamsters and 
 that train is sealed. 
 
 " Have the men had coffee ?" asks General Merritt, 
 after a leisurely survey. "Yes, sir," is the adjutant's 
 report. " Then let them saddle up and close in mass 
 under the bluffs," is the order, and General Carr goes 
 off to execute it. 
 
 The little hill on which we are lying is steep, al- 
 most precipitous on its southern slope, washed away 
 apparently by the torrent that in the rainy season 
 must come tearing down the long ravine directly 
 ahead of us ; it leads down from the distant ridge 
 and sweeps past us to our right, where it is crossed 
 by the very trail on which we marched in, and along 
 which, three miles away, the wagon train is now ap- 
 proaching. The two come together like a V, and we 
 are at its point, while between them juts out a long 
 spur of hills. The trail cannot be seen from the ra- 
 vine, and vice versa, while we on our point see both. 
 At the head of the ravine, a mile and a half away, 
 a party of thirty or forty Indians are scurrying 
 about in eager and excited motion. "What in thun- 
 der are those vagabonds fooling about ?" says Buffalo 
 Bill, who has joined us with Tait and Chips, two of 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 35 
 
 his pet assistants. Even while we speculate the answer 
 is plain. Riding towards us, away ahead of the wagon 
 train, two soldiers come loping along the trail. They 
 bring despatches to the command, no doubt, and, know- 
 ing us to be down here in the bottom somewhere, have 
 started ahead to reach us. They see no Indians ; for 
 it is only from them and the train the wily foe is con- 
 cealed, and all unsuspicious of their danger they come 
 jauntily ahead. Now is the valiant red man's oppor- 
 tunity. Come on, Brothers Swift Bear, Two Bulls, 
 Bloody Hand ; come on, ten or a dozen of you, my 
 braves there are only two of the pale-faced dogs, 
 and they shall feel the red man's vengeance forthwith. 
 Come on, come on ! We'll dash down this ravine, a 
 dozen of us, and six to one we'll slay and scalp them 
 without danger to ourselves ; and a hundred to one 
 we will brag about it the rest of our natural lives. 
 Only a mile away come our couriers ; only a mile and 
 a half up the ravine a murderous party of Cheyennes 
 lash their excited ponies into eager gallop, and down 
 they come towards us. 
 
 " By Jove ! general," says Buffalo Bill, sliding 
 backwards down the hill, " now's our chance. Let our 
 party mount here out of sight, and we'll cut those fel- 
 lows off." 
 
 " Up with you, then !" is the answer. " Stay where 
 you are, King. Watch them till they are close un- 
 der you ; then give the word. Come down, every 
 other man of you !" 
 
 I am alone on the little mound. Glancing behind 
 me, I see Cody, Tait, and Chips, with five cavalry- 
 
36 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 men, eagerly bending forward in their saddles, grasp- 
 ing carbine and rifle, every eye bent upon me in 
 breathless silence, watching for the signal. Gen- 
 eral Merritt and Lieutenants Forbush and Pardee are 
 crouching below me. Sergeant Schreiber and Corpo- 
 ral Wilkinson, on all - fours, are half - way down the 
 northern slope. Not a horse or man of us visible to 
 the Indians. Only my hatless head and the double 
 field-glass peer over the grassy mound. Half a mile 
 away are our couriers, now rapidly approaching. 
 Now, my Indian friends, what of you ? Oh, what a 
 stirring picture you make as once more I fix my 
 glasses on you ! Here, nearly four years after, my 
 pulses bound as I recall the sight. Savage warfare 
 was never more beautiful than in you. On you come, 
 your swift, agile ponies springing down the winding 
 ravine, the rising sun gleaming on your trailing war 
 bonnets, on silver armlets, necklace, gorget ; on brill- 
 iant painted shield and beaded legging ; on naked 
 body and beardless face, stained most vivid vermil- 
 ion. On you come, lance and rifle, pennon and 
 feather glistening in the rare morning light, swaying 
 in the wild grace of your peerless horsemanship ; 
 nearer, till I mark the very ornament on your lead- 
 er's shield. And on, too, all unsuspecting, come your 
 helpless prey. I hold vengeance in my hand, but not 
 yet to let it go. Five seconds too soon, and you can 
 wheel about and escape us ; one second too late, and 
 my blue-coated couriers are dead men. On you come, 
 savage, hungry -eyed, merciless. Two miles behind 
 you are your scores of friends, eagerly, applaudingly 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 37 
 
 watching your exploit. But five hundred yards ahead 
 of you, coolly, vengefully awaiting you are your un- 
 seen foes, beating you at your own game, and you are 
 running slap into them. Nearer and nearer your 
 leader, a gorgeous - looking fellow, on a bounding 
 gray, signals "Close and follow." Three hundred 
 yards more, my buck, and (you fancy) your gleaming 
 knives will tear the scalps of our couriers. Twenty 
 seconds, and you will dash round that point with your 
 war-whoop ringing in their ears. Ha ! Lances, is it ? 
 You don't want your shots heard back at the train. 
 What will you think of ours ? All ready, general ?" 
 
 "All ready, King. Give the word when you 
 like." 
 
 " Not a man but myself knows how near they are. 
 Two hundred yards now, and I can hear the panting 
 of their wiry steeds. A hundred and fifty ! That's 
 right close in, you beggars ! Ten seconds more and 
 you are on them ! A hundred and twenty-five yards 
 a hundred ninety 
 
 " Now, lads, in with you !" 
 
 Crash go the hoofs ! There's a rush, a wild, ring- 
 ing cheer ; then bang, bang, bang ! and in a cloud of 
 dust Cody and his men tumble in among them. Gen- 
 eral Merritt springs up to my side, Corporal Wilkin- 
 son to his. Cool as a cucumber, the Indian leader 
 reins in his pony in sweeping circle to the left, ducks 
 on his neck as Wilkinson's bullet whistles by his 
 head ; then under his pony, and his return shot 
 a zips" close by the general's cheek. Then comes 
 the cry, u Look to the front ; look, look !" and, swarm- 
 
38 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 ing down the ridge as far as we can see, come dozens 
 of Indian warriors at top speed to the rescue. " Send 
 up the first company !" is Merritt's order as he springs 
 into saddle, and, followed by his adjutant, rides off to 
 the left and front. I jump for my horse, and the 
 vagabond, excited by the shots and rush around us, 
 plunges at his lariat and breaks to the left. As I 
 catch him, I see Buffalo Bill closing on a superbly ac- 
 coutred warrior. It is the work of a minute ; the Ind- 
 ian has fired and missed. Cody's bullet tears through 
 the rider's leg, into his pony's heart, and they tumble 
 in confused heap on the prairie. The Cheyenne strug- 
 gles to his feet for another shot, but Cody's second 
 bullet crashes through his brain, and the young chief, 
 Yellow Hand, drops lifeless in his tracks. 
 
 Here comes my company, "K," trotting up from 
 the bluffs, Colonel Mason at their head, and I take my 
 place in front of my platoon, as, sweeping over the 
 ridge, the field lies before us. Directly in front, a 
 mile away, the redskins are rushing down to join their 
 comrades ; and their triumphant yells change to cries 
 of warning as Company " K's " blue line shoots up over 
 the divide. 
 
 "Drive them, Mason, but look out for the main 
 ridge," is the only order we hear ; and, without 
 a word, shout, or shot, "K" goes squarely at the 
 foe. They fire wildly, wheeling about and backing 
 off towards the hills ; but our men waste no shot, 
 and we speed up the slope, spreading out uncon- 
 sciously in open order to right and left. Their bul- 
 lets whistle harmlessly over our heads, and some of 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 39 
 
 our young men are eagerly looking for permission to 
 begin. Now the pursued have opened fire from both 
 our flanks, for we have spread them open in our rush ; 
 and, glancing over my shoulder, it is glorious to see 
 Montgomery's beautiful grays sweeping to our right 
 and rear, while Kellogg's men are coming " front into 
 line" at the gallop on our left. We gain the crest 
 only to find the Indians scattering like chaff before 
 us, utterly confounded at their unexpected encounter. 
 Then comes the pursuit a lively gallop over rolling 
 prairie, the Indians dropping blankets, rations, every- 
 thing weighty they could spare except their guns and 
 ammunition. Right and left, far and near, they scat- 
 ter into small bands, and go tearing homeward. Once 
 within the limits of the reservation they are safe, 
 and we strain every nerve to catch them ; but when 
 the sun is high in the heavens and noon has come, the 
 Cheyennes are back under the sheltering wing of 
 the Indian Bureau, and not one of them can we lay 
 hands on. 
 
 Baffled and astounded, for once in a lifetime beaten 
 at their own game, their project of joining Sitting 
 Bull nipped in the bud, they mourn the loss of three 
 of their best braves slain in sudden attack, and of all 
 their provender and supplies lost in hurried flight. 
 Weary enough we reach the agency building at seven 
 that evening, disappointed at having bagged no great- 
 er game ; but our chief is satisfied. Buffalo Bill is 
 radiant ; his are the honors of the day ; and the Fifth 
 generally goes to sleep on the ground, well content 
 with the affair on the War Bonnet. 
 
40 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE MARCH TO THE BIG HORN. 
 
 CHASING the Cheyennes from the War Bonnet and 
 Indian Creek to the reservation, our seven companies 
 had struck cross country, and until we neared the high 
 bluffs and ridges to the north of the agency, it was 
 not difficult for the wagons to follow us; but it was 
 generally predicted that Lieutenant Hall would never 
 be able to get his train over the ravines and "breaks" 
 which he would encounter on the 18th, and the com- 
 mand was congratulating itself on the prospect of a 
 day's rest at Red Cloud, when at noon, to our utter 
 astonishment, the wagons hove in sight. We had 
 fasted since our four-o'clock breakfast on the previous 
 morning were hungrily eying the Indian supplies 
 in their plethoric storehouses, and were just about ne- 
 gotiating with the infantry men of Camp Robinson 
 for the loan of rations and the wherewithal to cook 
 the same, when Hall rode in, nonchalant as usual, and 
 parked his train of supplies amid shouts of welcome. 
 General Merritt was unfeignedly glad to see his quar- 
 termaster ; he had received his orders to hasten in to 
 Fort Laramie and proceed to the reinforcement of 
 General Crook, and every moment was precious. We 
 were allowed just two hours to prepare and partake 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 41 
 
 of an ample dinner, pack our traps and store them in 
 the wagons again, when " Boots and saddles " was 
 echoed back from the white crags of Dancer's Hill 
 and Crow Butte, and at 2.30 we were winding up the 
 beautiful valley of the White River. Lieutenant 
 Hall was left with his train to give his teams and 
 teamsters a needed rest, and ordered to follow us at 
 early evening. 
 
 All the morning the reservation Indians had come 
 in flocks to have a look at the soldiers who had out- 
 witted them on the previous day. Arrapahoe and 
 Ogalalla, Minneconjou and Uncapapa, represented by 
 dozens of old chiefs and groups of curious and laugh- 
 ing squaws, hung about us for hours occasionally 
 asking questions and invariably professing a readiness 
 to accept any trifle we might feel disposed to part 
 with. To beg is the one thing of which an Indian 
 is never ashamed. In Arizona I have known a lot of 
 Apaches to hang around camp for an entire day, and 
 when they had coaxed us out of our last plug of to- 
 bacco, our only remaining match, and our old clothes, 
 instead of going home satisfied they would turn to 
 with reviving energy and beg for the things of all 
 others for which they had not the faintest use soap 
 and writing-paper. 
 
 In addition to all the " squaw men " and " blanket 
 Indians" at the reservation, there came to see us that 
 day quite a number of Cheyennes, our antagonists of 
 the day before. Shrouded in their dark-blue blankets 
 and washed clean of their lurid war-paint, they were 
 by no means imposing. One and all they wanted to 
 
42 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 sec Buffalo Bill, and wherever he moved they followed 
 him with awe-filled eyes. He wore the same dress in 
 which he had burst upon them in yesterday's fight, a 
 Mexican costume of black velvet, slashed with scar- 
 let and trimmed with silver buttons and lace one of 
 his theatrical garbs, in which he had done much exe- 
 cution before the footlights in the States, and which 
 now became of intensified value. Bill had carefully 
 preserved the beautiful war bonnet, shield and deco- 
 rations, as well as the arms of the young chieftain 
 Yellow Hand, whom he had slain in single combat, 
 and that winter ('76 and '77) was probably the most 
 profitable of his theatrical career. The incidents of 
 the fight of the 17th and the death of Yellow Hand 
 were dramatized for him, and presented one of the 
 most telling of the plays in which he starred all 
 over the East that season. He realized above all ex- 
 penses some $13,000 on that one alone, and I fancy 
 that some of your readers in.'iy have seen it. For a 
 time it was his custom to display the trophies of that 
 fight in some prominent show-window during the day, 
 and take them away only in time for the performance 
 at night. As an advertisement it drew largely in the 
 West, but when Bill reached the refinements of tho 
 Middle States and the culture of New England ho 
 encountered a storm of abuse from the press and the; 
 clergy which, while it induced him to withdraw "the 
 blood-stained trophies of his murderous and cowardly 
 deeds " from the show-windows, so stimulated public 
 curiosity as to materially augment his receipts. 
 
 It is in New England, the land of the Pequots and 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 43 
 
 the Iroquois, that the most violent partisans of the 
 peace policy are to be found to-day. There is method 
 in their cultured mania, for the farther removed the 
 citizen finds himself from the Indian the better he 
 likes him. Year after year, with the westward march 
 of civilization, the Indian has found himself, in the 
 poetic and allegorical language ascribed to him by 
 Cooper and others who never heard him use it, "thrust 
 farther towards the fiery bosom of the setting sun." 
 Each state in turn has elbowed him on towards the 
 Mississippi, and by the time the struggling aborigine 
 was at the safe distance of two or three states away, 
 was virtuously ready to preach fierce denunciation of 
 the people who simply did as it had done. It is 
 comical to-day to hear Mr. Conger, of Michigan, as- 
 sailing Mr. Belford, of Colorado, because the latter 
 considers it time for the Utes to move or become 
 amenable to the laws of the land ; and when we look 
 back and remember how the whole movement was in- 
 augurated by the Pilgrim Fathers, is it not edifying 
 to read the Bostonian tirades against the settlers the 
 pilgrims and pioneers of the Far West? 
 
 Our march to Laramie was without noteworthy in- 
 cident. We reached the North Platte on Friday af- 
 ternoon, July 21, spent Saturday in busy preparation, 
 and early Sunday morning, six o'clock, the trumpets 
 were sounding " the General," the universal army sig- 
 nal to strike your tent and march away. The white 
 canvas was folded into the wagons, and in a few mo- 
 ments more the column of horse was moving off on 
 the long - anticipated march to join General Crook. 
 
44 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 Captain Egan and Lieutenant Allison of the Second 
 Cavalry rode out from Laramie to wish us godspeed. 
 By eight the sun was scorching our backs and great 
 clouds of dust were rising under our horses' feet, and 
 Laramie was left behind. Many and many a weary 
 march, many a week of privation and suffering, many 
 a stirring scene were we to encounter before once 
 again the hospitable old frontier fort would open its 
 gates to receive us. At half-past two we camped along 
 the Platte at Bull Bend, and had a refreshing bath 
 in its rapid waters ; at four a violent storm of wind 
 and rain bore down upon us, and beat upon our can- 
 vas during the night, but morning broke all the bet- 
 ter for marching. A cold drizzle is far preferable 
 to thick dust. We sped along briskly to the "La 
 Bonte," and from there hastened on to Fetterman, 
 where the main command arrived at noon on the 25th, 
 the wagons and rear guard, of which I was in charge, 
 coming in two hours later, fording the Platte at once, 
 and moving into camp some distance up stream. 
 
 Fetterman was crowded with wagon trains, new 
 horses, recruits, and officers, all waiting to go forward 
 to General Crook, north of the Big Horn, and with 
 the eight companies of the Fifth Cavalry as a nucleus, 
 General Merritt organized the array of " unattached " 
 into a disciplined force, brought chaos into prompt 
 subjection, and at eight A.M. on the 26th started the 
 whole mass on its northward march. Among those 
 to meet us here were our old Arizona comrades, Lieu- 
 tenants Rodgers and Eaton, who had hurried from 
 detached service to catch us, and there were some 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 45 
 
 comical features in the reunion. They had escaped 
 from Eastern cities but the week previous, had made 
 the journey by rail to Cheyenne and Medicine Bow, 
 and by stage or ambulance to Fetterman, were fresh 
 and trim and neat as though stepping out for parade. 
 We had been marching and scouting for six weeks 
 through scorching dust and alkali, and with untrim- 
 med beards and begrimed attire were unrecognizable. 
 Rodgers positively refused to believe in the identity 
 of a comrade whom he had met at a german at 
 Fort Hays, but forgot his scruples when he received 
 through that same officer the notification that he was 
 promoted to the command of Company "A," its cap- 
 tain having suddenly concluded to resign a short time 
 before. 
 
 Here, too, the future medical director of the expe- 
 dition, Dr. Clements, made his appearance, and joined 
 for the campaign, and two officers of the Fourth In- 
 fantry, whose companies were not included in General 
 Crook's field force, obtained authority to serve with 
 the Fifth Cavalry. And among those who cast their 
 lot with us as volunteers, there came a gallant sailor, a 
 lieutenant of our navy, who, having leave of absence 
 from his department after long sea service, came out 
 to spend a portion thereof in hunting on the Plains, 
 just as his cousin, Lieutenant Rodgers, was hastening 
 to join his regiment ; and Jack Tar became a cavalry 
 man, to serve for three months or the war, and it 
 wasn't a week before Mr. Hunter had won the regard 
 of every officer and man in the Fifth, and the brevet 
 of " Commodore," by which title he was universally 
 
46 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 
 
 hailed throughout the long and dreary campaign that 
 followed. 
 
 Two more companies of ours, " E " and " F," had 
 been ordered to join us also, but we were in a hurry, 
 and they followed by forced marches. On the night 
 of the 28th we were encamped in pitchy darkness in 
 a narrow valley at the head-waters of the North Fork 
 of the Mina Pusa. I was aroused from sleep by the 
 voice of Lieutenant Pardee, who was serving as an 
 aide-de-camp to General Merritt, and, rolling out of 
 my blankets, found the general and himself at our 
 tent. They asked if we had heard the distant sound 
 of cavalry trumpets. The general thought he had, 
 and we all went out beyond the post of the sentinels 
 upon the open prairie to listen. It was time for Cap- 
 tains Price and Payne to reach us with their compa- 
 nies, and the general thought that in the thick dark- 
 ness they had lost the trail and were signalling in 
 hopes of a reply, and so we pricked up our ears. The 
 silence was as dense as the darkness ; no sound came 
 from the slumbering camp; no light from the smoul- 
 dering fire ; suddenly there floated through the night 
 air, soft and clear, the faint notes of the cavalry trump- 
 et sounding " Officer's Call ;" another minute and it 
 was answered by our chief trumpeter, and, guided by 
 the calls, in half an. hour our comrades had joined us, 
 and ten companies of the Fifth Cavalry were camped 
 together for the first time in years. 
 
 From that night " Officer's Call " grew to be the 
 conventional signal by which we of the Fifth were 
 wont to herald our coming through the darkness or 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 47 
 
 distance to comrades who might be awaiting us. Last 
 September, when the Utes made their attack on Major 
 Thornburgh's command, your readers will doubtless 
 remember that after that gallant soldier's death the 
 command of the besieged battalion devolved upon 
 Captain Payne, of the Fifth Cavalry. He and his 
 company, who were the first to employ the signal, 
 have best reason to remember its subsequent value, 
 and I cannot do better than to repeat in his own 
 words, my classmate's description of the arrival of 
 General Merritt and the regiment after their famous 
 dash of two hundred miles to the rescue. Of his little 
 battalion of three companies, fifty were lying wound- 
 ed in the hurriedly constructed rifle-pits, he and his 
 surgeon were of the number, and for six days the Ind- 
 ians had poured in a pitiless fire whenever hand or 
 head became visible. Hoping for the speedy coming 
 of his colonel, Payne tells us : " While lying in the 
 trenches on the night of the 4th of October, this in- 
 cident came to mind. Believing it just possible for 
 General Merritt to reach us next morning, and know- 
 ing that, if possible, come he would, I directed one of 
 my trumpeters to be on the alert for the expected 
 signal. And so it was ; just as the first gray of the 
 dawn appeared, our listening ears caught the sound 
 of " Officer's Call " breaking the silence of the morn- 
 ing, and filling the valley with the sweetest music we 
 had ever heard. Joyously the reply rang out from 
 our corral, and the men rushing from the rifle-pits 
 made the welkin ring with their glad cheers." 
 
 First at the head-waters of the Mina Pusa, in July, 
 
48 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 '76 ; last in the valley of the Milk River. Next? Far 
 out in the canons of Colorado, utterly isolated from 
 the world, snowed in, living we don't know how, four 
 companies of the Fifth Cavalry are waiting at the 
 ruins of the White River Agency the result of all this 
 negotiation in Washington. Merritt with the other 
 companies, six in number, is wintering at Fort Rus- 
 sell, on the line of the Union Pacific. More than 
 probable is it that the earliest spring will find him a 
 second time making that two-hundred-mile march to 
 the Milk River, and once again the Rockies will echo 
 the stirring strains of " Officer's Call." 
 
 Saturday, the 29th of July, "76, broke like a morn- 
 ing in mid -Sahara. We marched in glaring sun, 
 through miles of dust, sage-brush, and alkali, and fol- 
 lowed it up on Sunday, the 30th, with just such an- 
 other ; no shade, no grass, no water fit to swallow. 
 We bivouacked along the Powder River, a curdling 
 stream the color of dirty chalk, and we gazed with 
 wistful, burning eyes at the grand peaks of the Big 
 Horn, mantled with glistening snow, only fifty miles 
 away. Monday was another day of heat, glare, and 
 dust, with that tantalizing glory of ice and snow 
 twenty miles nearer. That night the wind started in 
 from the west, and blew down from those very peaks, 
 fanning our fevered cheeks like blessed wavelets from 
 heaven, as indeed they were. We were gasping for 
 air on the banks of Crazy Woman's Fork, and would 
 have suffocated but for that glad relief. 
 
 Early next morning Merritt led us on again, march- 
 ing through a rolling country that became more and 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CEO OK. 49 
 
 more varied and interesting with every mile ; we were 
 edging in closer to the foot-hills of the mountains. 
 Several small herds of buffalo were sighted, and some 
 few officers and men were allowed to go with Cody 
 in chase. At one P.M. we halted on Clear Fork, a 
 beautiful running stream deserving of its name, fresh 
 from the snow peaks on our left ; had lunch and 
 rested until five, when once more we saddled up and 
 pushed ahead ; came suddenly upon "Lake De Smet, 
 wild and picturesque, lying like a mirror in a deep 
 basin of treeless banks, and in a beautiful open glade, 
 rich with abundant green grass and watered by a 
 clear, cold rivulet, we camped in the glorious starlight, 
 thanking Heaven we were out of the desert, and at 
 last along the storied range of the Big Horn. 
 
 Wednesday, August 2d, dawned bracing, clear, and 
 beautiful. The glorious sunshine beamed on lofty 
 crags and pine-covered heights close at our left hand, 
 peered into dark ravine and rocky gorge, sparkled 
 on the swift - flowing stream, and on innumerable 
 dew-drops over the glade. Men and horses awoke to 
 new life. A few miles ahead lay a lofty ridge, and 
 from that, said our guides, the valleys of the Tongue 
 and its branches, and the grand sweep of country tow- 
 ards the Rosebud on the north, and the Big Horn 
 River to the northwest, would be spread before us 
 like a map. Over that ridge, somewhere, lies Crook 
 with his force, expectant of our coming ; over that 
 ridge, beyond him, are or were ten thousand rene- 
 gades and hostile Indians, Sioux, and San Arcs, 
 Cheyennes of the North (it was the Southern Chey- 
 4 
 
50 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 
 
 ennes we whipped back on the War Bonnet), Minne- 
 conjous, Uncapapas (Sitting Bull's Own), Yankton- 
 nais, and Brules, all banded together in one grand 
 attempt to exterminate the white intruders. 
 
 How I envied the advance that day the first glimpse 
 over that divide ! But each company took its turn 
 at head of column ; and now that we were fairly in 
 among the fastnesses, where attack might be expect- 
 ed at any moment, two companies were daily de- 
 tailed to escort and guard the wagon train, and Com- 
 panies "A" and "K" were the unfortunates to-day. 
 It was mean duty. The road was not bad, but it wound 
 up and down, over crests and through deep ravines. 
 We had to dismount and lend a helping hand half the 
 time. At seven we passed the palisaded ruins of old 
 Fort Phil Kearney, abandoned by "Peace Commis- 
 sion" order in '68 ; and just beyond we halted and 
 silently surveyed the ridge on which Captains Fet- 
 terman and Brown, Lieutenant Grummond, and three 
 companies of soldiers were slowly slaughtered by Red 
 Cloud and his surrounding thousands in December, 
 J 66. We fancied the poor women and Children in 
 the fort, listening and looking on in dumb, helpless 
 horror; and then we thought of Custer and his com- 
 rades lying yet unburied only a few miles farther 
 across that uplifted barrier in our front, and then we 
 hurried on, eagerly praying that it might be our fort- 
 une to avenge some of those sacrificed lives ; toiled 
 up the long, long ascent, reached the lofty crest, and 
 halted again in sheer amaze. The whole landscape 
 to the north was black with smoke. East, as far as 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 51 
 
 the Cheetish (Wolf) Mountains ; west, as far as the 
 Little Horn, from every valley great masses of surg- 
 ing, billowy clouds rolled up to swell the pall that 
 overspread the northern sky and hung low upon the 
 dividing ridges towards the Yellowstone. Here and 
 there forked flames shot up through the heated veil, 
 and even at our distance we could almost hear their 
 roar and crackle. " Lo " had set the country afire to 
 baffle his pursuers, and, knowing of the coming of 
 Crook's reinforcements, was now, in all probability, 
 scattering over the continent. 
 
 At eleven we passed an abandoned outpost of earth- 
 works thrown up, probably, by a detached company 
 guarding the road. At two we overtook Merritt and 
 the eight companies resting along a cool, limpid 
 stream that gave promise of trout; and here we 
 camped for the night, and listened eagerly to the 
 news brought us by courier from General Crook. 
 Scouts were out hunting for the Indians, who had 
 withdrawn their masses from his immediate front, 
 and he was only waiting our coming to launch ,out in 
 pursuit. We sleep that night restless and impatient 
 of the delay morning comes all too slowly but at 
 four o'clock we are astir and on the move to meet 
 our brigadier, but couriers report him coming down 
 towards us along the main valley of the Tongue. We 
 unsaddle and wait till three in the afternoon, when 
 again "the General" sounds, and we march north- 
 wardly over the ridges towards the thick smoke. 
 "Crook is camping on Goose Creek," is the expla- 
 nation, and we are to join him there. At half- 
 
52 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 past five we catch glimpses of distant patrols and 
 herds of cavalry horses and quartermasters' mules 
 on the sloping side-hills. Presently horsemen come 
 cantering out to meet us. Gray -haired, handsome, 
 soldierly as ever, the first to hail us is our old Ari- 
 zona major, now Lieutenant - Colonel Royall, of the 
 Third Cavalry with him a group of his own and the 
 Second Cavalry officers. But we are still moved on- 
 ward. We descend a long spur of foot-hill ; plunge 
 through a rapid mountain torrent into dense timber 
 on the other side, still guided by our welcoming com- 
 rades ; ride with dripping flanks through willow and 
 cottonwood into brilliant light beyond. There white 
 tent and wagon - covers gleam in every direction ; 
 rough, bearded men are shouting greeting ; and just 
 ahead, on the trail, in worn shooting - jacket, slouch 
 felt hat, and soldier's boots, with ragged beard braided 
 and tied with tape, with twinkling eyes and half-shy, 
 embarrassed manner, stands our old Arizona friend 
 and chieftain, the hardworking soldier we have come 
 all these many miles to join, looking as natural as 
 when we last saw him in the spurs of the Sierras. 
 There is no mistaking the gladness of his welcome. 
 His face lights up with new light. He has a cordial 
 word with General Carr, who commands the leading 
 battalion ; then turns to me, and with a grasp of the 
 hand that fairly makes me wince, gives greeting for 
 which I'd make that march twice over. 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 53 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE ASSEMBLY OF THE B. H. AND Y. 
 
 FKIDAY, the 4th of August, 1876, was a busy day 
 in the camp of General Crook. He had been waiting 
 impatiently for the coming of the Fifth Cavalry, in 
 order that he might resume the offensive, and, to use 
 his own words, " finish the campaign in one crushing 
 blow." The tragic success of the Indians on the Lit- 
 tle Big Horn, of June 25th, resulting in the annihila- 
 tion of Custer and five companies of the Seventh Cav- 
 alry, compelled General Terry to fall back to the 
 Yellowstone, where he set about the reorganization of 
 his command ; and, safely intrenched in his supply 
 camp at the mouth of the Tongue River, he too had 
 been awaiting the arrival of reinforcements. Gen- 
 eral Miles, with his fine regiment, the Fifth Infantry, 
 was hurried up the Missouri from Fort Leavenworth, 
 and companies of the Twenty-second Infantry, from 
 the Lakes, also hastened to join him. They were 
 stemming the muddy current of the great river as 
 fast as the light-draft steamers could carry them, 
 while we were marching up from Fetterman to join 
 General Crook. 
 
 On the 4th of August, Terry's command, consisting 
 of the remnant of the Seventh Cavalry, one battalion 
 
54 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 of the Second Cavalry, the Fifth Infantry (Miles), 
 Seventh Infantry (Gibbon), a battalion of the Twenty- 
 second, and the Sixth Infantry garrison at Fort Bu- 
 ford, threatened the hostiles on the side of the Yel- 
 lowstone ; while General Crook, with the entire Third 
 Cavalry, ten companies of the Fifth, and four of the 
 Second Cavalry, and an admirable infantry command, 
 consisting of detachments from the Fourth, Ninth, 
 and Fourteenth regiments, was preparing to advance 
 upon them from the south. The two armies were 
 not more than one hundred and twenty -five miles 
 apart, yet communication between them was impos- 
 sible. The intervening country swarmed with war- 
 riors,, six to eight thousand in number, completely 
 armed, equipped, supplied, and perfectly mounted. 
 Crook had sallied forth and fought them on the 17th 
 of June, and found them altogether too strong and 
 dexterous, so he retired to Goose Creek once more ; 
 and here he lay on the 25th of June, when Custer was 
 making his attack and meeting his fate only fifty 
 miles away, and not a soul of our command had the 
 faintest idea of what was going on. 
 
 Warily watching the two commands, the Indians 
 lay uneasily between Crook and Terry. Noting the 
 approach of strong reinforcements to both, they pro- 
 ceeded to get their women and children out of the 
 way, sending them eastward across Terry's front, 
 and preparing to do likewise themselves when the 
 time came for them to start. On the 5th of August 
 the two armies moved towards each other. On the 
 10th they met ; and one of the most comical sights I 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 55 
 
 ever witnessed was this meeting, and one of the most 
 unanswerable questions ever asked was, " Why, where 
 on earth are the Indians ?" 
 
 However, August the, 4th was a day of busy prepa- 
 ration. At ten A.M. the regimental and battalion com- 
 manders met in council at General Crook's headquar- 
 ters, and by noon the result of their deliberations was 
 promulgated. From the reports of his scouts and al- 
 lies, General Crook had every reason to believe that 
 he would find the mass of Indians posted in strong 
 force somewhere among the bluffs and uplands of the 
 Rosebud, two days' march away to the north. He 
 had been unable to hear from General Terry or to 
 communicate with him. Lieutenant Sibley, of the 
 Second Cavalry, a young officer of great ability, and 
 universally conceded to be as full of cool courage as 
 any man could well be, had made a daring attempt to 
 slip through with thirty picked men ; but the Indians 
 detected him quick as a flash, and after a desperate 
 fight he managed to get back to the command with 
 most of his men, but with the loss of all his horses. 
 
 The organization of the command was announced 
 at one P.M. : General Crook to command in person, his 
 faithful aide-de-camp, Bourke, to act as adjutant- 
 general, while his staff consisted of Lieutenant Schuy- 
 ler, Fifth Cavalry, junior aide-de-camp ; Dr. B. A. 
 Clements, medical director, assisted by Drs. Hart- 
 suff and Patzki ; Major J. V. Furey, chief quarter- 
 master ; Captain J. W. Bubb, chief commissary ; 
 Major George M. Randall, chief of scouts and 
 Indian allies ; and the bloodthirsty paymaster, our 
 
56 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 
 
 old friend Major Stanton, was the general utility 
 man. 
 
 The cavalry was organized as a brigade, with Gen- 
 eral Merritt in command Lieutenants Forbush and 
 Hall, Fifth Cavalry, Pardee and Young, of the in- 
 fantry, serving as staff. General Carr took command 
 of the Fifth Cavalry, with myself as adjutant ; and 
 for the first time the promotions which had occurred 
 in the regiment consequent upon the death of Gen- 
 eral Custer were recognized in the assignments to 
 command. The commissions had not ) r et been re- 
 ceived from Washington, but all knew the advance- 
 ment had been made. So my old captain, now be- 
 come Major Mason, turned over Company " K " to its 
 new captain, Woodson, and was detailed to command 
 the Second Battalion of the Fifth Cavalry, consisting 
 of Companies "B," "D," "E," F," and "K," while 
 the First Battalion Companies "A," " C," " G," "I," 
 and "M" remained, as heretofore, under the leader- 
 ship of our fellow-citizen Major Upham. 
 
 The Third Cavalry was commanded by Lieutenant- 
 Colonel Royall, under whom also was the battalion of 
 the Second Cavalry. Consequently, it was his distin- 
 guished privilege to issue orders to four battalions, 
 while his senior officer and quondam commander, 
 Lieutenant - Colonel Carr (brevet major-general) had 
 only two. This was a source of much good-natured 
 raillery and mutual chaffing on the part of these 
 two veteran campaigners, and it was Royall's cease- 
 less delight to come over and talk to Carr about " my 
 brigade," and to patronizingly question him about 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 57 
 
 " your a detachment." In fact, I believe that Colo- 
 nel Royall so far considered his command a brigade 
 organization that his senior major, Colonel Evans, as- 
 sumed command of the Third Cavalry as well as his 
 own battalion ; but, as this was a matter outside of 
 my own sphere of duties, I cannot make an asser- 
 tion. 
 
 The infantry was a command to be proud of, and 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Alexander Chambers was the man 
 to appreciate it. Detachments from three fine regi- 
 ments gave him a full battalion of tough, wiry fel- 
 lows, who had footed it a thousand miles that sum- 
 mer, and we were all the better prepared to march two 
 thousand more. 
 
 With every expectation of finding our foes close at 
 hand, General Crook's orders were concise enough. 
 As given to me by General Carr, and recorded in my 
 note-book, I transcribe them here : "All tents, camp 
 equipage, bedding, and baggage, except articles here- 
 inafter specified, to be stored in the wagons, and 
 wagons turned over to care of chief quartermaster 
 by sunrise to-morrow. Each company to have their 
 coffee roasted and ground and turned over to the 
 chief commissary at sunset to-night. Wagons will be 
 left here at camp. A pack-train of mules will accom- 
 pany each battalion on the march, for the protection 
 of which the battalion will be held responsible. The 
 regiment will march at seven A.M. to-morrow, * prepared 
 for action,' and company commanders will see to it that 
 each man carries with him on his person one hundred 
 rounds carbine ammunition and four days' rations, 
 
58 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 
 
 overcoat and one blanket on the saddle. Fifty rounds 
 additional per man will be packed on mules. Four 
 extra horses, not to be packed, will be led with each 
 company. Curry-combs and brushes will be left in 
 wagons. Special instructions for action : All officers 
 and non-commissioned officers to take constant pains 
 to prevent wastage of ammunition." 
 
 That was all. From the general down to sub- 
 alterns the officers started with no more clothing 
 than they had on and the overcoat and blanket indi- 
 cated in that order. Many, indeed, officers and men, 
 thinking to be back in a week, left overcoats behind, 
 as superfluous in that bright August weather. When 
 I tell you it was ten weeks before we saw those wag- 
 ons again, meantime the weather having changed from 
 summer sun to mountain storm and sleet, and we hav- 
 ing tramped some eight hundred miles, you can fancy 
 what a stylish appearance the Fifth Cavalry indeed, 
 the whole expedition presented as it marched into 
 the Black Hills the following September. 
 
 Saturday morning, the 5th of August, broke clear 
 and cloudless, and at the very peep of day the hill- 
 sides re-echoed to the stirring music of our reveille. 
 Cavalry trumpet, soft and mellow, replied to the 
 deeper tone of the infantry bugle. We of the Fifth 
 tumbled up in prompt and cheery response to the 
 summons. Roll - call was quickly over. The horses 
 took their final grooming with coltish impatience, and 
 devoured their grain in blissful ignorance of the suffer- 
 ings in store for them. The officers gathered for the 
 last time in two months around their mess-chests and 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. . 59 
 
 thankfully partook of a bountiful breakfast. Then 
 "the General" rang out from cavalry headquarters ; 
 down fell the snowy canvas in every direction ; wagon 
 after wagon loaded up in the rapid style acquired only 
 in long campaigning, and trundled off to join the 
 quartermaster's corral. The long column of infan- 
 try crawled away northward over the divide; half a 
 dozen mounted scouts and rangers cantered away 
 upon their flanks ; the busy packers drove up their 
 herds of braying mules, lashed boxes of hard - tack 
 and sacks of bacon upon the snugly -fitting " appa- 
 rejo " the only pack-saddle that ever proved a com- 
 plete success and finally everything was ready for 
 the start. The bustling town of yesterday had dis- 
 appeared, and only long rows of saddles and bridles 
 disposed upon the turf in front of each company in- 
 dicated the regimental position. 
 
 At General Carr's headquarters, among the willows 
 close to the stream, a white flag, with a centre square 
 of red, is fluttering in the breeze. It is one of the signal 
 flags, but as the regimental standard had been left with 
 the band at Fort Hays, the general adopted this for the 
 double purpose of indicating his own position and of 
 conveying messages to the distant outposts. Yester- 
 day afternoon a group of our Indian allies, Crows and 
 Shoshones, surrounded that flag with wondering in- 
 terest from the moment of its first appearance. Ac- 
 customed to the use of signals themselves, they eagerly 
 watch any improvement upon their system, and, learn- 
 ing from Sergeant Center, our standard-bearer and 
 signal sergeant, that this was a "speaking flag," they 
 
60 . CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 hung around for hours to observe its operation. The 
 herds of the different companies were browsing on the 
 hillsides half a mile away, strong pickets being thrown 
 out in their front, and each herd guarded by a ser- 
 geant and party from its own company. So General 
 Carr, to give the Indians an idea of its use and at the 
 same time secure more room, directed the sergeant to 
 " Flag those Second Battalion herds to the other side of 
 that ravine." So Center signalled "Attention " to the 
 outposts, to which they waved " 22, 22, 22, 3," the sig- 
 nal for " All right, go ahead, we're ready," and then, 
 with the staring eyes of a score of swarthy warriors 
 following his every move, Center rapidly swung his 
 flag to form the message : " General Carr directs 
 herds Second Battalion cross ravine." Speedily the 
 grays of Company " B " and the four bay herds of 
 the other companies began the movement, were slow- 
 ly guided through the sorrels, blacks, and bays of 
 the First Battalion, and commenced the descent into 
 the ravine. One herd lagged a little behind, and the 
 general, gazing at them through his binocular, quickly 
 divined the cause. " Confound that herd guard ; tell 
 'em to take off those side-lines when they're moving, 
 if it's only a hundred yards." The message is sent as 
 given, the side-lines whipped off, the horses step freely 
 to their new grazing-ground, Crow and Shoshonee mut- 
 ter guttural approbation and say that flag is "heap 
 good medicine." 
 
 Hours afterwards they are hunting about camp for 
 old flour-sacks and the like, and several towels, spread 
 on the bushes at the bathing-place below camp to dry 
 in the sun, are missing. 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 61 
 
 Now, on this brilliant Saturday morning, as we wait 
 expectant of the signal " Boots and saddles," the cav- 
 alcade of our fierce allies comes spattering and plung- 
 ing through the stream. Grim old chieftains, with 
 knees hunched up on their ponies' withers, strapping 
 young bucks bedaubed in yellow paint and red, blan- 
 ketted and busy squaws scurrying around herding the 
 spare ponies, driving the pack animals, "toting" the 
 young, doing all the work in fact. We have hired 
 these hereditary enemies of the Sioux as our savage 
 auxiliaries, "regardless of expense," and now, as they 
 ride along the line, and our irrepressible Mulligans and 
 Flahertys swarm to the fore intent on losing no op- 
 portunity for fun and chaff, and the " big Indians " in 
 the lead come grinning and nodding salutations tow- 
 ards the group of officers at headquarters, a general 
 laugh breaks out, for nearly every warrior has deco- 
 rated himself with a miniature signal flag. Flutter- 
 ing at the end of his " coup " stick or stuck in his 
 headgear, a small square of white towelling or flour- 
 sack, with a centre daub of red paint, is displayed to 
 the breeze, and, under his new ensign, Mr. Lo rides 
 complacently along, convinced that he has entered 
 upon his campaign with " good medicine." 
 
 Half-past six. Still no signal to bring in the herds. 
 But Merritt, Carr, and Royall are born and bred cav- 
 alrymen, and well know the value of every mouthful 
 of the rich dew-laden grass before the march be- 
 gins. We are exchanging good-byes with the quar- 
 termasters and the unhappy creatures who are to re- 
 main behind, adding our closing messages to the letters 
 
62 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 we leave for dear ones in distant homes, when the 
 cheery notes ring out from brigade headquarters and 
 are taken up, repeated along the line by the regimental 
 trumpeters. Far out on the slopes our horses answer 
 with eager hoof and neigh; with springy steps the men 
 hasten out to bridle their steeds, and, vaulting on their 
 backs, ride in by companies to the line. The bustle of 
 saddling, the snap of buckle and whip of cinch, suc- 
 ceeds, then "Lead into line" is heard from the sergeant's 
 lips. Officers ride slowly along their commands, care- 
 fully scrutinizing each horse and man. Blanket, pon- 
 cho, overcoat, side-line, lariat, and picket-pin, canteen 
 and haversack, each has its appropriate place and must 
 be in no other. Each trooper in turn displays his 
 " thimble belt" and extra pocket package, to show that 
 he has the prescribed one hundred rounds. The adju- 
 tant, riding along the line, receives the report of each 
 captain and transfers it to his note-book. Away down 
 the valley we see the Second and Third already in mo- 
 tion, filing off around the bluffs. Then General Carr's 
 chief trumpeter raises his clarion to his lips. " Mount," 
 rings out upon the air, and with the sound twenty 
 officers and five hundred and fifteen men swing into 
 saddle. Ten minutes more and we are winding across 
 the divide towards Prairie Dog Creek on the east. 
 The Third and Second, a mile to our left, are marching 
 northeastward on the trail of the infantry. We fill 
 our lungs with deep draughts of the rare, bracing 
 mountain breeze, take a last glance at the grand crags 
 and buttresses of rock to the southward, then with 
 faces eagerly set towards the rolling smoke-wreaths 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 63 
 
 that mark the track of the savage foe in the valley of 
 the "Deje Agie," we close our columns, shake free our 
 bridle reins, and press steadily forward. " Our wild 
 campaign has begun." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE MEET ON THE ROSEBUD. 
 
 THAT General Crook's command, now designated as 
 the "Big Horn and Yellowstone Expedition," started 
 upon its campaign in the best possible spirits and under 
 favoring skies, no one who saw us that bright August 
 morning could have doubted. Unhappily, there was 
 no one to see, no one to cheer or applaud, and, once 
 having cut loose from our wagons and their guards, 
 there was not a soul to mark our progress, unless it 
 were some lurking scout in distant lair, who trusted to 
 his intimate knowledge of the country and to his pony's 
 fleetness to keep himself out of our clutches. Once 
 fairly in the valley of the Prairie Dog, we had a good 
 look at our array. The Fifth Cavalry in long column 
 were bringing up the rear on this our first day's march 
 from Goose Creek ; our packers and their lively little 
 mules jogging briskly along upon our right flank, while 
 the space between us and the rolling foot-hills on the left 
 was thickly covered with our Crow allies. The Sho- 
 shones were ahead somewhere, and we proceeded to 
 scrape acquaintance with these wild warriors of the 
 far northwest, whom we were now meeting for the first 
 time. Organized in 1855, our regiment had seen its 
 
64 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 first Indian service on the broad plains of Texas, and 
 was thoroughly well known among the Comanches, 
 Kiowas, and Lipans when the great war of the rebel- 
 lion broke out. In those days, with Sidney Johnston, 
 Robert E. Lee, Earl Van Dorn, Kirby Smith, Fitz 
 Hugh Lee, and a dozen others who became notorious 
 in the rebel army as its representative officers, our 
 regiment had been not inaptly styled "Jeff. Davis's 
 Own." But it outgrew the baleful title during the 
 war, and has lost almost every trace of its ante-bellum 
 personnel. Two of its most distinguished captains of 
 to-day Montgomery and "Jack" Hayes it is true 
 acquired their earliest military experience in its ranks 
 under those very officers. But, while they are all the 
 better as cavalrymen for that fact, they are none the 
 less determined in their loyalty, and both fought in 
 many a w T ild charge during the rebellion, defending 
 their flag against the very men who had taught them 
 the use of their sabres. In that stern baptism of blood 
 the Fifth became regenerate, and after stirring service 
 in the Army of the Potomac during the war, and 
 throughout the South during reconstruction days, the 
 regiment once more drifted out on the plains, was in- 
 troduced to the Cheyennes and Sioux in the winter of 
 1868-9, became very much at home among the Apaches 
 of Arizona from 1871 to 1875, and now we found our- 
 selves, after a long march across country from the 
 Pacific slope, scraping acquaintance with the redoubt- 
 able "Crows" of the Yellowstone valley, the life-long 
 enemies of the Sioux. 
 
 Riding " at ease," the men talk, laugh, and sing if 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 65 
 
 they want to. All that is required is that they shall 
 not lounge in the saddle, and that they keep accurately 
 their distance, and ride at a steady walk. The Crows 
 are scattered along the entire length of our left flank, 
 but a band of some fifteen or twenty chiefs and head- 
 men keep alongside the headquarters party at the front 
 of column. There rides General Carr with his adju- 
 tant, the surgeon, the non-commissioned staff, and order- 
 lies, and, of course, the standard-bearer, who, as previ- 
 ously explained, has a signal flag for this campaign, 
 and it is this which attracts the aborigine. 
 
 These Crows are fine-looking warriors, and fine horse- 
 men too; but to see them riding along at ease, their 
 ponies apparently gliding over the ground in their 
 quick, cat-like walk, their position in the saddle seems 
 neither graceful nor secure. This knot on our left is 
 full of the most favorable specimens, and they all ride 
 alike. Every man's blanket is so disposed that it cov- 
 ers him from the back of his head, folds across his 
 breast, leaving the arms free play in a manner only an 
 Indian can accomplish, and then is tucked in about his 
 thighs and knees so as to give him complete protec- 
 tion. One or two younger bucks have discarded their 
 blankets for the day, and ride about in dingy calico 
 shirts or old cavalry jackets. One or two also appear 
 in cavalry trousers instead of the native breech-clout 
 and legging. But the moment that Indian dismounts 
 you notice two points in which he is diametrically op- 
 posed to the customs of his white brother : first, that 
 he mounts and dismounts on the right (off) side of his 
 
 horse; second, that he carefully cuts out and throws 
 5 
 
66 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 away that portion of a pair of trousers which with us 
 is regarded as indispensable. He rides hunched up in 
 his saddle, with a stirrup so short that his knees are 
 way out to the front and bent in an acute angle. The 
 stirrup itself is something like the shoe of a lady's side- 
 saddle, and he thrusts his moccasined foot in full 
 length. He carries in his right hand a wooden handle 
 a foot long, to which three or four thongs of deer-skin 
 are attached, and with this scourge-like implement he 
 keeps up an incessant shower of light flaps upon his 
 pony's flank, rarely striking him heavily, and nothing 
 will convince him that under that system the pony 
 will not cover more miles in a day at a walk or lope 
 than any horse in America. His horse equipments 
 are of the most primitive description a light wooden 
 frame-work or tree, with high, narrow pommel and can- 
 tie, much shorter in the seat than ours, the whole cov- 
 ered with hide, stitched with thongs and fastened on 
 with a horsehair girth, constitute his saddle. Any old 
 piece of blanket or coffee-sack answers for saddle cloth, 
 and his bridle is the simplest thing in the world, a single 
 head-piece,a light snaffle bit, and a rein, sometimes gayly 
 ornamented, completes the arrangement. But at full 
 speed the worst horseman among them will dash up 
 hill or down, through tortuous and rocky stream-beds, 
 everywhere that a goat would go, and he looks upon 
 our boldest rider as a poor specimen. 
 
 The Crows are affably disposed to-day, and we have 
 no especial difficulty in fraternizing. Plug tobacco 
 will go a long way as a medium of introduction any- 
 where west of the Missouri, and if you give one Indian 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 67 
 
 a piece as big as a postage-stamp, the whole tribe will 
 come in to claim acquaintance. A very pretty tobacco- 
 pouch of Sioux manufacture which hung always at the 
 pommel of my saddle, and the heavily beaded buckskin 
 riding-breeches which I wore, seemed to attract their 
 notice, and one of them finally managed to commu- 
 nicate through a half-breed interpreter a query as to 
 whether I had killed the Sioux chief who had owned 
 them. Finding that I had never killed a Sioux in my 
 life, the disdainful warrior dropped me as no longer 
 a desirable acquaintance ; and even the fact that the 
 breeches were a valuable present from no less a hero 
 than Buffalo Bill failed to make a favorable impres- 
 sion. Following him were a pair of bright-looking 
 young squaws whose sole occupation in life seemed 
 to consist in ministering to the various wants of 
 his sulky chief ship. Riding astride, just as the men 
 do, these ladies were equally at home on pony-back, 
 and they " herded " his spare " mounts " and drove 
 his pack animals with consummate skill. A tiny pap- 
 poose hung on the back of one of them, and gazed over 
 her shoulder with solemn, speculative eyes at the long 
 files of soldiers on their tall horses. At that tender age 
 it was in no way compromising his dignity to display 
 an interest in what was going on around him. Later 
 in life he would lose caste as a warrior if he ventured 
 to display wonderment at sight of a flying-machine. 
 For several hours we rode side by side with our strange 
 companions. We had no hesitancy in watching them 
 with eager curiosity, and they were as intent on "pick- 
 ing up points " about us, only they did it furtively. 
 
68 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 Gradually we were drawing nearer the swift " Deje 
 Agie," as the Crows call the Tongue River. The val- 
 ley down which we were moving sank deeper among 
 the bold bluffs on either side. Something impeded 
 the march of the column ahead; the pack trains on our 
 right were " doubling up," and every mule, with that 
 strict attention to business characteristic of the species, 
 had buried its nose in the rich buffalo grass, making 
 up for lost time. "Halt !" and " Dismount !" rang out 
 from the trumpets. Every trooper slips the heavy 
 curb bit from his horse's mouth and leads him right 
 or left off the trail that he may profit by even a mo- 
 ment's rest to crop the fresh bunches in which that 
 herbage grows. 
 
 The morning has passed without notable incident. 
 No alarm has come from the scouts in front or flank. 
 We are so far in rear to-day that we miss our friends 
 Cody and Chips, who hitherto were our scouts and no 
 one else's. Now they are part and parcel of the squad 
 attached to General Crook's headquarters, of which 
 Major Stanton is the putative chief. We miss our fire- 
 eater of a paymaster the only one of his corps, I fancy, 
 who would rather undergo the privations of such a cam- 
 paign and take actual part in its engagements, than sit at 
 a comfortable desk at home and criticise its movements. 
 At noon we come suddenly upon the rushing Tongue, 
 and fording, breast deep, cross to the northern shore. 
 We emerge at the very base of steep rocky heights, 
 push round a ledge that shuts out the northward pros- 
 pect from our sight, find the river recoiling from a pali- 
 sade of rock on the east, and tearing back across our 
 
8 ! 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 69 
 
 path, ford it again and struggle along under the cliffs 
 on its right bank a few minutes, balancing ourselves, 
 it almost seems, upon a trail barely wide enough for one 
 horseman. What a place for ambuscade or surprise ! 
 We can see no flankers or scouts, but feel confident 
 that our general has not shoved the nose of his column 
 into such a trap without rigid reconnoissance. So we 
 push unconcernedly along. Once more the green, 
 foam-crested torrent sweeps across our line of march 
 from the left, and we ride in, our horses snorting and 
 plunging over the slippery boulders on the bottom, the 
 eager waves dashing up about our knees. Once more 
 we wind around a projecting elbow of bluff, and as 
 the head of our column, which has halted to permit 
 the companies to close up, straightens out in motion 
 again, we enter a beautiful glade. The river, beating 
 in foam against the high, precipitous rocks on the 
 eastern bank, broke in tiny, peaceful wavelets upon 
 the grassy shores and slopes of the western side ; the 
 great hills rolled away to the left; groves of timber 
 sprang up in our front, and through their leafy tops 
 the white smoke of many a camp-fire was curling; the 
 horses of the Second and Third, strongly guarded, 
 were already moving out to graze on the foot-hills. 
 An aide-de-camp rides to General Carr with orders to 
 " bivouac right here; we march no further to-day." 
 We ride left into line, unsaddle, and detail our guards. 
 Captain Payne, with Company " F," is assigned the 
 duty of protecting camp from surprise, and he and his 
 men hasten off to surrounding hill-tops and crests from 
 which they can view the approaches, and at two P.M. 
 
70 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 we proceed to make ourselves comfortable. We have 
 no huts and only one blanket apiece, but who cares ? 
 The August sun is bright and cheery; the air is fresh 
 and clear; the smoke rises, mast-like, high in the skies 
 until it meets the upland breeze that, sweeping down 
 from the Big Horn range behind us, has cleared away 
 the pall of smoke our Indian foes had but yesterday 
 hung before our eyes, and left the valley of the Tongue 
 thus far green and undefiled. We have come but twen- 
 ty miles, are fresh and vigorous ; but the advance re- 
 ports no signs yet, and Crook halts us so that we may 
 have an early start to-morrow. 
 
 We smoke our pipes and doze through the afternoon, 
 stretched at length under the shady trees, and at even- 
 ing stroll around among the camp - fires, calling on 
 brother officers of other regiments whom we haven't 
 met before in years. But early enough we roll our- 
 selves in our blankets, and, with heads pillowed on turf 
 or saddle, sleep undisturbed till dawn. 
 
 August 6th breaks clear and cloudless. Long be- 
 fore the sun can peer in upon us in our deep nook in 
 the valley, we have had our dip in the cold stream, 
 and our steaming and hugely relished breakfast, 
 stowed our tinnikins and pannikins on the pack mules, 
 and wait expectant of "Boots and saddles!" Again 
 the infantry lead the way, and not until seven do we 
 hear the welcome " Mount!" and follow in their tracks. 
 By this time the sun is pouring down upon us; by 
 nine his rays are scorching, and the dust rises in clouds 
 from the crowded trail. The gorge grows deeper and 
 deeper, the bluffs bolder and more precipitous; we can 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 71 
 
 see nothing but precipice on either side, and, lashed 
 and tormented, the Deje Agie winds a tortuous course 
 between. We cross it again and again each time it 
 grows deeper and stronger. The trail is so crooked we 
 never see more than a quarter of a mile ahead. At noon 
 we overtake the infantry, phlegmatically stripping off 
 shoes, stockings, and all garments " below the belt," 
 for the eleventh time since they left camp, prepara- 
 tory to another plunge through the stream; and a tall, 
 red-headed Irishman starts a laugh with his quizzical 
 " Fellers, did e'er a one of yez iver cross on a bridge ?" 
 
 At two o'clock, after the thirteenth crossing since 
 seven A.M., we again receive orders to halt, unsaddle, 
 and bivouac. Captain Leib and Company "M " mount 
 guard, and with twenty-two miles more to our credit, and 
 with the thick smoke of forest fires drifting overhead, 
 we repeat the performance of yesterday afternoon and 
 night, and wonder when we are to see those Indians. 
 
 Reveille and the dawn of the seventh come together, 
 We wake stiff and cold in the keen morning air, but 
 thaw out rapidly under the genial influence of the 
 huge tins of coffee promptly supplied. At six we 
 descry the infantry and the pack trains clambering up 
 the heights to the northwest and disappearing from 
 view over the timbered crests. At seven we again 
 mount and ride down stream a few hundred yards, then 
 turn sharp to the left and up a broad winding ravine 
 along a beaten trail buffalo and Indian, of great an- 
 tiquity. Mile after mile we push along up grade we 
 of the Fifth well to the front to-day and in view of the 
 scouts and advance most of the time. The woods are 
 
72 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 thick along the slopes, the grass that was rich and 
 abundant in the valley of the Tongue is becoming 
 sparse. Up we go the ascent seems interminable. 
 Once in a while we catch glimpses of smoke masses 
 overhead and drifting across the face of distant ridges. 
 At last we see knots of horsemen gathering on a high 
 ridge a mile in front; half an hour's active climbing, 
 mostly afoot and leading our horses, brings us close 
 under them. " Halt " is sounded, and General Carr 
 and I go up to join the party on the crest. 
 
 We pause on the very summit of the great di- 
 vide between the Tongue and the Rosebud, and far 
 to south, north, and west the tumbling sea of ravine 
 and upland, valleys that dip out of sight, mountains 
 that are lost in fleecy clouds, all are spread before us. 
 The view is glorious. We look right down into the 
 canon of the Rosebud, yet it must be six to eight 
 miles away, and how far down we cannot judge. 
 From every valley north and west rolling clouds of 
 smoke rise towards and blacken the heavens. Some- 
 where over on those opposite bluffs General Crook 
 had his big fight with the Sioux on the 17th of June, 
 but not a Sioux is in sight. 
 
 It takes us three good hours to get down into the 
 valley, and here we receive in grim silence the orders 
 to go into bivouac parallel to the stream, facing west. 
 The Indians have burned off every blade of grass 
 their ponies left undevoured along the narrow gorge, 
 and for miles below us the scouts report it even worse. 
 "The whole Sioux nation has been in camp here- 
 abouts not two weeks ago," says one rugged fron- 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 73 
 
 tiersman, "and I've been nigh onto ten mile down 
 stream and didn't reach the end of the village." 
 The ground is strewn with abandoned lodge -poles, 
 and covered with relics of Indian occupancy too un- 
 mistakable to be pleasant. 
 
 The Third and Second Cavalry file into position on 
 the eastern bank parallel with our line, and all the 
 pickets go out at once Captain Hayes, with Com- 
 pany " G," covering our front. 
 
 The situation is romantic, but disagreeable. Some 
 of us sleep rather restlessly that night, and one and 
 all welcome the dawn of the 8th. It is more than 
 chilly in the keen morning air, but we march north- 
 ward in a thick, smoky haze that utterly obscures the 
 landscape. We can see but a short fifty yards in any 
 direction, and the deeper we ride into it the thicker 
 and more suffocating it becomes. Four or five miles 
 down stream, still riding through the lately occupied 
 camps, we bump up against the rear of the column 
 ahead. An aide leads us off to the left, and informs 
 General Carr that there is good grazing in some little 
 breaks and ravines to unsaddle and give the horses 
 a chance while we wait for reports from the scouts. 
 Here we " loaf " through the entire day, when sud- 
 denly the signal to saddle and mount startles us at 
 six P.M., just as we were thinking of going to sleep. 
 We march very rapidly, six, seven, ten miles, and 
 then darkness sets in. Thicker darkness I never en- 
 countered. Men pull out their pipes and whiff away 
 at them till the glow of their sparks looks like a long 
 trail of tiny furnace fires, and gives us a clue to fol- 
 
74 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 low. No one but an Indian who has lived among these 
 valleys all his life can be guiding us to-night. At 
 nine o'clock the men are singing darky melodies and 
 Irish songs ; and it is not until 10.30 that we file past 
 bivouac fires lighted in a deep bend of the stream, 
 grope our way out to an invisible front, and, fairly 
 hobbling and half - lariating our horses, throw our- 
 selves down by them to sleep. Captain Rodgers is 
 notified that he and Company "A" are "for guard ;" 
 and, for a man who cannot or will not swear, Rodg- 
 ers manages to express his disgust appropriately. 
 
 A slight sprinkling of rain comes on at daybreak, 
 and we see the infantry hurrying off northward 
 through the misty light. We soon follow down the 
 right bank, the Fifth Cavalry leading the column of 
 horse. Stanton tells us that a large body of Sioux 
 are not more than four days ahead were here in 
 force not four days ago. It is easy to see that we are 
 on the trail of an immense number of Indians eight 
 to ten thousand but we judge it to be a fortnight 
 old. At 9.15 a cold, driving rain sets in, and whirls 
 in our faces as we march. At two P.M. we bivouac 
 again, and begin to growl at this will-o'-the-wisp busi- 
 ness. The night, for August, is bitter cold. Ice 
 forms on the shallow pools close to shore, and Cap- 
 tain Adam, who commands the guard, declares that 
 the thermometer was at zero at daybreak. " What 
 thermometer?" is the question. "Veil, any ther- 
 mometer as was tarn fool enough to get here 
 un? stand?" is our veteran's characteristic reply, and 
 it puts us in better humor. Stiff and cold when we 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 75 
 
 march at seven o'clock on the 10th, we have not long to 
 suffer from that cause. A bright sun pours down in 
 recompense. We march five miles, halt, and graze 
 awhile ; then push on again along a broad, beaten 
 trail over which countless hordes of ponies must 
 have recently passed. Thick clouds of dust rise 
 high above the bluffs on either side ; the valley opens 
 out wide and rolling east and west. Here the Ind- 
 ian flight has been so rapid that the work of de- 
 struction is incomplete, and the grass is excellent in 
 many a spot. " The grandest country in the world 
 for Indian and buffalo now," says General Carr. 
 " Two years hence it will be the grandest place for 
 cattle." 
 
 We of the Fifth are marching down the left or 
 western bank of the Rosebud to-day, somewhat in- 
 dependently as regards the rest of the cavalry brig- 
 ade, which, following the infantry, is away across the 
 valley, close under the slopes and hillsides towards 
 the east. About nine in the morning, while I am profit- 
 ing by a ten-minute halt to jot in my note-book some 
 of the surrounding topographical features, my or- 
 derly and myself climb to the top of the ridge on 
 our left, from which a good view of the country is to 
 be had. Just here the valley runs northeast, and we 
 have been pursuing that general direction for the last 
 day's march ; but right ahead, some two thousand 
 yards, a tall bluff juts out into the valley from the 
 west. The river sweeps round its base in a broad 
 fringe of cottonwoods, and disappears from sight for 
 six or eight miles ; then, over an intervening range, I 
 
76 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 see it again, away to the north, making straight for 
 what must be the valley of the Yellowstone. Be- 
 tween that great bend of the river and the distant 
 bluffs on the eastern side, a broad plain, scorched and 
 blistered by sun and Indian fire, stretches away some 
 two or three miles in width. This side of the bend 
 the slopes gradually near the stream, and the picture 
 below me is a very pretty one. Right under our 
 ridge the Fifth Cavalry, in long column, is just pre- 
 paring to remount and move on. A mile away to the 
 eastward are our brethren of the Second and Third ; 
 a quarter of a mile ahead of them, the compact bat- 
 talion of infantry. Here and there groups of horses, 
 men, and a fluttering flag indicate the positions in 
 march of Generals Crook and Merritt. Half a mile 
 in advance of all, those little dots of horsemen are our 
 scouts, while, anyhow and everywhere, in no order 
 whatsoever, our Crows and Shoshones are scattered 
 along the column on one flank, while the pack-mules 
 kick up a thick dust on the other. The cloud of dust, 
 in fact, rises from the whole column, and extends way 
 back up the Rosebud, and even as I am wondering 
 how far it can be seen, my eye is attracted by just as 
 thick a cloud around the point, apparently coming up 
 the valley. What the mischief can that be ? 
 
 Answering our eager signals, General Carr comes 
 hurriedly up the slope and levels his glass. It is 
 dust, sure enough, and lots of it. Nothing but an 
 immense concourse of four-footed animals could raise 
 such a cloud. " Forward J" is the order ; "Indians or 
 buffalo ?" is the query. " Ride over and report it to 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 77 
 
 General Merritt," says my colonel to me. So " Don- 
 nybrook " strikes a rapid lope, and we pick our way 
 through the cottonwoods, over the stream and up the 
 low bank on the other side, where the first thing that 
 meets my eyes is a grand hullabaloo among the 
 Indians, our allies. They are whooping and yell- 
 ing, throwing blankets and superfluous clothing to 
 the ground stripping for a fight, evidently and 
 darting to and fro in wild excitement. Beyond 
 them the troops are massing in close column be- 
 hind some low bluffs, and, looking back, I see the 
 Fifth coming rapidly through the stream to join 
 them. Evidently my news is no news to General 
 Merritt ; but the message is delivered all the same, 
 and I get permission to gallop ahead towards the 
 scouts and see what's coming. I make for a bluff 
 just on the edge of the plain I have described, and, 
 nearing it, can see farther and farther around the 
 great bend. Our scouts and Indians are dash- 
 ing around in circles, and cautiously approaching 
 the turn. Another minute and I have reached the 
 bluff, and there get a grand view of the coming 
 host. Indians! I should say so scores of them, 
 darting about in equal excitement to our own. But 
 no Indians are they who keep in close column along 
 that fringe of trees ; no Indians are they whose com- 
 pact squadrons are moving diagonally out across the 
 broad plain, taking equal intervals, then coming 
 squarely towards us at a rapid trot. Then look ! 
 Each company, as it comes forward, opens out like 
 the fan of practised coquette, and a sheaf of skir- 
 
78 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 mishers is launched to the front. Something in the 
 snap and style of the whole movement stamps them 
 at once. There is no need of fluttering guidon and 
 stirring trumpet - call to identify them ; I know the 
 Seventh Cavalry at a glance, and swing my old cam- 
 paign hat in delighted welcome. Behind them are 
 the solid regiments of Miles and Gibbon, and long 
 trains of wagons and supplies. It is General Terry 
 and his whole array, and our chiefs ride forward to 
 greet them. And then it is that the question is 
 asked, in comical perplexity, "Why, where on earth 
 are the Indians ?" Except our allies, none are in 
 sight. They have slipped away between us. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 AWAY TO THE YELLOWSTONE. 
 
 NEVER before, and never since, has the valley of 
 the Rosebud beheld such a gathering as was there to 
 be seen on that brilliant 10th of August, 1876 
 brilliant, that is to say, as nature could make it, for 
 in General Crook's command, at least, there was noth- 
 ing of embellishment. The war of the Revolution, 
 the huts of Valley Forge, never exhibited so sombre 
 an array of soldiery as we presented when General 
 Terry and his brigade confronted us at the great 
 bend. 
 
 It may be said that we were surprised at the meet- 
 ing, and it can be established that they were aston- 
 ished. Marching up the valley, General Terry was in 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 79 
 
 daily expectation of finding a mass of Indians in his 
 front. At latest accounts they were in strong force 
 in thousands, no doubt between him and General 
 Crook's position at the base of the Big Horn, and 
 he commenced his aggressive move with every pre- 
 caution, and with supplies for a long and stirring 
 campaign. He had with him a complete wagon 
 train, tents and equipage of every description. We 
 had a few days' bacon and hard-tack, coffee and su- 
 gar, and a whole arsenal of ammunition on our mules, 
 but not a tent, and only one blanket apiece. He had 
 artillery in the shape of a few light field-pieces, and 
 was making slow, cautious advances up the Rosebud 
 at the rate of eight or ten miles a day. He had not 
 come upon a single recent Indian "sign," yet knew 
 that the country to the south must have been full of 
 them within the fortnight. So when his scouts re- 
 ported an immense cloud of dust coming down the 
 valley above the bend, and his Indian allies began 
 the same absurd gyrations and uproar which we had 
 observed in ours, he very naturally supposed that a 
 horde of hostiles was sweeping down to the attack, 
 and made his dispositions accordingly. 
 
 It was my good-fortune to be in our advance, and 
 to witness the beautiful deployment of the Seventh 
 Cavalry over the plains in our front, and it is hard to 
 say which side would have whipped if we had not 
 discovered that neither was Sioux. A report gained 
 credence later in the day that Dr. Clements, Crook's 
 medical director, said that it would be Sioux-icidal to 
 fight under the circumstances ; but his friends be- 
 
80 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 
 
 lieved that this eruptiveness was due to professional 
 disappointment at the non - employment of him- 
 self and his able assistants, and the matter was 
 hushed up. 
 
 Pending the solution of the problem as to the 
 whereabouts of our common foe, the two brigades 
 were ordered to camp at once, and make themselves 
 at home. The generals met and discussed the situa- 
 tion, the scouts made hurried examination of the sur- 
 rounding country, and the mystery was at an end. 
 Leaving the valley of the Rosebud at the very point 
 where our two commands had confronted each other 
 on the 10th, a broad trail of recent date led away 
 eastward over the divide towards Tongue River. 
 The low hills were stamped into dust by the hoofs of 
 countless ponies. Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, Spotted 
 Eagle, and the hosts of different kinds of wolves and 
 bears and vultures in which their savage nomencla- 
 ture rejoices, had fairly given us the slip, and proba- 
 bly ten thousand Indians of various ages and both 
 sexes had swarmed across Terry's long front on the 
 Yellowstone, but beyond the range of his scouts. 
 That a large portion of them would attempt to cross 
 the great rivers farther to the east and escape tow- 
 ards the Canada line was instantly divined, and a 
 prompt man was needed to head a rush back to and 
 then down the Yellowstone to hold the stream and its 
 crossings and check the Indian flight, while our main 
 body pursued along the trail. In less than an hour 
 General Miles had gone to the right about with his 
 regiment and the light guns, and was making long 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 81 
 
 strides towards the north. The world has since read 
 of the tireless energy with which this vigorous sol- 
 dier has continued the work he commenced that day. 
 Winter and summer, from one end of the Yellowstone 
 valley to the other, he has persistently and most suc- 
 cessfully hunted the hostiles, until his name has be- 
 come a synonym for dash and good luck. Two of 
 his companies had been stationed with us all the pre- 
 vious winter at Fort Riley, in Kansas, and I was 
 eager to get over to their camp to see them as soon as 
 my duties were through ; but long before our horses 
 were herded out on the foot-hills, and I had seen 
 Captain Montgomery and Company "B" posted as 
 our guards, a new column of dust was rising down 
 the valley, and our Fifth Infantry friends were gone. 
 
 The afternoon and evening were spent by the offi- 
 cers of the two commands in pleasant reunion. We 
 had nowhere to "receive" and no refreshments to 
 offer ; so, by tacit agreement, Terry's people became 
 the hosts, we the guests, and it was fun to mark the 
 contrast in our appearance. General Terry, as be- 
 came a brigadier, was attired in the handsome uni- 
 form of his rank ; his staff and his line officers, 
 though looking eminently serviceable, were all in 
 neat regimentals, so that shoulder-straps were to be 
 seen in every direction. ' General Crook, as became 
 an old campaigner and frontiersman, was in a rough 
 hunting rig, and in all his staff and line there was not 
 a complete suit of uniform. Left to our fancy in the 
 matter, we had fallen back upon our comfortable old 
 Arizona scouting-suits, and were attired in deerskin, 
 6 
 
82 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 buckskin, flannels, and corduroy ; but in the Fifth Cav- 
 alry, you could not have told officer from private. It 
 may have been suitable as regarded Indian campaign- 
 ing, but was undeniably slouchy and border-ruffianish. 
 It needed some persuasion to induce old and intimate 
 friends to believe in our identity ; and General Terry's 
 engineer officer and his commissary, who had been 
 chosen "chums" of mine in West Point days, roared 
 with laughter at the metamorphosis. 
 
 Their tents were brightly lighted and comfortably 
 furnished. Even the Seventh Cavalry were housed 
 like Sybarites to our unaccustomed eyes. "Great 
 guns !" said our new major, almost exploding at a 
 revelation so preposterous. " Look at Reno's tent 
 he's got a Brussels carpet !" But they made us cor- 
 dially welcome, and were civilly unconscious of our 
 motley attire. 
 
 While the chieftains and their staffs discussed the 
 plans for the morrow, we unresponsible juniors con- 
 tentedly accepted the situation, but by nine P.M. it 
 was known that at early dawn we of Crook's com- 
 mand were to reload our pack -mules with rations from 
 Terry's wagons and continue the pursuit. Now it 
 began to dawn upon us that we had seen the last of 
 our comforts our wagons, tents, beds, and clothing 
 for an indefinite period ; and in Indian warfare par- 
 ticularly, is a stern chase a long chase unless you 
 have the lead at start. 
 
 That night we were bivouacked in the thick under- 
 brush along the Rosebud, hugging the tortuous bends 
 of the stream, and as much as possible keeping our 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 83 
 
 herds between our lines and the river. Suddenly the 
 stillness was broken by a snort of terror among the 
 horses ; then a rush as of a mighty Avhirlwind, 
 the crash of a thousand hoofs, a shot or two, and 
 the shouts of excited men, and the herds of Compa- 
 nies " A," " B," and " M " disappeared in a twinkling. 
 Seized by some sudden and unaccountable panic, they 
 had snapped their "side lines" like pack-thread, torn 
 their picket -pins from the loose, powdery soil, and 
 with one wild dash had cleared the company lines, 
 and, tracked by the dying thunder of their hoofs, 
 were fleeing for dear life far to the westward. Offi- 
 cers and men sprang to arms, anticipating attack 
 from Indians. Many of the First Battalion had been 
 trampled and bruised in the stampede ; but in a mo- 
 ment a dozen experienced campaigners were in saddle 
 and off in pursuit, and towards morning, after miles 
 of hard riding, the runaways were skilfully " herded " 
 back to camp. But the night's adventure cost us the 
 services of one of our very best officers, as Lieuten- 
 ant Eaton's pistol was accidentally discharged in the 
 rush, and tore off a portion of the index finger of his 
 right hand. 
 
 The following morning, August llth, was by Gen- 
 eral Crook's people, at least, spent in drawing rations 
 from the wagons of Terry's command. At ten o'clock 
 our pack-mules were again loaded up, and by eleven 
 the Fifth Cavalry were filing eastwardly out of the 
 valley ; marched rapidly on the Indian trail, found the 
 valley of the Tongue River only nine miles away 
 across a picturesque divide, descended into a thickly 
 
84 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 timbered bottom, marched only a couple of miles 
 down stream, and there received orders to halt, biv- 
 ouac again, and were told to wait for Terry's com- 
 mand to join us. We moved into a dense grove of 
 timber lofty and corpulent old cottonwoods. Com- 
 pany " D " (Sumner's) posted its guards and pickets, 
 and the rest of us became interested in the great 
 quantity of Indian pictures and hieroglyphics on the 
 trees. We were camping on a favorite "stamping- 
 ground" of theirs, evidently, for the trees were 
 barked in every direction for some distance from the 
 ground, and covered with specimens of aboriginal 
 art. Sketches of warriors scalping soldiers, carrying 
 off women on horseback, hunting buffalo, etc., but 
 with the perceptible preference for the stirring 
 scenes of soldier fighting. That had become more 
 popular than ever since the Ouster massacre. While 
 examining these specimens, I was attracted by a shout 
 and the gathering of a knot of soldiers around some 
 fallen timber. Joining them, and stepping over the 
 low barrier of logs, I came upon the body of a white 
 man, unscalped, who had evidently made a desperate 
 fight for life, as the ground was covered with the 
 shells of his cartridges ; but a bullet through the 
 brain had finally laid him low, and his savage foeman 
 had left him as he fell, probably a year before we 
 came upon the spot. 
 
 Towards sunset the clouds that had gathered all 
 day, and sprinkled us early in the afternoon, opened 
 their flood-gates, and the rain came down in torrents. 
 We built Indian " wickyups " of saplings and elastic 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 85 
 
 twigs, threw ponchos and blankets over them, and 
 crawled under ; but 'twas no use. Presently the 
 whole country was flooded, and we built huge fires, 
 huddled around them in the squashy mud, and envied 
 our horses, who really seemed pleased at the change. 
 General Terry and his cavalry and infantry marched 
 past our bivouac early in the evening, went on down 
 stream, and camped somewhere among the timber be- 
 low. We got through the night, I don't remember 
 how, exactly ; and my note-book is not very full of 
 detail of this and the next four days. We would 
 have been wetter still on the following morning 
 Saturday, the 12th if we could have been, for it 
 rained too hard to inarch, and we hugged our camp- 
 fires until one P.M., when it gave signs of letting up 
 a little and we saddled and marched away down the 
 Tongue ten or eleven miles, by which time it was 
 nearly dark, raining harder than ever. General Carr 
 and Mr. Barbour Lathrop (the correspondent of the 
 San Francisco Call, w^ho had turned out to be an old 
 acquaintance of some older friends of mine, and whose 
 vivacity was unquenchable, even by such weather as 
 this) made a double wickyup under the only tree 
 there was on the open plain on which we camped for 
 the night, and, seeing what looked to be a little 
 bunch of timber through the mist a few hundred 
 yards away, I went to prospect for a lodging ; found 
 it to be one of the numerous aerial sepulchres of the 
 Sioux, which we had been passing for the last four 
 'days evidences that Ouster's dying fight was not so 
 utterly one-sided, after all. But, unattractive as this 
 
86 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 was for a mortal dwelling-place, its partial shelter was 
 already pre-empted, and, like hundreds of others, I 
 made an open night of it. 
 
 Sunday morning we pushed on again, wet and be- 
 draggled. No hope of catching the Sioux now, but 
 we couldn't turn back. The valley was filled with 
 the parallel columns Crook's and Terry's cavalry 
 and infantry marching side by side. We made fre- 
 quent halts in the mud and rain ; and during one of 
 these I had a few moments' pleasant chat with Gen- 
 eral Gibbon, who, as usual, had a host of reminis- 
 cences of the grand old Iron Brigade to speak of, and 
 many questions to ask of his Wisconsin comrades. It 
 was the one bright feature of an otherwise dismal 
 day. At 4.50 P.M. the columns are halted for the 
 night, and the cavalry lose not a moment in hunting 
 grass for their horses. Fortunately it is abundant 
 here, and of excellent quality ; and this adds force to 
 the argument that the Indians must have scattered. 
 The scouts still prate of big trails ahead ; but our 
 horses are becoming weak for want of grain, our Ind- 
 ian allies are holding big pow-wows every evening, 
 the Crows still talk war and extermination to the 
 Sioux, but the Shoshones have never been so far away 
 from home in their lives, and begin to weaken. Several 
 of them urge additional reasons indicative of the fact 
 that the ladies of the tribe are not regarded by their 
 lords as above suspicion in times of such prolonged 
 absence. That evening Captains Weir and McDou- 
 gall, of the Seventh Cavalry, spent an hour or so 
 at our fire, and gave us a detailed account of their 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 87 
 
 on the 25th, on the Little Big Horn. They were with 
 Reno on the bluffs, and had no definite knowledge of 
 the fate of Ouster and his five companies until high 
 noon on the 27th, when relieved by General Gibbon. 
 Then they rode at once to the field, and came upon 
 the remains of their comrades. 
 
 " It must have been a terrible sensation when you 
 first caught sight of them," said one of their listeners. 
 
 "Well, no," replied McDougall. "In fact, the 
 first thought that seemed to strike every man of us, 
 and the first words spoken were, 'How white they 
 look !' We knew what to expect, of course ; and 
 they had lain there stripped for nearly forty - eight 
 hours." 
 
 That night the rain continued, and at daybreak on 
 the 14th the Fifth Cavalry got up and spent an hour 
 or so in vain attempts at wringing the wet from blan- 
 ket and overcoat. By 7.15 we all moved northward 
 again, though I could see scouts far out on the low 
 hills on our right flank. For half an hour we of the 
 Fifth marched side by side with the Seventh, and our 
 gaunt horses and ragged - looking riders made but a 
 poor appearance in such society. Nearing a ford of 
 the Tongue River, we found some little crowding and 
 confusion. The heads of columns were approaching 
 the same point upon the bank, and we were just about 
 hunting for a new ford when the Seventh Cavalry 
 made a rapid oblique, and Major Reno doffed his 
 straw hat to General Carr, with the intimation that 
 we had the "right of way" a piece of courtesy 
 which our commander did not fail to acknowledge. 
 
88 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 Another ford, from the left bank this time, and be- 
 fore us, coming in from the east, is a valley bounded 
 by low, rolling hills for a few miles, but farther to the 
 eastward we note that high bulwarks of rock are 
 thrown up against the sky. Into this valley we turn ; 
 the grass is good, the water is all too plentiful ; occa- 
 sional fallen trees in the stream promise fuel in abun- 
 dance ; but we look somewhat wistfully down the 
 Tongue, for not more than fifteen miles away rolls 
 the Yellowstone. And now once more, as the rain 
 comes down in torrents, we unsaddle, turn our horses 
 out to graze, Kellogg and Company " I " are posted 
 as guards, and we wonder what is going to be done. 
 Only noon, and only ten miles have we come from 
 last camp. Colonel Royall marches his "brigade" 
 farther up stream and follows our example, and then 
 comes over to exchange commiserations with Gen- 
 eral Carr. The veterans are neither of them in best 
 possible humor. A story is going the rounds about 
 Royall that does us all good, even in that dismal 
 weather. A day or two before, so it was told, 
 Royall ordered one of his battalion commanders to 
 " put that battalion in camp on the other side of the 
 river, facing east." A prominent and well-known 
 characteristic of the subordinate officer referred to 
 was a tendency to split hairs, discuss orders, and, in 
 fine, to make trouble where there was a ghost of a 
 chance of so doing unpunished. Presently the colo- 
 nel saw that his instructions were not being carried 
 out, and, not being in a mood for indirect action, he 
 put spurs to his horse, dashed through the stream, 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 89 
 
 and reined up alongside the victim with, "Didn't 
 I order you, sir, to put your battalion in camp along 
 the river facing east ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir ; but this ain't a river. It's only a 
 creek." 
 
 " Creek be d d, sir ! It's a river a river from 
 this time forth, by order, sir. Now do as I tell 
 you." 
 
 There was no further delay. 
 
 All that day and night we lay along Pumpkin 
 Creek. " Squashy Creek " was suggested as a name 
 at once more descriptive and appropriate. The soil 
 was like sponge from the continuous rain. At day- 
 break it was still raining, and we mounted and rode 
 away eastward Terry and Crook, cavalry and in- 
 fantry, pack-mules and all, over an unmistakable Ind- 
 ian trail that soon left the Pumpkin, worked through 
 the " malpais," and carried us finally to the crest of 
 a high, commanding ridge, from which we could see 
 the country in every direction for miles. The rain 
 held up a while not long enough for us to get dry, 
 but to admit of our looking about and becoming con- 
 vinced of the desolation of our surroundings. The 
 trail grew narrow and more tortuous, plunged down 
 into a canon ahead, and as we left the crest I glanced 
 back for a last view of the now distant valley of the 
 Tongue. What it might be in beautiful weather no 
 words of mine would accurately describe, because 
 at such times I have not seen it. What it is in rainy 
 weather no words could describe. And yet it was 
 comfort compared to what was before us. 
 
90 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 At noon we were gazing out over the broad valley 
 of Powder River, the Chakadee Wakpa of the Sioux. 
 Below us the Mizpah, flowing from the southwest, 
 made junction with the broader stream, and we, 
 guided by our Indians, forded both above the conflu- 
 ence, and went on down the valley. And so it was 
 for two more days ; rain, mud, wet, and cold. Ra- 
 tions were soaked ; and we, who had nothing but salt 
 meat and hard - tack, began to note symptoms of 
 scurvy among the men. But we were pushing for sup- 
 plies now. The Indians had scattered up every val- 
 ley to the eastward ; their pony - tracks led in myr- 
 iads over the prairie slopes east of the Powder. We 
 could go no farther without sustenance of some 
 kind, and so, on the afternoon of Thursday, the 
 17th, we toiled down to the valley of the Yellow- 
 stone and scattered in bivouac along its ugly, muddy 
 banks. The rain ceased for a while, but not a boat 
 was in sight, no news from home, no mail, no sup- 
 plies nothing but dirt and discomfort. We could 
 only submit to the inevitable, and wait. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AGAIN ON THE TRAIL. 
 
 OUR first impressions of the Yellowstone, as seen 
 from the mouth of the Powder River, were dismal in 
 the last degree ; but it was an undoubted case of 
 " any port in a storm." General Terry's supply boat 
 put in a prompt appearance and we drew rations 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 91 
 
 again on Friday and received intimations that we 
 might move at any moment. "Which way?" was 
 the not unnatural question, and "Don't know" the 
 laconic yet comprehensive answer. 
 
 The rain that had deluged us on the march down the 
 valleys of the Tongue and Powder had ceased from 
 sheer exhaustion, and we strove to dry our overcoats 
 and blankets at big fires built in the timber. We had 
 signalized our meeting with Terry's command by a 
 royal bonfire which lit up the country by night and 
 poured a huge column of smoke skywards by day ; 
 but as it was contrary to orders, and a most vivid 
 indication of our position, Colonel Mason's battalion 
 received a scathing rebuke for carelessness, and Ma- 
 son was mad enough to follow the lead of the his- 
 toric Army of Flanders. A most conscientious and 
 faithful officer, it seemed to sting him to the quick 
 that any one of his companies should have been 
 guilty of such recklessness. So the day after we 
 reached the Yellowstone, and the horses of the regi- 
 ments were all grazing out along the prairie slopes 
 south of camp, and revelling in the rich and plenti- 
 ful buffalo grass, while all officers and men not on 
 guard were resting along the banks of the stream, 
 and growling at the vigorous gale that swept down 
 from the north and whirled the sand in one's eyes, 
 there came a sudden shout of fire, and Major Upham 
 and I, who were trying to make a " wickyup " that 
 would exclude the wind, became aware of a column 
 of flame and smoke rolling up in the very centre of 
 his battalion. In a moment it became evident that 
 
92 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 the biggest kind of a prairie fire was started. The 
 men of Company " I " were hurrying their arms and 
 equipments to the windward side, and as one man the 
 rest of the regiment came running to the scene, swing- 
 ing their saddle-blankets in air. 
 
 Fanned by the hurricane blowing at the time, the 
 flames swept over the ground with the force of a blast- 
 furnace ; tufts of burning grass were driven before 
 the great surging wave of fire, and, falling far out on 
 the prairie, became the nuclei of new conflagrations. 
 Fire - call was promptly sounded by the chief trum- 
 peter, and repeated along the lines. The distant 
 herds were rapidly moved off to right and left, and 
 hurried in towards the river. The whole command 
 that was in bivouac west of % the Powder River turned 
 out to fight the common enemy ; but in ten minutes, 
 in all the might of its furious strength, a grand con- 
 flagration was sweeping southward towards the roll- 
 ing hills, and consuming all before it. 
 
 Like the great Chicago fire, it started from a cause 
 trivial enough, but, spreading out right and left, it soon 
 had a front of over half a mile, and not till it had 
 run fully two miles to the south was it finally checked. 
 Captain Hayes and a party of old and experienced 
 hands " raced " it far out to the front, and, there set- 
 ting fire to the grass, extinguishing it from the south 
 and forcing it back against the wind, they succeeded 
 after much hard work in burning off a number of 
 large areas in front of the advancing wall of flame, 
 fought fire with fire, and in two hours were masters 
 of the situation. But most of our grass was gone; 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 93 
 
 and Saturday afternoon, at four o'clock, we of the Fifth 
 saddled and marched up the Yellowstone in search of 
 fresh pasture. A mile was all we had to go, and mov- 
 ing was no trouble to men who had neither roof nor 
 furniture. 
 
 We rode into line in the river bottom again. Gen- 
 eral Carr, with the headquarters party, seized upon a 
 huge log at least a yard in diameter that lay close to 
 the river brink ; and with this as a backbone we built 
 such rude shelter as could be made with leaves, 
 boughs, and a ragged poncho or two, crawled in and 
 made our beds upon the turf. General Merritt and 
 his staff found shelter in a little grove a few yards 
 away, and with the coming of Sunday morning all 
 had enjoyed a good rest. 
 
 Meantime we learned that Buffalo Bill had ridden 
 all alone down towards the Glendive, bent on a scout 
 to ascertain if the Indians were attempting to cross 
 the river. I did not envy him the peril of that sixty- 
 mile jaunt through the Bad Lands, bu it was an old 
 story to him. We were to remain in camp to await 
 his report. It seemed that nothing definite had been 
 ascertained as to the movements of the Indians ; and 
 for five days we rested there on the Yellowstone, noth- 
 ing of interest transpiring, and nothing of especial 
 pleasure. 
 
 General Carr, to keep us from rusting, ordered in- 
 spection and mounted drills on Sunday and Monday 
 morning ; but then the rain came back, and for forty- 
 eight hours we were fairly afloat. It rained so hard 
 Tuesday and Wednesday nights that the men gave up 
 
94 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 all idea of sleep, built great fires along the banks, and 
 clustered round them for warmth. Shelter there was 
 none. Some of our officers and men, who had broken 
 down in the severity of the ordeal, were examined by 
 the surgeons, and those who were deemed too sick for 
 service were ordered home on the steamer Far West, 
 which would take them by river as far as Bismarck. 
 Among them was Captain Goodloe, of the Twenty- 
 second Infantry, who had been prostrated by a para- 
 lytic stroke on the last day's march towards the Yel- 
 lowstone ; and of our own regiment we were forced 
 to part with Lieutenant Eaton, whose severe hurt, re- 
 ceived the night of the stampede on the Rosebud, 
 had proved disabling for campaign work. At this 
 time, too, some of our newspaper correspondents con- 
 cluded that the chances of a big fight were too small 
 to justify their remaining longer with so unlucky an 
 expedition, and the representative of the San Fran- 
 cisco Call, and an odd genius who had joined us at 
 Fort Fetterman, and speedily won the sobriquet of 
 l< Calamity Jim," concluded that their services would 
 be worth more in some other field. 
 
 A great loss to us was in Buffalo Bill, whose theat- 
 rical engagements demanded his presence in the East 
 early in the fall ; and most reluctantly he, too, was 
 compelled to ask his release. He left his " pardner," 
 Jim White, with us to finish the campaign ; and we 
 little thought that those two sworn friends were meet- 
 ing for the last time on earth when "Buffalo Chips" 
 bade good-bye to Buffalo Bill. 
 
 Ten soldiers of the Fifth were pronounced inca- 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 95 
 
 pacitated by the examiners, and ordered to return. 
 Among them was an elderly man who had joined the 
 regiment in June with a good character from the 
 Fourth Cavalry. The Ouster massacre had so preyed 
 upon his mind as to temporarily destroy his intellect, 
 or make it too keen for the wits of the Medical De- 
 partment. I believe that up to the last moment it 
 was an open question whether Caniff (for such was 
 his name) was downright insane or only shamming ; 
 but he carried his point, and got away from the dan- 
 ger he dreaded. "But, Lord, sir," as the corporal in 
 charge of the detachment afterwards told me, "he 
 was the sensiblest man you ever see by the time 
 we got past Bismarck." In fact, it would look as 
 though that Ouster massacre had been responsible for 
 the unmanning of just three members of the Fifth 
 Cavalry ; and, to the ineffable disgust of the vete- 
 ran Company " K," two of them were privates in its 
 ranks. 
 
 Our stay of six days on the Yellowstone presented 
 no features of general interest. A brace of trading- 
 boats swept down with the current from the markets 
 of the Gallatin valley, and some of us were able to 
 purchase, at fabulous prices, new suits of undercloth- 
 ing and a quantity of potatoes and onions, of which 
 the men stood sadly in need. More supplies of grain 
 and rations arrived, and our horses had a few nibbles 
 of oats, but not enough to build up any of their lost 
 strength. General Terry, from the east side of the 
 Powder, rode over one day to pay a visit to General 
 Crook ; and the story goes that our brigadier was 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 pointed out to him squatted on a rock in the Yel- 
 lowstone, and with that absorbed manner which 
 was his marked characteristic, and a disregard for 
 "style" never before equalled in the history of 
 one of his rank, scrubbing away at his hunting- 
 shirt. 
 
 Thursday morning, August the 24th, chilled and 
 soaked, we marched away from the Yellowstone, and 
 mostly on foot, leading our gaunt horses through the 
 thick mud of the slopes along the Powder, we toiled 
 some ten miles ; then halted for the night. Then it 
 cleared off, and night came on in cloudless beauty, 
 but sharply cold. Next morning we hung about our 
 fires long after our frugal breakfast, waiting for the 
 signal to saddle and march. Trumpet-calls were for- 
 bidden " until further orders ;" and it was divined 
 that now, at least, we might hope to see the Indians 
 who had led us this exasperating chase. But it 
 was long before we reached them, and this narrative 
 is running threadbare with dry detail. Let me con- 
 dense from my note-book the route and incidents of 
 the march to Heart River, where we finally gave up 
 the chase : 
 
 " General Terry's cavalry Seventh and Second 
 followed us on the march of the 25th, after we had 
 forded Powder River and started up the eastern 
 bank ; camped again that night in the valley after 
 long and muddy march. At seven A.M. on the 26th we 
 of Crook's army cut loose from any base, and marched 
 square to the east; and General Terry, with his en- 
 tire command, bade us farewell, and hurried back to 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 97 
 
 the Yellowstone. Couriers had reached him during 
 the night with important information, and he and his 
 people were needed along the crossings of the great 
 river while we hunted the redskins over the prairies. 
 The weather was lovely, the country rolling and pict- 
 uresque ; but far and near the Indians had burned 
 away the grass. Camped on the west fork of O'Fal- 
 lon's Creek. Game abundant all around us, but no 
 firing allowed." .... 
 
 " Sunday, Nth. Marched seven A.M. at rear of col- 
 umn, north of east ; rolling country ; no timber ; little 
 grass ; crossed large branch of O'Fallon's Creek at 
 eleven A.M., where some pack-mules were stalled, but 
 finally got through. Bivouac one P.M. in dry east fork 
 of same creek." .... 
 
 " Monday, 28th. Day beautiful and cool ; march 
 rapid and pleasant along the trail on which Terry 
 and Custer came west in May and June. Country 
 beautifully bold and undulating, with fine grass ev- 
 erywhere. We halted on Cabin Creek at 1.30 P.M. ; 
 and two hours after, over in the direction of Beaver 
 Creek to the northeast, two large smokes floated up 
 into the still air. Just at sunset there came on a 
 thunder-storm, with rain, hail, and vivid lightning 
 hailstones as big as acorns, and so plentifully pelting 
 that with great difficulty we restrained our horses 
 from stampede. The lightning kindled the prairie 
 just in front of the pickets, and the rain came only in 
 time to save our grass. Of course, we were drenched 
 with rain and hammered with hail." 
 
 " Tuesday, 29th. Most beautiful day's march yet ; 
 7 
 
98 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 morning lovely after the storm. We move rapidly 
 on trail of the infantry, and at ten o'clock are aston- 
 ished at seeing them massing in close column by di- 
 vision on the southwest side of grassy slopes that loom 
 up to a great height, and were soon climbing the 
 bluffs beyond them an ascent of some five to six 
 hundred feet." .... 
 
 Here General Merritt gave the regiment a lesson 
 which it richly deserved. Fuel had been a little 
 scarce on one or two recent occasions ; and some of 
 the men, finding a few logs at the foot of the bluffs, 
 hoisted them on their tottering horses, and were 
 clambering in this fashion up the ascent, when the 
 "Chief" caught sight of them. The general is a 
 man, of great restraint at such a time, but, with- 
 out the employment of language either profane or 
 profuse, he managed to convey an intimation to some 
 eighty acres of hillside, in less than five seconds, that 
 those logs should be dropped ; and they were. Later 
 in the day he devoted a half -hour to the composition 
 of a general order expressive at once of his views on 
 the matter which had excited his wrath in the morn- 
 ing, and his intentions with reference to future offend- 
 ers. Winding up, as it did, with a scathing denunci- 
 ation of this "violation of the first principles" of a 
 cavalryman's creed, we of the Fifth felt sore for a 
 week after ; but it served us right, and the offence 
 did not occur again. 
 
 We found ourselves on the crest of a magnificent 
 range, from which we looked down into the beautiful 
 valley of the Beaver to the east, and southward over 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 99 
 
 mile after mile of sharp, conical buttes that were ut- 
 terly unlike anything we had seen before. We had 
 abundant water and grass, and here we rested two 
 days, while our scouts felt their way out towards the 
 Little Missouri. 
 
 Thursday, the 31st, with a cold norther blowing, 
 we went down the Beaver ten miles to the north, 
 halted and conducted the bi - monthly muster de- 
 manded by the regulations, and again the scouts 
 swept over the country in vain search of Indian signs, 
 while we waited until late the following afternoon for 
 their reports, and then merely moved down the valley 
 another eight miles for the night. On the 2d we put 
 in a good day's work, marching rapidly and steadily 
 until two P.M., still in the beautiful wild valley of the 
 Beaver, catching glimpses during the day of the tall 
 Sentinel Buttes off to our right. Next day we turned 
 square to the east again, jogging quickly along 
 through hills and upland that grew bolder and higher 
 every hour ; camped at head of Andrew's Creek ; 
 pushed on again on the following morning (Mon- 
 day, September 4th), cold and shivering in another 
 norther- by nine the rain pouring in torrents. 
 As we neared the Little Missouri the hills became 
 higher, outcroppings of coal were to be seen along 
 every mile. Finally, we debouched through a long, 
 deep, tortuous canon into the Little Missouri itself, 
 forded and bivouacked in a fine grove of timber, 
 where, the rain having ceased again, and with fine, 
 blazing fires in every direction, we spent a night of 
 comfort. 
 
100 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 The Indians must be near at hand. The timber, 
 the valley, the fords and crossings, all indicate their 
 recent presence. To-morrow's sun should bring them 
 before our eyes. At daybreak we are up and ready. 
 The day is drizzly, and the command don't seem to 
 care a pin by this time. We are becoming amphib- 
 ious, and so long as the old cavalryman has a quid of 
 good tobacco to stow in his taciturn jaws he will 
 jog along contentedly for hours, though the rain de- 
 scend in cataracts. 
 
 Our march leads us southeastward up the valley of 
 Davis's Creek a valley that grows grandly beautiful 
 as we near its head. We of the Fifth are some dis- 
 tance from the head of column as we climb out upon 
 the fine plateau that here stretches for miles from the 
 head of the creek towards the streams that rise a 
 day's march away and flow towards the Missouri. 
 Away in front we can see General Crook and his 
 staff ; far out beyond them are tiny dots of horse- 
 men, whom we know to be Stanton and the scouts. 
 Every now and then a deer darts into sight along the 
 column, and now permission is given to shoot ; for we 
 are over a hundred miles from the nearest chance for 
 supplies, and have only two days' rations left. We are 
 following those Indians to the bitter end. 
 
 Suddenly, away to the front, rapid shots are heard. 
 A moment they sound but a mile distant ; in another 
 moment they are dying out of hearing. We prick up 
 our ears and gather reins. Looking back, I see the 
 long column of bearded faces lighting up in eager ex- 
 pectation, but no order comes to hasten our advance. 
 
CAMPAIGNING 
 
 We hear later that our scouts had succeeded in get- 
 ting near enough to exchange shots with a small war- 
 party of Sioux ; but their ponies were fresh and fleet, 
 our horses weak and jaded, and there was no possibil- 
 ity of catching them. 
 
 Late that afternoon we halt at the head of Heart 
 River. And now at last it looks as though we are 
 whipped without a fight. We not only have not 
 caught the Indians, but we have run out of rations. 
 Only forty - eight hours' full supplies are left, but a 
 little recent economizing has helped us to a spare day 
 or so on half-rations. It is hard for us, but hardest of 
 all for the general, and it is plain that he is deeply dis- 
 appointed. But action is required, and at once. We can 
 easily make Fort Abraham Lincoln in four days ; but, 
 by doing so, we leave all the great stretch of country 
 to the south open to the hostiles, and the Black Hills 
 settlements defenceless. Just how long it will take 
 us to march to Deadwood cannot be predicted. It is 
 due south by compass, but over an unknown country. 
 While the chief is deciding, we lie down in the cold 
 and wet and try to make ourselves comfortable. 
 Those who are tired of the campaign and hungry for 
 a dinner predict that the morning will find us striking 
 for the Missouri posts ; but those who have served long 
 with General Crook, and believe that there is a hos- 
 tile Indian between us and the Black Hills, roll into 
 their blankets with the conviction that we will have a 
 fight out of this thing yet. 
 
 Many a horse has given out already, and dismount- 
 ed men are plodding along by the flank of column. 
 
102 ICAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 We have been on half-rations for three days, and are 
 not a little ravenous in consequence, and our campaign 
 suits, which were shabby on the Rosebud, are rags and 
 tatters now. As Colonel Mason and I are " clubbing " 
 our ponchos and blankets for the night, I turn to my 
 old captain, with whom it has been my good-fortune 
 to serve so long and still not to lose him on his 
 promotion, and ask, " Well, what do you think of 
 it?" And Mason, who is an inveterate old growler 
 around garrison in the piping times of peace, and 
 stanchest and most loyal of subordinates in trying 
 times in the field, answers as I could have predicted: 
 "We oughtn't to give up yet, on account of a little 
 roughing it ; and Crootfs not the man to do ?V 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE FIGHT OF THE REAR GUARD. 
 
 RAGGED and almost starving, out of rations, out at 
 elbows and every other exposed angle, out of every- 
 thing but pluck and ammunition, General Crook gave 
 up the pursuit of Sitting Bull at the head of Heart 
 River. The Indians had scattered in every direction. 
 We had chased them a month, and were no nearer 
 than when we started. Their trail led in as many 
 different directions as there are degrees in the circle ; 
 they had burned off the grass from the Yellowstone 
 to the mountains, and our horses were dropping by 
 scores, starved and exhausted, every day we marched. 
 There was no help for it, and only one thing left to 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 103 
 
 do. At daybreak the next morning the orders came, 
 " Make for the Black Hills due south by compass 
 seven days' march at least," and we headed our de- 
 jected steeds accordingly and shambled off in search 
 of supplies. 
 
 Through eleven days of pouring, pitiless rain we 
 plodded on that never-to-be-forgotten trip, and when 
 at last we sighted Bare Butte and halted, exhausted, 
 at the swift-flowing current of the Belle Fourche, 
 three fourths of our cavalry, of the Second, Third, and 
 Fifth regiments, had made the last day's march afoot. 
 One half our horses were broken down for good, one 
 fourth had fallen never to rise again, and dozens had 
 been eaten to keep us, their riders, alive. 
 
 Enlivening incidents were few enough, and except 
 one of little interest to Milwaukeeans. That one is 
 at your service. On the night of September 7th we 
 were halted near the head-waters of Grand River. 
 Here a force of one hundred and fifty men of the 
 Third Cavalry, with the serviceable horses of that 
 regiment, were pushed ahead under Major Anson 
 Mills, with orders to find the Black Hills, buy up all 
 the supplies he could in Deadwood, and then hurry 
 back to meet us. Two days after, just as we were 
 breaking up our cheerless bivouac of the night, a cou- 
 rier rode in with news that Mills was surrounded by 
 the Indians twenty miles south, and every officer and 
 man of the Fifth Cavalry whose horse had strength 
 enough to trot pushed ahead to the rescue. Through 
 mud, mist, and rain we plunged along, and by half- 
 past ten were exchanging congratulations with Mills 
 
104 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 and shots with the redskins in as wealthy an Indian 
 village, for its size, as ever we had seen. Caster's 
 guidons and uniforms were the first things that met 
 our eyes trophies and evidence at once of the part 
 our foe had taken in the bloody battle of the Little 
 Big Horn. Mills had stumbled upon the village be- 
 fore day, made a magnificent dash, and scattered the 
 Indians to the neighboring heights, Slim Buttes by 
 name, and then hung on to his prize like a bull-dog, 
 and in the face of appalling odds, till we rode in to 
 his assistance. That afternoon, reinforced by swarms 
 of warriors, they made a grand rally and spirited at- 
 tack, but 'twas no use. By that time we had some 
 two thousand to meet them, and the whole Sioux na- 
 tion couldn't have whipped us. Some four hundred 
 ponies had been captured with the village, and many 
 a fire was lighted and many a suffering stomach glad- 
 dened with a welcome change from horse-meat, tough 
 and stringy, to rib roasts of pony, grass-fed, sweet, and 
 succulent. There is no such sauce as starvation. 
 
 Next morning, at break of day, General Crook, with 
 the wounded, the Indian prisoners, his sturdy infan- 
 try, and all the cavalry but one battalion of the Fifth 
 Regiment, pushed on for the south through the same 
 overhanging pall of dripping mist. They had to go. 
 There wasn't a hard-tack north of Deadwood, and men 
 must eat to live. 
 
 The First Battalion of the Fifth he left to burn com- 
 pletely the village with all its robes, furs, and Indian 
 treasures, and to cover the retreat. 
 
 As the last of the main column disappeared through 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 105 
 
 the drizzle, with Mason's skirmishers thrown well out 
 upon their right flank, a light wind swept upward the 
 veil of smoke and mist, and the panorama became evi- 
 dent to us and to the surrounding Indians at one and 
 the same moment. There was no time to take observa- 
 tions down they came with a rush. 
 
 On a little knoll in the centre of the burning village 
 a group of horsemen has halted General Carr, who 
 commands the Fifth Cavalry, his staff and orderlies 
 and the first remark as the fog raises falls from the lips 
 of the adjutant : " By Jove ! here's a Badger State 
 benefit !" 
 
 All along the line the attack has commenced and 
 the battalion is sharply engaged fighting afoot, their 
 horses being already led away after the main column, 
 but within easy call. Our orders are to follow, but to 
 stand off the Indians. They are not wanted to ac- 
 company the march. It is one thing to "stand off the 
 Indians" and hold your ground it is quite another to 
 stand him off and fall back. They are dashing about 
 on their nimble ponies, following up the line as it dog- 
 gedly retires from ridge to ridge, far outnumbering 
 us, and all the time keeping up a rattling fire and a 
 volley of aboriginal remarks at our expense. "Lo" 
 yells with unaffected glee when his foe falls back, and 
 it sometimes sounds not unlike the " yi-i-i-ip " of the 
 rebels in '63. Along our line there is a business-like 
 taciturnity, an occasional brief, ringing word of com- 
 mand from some officer, or a half-repressed chuckle of 
 delight as some Patlander sees an Indian reel in his sad- 
 dle, and turns to mutter to his neighbor on the skirmish 
 
106 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 line that he'd " softened the wax in that boy's ears." 
 Occasionally, too, some man suddenly drops carbine, 
 claps his hand to leg, arm, or side, and with an odd 
 mixture of perplexity and pain in his face looks ap- 
 pealingly to the nearest officer. Our surgeon is just 
 bandaging a bullet hole for one such, but finds time 
 to look up and ask : 
 
 " Why Badger State benefit, King ? I don't see the 
 point." 
 
 " Just because there are six Wisconsin men risfht 
 
 O 
 
 here on this slope," is the answer, " and dozens more 
 for aught I know." 
 
 Look at them if you will. I warrant no resident of 
 the Cream City could recognize his townsmen to-day. 
 Remember, we've been hunting Sioux and Cheyennes 
 since May ; haven't seen a shanty for three months, 
 or a tent for two ; haven't had a change of raiment 
 for eight weeks, or a shave for ten ; and, under those 
 battered slouch hats and in that tattered dress, small 
 wonder that you fail to know the wearers. Right 
 in our front, half-way to the skirmish line, rides the 
 major commanding the battalion ; a tall, solidly-built 
 fellow, with twinkling blue eyes and a bronzed face, 
 barely visible under the mass of blond hair and beard 
 over which the rain is dripping. He is a Milwaukeean 
 and a West-Pointer, a stanch favorite, too ; and to- 
 day the whole rear guard is his command, and on his 
 shoulders rests the safety of our move. His is an ugly, 
 trying duty, but he meets it well. Just now he is 
 keenly watching the left of his line, and by a trick he 
 has of hitching forward in his saddle when things 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 107 
 
 don't go exactly right, you see that something's com- 
 ing. A quick gesture calls up a young officer who is 
 carelessly lounging on a raw-boned sorrel that sniffs 
 excitedly at the puffs of smoke floating past his nose. 
 Quick as the gesture the officer straightens in his sad- 
 dle, shifts a quid into his " off " cheek, and reins up 
 beside his commander. The major points to the left 
 and front, and away goes the subaltern at a sputtering 
 gallop. Milwaukee is sending Fond du Lac to make 
 the left company u come down out of that." They 
 have halted on a rocky ridge from which they can 
 gloriously pepper the would-be pursuers, and they 
 don't want to quit. The major is John J. Upham, the 
 subaltern is Lieutenant H. S. Bishop. 
 
 Square in front, striding down the opposite slope 
 and up towards us come the Company " G " skirmish- 
 ers. A minute more and the ridge they have left is 
 swarming with Indians. " Halt !" rings out along the 
 line, and quick as thought the troopers face about, 
 fling themselves venire d terre and blaze away, scatter- 
 ing the Sioux like chaff. 
 
 There's a stalwart, bearded fellow commanding the 
 right skirmishers of the company, steadily noting the 
 fire of his men. Never bending himself, he moves 
 from point to point cautioning such "new hands" as 
 are excitedly throwing away their shots. He is their 
 first sergeant, a crack soldier ; Milwaukee, too for 
 in old days at Engelmann's school we knew him as 
 Johnny Goll. Listen to his captain, half a head taller 
 and quite as prominent and persistent a target, who is 
 shaking a gauntleted fist at his subordinate and shout- 
 
108 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 ing, "I've told you to keep down a dozen times, ser- 
 geant ; now, by God, I want you to do it." This 
 makes the nearest men grin. The others are too busy 
 to hear it. 
 
 The scene is picturesque enough from our point of 
 view. To the south, two miles away by this time, 
 Crook's long column is crawling snake-like over the 
 rolling sward. To the west the white crags and boul- 
 ders of the buttes shut off the view we are fighting 
 along at their very base. Northward the country rises 
 and falls in alternate grassy ridge and ravine ; not a 
 tree in sight only the low-hanging pall of smoke 
 from the burning village in the near distance ; the 
 slopes swarming with dusky horsemen, dashing tow- 
 ards us, whooping, yelling, firing, and retiring, always 
 at speed, except where some practised marksman 
 springs from his pony and prone upon the ground 
 draws bead at our chiefs. Between their restless 
 ranks and us is only the long, thin line of cavalry 
 skirmishers, slowly falling back face to the foe, and 
 giving them gun for gun. Eastward, as far as the 
 eye can reach, the country rolls away in billowy un- 
 dulations, and look ! there comes a dash of Indians 
 around our right flank. See them sweeping along 
 that ridge ? TJpham is on low ground at this mo- 
 ment and they are beyond his view, but General Can* 
 sees the attempt to cut us off, and in a second the ad- 
 jutant of the regiment comes tearing to the line, fast 
 as jaded horse can carry him. A comprehensive gest- 
 ure accomplishes at once the soldierly salute to the 
 major and points out the new danger. Kellogg's 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 109 
 
 company swings into saddle and fairly springs to the 
 right to meet it. 
 
 In buckskin trousers, fringed and beaded, but much 
 the worse for wear, in ragged old hunting-shirt and 
 shapeless hat, none but the initiated would recognize 
 Milwaukee, much less West Point, in that adjutant. 
 But he was marker of our Light Guard years before 
 the war, and the first member of its corps of drummer 
 boys. He is just speeding a grim-looking cavalryman, 
 one of the headquarters orderlies, off with a despatch 
 to General Merritt, and that orderly is a Milwaukeean, 
 too, and may have to " run the gauntlet " getting that 
 message through ; but his face, what you can see of it 
 through grizzled hair and beard, looks unconcerned 
 enough ; and under the weather-stained exterior he 
 is known to be a faithful old soldier one who loves 
 the rough life better than he did the desk in ante 
 bettum days when he was clerking at Hathaway & 
 Belden's. " Old George," as the men call him, ran a 
 train on the Watertown road, too, once upon a time, 
 but about the close of the war he drifted from the 
 volunteers into the regulars, and there he has stuck 
 ever since. 
 
 But all this time Crook is marching away faster 
 than we can back and follow him. We have to keep 
 those howling devils beyond range of the main col- 
 umn, absorb their attention, pick up our wounded as 
 we go, and be ready to give the warriors a welcome 
 when they charge. 
 
 Kellogg, with Company "I," has driven back the 
 attempted turn of our right, but the Indians keep up 
 
110 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 their harassing attack from the rear. Time is pre- 
 cious, and Upham begins to think we are wasting it. 
 Again the adjutant has come to him from General 
 Carr, and now is riding along the line to the right, 
 communicating some order to the officers, while Lieu- 
 tenant Bishop is doing the same on the left. Just as 
 the skirmishers cross the next ridge a few cool old 
 shots from each company drop on hands and knees, 
 and, crawling back to the crest, open a rapid fire on 
 the pursuers, checking them. Covered by this the 
 main line sweeps down at a run, crosses the low, 
 boggy ground between them, and toils up the ridge 
 on which we are stationed. Here they halt, face 
 about, throw themselves flat on their faces, and the 
 major signals to the outlying skirmishers to come in ; 
 they obey with a rush, and a minute after a mass of 
 Indians pops over the divide in pursuit. With a ring- 
 ing hurrah of exultation our line lets drive a volley, the 
 astonished redskins wheel about, those who can, lug- 
 ging with them the dead or wounded who have fallen, 
 and scatter off under shelter. 
 
 " How's that, King ?" says the major, with a grin. 
 " Think they've had enough ?" Apparently they 
 have, as none reappear except in distant groups. 
 Mount is the word. Ranks are formed, the men chat 
 and laugh a moment, as girths and stirrups are being 
 rearranged, then silence and attention as they break 
 into column and jog off after Crook's distant battal- 
 ions. 
 
 The adjutant is jotting down the list of casualties 
 in his note-book. " What time is it, major ?" " Eight 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. Ill 
 
 o'clock," says Upham, wringing the wet from his hat. 
 " Eight o'clock here ; church-time in Milwaukee." 
 Who would have thought it was Sunday ? 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "BUFFALO BILL" AND "BUFFALO CHIPS." 
 
 IN all these years of campaigning, the Fifth Cavalry 
 has had varied and interesting experiences with a class 
 of men of whom much has been written, and whose 
 names, to readers of the dime novel and JVew York 
 "Weekly style of literature, were familiar as household 
 words ; I mean the " Scouts of the Prairie," as they 
 have been christened. Many a peace-loving citizen 
 and thousands of our boys have been to see Buffalo 
 Bill's thrilling representations on the stage of the 
 scenes of his life of adventure. To such he needs no 
 introduction, and throughout our cavalry he is better 
 known than any general except Crook. 
 
 A motley set they are as a class these scouts ; 
 hard riding, hard swearing, hard drinking ordinarily, 
 and not all were of unimpeachable veracity. But 
 there was never a word of doubt or question in the 
 Fifth when Buffalo Bill came up for discussion. He 
 was chief scout of the regiment in Kansas and Ne- 
 braska in the campaign of 1868-69, when the hostiles 
 were so completely used up by General Carr. He re- 
 mained with us as chief scout until the regiment was 
 ordered to Arizona to take its turn at the Apaches in 
 1871, and nothing but his having a wife and family 
 
112 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 prevented his going thither. Five years the regiment 
 was kept among the rocks and deserts of that marvel- 
 lous land of cactus and centipede ; but when we came 
 homeward across the continent and were ordered up 
 to Cheyenne to take a hand in the Sioux war of 1876, 
 the first addition to our ranks was Buffalo Bill him- 
 self. He was "starring it" with his theatrical troupe 
 in the far East, and read in the papers that the Fifth 
 was ordered to the support of General Crook. It was 
 Bill's benefit night at Wilmington, Delaware. He 
 rushed through the performance, paid off his com- 
 pany, took the midnight express, and four days later 
 sprang from the Union Pacific train at Cheyenne, and 
 was speedily exchanging greetings with an eager group 
 of his old comrades, reinstated as chief scout of the 
 regiment. 
 
 Of his services during the campaign that followed, a 
 dozen articles might be written. One of his best plays 
 is founded on the incidents of our fight of the 17th 
 of July with the Cheyenne Indians, on the War Bon- 
 net, for it was there he killed the warrior Yellow 
 Hand, in as plucky a single combat on both sides as 
 is ever witnessed. The Fifth had a genuine affec- 
 tion for Bill ; he was a tried and true comrade one 
 who for cool daring and judgment had no superior. 
 He was a beautiful horseman, an unrivalled shot, and 
 as a scout unequalled. We had tried them all Hual- 
 pais and Tontos in Arizona; half-breeds on the great 
 plains. We had followed Custer's old guide, " Califor- 
 nia Joe," in Dakota; met handsome Bill Hickox (Wild 
 Bill) in the Black Hills; trailed for weeks after Crook's 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 113 
 
 favorite, Frank Gruard, all over the Big Horn and 
 Powder River country; hunted Nez Perces with Cos- 
 grove and his Shoshones among the Yellowstone moun- 
 tains, and listened to "Captain Jack" Crawford's yarns 
 and rhymes in many a bivouac in the Northwest. They 
 were all noted men in their way, but Bill Cody was the 
 paragon. 
 
 This time it is not my purpose to write of him, but, 
 for him, of another whom I've not yet named. The 
 last time we met, Cody and I, he asked me to put in 
 print a brief notice of a comrade who was very dear to 
 him, and it shall be done now. 
 
 James White was his name; a man little known east 
 of the Missouri, but on the Plains he was Buffalo Bill's 
 shadow. I had met him for the first time at McPher- 
 son station in the Platte valley, in 1871, when he came 
 to me with a horse, and the simple introduction that 
 he was a friend of Cody's. Long afterwards we found 
 how true and stanch a friend, for when Cody joined 
 us at Cheyenne as chief scout he brought White with 
 him as assistant, and Bill's recommendation secured 
 his immediate employment. 
 
 On many a long day's march after that White rode 
 by my side along the flanks of the column, and I got 
 to know him well. A simpler-minded, gentler fron- 
 tiersman never lived. He was modesty and courtesy 
 itself, conspicuous mainly because of two or three un- 
 usual traits for his class he never drank, I never heard 
 him swear, and no man ever heard him lie. 
 
 For years he had been Cody's faithful follower 
 half servant, half "pardner." He was Bill's "Fidus 
 
114 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 Achates;" Bill was his adoration. They had been boys 
 together, and the hero worship of extreme youth was 
 simply intensified in the man. He copied Bill's dress, 
 his gait, his carriage, his speech everything he could 
 copy; he let his long yellow hair fall low upon his 
 shoulders in wistful imitation of Bill's glossy brown 
 curls. He took more care of Bill's guns and horses 
 than he did of his own; and so, when he finally claimed, 
 one night at Laramie, the right to be known by some 
 other title than simple Jim White something descrip- 
 tive, as it were, of his attachment for Cody and life- 
 long devotion to his idol " Buffalo Bill," a grim quar- 
 termaster (Morton, of the Ninth Infantry), dubbed him 
 " Buffalo Chips," and the name was a fixture. 
 
 Poor, honest-hearted " Chips " ! His story was a 
 brief one after that episode. We launched out from 
 Laramie on the 22d of June, and, through all the vicis- 
 situdes of the campaign that followed, he was always 
 near the Fifth. On the Yellowstone Cody was com- 
 pelled to bid us a reluctant farewell. He had theat- 
 rical engagements to meet in the fall, and about the 
 end of August he started on General Terry's boat for 
 Fort Buford and the States. "Chips" remained in 
 his capacity as scout, though he seemed sorely to miss 
 his "pardner." 
 
 It was just two weeks after that we struck the Sioux 
 at Slim Buttes, something of which I told you in a for- 
 mer chapter. You may remember that the Fifth had 
 ridden in haste to the relief of Major Mills, who had 
 surprised the Indians away in our front early Saturday 
 morning, had whipped them in panicky confusion out 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CEO OK. 115 
 
 of their " tepees " into the neighboring rocks, and then 
 had to fight on the defensive against ugly odds until 
 we rode in to the rescue. As the head of our column 
 jogged in among the lodges, and General Carr direct- 
 ed us to keep on down to face the bluffs to the south, 
 Mills pointed to a ravine opening out into the village, 
 with the warning, "Look out for that gully; there are 
 two or three wounded Indians hidden in there, and 
 they've knocked over some of my men." 
 
 Everybody was too busy just then to pay much 
 attention to two or three wounded Indians in a hole. 
 We were sure of getting them when wanted. So, 
 placing a couple of sentinels where they could warn 
 stragglers away from its front, we formed line along 
 the south and west of the captured village, and got 
 everything ready to resist the attack we knew they 
 would soon make in full force. 
 
 General Crook had arrived on the scene, and, while 
 we were waiting for " Lo " to resume the offensive, 
 some few scouts and packers started in to have a little 
 fun "rousting out them Injuns." Half a dozen sol- 
 diers got permission to go over and join in while the 
 rest of us were hungrily hunting about for something 
 to eat. The next thing, we heard a volley from the 
 ravine, and saw the scouts and packers scattering for 
 cover. One soldier held his ground shot dead. An- 
 other moment, and it became apparent that not one or 
 two, but a dozen Indians were crouching somewhere 
 in that narrow gorge, and the move to get them out 
 assumed proportions. Lieutenant Clark, of General 
 Crook's staff, sprang into the entrance, carbine in hand, 
 
116 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 and a score of cavalrymen followed, while the scouts 
 and others went cautiously along either bank, peering 
 warily into the cave-like darkness at the head. A 
 squad of newspaper correspondents, led by that reck- 
 less Hibernian, Finerty, of the Chicago Times, came 
 tearing over, pencil in hand, all eagerness for items, 
 just as a second volley came from the concealed foe, 
 and three more of their assailants dropped, bleed- 
 ing, in their tracks. Now our people were fairly 
 aroused, and officers and men by dozens hurried to 
 the scene. The misty air rang with shots, and the 
 chances looked bad for those redskins. Just at this 
 moment, as I was running over from the western side, 
 I caught sight of " Chips " on the opposite crest. All 
 alone, he was cautiously making his way, on hands and 
 knees, towards the head of the ravine, where he could 
 look down upon the Indians beneath. As yet he was pro- 
 tected from their fire by the bank itself his lean form 
 distinctly outlined against the eastern sky. He reached 
 a stunted tree that grew on the very edge of the gorge, 
 and there he halted, brought his rifle close under his 
 shoulder, in readiness to aim, and then raised himself 
 slowly to his feet, lifted his head higher, higher, as he 
 peered over. Suddenly a quick, eager light shone in his 
 face, a sharp movement of his rifle, as though he were 
 about to raise it to the shoulder, when, bang ! a puff 
 of white smoke floated up from the head of the ravine, 
 " Chips " sprang convulsively in the air, clasping his 
 hands to his breast, and with one startled, agonizing 
 cry, " Oh, my God, boys !" plunged heavily forward, 
 on his face, down the slope shot througli the heart. 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 117 
 
 Two minutes more, what Indians were left alive were 
 prisoners, and that costly experiment at an end. That 
 evening, after the repulse of the grand attack of Ro- 
 man Nose and Stabber's warriors, and, 'twas said, hun- 
 dreds of Crazy Horse's band, we buried poor " Chips," 
 with our other dead, in a deep ravine. Wild Bill, Cal- 
 ifornia Joe, and Cosgrove have long since gone to their 
 last account, but, among those who knew them, no 
 scout was more universally mourned than Buffalo Bill's 
 devoted friend, Jim White. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE "CHIEF" AND THE STAFF. 
 
 WITH the death of our scout, Jim White, that event- 
 ful afternoon on the 9th of September, 1876, the skulk- 
 ing Indians in the ravine seemed to have fired their 
 last shot. Several squaws were half dragged, half 
 pushed up the banks, and through them the hidden 
 foe were at last convinced that their lives would be 
 spared if they would come out and surrender. Pend- 
 ing the negotiations, General Crook himself, with two 
 or three staff officers, came upon the scene, and orders 
 were given that the prisoners should be brought to him. 
 
 The time was, in the martial history of our country, 
 when brigadier-generals were as plentiful as treasury- 
 clerks when our streets were ablaze with brilliant 
 buttons, double rows and grouped in twos; when sil- 
 ver stars shone on many a shoulder, and every such 
 luminary was the centre of half a score of brilliant 
 
118 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 
 
 satellites, the blue-and-gold aides-de-camp, adjutant- 
 generals, etc., etc. But those were the dashing days 
 of the late civil war, when -the traditions of 1812 and 
 Mexico were still fresh in the military mind, and when 
 we were half disposed to consider it quite the thing 
 for a general to bedeck himself in all the splendor to 
 be borrowed from plumes, epaulettes, and sashes, and, 
 followed by a curveting train of attendants, to gallop 
 forth and salute his opponent before opening the bat- 
 tle. They did it in 1812, and "Old Fuss and Feath- 
 ers," as many in the army called Winfield Scott, would 
 have pursued the same system in '47, but for the fact 
 that bluff Zachary Taylor" Old Rough and Ready " 
 had taken the initiative, and left all full-dress outfits 
 east of the Rio Grande. 
 
 We do things in a still more practical style nowa- 
 days, and, when it comes to fighting Indians, all that 
 is ornamental in warfare has been left to them. An 
 Indian of the Sioux or Cheyenne tribe, when he goes 
 into battle, is as gorgeous a creature as vermilion, 
 pigment, plumed war -bonnet, glittering necklace, 
 armlets, bracelets, and painted shield can make him. 
 But here is a chance to see a full-fledged brigadier- 
 general of the United States Army and his brilliant 
 staff in action date, September 9th, 1876; place, 
 a muddy ravine in far- western Dakota; campaign, 
 the great Sioux war of that year. Now, fellow- 
 citizens, which is brigadier and which is private sol- 
 dier in this crowd ? It has gathered in not unkindly 
 curiosity around three squaws who have just been 
 brought into the presence of the "big white chief." 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 119 
 
 You are taxpayers you contribute to the support of 
 the brigadier and the private alike. Presumably, there- 
 fore, having paid your money, you take your pick. I 
 see you will need assistance. Very well, then. This 
 utterly unpretending party this undeniably shabby- 
 looking man in a private soldier's light-blue overcoat, 
 standing ankle-deep in mud in a far-gone pair of pri- 
 vate soldier's boots, crowned with a most shocking bad 
 hat, is Brigadier-General George Crook, of the United 
 States Army. He commanded the Eighth Corps at 
 Cedar Creek, and ever since the war closed has been 
 hustled about the great West, doing more hard ser- 
 vice and making less fuss about it than you suppose 
 possible in the case of a brigadier-general. He has 
 spent the best days of his life, before and since the 
 war, in the exile of the frontier. He has fought all 
 the tribes on the western slope of the Rockies, and 
 nearly all on the eastern side. Pitt River Indians 
 sent an arrow through him in 1857, and since the day 
 he took command against the Apaches in Arizona no 
 white man's scalp would bring the price his would, 
 even in the most impoverished tribe on the continent. 
 The rain is dripping from the ragged edge of his old 
 white felt hat and down over his untrimmed beard as 
 he holds out his hand to greet, Indian fashion, the first 
 squaw whom the interpreter, Frank Gruard, is leading 
 forward. Poor, haggard, terrified old wretch, she rec- 
 ognizes the big chief at once, and, springing forward, 
 grasps his hand in both of hers, while her eyes mutely 
 implore protection. Never having seen in all her life 
 any reception but torture for prisoners, she cannot be 
 
120 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 made to believe, for some minutes, that the white man 
 does not war that way. The other squaws come crowd- 
 ing after her, each eager to grasp the general's hand, 
 and then to insert therein the tiny fist of the pap- 
 poose hanging in stolid wonderment on her back. 
 One of the squaws, a young and really handsome 
 woman, is shot through the hand, but she holds it un- 
 concernedly before her, letting the blood drip to the 
 ground while she listens to the interpreter's explana- 
 tion of the general's assurance of safety. 
 
 Standing by the general are two of his aides. West 
 of the Missouri you would not need introduction to 
 him or them, for no men are better known; but it is 
 the rarest thing imaginable to see any one of the three 
 anywhere else. In point of style and attire, they are 
 no better oif than their chief. Bourke, the senior aide 
 and adjutant-general of the expedition, is picturesque- 
 ly gotten up in an old shooting-coat, an indescribable 
 pair of trousers, and a straw hat minus ribbon or bind- 
 ing, a brim ragged as the edge of a saw, and a crown 
 without a thatch. It was midsummer, you recollect, 
 when we started on this raid, and, while the seasons 
 have changed, our garments, perforce, remain the same, 
 what there is left of them. 
 
 Schuyler, the junior, is a trifle more "swell" in 
 point of dress. His hat has not quite so many holes; 
 his hunting-shirt of brown canvas has stood the wear 
 and tear of the campaign somewhat better, and the 
 lower man is garbed in a material unsightly but inde- 
 structible. All three are old campaigners in every part 
 of the West. The third aide-de-camp we saw in the 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 121 
 
 previous article, down in the ravine itself, heading 
 the attack on the Indians. Clark is unquestionably 
 the show-figure of the staff, for his suit of Indian- 
 tanned buckskin seems to defy the elements, and he 
 looks as handsome and jaunty as the day we met 
 him on the Yellowstone. 
 
 Meantime more Indians are being dragged out of 
 their improvised rifle-pits warriors, squaws, and chil- 
 dren. One of the latter is a bright-eyed little miss of 
 some four or five summers. She is absolutely pretty, 
 and looks so wet and cold and hungry that Bourke's 
 big heart is touched, and, lifting her from the ground, 
 he starts off with her towards where the Fifth Cavalry 
 are bivouacked, and I go with them. The little maid- 
 en suspects treachery torture or death, no doubt 
 for with all her savage strength she kicks, struggles, 
 claws, and scratches at the kindly, bearded face, scorns 
 all the soothing protestations of her captor, and finally, 
 as we arrive at Bourke's camp-fire, actually tears off 
 that veteran straw hat, and Bourke, being a bachelor, 
 hands his prize over to me with the remark that, as a 
 family man, I may have better luck. Apparently I do 
 not, but in a moment the adjutant-general is busying 
 himself at his haversack. He produces an almost for- 
 gotten luxury a solid hard-tack ; spreads upon it a 
 thick layer of wild-currant jam, and hands it to the 
 little termagant who is deafening me with screams. 
 "Take it, it's washtay, Wauwataycha;" and, sudden 
 as sunburst from April cloud, little Wauwataycha's 
 white teeth gleamed in smiles an instant, and then are 
 buried in the sweet morsel. Her troubles are forgot- 
 
122 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 ten, she wriggles out of my arms, squats contentedly 
 in the mud by the fire, finishes a square foot of hard- 
 tack in less time than we could masticate an inch, and 
 smilingly looks up for more. 
 
 Poor little heathen ! It wasn't the treatment she 
 expected, and, doubtless, more than ever, she thinks 
 " white man heap fool," but she is none the less happy. 
 She will fill her own little stomach first, and then go 
 and tell the glad tidings to her sisters, cousins, and 
 aunts, and that white chief will have consequential 
 damages to settle for scores of relatives of the original 
 claimant of his hospitality. Indian logic in such mat- 
 ters is nothing if not peculiar. Lo argues, " You give 
 my pappoose something to eat you my pappoose 
 friend; now you give me, or you my enemy." 
 
 Nothing but big luck will save Bourke's scanty 
 supply of provender this muddy, rainy afternoon. 
 
 We have captured a dozen or more rabid Indians 
 who but half an hour ago were strewing the hillside 
 with our dead. Here's one grinning, hand-shaking 
 vagabond with one of Ouster's corporals uniforms on 
 his back doubtless that corporal's scalp is somewhere 
 in the warrior's possession, but he has the deep sagac- 
 ity not to boast of it ; and no man in his sound senses 
 wants to search the average Indian. They are our 
 prisoners. Were we theirs, by this time we would be 
 nakedly ornamenting a solid stake and broiling to a 
 juicy death to the accompaniment of their exultant 
 howls. But fate ordains otherwise ; we are good 
 North American citizens and must conciliate so we 
 pass them around with smiling, pacific grasp of hand 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 123 
 
 cheery " How coolahs," and seat them by the fire and 
 bid them puff of our scanty store of tobacco, and eat 
 of our common stock of pony. But we leave a fair- 
 sized guard with orders to perforate the first redskin 
 that tries to budge, while the rest of us grab our car- 
 bines and hurry to our posts. Scattering shots are 
 heard all along and around our line the trumpets of 
 the cavalry ring out " To arms !" the Fifth Cavalry 
 follows with "Forward." It means business, gentle- 
 men, for here come Crazy Horse, Roman Nose, and 
 scores, nay hundreds, of these Dick Turpins of the 
 Plains, bent on recapturing their comrades. We must 
 drop pen to meet them. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE COMBAT OF SLIM BUTTES. 
 
 IT is a stirring sight that meets the eye as, scram- 
 bling up from the shelter of the ravine in which we 
 have been interviewing our captives, we gain the hill- 
 side and look hurriedly around. The whole landscape 
 is alive with men and horses in excited motion. We 
 are in a half-amphitheatre of picturesque and tower- 
 ing bluffs. North, south, and west they frown down 
 upon us, their crests enveloped in eddying mist and 
 rain clouds, the sward at their base rolling towards us 
 in successive dips and ridges. Not three hundred 
 yards away the nearest cliff tosses skyward directly 
 south of the centre of the village we have won, but 
 to the west and north they open out a good three- 
 quarter mile away. 
 
124 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 The village itself consists of some thirty lodges or 
 tepees of the largest and most ornate description 
 known to Sioux architecture. The prisoners say that 
 the head man of the municipality was Roman Nose, 
 and that he and his band are but flankers of the great 
 chieftain Crazy Horse, whose whereabouts arc vaguely 
 indicated as "over there," which may mean among 
 the white crags of Slim Buttes, within rifle shot, or 
 miles away towards the Little Missouri. The tepees 
 are nestled about in three shallow ravines or " cool- 
 eys," as the Northern plainsmen sometimes call them, 
 which, uniting in the centre of the metropolis, form a 
 little valley through which their joint contributions 
 trickle away in a muddy streamlet. On a point at 
 the confluence of the two smaller branches stands a 
 large lodge of painted skins, the residence no doubt 
 of some chief or influential citizen, for it is chuck-full 
 of robes and furs and plunder of every description. 
 Here, not inside, for the domicile savors of long and 
 unventilated occupation, but outside in the mud, Gen- 
 eral Carr has established the headquarters of the Fifth 
 Cavalry. Its left is bivouacked directly in front, 
 facing south in the narrow ravine nearest the tall white 
 butte that stands like a sentinel against the stormy 
 sky, while the rest of the line sweeps around to the 
 west, crossing the level plateau between the two main 
 ravines. Mason's battalion is holding this front and 
 uniting with the Second Cavalry battalion on our 
 right. 
 
 Directly behind us rises a mound in the very centre 
 of our position, and here General Merritt, who com- 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 125 
 
 mands the whole cavalry brigade, has planted his flag. 
 It overlooks the field. Below him to the north are 
 the lodges to which the wounded men have been 
 brought, and where the surgeons are now at work. 
 Here, too, the compact battalion of the infantry has 
 stacked its arms and set about kicking the heavy mud 
 off its worn brogans. Somewhere over there also is 
 the entire Third Cavalry, but I have been too busy 
 with other entertainments since we trotted in at noon 
 to find out much about them. To them belongs solely 
 and entirely the honor of the capture of the village 
 in the first place only a hundred and fifty men at 
 that. Their advance under Mills and Crawford, 
 Schwatka and poor Von Luettwitz (who pays for 
 the honor with a leg the surgeons have just lopped 
 off) dashed in at daybreak while we were yet twenty 
 miles away, and since we got in to help them hold the 
 prize all hands have had their hands full. 
 
 Southeast of Merritt's central position a curling white 
 smoke rising from the main ravine through the moist- 
 ure-laden air, and begriming the folds of a red-and- 
 bltie headquarters flag, indicates where Crook himself 
 is to be found. The brigadier is no better off cares 
 to be no better off than the private. He has not a 
 rag of canvas to shelter his head. 
 
 Close in around the lines the lean, bony, leg-weary 
 horses of the cavalry are herded, each company by 
 itself where best it can find patches of the rich buffalo 
 grass. No need to lariat those horses now. For weeks 
 past they have barely been able to stagger along, and 
 the morning's twenty-mile shuffle through the mud 
 
126 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 has utterly used them up. Nevertheless, each herd 
 is strongly guarded, for the Indians are lurking all 
 around us, eagerly watching every chance. 
 
 The scattering shots from the distant portion of our 
 lines, that have brought us scrambling up the hillside, 
 wake the scene to the instant life and excitement we 
 note as we reach the first ridge. As adjutant, my 
 duties call me at once to General Carr's headquarters, 
 whence half a dozen officers who were gathered in 
 conversation are scattering to their companies. A 
 shout from the hillside announces, "Indians firing into 
 the herds over in front of the Third Cavalry." Even 
 as the hail is heard, a rattling of small arms, the sharp, 
 vicious "ping" of the carbine and the deep "bang" 
 of the longer-ranged rifle, sweeps along the western 
 front. Just as we expected, Crazy Horse has come 
 to the rescue, with all his available warriors. It is 
 just half-past four o'clock by General Carr's watch, 
 and between this and sunset the matter must be set- 
 tled. As yet we can see nothing of it from our front, 
 but every man seems to know what's coming* " Sound 
 to arms, Bradley," is General Carr's quiet order to our 
 chief trumpeter, and as the ringing notes resound along 
 the ravines the call is taken up from battalion to bat- 
 talion. The men spring to ranks, the herd guards are 
 hurrying in their startled horses, and the old chargers, 
 scenting Indians and danger, toss their heads snorting 
 in the air and come trotting in to their eager masters. 
 All but one herd " Look at the Grays," is the cry, 
 for Montgomery's horses have burst into a gallop, ex- 
 cited by the shouts and clamor, and there they go up 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 127 
 
 the slope, out to the front, and square into the fast- 
 ness of the Indians. Not yet ! A dozen eager troop- 
 ers, officers and men, have flung themselves on their 
 steeds, all without saddles, some without bridles, and 
 are off in chase. No need of their services, though. 
 That dragoon corporal in charge of the herd is a cool, 
 practised hand he has to be to wear chevrons in 
 Montgomery's troop and, dashing to the front, he half 
 leads, half turns the leaders over to the left, and in a 
 great circling sweep of five hundred yards has guided 
 them back into the very midst of their company. It 
 is at once skilful and daring. No Indian could have 
 done it better, and Corporal Clanton is applauded 
 then and mentioned in General Carr's report there- 
 after. 
 
 Even as it is occurring, the hillsides in our own 
 front bristle with the savage warriors, too far off as 
 yet for close shooting, but threateningly near. Our 
 horses must be kept under cover in the ravines, and 
 the lines thrown out to meet the foe, so "Forward" 
 is sounded. Upham's battalion scramble up the ridge 
 in their front, and the fun begins. All around the 
 rocky amphitheatre the Indians come bobbing into 
 sight on their active ponies, darting from behind rocks 
 and ledges, appearing for a brief instant over the rise 
 of open ground eight hundred yards away, then as 
 suddenly dipping out of sight into some intervening 
 " swale," or depression. The first thing, while the 
 general's horse and mine are being saddled, is to get 
 the other animals into the ravine under shelter, and 
 while I'm at it, Bourke, the aide-de-camp we last saw 
 
128 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 
 
 petting and feeding his baby-captive, conies rattling 
 up the pebbly stream-bed and rides out to the front 
 with that marvellous wreck of a straw hat flapping 
 about his ears. He never hears the laughing hail of 
 "How did you leave your baby, John?" but is the 
 first mounted officer I see along the line. 
 
 " Press where you see my old hat shine, 
 
 Amid the ranks of war, 
 And be your oriflamme to-day 
 This tile from Omaha." 
 
 Macaulay barbarously paraphrased in the mud of Slim 
 Buttes. 
 
 As the general swings into saddle and out to the 
 front, the skirmish line is spreading out like a fan, 
 the men running nimbly forward up the ridges. They 
 are not well in hand, for they fire rapidly as they run. 
 The volleys sound like a second Spottsylvania, a grand 
 success as a feu de joie, but, as the colonel indignantly 
 remarks, "They couldn't hit a flock of barns at that 
 distance, much less an Indian skipping about like a 
 flea," and orders are sent to stop the wild shooting. 
 That there are hundreds of Indians is plainly appar- 
 ent from their rapid fire, but they keep five or six 
 hundred yards away behind the ridges, peppering at 
 every exposed point of our line. Upham's battalion 
 is swinging around to the west ; Mason has pushed 
 his five companies square out to the front along the 
 plateau, driving the Indians before him. To his right 
 the Second and Third Cavalry, fighting dismounted 
 too, are making merry music. And now, filing over 
 the ridge, comes the long column of infantry ; and 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 129 
 
 when they get to work with their " long toms " the 
 Indians will have to skip in earnest. The shrill voice 
 of their gray-bearded old chief sends his skirmishers 
 rapidly out on IJpham's left, and a minute more the 
 rocks are ringing with the deeper notes of his mus- 
 ketry. Meantime I have counted at least two hun- 
 dred and fifty Indian warriors darting down from one 
 single opening among the bluffs square in Mason's 
 front, and the wounded are drifting in from his line 
 far more rapidly than from other exposed points. The 
 brunt of the attack coming along that plateau falls 
 on him and his five companies. 
 
 It is growing darker, and the flashes from our guns 
 take a ruddier tinge. The principal occupation of 
 our officers, staff and line, has been to move along 
 among the men and prevent the waste of ammunition. 
 Every now and then some young redskin, ambitious 
 of distinction, will suddenly pop from behind a shel- 
 tering hummock and dash at the top of his pony's 
 speed along our front, but over three hundred yards 
 away, taunting and blackguarding us in shrill ver- 
 nacular as he does so. Then the whole brigade wants 
 to let drive at him and squander ammunition at the 
 rate of five dollars a second on that one pestiferous 
 vagabond. " Hold your fire, men !" is the order. 
 " Give them half a chance and some of the painted 
 humbugs will ride in closer." 
 
 By 5.30 the light is so uncertain that we, who are 
 facing west along the plateau, and have the grim but- 
 tresses of the Buttes in our front, can barely distin- 
 guish the scudding forms of the Indians ; but the 
 9 
 
130 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 
 
 flash of their rifles is incessant, and now that they are 
 forced back beyond the possibility of harm to our 
 centre, the orders are to lie down and stand them off. 
 These men crouching along the ridge are Company 
 " F," of the Fifth. They and their captain (Payne) 
 you have heard more of in the Ute campaign. One 
 of them, a keen shot, has just succeeded in knocking 
 an Indian out of his saddle and capturing his pony, 
 and even while his comrades are shouting their congrat- 
 ulations, up comes Jack Finerty, who seeks his items 
 on the skirmish line, and uses pencil and carbine with 
 equal facility. Finerty wants the name of the man 
 who killed that Indian, and, learning from the eager 
 voices of the men that it is " Paddy " Nihil, he de- 
 lightedly heads a new paragraph of his despatch " Ni- 
 hil Fit," shakes hands with his brother Patlander, and 
 scurries off to take a hand in the uproar on the left. 
 
 "The war that for a space did fail 
 Now trebly thundering swelled the gale." 
 
 Colonel Chambers, with his plucky infantrymen, 
 has clambered up the cliff on the south, changed 
 front forward on his right practically, not tacti- 
 cally and got in a flank fire along the very depres- 
 sions in which the Indians are settled. This is more 
 than they can stand. The sun goes down at Slim 
 Buttes on hundreds of baffled and discomfited Sioux. 
 They have lost their village ; lost three hundred tip- 
 top ponies. A dozen of their warriors and squaws 
 are in our hands, and a dozen more are dead and dy- 
 ing in the attempt to recapture them ; and the big 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 131 
 
 white chief Crook has managed to gain all this with 
 starving men and skeleton horses. 
 
 Drawing in for the night, we post strong pickets 
 well out in every direction, but they are undisturbed. 
 Now comes the summing-up of casualties. The ad- 
 jutants make the weary round of their regiments 
 through wind and rain, taking the reports of com- 
 pany commanders, and then repairing to the sur- 
 geons to verify the lists. Two or three lodges have 
 been converted into field hospitals ; and in one of 
 these, among our own wounded, two of the surgeons 
 are turning their attention to a captive the warrior 
 American Horse. He lies upon some muddy robes, 
 with the life-blood ebbing from a ghastly hole in his 
 side. Dr. Clements examines his savage patient ten- 
 derly, gently as he would a child ; and, though he 
 sees that nothing can save life, he does all that art 
 can suggest. It is a painful task to both surgeon and 
 subject. The latter scorns chloroform, and mutters 
 some order to a squaw crouching at his feet. She 
 glides silently from the tepee, and returns with a bit of 
 hard stick ; this he thrusts between his teeth, and then, 
 as the surgeons work, and the sweat of agony breaks 
 out upon his forehead, he bites deep into the wood, 
 but never groans nor shrinks. Before the dawn his 
 fierce spirit has taken its flight, and the squaws are 
 crooning the death-chant by his side. 
 
 Our own dead are fortunately few, and they are 
 buried deep in the ravine before we move southward 
 in the morning not only buried deep, but a thousand 
 horses, in column of twos, tramp over the new-made 
 
132 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 graves and obliterate the trace. You think this is 
 but poor respect to show to a soldier's grave, no 
 doubt ; but then you don't know Indians, and cannot 
 be expected to know that as soon as we are gone the 
 skulking rascals will come prowling into the camp, 
 hunting high and low for those graves, and, if they 
 find them, will dig up the bodies we would honor, se- 
 cure the scalps as .trophies of their prowess, and then, 
 after indescribable hackings and mutilations, consign 
 the poor remains to their four-footed relatives, the 
 prairie wolves. 
 
 Our wounded are many, and a hard time the pa- 
 tient fellows are having. Such rude shelter as their 
 comrades can improvise from the Indian tepees we in- 
 terpose between them and the dripping skies above. 
 The rain - drops sputter in the flickering watch - fires 
 around their cheerless bivouac ; the night wind stirs 
 the moaning pines upon the cliffs, and sweeps down 
 in chill discordance through creaking lodge -poles 
 and flapping roof of hide ; the gaunt horses huddle 
 close for warmth and shelter ; the muffled challenge 
 of the outlying picket is answered by the yelp of 
 skulking coyote ; and wet, cold, muddy, and, oh ! so 
 hungry, the victors hug their drenched blankets about 
 their ears, and, grasping their carbines, pillowed on 
 their saddles, sleep the sleep of the deserving. 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 133 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A RACE FOR RATIONS. 
 
 THE village of Slim. Buttes destroyed, General 
 Crook pushed ahead on his southward march in search 
 of the Black Hills and rations. All Sunday morning 
 Upham's battalion of the Fifth Cavalry covered the 
 rear, and fought back the savage attacks upon the 
 column ; but, once well away from the smoking ruins, 
 we were but little molested, and soon after noon caught 
 up with the rest of the regiment, and found the en- 
 tire command going into bivouac along a little stream 
 flowing northward from an opening among towering 
 cliffs that were thrown like a barrier athwart our 
 line of march. It was cold, cheerless, rainy weather, 
 but here we found grass and water for our famished 
 cattle ; plenty of timber for our fires, though we had 
 not a thing to cook, but men and horses were weak 
 and chilled, and glad of a chance to rest. 
 
 Here Doctors Clements, Hartsuff, and Patzki, with 
 their assistants, went busily to work perfecting the 
 improvised transportation for the wounded. There 
 was not an ambulance or a field -litter in the com- 
 mand. Two officers Bache, of the Fifth, and Von 
 Luettwitz, of the Third Cavalry were utterly hors 
 du combat, the latter having left his leg at the fight 
 
134 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 on the previous day, and some twenty-five men, more 
 or less severely wounded, were unable either to walk 
 or ride a horse. 
 
 Frontiersmen are quick to take lessons from the 
 Indians, the most practical of transportation masters. 
 Saplings twelve feet in length were cut (Indian 
 lodge -poles were utilized) ; the slender ends of two 
 of these were lashed securely on either side of a spare 
 pack-mule, the heavy ends trailing along the ground, 
 and fastened some three feet apart by cross-bars. 
 Canvas and blankets were stretched across the space 
 between ; hereon one wounded man was laid, and 
 what the Indians and plainsmen call a travois was 
 complete. Over prairie or rockless road it does very 
 well, but for the severely wounded a far more com- 
 fortable litter was devised. Two mules were lashed 
 " fore and aft " between two longer saplings ; the in- 
 tervening space was rudely but comfortably uphol- 
 stered with robes and blankets, and therein the in- 
 valid might ride for hours as smoothly as in a palace 
 car. Once, in the Arizona mountains, I was carried 
 an entire week in a similar contrivance, and never 
 enjoyed easier locomotion so long as the mules be- 
 haved. But just here it may be remarked that com- 
 fort which is in the faintest degree dependent upon 
 the uniform and steadfast serenity of the army mule 
 is of most uncertain tenure. Poor McKinstry, our 
 wagon - master (who was killed in Payne's fight with 
 the Utes last September, and whose unflattering com- 
 parison may have been provoked by unhappy experi- 
 ences with the sex), used to say : " Most mules could 
 

CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 135 
 
 swap ends quicker'n a woman could change her 
 mind ;" and it was by no means required that the 
 mule should " swap ends " to render the situation of 
 the poor fellow in the travois undesirable, if, indeed, 
 he was permitted to retain it. 
 
 Sunday afternoon was spent in doing the little that 
 could be done towards making the wounded comfort- 
 able, and the manufacture of rude leggins, moccasins, 
 etc., from the skins captured from the Indians on the 
 previous day. Sharp lookouts were kept, but no en- 
 emy appeared. Evidently the Sioux were more than 
 satisfied that Crook was worse than a badger in a bar- 
 rel a bad one to tackle. 
 
 Early on the morning of the llth we climbed 
 stiffly into saddle, and pushed on after our chief. 
 Our way for some two miles or more led up grade 
 through wooded bluffs and heights. A dense fog 
 hung low upon the landscape, and we could only fol- 
 low blindly in the trail of our leaders. It was part 
 of my duty to record each day's progress, and to 
 sketch in my note -book the topography of the line 
 of march. A compass was always in the cuff of 
 my gauntlet, and note -book in the breast of my 
 hunting-shirt, but for three or four days only the 
 trail itself, with streams we crossed and the heights 
 within a mile or two of the flank, had been jotted 
 down. Nothing further could be seen. It rained 
 eleven days and nights without perceptible stop, and 
 the whole country was flooded so far as the mist 
 would let us judge. 
 
 But this wretched Monday morning, an hour out 
 
136 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 from bivouac, we came upon a view I never shall for- 
 get. Riding along in the Fifth Cavalry column ev- 
 ery man wrapped in his own thoughts, and wishing 
 himself wrapped in something warmer, all too cold and 
 wet and dispirited to talk we were aroused by excla- 
 mations of surprise and wonder among the troopers 
 ahead. A moment more and we arrived in amaze at 
 a veritable jumping-off place, a sheer precipice, and I 
 reined out to the right to dismount and jot down the 
 situation. We had been winding along up, up, for over 
 an hour, following some old Indian trail that seemed to 
 lead to the moon, and all of a sudden had come ap- 
 parently to the end of the world. General Crook, his 
 staff and escort, the dismounted men and the infan- 
 try battalion away ahead had turned sharp to the 
 left, and could be faintly seen winding off into cloud- 
 land some three hundred feet below. Directly in our 
 front, to the south, rolling, eddjdng masses of fog 
 were the only visible features. We were standing on 
 the brink of a vertical cliff, its base lost in clouds far 
 beneath. Here and there a faint breeze tore rents 
 through the misty veil, and we caught glimpses of a 
 treeless, shrubless plain beneath. Soon there came 
 sturdier puffs of air ; the sun somewhere aloft was 
 shining brightly. We could neither see nor feel 
 it had begun to lose faith in its existence but the 
 clouds yielded to its force, and, swayed by the rising 
 wind, drew away upward. Divested of the glow of 
 colored fires, the glare of calcium light, the shimmer- 
 ing, spangled radiance of the stage, the symphony of 
 sweet orchestra, we were treated to a transformation 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 137 
 
 scene the like of which I have never witnessed, and 
 never want to see again. 
 
 The first curtain of fog uplifting, revealed rolling 
 away five hundred feet beneath a brown barren, that 
 ghastly compound of spongy ashes, yielding sand, 
 and soilless, soulless earth, on which even greasewood 
 cannot grow, and sage-brush sickens and dies the 
 " mauvaises terres " of the French missionaries and 
 fur-traders the curt " bad lands " of the Plains ver- 
 nacular, the meanest country under the sun. A sec- 
 ond curtain, rising farther away to the slow music of 
 muttered profanity from the audience, revealed only 
 worse and more of it. The third curtain exposed the 
 same rolling barren miles to the southward. The 
 fourth reached away to the very horizon, and vouch- 
 safed not a glimpse of the longed-for Hills, nor a 
 sign of the needed succor. Hope died from hun- 
 gry eyes, and strong men turned away with stifled 
 groans. 
 
 One or two of us there were who knew that, long 
 before we got sight of the Black Hills, we must pass 
 the Sioux landmark of "Deer's Ears" twin conical 
 heights that could be seen for miles in every direc- 
 tion, and even they were beyond range of my field- 
 glasses. My poor horse, ugly, raw - boned, starved, 
 but faithful " Blatherskite," was it in wretched pre- 
 monition of your fate, I wonder, that you added 
 your equine groan to the human chorus ? You and 
 your partner, " Donnybrook," were ugly enough when 
 I picked you out of the quartermaster's herd at Fort 
 Hays the night we made our sudden start for the 
 
138 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 Sioux campaign. You had little to recommend you 
 beyond the facility with which you could rattle your 
 heels like shillalahs about the ribs of your compan- 
 ions a trait which led to your Celtic titles but you 
 never thought so poorly of your rider as to suppose 
 that, after you had worn yourselves down to skin and 
 bone in carrying him those bleak two thousand miles, 
 he would help eat you ; but he did and it seemed like 
 cannibalism. 
 
 Well ! The story of that day's march isn't worth 
 the telling. We went afoot, dragging pounds of mud 
 with every step, and towing our wretched steeds by 
 the bridle-rein ; envying the gaunt infantry, who had 
 naught but their rifles to carry, and could march two 
 miles to our one. But late that afternoon, with 
 Beer's Ears close at hand at last, we sank down along 
 the banks of Owl Creek, the Heecha Wakpa of the 
 Sioux ; built huge fires, scorched our ragged gar- 
 ments, gnawed at tough horse meat, and wondered 
 whether we really ever had tasted such luxuries as 
 ham and eggs or porter - house steak. All night we 
 lay there in the rain ; and at dawn Upham's battal- 
 ion, with such horses as were thought capable of car- 
 rying a rider, were sent off down stream to the south- 
 east on the trail of some wandering Indians who had 
 crossed our front. The rest of us rolled our blankets 
 and trudged out southward. It was Tuesday, the 
 12th of September, 1876 a day long to be remem- 
 bered in the annals of the officers and men of the Big 
 Horn and Yellowstone expedition ; a day that can 
 never be thoroughly described, even could it bear de- 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 139 
 
 scription ; a day when scores of our horses dropped 
 exhausted on the trail when starving men toiled pit- 
 eously along through thick clinging mud, or flung 
 themselves, weeping and worn out, upon the broad, 
 flooded prairie. Happily, we got out of the Bad 
 Lands before noon ; but one and all were weak with 
 hunger, and as we dragged through boggy stream-bed, 
 men would sink hopelessly in the mire and never try to 
 rise of themselves ; travois mules would plunge fran- 
 tically in bog and quicksand, and pitch the wounded 
 screaming from their litters. I hate to recall it. Du- 
 ties kept me with the rear-guard, picking up and driv- 
 ing in stragglers. It was seven A.M. when we marched 
 from Owl Creek. It was after midnight when Kel- 
 logg's rearmost files reached the bivouac along the 
 Crow. The night was pitchy dark, the rain was piti- 
 less ; half our horses were gone, many of the men 
 were scattered over the cheerless prairie far behind. 
 But relief was at hand ; the Belle Fourche was only 
 a few miles away ; beyond it lay the Black Hills and 
 the stores of Crook City and Deadwood. Commis- 
 sary and couriers had been sent ahead to hurry back 
 provisions ; by noon of the coming sun there would 
 be abundance. 
 
 The morning came slowly enough. All night it 
 had rained in torrents ; no gleam of sunlight came to 
 gladden our eyes or thaw the stiffened limbs of our 
 soldiers. Crow Creek was running like a mill-race. 
 A third of the command had managed to cross it the 
 evening before, but the rest had halted upon the north- 
 ern bank. Roll-call showed that many men had still 
 
140 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 failed to catch up, and an examination of the ford re- 
 vealed the fact that, with precipitous banks above and 
 below, and deep water rushing over quicksands and 
 treacherous bottom at the one available point, it must 
 be patched up in some manner before a crossing could 
 be effected. An orderly summoned me to the gen- 
 eral's headquarters, and there I found him as deep in 
 the mud as the rest of us. He simply wanted me to 
 go down and put that ford into shape. " You will 
 find Lieutenant Young there," said he, " and fifty men 
 will report to you for duty." Lieutenant Young was 
 there sure enough, and some fifty men did report, but 
 there were no tools and the men were jaded; not more 
 than ten or twelve could do a stroke of work. We 
 hewed down willows and saplings with our hunting 
 knives, brought huge bundles of these to the ford, 
 waded in to the waist, and anchored them as best we 
 could to the yielding bottom; worked like beavers 
 until noon, and at last reported it practicable despite 
 its looks. General Crook and his staff mounted and 
 rode to the brink, but appearances were against us, 
 and he plunged in to find a crossing for himself. Vig- 
 orous spurring carried him through, though twice we 
 thought him down. But his horse scrambled up the 
 opposite bank, the staff followed, dripping, and the 
 next horseman of the escort went under, horse and 
 all, and came sputtering to the surface at our shaky 
 causeway, reached it in safety and floundered ashore. 
 Then all stuck to our ford the long column of cav- 
 alry, the wounded on their travois and the stragglers 
 and by two P.M. all were safely over. The Belle 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 141 
 
 Fourche was only five miles away, but it took two 
 good hours to reach it. The stream was broad, rapid, 
 turbid, but the bottom solid as rock. Men clung to 
 horses' tails or the stirrups of their mounted comrades, 
 and were towed through, and then saddles were 
 whipped off in a dense grove of timber, fires glowed 
 in every direction, herd guards drove the weary horses 
 to rich pastures among the slopes and hillsides south 
 of the creek bottom, and all unoccupied men swarmed 
 out upon the nearest ridge to watch for the coming 
 wagons. Such a shout as went up when the cry was 
 heard, "Rations coming." Such a mob as gathered 
 when the foremost wagon drove in among the fam- 
 ished men. Guards were quickly stationed, but be- 
 fore that could be done the boxes were fairly snatched 
 from their owner and their contents scattered through 
 the surging crowd. Discipline for a moment was for- 
 gotten, men fought like tigers for crackers and plugs 
 of tobacco. Officers ran to the scene and soon restored 
 order, but I know that three ginger-snaps I picked up 
 from the mud under the horses' feet and shared with 
 Colonel Mason and Captain Woodson the first bite 
 of bread we had tasted in three days were the sweet- 
 est morsels we had tasted in years. 
 
 By five P.M. wagon after wagon had driven in. Dead- 
 wood and Crook City had rallied to the occasion. All 
 they heard was that Crook's army had reached the 
 Belle Fourche, starving. Our commissary, Captain 
 Bubb, had bought,, at owners' prices, all the bacon, 
 flour, and coffee to be had. Local dealers had loaded 
 up with every eatable item in their establishments. 
 
142 CAMPAIGNING WITH CEO OK. 
 
 Company commanders secured everything the men 
 could need. Then prominent citizens came driving 
 out with welcoming hands and appreciated luxuries, 
 and just as the sun went down Colonel Mason and I 
 were emptying tin cups of steaming coffee and for 
 two mortal hours eating flap-jacks as fast as the cock 
 could turn them out. Then came the blessed pipe 
 of peace, warm, dry blankets, and the soundest sleep 
 that ever tired soldier enjoyed. Our troubles were for- 
 gotten. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE BLACK HILLS. 
 
 IT was on Wednesday evening that our good friends, 
 the pioneers of Deadwood and Crook City, reached 
 us with their wagons, plethoric with all manner of 
 provender, and the next day, as though in congratu- 
 lation, the bright sunshine streamed in upon us, and 
 so did rations. The only hard- worked men were the 
 cooks, and from before dawn to late at evening not 
 an hour's respite did they enjoy. Towards sundown 
 we caught sight of Upham's battalion, coming in from 
 its weary scout down stream. They had not seen an 
 Indian, yet one poor fellow, Milner of Comany "A," 
 riding half a mile ahead of them in eager pursuit of 
 an antelope, was found ten minutes after, stripped, 
 scalped, and frightfully gashed and mutilated with 
 knives, stone dead, of course, though still warm. Pony 
 tracks were fresh in the springy sod all around him, 
 but ponies and riders had vanished. Pursuit was im- 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 143 
 
 possible. Upham had not a horse that could more 
 than stagger a few yards at a time. The maddest 
 man about it was our Sergeant-Major, Humme, an 
 admirable shot and a man of superhuman nerve and 
 courage ; yet only a few months ago you read how 
 he, with Lieutenant Weir, met a similar fate at the 
 hands of the Utes. He fought a half-score of them 
 single-handed, and sent one of them to his final 
 account before he himself succumbed to the mis- 
 siles they poured upon him from their shelter in the 
 rocks. A better soldier never lived, and there was 
 grim humor in the statement of the eleven surviving 
 TJte warriors, that they didn't want to fight Weir and 
 Humme, but were obliged to kill them in self-defence. 
 Weir was shot dead before he really saw the adver- 
 sary, and those twelve unfortunate warriors, armed 
 with their repeaters, would undoubtedly have suffered 
 severely at the hands of Humme and his single shooter 
 if they hadn't killed him too. 
 
 This is digressing, but it is so exquisitely charac- 
 teristic of the Indian Bureau's way of doing things 
 that, now that the peace commissioners have trium- 
 phantly announced, that the attack on Thornburg's 
 command was all an accident, and have allowed the 
 Indians to bully, temporize, and hoodwink them into 
 weeks of fruitless delay (the rascals never meant to 
 surrender the Meeker murderers so long as they had 
 only peace commissioners to deal with), and now that, 
 after all, the army has probably got to do over again 
 what it started to do last October, and could readily 
 have accomplished long ere this had they not been 
 
144 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 hauled off by the Bureau, the question naturally sug- 
 gests itself, how often is this sort of thing to be re- 
 peated ? Year after year it has been done. A small 
 force of soldiers sent to punish a large band of Indian 
 murderers or marauders. The small band has been 
 well-nigh annihilated in many instances. Then the 
 country wakes up, a large force concentrates at vast 
 expense, and the day of retribution has come, when, 
 sure as shooting, the Bureau has stepped in with re- 
 straining hand. No end of silk-hatted functionaries 
 have hurried out from Washington, shaken hands and 
 smoked a pipe with a score of big Indians ; there has 
 been a vast amount of cheap oratory and buncombe 
 talk about the Great Father and guileless red men, at 
 the end of which we are told to go back to camp and 
 bury our dead, and our late antagonists, laughing in 
 their sleeves, link arms with their aldermanic friends, 
 are " dead-headed" off to Washington, where they 
 are lionized at the White House, and sent the rounds 
 of the great cities, and finally return to their reserva- 
 tions laden down with new and improved rifles and 
 ammunition, stove-pipe hats, and Saratoga trunks, 
 more than ever convinced that the one way to get 
 what they want out of Uncle Sam is to slap his face 
 every spring and shake hands in the fall. The ap- 
 parent theory of the Bureau is that the soldier is made 
 to be killed, the Indian to be coddled. 
 
 However, deeply as my comrades and myself may 
 feel on this subject, it does not properly enter into a 
 narrative article. Let us get back to Upham's bat- 
 talion, who reached us late on the afternoon of the 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 145 
 
 fourteenth, desperately tired and hungry. We lost 
 no time in ministering to their wants, though we still 
 had no grain for our horses, but the men made merry 
 over abundant coffee, bacon and beans, and bread and 
 molasses, and were unspeakably happy. 
 
 That evening the general decided to send back to 
 the crossings of the swollen streams that had impeded 
 our march on the 12th, and in which many horses 
 and mules and boxes of rifle ammunition had been 
 lost. Indians prowling along owr trail would come 
 upon that ammunition as the stream subsided, and 
 reap a rich harvest. 
 
 The detail fell upon the Fifth Cavalry. One officer 
 and thirty men to take the back track, dig up the 
 boxes thirty miles away, and bring them in. With 
 every prospect of meeting hundreds of the Sioux fol- 
 lowing our trail for abandoned horses, the duty prom- 
 ised to be trying and perilous, and when the colonel 
 received the orders from headquarters, and, turning to 
 me, said, " Detail a lieutenant," I looked at the roster 
 with no little interest. Of ten companies of* the Fifth 
 Cavalry present, each was commanded by its captain, 
 but subalterns were scarce, and with us such duties 
 were assigned in turn, and the officer "longest in" 
 from scout or detachment service was Lieutenant 
 Keyes. So that young gentleman, being hunted up 
 and notified of his selection, girded up his loins and 
 was about ready to start alone on his perilous trip, 
 when there came swinging up to me an officer of in- 
 fantry an old West Point comrade who had obtained 
 permission to make the campaign with the Fifth Cav- 
 10 
 
146 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 ahy and had been assigned to Company "I" for duty, 
 but who was not detailable, strictly speaking, for such 
 service as Keyes's, from our roster. " Look here, King, 
 you haven't given me half a chance this last month, 
 and if I'm not to have this detail, I want to go with 
 Keyes, as subordinate, or anything ; I don't care, only 
 I want to go." The result was that he did go, and 
 when a few days since we read in the Sentinel that 
 Satterlee Plummer, a native of Wisconsin and a grad- 
 uate of West Point, had been reinstated in the army 
 on the special recommendation of General Crook, for 
 gallantry in Indian campaign, I remembered this in- 
 stance of the Sioux war of 1876, and, looking back to 
 my note-book, there I found the record and result of 
 their experience on the back track they brought in 
 fourteen horses and all the ammunition without losing 
 a man. 
 
 Now our whole attention was given to the recuper- 
 ation of our horses the cavalryman's first thought. 
 Each day we moved camp a few miles up the lovely 
 Whitewood valley, seeking fresh grass for the ani- 
 mals, and on September 18th we marched through the 
 little hamlet of Crook City, and bivouacked again in 
 a beautiful amphitheatre of the hills, called Centen- 
 nial Park. From here, dozens of the officers and men 
 wandered off to visit the mining gulches and settle- 
 ments in the neighborhood, and numbers were taken 
 prisoners by the denizens of Deadwood and royally 
 entertained. General Crook and his staff, with a small 
 escort, had left us early on the morning of the 
 16th, to push ahead to Fort Laramie and set about 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 147 
 
 the organization of a force for immediate resumption 
 of business. This threw General Merritt in command 
 of the expedition, and meant that our horses should 
 become the objects of the utmost thought and care. 
 Leaving Centennial Park on the 19th, we marched 
 southward through the Hills, and that afternoon came 
 upon a pretty stream named, as many another is 
 throughout the Northwest, the Box Elder, and there 
 we met a train of wagons, guarded by spruce artil- 
 lerymen fresh from their casemates on the seaboard, 
 who looked upon our rags with undisguised astonish- 
 ment, not unmixed with suspicion. But they were 
 eagerly greeted, and that night, for the first time in 
 four long weeks, small measures of oats and corn were 
 dealt out to our emaciated animals. It was touching 
 to see how carefully and tenderly the rough-looking 
 men spread the precious morsels before their steeds, 
 petting them the while, and talking as fond nonsense 
 to their faithful friends as ever mother crooned to 
 sleeping child. It was only a bite for the poor creat- 
 ures, and their eyes begged wistfully for more. We 
 gave them two nights' rest, and then, having con- 
 sumed all the grass to be had, pushed on to Rapid 
 Creek, thence again to the southern limits of the Hills, 
 passing through many a mining camp or little town 
 with a name suggestive of the wealth and population 
 of London. We found Custer City a deserted vil- 
 lage many a store and dozens of houses utterly un- 
 tenanted. No forage to be had for love or money. 
 Our horses could go no farther, so for weeks we lay 
 along French Creek, moving camp every day or two 
 
148 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 a mile or more for fresh grass. It was dull work, but 
 the men enjoyed it ; they were revelling in plenty to 
 eat and no drills, and every evening would gather in 
 crowds around the camp-fires, listening to some favor- 
 ite vocalist or yarn-spinner. Once in a while letters 
 began to reach us from anxious ones at home, and 
 make us long to see them ; and yet no orders came, 
 no definite prospects of relief from our exile. At last, 
 the second week in October started us out on a wel- 
 come raid down the valley of the South Cheyenne, 
 but not an Indian was caught napping, and finally, 
 on the 23d of October, we were all concentrated 
 in the vicinity of the Red Cloud Agency to take 
 part in the closing scene of the campaign and as- 
 sist in the disarming and unhorsing of all the reser- 
 vation Indians. 
 
 General MacKenzie, with the Fourth Cavalry and 
 a strong force of artillery and infantry, was already 
 there, and as we marched southward to surround the 
 Indian camps and villages from the direction of Hat 
 Creek our array was not unimposing, numerically. 
 The infantry, with the "weak-horsed" cavalry, moved 
 along the prairie road. Colonel Royall's command 
 (Third Cavalry and Noyes's Battalion of the Second) 
 was away over to the eastward, and well advanced, 
 so as to envelope the doomed villages from that di- 
 rection. We of the Fifth spread out over the rolling 
 plain to the west, and in this order all moved towards 
 Red Cloud, twenty odd miles away. It was prettily 
 planned, but scores of wary, savage eyes had watched 
 all Crook's preparations at the agency. The wily Ind- 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CEOOK. 149 
 
 ian was quick to divine that his arms and ponies 
 were threatened, and by noon we had the dismal news 
 by courier that they had stampeded in vast numbers. 
 We enjoyed the further satisfaction of sighting with 
 our glasses the distant clouds of dust kicked up by 
 their scurrying ponies. A few hundred warriors, old 
 men and " blanket Indians," surrendered to MacKenzie, 
 but we of the Big-Horn were empty-handed when 
 once more we met our brigadier upon the following 
 day. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 DROPPED STITCHES. 
 
 Now that an unlooked-for interest has been devel- 
 oped in this enterprise of the Sunday Sentinel, and 
 that in accordance with the wishes of many old com- 
 rades these sketches are reproduced in a little volume 
 by themselves, many and many an incident is recalled 
 which deserves to be noted, but which was omitted 
 for fear of wearying the readers for whom alone these 
 stories of campaign life were originally intended, so 
 that in this closing and retrospective chapter there 
 will be nothing of lively interest, except to those 
 already interested, and it can be dropped right here. 
 
 Looking back over it all, more especially the toil- 
 some march and drenching bivouacs that followed the 
 departure from Heart River, I wonder how some men 
 stood it as they did. Among our own officers in the 
 Fifth, one of our best and cheeriest comrades was 
 Lieutenant Bache, " a fellow of infinite jest," and one 
 
150 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 to whom many of us were greatly attached. He was 
 a martyr to acute rheumatism when he overtook us 
 with Captains Price and Payne, at the headquarters 
 of the Mini Pusa. By the time we met General Terry 
 on the Rosebud, he was in such agonizing helplessness 
 as to be unable to ride a horse, and was ordered to 
 the Yellowstone and thence to Chicago for medical 
 treatment ; but while we lay at the mouth of the Pow- 
 der River he suddenly reappeared in our midst, and, 
 greatly benefited by the two weeks of rest and dry 
 clothes on the boat, he insisted that he was well 
 enough to resume duty. The surgeons shook their 
 heads, but Bache carried his point with General Crook, 
 and was ordered to rejoin the regiment. Then came 
 day after day of pitiless, pouring rain, night after 
 night unsheltered on the sodden ground. A cast-iron 
 constitution would have suffered ; poor Bache broke 
 down, and, unable to move hand or foot, was lifted into 
 a travois and dragged along. When we reached the 
 Black Hills he was reduced to mere skin and bone, 
 hardly a vestige of him left beyond the inexhaustible 
 fund of grit and humor with which he was gifted. 
 He reached Fort Dodge at the close of the campaign, 
 but it had been too much for him. The news of his 
 death was telegraphed by Captain Payne before we 
 had fairly unsaddled for the winter. 
 
 Though brother officers in the same regiment, so are 
 our companies scattered at times that before this cam- 
 paign Bache and I had met but once, and that was in 
 Arizona. To-day the most vivid picture I have in my 
 mind of that trying march in which he figures is a 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 151 
 
 duck-hunting scene that I venture to say has never 
 been equalled in the experience of Eastern sportsmen. 
 We had halted on the evening of September 7th, on 
 the dripping banks of one of the forks of the Grand 
 River (Palanata Wakpa, the Sioux call it, and a much 
 better name it is), a muddy stream, not half the width 
 of our Menominee, but encased between precipitous 
 banks, and swirling in deep, dark pools. The grass 
 was abundant, but not a stick of timber could we find 
 with which to build a fire. While I was hunting for 
 a few crumbs of hard-tack in my lean haversack, there 
 came a sudden sputter of pistol shots on the banks of 
 the stream, and I saw scores of men running, revolver 
 in hand, to the scene. Joining them, I found Bache 
 reclining in his travois and blazing away at some 
 objects in the pool below him. The surface of the 
 water was alive with blue-and-green-wing teal, and a 
 regiment of ravenous men was opening fire upon them 
 with calibre-45 bullets. Only fancy it ! The wary, 
 gamy bird we steal upon with such caution in our 
 marshes at home, here on the distant prairies, far from 
 the busy haunts of men, so utterly untutored by pre- 
 vious danger, or so utterly bewildered by the fusillade, 
 that hardly one took refuge in flight, while dozens of 
 them, paddling, ducking, diving about the stream, fell 
 victims to the heavy revolver, and, sprinkled with gun- 
 powder for salt, were devoured almost raw by the 
 eager soldiery. "Great Caesar's ghost," said Bache, 
 as he crammed fresh cartridges into the chambers of 
 his Colt, " what would they say to this on the Ches- 
 apeake ?" 
 
152 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 Another scene with Bache was at Slim Buttes. In 
 order to prevent indiscriminate pillage among the capt- 
 ured lodges of the Sioux, General Crook had ordered 
 the detail of guards to keep out the crowd of curiosity- 
 seekers. Bache was lying very stiff and sore near one 
 of the large tepees, and I had stopped to have a mo- 
 ment's chat with him, when something came crawling 
 out of a hole slashed in the side by the occupants to 
 facilitate their escape when Lieutenant Schwatka 
 charged the village that morning ; something so un- 
 mistakably Indian that in a second I had brought my 
 revolver from its holster and to full cock. But the fig- 
 ure straightened up in the dim twilight, and with calm 
 deliberation these words fell from its lips : " There 
 ain't a thing worth having in the whole d d outfit." 
 
 Bache burst into amused laughter. " Well, my abo- 
 riginal friend, who in thunder are you, anyhow ? Your 
 English is a credit to civilization." 
 
 It was "Ute John," one of the scouts who had 
 joined us with the Shoshones on the Big Horn, but 
 who, unlike them, had concluded to stand by us through 
 the entire expedition. He was a tall, stalwart fellow, 
 picturesquely attired in an overcoat not unlike our 
 present unsightly ulster in shape, but made of a blanket 
 which had been woven in imitation of numerous rain- 
 bows. The storied coat of many colors worn by the 
 original Joseph was never more brilliant than this un- 
 couth garment, and about this time an effort was made 
 to rechristen our sturdy ally, and call him no longer 
 monosyllabic and commonplace John, but Scriptural 
 Joseph. Subsequent developments in his career, how- 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 153 
 
 ever, brought about a revulsion of feeling, as it was 
 found that the fancied resemblance in characteristics 
 ended with the coat. 
 
 We had been accustomed in our dealings with the 
 Indians who accompanied us to resort to pantomime as 
 a means of conversation. Some of our number prided 
 themselves on their mute fluency none more so, per- 
 haps, than our genial friend Major Andy Burt, of the 
 9th Infantry, who would "button-hole," so to speak, 
 any Indian who happened along during his unoccupied 
 moments, and the two would soon be lost in a series 
 of gyrations and finger flippings that was a dark mys- 
 tery to the rest of the command ; and when the major 
 would turn triumphantly towards us with his " He says 
 it's all serene, fellows," we accepted the information 
 as gospel truth without asking what " it " was. Bache 
 and I were not a little astonished, therefore, at hear- 
 ing Ute John launch forth into fluent English, albeit 
 strongly tinged with Plains vernacular. 
 
 The most tireless men in pursuit of Indian knowledge 
 were the correspondents of the papers. Frequent 
 mention has already been made of Mr. Finerty, of 
 the Chicago Times, who was the gem of the lot, but 
 the New York Times and Herald were represented, 
 as were leading journals of other large cities. With 
 one exception they proved excellent campaigners, and 
 welcome, indeed, genial associates ; but the exception 
 was probably one of the most unhappy wretches on the 
 face of the globe. He had come out as a novice the 
 year previous, and accompanied Colonel Dodge's ex- 
 ploring expedition to the Black Hills, and before long 
 
154 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 developed traits of character that made him somewhat 
 of a nuisance. He was wofully green, a desperate 
 coward, but so zealous in the cause of journalism that 
 anything he fancied might interest the readers of the 
 paper of which he announced himself " commissioner " 
 was sent on irrespective of facts in the case. The 
 officers found him taking notes of their conversations, 
 jotting down everything he saw and heard around 
 camp, caught him prying into matters that were in 
 nature confidential, and so one night they terrified him 
 to the verge of dissolution by preparations for defence 
 and the announcement that the cooing and wooing of 
 an army of wood-doves were the death-chants of hun- 
 dreds of squaws as the warriors were stripping for the 
 combat. Another time they primed him into writing 
 a four-column despatch descriptive of the " Camelquo," 
 a wonderful animal found only in the Black Hills, the 
 offspring of the Rocky Mountain elk and the Egyptian 
 camel, the latter being some of the animals introduced 
 into Texas just before the war for transportation pur- 
 poses, who had, so Mr. D overheard, escaped from 
 
 the rebels and made their way to the Northern plains 
 during the great rebellion, and there had intermarried 
 with the great elk, the native of the Hills. The result- 
 ant " Camelquo," so D enthusiastically informed 
 
 his paper, was an animal of the stature of the giraffe, 
 the antlers of the elk, the humps of the camel, the 
 fleetness and endurance of both parents, and the uncon- 
 querable ferocity of the tiger. How D came to 
 
 discover the sell in time, my informant, Dr. McGil- 
 licuddy, did not remember, but to this day the maps 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 155 
 
 of the Black Hills bear commemoration of the incident, 
 and Camelquo Creek is almost as well known as Spring 
 and Rapid. Many a rough miner has asked since '75 
 how in Hades, or words to that effect, they came to 
 have such queer names for their streams in the Hills. 
 Most of them were named by Colonel Dodge's party, 
 and there was rhyme or reason in each, even for Am- 
 phibious Creek, which, said McGillicuddy, we so named 
 because it sank out of sight so often and came up smil- 
 ing so unexpectedly that it only seemed half land, half 
 water. 
 
 On the campaign of '76, Mr. D again made 
 
 his appearance as commissioner, started with General 
 Crook's staff, but ere long was called upon to find new- 
 accommodations elsewhere. How it all came about I 
 never cared to know, but after unpleasant experiences 
 with first one set and then another, he gravitated 
 eventually to the packers, who made him do guard and 
 herd duty. He pushed ahead with Major Mills's com- 
 mand, and stumbled with them into the morning battle 
 at Slim Buttes. This he witnessed in a state of abject 
 terror, and then, when the danger was over, wrote a 
 most scandalous account, accusing Major Mills of all 
 manner of misbehavior. His paper published it, but 
 had to eat humble pie, make a most complete apology, 
 and, I think, dismiss its correspondent. Camelquo 
 
 Creek is the only existing trace of poor D of which 
 
 we have any knowledge. 
 
 Once fairly in the Black Hills, and resting on the 
 banks of French Creek, we set to work to count up the 
 losses of the campaign. In horseflesh and equipments 
 
156 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 the gaps were appalling. Some companies in the Fifth 
 were very much reduced, and, of course, when the 
 horse dropped exhausted on the trail, there was no 
 transportation for the saddle, bridle, and " kit." It oft- 
 en happened that for days the soldier led his horse 
 along the flanks of the column or in the rear of the 
 regiment, striving hard to nurse his failing strength, 
 hunting eagerly for every little bunch of grass that 
 might eke out his meagre subsistence. In all the 
 array of company losses there was one, and only one, 
 shining contrast Montgomery, with Company " B," 
 the Grays, calmly submitted a clear " bill of health ;" 
 he had not lost a single horse, which was marvellous 
 in itself, but when "Monty" proceeded to state that 
 every Company " B " man had his saddle, bridle, nose 
 bag, lariat, picket-pin, side lines, etc., the thing was in- 
 comprehensible ; that is, it seemed incomprehensible, 
 until the fact was taken into consideration that those 
 companies which bivouacked on either flank of the 
 Grays woke each morning to the realization of a pred- 
 atory ability on the part of "them d d Company 
 * B ' fellers " that rose superior to any defensive de- 
 vices they might invent. But Company " B " could 
 not acquire gray horses at the expense of the rest of 
 the regiment, whatever it might have done in side and 
 other lines, and the fact that Captain "Monty" paraded 
 every horse with which he started is due to the unerring 
 judgment and ceaseless vigilance with which he noted 
 every symptom of weakness in any and every animal 
 in his troop, and cared for it accordingly. 
 
 As a rule, our company commanders are not thorough 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 157 
 
 horsemen, and too little attention is devoted to the in- 
 struction of our cavalry officers in the subject but 
 Montgomery is a noteworthy exception. I don't know 
 which class will be the more inclined to think me in 
 error in the following statement, but as a result of not 
 a little observation it is my opinion that, while the 
 best riders in the cavalry service come from West 
 Point, the best horsemen are from the ranks. 
 
 But for our anxiety about our horses, the most en- 
 joyable days of the campaign were probably contained 
 in the first two weeks of October. We were the rough- 
 est-looking set of men on the face of the globe ; but 
 with abundant rations and rousing big fires along the 
 valley of French Creek, with glad letters from home, 
 and finally the arrival of our wagons with the for- 
 gotten luxuries of tents and buffalo robes, We began 
 taking a new interest in life. The weather was su- 
 perb, the sun brilliant, the air keen and bracing, the 
 nights frostily cold. Wonderful appetites we had in 
 those days, and after supper the men would gather in 
 crowds around the camp-fires and sing their songs and 
 smoke their pipes in placid contentment. The officers, 
 too, had their reunions, though vocalists were scarce 
 among them, and the proportions of " youngsters" who 
 keep the fun alive was far too small. The year before, 
 those irrepressible humorists, Harrigan and Hart, of the 
 New York stage, had sung at their " Theatre Comiquc" 
 a witty but by no means flattering ditty, which they 
 called "The Regular Army, O." One of its verses, 
 slightly modified to suit the hearers, was particularly 
 applicable to and popular in the Fifth Cavalry, and 
 
158 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 their adjutant, when he could be made to sing "pro 
 bono publico" was always called upon for the song 
 and sure of applause at the close of this verse. It ran : 
 "We were sent to Arizona, for to fight the Indians there; 
 We were almost snatched hald-headed, but they didn't get 
 
 our hair. 
 
 We lay among the canons and the dirty yellow mud, 
 But we seldom saw an onion, or a turnip, or a spud, 
 Till we were taken prisoners and brought forninst the chief ; 
 Says he, " We'll have an Irish stew " the dirty Indian thief. 
 On Price's telegraphic wire we slid to Mexico, 
 And we blessed the day we skipped away from the Regular 
 Army, O." 
 
 Now General Crook received his promotion to briga- 
 dier-generalship in Arizona, after a stirring and vic- 
 torious campaign with the Apaches, and the Fifth 
 Cavalry used to boast at times that his "star" was 
 won for him by them. Soldiers are quick to attach 
 some expressive nickname to their officers, but I never 
 learned that our general had won this questionable 
 distinction until we joined him at Goose Creek, when 
 we found that in the command already there he was 
 know as " Rosebud George." 
 
 In the hard times that followed there was no little 
 growling among the half-starving troopers, because 
 the packers seemed to have sufficient to eat when 
 we were well-nigh destitute. So one night a fifth 
 verse was trolled out on the still evening air in a 
 strongly Hibernian brogue, and the listening ears of 
 the Fifth were greeted with something like this : 
 
 "But 'twas out upon the Yellowstone we had the d dest time, 
 Faix, we made the trip vvid Rosebud George, six months 
 without a dime. 
 
;fr 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 159 
 
 Some eighteen hundred miles we went through hunger, mud, 
 
 and rain, 
 Wid backs all bare, and rations rare, no chance for grass or 
 
 grain ; 
 
 Wid 'bunkies shtarvin' by our side, no rations was the rule ; 
 Shure 'twas ate your boots and saddles, you brutes, but feed 
 
 the packer and mule. 
 But you know full well that in your fights no soldier lad was 
 
 slow, 
 And it wasn't the packer that won x ye a star in the Regular 
 
 Army, O." 
 
 "With full stomachs, however, came forgetfulness 
 of suffering, and this with other campaign lyrics was 
 forgotten. 
 
 It seemed so good to rest in peace for day after day. 
 General Merritt with his staff, and Major Upham,had 
 pitched their tents in the shelter of a little rocky prom- 
 ontory that jutted out into the valley and was crowned 
 by a sparse growth of pines and cedars. One even- 
 ing, as the full moon shone down upon the assembled 
 party over this ridge, a perfectly defined cross ap- 
 peared upon the very face of the luminary. Every 
 one noticed it, and one of the number, clambering to 
 the summit, found growing from a cleft in the rock a 
 sturdy little leafless branch about two feet in length, 
 crossed by another and smaller twig; the cross was 
 perfect, and the effect in the moonlight something 
 simply exquisite. " Camp Faith " was thereupon se- 
 lected as the name of cavalry headquarters. Some- 
 body wanted a name for the Fifth Cavalry camp, and, 
 in recognition of our present blissful and undisturbed 
 existence, as compared with recent vicissitudes, and 
 
160 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 mindful of the martial palace of Sans Souci at Potsdam, 
 a wildly imprudent subaltern suggested Sans Sioux 
 Iciy but it was greeted with merited contempt. 
 
 Of course all were eager for intimation of our next 
 move. Occasional despatches reached General Merritt, 
 but not a hint could be extracted from him. Rumors 
 of a winter campaign were distressingly prevalent, and 
 the Fifth were beginning to look upon a prolonged 
 stay in the Hills as a certainty, when one day an aide- 
 de-camp of the chief's came to me with the request 
 that I would make a map for him of the country be- 
 tween the South Cheyenne and Red Cloud Agency, 
 and let no one know what I was doing. A week after 
 he wanted another sketch of the same thing, and it 
 became evident, to me at least, that before very long 
 we would be down along the White River, looking 
 after " Machpealota." 
 
 The campaign itself being virtually over, the recruits 
 authorized by special act of Congress to be enlisted 
 for the cavalry regiments actively engaged began to 
 be heard of at the front, and one evening in early Oc- 
 tober we learned that some four hundred heroes were 
 on the march from Fort Laramie to join the Fifth, 
 and that the Third was to be similarly reinforced. A 
 hint as to the probable character of the new levies was 
 also in circulation. Twenty-five hundred men having 
 been suddenly and urgently needed, the recruiting offi- 
 cers were less particular in their selections than would 
 otherwise have been the case, and from the purlieus 
 of Philadelphia, Baltimore, and New York the scum 
 of the country was eagerly grasping this method of 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 161 
 
 getting to the Black Hills at Uncle Sam's expense. 
 They were marching up to join us, under the command 
 of Captain Monahan, of the Third Cavalry, assisted by 
 Lieutenants Ward, Cherry, and Swift, "of Ours;" and 
 on the llth of October General Merritt struck camp, 
 the " B., H., and Y.," horse, foot, and dragoon, bade fare- 
 well to French Creek, and, after an exhilarating ride 
 through a wildly beautiful and picturesque tract of 
 the Hills, we unsaddled, pitched our tents along Am- 
 phibious Creek, and that evening the new levies arrived. 
 Nobody cared particularly to see the recruits, but the 
 Fifth Cavalry turned out to a man to see the new 
 horses ; and having called upon and extended a welcom- 
 ing hand to the comrades joining us for the first time, 
 we made a dash for the quadrupeds. Before tattoo 
 that evening there was not one that had not been 
 closely inspected and squabbled over by the company 
 commanders and their men, and the first thing the 
 next morning General Merritt ordered the distribution 
 of horses, " according to color," to companies. 
 
 It was revealed that an expedition somewhere was 
 intended by his directing the regimental adjutant to 
 pick out the old soldiers among the recruits, assign 
 them to companies at once, and then issue orders to 
 the regiment to be in readiness to move at daybreak. 
 
 Never in my life have I seen such an array of vaga- 
 bonds as that battalion of four hundred " unassigned " 
 when I got them into line on the morning of the 12th of 
 October and proceeded to " pick out the old soldiers " 
 as directed. That was a matter of no difficulty; they 
 
 were already acting as non-commissioned officers of 
 11 
 
162 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 the recruit companies, but were not sixty all told, and 
 more were needed. Stopping before a sturdily built 
 little fellow with a grizzled moustache and an unmis- 
 takably soldierly carriage, the only promising-looking 
 man left in the three hundred who had "stood fast" 
 when the order was given " men who have served previ- 
 ous enlistments step to front," the adjutant questioned: 
 
 " Haven't you served before ?" 
 
 " Not in the regulars, sir." 
 
 " That man is lame, sir," interposed a sergeant. 
 
 " It is an old wound," says the man eagerly, " and 
 it's only so once in while. I can ride first-rate." 
 
 " What was your regiment ?" 
 
 " Seventh Wisconsin, sir." 
 
 "What! Were you at Gainesville?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. Wounded there." 
 
 A knot of officers Merritt, Mason, Sumner, and 
 Montgomery who fought through the *war with the 
 Army of the Potomac, are standing there as the ad- 
 jutant turns. 
 
 "Sergeant, take this man to Company "K" and fit 
 him out and stop a moment. Bring him to my 
 tent to-night after supper. Gentlemen, that's an Iron 
 Brigade man." 
 
 That evening a Company "K" sergeant scratches 
 the flap of the adjutant's tent you cannot knock when 
 there is no door and presents himself with the recruit- 
 veteran. The latter looks puzzled, but perfectly self- 
 possessed ; answers without hesitation two or three 
 rapidly propounded questions as to names of his regi- 
 mental officers in '62, and then seems completely be- 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 163 
 
 wildered as the adjutant takes him cordially by the 
 hand and bids him welcome. However, it did not re- 
 quire many words to explain the matter. 
 
 To return to those recruits. If the police force 
 of our large Eastern cities were at a loss to account 
 for the disappearance of a thousand or more of their 
 " regular boarders," a flying trip to the Black Hills 
 on this 12th day of October, "76, would have satisfied 
 them as to their whereabouts. Where there were ten 
 " good men and true " among the new-comers, there 
 were forty who came simply with the intention of de- 
 serting when they got fairly into the Hills and within 
 striking distance of the mines, an intention most success- 
 fully carried out by a large proportion of their number. 
 
 And then the names under which they enlisted ! 
 "What's your name?" said the adjutant to the most 
 unmistakable case of " Bowery Boy " in the front rank. 
 
 " My name's Jackson Bewregard," is the reply, with 
 the accompaniment of hunching shoulders, projecting 
 chin, overlapping under-lip, and sneering nostril charac- 
 teristic of Chatham Square in the palmy days of Mose. 
 
 " And yours ?" to Mr. Bewregard's left file, a big 
 rough of Hibernian extraction. 
 
 " My name's Jooles Vern." 
 
 The adjutant glances at the muster-roll : " ' No. 
 173 Jules Verne.' Ha! yes. The party that wrote 
 ' Around the World in Eighty Days.' Have we many 
 more of these eminent Frenchmen, sergeant ?" 
 
 The sergeant grins under his great moustache. Pos- 
 sibly he is recalling a fact which the adjutant has by 
 no means forgotten, that ten years before, when they 
 
164 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 were both in General Billy Graham's famous light 
 battery of the First Artillery, of which the adjutant 
 was then second lieutenant, the sergeant was then, too, 
 a sergeant, but with a very different name. 
 
 Friday, October 13th ill-omened day of the week, 
 ill-omened day of the month and we were to start 
 on a scout down into the valley of the Cheyenne. Per- 
 haps three fourths of our number neither knew nor 
 cared what day it was; but, be that as it may, there 
 was an utterly unmistakable air of gloom about our 
 move. The morning was raw and dismal. " The Gen- 
 eral" sounded soon after nine, and the stirring notes 
 fell upon seemingly listless ears ; no one seemed dis- 
 posed to shout, whistle, or sing, and just at ten o'clock, 
 when we were all standing to horse and ready to start, 
 Major Sumner's company sent forth a mournful little 
 procession towards the new-made grave we had marked 
 on the hillside at the sharp bend of the creek, and 
 with brief service, but sad enough hearts, the body 
 of a comrade who had died the night before was low- 
 ered to its rest. The carbines rang out the parting 
 volleys, and Bradley's trumpet keened a wailing fare- 
 well. General Merritt and his staff, coming suddenly 
 upon us during the rites, silently dismounted and un- 
 covered until the clods rattled in upon the soldier's 
 rude coffin, and all was over. Then, signalling us to 
 follow, the chief rode on, the Fifth swung into saddle, 
 and with perceptibly augmented ranks followed in his 
 tracks. A battalion of the Third Cavalry, under Colo- 
 nel Van Vliet, and a detachment of the Second, under 
 Captain Peale, accompanied us, while the infantry bat- 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 165 
 
 talion, the rest of the cavalry, the recruits, and the 
 sick or disabled remained in camp under command of 
 Colonel Royall. Where were we going ? What was 
 expected ? None knew behind the silent horseman at 
 the head of column ; but a start on Friday, the 13th, 
 to the mournful music of a funeral march, boded ill 
 for success. However, not to be harrowing, it is as 
 well to state right here that ten days from that date 
 the scout was over, and, without having lost man or 
 horse, the Fifth rode serenely into Red Cloud Agency. 
 So far as the regiment was concerned that supersti- 
 tion was exploded. 
 
 The march down Amphibious Creek was grandly 
 beautiful as to scenery. We wound, snake-like, along 
 the stream, gliding under towering, pine -covered 
 heights, or bold, rocky precipices. The valley opened 
 out wider as we neared the "sinks," and, finally, turn- 
 ing abruptly to the right, we dismounted and led our 
 horses over a lofty ridge, bare of trees, and command- 
 ing a broad valley to the south, over which the road 
 stretched in long perspective till lost in dark Buffalo 
 Gap, the only exit through the precipitous and lofty 
 range that hemmed in the plain between us and the 
 Cheyenne valley beyond. Here we encountered an 
 emigrant train slowly toiling up the southern slope 
 and staring at us in undisguised wonderment. Ten 
 miles away we came once again "plump" upon the boil- 
 ing waters of the creek, where it reappeared after a 
 twelve-mile digression in the bowels of the earth. It 
 was clear and fair when it left us in the valley behind 
 to take its plunge, and it met us again with a more than 
 troubled appearance and the worst kind of an odor. 
 
166 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 Square in between the massive portals of the great gap 
 we unsaddled at sunset and encamped for the night. 
 
 In the scout which ensued down the valley of the 
 South Cheyenne there was absolutely nothing of suffi- 
 cient interest to record in these pages. Nor had we 
 any luck in our participation in the "round-up" at 
 the Indian reservation on the 22d and 23d of October. 
 Such warriors as had remained near Camp Robinson 
 meekly surrendered to General MacKenzie, and we had 
 nothing to do but pitch our tents side by side with the 
 new-comers of the Fourth Cavalry and wonder what 
 was to come next. General Crook was known to be 
 in the garrison with his aides-de-camp, and we had not 
 long to wait. On the 24th of October our motley 
 array received the welcome order to go into winter- 
 quarters, the Fifth Cavalry on the line of the Union 
 Pacific Railroad, and within another twenty-four hours 
 we were en route for the comforts of civilization. 
 
 But, before we separated from the comrades with 
 whom we had marched and growled these many weary 
 miles, our chief gave us his parting benediction in the 
 following words : 
 
 "IlKAllQlIAETKBS BlG IIOEN AND YELLOWSTONE EXPEDITION, 
 
 CAMP HOBINSON, NKU., October 24, 1ST6. 
 
 " General Orders No. 8. 
 
 "The time having arrived when the troops composing the 
 Big Horn and Yellowstone Expedition are about to separate, 
 the brigadier-general commanding addresses himself to the offi- 
 cers and men of the command to say : 
 
 "In the campaign now closed he has been obliged to call 
 upon you for much hard service and many sacrifices of personal 
 comfort. At times you have been out of reach of your base of 
 supplies ; in most inclement weather you have marched -with- 
 out food and slept without shelter ; in your engagements you 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 167 
 
 have evinced a high order of discipline and courage ; in your 
 marches, wonderful powers of endurance ; and in your depriva- 
 tions and hardships, patience and fortitude. 
 
 "Indian warfare is, of all warfare, the most dangerous, the 
 most trying, and the most thankless. Not recognized by the 
 high authority of the United States Senate as war, it still pos- 
 sesses for you the disadvantages of civilized warfare, with all 
 the horrible accompaniments that barbarians can invent and 
 savages execute. In it you are required to serve without the 
 incentive to promotion or recognition ; in truth, without favor 
 or hope of reward. 
 
 "The people of our sparsely settled frontier, in whose defence 
 this war is waged, have but little influence with the powerful 
 communities in the East ; their representatives have little voice 
 in our national councils, w r hile your savage foes are not only 
 the wards of the nation, supported in idleness, but objects of 
 sympathy with large numbers of people otherwise well-informed 
 and discerning. 
 
 "You may, therefore, congratulate yourselves that, in the 
 performance of your military duty, you have been on the side 
 of the weak against the strong, and that the few people there 
 are on the frontier will remember your efforts with gratitude. 
 
 " If, in the future, it should transpire that the avenues* for 
 recognition of distinguished services and gallant conduct are 
 opened, those rendered in this campaign will be remembered. 
 
 *********** 
 " BY COMMAND OF BRIGADIER- GENERAL CROOK. 
 
 (Signed) JOHN G. BOURKE, 
 
 " First Lieutenant Third Cavalry, 
 A.D.C., and A. A. A. General: 1 
 
 * The avenue was at last opened by the signature of the 
 President to the bill providing that brevet rank might be con- 
 ferred on officers for gallant conduct in Indian warfare, but it 
 came just too late. General Crook had barely time to express 
 his gratification. He died within the week that followed, and 
 his list of officers recommended for brevets for services ren- 
 dered in this campaign died with him. 
 
168 CAMPAIGNING WITH CKOOK. 
 
 To use the emphatic vernacular of the frontier, that 
 parting order "just filled the bill." It was as com- 
 plete a summing-up of the disadvantages of Indian 
 campaigning as could well be written ; it indicated 
 plainly how thoroughly our general had appreciated 
 the sufferings of his men on that hideous march from 
 Heart River ; it assured us of the sympathy he had 
 felt for one and all (though I doubt if ever a one of 
 us suffered half so much as he) ; and, finally, in ten- 
 dering the thanks of our commander, it conveyed the 
 only reward we could possibly expect, for had he not 
 truly said that, of all warfare, Indian warfare is the 
 most thankless? 
 
 Well, it was over with, so far as we were concerned, 
 though brief was our respite, and now came the closing 
 scenes before the rising of the morning's sun should 
 see us split up into battalions or detachments, and, 
 with light feet and lighter hearts, marching away to 
 the south. 
 
 All night long, at General Crook's headquarters, his 
 tireless staff were working away at orders and details 
 of the move, and closing his report to the lieutenant- 
 general at Chicago; and here, too, my services were 
 kept in requisition preparing the map which was to 
 accompany the written report, so that, for us at least, 
 there was no opportunity of sharing in the parting 
 festivities and bidding farewell to comrades, cavalry 
 and infantry, separating for the new posts and the du- 
 ties of recuperation. 
 
 Our farewells were hurried, yet even now, how viv- 
 idly I recall the faces that crowded round headquar- 
 
CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 169 
 
 ters that bright morning of the 25th. Bronzed and 
 bearded, rugged with the glow of health, or pallid 
 from wounds and illness, but all kindly and cordial. 
 Then, too, the scenes of our campaign seemed passing 
 in review before me, and, dream-like, they linger with 
 me still. Glancing over these now completed pages, 
 how utterly meagre and unsatisfactory the record 
 seems; how many an incident have I failed to men- 
 tion; how many a deed of bravery or self-denial is left 
 untold. I look back through the mists and rain into 
 the dark depths of that bloody ravine at Slim Buttes, 
 and wonder how I could ever have told the story of 
 its assault and failed to speak of how our plucky Mil- 
 waukee sergeant sprang down in the very face of the 
 desperately fighting Indians and picked up a wound- 
 ed Third Cavalryman and carried him on his back out 
 of further harm's way; and of brave, noble-hearted 
 Munson, as true a soldier as ever commanded com- 
 pany, rushing in between two fires to drag the terri- 
 fied squaws from their peril ; of Bache, " swollen, 
 puffed, and disfigured with rheumatism, conquering 
 agony to mount his horse and take part in the action;" 
 of Rodgers, striding down the slopes in front of his 
 skirmish-line, his glorious voice ringing above the 
 clamor, laughing like a schoolboy at the well-meant 
 efforts of the Indian sharpshooters to pick him off ; of 
 General Carr, riding out to the front on his conspicu- 
 ous gray, and sitting calmly there to show the men 
 what wretched shots some Indians could be. 
 
 How could half the incidents be told when so little 
 parade was made of them at the time ? Who knew 
 
170 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK. 
 
 the night of the stampede on the Rosebud that Eaton 
 was shot through the hand until he had spent an hour 
 or more completing his duties, riding as though noth- 
 ing had happened ? Who knew, at the Rosebud bat- 
 tle, that Nickerson's exertions in the saddle had re- 
 opened the old Gettysburg wound and well-nigh fin- 
 ished him? We thought he looked white and wan 
 when he rejoined us at Red Cloud, but never divined 
 the cause. From first to last throughout that march of 
 eight hundred miles, so varied in its scenes, but so utter- 
 ly changeless in discomfort, there was a spirit of uncom- 
 plaining " take-it-as-a-matter-of -course " determination 
 that amounted at times among the men to positive 
 heroism. Individual pluck was thoroughly tested, and 
 the instances of failure were few and far between. 
 
 Despite the fact that our engagements were inde- 
 cisive at the time (and Indian fights that fall short of 
 annihilation on either side generally are), the campaign 
 had its full result. Sitting Bull's thousands were scat- 
 tered in confusion over the Northwest, he himself driv- 
 en to a refuge " across the line," his subordinates bro- 
 ken up into dejected bands that, one after another, 
 were beaten or starved into submission, and in the 
 following year General Crook's broad department, 
 the grand ranges of the Black Hills and Big Horn, 
 the boundless prairies of Nebraska and Wyoming, 
 were as clear of hostile warriors as, two years before, 
 they were of settlers, and to-day the lovely valleys of 
 the North, thanks to his efforts, and the ceaseless vigi- 
 lance of Generals Terry and Miles in guarding the line, 
 are the peaceful homes of hundreds of hardy pioneers. 
 
ROSTER OF OFFICERS 
 
 SERVING WITH THE FIFTH CAVALRY IN THE BIG HORN 
 AND YELLOWSTONE EXPEDITION OF 1876. 
 
 Colonel WESLEY MERUITT, Brevet Major-General 
 
 Lieutenant- Colonel EUGENE A. CARR, Brevet Major-General. 
 
 Major JOHN J. UPHAM. 
 
 Major JULIUS W. MASON, Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel. 
 
 Captain EDWARD H. LEIB, Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel. 
 
 Captain SAMUEL S. SUMNER, Brevet Major. 
 
 Captain EMIL ADAM. 
 
 Captain ROBERT H. MONTGOMERY. 
 
 Captain SANFORD C. KELLOGG, Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel. 
 
 Captain GEORGE F. PRICE. 
 
 Captain EDWARD M. HAYES. 
 
 Captain J. SCOTT PAYNE. 
 
 Captain ALBERT E. WOODSON. 
 
 Captain CALBRAITH P. RODGERS. 
 
 First Lieutenant BERNARD REILLY, Jr. 
 
 'First Lieutenant WM. C. FORBUSH, A.A.G. Cavalry Brigade. 
 
 First Lieutenant CHARLES KING, Adjutant. 
 
 First Lieutenant WILLIAM P. HALL, Quartermaster. 
 
 First Lieutenant WA~LTE,H S. SCHUYLER, A.D.C. to General 
 Crook. 
 
 Second Lieutenant CHARLES D. PARKHURST. 
 
 Second Lieutenant CHARLES H. WATTS (until July, when dis- 
 abled). 
 
 Second Lieutenant EDWARD W. KEYES. 
 
 Second Lieutenant ROBERT LONDON. 
 
 Second Lieutenant GEORGE O. EATON (until August 24th, dis- 
 abled August 10th). 
 
 Second Lieutenant HOEL S. BISHOP. 
 
 Lieutenant WM. C. HUNTER, U. S. X. ( ' ' Brevet Commodore "). 
 
 Second Lieutenant ROBT. H. YOUNG, 4th Inf., A.D.C. to Gen- 
 eral Merritt. 
 
 Second Lieutenant J. HAYDEN PARDEE, 23d Inf., A.D.C. to 
 General Merritt. 
 
 Second Lieutenant SATTERLEE C. PLUMMER, 4th Inf., with 
 Co. "I." 
 
 Acting Assistant Surgeon J. W. POWELL. 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA GLAUS. 
 
THERE was unusual commotion in the frontier min- 
 ing town when the red stage, snow-covered and storm- 
 beaten, lurched up in front of the Bella Union and 
 began to disgorge passengers and mail. The crowd 
 on the wooden sidewalk was of that cosmopolitan 
 type which rich and recently discovered "leads" so 
 surely attract tough-looking miners ; devil-may-care 
 cow-boys with rolling hat-brims and barbaric display 
 of deadly weapons ; a choice coterie of gamblers with 
 exaggerated suavity of manners ; several impassive 
 Chinamen (very clean) ; several loafing Indians (very 
 dirty); a brace of spruce, clean-shaven, trim -built 
 soldiers from the garrison down the valley ; and the 
 inevitable squad of " beats " with bleary eyes and wolf- 
 ish faces infesting the doorways of the saloons, sub- 
 limely trustful of a community that had long ceased 
 to trust them, and scenting eleemosynary possibilities 
 in each new-comer. 
 
 But while the arrival of the stage was a source of 
 perennial excitement in the business centre of Argen- 
 topolis, the commotion on this occasion was due to the 
 tumultuous welcome given by a mob of school-children 
 to a tall, bronzed, fiercely moustached party the instant 
 he stepped, fur-clad, from the dark interior. Such an 
 
176 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 array of eager, joyous little faces one seldom sees. 
 Big boys and wee maidens, they threw themselves 
 upon him with shrill clamor and enthusiastic embraces, 
 swarming about his legs as, with twinkling eyes and 
 genial greeting, he lifted the little ones high in air 
 and kissed their dimpled cheeks, and shook the strug- 
 gling boys heartily by the hand, and was pulled this 
 way and that way until eventually borne off in triumph 
 towards the spickspan new shop, with its glittering 
 white front and alluring display of fruit, pastry, and 
 confectionery, all heralded forth under the grandilo- 
 quent but delusive sign, " Bald Eagle Bakery." 
 
 Upon this tumultuous reception Argentopolis gazed 
 for some moments in wondering silence. When the 
 transfer of the children and their willing captive to a 
 point some dozen yards away rendered conversation a 
 possibility, the spokesman of the sidewalk committee 
 shifted his quid, and formulated in frontier phrase the 
 question which seemed uppermost in the public mind : 
 
 " Who 'n thunder's that ?" 
 
 " That ?" said the soldier addressed. " That's Cap- 
 tain Ransom. It's good times the kids '11 be having 
 now." 
 
 " B'long to your rigiment ?" 
 
 " Yes ; captain of * B ' troop. Been away on leave 
 ever since we got here." 
 
 " Seems fond o' children," said the Argentopolitan, 
 reflectively. " Got any of his own ?" 
 
 " Nary. He b'longs to the whole crowd. The ' B ' 
 company fellers '11 be glad he's back. They think as 
 much of him as the kids do." 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 177 
 
 " Good officer, eh ?" 
 
 " You bet ; ain't no better in the cavalry." 
 
 At this unequivocal endorsement from expert au- 
 thority the eyes of Argentopolis again followed the 
 big man in the fur overcoat. With three or four 
 youngsters tugging at each hand, and a dozen revolv- 
 ing irregularly about him, he was striding across the 
 street, keeping up a running fire of chatter with his 
 thronging satellites. Soldier he was unquestionably. 
 Tall, erect of carriage, broad of shoulder, deep of 
 chest, with a keen, quick glance from under his heavy 
 brows. Eyes full of light and fire, nose straight and 
 prominent, a great moustache that hid the curves of his 
 handsome mouth and swept out across the square and 
 resolute jaws a moustache that, like the wavy brown 
 hair about the temples, was tingeing with gray. 
 Strong white teeth glistened through the drooping 
 thatch, and one or two merry dimples dotted his 
 bronzed and weather-beaten cheeks. 
 
 Over on the neighboring side street, from the steps 
 of the schoolhouse, other children surveyed the group, 
 and with envious eyes and watering mouths beheld 
 the demolition of tarts and turnovers. Despite the 
 keen and searching cold of the mountain air, rare and 
 still and brimming with ozone as November days can 
 ever find it, the school shoved its hands deep in trou- 
 sers pockets and stared with all its youthful might. 
 
 Even so blessed a half -hour must have its end, and 
 
 as the warning bell began to ring, and the Townies to 
 
 shout that "reecess" was over, the merry throng, 
 
 spoil-laden, came pouring down the bakery steps, with 
 
 12 
 
178 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 many admonitions to their big benefactor not to think 
 of starting for the fort until school was out and they 
 could escort him home. Two or three of the smallest 
 still clung to him, explaining that only the big ones 
 had afternoon school ; they were all through ; they 
 had nothing to do until the ambulance came to take 
 them all at four o'clock ; and the captain became sud- 
 denly aware of two little people standing on the side- 
 walk and regarding him wistfully. One was a sturdy 
 boy of seven, with frank blue eyes and chubby round- 
 ed cheeks a picture of solid young America despite 
 the fact that his little fists were red and bare ; his 
 knickerbockers, though well fitting, were worn and 
 patched ; and the copper toes of his cheap, heavy 
 boots were wearing suspiciously thin. He stood pro- 
 tectingly by a little maiden, whose face was like those 
 of Sir Joshua Reynolds's seraphs a face as pure 
 an oval as ever sculptor modelled or painter limned, 
 with great, lustrous, long-lashed eyes and delicate 
 and dainty features, and all about it tumbled a wealth 
 of glistening golden hair, and all over it shone the 
 look of childish longing and almost piteous entreaty. 
 One little mitten ed hand was clasped in her brother's ; 
 the other, uncovered, hung by a finger in her rosy 
 mouth. She was warmly clad ; her little cloak and 
 hood were soft and white and fleecy ; her pigmy legs 
 were cased in stout worsted, and her feet in warm 
 "arctics," and "mother's darling" was written in 
 every ornament of her dress. 
 
 Ransom, stowing away a handful of silver, came 
 suddenly upon this silent pair, and stopped short. 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA GLAUS. 179 
 
 Another instant and he had stooped, raised the 
 younger child in his strong hands, and with caressing 
 tone accosted her : 
 
 " Why, little Snow-drop, who are you ? What a 
 little fairy you are !" 
 
 " She ain't one of us," piped up a youthful patri- 
 cian, disdainfully. " She's infantry. He's her brother, 
 and they don't belong to the fort." 
 
 The boy's face flushed, and he looked reproachfully 
 at the speaker, but said no word. Ransom was gaz- 
 ing with singular intentness into the downcast face of 
 his little captive. 
 
 " Won't you tell me your name, little one ?" he 
 pleaded. "Why didn't you come in and have some 
 tarts and turnovers with the others ? I've got to run 
 now and meet some other old fellows at the stage 
 office. Here, little man," he said, as he set her down, 
 "take Snow-drop in for me, and you two just eat all 
 you can, and you pay for it for me." He held out a 
 bright half-dollar. Snow-drop's eyes glistened, and 
 she looked eagerly at her brother. 
 
 But the boy hung back. For an instant he hesitat- 
 ed, screwing his boot toe into a convenient knot-hole 
 as means of covering his embarrassment. " Come, 
 Jack," said the captain, reassuringly, touching him on 
 the shoulder. The little fellow shook his head. 
 
 " Why not, my boy ?" pleaded Ransom. " Papa 
 won't mind, when you tell him it was old Uncle Hal. 
 That's what they call me." 
 
 A lump rose in the youngster's throat. His head 
 went lower. 
 
180 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 " It it's mamma wouldn'-t like it," lie finally said ; 
 and just then, with rush and sputter of hoofs, two 
 officers came trotting around the corner, threw them- 
 selves from their saddles, pounced upon their com- 
 rade, and overwhelmed him with joyous greeting. 
 Another minute and others arrived, and between 
 them all he was led away up the street. While some 
 of the children confidently followed, two remained 
 behind little Snow-drop, refusing to be comforted, 
 was applying the back of her mittened hand to her 
 weeping eyes, and turning a deaf ear to her manful 
 brother, who was vainly striving to explain matters. 
 
 "Maudie Carleton's crying because Phil wouldn't 
 take the money and get her some goodies," said little 
 Jack Wilkins, in an opportune pause. 
 
 " Who did you say ?" asked Ransom, turning sud- 
 denly, and looking inquiringly at his friends. There 
 was an instant of embarrassment. Then one of the 
 officers replied, 
 
 "Maud Carleton, Ransom. Those are poor Phil 
 Carleton's little ones." 
 
 " Wait for me at the office, fellows ; I'll be along in 
 a minute," was the response ; and the captain went 
 striding back to the Bald Eagle. 
 
 It was an old story in the cavalry. Very few there 
 were who knew not that Captain Ransom was a hard- 
 hit man when Kate Perry the beauty of her father's 
 regiment came back from school, and with all the 
 wealth of her grace and loveliness and winning ways, 
 refusing to see how she had impressed one or two 
 "solid" men of the garrison, fell rapturously in love 
 
COME, JACK,' SAID THE CAPTAIN, REASSURINGLY. 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 181 
 
 with Philip Carleton, the handsome, dashing scape- 
 grace of the subalterns. It was "hard lines" for old 
 Colonel Perry ; it would have been misery to her de- 
 voted mother ; but she was spared it all the grass 
 had been growing for years over her distant grave. 
 
 The wedding was a glitter of gold-lace, champagne 
 glasses, and tears. Every one wished her and him 
 all happiness, but dreaded the future. There was a 
 year of bliss, and little Phil was born ; another year 
 when she was much taken up with her baby boy, and 
 the father much abroad a year of clouds and silence. 
 Then came sudden call to the field, and one night with 
 reeling senses she read the despatch that told her he 
 was shot dead in battle with the Sioux. When little 
 Maudie came there was no father to receive her in his 
 arms. The gray-haired colonel took the widow and 
 her children a few short years to his own roof ; then 
 he, too, was called to his account, and with a widow's 
 pension and the relic of her father's savings the sor- 
 rowing woman moved from the garrison that had so 
 long been her home, and took up arms against her sea 
 of troubles. She need not have gone. All Fort Rains 
 knew that there were officers who would gladly have 
 taken her and her beautiful children to their fireside. 
 But she was loyal, proud, high-spirited, and she could 
 not stay. All the roof her father had to leave her 
 was the frame cottage at the ranch he had bought 
 and stocked, a mile below the fort. She was a sol- 
 dier's daughter, brave and resolute, she had her fa- 
 ther's old soldier-servant and his wife to help her, and 
 she moved to the ranch, and declared she would be 
 
182 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 dependent on no one. When first she had come into 
 that glorious valley, a girl of eighteen, a large force 
 of cavalry was encamped around the garrison in which 
 her father's regiment of foot was stationed, and Cap- 
 tain Harold Ransom became one of her most devoted 
 admirers, though nearly twice her age. Few men had 
 much chance against such a lover as Phil Carleton, 
 buoyant, brilliant, gallant, the pride of all the juniors 
 in the infantry, the despair of many a prudent mother; 
 and when that engagement was announced, the cavalry 
 were rather glad to be ordered away, and to comfort 
 themselves with the perilous distractions of Indian 
 fighting for three or four stirring years. But, before 
 they left, Ransom and others had bought much of the 
 land on which Argentopolis gleamed to-day. Perhaps 
 it was the silver that came into his hair as well as his 
 pockets, but silver did not cause the lines that crept 
 under his kindly eyes and around the corners of the 
 firm mouth. He was rich, as army men go, but his 
 heart was sorely wrenched. He went abroad when 
 the Indian campaigns were over, and rejoined while 
 his comrades were on the Pacific coast, and became 
 the delight of the children and the children's mothers. 
 Captain Santa Claus they called him at Walla Walla 
 and Vancouver, where he was the life of those gar- 
 risons ; and while men honored and women waxed 
 sentimental towards him, it was the children who took 
 possession of the tall soldier and made his house their 
 home, who trooped unbidden all over it at any hour 
 of the day, and made it the garrison play-ground when 
 the rainy season set in and drove them to cover. 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 183 
 
 And then, after their four years in the Columbia 
 country, the regiment crossed the big range, and, 
 wonder of wonders, headquarters and six troops, one 
 of them Ransom's, were ordered to Fort Rains ! He 
 was again on long leave when the change of station 
 occurred, and the widow drew a long breath. She 
 found life very different, with her father's old friends 
 and hers removed. As the children grew in years 
 their needs increased. She sold the stock and much 
 of the land of the Ranch, keeping only the homestead 
 and the patch around it, but she was glad to find em- 
 ployment at the fort as teacher of the piano and sing- 
 ing. She played well, but her voice was glorious, and 
 had been carefully trained. The news that he was 
 coming had given her a shock. It was more than 
 eight years since she had seen him. It was more 
 than five since she had briefly answered the letter he 
 wrote her on hearing of her husband's death. It was 
 so manly, sympathetic, and so full of something he 
 knew not how to express a longing to shield her 
 from want or care. She had gently but firmly ended 
 it all. 
 
 And yet She was bitterly poor now. Hand- 
 somer than ever, said the officers who knew her in the 
 old days ; still wearing her mourning, and looking so 
 tall and majestic in her rusting weeds. She was a 
 woman whose form and carriage would be noticeable 
 anywhere tall, slender, graceful, with a certain slow, 
 languorous ease of motion that charmed the senses. 
 Her face was exquisite in contour and feature a 
 pure type of blond, blue-eyed, Saxon beauty, with 
 
184 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 great masses of shimmering golden-brown hair. No 
 wonder Ransom felt a thrill when he looked into 
 Maudie's eyes the child was her mother in minia- 
 ture. At twenty-seven, with all her trials, Mrs. Carle- 
 ton was a lovelier woman than in her maiden radiance 
 at eighteen. What she had gained in strength and 
 character, through her years of poverty and self- 
 abnegation, God alone knew, and He had been her 
 comforter. 
 
 For nearly a year the garrison children had been 
 going in to town for school, an excellent teacher 
 having been secured in the East, and Mrs. Carleton 
 eagerly embraced the chance of sending hers. She 
 could no longer afford a nurse to look after the wee 
 one. She could not take her on her daily round of 
 lessons, and her infantry friends had gladly seen to it 
 that the little Carletons were carried to and fro with 
 their own. So, too, when the cavalry came had Col- 
 onel Cross assured her that the ambulance should al- 
 ways come for them and bring them back to the post. 
 Everybody wanted to be kind to her, or said so at 
 least ; but the ladies were all new and strange. She 
 had never been the pet among them she was in her 
 own regiment. They had not known and loved her 
 father, as had the colonel. They had heard of hand- 
 some Phil Carleton, as who had not? but they had 
 heard of Hal Ransom's old-time devotion to her, and 
 now he would soon be back. Rich, growing gray, 
 everybody's friend, the children's idol oh ! what if 
 she should set that widow's cap for him now ! The 
 possibility was appalling. 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 185 
 
 And Christmas was coming, and the children had 
 been weaving glowing pictures of the bliss to be theirs 
 because Captain Santa Claus was homeward bound, 
 and little Maud was listening with eager ears, and her 
 blue-eyed brother in silent longing. The boy was his 
 mother's knight and champion. She took him into 
 her confidence and told him many of her troubles, and 
 time and again after Handle was asleep the two were 
 rocking in the big arm-chair in front of the hearth, 
 the little fellow curled up in her lap, his arms around 
 her neck, his ruddy cheek nestled against hers, that 
 looked so fragile and white by contrast. He knew 
 how hard a struggle mamma was having in keeping 
 the wolf from the door, and he was helping her lit- 
 tle hero that he was wearing uncomplainingly the 
 patched knickerbockers and cowhide boots, bearing 
 in soldier silence the thoughtless" jeers of his school- 
 mates, and taking comfort in the fact that sensitive 
 little Maud was always prettily dressed. She had 
 been petted from babyhood, for scarlet-fever had left 
 her weak and nervous. 
 
 And so the coming of glad Christmas-tide was not 
 to them the source of boundless joy it seemed to 
 others. For days Maud had been coming home from 
 school full of childish prattle about the lovely things 
 the other girls were going to have. Couldn't she have 
 a real wax doll, with " truly " eyes and hair, that could 
 sing and say mamma ; and a doll house, with kitchen, 
 and a real pump and stove in it, and dining-room and 
 parlor, and lots of lovely bedrooms up-stairs ; and a 
 doll carriage like Mabel Vane's, with blue cushions, 
 
186 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 and white wheels and body, and umbrella top ? She 
 was tired of her old dollies and her broken wagon. 
 Why didn't people ever give her such beautiful 
 things? If she was very good, and wrote to Santa 
 Claus, wouldn't he bring her what she wanted so very, 
 very much ? Poor Mrs. Carleton ! Do our hearts 
 ever ache over our own troubles as they do over the 
 longings of our little ones ? She promised Maud that 
 Santa Claus should bring the very things she craved, 
 and now she knew not how to fulfil her pledge. Com- 
 missary and butcher bills were still unpaid, and she so 
 hated to ask even for what was due her ! It is such 
 an old, homely, heart-worn story that of Christmas 
 yearnings that must be unfulfilled ! We lay down 
 our cherished plans with a sigh of resignation, but 
 when baby eyes and baby lips are pleading, God for- 
 give us if we are not so humbly patient, if we accept 
 our burden not without a murmur, or yield not with- 
 out a struggle ! 
 
 She had other sore perplexities. She well knew she 
 must meet Hal Ransom. Two days had elapsed since 
 Phil had told her of the reception accorded him, and 
 Maud had preferred her complaint against her brother 
 for being so mean to her in not taking the money and 
 giving her a treat. 
 
 Heaven ! how the widowed soul hugged her boy to 
 her bosom that night, and kissed and blessed and cried 
 over him ! Come what might, he should have a Christ- 
 mas worth remembering, for his remembrance of her ! 
 She had long planned to send to Chicago for a hand- 
 some suit to replace the worn and outgrown knicker- 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 187 
 
 bockers. It would have crushed her to think of her 
 boy's taking money from him, of all people, no matter 
 what the Forties did. Then came the question as to 
 how she would meet him. Go to the fort she had to 
 every day, and meet they must. It was not that he 
 would be obtrusive ; he was too thorough a gentleman 
 for that, and her last letter to him was such that he 
 could not be. It was written in the ecstasy of her be- 
 reavement, when she was hiding even from herself the 
 faults and neglects of the buried Philip to whom she 
 had given her girlish love. With lofty spirit she had 
 told liim she lived only to teach her children to revere 
 their father's memory, and that she could never think 
 of accepting aid from any one, though she thanked 
 him for the delicacy and thoughtf ulness of his well- 
 meant offer. She had asked herself many a time in 
 the last year whether, if it were to be done again, she 
 could find it in her heart to be quite so cold and re- 
 pellent. She wondered if he had ever heard that the 
 last year of her handsome Philip's life had been de- 
 voted more to other women than to her. She could 
 not tolerate the idea that he, above all, should suppose 
 that between Philip and herself all had not been bliss- 
 ful, and that she had been neglected not a little. And 
 yet and yet was she unlike other women that just 
 now her toilet received rather more thought than 
 usual, and that she wondered would he find her faded 
 changed ? 
 
 They met, as men and women whose hearts hold 
 weightier secrets must meet, with the ease and cor- 
 diality which their breeding demands. Scene there 
 
188 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 was none ; but she saw, and saw instantly, what she 
 had vainly striven to teach herself she was utterly in- 
 different to, that in his eyes she was no more faded 
 than his love in hers. She could have scourged her- 
 self for the thrill of life and youth it gave her. 
 
 That night little Philip was hugged closer than 
 ever. He had been telling her how the captain was 
 moving into his new quarters, and the children trooped 
 over there the moment they got back from school, and 
 would not ask them, because they were infantry, and 
 Maud cried, and the captain himself came out and took 
 her in his arms and carried her, and made him come 
 too, and they all had nuts and raisins and apples, and 
 the captain was just as kind to them as though they 
 were cavalry "more too, for he kept Maudie on his 
 knee most of the time, and wanted us to stay, but we 
 had to go and meet mamma. And he said that was 
 what made him proud of me from the first, because I 
 was so true to you, mamma," said Phil. " I suppose 
 because I wouldn't take his half-dollar." 
 
 She was silent a moment, pressing her lips to his 
 cheek, and striving hard to subdue the tears that rose 
 to her eyes. She had something to ask of her boy 
 that was hard, very hard. Yet it had to be done. 
 
 " You were right, Philip. It would have hurt mam- 
 ma more than words can tell had you taken money 
 from from any one. We are very poor, but we can 
 be rich in one thing independence. Mamma has not 
 had much luck this year. It seemed all to go with 
 papa's old regiment. But we'll be brave and patient, 
 you and mamma, and say nothing to anybody about 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 189 
 
 our troubles. We'll pay what we owe as we go along. 
 Won't we, Phil?" 
 
 " I wish I could help some way, mamma." 
 
 " You can, my soldier boy." 
 
 He looked up quickly and patted her cheek ; then 
 threw his arm around her neck again. Something 
 told him what it would have to be. 
 
 " Maudie is a baby who cannot realize our position. 
 Philip is my brave little knight and helper. It it is 
 so hard for mamma to say it, my boy, but if we buy 
 what she so longs for at Christmas, there will be noth- 
 ing left for the skates, and I know how you want them, 
 and how many other things you ought to have. You 
 have helped mother so often, Phil. Can you help her 
 once more ?" 
 
 For all answer he only clung to her the closer. 
 
 And now holiday week was near at hand. It was 
 Friday, and school would close that afternoon, and 
 for two blessed, blissful weeks there would be no ses- 
 sion at all. Christmas Day would come on Tuesday, 
 and the Forties were running riot in the realms of an- 
 ticipation. They hugged each other and danced about 
 the street when the express agent told them of the 
 packages that were coming almost every day for Cap- 
 tain Ransom, and the little Townies, who were wont 
 to protest they were glad their papas weren't in the 
 army, were beginning to show traitorous signs of 
 weakening. It was a sore test, if every regiment had 
 its own Santa Clans, as the Forties said. 
 
 And older heads were noting that for some time 
 Captain Ransom drove not so much townward, up the 
 
190 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 valley as down ; and that there was a well-defined 
 sleigh track from the lower gate over to the Ranch. 
 Officers coming up from the stables were quick to note 
 the new feature in the wintry landscape, and to make 
 quizzical comment thereon. Then, on Sunday, the 
 third in Advent, a heavy snow-storm came up during 
 the morning service, and the wind blew a " blizzard." 
 It was only a few weeks after the captain's arrival, 
 but his handsome roans were well known in the valley 
 already, and the ladies looked at each other and nod- 
 ded significantly as they saw the team drawn up near 
 the chapel door when the congregation came shudder- 
 ing out into the cold. Mrs. Colonel Cross, who had a 
 charming young sister visiting her for the holidays, 
 and Mrs. Vane, whose cousin Pansy had come over 
 from her brother's station at Fort Whittlesey, had 
 both offered Ransom seats in their pews until he 
 chose his own ; but he had chosen his own very 
 promptly, and it was well down the aisle opposite 
 that to which Mrs. Carleton had humbly retired after 
 her father's death. As a consequence the higher fam- 
 ilies reached the door only in time to see the captain 
 bundling the widow and her little ones in his costly 
 robes, and driving away through the whirling storm. 
 
 That night the wind died away ; the snow fell heav- 
 ily, and all the next day it lay in silent, unruffled, un- 
 furrowed beauty over the broad level below the fort, 
 and though the captain's sleigh went townward tow- 
 ards evening, and the butcher's "bob" tore an ugly 
 groove along the lower edge, there was now no trail 
 other than the foot-path along the willow -fringed 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 191 
 
 river-bank joining the garrison with the widow's gate. 
 When Friday came, and the plain was still unfur- 
 rowed, Fort Rains was unanimous in its conclusion ; 
 Captain Ransom had offered himself again, and been 
 rejected. 
 
 The households of Vane and Potts, and the ladies, 
 at least, at the colonel's, breathed freer. Captain 
 Ransom was invited to Christmas dinner at all three 
 places, and begged to be excused. He explained that 
 he purposed having all the children at his house from 
 eight to ten for general frolic that evening and would 
 not the ladies come over and see the fun ? Mrs. Yane 
 and Pansy were for changing their dinner hour to 
 five o'clock, if thereby the captain could be secured, 
 and Vane "sounded" him, but without the hoped-for 
 result. He would have to be at home, he said. Mrs. 
 Carleton was narrowly watched. Women who had 
 been disposed to treat her coldly could have hugged 
 her now, if they could be sure she had really refused 
 the best catch in the cavalry, and left a chance for 
 some one else. But Mrs. Carleton gave no sign, and 
 she was a woman they dared not question. What 
 staggered the theory of renewed offer and rejection 
 was the warmth and cordiality of manner with which 
 they met in public and they met almost daily. There 
 was something that seemed to shatter the idea of re- 
 jection in the very smile she gave him, and in the rev- 
 erence of his manner towards her. Estrangement there 
 certainly was none, and yet he had been going over to 
 the Ranch every day, and his visits had suddenly ceased. 
 Why ? They scanned his face for indications ; but, 
 
192 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 as Mrs. Vane put it, " he always was an exasperating 
 creature ; you could no more read him than you could 
 a mummy." 
 
 Monday before Christmas had come, and Colonel 
 Cross, trudging home from his office about noon, 
 caught sight of the tall and graceful figure of Mrs. 
 Carleton coming towards him along the walk. He 
 was about to hail her in his cheery style, when he saw 
 that her head was bowed, and that she was in evident 
 distress. Even while he was wondering how to accost 
 her, she put him out of doubt. Her lips were twitch- 
 ing and her cheeks were flushed ; tears were starting 
 in her eyes, but she strove hard to command herself 
 and speak calmly. 
 
 "You were so kind as to order the 'special' for me 
 this morning, colonel, but I shall not need it I can- 
 not go to town." 
 
 He knew well that something had gone wrong. 
 Blunt, rugged old trooper that he was, he had been 
 her father's intimate in their cadet days, and he 
 wanted to befriend her. More than a little he sus- 
 pected that hers was not a path of roses among the 
 ladies at Rains. In his presence they were on guard 
 over their tongues, but he had not been commanding 
 officer of several garrisons for nothing. 
 
 "Mrs. Carleton," he impetuously spoke, "some- 
 thing's amiss. Can't you tell an old fellow like me, 
 and let me ah settle things ? Surely it is some- 
 thing I can do." 
 
 She thanked him warmly. It was nothing in which 
 he could be of service, she declared, trying hard to 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA GLAUS. 193 
 
 smile she was a little upset and could not go to town. 
 But he saw she had just come from Mrs. Vane's, and 
 he knew that estimable and virtuous woman thorough- 
 ly, and drew his conclusions. Whatever was wrong, 
 it was not unconnected with her monitions or min- 
 istrations of that he was confident. As for Mrs. 
 Carleton, she turned quickly from the fort and took 
 her lonely, winding way among the willows to her 
 valley home, a heart-sick woman. 
 
 Counting her ways and means, she had found that 
 to pay for the items she had promised Maud and had 
 ordered for her boy the latter being the suit sent 
 " C. O. D." from Chicago she would have to ask a 
 favor of her patrons at the fort. She had arranged 
 with the proprietor of the big variety store in town 
 that he should set aside for her a certain beautiful doll 
 and one of the prettiest of the doll carriages, and that 
 she would come and get them on this very afternoon. 
 To meet her bills and these expenses, and that there 
 might be no disappointment, she had addressed to the 
 parents of her few pupils a modest little note, enclos- 
 ing her bill, and asking as a kindness to her that it 
 might be paid by Saturday, the 22d. Courteous and 
 prompt response had come from all but two, and with 
 the money thus obtained she had settled her little 
 household accounts. Mrs. Yane and Mrs. Potts, how- 
 ever, had vouchsafed no reply, and it was to the moth- 
 ers, not the fathers, her notes had been addressed. 
 On Monday morning, therefore, when she went to give 
 Miss Adele her lesson, she ventured to ask for Mrs. 
 Potts, and Mrs. Potts was out spending the day at 
 13 
 
194 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 Mrs. Vane's. So thither she went, and with flushing 
 cheeks and deep embarrassment inquired if the ladies 
 had received her notes. Mrs. Potts had, and was over- 
 come, she said, with dismay. She had totally forgot- 
 ten, and thought it was next Saturday she meant ; and 
 now the captain had gone to town, and there was no 
 way she could get at him. Then came Mrs. Vane's 
 turn. Mrs. Vane, too, had received her note, but she 
 was not overcome. With much majesty of mien she 
 told the widow that she always paid her bills on the 
 last day of the quarter, and that her husband was so 
 punctilious about it and so methodical that she never 
 asked him to depart from the rule. Mrs. Carleton 
 strove hard to keep down her pride and the surging 
 impulse to cry out against such heartless superiority 
 of manner and management. There was a tinge of 
 reproach in the plea she forced herself to make for 
 her babies' sake. " You know there are no more les- 
 sons this term, Mrs. Vane ; my work is done ; and I 
 so needed it for Christmas, or I would not have 
 asked." And she smiled piteously through the start- 
 ing tears. Mrs. Vane was sorry very sorry. She 
 could hardly ask her husband to depart from his life- 
 long practice, even if he were here and he, too, had 
 gone to town. 
 
 Yes, everybody seemed to have gone or sent to town 
 for Christmas shopping. Her little ones were alone 
 in having no one to buy for them. Harold Ransom 
 too was going, for she saw the handsome roans come 
 dashing up the drive, as she rose, with a burning sense 
 of indignity, to take her leave. She came upon Miss 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 195 
 
 Pansy in the hallway, all hooded and furred, and beam- 
 ing with bliss at the prospect of a sleigh-ride to town 
 behind the roans, no doubt. Never mind that now. 
 Her heart was full of only one thought her babies. 
 Where were now her long-cherished schemes? All 
 Fort Rains was blithe and jubilant over the coming 
 festivities ; Maud was wild with anticipation ; and 
 she alone she alone, who had worked so hard and 
 faithfully that her children might find joy in their 
 Christmas awaking she alone had seen her hopes 
 turn to ashes. In her pride and her vehement deter- 
 mination to be " beholden " to no one, she would seek 
 no help in her trouble. She went home, asking only 
 to be alone, thankful that the children were spending 
 the day with friends in the garrison, and could not be 
 there to see the misery in her eyes. 
 
 Full an hour she gave to her uncontrollable grief, 
 locked: in her room, sobbing in utter prostration. Her 
 eyes were still red and swollen ; she was weak, trem- 
 bling, exhausted, when the sudden sound of hoof-beats 
 roused her. The blood flew to her cheeks. Despite 
 her prohibition, then, he was here. He had come 
 again, and something told her he had fathomed her 
 trouble, and would not be denied. She heard the 
 quick, firm tread upon the steps, the imperative rat- 
 tat-tat of the whip-handle on the door. She could 
 have called to her faithful slave Mrs. Malloy, the 
 " striker's " wife, who had known her from babyhood, 
 and bidden her tell the captain she must be excused, 
 but it was too late. Bridget Malloy had seen her face 
 when she came home ; had vainly striven to enter her 
 
196 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 room and share her sorrow ; had shrewdly suspected 
 the cause of the trouble, and through the key-hole had 
 poured forth voluble Hibernian fealty and proffers of 
 every blessed cent of her savings, but only to be im- 
 plored to go away and let her have her cry in peace. 
 Even had Mrs. Carleton ordered her to deny her to 
 the visitor, it is probable that Mrs. Malloy would have 
 obeyed her own instincts. 
 
 " Sure it's glad I am to see the captain !" was her 
 prompt greeting ; " and it was a black day that ever 
 let ye go from her. Come right in, an' I'll call her to 
 ye. It's all broke up she is." 
 
 And so she had to come. There he stood in the 
 little sanctuary where Philip in photographed beauty 
 beamed down upon her from over the mantel, and 
 Philip's rusting sword hung like that of Damocles by 
 the fragile thread of sentiment that bound her to the 
 past. There he stood with such a world of tenderness, 
 yearning, sympathy, and suppressed and passionate 
 love in his dark eyes ! She came in, almost back- 
 ward, striving to hide her swollen and disfigured face. 
 He never strove to approach her. With one hand 
 on the mantel, he stood gazing sorrowfully at her. 
 With one hand on the door-knob, with averted face, 
 she silently awaited his words. 
 
 "I have disobeyed you, Kate, though I left my 
 sleigh and came on Roscoe. I have tried to accept 
 what you said eight days ago, but no man on earth 
 who has heard what I have heard to-day could obey 
 you longer. No. Listen !" he urged, as she half 
 turned, with silencing gesture. "I'm not here to 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 197 
 
 plead for myself, but my heart is breaking to see 
 you suffering, and to think of your being subjected to 
 such an outrage as that of this morning. Of course I 
 heard of it. I made them tell me. The colonel had 
 seen your distress, and told me you had abandoned 
 the trip to town. I found out the rest. Yes, Mrs. 
 Carleton, if you so choose to term it" (for she had 
 turned with indignant query in her eyes), " I pried 
 into your aifairs. Do you think I can bear this, to 
 know you are in want for want it must be, or you'd 
 never have stooped to ask that vulgar, purse-proud, 
 patronizing woman for money ? Do you think I can 
 live here and see you subjected to this ? By Heaven ! 
 If nothing else will move you, in Philip's name, in 
 your children's name, let me lift this burden from 
 you. Send me across the continent if you like. I'll 
 promise to worry you no more, if that will buy your 
 trust. I've lived and borne my lot these eight or nine 
 long years, and can bear it longer if need be. What 
 I can't bear, and won't bear, is your suffering from 
 actual poverty. Kate Carleton, won't you trust me ?" 
 
 "How can I be your debtor, Captain Ransom? 
 Ask yourself ask any one what would be said of 
 me if I took one cent from you ! I do thank you. I 
 am grateful for all you have done and would do. Oh, 
 it is not that I do not bless you every day and night 
 for being so thoughtful for me, so good to my little 
 ones ! It wasn't for myself I was so broken to-day ; 
 it was for my my babies. Oh, I I cannot tell you !" 
 
 And now she broke down utterly, weeping hysteri- 
 cally, uncontrollably. In the abandonment of her 
 
198 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 grief she threw her arms upon the wooden casing of 
 the doorway, and bowed her head upon them. One 
 instant he stood there, his hands fiercely clinching, his 
 broad chest heaving, his bronzed, honest, earnest face 
 working with his weight of emotion, and then, with 
 uncontrollable impulse, with one bound he leaped to 
 her side, seized her slender form in his arms, and 
 clasped her to his breast. In vain she struggled ; in 
 vain her startled eyes, filled with resolute loyalty to 
 the old faith, blazed at him through their mist of 
 tears ; he held her close, as once again, despite her 
 struggles and her forbidding words, he poured forth 
 his plea. 
 
 " You can take it, you must take it. For your own 
 sake, for your children's sake even for his ! give me 
 the right to protect and cherish you. I I don't ask 
 your love. Ah, Kate, be merciful !" and then fatal 
 inspiration ! but the face he loved was so so near ; 
 he never would have done it had he thought it was 
 only as utterly unconquerable an impulse as his wild 
 embrace ; his lips were so tremulous with entreaty, 
 with love, sympathy, pleading, pity, passion, every- 
 thing that impelled and nothing that restrained, that 
 with sudden sweep they fell upon her flushed and tear- 
 wet cheek, and ere he knew it he had kissed her. 
 
 There was no mistaking the wrath in her eyes now. 
 She was free in an instant, and bidding him begone. 
 He begged hard for pardon, but to no purpose. She 
 would listen to nothing. Go he must his presence 
 was insult. And he left her panting with indignation, 
 a vengeance-hurling goddess, a wild-eyed Juno, while 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 199 
 
 he at full gallop went tearing through the snow-drifts, 
 recklessly, dolefully, yet determinedly, back to the 
 post. In half an hour he was whipping to town. 
 
 When sunset came, and the evening gun awakened 
 the echoes of the snow-shrouded valley, and the red 
 disk went down behind the crested bluffs far up the 
 stream, a sleigh came out from the fort, and Captain 
 Vane, with curious mixture of cordiality and embar- 
 rassment, restored Phil and Maud to the maternal 
 roof, and begged to hand her the amount due from 
 him and from Captain Potts for family tuition. He 
 had only heard a accidentally a few minutes be- 
 fore, of her request. And wasn't there something 
 else he could do ? Would she not go to town with 
 him to-morrow morning? She thanked him. She 
 hardly knew what to do. Here was the money at 
 last, but it was Christmas eve now, and there was no 
 time to be lost, and town lay full six miles away. 
 Perhaps she wished a messenger now, suggested the 
 captain he would send in a mounted man gladly. 
 Knowing no other way to secure her treasures for her 
 little ones, she breathlessly accepted his offer, briefly 
 explained the situation, and told him how she longed 
 to have the presents there, with the trifles she had 
 made for them, to greet their eyes with the coming 
 day. The messenger could go to the store and get 
 the coveted doll and carriage ; there would surely be 
 sleighs from the fort that would bring them out for 
 him, and he would find the box from Chicago at the 
 express office, and could pay the charges and sign the 
 receipt on her written order to the agent. It was ar- 
 
200 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 ranged in a moment, and with reviving hope she gave 
 the children their tea and strove to get them early to 
 bed. 
 
 Ten o'clock came. The little ones were at last 
 asleep. She had filled the stockings with such inex- 
 pensive but loving remembrances as she could afford, 
 and had tottered dangerously near the brink of an- 
 other flood of tears when Malloy and his wife came 
 in, the one with a box of tools for Phil, the other with 
 a set of china for the doll-house. She had finally bid- 
 den those faithful friends good-night, and, having ar- 
 ranged the few gifts she had for the children, she 
 threw over her shoulders a heavy shawl and went to 
 the gate to listen for the messenger's return. 
 
 It was a perfect night clear, still, and sparkling. 
 The moon shone brightly upon the glistening mantle 
 of snow, and tinged with silver the pine crests across 
 the stream. Westward, on a little rise, were the twink- 
 ling lights of the fort. Far beyond, far up the nar- 
 rowing valley, other lights, dim and distant, marked 
 the position of the town. She could hear the faint, 
 muffled sound of shots with which the benighted but 
 jubilant frontiersmen were hailing the coming of the 
 sacred anniversary, like some midwinter Fourth of 
 July, with exuberant and explosive hilarity. Then, 
 nearer at hand, soft, sweet, and solemn, there floated 
 out over the valley the prolonged notes of the cavalry 
 trumpet sounding the signal "Lights out," the "good- 
 night " of the garrison. Then all the broad windows 
 of the barracks were shrouded in sudden gloom; only 
 in the quarters of the officers, on the opposite side of 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 201 
 
 the parade, were the lights still twinkling. In one of 
 them, nearest the gate, high up aloft, and close under 
 the gables, there gleamed a brighter light than all the 
 others. Even in the chilly air she felt the flush of 
 blood to her cheeks. That was Ransom's house. She 
 well knew he had chosen it, farthest from the quarters 
 and stables of his troop, simply because it was at the 
 end of the row, overlooking the valley, and nearest 
 her. Two weeks since he had said to her that he 
 could not rid himself of the thought of her isolation. 
 Though off the beaten track a full three-quarter mile, 
 and within long carbine-range of the sentries, she was 
 still far away, almost unprotected. Though Indians 
 were no longer to be feared, there were such things 
 as tramps and blackguards in the settlements. She 
 laughed at his fears. She had lived there three years, 
 and never heard a sound at night other than the occa- 
 sional howl of a coyote and the distant watch-cry of 
 the sentries. She had brave old Malloy with his gun, 
 and Bridget with her tongue and nails; she had Phil- 
 ip's sword, her own brave spirit, and her boy : what 
 had she to fear ? 
 
 All the same, struggle against it though she would, 
 it was sweet to hear his anxious questioning. Even if 
 unmolested by marauders, something might go wrong 
 Maudie have croup, a kerosene lamp burst. She 
 might need help. Who knew ? "I shall put a bright 
 lamp and reflector in the little round garret window 
 every night as soon as I get home," he said, "and, 
 should you ever be in danger or need, throw a red 
 handkerchief over your biggest lantern, and show it 
 
202 CAPTAIN SANTA GLAUS. 
 
 at the top window. If the sentries don't see it at once, 
 fire Malloy's gun." She promised, laughingly, though 
 repudiating the possibility. She had told herself that 
 Philip's spirit was all the protection she needed; but 
 the night landscape of the valley, the night lights at 
 the fort, had acquired of late an interest they never 
 knew before. She would have scourged herself had 
 she believed, she would have stormed at any one who 
 suggested, that she went to look for his light; but if 
 ever it failed to be there, at ten or eleven or later, she 
 knew it. Whatever might be his evening occupation 
 at the fort a dinner, a card-party, officers' school, 
 "non-coms."' recitation it was his habit on reaching 
 home to go at once to the garret and post his sentinel 
 light. What would he not have given for an answer- 
 ing signal ? 
 
 And there was the light now. He was home, then, 
 and, despite her anger and his banishment, he was 
 faithful. Christmas eve, and only ten, and he was 
 home and watching over her. She was still quivering 
 with wrath at him for that ravished kiss at least she 
 told herself she was, and had told him a great deal 
 more. Was it quite fair to drive him from her home, 
 as she had, when Phil was so fond of him and Maudie 
 loved him so, and he was so devoted to them ? What 
 could he be doing at home so early? There was a 
 party at the adjutant's, she knew. She had been 
 obliged to decline. She had three invitations for 
 Christmas dinners, and had said no to all, gratefully. 
 There were many who wanted to be kind to her, but 
 she had only one dress she considered fit to wear, so, 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 203 
 
 too, had little Maud, and as for her brave boy Phil, 
 he had nothing unless the suit from Chicago came 
 in time. Without that he could not go to the cap- 
 tain's Christmas-tree. Why did not the messenger 
 return ? She was becoming feverishly anxious. 
 
 It was too cold to remain out-of-doors. She re- 
 entered, and paced fitfully up and down her little par- 
 lor. She went in and bent over her sleeping children, 
 and rearranged the coverlets with the noiseless touch 
 of the mother's hand; she leaned over and kissed them 
 softly, and now that her surcharged nature had had 
 free vent, and the skies were cleared by the morning's 
 storm, she felt far gentler, happier. Her cry had done 
 her good. Her hopefulness was returning but not 
 the messenger. What could detain him ? Where could 
 he be ? It was eleven, and long after, when at last 
 she sighted a shadowy horseman loping across the 
 moonlit plain, and slowly he dismounted at her gate 
 and came to her empty-handed. He was a soldier of 
 Vane's troop, and his tale was doleful. He had been 
 set upon in a saloon, robbed, and beaten. The money 
 was gone, he had brought back nothing but bruises. 
 As consolation he imparted the fact that 'twas too 
 late to get the doll and carriage. The last ones had 
 been sold that evening, as she had not come to claim 
 them. Then he had stepped in to take a drink, be- 
 cause he was cold, and then the catastrophe had oc- 
 curred. True or false as might be the story, there was 
 no doubt of the veracity of that portion which referred 
 to the drink. Conscious that it was too late to do 
 anything at this hour, she simply dismissed him, bid- 
 
204 CAPTAIX SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 ding him go at once to the post, barred and locked 
 her door, and sat down, stunned and heartsick. This, 
 then, was the joyous Christmas for which she had 
 worked so long and hard ! She raised her arms in 
 one last appeal to Heaven; then threw herself upon 
 her knees beside her little ones, and buried her face 
 in her quivering hands. What would their early wak- 
 ing bring to them now but disappointment ? For half 
 an hour she knelt there helpless, stunned. Then lifted 
 her head -startled. 
 
 Somebody was fumbling at the storm-door. With 
 her heart in her throat, she listened, incredulous, fear- 
 ful, then convinced. The boards creaked and snapped 
 beneath a heavy, stealthy tread. She heard, beyond 
 doubt, a muttered question, a reply. There were two of 
 them, then ! All was darkness in her parlor now, only 
 the light burned in the children's room. Her heart 
 bounded, but she stole, despite trembling knees, noise- 
 lessly into the parlor, stooped and peered through the 
 slats, and, sure as fate, two men, burly, muffled so that 
 they were unrecognizable, were bending down at the 
 storm-house in front of her parlor door. Quickly she 
 rose, scurried through the parlor, up the stairs to the 
 room above the kitchen, where she rapped heavily 
 at the door. " Malloy ! Malloy !" she cried. No an- 
 swer but a snore and heavy breathing. She rattled 
 the knob and called again. This time with success. 
 
 "Who is't?" was the startled challenge. 
 
 " It is I Mrs. Carleton ! Quick, Malloy ! Two men 
 are trying to break in at the front door." 
 
 She heard the bound with which the old soldier 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 205 
 
 leaped to the floor. She ran into the front room. One 
 quick glance showed her Ransom's signal-light blazing 
 across the mile of snow. One moment more, and, 
 muffled in red silk, her biggest lantern swung glowing 
 in the window. Then down the stairs she hurried to 
 her children, just as Malloy, with his carbine, and 
 Bridget, with a six-shooter, swept gallantly into ac- 
 tion. She heard his fierce summons, " Who shtands 
 there ?" and listened breathlessly. No response. 
 " Who's dhere, I say ?" Dead silence. Not even 
 scurrying footsteps. She crept to the window and 
 peered out. No one near. She raised the sash, threw 
 open a shutter, and gazed abroad. The little piazza 
 was deserted, unless both were hiding inside the storm- 
 house. No ! See ! Over among the willows by the 
 stream there are shadowy figures and a sleigh. 
 
 " They've gone, Malloy ! They are up the river- 
 bank with a sleigh !" she called. And then she heard 
 him furiously unbarring the parlor door preparatory 
 to a rush. She heard it swing open, an impetuous 
 sally, a collision, a crash, the clatter of a dropped 
 carbine against the surrounding wood-work, a com- 
 plication of anathemas and objurgations from the 
 dark interior, and then a dialogue in choice Hiber- 
 nian. 
 
 "Are ye hurted, Terence?" 
 
 " I am. Bad scran to the blagyards that left their 
 thrunk behind 'em !" 
 
 Trunk ! what trunk ? She bore a light into the par- 
 lor, and revealed Malloy, with rueful visage, doubled 
 up over a big wooden box planted squarely in the 
 
206 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 doorway. Robbers, indeed ! Mrs. Bridget whisked 
 him out of the way, ran and closed the children's 
 door, and in another moment had lugged the big box 
 into the parlor, and wrenched away the top. The two 
 women were on their knees before it in an instant. 
 
 First they dragged forth a great flat paper box, 
 damp and cool and moist, and this the widow opened 
 tremblingly. A flat layer of white cotton, dry; then 
 paper ; a flat layer of white cotton, moist ; and then, 
 peep ! Upon the fresh, green coils of smilax, rich with 
 fragrance, sweet, moist, dewy, exquisite, lay store upon 
 store of the choicest flowers rose-buds and rose-blos- 
 soms in cream and yellow and pink and crimson, car- 
 nations in white and red, heliotrope and hyacinth, and 
 fairest pansies, and modest little violets, and gorgeous 
 tulips, even great callas the first flowers she had seen 
 in years. Oh, Captain Santa Glaus ! who taught you 
 Christmas wooing ? Where learned you such art as 
 this ? Beneath the box was yet another, bearing the 
 stamp of the great Chicago firm, sealed, corded, just 
 as he had got it from the agent that evening Phil's 
 longed-for suit. She hugged it with delight, while 
 tears started to her dancing eyes. How good he was ! 
 How thoughtful for her and for her little ones ! There, 
 beneath, was the very white doll-carriage, blue lining, 
 umbrella top, and all, wherein reposed a wondrous 
 wax doll, the like of which Maud had never dreamed. 
 There was a tin kitchen, with innumerable appendages. 
 There was a glistening pair of club-skates of finest 
 steel and latest patent, the very thing that Phil so 
 longed for, and had so lovingly resigned. There were 
 
ONE MOMENT MORE, AND, MUFFLED IN RED SILK, HER BIG- 
 GEST LANTERN SWUNG GLOWING IN THE WINDOW." 
 
CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 207 
 
 fur cap and gloves and boots for him, and such an ele- 
 gant shawl for Mrs. Malloy ! He could send them all 
 he chose, and no offence. But to her on her he could 
 lavish only flowers. 
 
 And then her Irish allies returned to their slumbers, 
 and left her to the rapture of arranging the new pres- 
 ents and the contemplation of her flowers; and she 
 was hugging the big pasteboard box and gloating over 
 her treasures when there was sudden noise without, 
 a rush up the steps, and before she could drop her 
 possessions the door flew open, and in came a wild- 
 eyed, breathless captain of cavalry, gasping the ap- 
 parently unwarrantable query, "What's the matter?" 
 
 For an instant she stared at him in astonishment. 
 Holding tight her flowers, she gazed at his agitated 
 face. " Nothing," she answered. " How could any- 
 thing be wrong when you have been so so " But 
 words failed her. 
 
 " Why ! your red light's burning" he explained. 
 
 " I declare ! I forgot all about it !" 
 
 Then another silence. He threw himself back in an 
 arm-chair, breathing hard, and trying to recover his 
 composure. 
 
 "Do you mean didn't you mean to signal for 
 help ?" he finally asked. 
 
 " Yes, I did " an arch and mischievous smile now 
 brightening her face. " When I swung it I wanted 
 you to come quick and drive yourself away." 
 
 Then she put down her box, and stepped impul- 
 sively towards him, two white hands outstretched, 
 tears starting from her eyes, the color surging to her 
 
208 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 lovely face " Where can I find words to thank you, 
 Captain Santa Glaus?" 
 
 He rose quickly, his face flushed and eager, his strong 
 hands trembling. 
 
 "Shall I tell you?" he asked. 
 
 Her head was drooping now ; her eyes could not 
 meet the fervent love and longing in his; her bosom 
 heaved with every breath. She could only stand and 
 tremble when he seized her hands. 
 
 "Kate, will you take back what you said to-day?" 
 
 She stole one glance into his passionate, pleading 
 eyes, and her head drooped lower. 
 
 " Can't you take it back, Kate ?" 
 
 A moment's pause. At last the answer. "How 
 can I, unless unless you take back what you what 
 caused it?" 
 
 Never before had the little Carletons w T aked to such 
 a radiant Christmas morning. Never had the Forties 
 known so royal a Christmas-tree. Never before was 
 "Uncle Hal's" so thronged with beaming faces and 
 happy hearts. But among all the little ones whom 
 his love and thoughtfulness had blessed there was no 
 face that shone with bliss more radiant, with joy more 
 deep and perfect, than that of Captain Santa Claus. 
 
I 
 
 CAPTAIN SANTA CLAUS." 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 PLACID and homelike enough were all its surround- 
 ings, one would say. It seemed the very last place 
 to look for romance or mystery the very last place 
 in the world to be confronted by a foul and savage 
 crime. There was not a shadow on the bright, breeze- 
 ruffled mill-pond whereon the ducks were splashing 
 and quacking noisily. Not a willow drooped its 
 mourning branches over the sunny shallows above, 
 or the foaming, rushing, tumbling torrent below the 
 dam. Not a tree with heavy, spreading foliage stood 
 guard between the sunshine and the shores. Nothing 
 but a few pert, sturdy young hickories fringed the 
 banks, bolt upright in the broad glare of the noon- 
 tide, and proclaiming in their very attitude their de- 
 testation of all that was vague, dark, or shadowy. 
 There were no beetling cliffs no firs, no pines, no 
 dark hemlocks nothing in the least suggestive of 
 gloom or tragedy. The valley lay broad and open. 
 Cosy homesteads and cottages gleamed here and there 
 along the slopes, nestled in little groves of their own. 
 Orchards, a vineyard, many fields of waving, yellow- 
 ing grain, broad pastures dotted with drowsy sheep 
 and drowsier, clover-fed cattle ; bright green patches 
 every now and then where the sugar-maples huddled 
 
212 THE MYSTEEY OF 
 
 together in rustling gossip ; and smiling farms and 
 winding, well-kept country roads lay north and south. 
 Westward, a few hundred yards, the gleaming bosom 
 of the island-dotted lake into which the mill-stream 
 poured its swirling waters ; eastward, a short mile, 
 the roofs and chimneys of the thriving county town ; 
 and then, over towards the distant railway, a creamy 
 spire, with the sacred emblem of the cross glinting 
 and shimmering in the sunlight, peeped through the 
 fringe of waving tree-tops. All was quiet, rural beauty. 
 All told of peace, life, contentment, and prosperity 
 this lovely July morning of the centennial year all 
 save the hush and awe that hung about old 'Mahbiri mill. 
 Over by the waste weir, with musical splash and 
 laughter and faint little clouds of spray, a tumbling 
 sheet of water was disappearing into the cool depths 
 below; but here, in the broad, beaten roadway around 
 the worn threshold, was impressive silence. The busy 
 whir and hum and clatter was all stilled, though else- 
 where this had been a bustling Monday morn. Men 
 spoke in low, awe-stricken whispers, and went on tip- 
 toe over the creaking floor within. Peace and con- 
 tentment, life and prosperity, flooding sunshine, laugh- 
 ing-water, merry-throated birds made glad the scene 
 around ; but within was silence and mystery and 
 death. Here, prone on the flour-dusted floor of the 
 old office lay all that was mortal of gray-haired Sam 
 Morrow, the miller, murdered by murder most foul, 
 as one and all could see ; and young Dick Graham, 
 his right-hand man for years, had gone, gone no one 
 knew whither. 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 213 
 
 In all its peaceful history, Nemahbin had known no 
 such sight or sensation as this. Thirty years had the 
 old mill been the rallying-point of the farmers, to the 
 exclusion of the attractions of the tavern in the little 
 town. Morrow was a character a man who read and 
 remembered, a man who took the papers and had an 
 opinion, backed by good reasoning, of public men and 
 public affairs of the day. He grew to be an authority 
 on many and most subjects, but he never grew to be 
 popular. Morrow had an ugly temper when crossed, 
 a lashing, venomous tongue when angered, and, of 
 late, there had been growing up among the farmers 
 who drove thither with their grain a suspicion that 
 old Sam, in his grasping, money-loving greed had be- 
 come unscrupulous. In this there was rank injustice. 
 Crabbed and ill-tempered as the man had often been, 
 surly and rough of speech as he had become, there 
 did not live a more rigidly honest man his word was 
 his bond. His own dealings were beyond question, 
 and six months before his death no man within a thirty- 
 mile radius of Nemahbin had ever been heard to hint 
 at such a thing as sharp practice at 'Mahbin mill. 
 
 He had not been a happy man. His home life had 
 been far from sweet and peaceful. Ten years ago his 
 patient and devoted wife had died worn out, some 
 neighbors were good enough to say, by his outbreaks 
 of fury and his cutting injustice. But he had loved 
 her, loved her well, and he mourned her bitterly. Two 
 children she had left him : one a son, high-spirited, 
 impulsive, and wilful, between whom and his father 
 there waged incessant feud while he was at home, and 
 
214 
 
 between whom and that same father there passed fre- 
 quent letters of most loving description when the boy 
 was placed at boarding-school. Young Sam had been 
 liberally provided for when he went away, and his 
 pocket-money was unstinted. The boy was not vicious, 
 but the restraints of school discipline seemed to tempt 
 him from one mad exploit to another, and, after two 
 years of sorely tried patience, the authorities of the 
 school requested his withdrawal. Sam was fifteen 
 then, a bright, quick-witted fellow, a leader in all boy- 
 ish sports and mischief, and immensely popular among 
 the farm folk around Nemahbin. His chum and inti- 
 mate friend from early boyhood had been Dick Gra- 
 ham ; like himself, an only son of an idolizing mother, 
 but, unlike himself, compelled to labor for her sup- 
 port. When young Sam had been sent away to school 
 after his mother's death, the old man was noticed on 
 several consecutive days hovering uncertainly about 
 the little country store where his boy's friend was 
 working from morn till night doing hard jobs and 
 thankfully carrying home his scanty wages at the end- 
 of the week. One day he blustered in on the "boss" 
 with brief ceremony : 
 
 "Murphy," said he, "you work that boy too hard, 
 and pay him too little. If you don't double his wages, 
 I will, and take him out to the mill to boot." Murphy 
 was vastly angered at the proceeding, and Murphy's 
 adherents voted around the fire that night that old 
 Sam Morrow had no business to be " spilin' the market 
 for boys," and undermining other folk's concerns in 
 that way ; but the miller stuck to his word ; Murphy 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 215 
 
 would not agree, and at the end of the month Dick 
 Graham moved out to the mill, where his bright face, 
 and cheery, alert ways, soon deepened the interest old 
 Sam felt in him for his own boy's sake. Then he 
 moved Mrs. Graham out there, and placed her and 
 her boy in the cottage near the mill-house, as his own 
 home was termed. And then the minister of the 
 pretty church over towards the railway had come over 
 to call on Mr. Morrow who was not of the fold and 
 to shake hands with him, and when he went away he 
 bent down and kissed pretty little Nellie the miller's 
 only daughter, and his darling and had asked that his 
 own little girls might come over to make her acquaint- 
 ance and to gather pond lilies. All this had happened 
 ten years back, when Nellie was a blue-eyed, sunny- 
 haired child, and Sam was in his first turbulent year 
 at school. 
 
 Little Nell had to go to her own school very soon. 
 It lay across country over where the minister lived, 
 and many was the time in the rough spring weather 
 when Dick Graham had to carry her over the rushing 
 brooks that burst across the roadway from the deep- 
 drifted slopes of snow. He was a splendid, sturdy 
 boy of fifteen then manly, truthful, independent ; 
 and loyally he strove to serve his benefactor in the 
 clattering old mill, and still more loyally he watched 
 over the bonny child who seemed that master's all 
 in all. 
 
 Things went smoothly enough, in all conscience, a 
 year or two. Dick trudged off to evening school 
 during the wintry season, and had found a good friend 
 
216 THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 
 
 in that same minister, who lent him books and helped 
 him along in his studies ; but then Sam came home, 
 virtually expelled from school, and then began a se- 
 ries of domestic troubles between father and son that 
 brought sorrow and anxiety to all. Old Sam in his 
 wrath would taunt the boy with having disgraced him, 
 and young Sam in his flush of temper would threaten 
 to quit his father's home for good and all. Dick 
 strove to reason with his friend, but the boy was sen- 
 sitive and stung to the quick. A kind word, a loving 
 touch from his father would have melted" his heart in 
 an instant. He would have gone back to school full 
 of apology and promises to amend ; but his father's 
 eyes were averted and his tongue edged with fire. 
 Sam swore it was of no use to try and be patient. 
 Then Dick went to the minister in his perplexity, and 
 that worthy gentleman came strolling over to the 
 mill, and looking over the ground, so to speak. His 
 was a diplomatic mind, and it had reason to be. It 
 was easy to win the son's confidence. He, Dick, and 
 Sam junior soon formed a trio of fast friends, and be- 
 fore long another scheme was broached ; and, with 
 some surly misgiving on old Morrow's part, Sam was 
 sent to another and larger school. It was the old 
 man's hobby that his boy should be well educated. 
 But a plethora of pocket-money, said the authorities 
 of the first establishment, had been the cause of his 
 downfall, and now the old man sternly refused to give 
 his son a cent. All his expenses were to be met and 
 paid, and the principal of the new school was to give 
 him a certain trifling sum on holidays. There was no 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 217 
 
 known trouble for a year as the result of this arrange- 
 ment. The boy felt that he had amends to make and 
 so did his best. A widowed sister of old Morrow had 
 come to his home and taken charge of it and little 
 Nell, and there was another era of comparative peace. 
 But to young Sam the school life was far from 
 bright. Stinted now where he had formerly been 
 indulged, he found himself forced into a position 
 greatly contrasted with the prominence and popular- 
 ity he had enjoyed among the youngsters of the year 
 before. He was beginning to learn the lesson that 
 sooner or later saddens and often embitters the bright- 
 est minds the lesson that even here in free America 
 money is the standard of even personal value. It was 
 not so with Western boys before the war. Money was 
 a thing well-nigh unknown to them, but the "flush" 
 days brought with them new ideas, and the ideas stuck 
 fast long after the flush days had gone. Sam Morrow 
 found that he was no longer the pet of the "best set." 
 Money and reckless good-nature had won it for him 
 in the old school ; good-nature unbacked by money 
 was no help here at the new. Sam said nothing to 
 his father, but his letters to Dick became more fre- 
 quent. He stood to his work like a little man, and 
 despite the sorrow and loneliness of that year he carne 
 home the better for it all. He had made excellent 
 progress. His teacher had praised him ; the minister 
 put him through his paces and extolled him ; and old 
 Morrow, proud and pleased, wanted to unbend and 
 send the boy back for his second year with some sub- 
 stantial token of his pleasure ; but stubborn pride oil 
 
218 THE MYSTEKY OP 'MAHBIN MILL. 
 
 both sides seemed to stand between father and son. 
 Sam junior would ask nothing, and the old man's re- 
 ply to the minister's well-meant suggestion was, "Well, 
 if the boy wants money now let him come and say so." 
 And this Sam swore he would not do, and so it ended. 
 Next year there was a catastrophe. Sam was now 
 a stalwart, handsome young fellow of seventeen. 
 " Ready to go to college," said his teachers. One 
 day old Morrow received a telegraphic despatch beg- 
 ging him to come at once to the school. He went, 
 and in four days was home again with Sam and a 
 broken heart. Small sums of money had been missed 
 from time to time by various pupils of the school. 
 Suspicion had fastened on a sharp boy who was be- 
 lieved to spend more money than he legitimately re- 
 ceived. A watch was kept, a search was made, and 
 Sam Morrow was detected passing at a store some of 
 the marked money. Questioned as to where he got 
 it, he for the time declined to answer, until told that 
 he was suspected of the theft. He then confessed 
 that it was part of a small sum Fielding, the sharp 
 boy aforementioned, paid him from time to time for 
 translating his Caesar for him. Fielding promptly, 
 and with much apparent indignation, denied the story. 
 Receiving such assistance and passing off another 
 boy's work as his own was an offence for which a 
 pupil was always severely punished. The case rested 
 as a question of veracity between the two boys, with 
 the odds vastly in favor of Sam for a few hours only, 
 pending further investigation, but that investiga- 
 tion was fatal. At least twelve dollars of the missing 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 219 
 
 money was found secreted in Sam's books and cloth- 
 ing. He had furiously denied everything ; he pro- 
 tested in vain that he had no idea how it came there, 
 but his lonely, solitary ways were remembered, his 
 habits of hanging about the dormitories apparently 
 at stud} 7 when the boys were at play and there was 
 no one to stand up for him. Old Morrow came, lis- 
 tened in crushed silence, and took his boy home. Honest 
 to the backbone himself, he was sore stricken to think 
 that his son should steal. He had heard first the stories 
 of the teachers and pupils before being ushered into 
 the presence of the accused. All hot impulse and fury, 
 he had come upon his lonely and friendless son, and 
 when the poor fellow, bursting into tears in his misery 
 and excitement of the moment, had thrown his arms 
 about his father's neck, sobbing, " I have not done it, 
 I am innocent," he had sternly unclasped the pleading 
 hands and ordered him to prepare at once to go home 
 with him. Sam seemed utterly stunned by his father's 
 refusal to hear a word. He was almost crazed with 
 misery when he reached home. The minister and 
 Dick listened to his story and believed it. Old Sam 
 shut himself up; refused to see any one for some days, 
 until Nellie's tears and petitions secured a brief inter- 
 view for the worthy churchman. This time the latter 
 was not diplomatic. He believed the boy wronged 
 from beginning to end. He told old Morrow in so 
 many words that his pride and stubbornness were 
 sin and shame, and roused the old man to such a pitch 
 of wrath that he shrieked out his hope that the son 
 who had disgraced him might never come before his 
 
220 THE MYSTEEY OF 
 
 sight again and be never did. Sam Morrow heard 
 the furious words. Pride came to his aid; and never 
 saying a word of farewell to the friends whom he 
 knew would strive to dissuade him, but clinging long 
 to sweet twelve-year-old Nellie, and sobbing as though 
 his heart would break, Sam left his father's roof that 
 night. Five years had passed away, and not one word 
 was ever heard from him. The old man's curse had 
 indeed come home to rest ; his fading eyes were never 
 more to be blessed by the sight of his son. 
 
 But this was only half of his misery. The minister 
 left the house with his blood up ; went forthwith to 
 that school and was closeted some hours with his old 
 friend the principal. Sam's side of the story had an 
 intelligent advocate ; a revulsion of feeling had set in; 
 boys and men both began to recall good points about 
 Morrow that had not occurred to them before, and 
 queer things about that fellow Fielding. In less than 
 a month after Sam's disappearance there came a letter 
 to old Morrow one day which he read in gasping 
 amaze, and then fell prone and senseless on the floor 
 of the very office where he lay now prone and dead. 
 Sam's story was true ; Fielding had confessed even to 
 having stolen the money and hiding portions of it in 
 Sam's property, to divert suspicion from himself. 
 
 But now came a long illness in which old Morrow 
 lay at death's door. He raved for his boy. He cursed 
 his own mad folly and injustice. He did everything 
 that could be suggested to bring the wanderer home 
 again. The story went into the papers. Advertise- 
 ments were circulated through the Western States. 
 
THE MYSTERY OF ? MAHBIN MILL. 221 
 
 Even detectives were called upon, but to no purpose. 
 Sam never returned. The old man, bent and sorrow- 
 ing, but with as fiery a temper and an even more en- 
 venomed tongue, seemed to live only for Nellie's sake 
 and the hope of once more greeting his boy. Nellie 
 herself had spent some years at boarding-school and 
 had grown into a lovely girl of eighteen. Dick Gra- 
 ham was a fine, manly fellow, good to look at and 
 better to trust and tie to. " Too good a man to stay 
 grubbing for old Morrow at the mill," said the neigh- 
 bors. " Far too valuable and intelligent for the hum- 
 ble stipend that is paid him," said the minister. " Old 
 Morrow " had grown miserly and grasping, said Public 
 Opinion and it was true. He had no confidant ; he 
 had no friends to whom he could open his heart. In 
 dumb sorrow he shrank from the world, ever looking 
 with haggard eyes for some trace of the lost boy 
 whom his injustice and cruelty had driven into exile. 
 Nellie was his one comfort. He gloried in her bud- 
 ding beauty, but he meant to make a lady of her, and 
 even during her school vacation she did not always 
 come home. It was too lonely and sad a spot for one 
 so bright as she, said the old man, and he willingly 
 permitted her to visit school friends in their city 
 homes, and went month after month to see her and 
 bear to her, and the friends she liked, huge and un- 
 couth offerings of candy or flowers in his efforts to 
 show his appreciation of their interest in his precious 
 child. Nellie was a princess in his eyes, but others 
 saw in her a somewhat spoiled and over-petted beauty. 
 That is some others most others. There was one 
 
222 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 who worshipped her as even her father never dreamed 
 of doing ; one to whom her faintest wish was law ; 
 one to whom her lightest word was sacred, and to 
 whom her smile, or the touch of her little hand meant 
 heaven. People wondered how Dick Graham could 
 consent to hang on there at 'Mahbin mill, "grubbing" 
 for that grasping old Morrow like a slave. Poor 
 Dick ! Slave he was, as many another had been, but 
 not the miller's. He could and would have broken 
 with him three years before, when the death of his 
 invalid mother left the young fellow independent of 
 all claim but he could not and would not break the 
 tie that bound him to 'Mahbin and the dusty, dingy, 
 red-shingled old mill. He idolized Nellie Morrow, 
 and she held his life in her hands. 
 
 She had learned to be very fond of Dick in the year 
 that followed her brother's disappearance. She had 
 grown into his heart the year before she went to 
 school, and when she came home from her first vaca- 
 tion, child though she was, she knew it and gloried in 
 it. Each year added to her maidenly graces, and to 
 his thraldom, and the very winter that preceded this 
 centennial summer Dick had brought her home from 
 a sleigh ing-party one night fairly wild with joy and 
 pride. In answer to his impetuous and trembling 
 words she had murmured to him that he was dearer 
 to her than anybody else could be, and he believed it, 
 though Miss Nellie had grave doubts in her own mind 
 as to the truth of that statement even when she made 
 it. Still, it was very nice to have the best-looking 
 and smartest young man in and around 'Mahbin for 
 
223 
 
 her own, when she was home, but he was not quite 
 to be compared with the exquisites she saw in the 
 city streets, or the brothers of some of her school 
 friends. And there was one oh ! so romantic a fel- 
 low ! whom she met that very winter in Chicago when 
 spending Thanksgiving holidays with a schoolmate ; 
 a dark-eyed, splendid-looking man, tall, straight, ath- 
 letic, with bronzed features and such a strange his- 
 tory ! He was much older than these school-girls. He 
 must have been thirty or thereabouts, and was own 
 cousin to her friend. He had been a soldier when 
 very young ; had run away from home and fought 
 in the great war, and had been a wanderer almost ever 
 since ; had been to California and to sea, and they 
 did not really know where else. Nellie was too young 
 to notice that he had not been cordially welcomed 
 by the old people on his arrival at the home of her 
 friend. He had been wild and reckless, had " Cousin 
 Harry," and papa did not like him, was the explana- 
 tion of subsequent coldness she could not help seeing. 
 But to the girls he was perfect. He had so mournful, 
 mysterious, pathetic a manner. He was trying so 
 hard to find some steady employment was so eager 
 to settle down and he soon became so interested in 
 Nellie, so devoted to her in fact, and the very day 
 they returned to school how it came about she never 
 knew exactly, his sympathetic manner did it, perhaps, 
 she told him about her brother and his utter disap- 
 pearance, and then she wondered at the sudden eager 
 light in his eyes, the color that shot into his face 
 through bronze and all, and the unmistakable agita- 
 
224 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 tion with which he had asked the question, " What 
 was his name ?" For an instant she believed he must 
 have met Sam and known him, but this he denied, 
 denied even when he asked to see his photograph. 
 
 Then "Cousin Harry" had been searching in his 
 questions about Nellie, her father, his age, his prop- 
 erty, her prospects. It was easy enough to extract 
 all manner of information from her school-girl friend, 
 and, when Nellie went back to school, she had reason 
 to believe there was something very real in Mr. Henry 
 Frost's decided interest in her. 
 
 She knew Dick loved her. She had given him every 
 reason to hope that she was growing to care for him ; 
 yet before the Christmas holidays she twice had more 
 reason to remember Harry Frost's devoted manner 
 and when she started home for those very holidays 
 he was on the train. 
 
 It was Christmas eve that sent Dick Graham home 
 happier than he had ever been in his life, but in one 
 short- week the happiness had fled. Mr. Frost had 
 taken up his abode at the little tavern in the village ; 
 had acquired some strange influence over old Morrow, 
 and was playing the devoted to Nellie in a way she 
 too plainly liked. Early in January she went back 
 to school, but Frost remained. He had indeed gained 
 a powerful influence over the lonely old man no one 
 knew how for Morrow invited the stranger to his 
 house to stay awhile, and, before January was over, 
 the tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired, athetic man was oc- 
 cupying a desk in the office of the old mill. 
 
 There was great speculation and conjecture and 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 'MAIIBIN MILL. 225 
 
 gossip all around 'Mahbin over this matter. The mill 
 had been doing rather less business than usual; no ad- 
 ditional men were needed. The office required little 
 attention, for old Morrow had kept his own books and 
 done his own letter- writing for years. If a clerk were 
 needed, why take in a stranger whom nobody knew, 
 they urged, when there was young Graham, whom 
 everybody liked and trusted ? And yet, before spring 
 had fairly set in, old Morrow had turned over his book- 
 keeping and writing to this Mr. Frost; and though the 
 key of the little safe was never intrusted to any hand 
 but that of the master, and though there was one desk 
 no one but Morrow himself could open, Frost was soon 
 as much at home in the mill as though he had lived 
 there a lifetime. 
 
 When the brief Easter holiday came an odd thing 
 happened. Nellie Morrow declined to go with any of 
 her school-friends. She wrote that she wanted to see 
 dear old 'Mahbin again, and delightedly the miller 
 brought her home. It was a week of torment to poor 
 Dick Graham; a holiday that proved far from satis- 
 factory to Morrow, for he saw with sudden start that 
 his bonny Nell was becoming vastly interested in Mr. 
 Frost, whom he was beginning to distrust. 
 
 When Frost had come to Nemahbin, in December, 
 he had sought the old miller, requested a confidential 
 interview, told him, with all apparent frankness, of his 
 meeting with Nellie at the home of his uncle, near Chi- 
 cago, and of her telling him the sad story of Sam's dis- 
 appearance. 
 
 "Mr. Morrow," said he, "I believe I met and knew 
 15 
 
226 
 
 your son on the Pacific coast. What is more, I be- 
 lieve I can find him." The miller knew that Frost's 
 relations were people of high position, but did not 
 know that the man before him was very far from 
 standing well in their esteem. But he had been im- 
 posed upon more than once by people who sought to 
 make money from his eagerness to obtain any clue 
 to the whereabouts of his missing boy. He closely 
 questioned Frost, and was speedily convinced that 
 there was no imposition here. He had known him, 
 and known him well ; for, even in little tricks of speech 
 and manner, Frost could describe Sam to the life. The 
 old man's first impulse was to take Frost with him and 
 start for the Pacific coast at once; but the latter point- 
 ed out to him that the journey to mid Arizona was 
 very long and expensive, and that he had reason to 
 believe Sam had left there and gone with miners to 
 Montana. He had friends and correspondents ; he 
 would write; he did write, and showed Morrow the 
 letters, and they went apparently to Prescott, Arizo- 
 na, but not for three months did answers come; and 
 then they were vague and indefinite, and meantime 
 the old man's heart had been torn with suspense and 
 anxiety, and he rebelled at the restriction placed upon 
 him by Frost, that he should admit to nobody that 
 they were on the trail of his absent son that Frost 
 had known him well " in the mines," as he said, though 
 by another name. He disliked it still more that there 
 was so much of his own life while in the distant West 
 of which Frost gave varying accounts, and always 
 avoided speaking; and now it was plain that he was 
 
THE MYSTEEY OF 'AIAHBIN MILL. 227 
 
 "making up" to Nellie; it was plain that she was 
 far from averse to the attentions of this handsome 
 and distinguished fellow, with his air of reserve and 
 mystery; and it was plain that poor Dick Graham was 
 both miserable and suspicious. He had been set against 
 Frost from the very first. 
 
 Still there was a certain element with whom he had 
 attained popularity the young men about the village, 
 and especially those of the large and thriving town over 
 on the railway. He was a superb horseman, and had 
 ridden with grace and ease a horse that poor Dick had 
 pronounced utterly unmanageable. Then, one night 
 during the Easter holidays, a large party of the young 
 people of Nemahbin had driven over to town to attend 
 the ball given by a local military organization. Nel- 
 lie was the belle on the occasion, and was coquetting 
 promiscuously with the officers and the members of 
 the company, evidently to the annoyance of that hith- 
 erto unrivalled Mr. Frost. Even gloomy Dick Gra- 
 ham found some comfort in this, but his comfort gave 
 way to dismay when, after a brief and rather clumsily 
 executed drill of his command, the captain had sud- 
 denly turned over his sword to Mr. Frost, and the 
 latter, as though by previous arrangement, stepped 
 forward, and, with all the ease of an expert tactician 
 and drill-master, and with stirring, martial voice and 
 bearing, put the company through one evolution after 
 another with surprising rapidity, and finally retired, 
 the applauded and envied hero of the occasion. Nel- 
 lie had monopolized him the rest of the evening, and 
 all men held him in great esteem. Questioned as to 
 
228 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 his wonderful proficiency, he laughingly answered, 
 " Why, I soldiered through the last two years of the 
 war in the volunteers, and saw a good deal of the reg- 
 ulars afterwards, out West that is, I used to watch 
 them with great interest," and quickly changed the 
 subject. 
 
 But Dick Graham's jealous eyes and no eyes are so 
 sharp as those whose scrutiny is so whetted marked 
 that he had changed color, and that his manner was 
 nervous and embarrassed. From that day on he 
 watched Frost like a cat. 
 
 June came in with sunshine and roses, and a great 
 centennial celebration and exhibition in the far East, 
 and a great convention for the nomination of a presi- 
 dent, and the country was so taken up with these stir- 
 ring events that, when June went out, precious little 
 attention was paid to an affair that, a year earlier or 
 later, would have thrilled the continent with horror. 
 In one short, sharp, desperate struggle of a quarter of 
 an hour, Ouster, the daring cavalry leader of the great 
 war Ouster, the yellow-haired, the brave, the dash- 
 ing, the hero of romance and fiction and soldierly story 
 Ouster and his whole command had been swept out 
 of existence by an overwhelming force of Indians. 
 
 Nellie was home again, and Frost was now occupy- 
 ing a room in Sam Morrow's little house. The old 
 man had come to Dick but a short time before her re- 
 turn, and, with something of his old kind and confi- 
 dential way, had said to him that Frost was to remain 
 with them but a few weeks longer, and that he was 
 unwilling to have him under the same roof with Nellie 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 229 
 
 even during that little while. Morrow had begun to 
 look on Frost as a liar. He felt certain that he had 
 known his lost boy, but doubted now his pretensions 
 as to his ability to find him. Indeed, Frost admitted 
 that he had lost the clue, and it was at this time that 
 Morrow at last told the minister of the matter. That 
 he was being deceived in more ways than one the old 
 man was convinced, yet had nothing tangible to work 
 upon; but his worst suspicions had not really done 
 justice to the facts in the case. Morrow would have 
 killed the man could he have known the truth that 
 he knew well just where the missing son was to be 
 found, and would not tell and that, virtually robbing 
 the old miller of one child, he had now well-nigh robbed 
 him of the other. Between him and Nellie letters had 
 secretly passed, at regular intervals, ever since the 
 Christmas vacation. She was fascinated, yet she, too, 
 distrusted. He swore that he loved her longed to 
 make her his wife yet forbade her confessing to her 
 father that such was the case. More than that, he 
 had cautioned her to look for an indifferent manner 
 on his part on her return. He explained that her fa- 
 ther disliked him, and would send him away instantly 
 if their love were suspected. He even urged her to en- 
 courage Dick Graham. He was playing a desperate 
 game, indeed. He had hoped to win the father's 
 confidence with the daughter's love, and secure his 
 consent and blessing and fortune; but, as matters 
 stood, he knew that, though he might win Nellie, it 
 would be in defiance of the father's will, and that 
 meant disinheritance and banishment for both. 
 
230 THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 
 
 By every art in his power he had striven, of late, to 
 curry favor with Graham, but without success. Dick 
 was coldly civil, and would have been thankful for an 
 excuse at open rupture. He suspected Frost of hav- 
 ing won Nellie away from him, but could prove abso- 
 lutely nothing. He believed him to be a mere advent- 
 urer, and had urged the miller to write to those con- 
 nections of whom he had boasted the Chicago rela- 
 tives and ascertain his history; but Morrow had 
 sternly silenced him with the information that he 
 knew it all at least he knew enough. "Mr. Frost 
 is here for a purpose, and it is sufficient that I have 
 brought him here," was the old man's reply to further 
 objections, and so poor Dick felt that nothing more 
 was to be said. 
 
 But with Nellie's return came a revival of hope. 
 She was sweeter, prettier than ever, and her manner 
 to Dick was now as gentle, and even confidential, as 
 it had been careless and indifferent during the late 
 winter. She came home about the 15th of June, and 
 for the fortnight that followed it was Dick, not Mr. 
 Frost, whom she seemed to favor. Graham hardly 
 dared believe the evidence of his senses, but was too 
 blissful to analyze matters. The old man, of late, had 
 taken to spending some hours in the evening down 
 at his office in the mill, and Frost was generally clos- 
 eted there with him. Very surly and sad and irasci- 
 ble the miller had grown. He was bitter and unjust 
 to everybody. Several times he had angrily repri- 
 manded Graham in the presence of customers and 
 mill-hands for things that were entirely of Frost's do- 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 231 
 
 ing. There had been errors in the accounts, over 
 which the farmers had growled not a little ; and one 
 day, bursting from a group of men who had been call- 
 ing his attention to a matter of the kind, the old man 
 stamped furiously into the office, shut the door after 
 him with a bang, and was heard to say, in loud and 
 angry tones, to some one, "Now the next time this 
 happens, by God, you go !" 
 
 A moment after, Dick Graham came from the office 
 into the mill, and that night it was told in Nemahbin 
 that the old man had threatened to discharge him. 
 He and Graham seemed to get along very badly, and 
 no man could explain it. 
 
 But, gaining hope from Nellie's smiles, Dick was 
 ready to bear up against the old man's lit of rage. 
 At heart, he knew the miller liked and trusted him. 
 There was much he could not fathom, but was content 
 to wait and watch. Meantime he kept his eye on 
 Frost noted how nervous and ill at ease he was be- 
 coming, marked his labored attempts to win his friend- 
 ship, and withheld it the more guardedly. 
 
 One day, about a week after Nellie's return, busi- 
 ness required that he and Frost should go together to 
 the neighboring town on the railway. They were 
 standing by the elevator on a side-track with a knot of 
 young men, when a train came rumbling in from the 
 East, and as it drew up at the station it was seen that 
 the rear car was filled with soldiers. 
 
 " Hello !" shouted one of the party. "Let's go and 
 have a look at the regulars." Dick started with the 
 rest, but suddenly stopped. An indefinable sensation 
 
232 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 prompted him to look around for Frost, and Frost 
 was nowhere to be seen. Turning quickly back, he 
 entered the open doorway of the little warehouse, and 
 there, in a dark corner, peering through a knot-hole 
 over towards the station, was his mysterious compan- 
 ion. Dick approached him on tiptoe, and clapped him 
 sharply on the shoulder. 
 
 "Come, man! come and see the soldiers; some of 
 your friends may be there." 
 
 White as death was Frost's face as he turned with 
 fearful start. Then, seeing it was Graham, and sus- 
 pecting it was a trick, he flushed crimson, and angrily, 
 though with trembling lips, replied, 
 
 " My friends ! what do you mean ? How the devil 
 should I have friends among them ? Go yourself, if 
 you want to see them, but leave me alone." 
 
 And Graham turned away, more than ever convinced 
 that, in some way, Frost's knowledge of soldiering was 
 derived from personal experiences he wished to con- 
 ceal. 
 
 A week more, and he had another opportunity of 
 testing it. Going to the village for the mail, he found 
 a group of men eagerly listening to one of their num- 
 ber who was reading aloud the terrible details of the 
 Ouster massacre. Graham heard it all in silence, got 
 the mill mail, and walked thoughtfully homeward. 
 Old Morrow was seated with Nellie in the porch, and 
 Frost, hat in hand, was standing at the foot of the 
 steps, looking up at them as he spoke deferentially to 
 the miller. 
 
 "Any news, Dick?" asked the miller, shortly. 
 
THE MYSTERY OF ? MAHBIN MILL. 233 
 
 "Terrible news, sir!" said Graham, eying Frost 
 closely as he spoke. "General Ouster and his regi- 
 ment, the Seventh Cavalry, were butchered by the 
 Indians a fortnight ago." 
 
 Frost fairly staggered. A wild light shot into his 
 face ; his hat fell from his nerveless hand. 
 
 "I do not believe a word of it !" he gasped. "It's 
 a lie ! They never could ! Give me the paper," he 
 demanded, hoarsely ; but Graham coolly avoided his 
 attempt to seize it and handed the paper to Morrow. 
 Eying him closely, as Dick had done, the miller tore 
 the wrapper with provoking deliberation, and finally 
 gave the contents to Frost. He had partially recov- 
 ered self-control by this time, but his hands shook like 
 palsy as he unfolded the paper. 
 
 " My God ! it's true ! mainly true, at least," he 
 gasped, while drops of sweat started to his forehead. 
 " All with him were killed. It has knocked the breath 
 out of me. I knew so many of them out there, you 
 know." 
 
 " In Arizona ?" asked Morrow. 
 
 " Ye - yes Arizona !" he stammered. " It tells 
 here what officers were killed, but does not give the 
 names of the men. I wish it did. I wish I knew. 
 They are the ones I saw most of." Then he stopped 
 short, as though he had said too much. And all the 
 time both Morrow and Graham had never ceased their 
 rigid scrutiny, and he knew it. He hurriedly went 
 away. 
 
234 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THAT night Nellie was fitful and constrained in 
 manner. Dick went home restless and unhappy. It 
 was very late, but there was the light burning bright- 
 ly down at the office. 
 
 "Who are there?" he asked the lad who did odd 
 jobs around the miller's house, and who slept in Gra- 
 ham's cottage. 
 
 " Mr. Morrow and Frost. Gosh ! how the old man 
 has been cussin' him. He cusses everybody round 
 here now, don't he ? I heerd down in the village you 
 was going to quit." 
 
 Graham made no reply, but turned gloomily into 
 his own room. 
 
 Next morning Frost came to him looking very pale 
 and nervous. 
 
 " Graham," he said, " I want to ask a great favor. 
 I must go to Chicago, and I want twenty dollars. 
 Will you lend me that much ? I will give it to you 
 again next week." 
 
 " Why do you come to me ?" asked Graham, shortly. 
 
 " The old man and I are at loggerheads, and I know 
 he would not let me have it. Once in Chicago, and 
 I can get money, you shall have it sure." 
 
 Graham hesitated. He had saved but little from 
 
235 
 
 the small stipend allowed him, but a thought struck 
 him that the surest way to get rid of an objectionable 
 acquaintance was to lend him money. It might keep 
 Frost from returning. Stepping to his worn old desk, 
 he unlocked and opened it, took from an inner com- 
 partment a small roll of bills, counted out twenty dol- 
 lars, and handed it to Frost without a word. 
 
 " You think you won't get this back, Graham, but 
 you will," said the latter, as he eagerly took it and 
 went away. This was a Tuesday morning. On the 
 following Sunday Dick Graham was amazed to see 
 Frost standing at the miller's gate talking earnestly 
 with Nellie, who dropped her head and scurried into 
 the house as she caught sight of his approaching form. 
 
 " Back, you see !" said Frost, holding out his hand, 
 which Dick unwillingly took. He had returned a new 
 man. His clothes, that had begun to grow shabby, 
 were replaced by new ones of stylish cut and make; 
 his eyes were bright, his color high, his voice ringing 
 and animated; his manner was brisk and cheery, yet 
 nervous. 
 
 " Have you seen Mr. Morrow ?" was all Graham 
 could find to say by the way of welcome. "He is 
 down at the mill, and wants you." 
 
 It had been a wretched five days for Dick. Twice 
 he had surprised Nellie in tears that she could not ex- 
 plain, and the old man had treated him with gross in- 
 justice on several occasions. All his old fury of man- 
 ner had been redoubled. He openly accused Dick of 
 having furnished money to aid Frost in getting away 
 when he knew him to be a cheat and an impostor; knew 
 
236 
 
 that Frost had garbled the accounts and been stealing 
 at the mill, and in all probability he was no better than 
 an accomplice. Twice Dick's indignation and wrath 
 had given way to angry retort, and the story had gone 
 far and wide around Nemahbin that the old man and 
 the young one were bitter enemies, and Dick had 
 openly vowed he could stand it no longer. Then Nel- 
 lie, who had been coquetting with his hopes and fears, 
 had once again plunged him into the depths. He 
 loved her blindly, madly, poor fellow, and was bent 
 as she willed, but the time had come when he could 
 brook his ills no longer ; and that Sunday evening, 
 standing by the rushing stream down below the dam, 
 and moodily throwing stone after stone into the dark 
 waters, Dick Graham had determined to face his fate, 
 and have the matter ended then and there. 
 
 He was to take her to the village for evening ser- 
 vice. She and her aunt quite frequently spent the 
 night with friends in 'Mahbin in preference to coming 
 back to the mill through the darkness, and this bright 
 July day had turned to night, dark, cloudy, overcast, 
 with heavy fog-wreaths whirling through the cheer- 
 less air. The rain came pattering down as they left 
 the church, and hospitable friends urged their stay. 
 Ten minutes later Dick was standing in the bright 
 light of a parlor, face to face with the girl who had 
 been his idol from boyhood until now. They were 
 alone. She saw in his face that the crisis had come, 
 and was pale and nervous as he was pale and deter- 
 mined, yet she strove to assume a light and laughing 
 manner. 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 'MAIIBIN MILL. 237 
 
 " What is it, Dick ? You have been solemn as an 
 undertaker for a whole week, and to-night you are 
 like I don't know what." 
 
 Quickly he seized her hands, and held them firmly 
 against every effort to draw them away. His heart 
 beat like a hammer, his eyes were flaming with the 
 fire of his love, his lips quivered and twitched with 
 the intensity of his emotion. 
 
 " Nellie," he said, " I can stand it no longer ! That 
 man is back again ; I saw you with him to-day. I 
 oh ! time and again I have told you how I loved you. 
 It is more than love it is worship, almost. It has 
 been so ever since you were a little girl and I carried 
 you to school. You did care for me you know you 
 did until this fellow came here and made us all 
 wretched. Nellie, I will have an answer to-night. I 
 will know if you love me ; tell me, tell me now." It 
 was no longer an imploring prayer, it was a de- 
 mand. 
 
 Struggle though she might, she could not free her- 
 self. His eyes seemed to burn into hers, and she 
 shrank from their wild gaze as though they stung to 
 her very soul. 
 
 "Answer me," he said. "You told me you loved 
 me last Christmas. Do you love me now ?" 
 
 " Oh, Dick, I I didn't know. I could not tell," 
 she gasped ; " I thought I loved you, but " 
 
 " But now you know you love him, is it ?" he 
 almost hissed. " Do you know what I think of him ? 
 He is a scoundrel, a man without home or name. He 
 has a history he dare not tell ; he lies every time he 
 
238 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 answers a question ; he wants to marry you because 
 you will be rich, but that's all." 
 
 " You shall not speak of him so," she interrupted 
 in wrath and indignation. " He is a gentleman, and 
 he does love me, and all you say of him is false. I 
 know he has been unhappy, unfortunate " 
 
 " He has been more than that, I'll be bound," sneered 
 Graham, all bitter, jealous anger now. " He is a crimi- 
 nal of some kind mark my words." 
 
 "How dare you?" she cried; "oh, how dare you? 
 He would crush you if you would dare speak so to 
 him. I will never forgive you never. I never want 
 to see or speak to you again " 
 
 "What do you say?" he gasped, livid with pain 
 and misery. 
 
 " I never want to see or speak to you again," she 
 repeated, though her eyes quailed before the dumb 
 agony of his. For a moment there was dead silence. 
 Then with one long look in her paling face he said, 
 slowly, almost humbly : 
 
 " I take you at your word. Life has been hell to 
 me here for a long time, and you you, whom I loved 
 have driven me from the only home I ever had." 
 
 One instant more and he was gone, leaving her sob- 
 bing wildly, she hardly knew why. 
 
 And early next morning came the fearful news that 
 her father lay murdered at the mill. 
 
 A week of intense excitement followed. !N"ot only 
 in Nemahbin was the mysterious death of old Morrow 
 the one subject of conversation, but all through the 
 surrounding counties people talked of nothing else. 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 'lIAHBIN MILL. 239 
 
 By sunset of that beautiful Monday the news had 
 spread far and wide ; the reporters of the city jour- 
 nals were already on the spot, and by Tuesday night 
 the verdict of the coroner's jury had gone forth and 
 the officers of the law were in search of the criminal, 
 whose name flashed over the humming wires from one 
 ocean to another. Richard Graham stood accused of 
 the murder of his employer, and Richard Graham had 
 gone, no one knew whither. 
 
 But there were those who could not and would not 
 believe it of him, and foremost among them was the 
 minister. The evidence against him was mainly cir- 
 cumstantial ; the principal accuser was Frost, and the 
 chain of circumstances that linked Graham with the 
 crime were substantially as follows : 
 
 The boy who worked around the mill-house and 
 slept in the second story of the Graham's cottage tes- 
 tified that about half an hour before sunset Sunday 
 evening he heard old Morrow " cussing and swearing" 
 at somebody down in the mill, while he was going out 
 to drive the cows home ; didn't see who it was, but 
 ten minutes afterwards as he came back he saw Gra- 
 ham pitching stones into the stream down below the 
 mill, "looking queer ;" called to him twice, but Gra- 
 ham did not answer ; supposed he was mad at the old 
 man for cussing him so they had had lots of trouble 
 for a week ; heard the old man tell him he was going 
 to get rid of him if he didn't do different. 
 
 That night he (the witness) went out in the coun- 
 try a piece and did not come home until half-past ten. 
 It was all dark around the mill when he got back. It 
 
240 THE MYSTERY OP 
 
 had been raining, but the sky was brighter then, and 
 as he passed the south door he was surprised to see it 
 open. The old man generally locked it and went 
 home early. He was just going to go and shut it 
 when a man came out. It "skeered" him because 
 the old man had given him fits for being out late and 
 lying abed in the morning, so he stopped short to wait 
 until he got away. The man shut and locked the 
 door, and walked up the road ahead of him, and then 
 he saw that it was not the old man, but young Gra- 
 ham, and that Mr. Graham was going straight up to 
 the mill-house, so he cut across to the cottage and got 
 in soft as he could. Yes, it might have been eleven 
 o'clock by that time, and he did not want Mr. Frost, 
 or Mr. Graham either, to know he was out so late. 
 It was all dark at the mill-house, and all dark at the 
 cottage, but Mr. Frost heard him and called him into 
 his room and asked for a dipper of water. Mr. Frost 
 was in bed and asked him what time it was, and said 
 he had been asleep, but waked up with a headache ; 
 told him he did not know the time ; didn't want him 
 to know it was so late, 'cause he might tell the old 
 man. Mr. Frost asked him where Dick was, and just 
 then they heard Dick coming up the front steps, and 
 the witness went up to his own room. Heard them 
 talking down-stairs for a little while, but could not 
 understand what they were saying ; did not listen 
 particularly ; went to sleep, and slept a good while ; 
 was awakened by hearing some noise in Dick's room, 
 which was directly under his sounded like something 
 glass being broken, but everything was quiet right off, 
 
THE MYSTEKY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 241 
 
 and he thought he might have dreamed it. Next 
 thing he knowed it was morning, and Mandy, the 
 cook over at the mill-house, was calling to him from 
 the bottom of the stairs to get up right off the mas- 
 ter hadn't come home all night, and there was people 
 waitin' down at the mill. Dick's room was open and 
 the bed hadn't been slept on, and his clothes and things 
 were all thrown all round on the floor ; it looked queer, 
 she said ; he was gone, too ; ran down as quick as he 
 could dress and called Mr. Frost, who was asleep in 
 bed and did not wake easy ; called him three or four 
 times and banged on the door, and at last opened it 
 and called him louder ; then he woke up slowly and 
 wanted to know the matter ; told him Mandy said 
 Mr. Morrow had not been home and that Dick was 
 not there, and there was farmers with wheat at the 
 mill. He said go and open the mill and he would be 
 down in a minute ; told him that Dick had the key 
 and had locked the mill late last night ; saw him do 
 it. Mr. Frost jumped right up in bed excited like and 
 said, " You saw him do it ! When, where were you ?" 
 and so had to tell him about Dick's being there, coming 
 out of the mill late as nearly eleven o'clock. Then 
 Mandy came back and said she found the key hang- 
 ing on the peg inside the hall-door, and witness took 
 it and went down and opened the south door. The 
 office window-shade was down and the office door on 
 the east side was shut, and so it was kinder dark, but 
 he and the two men waiting there went right through 
 the mill into the office, and there they found the old 
 man dead on the floor, with lots of blood streaming 
 16 
 
242 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 from his head. It skeered him awful, and they ran 
 out. Then Mr. Frost came, and he was pale, and said, 
 "My God, what an awful thing !" and they sent right 
 to 'Mahbin for Dr. Green, and the mayor and consta- 
 ble ; and that was all he knowed. 
 
 Doctor Green's testimony, divested of professional 
 technicalities, was to the effect that the miller had 
 been killed at least six or eight hours, and that death 
 was the result of the gun-shot wound through the 
 head. The bullet was found imbedded in the skull 
 at the back of the head, and had entered under the 
 left eye. The face was burned and blackened by pow- 
 der. No other wound or hurt was found upon the 
 body. The doctor had arrived at the mill about 6.45 
 A.M., accompanied by Mr. Lowrie, the mayor of Ne- 
 mahbin, an old friend of the deceased. When they 
 arrived, Mr. Frost was in charge of the premises, and 
 stated that no one had entered the office since the 
 moment he had arrived at the spot. 
 
 Mr. Lowrie testified to coming with the doctor ; 
 being received by Mr. Frost and ushered into the 
 office. The deceased was then lying on his face with 
 his feet near the window. There was much blood on 
 the floor, and spattered on the legs of an office chair 
 that stood close by the head. No weapon of any kind 
 was found in the office, and the object of the murder 
 was explained at a glance ; the desk was rifled, the 
 safe was open, and while the papers therein were found 
 undisturbed, the cash drawer, in which it was known 
 that the deceased generally kept a good deal of money, 
 was empty. Other testimony established the fact that 
 
243 
 
 he had as much as five hundred dollars in the drawer 
 on the previous Saturday. In presence of the mayor, 
 constable, Mr. Frost, and one or two neighbors, the 
 bullet had been cut out from behind by the doctor. 
 It was slightly flattened, and in shape, and in its ex- 
 act weight as subsequently determined, it corresponded 
 exactly with those of a "five-shooting" revolver of 
 peculiar make known as "the Avenger." To Mr. 
 Lowrie's knowledge only two pistols of that kind were 
 owned in that neighborhood, and both had been bought 
 by him two years before at a time when there was a 
 scare about mad dogs. One he still owned, and it 
 was now at home, locked up in his desk ; the other 
 was Richard Graham's, and he had seen it in his pos- 
 session less than a week ago. 
 
 Mr. Frost's testimony, given with much emotion 
 and apparent reluctance, was to this effect : His first 
 knowledge of the murder was Monday morning about 
 six o'clock, when summoned to the mill by the tidings 
 that Mr. Morrow had not been home all night. Going 
 to the east entrance, he found the boy, Schaffer, and 
 two young farmers, frightened and excited over what 
 they had seen in the office. He went in at once, fol- 
 lowed by them, and saw at a glance that murder had 
 been done, though his first thought was suicide. He 
 merely turned the body enough to see that the wound 
 was in the face, and to satisfy himself and the others 
 that no pistol was near, and then, pointing to the fact 
 that the safe and desk were both open, he ordered 
 everybody out and closed the door until the arrival 
 of the officials from Nemahbin. 
 
244 
 
 Questioned as to his own movements the previous 
 night, he said that after supper, when Graham drove 
 the ladies to town, he himself had gone home and read 
 an hour, but, feeling drowsy, had gone to bed, waking 
 up some hours later with a headache on hearing the 
 boy coming in. The boy said he didn't know the 
 time, but it must have been eleven o'clock, and just 
 then Graham came up the steps and the boy went to 
 his own room ; witness called out to him twice and 
 got no answer, and at last, thinking it queer that Gra- 
 ham did not go to bed, but kept moving briskly about, 
 he rose and went into the front room in his night-shirt, 
 and found Graham packing a big satchel he had, and 
 rummaging through the clothes on the pegs. Asked 
 him what was the matter, and Graham hardly noticed 
 him merely said he was going away awhile ; could 
 not help noticing how queer and strange he looked, 
 and how oddly he behaved ; he was very pale, and 
 muttered to himself every now and then ; asked him 
 twice if he had any reason for going, and when he 
 would return, but only got evasive answers and averted 
 looks ; knew that there had been ugly words between 
 the deceased and Graham very often during the month 
 past, and that there was an angry altercation between 
 them down at the mill just before supper-time ; the 
 deceased had told him that he was going to discharge 
 Graham ; he was getting too insolent and rebellious 
 to suit him ; Graham hardly ate anything at supper, 
 and the old man did not come up to the house until 
 after they had driven off to church. That was the 
 last he saw of him alive as he passed the cottage on 
 
THE MYSTERY OF *MAHBIN MILL. 245 
 
 his way to the mill-house. Asked as to whether any- 
 thing of unusual or suspicious nature had occurred 
 during the day or evening, Frost said that one thing 
 struck him as queer. Graham's revolver hung habitu- 
 ally at the head of his bed, and when he concluded to 
 go to bed that evening he went into Graham's room 
 to look at the clock and saw that his pistol was gone. 
 It had been there during the day, and he never knew 
 him to carry it before. Asked if he saw it in Gra- 
 ham's possession Sunday night, he replied that he saw 
 it sticking from the hip pocket of his trousers ; that 
 Graham had his coat off and was washing his hands 
 at the time. One other ugly circumstance was noted: 
 Graham had been burning a lot of papers and things 
 in the stove before being interrupted. When the 
 stove was examined in the morning some buttons were 
 found, charred and partially destroyed in the ashes, 
 but they were clearly identified as the buttons of the 
 canvas overalls Graham wore around the mill which 
 were missing and behind the stove was found a fine 
 cambric handkerchief that Graham only used when 
 he wore his best, or Sunday suit, which he had on all 
 that day, and this handkerchief was stained with blood. 
 Nellie Morrow was so fearfully agitated by the 
 tragedy that her own evidence was only drawn from 
 her bit by bit. She confirmed the statement of Dick's 
 pallor and his silence all that evening, and then with 
 hysterical sobbing told of their quarrel after church 
 and his leaving her, as he said, never to return ; but 
 she protested that he had "never a thing against 
 father," and that he never, never could have harmed 
 
246 THE MYSTERY OF J MAHBIN MILL. 
 
 him. All other obtainable evidence had the same 
 general tendency, and despite his years of sturdy pro- 
 bity and the excellence of his character, Dick Graham 
 had to bear the burden of the accumulation of evi- 
 dence against him. The absent always have the worst 
 of it, and his flight had confirmed the theories of many 
 an unwilling mind. He was the murderer of his former 
 friend and benefactor. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A WEEK passed, and with no tidings of him. De- 
 tectives had been scouring the country in every direc- 
 tion. A man answering his description was arrested 
 in Chicago, and turned out to be somebody else. A 
 dozen times it was reported that now the sleuth- 
 hounds of the law had run down their victim, but 
 the entire month of July passed away, and the com- 
 munity had gradually settled down to the belief that 
 Graham had made good his escape and taken with 
 him some five hundred dollars of his murdered mas- 
 ter's money. 
 
 Old Morrow had been duly and reverently buried. 
 A younger brother from a distant state came to the 
 scene as executor of the will, in conjunction with Mr. 
 Lowrie, and under his management the mill resumed 
 its functions for the benefit of the estate. Except 
 some legacies to this brother and to the sister who 
 had taken charge of Nellie and his household, old 
 Morrow had left his property, valued at over forty 
 
247 
 
 thousand dollars, to be divided equally between his 
 two children should Sam reappear ; but if proof of 
 his death were obtained, his share was to go to Nellie. 
 
 A week after the funeral, acting on the advice of 
 the minister and the village doctor, Nellie's relatives 
 sent her to Chicago. She had suffered greatly in 
 health, and was in a condition of nervous depression. 
 Whenever Dick's crime was mentioned in her pres- 
 ence, she would vehemently assert her belief in his 
 innocence, and then shudderingly accuse herself, with 
 piteous crying, of being the cause of all his trouble, 
 and perhaps of her father's death. Another thing. 
 She who had plainly shown herself fascinated by Mr. 
 Frost's many graces and attractions during the pre- 
 ceding winter, now refused to see him. He hung 
 around the house, full of respectful sympathy and 
 lover-like interest, but was visibly chagrined at her 
 persistent avoidance. To the minister she confessed 
 that she had been greatly interested in Frost perhaps 
 a little in love with him ; he flattered and delighted 
 her, and it made Dick jealous. She didn't know how 
 or why she so encouraged him, but she had, and now 
 she shrank from seeing him at all. Her deep affliction 
 would excuse it. 
 
 A week after she left for Chicago Mr. Frost con- 
 cluded that he would go thither himself. The new 
 master needed no bookkeeper, he said, and Frost was 
 too fine a gentleman to do Dick's work around the 
 mill. He was neither invited to go nor to stay. He 
 was allowed to go and come without apparent let or 
 hindrance, yet, before the train which bore him away 
 
248 THE MYSTERY OP *MAHBIN MILL. 
 
 was well out of sight, a new farm-hand, who worked 
 at odd jobs around a neighboring place on the lake, 
 suddenly entered the railway station, wrote ten hurried 
 words on a telegraph-blank, and handed it to the op- 
 erator, whereupon the operator gazed at him in quick 
 surprise, then whistled softly to himself, nodded ap- 
 preciatively, and clicked away the message, with the 
 addition of a cabalistic " Rush," and Mr. Frost's train 
 was boarded at Milwaukee by a number of people who 
 took no special note of him, and by one man who never 
 lost sight of him from that moment until he locked his 
 bedroom door behind him at night. 
 
 Then the minister received a call from the new 
 farm-hand, who brought with him a young man who 
 worked on a place over near Eagle Prairie, a railway 
 station some distance off to the southwest. This 
 young man had spent Sunday calling on a sweetheart 
 in 'Mahbin, and had started about 7.30 P.M. to walk to 
 the large town seven miles away, where he would take 
 the cars homeward. He saw Nellie, her aunt, and a 
 young man driving into town, and by eight o'clock he 
 himself was passing the mill. It was just growing 
 dark, so that he could not distinguish faces, but he 
 saw two men standing by the office one short, stout, 
 and elderly, the other tall and slender and straight. 
 The older man was talking furiously and angrily ; 
 heard him say, " I told you an hour ago to keep away 
 from me. You have lied to me right along. You are 
 a thief and a scoundrel, I believe, and you are a damned 
 coward and deserter a deserter, by God ! and I've 
 got the papers to prove it !" 
 
THE MYSTERY OP 'MAHBIN MILL. 249 
 
 What the tall man said he could not hear. He 
 spoke low seemed to be arguing with the old man, 
 begging him to be quiet, and they went into the office. 
 Then the young man walked on a few hundred yards, 
 when it came on to rain very hard, and he stopped and 
 took shelter under a little fishing-shed there was right 
 at the edge of the lake. The rain held up in fifteen 
 minutes, and he started on again over the causeway, 
 " and hadn't more'n got a rod " when he heard what 
 sounded like a pistol-shot back at the mill. He stopped 
 short and listened two minutes, but heard nothing 
 more, so went on and thought no more of it until he 
 heard of the murder but that was not until a week 
 after it happened, when he came up from the farm to 
 Eagle village and heard people talking about it. 
 
 But with the first week in August carne exciting 
 news. Far to the northwest across the Missouri, Dick 
 Graham had been traced and followed by a Wisconsin 
 detective, who found him in the uniform of the regu- 
 lar army, just marching off with his comrades to join 
 General Terry's forces, then in the field up the Yel- 
 lowstone. In his possession was the Avenger revolver 
 and over one hundred dollars in greenbacks. On two 
 five-dollar bills there was a broad and ugly stain, 
 which microscopic examination proved to be blood. 
 Graham appeared utterly stunned at the arrest ; ex- 
 pressed the greatest grief and horror at hearing of 
 the murder of Mr. Morrow, and professed his entire 
 willingness to go back and stand trial. The story of 
 his "escape" to that distance was now easily told. 
 The detectives had speedily satisfied themselves he 
 
250 THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 
 
 had got away on none of the regular trains that week, 
 but one bright fellow had learned that four cars full 
 of troops had passed west late that Sunday night, and 
 followed the clue. They had gone through to Bis- 
 marck a tedious journey in '76 and thither he fol- 
 lowed. Thence the troops had gone by boat up the 
 Missouri, and he took the first opportunity that came 
 and the next boat going up. At Fort Buford he 
 "sighted" his man, told his story to the commanding 
 officer of the post, who sent for the officers of the 
 troops with whom poor Dick was serving. They 
 promptly asserted that their first knowledge of him 
 w r as on the Monday they reached St. Paul, when a ser- 
 geant brought him to them, saying he begged to be 
 allowed to enlist and go with them. He told a per- 
 fectly straight story ; said he was an orphan, unmar- 
 ried, had been a miller, but was tired of small wages, 
 hard work, and no hopes of getting ahead, and had 
 made up his mind to get into the regulars. Was at 
 the railway station at midnight when the train was 
 side-tracked to allow another to pass, and appealed to 
 the sergeant of the guard to take him along ; said he 
 would pay his way until they could enlist him, and 
 as he was a likely fellow they were glad to have him. 
 He had won everybody's respect in the short time he 
 was with them, and the whole command seemed thun- 
 derstruck to hear of the allegations against him. 
 
 The detective and his prisoner were put on a boat 
 going back to Bismarck, and on that same boat, re- 
 turning, wounded and furloughed, was a sergeant of 
 the Seventh Cavalry a gallant fellow who had fought 
 
251 
 
 under Benteen and McDougall on the bluffs of the 
 Little Horn, after Ouster's command had been sur- 
 rounded and slaughtered four miles farther down 
 stream. The sergeant kept to his room and bunk 
 until they got to Bismarck, but the detectives had a 
 chance to see and talk with him and so had Graham. 
 
 It was an eventful day when the detective and his 
 prisoner reached Nemahbin. The minister was there 
 to meet him, as was Mr. Lowrie, and the entire male 
 population of the neighborhood. There was no dis- 
 order or turbulence. Dick was quietly escorted to a 
 room in the constable's house they had no jail and 
 there that night he had a long conference with the 
 minister and other prominent citizens. The minister 
 drove home quite late but very much later, along 
 towards two in the morning, in fact, he was at the 
 railway station and received in his buggy the single 
 passenger who alighted from the night express. 
 
 Next day there was a gathering at the mayor's of- 
 fice an apartment in the municipal residence devoted 
 to dining-room duty three times a day, and opening 
 into the kitchen on the one hand, into the hallway on 
 another, and into the village post-office on the third. 
 Here sat Mr. Lowrie, the doctor, the constable, other 
 local celebrities, and one or two distinguished impor- 
 tations from Milwaukee. Here was the minister, look- 
 ing singularly wide-awake, lively, and brisk for a man 
 who had been up all night ; here, too, sat the farm- 
 hand who sent the cabalistic despatch when Frost 
 went to Chicago, and the young man who heard the 
 conversation down at the mill that Sunday night ; 
 
252 THE MYSTEKY OF 'jMAHBIN MILL. 
 
 here, too, sat Dick, looking pale but tranquil, and 
 hither, too, presently came Mr. Frost, looking ghastly 
 pale and very far from tranquil. Dick looked square- 
 ly at him as he entered, but Frost glanced rapidly 
 about the room, eagerly nodding to one man after an- 
 other, but avoiding Dick entirely. Then followed an 
 impressive silence. 
 
 Outside, the August sun was streaming hotly down 
 upon the heads of an intensely curious and interested 
 throng ; inside there was for the moment no sound 
 but the humming of a thousand flies, or the nervous 
 scraping of a boot over the uncarpeted floor. Then 
 the mayor whispered a few words to the minister, 
 who nodded to Mr. Morrow, the surviving brother, 
 and then Mr. Morrow stepped into the hallway lead- 
 ing to the mayor's parlor, and presently reappeared at 
 the doorway, and quietly said, "All right." 
 
 All eyes turned to glance at him at this moment, 
 but, beyond his square, squat figure, nothing in the 
 darkened hallway was visible. Then the mayor cleared 
 his throat and began : 
 
 " By the consent of the proper authorities the pris- 
 oner, accused of the murder of the late Samuel Mor- 
 row, has been brought here instead of to the county 
 town, for reasons that will appear hereafter. Graham, 
 you have desired to hear the evidence of Mr. Frost, 
 one of the principal witnesses against you at the time 
 of the discovery of the murder. The clerk will now 
 read it." 
 
 And read it the clerk did, in monotonous singsong. 
 Graham sat clinching his fists and his teeth, and look- 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 253 
 
 ing straight at Frost as the reading was finished. The 
 latter, uneasily shifting in his chair, still looked any- 
 where else around the room. 
 
 " Do you wish to say anything, Graham ?" asked 
 the mayor, in answer to the appeal in Dick's eyes. 
 
 " I do, sir. That statement is a lie almost from be- 
 ginning to end. I had no quarrel, no words with Mr. 
 Morrow that Sunday evening never spoke to him at 
 all. It was Frost himself who was with him at the 
 mill before supper. As to the rest of the evening I 
 know nothing of what happened. When I got home, 
 and put up the horse and buggy, it must have been 
 long after ten. Then I found the east door of the 
 mill was open, and went in and found everything dark 
 and quiet ; came out and locked the door (but never 
 went into the office), and took the key up to the mill- 
 house, and hung it up on the hook in the hall. I sup- 
 posed Mr. Morrow was asleep in bed. Then I went 
 home and burned some old letters and papers and 
 packed some things in my bag. I was going away 
 for good I've told the doctor and the minister why 
 they know well enough and I called Frost ; he 
 owed me twenty dollars, and I needed it, and woke 
 him up, if he was asleep, and asked him for it, and the 
 very money he gave me was in those five-dollar bills. 
 I never burned my overalls. I did lose my handker- 
 chief somewhere about the house that night, and never 
 missed it until I was gone ; and I never had my re- 
 volver until just before I took my bag and started, 
 and never knew until days afterwards way up the 
 Northern Pacific that one of the chambers was emp- 
 
254 THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 
 
 tied. As for the murder, I never heard of it until I 
 was arrested." 
 
 " Mr. Frost," said the mayor, " you made no men- 
 tion in your evidence of paying money to the pris- 
 oner." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Frost, promptly, but his eyes 
 glittered, and his face was white as a sheet. " Noth- 
 ing of the kind happened. That money came direct 
 from the mill safe." 
 
 " How do you know ?" 
 
 " Well of course I don't know that ; but it is my 
 belief." 
 
 " Mr. Frost, there was no mention in your testimony 
 of a violent altercation between yourself and the late 
 Mr. Morrow at the mill that evening after Graham 
 came in town with the ladies. Why did you omit 
 that?" 
 
 He was livid now, and the strong, white hands were 
 twitching nervously. All eyes were fastened upon 
 him as he stood confronting the mayor, his back tow- 
 ards the hallway, where, in grim silence, stood Mr. 
 Morrow. 
 
 " I know of no such altercation," he stammered. 
 
 " Were you ever accused of being a deserter from 
 the army?" 
 
 Every one saw the nervous start he gave, but, though 
 haggard and wild, he stuck to his false colors. 
 
 " Never, sir." 
 
 " That's a lie," said a deep voice out in the hall, 
 and at the unconventional interruption there was a 
 general stir. Men leaned forward and craned their 
 
THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 255 
 
 necks to peer behind Mr. Morrow, who stood there 
 immovable. 
 
 " Order, gentlemen, if you please," said Mr. Lowrie. 
 
 " Then how and where did you know Sam Morrow, 
 as you convinced his father you did ?" 
 
 " I ? out in Arizona, where I was mining." 
 
 " Why did you not fulfil your promise, as you said 
 you could and would ?" 
 
 "I couldn't. That was what made the old man 
 down on me. I did believe last winter I could find 
 Sam and get him home, but I could not bear to tell 
 the old man he was killed with General Ouster." 
 
 " That's another lie !" came from the hallway, and, 
 brushing past Mr. Morrow's squat figure, there strode 
 into the room a tall, bronzed-faced, soldierly fellow in 
 the undress uniform of a sergeant of cavalry. 
 
 Men sprang to their feet and fairly shouted. Old 
 Doctor Green threw his arms about the soldier's neck 
 in the excess of his joy. There was a rush forward 
 from the post-office doorway to greet him, a cry. of 
 " Sam Morrow !" and then another cry a yell a 
 scurry and crash at the kitchen entrance. " Quick ! 
 Head him off ! Catch him !" were the cries, and then 
 came a dash into the open air. 
 
 With a spring like that of a panther Frost had 
 leaped into the unguarded kitchen, thence to the fence 
 beyond, and now was running like a deer through the 
 quiet village street towards the railway. A hundred 
 men were in pursuit in a moment, and in that open 
 country there was no shelter for skulking criminal, no 
 lair in which he could hide till night. In half an 
 
256 THE MYSTERY OF 
 
 hour, exhausted, half dead with terror and despair, 
 the wretched man was dragged back, and now, limp 
 and dejected, cowered in the presence of his accusers. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SAM MORROW told his story in a few words. He 
 had served in the Seventh Cavalry for five years un- 
 der the name of Samuel Moore, and two years before, 
 while with his troop on the Yellowstone, the man call- 
 ing himself Frost was a sergeant in another company. 
 He was only a short time in the regiment, but his 
 fine appearance, intelligence, and education led to his 
 speedy appointment as sergeant, and as Sergeant Far- 
 rand he had been for a few months a popular and re- 
 spected man; but as soon as they got back to winter- 
 quarters he turned out to be a gambler, then a swin- 
 dler and card-sharper. He lost the respect of both 
 officers and men, got into a gambling-scrape with some 
 teamsters in Bismarck, was locked up by the civil 
 authorities, and, after a series of troubles of that 
 description, deserted the service in the Black Hills 
 the summer of '75, taking three horses with him, and 
 that was the last seen of him until now. Sam had 
 been shot in the arm in the fight of the 25th of June, 
 after the Indians had butchered Custer's part of the 
 regiment, and now, having served out his time, was 
 once more home, with an honorable discharge and a 
 certificate of high character from his officers. 
 
 In substantiation of Sam's story, Mr. Morrow ex- 
 
257 
 
 hibited two letters which he had found among his 
 brother's papers. They were from the adjutant of 
 the Seventh Cavalry, in reply, evidently, to inquiries 
 which old Morrow had instituted in May, and the sec- 
 ond one contained a description of Frost as the soldier 
 Farrand, which tallied exactly. 
 
 " And now, Frost, what have you to say as to the 
 murder?" was the next question; and, cowering and 
 abject, the wretch sat with bowed head and trembling 
 limbs, gasping, "I did not do it, I did not do it." But 
 this Nemahbin would believe no longer. There was 
 a wild cry of " Hang him !" from the excited crowd 
 in the street, and then came a scene. Peaceful and 
 law-abiding as had been the community, it turned in 
 almost savage fury upon the scoundrel who had sought 
 to charge his own crime upon an innocent and long- 
 respected citizen. A dozen resolute men leaped 
 through the post-office to the doorway of the inner 
 room, but there they halted. Between them and the 
 cowering form of Frost stood the tall figure of Sam 
 Morrow, his eyes ablaze, his mouth set and stern, his 
 left arm in a sling, but in his right hand a levelled re- 
 volver. 
 
 " Back, every man of you !" he said. " He killed 
 my father, but, by God, it has got to be a fair trial !" 
 Lowrie, the doctor, and the detective were at his back, 
 and Nemahbin hesitated, thought better of its mad 
 impulse, and retired. That night Frost lay behind 
 the prison bars, accused of an array of crimes, with cold- 
 blooded murder as the climax, and Sam Morrow, Dick 
 Graham, and Nellie met once more at the old home. 
 17 
 
258 THE MYSTERY OF 'MAIIBIN MILL. 
 
 In less than a month Frost's last hope had gone. 
 Whether his pluck and nerve had given out entirely, 
 whether the rapid accumulation of damaging evidence 
 had made him fearful that even hanging would be 
 too good for him if all his past were " ferreted out," 
 as now seemed likely, or whether he hoped, by con- 
 fession, to gain mercy, is not known; but, before his 
 trial, he made full admission of his guilt. He had 
 come to Nemahbin hoping to get such a hold on the 
 old man by telling him he could find Sam that he 
 would be welcomed, and allowed to prosecute his suit 
 with Nellie, who was plainly fascinated. If he could 
 gain her love and her hand, he might settle down, be 
 respectable on old Morrow's money, and then, even if 
 Sam did come home, he would not be apt to expose the 
 man his sister loved and married. But his efforts to 
 convince the old man that he Was trying to find Sam, 
 while all the time he was doing all he knew how to 
 keep him on the wrong track, were at constant cross- 
 purposes. The old man soon became suspicious of him, 
 would advance him no money, paid him a nominal 
 sum for keeping books, etc., the first three months he 
 was there, then relieved him of that duty, and kept 
 up incessant cross-questioning. At last Frost found 
 out that Graham suspected him of being a deserter, 
 and that the old man had got that idea and also that 
 his own boy was somewhere in the army. Then came 
 the news of the Ouster massacre, and by that time he 
 felt sure he could win Nellie's hand if her father's 
 consent could be gained; but Morrow was all suspi- 
 cion and eagerness, and Frost knew by his 'manner 
 
THE MYSTERY OF ? MAHBIN MILL. 259 
 
 that be was on the trail of his lost boy by means of 
 letters and these letters would plainly betray him, 
 who had deserted from Sam's own regiment. He hur- 
 ried to Chicago, and there there he came upon that 
 list of killed in the battle of the Little Big Horn, and 
 among the names was the one he wanted to see, Ser- 
 geant Sam Moore. It decided him at once. He went 
 to his uncle, claiming that he was about to marry Nel- 
 lie Morrow, got from him a small supply of money, 
 and came back determined to win her at once. She 
 was the old man's only child and sole heir. That 
 very day Morrow had told him that he had found him 
 out, that in his absence he had received letters prov- 
 ing him to be a scoundrel, and, giving him just one 
 chance to tell him where his lost boy was or to leave. 
 Frost feared to tell then, as he knew the miller would 
 insist on proofs, and in some way his own connection 
 with the regiment would be known. That evening, 
 before tea, Morrow, in an angry interview, which 
 Schaffer partially overheard, told him he had proofs 
 of his rascality letters to settle his case for good and 
 all. Then he became desperate. Soon as Dick had 
 gone to town with the ladies he went to Graham's 
 room, got the revolver, and once more went to the 
 mill, and found Morrow at the office door. It was 
 then almost dark. Then came the accusation of de- 
 sertion, and, once in the office, Morrow had called 
 him by his soldier name, and Frost knew "all was 
 up." He must have those papers. He drew the re- 
 volver to frighten the old man, and it went off, kill- 
 ing him instantly. He was horror-stricken, but strove 
 
260 THE MYSTERY OF 'MAHBIN MILL. 
 
 to collect himself. Flight would betray him at once 
 as the murderer. Why not make it a case of suicide 
 leave the pistol by him? No that would not 
 do. It was Graham's Ha ! why not make Gra- 
 ham the guilty one? Quickly he got the safe key 
 from the old man's pocket, unlocked and obtained the 
 cash-drawer, with its five hundred dollars in green- 
 backs opened the desk,- and rummaged through the 
 letters till he found one from the headquarters of the 
 Seventh Cavalry, which gave a description of several 
 men almost his height and general appearance who 
 had deserted. Among them he recognized his own 
 and his soldier name. With these he went to the cot- 
 tage, leaving all dark at the mill, burned the letter, 
 hid portions of the money in Graham's mattress, and 
 was thinking, in terror, what to do next, when he heard 
 voices on the road. He dare not go out, and so wasted 
 some time in the house. When he heard Graham drive 
 back with the buggy he hurriedly undressed and went 
 to bed. Then Schaffer came home and he called him 
 in, that the boy might say that he was in bed and un- 
 dressed; but when Graham entered he shammed sleep. 
 Roused, at last, by Graham's demand for his money 
 and the news that he was going away, an idea occurred 
 to him. Cutting a slit in his finger with a razor, he let 
 the blood fall on a couple of five-dollar bills smeared 
 and quickly dried it gave them to Graham before he 
 started, and as soon as he was gone went busily to 
 work. Going down to the mill as soon as satisfied 
 that all was safe Schaffer asleep and Dick far on his 
 way to the railroad he found the east door locked. 
 
THE MYSTERY OF ? MAHBIN MILL. 261 
 
 Then he knew that Graham had been there; had locked 
 the door and taken the key to the hall of the mill-house, 
 and of course had seen nothing of the body. He got 
 the key, obtained Graham's overalls from the mill, 
 burned them in the stove at the cottage as he argued 
 Dick could have done had he bloodied them in the af- 
 fray and then in Graham's room had found his cam- 
 bric handkerchief. Once more he went down to the 
 ghostly mill, and dipped this into the blood of his 
 victim; then locked the mill door (he had locked the 
 office door, leaving the key inside), put the key back 
 in the house, returned to the cottage, and to bed. He 
 had woven a chain for Graham that, added to the poor 
 fellow's flight and his previous disagreements, would 
 fasten all suspicion on him as the murderer. Then he 
 thought of the money. He rose, bundled it loosely 
 in an old oyster-can, stole out in the gray light of ap- 
 proaching dawn, and buried it in the loose sand down 
 on the shore of the mill-pond, just where all the cattle 
 would go for water, and trample out all traces within 
 an hour; then once more he went back to bed, and to 
 the counterfeited sleep from which Schaffer had such 
 difficulty in rousing him. It was well planned and 
 when he heard the boy declare he had seen Graham 
 coming from the mill at 11 o'clock he thought it per- 
 fect. 
 
 But he had failed to cross one track the bloody 
 print of a slender, city-made, shapely boot on the 
 flour-dusted floor under the peg where Graham's over- 
 alls generally hung. It was the only footprint in that 
 corner of the old mill, and Frost's was the only boot 
 
262 THE MYSTEKY OF 5 MAHBIN MILL. 
 
 in all Nemahbin that would fit it. Keen eyes had 
 noted this even while the wiseacres of the law were 
 urging the pursuit of Graham; and then came the in- 
 exorable watch on every move that Frost might make. 
 Even without his confession, the relentless search of 
 the detectives would have run him down. And now 
 Dick Graham was free. 
 
 It wasn't such a mystery, after all. A greater one 
 was being enacted right here in the old mill-house, 
 whither Nellie had hurriedly returned on the tele- 
 graphic news of Sam's home-coming. She had sent 
 Dick Graham sorrowing to his fate only a month ago. 
 She never wished to see him or speak to him again. 
 She had twined her girlish hero-worship around the 
 tall beauty of Mr. Frost, and seen it shrivel with aver- 
 sion in a single day. And now, surrounded by the 
 halo of his sufferings, his self-imposed exile, his years 
 of patient, uncomplaining, unswerving devotion, here 
 was her brother's best friend, sharing with that broth- 
 er the admiration and homage of their little village 
 circle ; here was her true lover, Dick, loving, forgiv- 
 ing, unreproaching, and yet unseeking, and one sweet 
 August night, calm and still and starlit, she stood 
 at the very gate where he had seen her parting with 
 Frost that dread Sunday morning. And now her lit- 
 tle hand was trembling on his arm as he would have 
 closed the gate behind him. He felt the detaining 
 pressure, and turned, gently as ever: 
 
 " What is it, Nellie ?" 
 
 " Dick, will you never forgive me for what I said 
 that night ?" 
 
THE MYSTEKY OF 'MAIIBIN MILL. 263 
 
 One instant he could hardly speak hardly breathe; 
 but then, slowly, with swimming eyes and quivering 
 lips, soft and tremulous, she looked up into his radi- 
 ant face. 
 
 And now eight years after 'Mahbin Mill hums 
 and whirs more merrily than ever. Dick Graham is 
 master and manager, for Sam, with a well-earned strap 
 of gold-lace on each broad shoulder, has gone back to 
 the frontier life he learned to love in the old regiment. 
 Frost languished but a few months in his prison before 
 death mercifully took him away, and Nellie Nellie is 
 the happiest little woman around Nemahbin for miles; 
 only those two scamps, Sam and Dick, seven and five 
 years old respectively, keep her in a fidget and their 
 father in a chuckle with their pranks. They are al- 
 ways in mischief or the mill-pond. 
 
PLODDEE'S PKOMOTION. 
 
FOB five years the life of Second Lieutenant Plod- 
 der, of the th Foot, had been a burden to him. For 
 more than five years Second Lieutenant Plodder had 
 been something of a burden to the th Foot. In the 
 dreary monotone in which the psalm of life is sung, 
 or was sung, in frontier garrisons before the introduc- 
 tion of such wildly diverting exercises as daily target 
 practice, or measuring-distance drill, the one thing that 
 became universally detestable was the man with the 
 perennial grievance, and Mr. Plodder's grievance was 
 slow promotion. There was nothing exceptionally 
 harrowing in his individual experience ; dozens of 
 other fellows in his own and in other regiments were 
 victims of the same malady, but for some reason Mr. 
 Plodder considered himself the especial target of the 
 slings and arrows of a fortune too outrageous for even 
 a downtrodden "dough -boy" to bear in silence, and 
 the dreary burden of his song morn, noon, and night 
 was the number of years he had served, and might 
 yet have to serve, with never a bar to his strap of 
 faded blue. 
 
 Entering the army as a volunteer in '61, he had 
 emerged, after four years of singularly uneventful 
 soldiering, a lieutenant in the company in which he 
 
268 PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 
 
 started as private. Provost-guard duty and the like 
 had told but little on the aggregate of present for 
 duty with his command, and that sort of campaign- 
 ing being congenial, Mr. Plodder concluded to keep 
 it up as a profession. A congressional friend got 
 him a second - lieutenancy at the close of the war, 
 and the devil himself, said Mr. Plodder, got him into 
 that particular regiment. " I never saw such a God- 
 forsaken lot of healthy fellers in my life," he was 
 wont to declare over the second or third toddy at 
 " the store " in the long wintry evenings. " There 
 ain't a man of 'em died in six years, and here I am 
 after nigh onto twelve years' consecutive service, and 
 I ain't a first lieutenant yit." 
 
 We youngsters, with our light hearts and lighter 
 pockets, used to rather enjoy getting old Plodder 
 started, it must be confessed ; and when pin-pool or 
 auction-pitch had palled in interest, and we would be 
 casting about for some time-killing device, and the 
 word would come from the window, scattering the 
 group of oldsters, that Plodder was on his way to the 
 store, somebody would be apt to suggest a project for 
 " putting up a job on Grumpy," and it would be car- 
 ried nem. con. 
 
 " Heard the news, Plod ?" some young reprobate 
 would carelessly inquire while banging the balls about 
 the table. 
 
 " What news ?" says Plodder. 
 
 " You're in for a file. They say old Cramps is 
 going to die. He's off on leave now." 
 
 " Who says so ?" says Plodder, eying his interloc- 
 
269 
 
 utor askance. He is always suspicious of the young- 
 sters. 
 
 " Fact, Plodder. Ask the major, if you don't be- 
 lieve me." 
 
 And before long Plodder would be sure to make 
 his way into the inner court the sanctum sanctorum 
 of the store sacred ordinarily to the knot of old offi- 
 cers who liked to have their quiet game aloof from 
 the crash of pool-pins and the babel of voices in the 
 main room, and there, after more or less beating round 
 the bush, he would inquire as to whether the major 
 had recently heard news of old Captain Cramps, and 
 what was the state of his health ; returning then to 
 the billiard-room with wrath and vengeance in his 
 eye, to upbraid his tormentor for sending him off on 
 such a cruel quest. 
 
 " Well, what did you go for ?" would be the extent 
 of his comfort. " I only said Cramps was going to 
 die, and it's my profound conviction he will some 
 time or other." 
 
 And Plodder would groan in spirit, " It's all very 
 well for you youngsters, but just you wait till you've 
 served as long as I have, twelve years' consecutive 
 service, by George ! and if you don't wish lineal pro- 
 motion would come in, or the grass was growing green 
 over every man that ever opposed it, you can stop my 
 pay." 
 
 It got to be a serious matter at last. It was Plod's 
 monomania. We used to swear that Plod spent half 
 his time moaning over the army register, and that his 
 eyes were never fixed upon the benevolent features 
 
270 
 
 of his captain but that he was wondering whether 
 apoplexy would not soon give him the longed-for file. 
 Every week or two there would come tidings of deaths, 
 dismissals, resignations, or retirements in some other 
 corps or regiment, and second lieutenant so-or-so would 
 become first lieutenant vice somebody else, and on 
 such occasions poor old Plod would suffer the tor- 
 tures of the damned. " There's that boy," he would 
 say, " only two years out of that national charity 
 school up there on the Hudson, in leading-strings, by 
 George! when we fellers were fightin' andbleedin' an " 
 
 " Hello, Plod ! I forgot you fought and bled in the 
 provost-guard. Where was it, old man ? Take a nip 
 and tell us about it," some one would interpose, but 
 Plodder would plunge ahead in the wild recitative of 
 his lament, and the floor would be his own. 
 
 Tuesday evenings always found him at the store. 
 The post-trader's copy of the Army and Navy Journal 
 arrived soon after retreat, and it was one of the un- 
 written laws of the establishment that old Plod should 
 have first glimpse. There had been a time when he 
 resorted to the quarters of brother-officers and pos- 
 sessed himself of their copy, but his concomitant cus- 
 tom of staying two or three hours and bemoaning his 
 luck had gradually been the means of barring him out, 
 and, never having a copy of his own (for Plodder was 
 thrifty and " near"), he had settled into the usurpation 
 of first rights with "Mr. O'Bottle's" paper, and there 
 at the store he devoured the column of casualties 
 with disappointed eyes, and swallowed grief and tod- 
 dy in "consecutive" gulps. 
 
PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 271 
 
 It used to be asserted of Plodder that he was fig- 
 uring for the Signal Corps. He was at one time gen- 
 erally known as " Old Probabilities ;" indeed, it had 
 been his nickname for several years. He was accused 
 of keeping a regular system of "indications" against 
 the names of his seniors in rank, and that godless 
 young reprobate Trickett so far forgot his reverence 
 for rank as to prepare and put in circulation "Plod- 
 der's Probabilities," a Signal Service burlesque that 
 had the double effect of alienating that gentleman's 
 long-tried friendship and startling into unnatural blas- 
 phemy the staid captains who figured in the bulletin. 
 Something in this wise it ran (and though poor fun 
 at best, was better than anything we had had since 
 that wonderful day when " Mrs. Captain O'Rorke av 
 ye plaze" dropped that letter addressed to her friend 
 "Mrs. Captain Sullivan, O'Maher Barrix") : 
 
 "PLODDER'S PROBABILITIES. 
 
 " For Captain Irmn. Higher living together with lower ex- 
 ercise. Cloudy complexion, with temperament choleric veer- 
 ing to apoplectic. Impaired action followed by fatty degen- 
 eration of the heart. 
 
 "For Captains Prime and Chipsey. Barometer threatening. 
 Squalls domestic. Stocks lower. Putler and Soaker bills fall- 
 ing (due N.E., S., and W.) from all parts of the country. 
 
 "For Lieutenant Cole, R. Q.M. Heft increasing. Nose and 
 eyelids turgid. Frequent (d)rains, Sp. Fru. Heavy shortage 
 C. and G. E., S. T. 187(-)X. 
 
 "Cautionary Signals for Burroughs, Calvin, and Waterman. 
 Something sure to turn up." 
 
 We were hard up for fun in those days, and even 
 
272 
 
 this low order of Avit excited a high degree of hilari- 
 ty. The maddest men were Prime, Chipsey, and the 
 R.Q.M., but their wrath was as nothing compared with 
 the blaze of indignation which illuminated the coun- 
 tenances of Mrs. Prime and Mrs. Chipsey, next-door 
 neighbors and bosom friends as feminine friendships 
 go. Each lady in this instance was ready to acknowl- 
 edge the pertinence of Mr. Trickett's diagnosis in the 
 case of her neighbor's husband, and confidentially to 
 admit that there was even some justification for the 
 allegation of "squalls domestic" next door, but that 
 anything of this sort should be even hinted at in her 
 own case, nothing but utter moral depravity on the 
 part of the perpetrator could account for it. Trickett 
 paid dear for his whistle, but for the time it seemed 
 to hold Plodder in check. The ruling passion soon 
 cropped out again, however. Gray hairs were begin- 
 ning to sprinkle his scanty beard, and crow's-feet to 
 grow more deeply under his suspicious eyes. He never 
 looked at a senior without a semi-professional scrutiny 
 of that senior's physical condition as set forth in the 
 clearness of his eye or skin. He never shook hands 
 without conveying the impression that he was reach- 
 ing for a man's pulse. If any old officer were men- 
 tioned as going off on "surgeon's certificate" to visit 
 the sea -shore, and the question should be asked, 
 " What's the matter with him ?" the interrogated 
 party invariably responded, " Don't know. Ask Plod- 
 der." 
 
 It was not only in the regiment that Plodder became 
 a notoriety. For one eventful year of its history tho 
 
PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 273 
 
 th Foot was stationed in close proximity to depart- 
 ment headquarters, and department headquarters be- 
 came speedily and intimately acquainted with Mr. 
 Plodder. Having once made his calls of ceremony 
 upon the commanding general and his staff, it became 
 his custom to make frequent visits to the city, and, 
 passing beyond the established haunts where his com- 
 rades were wont to dispense for creature comforts 
 their scanty dimes, to spend some hours pottering 
 about the offices at headquarters. But for a month 
 no one really fathomed the object of his attentions. 
 "Trying to get a soft detail in town" was the theory 
 hazarded by some of the youngsters, who were well 
 aware of his distaste for company duty ; " Boning 
 for aide-de-camp," suggested another. But not until 
 the medical director one day explosively alluded to 
 him as " that old vampire-bat," with an uncom- 
 plimentary and profane adjective in place of the , 
 
 and the acting judge-advocate of the department im- 
 pulsively asked if " that infernal Mark Meddle couldn't 
 be kept at home," did it begin to dawn on us what 
 old Plodder really was driving at. His theory being 
 that army casualties could be divided up pretty evenly 
 between the Medical Department and the Bureau of 
 Military Justice as the expediting means, he hoped 
 by ingenious engineering of the conversation to pick 
 up points as to probabilities in the th Foot, or to 
 furnish such as might be lacking. 
 
 In plain words, it transpired about this time that 
 Plodder had taken to haunting the office of the judge- 
 advocate at hours when he could hope for uninter- 
 18 
 
274 
 
 rupted conversation with that officer, and one day, 
 with very ruffled demeanor, he was encountered making 
 hurried exit therefrom, pursued, said Mr. Trickett, 
 by the toe of the judge-advocate's boot. Indeed, Mr. 
 Trickett was not far wrong. He and his now recon- 
 ciled captain were about calling upon the judge-advo- 
 cate when Plodder burst forth, and surely there was 
 every symptom of a wrathful intent in the attitude 
 of the staff-officer whom they met at the door. It was 
 a minute or so before he could recover his composure, 
 though he politely invited them to enter and be seated. 
 No explanation was vouchsafed as to what had oc- 
 curred, but Trickett and Prime came back to barracks 
 full of speculation and curiosity, told pretty much 
 everybody what they had seen, and, all being con- 
 vinced that Plodder and the judge-advocate had had 
 some kind of a row, it was determined to draw Plod- 
 der out. Consequently there was a gathering in the 
 billiard-room that night, and when Plodder entered, 
 with visage of unusual gloom, he ought to have been 
 put on his guard by the unexpectedly prompt and 
 cheery invites to "take something" that greeted him. 
 But Plodder had been taking several somethings in the 
 privacy of his quarters, and, being always ready to par- 
 take at somebody else's expense, he was speedily primed 
 into talkative mood, and then the inquisition began. 
 
 " Saw you coming out of Park's office to-day," said 
 Prime. " What was your hurry ?" 
 
 No answer for a moment, then a rather sulky growl, 
 "I'd finished my business, and thought you might 
 want to see him." 
 
275 
 
 " I ? Lord, no ! What should I want to see him 
 for except socially ?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Nice fellow, Park," said Trickett ; " seems such 
 a calm, self -poised sort of man, you know." 
 
 " One of the most courteous men I ever met," said 
 Waterman. 
 
 Then the others joined in with some kind of trans- 
 parent adulation of the official referred to, all keeping 
 wary eyes on Plodder, who at last burst forth, 
 
 " You all can think what you like. My idea is, he's 
 no gentleman." 
 
 Of course Plodder was assailed with instant de- 
 mands to explain his meaning. Everybody was amazed ; 
 but Plodder would only shake his head and mutter 
 that he knew what he was talking about. Nobody 
 could tell him what constituted, a gentleman. Park 
 wasn't one anyhow, and all hopes for light upon that 
 interview were for the moment dashed ; but a day or 
 two more brought everything out in startling colors, 
 when it was announced that Lieutenant Calvin, who 
 had been commanding a detachment "up the coun- 
 try," was ordered to return and explain certain alle- 
 gations that had been brought to the notice of the 
 regimental commander. Plodder's cautionary signal 
 had been hoisted to some purpose after all. 
 
 It seems that being cut off from congenial society, 
 and having no associates with whom to while away 
 the weary hours of his detached service, Lieutenant 
 Calvin had sought solace in the flowing bowl, had 
 become involved in a quarrel with some rather hard 
 
276 PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 
 
 cases among the citizens, and in some mysterious way 
 the matter had reached headquarters. Calvin was on 
 a sort of probation at the time, for his conduct o*n 
 some previous occasions had given great cause for 
 complaint to his colonel, and that officer had now re- 
 ceived a note from headquarters on the subject of 
 Calvin's recent misdemeanor, and felt himself called 
 upon to investigate. This note had come three days 
 before the date of Plodder's last visit to town, and 
 the colonel had communicated its contents to no one 
 but his adjutant, and yet it was known throughout 
 the garrison on the day after Plodder's visit that Mr. 
 Calvin was to be overhauled, and the colonel decided 
 to inquire, among other things, how it became so 
 speedily known. 
 
 " I would prefer to have some officer sent from else- 
 where to relieve him," he had said to the command- 
 ing general in presence of the judge-advocate. " It 
 will then create no talk or speculation at the barracks 
 before he comes." 
 
 " It is known there already," said the judge-advocate. 
 
 "Most extraordinary!" said the colonel. "I don't 
 see how that could be and I not know it." And, in- 
 deed, there were very few matters on which he was 
 not fully informed. 
 
 " It is so, nevertheless," said the staff-officer. " One 
 of your a subalterns a gentleman with whom I 
 have very slight acquaintance, came to me to tell me 
 about it, as he expressed it, yesterday." 
 
 Then the colonel insisted upon hearing the whole 
 story, and it came out. It seems that after one or two 
 
277 
 
 somewhat embarrassed visits, Mr. Plodder had suc- 
 ceeded in finding the judge-advocate alone on the pre- 
 vious afternoon, had then drawn his chair close to that 
 officer's desk, and, very much to his surprise, had bent 
 forward, and in confidential tone had remarked, " Say, 
 I want to tell you about Calvin," and before the as- 
 tonished judge-advocate could well interrupt him he 
 had rushed through a few hurried sentences descrip- 
 tive of the affair in which Calvin was involved, and 
 looked up in very great astonishment when the judge- 
 advocate suddenly checked him. 
 
 " One moment, Mr. Plodder. I do not understand 
 the object of this narrative. Have you come to make 
 an official complaint of Mr. Calvin's conduct? I am 
 not the person. Your colonel " 
 
 "Oh, no, no. You don't understand, : interrupted 
 Mr. Plodder. "I don't want to appear in the matter 
 at all ; but you see I happen to know " 
 
 " You don't mean to say that you have come to me 
 to give confidential information about an officer of 
 your regiment ?" burst in the judge-advocate with 
 growing wrath. 
 
 " I thought you ought to know," said Plodder, sulk- 
 ily. " You have charge of the court-martial business, 
 and I s'pose charges are to be preferred " 
 
 " And you want to appear as a witness, do you ? or 
 do you mean to prefer additional charges, or what 
 the devil do you mean ?" 
 
 " No, Pm not a witness," exclaimed Plodder, has- 
 tily. " I just thought you ought to know about this, 
 you see, and all you've got to do is to write to so-and- 
 
278 
 
 so, and so-and-so. They were there and saw it. Oh, 
 no, I don't want to appear at all." 
 
 " In plain words, then, Mr. Plodder, you came here 
 as a tale-bearer, and expect me to treat you like a gen- 
 tleman," said the judge-advocate, rising in wrath and 
 indignation, while Mr. Plodder sat gazing at him in 
 pained surprise. " By G gulp, sir, I did not suppose 
 the uniform had got so low as that. Go to your colonel, 
 if you want to tattle, sir; don't come to me. There's 
 the door, Mr. Plodder; there's the door, sir." And in 
 utter amaze the gentleman of nigh on to twelve years' 
 consecutive service slipped out into the hall as rue- 
 fully ruffled in spirit as though he had been kicked 
 thither. It was there he encountered Prime and Trick- 
 ett, and it was in this shape that the interview was 
 eventually made known to the regiment, but not until 
 some time after not until the grand evolution of a 
 pet and long-projected scheme. Then it was that this 
 experience of Plodder's was told, with many unflatter- 
 ing comments; and so it happened that not one grain 
 of sympathy was felt for him in the moment of his 
 most supreme dejection the crowning disappoint- 
 ment of his life. 
 
 For the first time in his " years of consecutive ser- 
 vice " Plodder actually saw a first-lieutenancy within 
 his grasp, and this is how the matter stood. 
 
 Among a lot of desperately, hopelessly healthy 
 and virtuous captains and first-lieutenants there ap- 
 peared the unfortunate Mr. Calvin, whose record had 
 been somewhat mottled in the past, and who was now 
 in a very precarious state. To get him out of the 
 
279 
 
 way would ordinarily secure for Mr. Plodder only a 
 step, for at this moment he stood third on the list of 
 second lieutenants ; but here was a case of unusual 
 combinations. The senior second lieutenant was at 
 that moment undergoing trial on charges that must 
 dismiss him from the service. There was no question 
 as to his guilt; indeed, he had hardly made any de- 
 fence against the allegations. But, even were he to 
 be dismissed, how was that to help Plodder ? Look at 
 
 the list: 
 
 Second Lieutenants ih Infantry. 
 
 1. John B. Riggs (in arrest, undergoing trial). 
 
 2. William H. Trainor, regimental adjutant. 
 
 3. Pariah Plodder. 
 
 The army reader sees the scheme at a glance. With 
 Riggs dismissed, Trainor came to the head of the list, 
 and was entitled to immediate promotion to first lieu- 
 tenant, " he being the adjutant." This, then, made 
 old Plodder senior second, and now now, if he could 
 only get Calvin out, there were his bars. Under these 
 circumstances, Plodder was not the man to hesitate. 
 Knowing Calvin's weakness, he had "kept an eye on 
 him;" had obtained, through some mysterious corre- 
 spondent, details of his proceedings at his post of iso- 
 lation, and it was not long before it began to be sus- 
 pected that it was he who inspired the rumors that 
 appeared in the local papers, and so drew the atten- 
 tion of the authorities to Calvin's offence. 
 
 Well, Calvin came in, had an interview with his 
 colonel, who was stern and non-committal. Calvin 
 protested that his offence had been grievously exag- 
 
280 
 
 gerated. Britton, who took his place up the country, 
 swore that the best citizens up there came in to speak 
 in high terms of Calvin. The men with whom he had 
 had the disturbance were rough characters, who had 
 purposely insulted him, and Britton said that he be- 
 lieved the whole statement could be traced to one of 
 the enlisted men, a bad fellow, whom Calvin had dis- 
 ciplined. The man was known to be writing letters 
 frequently, and no one knew to whom they were sent. 
 Calvin behaved well around garrison, and the colonel 
 was divided in his mind. He hated to prefer charges 
 he could not fully substantiate, and it was by no means 
 certain that the allegations against Calvin could be re- 
 liably supported, although there was strong probabil- 
 ity of their truth. Then it began to be rumored about 
 the post that the colonel was wavering, despite his firm 
 front against all Calvin's appeals, and that night Plod- 
 der was observed to be in a high state of nervous ex- 
 citement. He had a confidential interview with one 
 subaltern, and sought another with at least one more, 
 but was sternly and angrily rebuffed. " I cannot say 
 what the matter was," explained the offended young- 
 ster, "as he made me agree to regard his offer, as he 
 called it, confidential. But it lets me out on Plodder, 
 that's all." 
 
 The next day Plodder had a long talk with Calvin. 
 The latter looked infinitely depressed at its close, and 
 went up to town by permission of the colonel to see 
 some legal friends. When night came he did not re- 
 turn, as was understood to be the arrangement, and 
 the adjutant, driving up in the ambulance immediately 
 
281 
 
 after retreat, reappeared at tattoo, escorting Calvin; 
 and Calvin, perceptibly intoxicated, was conducted to 
 bis quarters, and bidden tbere to abide in close arrest. 
 
 Two days more, and his unconditional resignation 
 was forwarded "approved" from regimental head- 
 quarters, and a few days later, sadly bidding his com- 
 rades adieu, Calvin started homewards. " It was no 
 use trying to make a fight," he said. "Some fellow 
 had been spying around up the country, and had prej- 
 udiced the colonel, and he told me he meant to bring 
 up charges for the old matter. I could have stood up 
 against them separately, but not collectively; and I 
 had no war record, no friends, no influence. What 
 was the use ? Old Plodder gave me a check for four 
 hundred dollars, payable at the First National in Chi- 
 cago. I'll go back to railroading. Wish to God I'd 
 never left it for soldiering, anyhow !" And with that 
 he was gone, to await at his home the acceptance of 
 his tendered resignation. 
 
 Now there was unexpected sympathy for Calvin in 
 the regiment. He was a plain man, of limited educa- 
 tion, who had run an engine on one of Tecumseh Sher- 
 man's vitally important railways in '64, and when his 
 train was attacked by Hood's horsemen he had fought 
 like a hero, had been made an officer in a regiment 
 doing railway-guard duty, and at the end of the war 
 a lieutenant in the regular infantry. Being sociable, 
 warm-hearted, and weak, he had fallen into drinking 
 ways, had spent his money fast, and so had fallen from 
 grace. He had long been unhappy and out of his ele- 
 ment in the service. Perhaps it was best that he should 
 
282 
 
 go back to the old life, where drink was an impossi- 
 bility. 
 
 But the wonder was, how could old Plodder bear to 
 spend four hundred dollars of his hoarded gains even 
 for the coveted file ? That was not answered until 
 long afterwards, and really has no place in the imme- 
 diate denouement of this plot. It might come in hand- 
 ily elsewhere. He had given Calvin four hundred dol- 
 lars to resign at once, and perhaps the colonel breathed 
 freer at having the case decided for him. Now we 
 were all agog for the result. It depended, of course, 
 upon Riggs's sentence. 
 
 Now Riggs was an anomaly. He had few friends in 
 the regiment. He was a shy, sensitive, retiring sort 
 of fellow a man who read a great deal, was known 
 to be very well informed, a man who rarely appeared 
 at the social gatherings at the store, never played cards 
 or billiards, was civil and courteous to the younger of- 
 ficers, but a little surly to the seniors. He was disliked 
 by most of the latter, and cordially hated by his own 
 captain. When they sat on courts together, Mr. Riggs 
 invariably carried the day in all discussions that came 
 up. He knew more law than any of them. Indeed, 
 there seemed to be no point on which he had not more 
 information than all but two or three of his seniors, 
 and he rather delighted in drawing them out and ex- 
 posing their ignorance. On the other hand, in the 
 thousand little ways in which superior officers can in- 
 flict humiliation upon their juniors, his own and other 
 captains made him feel his dependent position, and 
 poor Riggs, with all his knowledge, was a very un- 
 
283 
 
 happy man. He had not a real friend, certainly not 
 an intimate, in the regiment; in fact, he incurred the 
 hostility of many of the subs at the very start by be- 
 ing transferred from an old regiment to near the top 
 of the list of this one when the consolidation took 
 place in '71 a transfer that drove Mr. Plodder nearly 
 frantic at the time, and laid the solid foundation of 
 his undying hate. Riggs made no attempt to concil- 
 ate anybody. He never mentioned his past life or ser- 
 vices. No one knew his war history, though it was 
 known that he had served. No one ever heard him 
 refer to what he had seen or experienced. Yet the 
 few caustic comments with which he occasionally si- 
 lenced Plodder's reminiscences amid an explosion of 
 laughter from the youngsters assured every one that 
 he knew whereof he spoke. He was sad, dreamy in 
 temperament; some said he took opium, all knew he 
 took whiskey, and a great deal of it, though never 
 was he known to do or say an unseemly thing under 
 its influence. His face would flush and his speech 
 sometimes thicken, but for a long time that had been 
 all. He was what was called a steady drinker, and as 
 an excuse, his wife (and she was a devoted little wom- 
 an) was wont to tell the ladies of the regiment who 
 ventured to allude to it that Mr. Riggs had a pulmo- 
 nary difficulty, a bad cough, and that his physicians 
 had prescribed whiskey. 
 
 Cough he certainly had, and at times a very con- 
 sumptive look, and as time wore on he had grown 
 moody and sullen. Then came an exciting period in 
 the history of the regiment. Several days and nights 
 
284 PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 
 
 of sharp and stirring service against rioters in the 
 streets of the adjoining city. Several days with irreg- 
 ular food and nights with irregular sleep, and after 
 forty-eight hours of such experience Lieutenant Riggs, 
 suddenly summoned at daybreak by his captain to 
 command a guard to be sent to some public build- 
 ings, plunged, stupidly drunk, into plain sight of as- 
 sembled officers and men, and was sent back to the 
 garrison in disgrace and close arrest. This was the 
 offence for which he had just been tried. There was 
 no hope for him said the colonel and the officers of the 
 regiment. Dismissal short and sharp was the only 
 prospect before him. A presidential announcement 
 had but recently been made that that was the one 
 thing not to be overlooked at an executive mansion 
 where dismayed diplomats were compelled to struggle 
 through state dinners unaided by the accustomed Cha- 
 teau Yquem and Pommery Sec, and rushed away chilled 
 and alarmed to seek vinous aid for their offended stom- 
 achs. Riggs was ruined, and must expect to go. 
 
 But the case had been tried before a general court 
 of considerable rank, and composed of officers from 
 other posts and commands. Only one of the th 
 Foot was on the detail. Admitting the facts alleged 
 in the specification, Mr. Riggs had called upon one or 
 two officers, his colonel and the major, for evidence as 
 to his general character and previous conduct, and they 
 could say nothing of consequence against him, and did 
 say much that was favorable. When they had retired 
 Mr. Riggs surprised the court by calling upon one of 
 its own members, an old surgeon, and subsequently 
 
PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 285 
 
 upon another, a veteran lieutenant-colonel of artil- 
 lery. 
 
 " What in thunder could he have wanted of them ?" 
 was the amazed inquiry down at the barracks that 
 evening when it was there announced, and all that 
 was said in reply was, that they had known him dur- 
 ing the war. Next day some important documentary 
 evidence was introduced, and then, asking only twenty- 
 four hours in which to write his defence, Mr. Riggs, 
 in a voice that trembled with emotion and with eyes 
 that filled with tears he strove in vain to dash away, 
 proceeded to address the court. "My wife is very 
 ill, gentlemen, and her anxiety on my account has in- 
 creased the trouble. The order convening the court 
 assigned the barracks as the place of meeting, but it 
 was changed, very properly, to suit the convenience 
 of the members who were in the city. As it is, I have 
 to leave there early in the morning, and be away from 
 her all day. May I ask, as a great favor, that you ar- 
 range to meet to-morrow at the old place ? I can then 
 be near her in case in case " Here he stopped 
 short, and, covering his face with his hands, turned 
 his back upon the court. 
 
 The solemn silence was broken by the voice of the 
 old surgeon. 
 
 " I know Mrs. Riggs, and have known her for years; 
 she is indeed very much prostrated, and I have a note 
 from Dr. Grant at the barracks substantiating what 
 Mr. Riggs says." The judge -advocate stepped out 
 and had a short consultation with the adjutant-gen- 
 eral of the department in his adjoining office, and 
 
286 
 
 when the court adjourned it adjourned to meet at 
 noon on the following day down at the barracks. 
 
 It was perhaps an hour after adjournment when the 
 judge-advocate of the court, accompanied by one of 
 its members, started out to take a drive. Passing the 
 headquarters building where they had been in session 
 during the morning, they were surprised to see Lieu- 
 tenant Riggs standing alone at the doorway and gaz- 
 ing anxiously down the street. 
 
 " Why, I thought his wife was so sick, and supposed 
 that he would be on his way to barracks by this time," 
 said the member. 
 
 " And I, too; I don't understand it," said the junior, 
 who was driving. " At least," he added, hesitatingly, 
 "he may be waiting for the ambulance. It's a six- 
 mile drive, and no hackman will go there for less than 
 a small fortune." 
 
 There was silence for a moment as they trotted 
 briskly along. Both the judge-advocate and the mem- 
 ber caught each other in the act of glancing back tow- 
 ards the dim and lonely figure of Mr. Riggs, and in 
 another minute the younger officer pulled up his team. 
 
 " Major, you want to go back and see what's the 
 matter ?" 
 
 "Yes, and so do you. Hold up a minute; there's 
 Coles now. He'll know about the ambulance." 
 
 Reining in towards the sidewalk, the sauntering 
 quartermaster was hailed, and that somewhat bulky 
 official stepped up to the side of their stylish turn- 
 out. 
 
 "Was the ambulance to take Riggs back to the 
 
PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 287 
 
 post? He seems to be waiting for something very 
 anxiously," said the judge-advocate. 
 
 The quartermaster started. "Why, yes; I thought 
 it had gone long ago, and had stopped below here 
 where I met it. Captain and Mrs. Breen and one or 
 two others were doing a little shopping, I reckon." 
 
 " Meantime poor Riggs is waiting to get back to his 
 sick wife, and has been waiting for an hour," said the le- 
 gal adviser of the court, with an impatient crack of the 
 whip that startled his spirited grays as they were 
 whirled about and sent spinning up the street, leaving 
 the dazed quartermaster staring after them. At head- 
 quarters the team again abruptly pulled up, and its 
 driver called out, in cheery tones, 
 
 " Riggs, we are going out to barracks. Can we give 
 you a lift ? It may be some time before that ambu- 
 lance comes along." 
 
 " It was to have been here over an hour ago," said 
 the infantryman, slowly. "I don't know what's the 
 matter, and I could not go in search of it; my arrest 
 limits me to this building when in town. I hate to 
 trouble you, yet I ought to have been home by this 
 time. 
 
 "Jump in, jump in! We'll get you there in less 
 than no time," exclaimed both occupants. And, only 
 too willing, Mr. Riggs "leaped aboard," and they 
 sped away for the outskirts of the city. 
 
 Passing a favorite restaurant, where officers and 
 ladies were wont to rendezvous when in town, they 
 caught sight of the missing ambulance. 
 
 "Weren't you ordered to be at headquarters for 
 
288 PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 
 
 Lieutenant Riggs at three o'clock?" demanded the 
 judge-advocate of the driver. 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied that party, glancing in nervous 
 embarrassment over his shoulder at somebody in the 
 depths of the vehicle, "but " 
 
 A forage-capped head appeared from behind the 
 curtain ; the benign features of Captain Breen slowly 
 hove in sight, and a smile of greeting spread there- 
 over as his eyes met those of the staff-officers. 
 
 "Oh, ah! Good-afternoon, colonel. How de do, 
 Captain Park. Why yes, there was something said 
 about going for Riggs when we got through when 
 the ladies finished shopping, you know. I was just 
 reading the evening paper. If you are ready, Riggs, 
 I I'll hurry them out now," said the captain, star- 
 tled into civility to the subaltern on seeing the distin- 
 guished company in which he drove. 
 
 " Thanks; we won't trouble you. Hup there !" said 
 Captain Park, dryly and energetically, as once more 
 the grays dashed off at rapid trot, and in half an hour 
 Mr. Riggs was landed in front of his quarters in the 
 garrison. 
 
 He said very little as he stepped from the light road- 
 wagon, but he grasped the extended hands of the two 
 officers, and looked up in their faces with mute elo- 
 quence. The post surgeon happened along at the mo- 
 ment, and Riggs turned eagerly towards him. 
 
 " A little easier, if anything," said the doctor, in an- 
 swer to the look of anxious inquiry. " Better, I think, 
 than she has been for the last two days. Your tele- 
 gram cheered her a good deal." 
 
PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 289 
 
 "Excuse me now, will you, gentlemen?" said the 
 lieutenant to his late conductors. "You understand 
 my haste, and will forgive my inhospitality in not 
 asking you in. You you don't know how I thank 
 you." And with that he was gone. 
 
 " Doctor, what seems the matter with Mrs. Riggs ?" 
 asked the judge-advocate, impetuously. 
 
 "Heart-trouble mainly. Any great anxiety tells 
 right there. She was a very sick woman yesterday. 
 Won't you stop at my quarters ?" 
 
 " Thanks, no. We were just out for a drive, and 
 must get back." 
 
 Whether from motives of delicacy, or possibly from 
 lack of curiosity, very few of the older officers of the 
 th Foot were present in the court-room when Mr. 
 Riggs read his brief statement or defence on the fol- 
 lowing day ; but nothing could keep Plodder away. 
 Among the group of four or five junior officers his 
 keen little eyes and eager face peered out, ferret-like, 
 glancing from member to member of the court as 
 though he sought to probe their inmost souls. Brief 
 as it was, Riggs had written an admirable little argu- 
 ment. He made no accusations, no recriminations ; 
 indeed, he rather slightingly alluded to a portion of 
 the evidence which went to show that during the 
 forty-eight hours preceding his offence he had been 
 kept almost continuously on duty night and day, 
 while the other company officer, his captain, slept 
 almost as continuously. He manfully admitted his 
 guilt, he showed that never before had he been ac- 
 cused of such an offence, and then, with brief refer- 
 19 
 
290 PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 
 
 ence to the testimony of the surgeon and his old di- 
 vision commander of war days, and the documentary 
 evidence in their possession, he threw himself upon 
 the mercy of the court. 
 
 The youngsters could not repress a murmur of ad- 
 miration as he closed. Plodder with open mouth and 
 staring eyes looked around the long, littered table like 
 a military Shylock imploring the fulfilment of his 
 bond. His eyes brightened as the judge-advocate 
 slowly rose ; he knew how trenchant he could be, at 
 least, and he had confidence that his response would 
 shatter the favorable impression left by Mr. Riggs's 
 defence. It was with an almost audible gasp of dis- 
 may that he heard the next words that broke the si- 
 lence of the court-room. The judge-advocate calmly 
 said, " The case is submitted without remark." 
 
 Not until Mr. Waterman had plucked him by the 
 coat-sleeve and hoarsely whispered, "Don't stand there 
 like a stuck pig, you old idiot. Court's cleared," could 
 Mr. Plodder be made to understand that all outsiders 
 were required to withdraw that the court might pro- 
 ceed to its deliberation. Even at the outer door he 
 again stopped and looked back, a half-formed project 
 taking root in his bewildered brain, and again Mr. 
 Waterman unfeelingly interrupted him. " Come on, 
 Plodder. D n it all ! are you thinking of going in 
 and haranguing the court yourself ?" It was in more 
 than perturbation that Plodder finally sought his quar- 
 ters and, secure in his solitude, unlocked and uncorked 
 his demijohn. 
 
 In another hour the court had adjourned and gone 
 
PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 291 
 
 its way. Issuing from the stuffy room over the col- 
 onel's office, the members had been met by hospitable 
 invitations to take luncheon here, there, and elsewhere 
 about the garrison, and the story of the documentary 
 and war evidence having got around by this time, 
 there was much questioning as to its exact nature, and 
 much wonderment that it had not been heard of be- 
 fore. The surgeon had testified to Mr. Riggs's having 
 been twice severely wounded, once at Shiloh, again 
 at Chickamauga. The artillery colonel to his having 
 twice noticed admirable and gallant conduct in action, 
 which he had praised in orders. The documentary 
 evidence went even further. Evidently Riggs's stock 
 was looking up. Of course no member of the court 
 could give the faintest hint of the action taken, and 
 as they finally drove away, and the officers after even- 
 ing parade were discussing the probable fate of the 
 accused, the colonel quietly put a stop to speculation 
 by the remark made to the second in command, " He 
 pleaded guilty. They had to sentence him to dismissal. 
 Now only the President can save him. He has no in- 
 fluence, and the President has just said he would not 
 overlook such offences in future. That settles it in 
 my mind." 
 
 That night, therefore, Mr. Plodder went to bed half 
 full of comfort and whiskey. 
 
 But it was noticed that the judge-advocate, Captain 
 Park, had gone off with the surgeon after the adjourn- 
 ment of court, and while the rest of the garrison were 
 at lunch he, with Dr. Grant, had appeared at Riggs's 
 door. 
 
292 PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 
 
 " She has begged to be allowed to see you," the doc- 
 tor had explained, " and what she needs is some little 
 word of hope. His hopefulness she fears is only simu- 
 lated for her sake." And nodding appreciatively in 
 response to the doctor's significant glance, Captain 
 Park was shown into the plainly furnished little par- 
 lor, where, reclining in a broad sofa-chair, propped 
 upon white pillows, white as her own wan face, was 
 the fragile form of the invalid. He had known her 
 only slightly, but her gentle, unassuming, sweet-tem- 
 pered ways had often attracted his attention, and her 
 devotion to her husband was a matter that had ex- 
 cited the somewhat envious remarks of Benedicts less 
 favored. She held out her thin white hand, and looked 
 with glistening eyes up into the grave bearded face 
 that bent over her in courteous greeting and kindly 
 interest. 
 
 "I wanted to see you and thank you," she said in 
 her gentle voice. "More than once Mr. Riggs has 
 spoken of your consideration and courtesy in all this 
 this sad affair ; but yesterday he was quite over- 
 come. They did not get back with the ambulance 
 until nearly seven, and all that time he would have 
 been kept waiting, and I " 
 
 " It was a pleasure to me to be of any service," he 
 answered ; "but I am grieved to see you so prostrat- 
 ed, so ill. Do you know I I think you are worrying 
 far too much ?" 
 
 Eagerly she glanced up into his face. " Oh, Cap- 
 tain Park ! I know you cannot tell me the sentence ; 
 I know you cannot tell me anything they have done, 
 
PLODDER'S PROMOTION. 293 
 
 but I am so torn with doubt, so unhappy ! Mr. Riggs 
 seems so friendless here. No one knows him, no one 
 understands him. Last night he almost broke down 
 as he said that in a whole year yours was the only 
 voice he had heard that .seemed to have a ring of 
 friendship or sympathy. His people have written to 
 him to come home. They think he must be dismissed, 
 and have so written to him and to me. They urge me 
 to come at once and get the little home they offer in 
 readiness, so that he can be induced to come right 
 there if the order is is against us. I am ill, but if 
 need be I could go. I would be glad to think of hav- 
 ing that little haven for him in case he were crushed 
 by this, but ought I to go ? Ought I to leave him 
 here alone? It will be full three weeks or a month 
 before we can hear from Washington, I suppose." 
 
 Still standing, he bent over her chair. " Shall I tell 
 you what I think you ought to do, at once ?" he asked, 
 almost smiling. "I believe I will, anyway. It may 
 be a very rude and impertinent thing to say, but it is 
 my belief that the best thing you can do is get well 
 get well right away, and be ready, you and Mr. Riggs, 
 to take Christmas dinner with us. Mrs. Park will be 
 back next week, and I know she will be delighted. 
 There ! It is nearly a month away to be sure, but 
 that Will give you abundant time. Meanwhile, of 
 course you can't go home. Will you promise me, 
 Mrs. Riggs?" And the legal adviser held out his 
 hand, gave her a cordial grasp, and vanished before 
 she could find one word in which to thank him. 
 When Mr. Riggs rejoined his wife she was sobbing 
 
294 
 
 like a little child, and yet there was a world of hope 
 and gladness in her swollen eyes as she gazed up into 
 his tired face and drew it down to her lips. 
 
 As for Captain Park, it was observed of him that 
 he whistled with considerable cheeriness on his way 
 back to town, and as he sat at his desk that evening 
 completing the record of the court. Some weeks after- 
 wards, in speaking of the requirement that no officer 
 of a court shall make known its sentence except to the 
 reviewing authority, Captain Park was heard to mut- 
 ter, " Wonder if inviting a fellow to a Christmas din- 
 ner would be revealing the sentence of a court ?" and 
 somebody present replied, " How could it be ?" 
 
 And yet Mrs. Riggs was gaining health and spirits 
 with every day, and Mr. Riggs, though still confined 
 to the garrison in arrest, was serenely enjoying life in 
 her society. 
 
 Three weeks later a brace of orders arrived from 
 the War Department, and there was uproar and ex- 
 citement among the youngsters in the th Foot. 
 Full information of course preceded the official an- 
 nouncement, but the very enlisted men grinned with 
 delight when those orders were read on parade, for 
 the story of Plodder's speculation had reached the 
 ranks, where he was no favorite. Divested of their 
 official forms the orders were, first, publication of the 
 proceedings of the court-martial before which Lieu- 
 tenant Riggs was arraigned and tried, and in accord- 
 ance with his plea was found guilty and sentenced to 
 be dismissed the service. All of which was approved ; 
 but, said the order, "in view of the earnest recoin- 
 
295 
 
 mendation signed by the entire court, and concurred 
 in by the commanding generals of the department and 
 of the army, the president has been pleased to remit 
 the sentence, and Lieutenant Riggs will resume his 
 sword and return to duty." 
 
 Then came the second order from the A.G.O. : 
 
 "PROMOTIONS AND APPOINTMENTS. 
 
 ******** 
 
 " th Infantry. 
 
 " Second Lieutenant John B. Riggs to be first lieutenant, vice 
 Calvin resigned. December 3, 187-. 
 
 "Second Lieutenant William H. Trainor to be first lieuten- 
 ant, he being the adjutant. December 3, 187-." 
 
 And Plodder's hoarded four hundred dollars had 
 really purchased Riggs's promotion. "Bless your 
 generous heart, Plod !" burst out that irrepressible 
 scapegrace Trickett as the officers dispersed after dis- 
 missal of parade. " Let me shake hands with you, 
 old man. Now just chip in another four hundred and 
 buy me a file and I'll " But the rest was lost in the 
 explosions of laughter, under cover of which poor 
 Plodder went raging to his quarters. 
 
 As for Riggs, he wore his bars for the first time at 
 Park's Christmas dinner, and he wears them yet, only 
 he hates to be spoken of as " Plodder's Promotion." 
 
 THE END. 
 
BY CAPT. CHARLES KING. 
 
 CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK, AND STORIES OF 
 ARMY LIFE. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25. 
 
 A WAR-TIME WOOING. Illustrated by R. F. ZOGBAUM. 
 pp. iv., 196. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 00. 
 
 BETWEEN THE LINES. A Story of the War. Illustrated 
 by GILBERT GAUL. pp. iv., 312. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25. 
 
 In all of Captain King's stories the author holds to lofty ideals of man- 
 hood and womanhood, and inculcates the lessons of honor, generosity, 
 courage, and self-control. Literary World, Boston. 
 
 The vivacity and charm which signally distinguish Captain King's 
 pen. ... He occupies a position in American literature entirely his own. 
 . . . His is the literature of honest sentiment, pure and tender. N. Y. Press. 
 
 A romance by Captain King is always a pleasure, because ho has so 
 complete a mastery of the subjects with which lie deals. . . . Captain 
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 Captain King is almost without a rival in the field he has chosen. . . . 
 His style is at once vigorous and sentimental in the best sense of that 
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 pp. 312. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
 
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 ing. Evangelist, N. Y. 
 
 Mrs. Ouster's book is in reality a bright and sunny sketch of the life 
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 his adventures. Brooklyn Union. 
 
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 A LITTLE JOURNEY IN THE WORLD. A Novel 
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 A most romantic, enjoyable tale. ... As affording views of inner life in 
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 Two YEARS IN THE FRENCH WEST INDIES. By LAFCADIO 
 
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 THE CRIME OF SYLVESTRE BONNARD. By ANATOLE FRANCE. 
 
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BEN-HUR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST. 
 
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 aces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman youth, the houses of pious 
 famines of Israel. There is plenty of exciting incident ; everything is ani- 
 mated, vivid, and glowing. N. Y. Tribune. 
 
 From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader's interest 
 will be kefit at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pronounced by all 
 one of the greatest novels of the day. Boston Post. 
 
 It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and there 
 is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc., to greatly 
 strengthen the semblance. Boston Commonwealth. 
 
 "Ben-Hur" is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
 Meanwhile it evinces careful study of the period in which the scene is laid, 
 and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to realize the 
 nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Roman life at 
 Antioch at the time of our Saviour's advent. Examiner, N. Y. 
 
 It is really Scripture history of Christ's time clothed gracefully and deli- 
 cately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. . . . Few late 
 works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest. N. Y. Graphic. 
 
 One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
 warm as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic chap- 
 ters of history. Indianapolis Journal. 
 
 The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
 wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional novel 
 and romance. Boston Journal. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. 
 
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