I ^. ; ; -,,.;. 
 
 CYRUS TOVNSEND BRADY 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
THE SOLDIERS LOOKED AT THE BABY WONDERINGLY 
 
A BABY OF THE 
 FRONTIER 
 
 BY 
 
 CYRUS TOWN SEND BRADY 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 The Little Angel of Canyon Creek," " Britton of the 
 Seventh/* " The Eagle of the Empire," etc., etc. 
 
 Illustrated 
 
 NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO 
 
 Fleming H. Revell Company 
 
 LONDON AND EDINBURGH 
 
Copyright, 1915, by 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
 
 New York: 158 Fifth Avenue 
 Chicago: 125 N. Wabash Ave. 
 Toronto : 25 Richmond St., W. 
 London : 21 Paternoster Square 
 Edinburgh : 100 Princes Street 
 
TO MY VALUED FRIEND 
 CHARLES HELY MOLONY 
 
 
 (*P 
 
NOTE 
 
 Incredible as some of the adventures centring about the 
 baby as hereafter narrated may seem, there is abundant 
 justification in fact for them all. Most of them really hap- 
 pened. Many of them were related to the author by old army 
 friends on winter nights around huge log fires in frontier 
 posts of other days, vanished long since like most of the char- 
 acters in the story, red and white. 
 
 The author joys in the relation of the stories of the brave, 
 hard-fighting, uncommon soldiers of the small but unmatch- 
 able regular army, with which this book is chiefly concerned. 
 The battle with Dull Knife's band is described from 
 Mackenzie's famous winter fight with the fierce but gallant 
 Cheyennes. 
 
 There was a baby of the frontier. The author knew that 
 baby. Some day, perhaps, further adventures in which the 
 baby, now grown up, participated shall be set forth for the 
 delectation of the reader. C. T. B. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK ONE 
 THE COMING OF THE BABY 
 
 I. WHAT THE SOLDIER SAW IN THE 
 
 MOUNTAIN PASS ... 15 
 II. THE OLD SCOUT JOINS THE LIT- 
 TLE COMMAND .... 29 
 
 III. PREPARING THE DEFENCE . . 46 
 
 IV. THE REPULSE OF THE FIRST AT- 
 
 TACK 58 
 
 V. MERCY IN THE BULLET OF A 
 
 FRIEND 71 
 
 VI. DANNY MEAGHERGrETS THROUGH 85 
 VII. THE WATER OF LIFE AND THE 
 
 BLOOD OF A MAN ... 97 
 
 VIII. DANNY'S DOUBLE ESCAPE . . Ill 
 
 IX. THE SQUADRON TO THE RESCUE 124 
 
 X. IN THE NICK OF TIME . . 140 
 
 XI. THE BABY INTRODUCED TO HER 
 
 FATHER 154 
 
 9 
 
10 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK TWO 
 HOW THEY NEARLY LOST HER 
 
 XII. THE BABY GETS " ESCEUGED " 171 
 
 XIII. LITTLE MARION CAPTUBED BY 
 
 THE ENEMY .... 189 
 
 XIV. DULL KNIFE OFFERS AN EX- 
 
 CHANGE 203 
 
 XV. TROOPER MEAGHER DESERTS TO 
 
 THE ENEMY! .... 217 
 
 XVI. THE HUNT FOR THE BABY . . 231 
 XVII. DANNY MEAGHER SHOWS THE 
 
 WAY 240 
 
 XVIII. THE COLD HELL OF THE PASS . 260 
 
 XIX. THE WINTER FIGHT 272 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 The Soldiers Looked at the Baby Wonder- 
 ingly Title 
 
 ' Ve Told 'Em to Go Vere Dey Vas Going " . 56 
 
 Molly Suddenly Presented Her Rifle and 
 Fired 100 
 
 She Waved Her Hand at Them in Childish 
 Glee 192 
 
 They Plunged Desperately on in the Drifting 
 Snow 258 
 
 Colonel Compton Clasped the Baby in His 
 Arms 276 
 
BOOK ONE 
 THE COMING OF THE BABY 
 
DISCLOSES WHAT THE SOLDIER SAW 
 IN THE MOUNTAIN PASS 
 
 SERGEANT McNEIL suddenly tightened 
 the bridle rein of his horse, throwing 
 him violently back on his haunches. Like 
 all good cavalrymen the veteran non-commis- 
 sioned officer dearly loved a good horse. The 
 severe and unexpected pressure of the ruthless 
 curb measured the sergeant's surprise. The 
 horse reared and then plunged violently for- 
 ward. A less practised rider would have been 
 unseated. McNeil was so amazed that for a 
 moment he let the excited horse have his way. 
 And when at last he controlled him again, he 
 was characteristically gentle with him, as if 
 to make amends to a gallant comrade for un- 
 wonted roughness. 
 
 The sergeant had been staring straight 
 ahead down the pass. For all he had been 
 riding nonchalantly, almost indifferently, some 
 little distance ahead of his train, nothing in 
 
 15 
 
16 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 front of Mm escaped his vision. Rounding a 
 huge bend in the canyon he had an unob- 
 structed view of its extent for a mile or more 
 as it fell straightaway before him. At .the 
 lower end, where the great rift through the 
 mountains twisted again, his searching eyes 
 had caught a flash of color. Something had 
 suddenly appeared against the canyon wall, 
 far away at the bend of the trail to the north- 
 ward. It was a long view, but Sergeant Mc- 
 Neil would have taken his oath that the color 
 came from an Indian blanket. 
 
 Had the splendid soldier been accompanied 
 by none but the score of hard riders of the 
 veteran troop of which he was the senior non- 
 commissioned officer he might have started at 
 the sight of the Indians, but he would have 
 started forward, not back. And he would have 
 called on his men to follow him, confident alike 
 in their willingness, their obedience, and their 
 ability. Although the red men had abun- 
 dantly proved their prowess and soldierly 
 qualities many a time, all the white men, im- 
 bued with that indomitable pride of race to 
 the full, held them in more or less contempt as 
 fighters. 
 
WHAT THE SOLDIER SAW 17 
 
 Certainly that was the feeling with which 
 they were regarded by the rank and file of the 
 Army in those days, and McNeil longed for 
 nothing better than a little brush with a war 
 party of Sioux or Cheyennes on his own ac- 
 count. He was too old and fixed in mind and 
 habit, too humble in education and training, to 
 aspire to a commission; still the story of 
 the defeat of a wandering war party by a 
 half platoon of B troop of the old "Fighting 
 Fourteenth Horse, " under the command of 
 Sergeant McNeil, he felt would read well in 
 the dispatches and general orders. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, the sergeant in 
 command was seriously encumbered. For 
 that reason he had started back instead of 
 forward. He was not free to indulge himself 
 in any rough riding or hard fighting. Stop! 
 That last might be forced upon him, but the 
 rough riding was out of the question. The 
 sergeant's chief duty his only duty at that 
 moment was to escort that small wagon 
 train, which he had picked up at the railroad 
 station, safely to Fort Sullivan, among the 
 hills. The train contained supplies, mail, and 
 women. There was first, the wife of the major 
 
IB A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 commanding the squadron to which they be- 
 longed; second, the wife of Sergeant McNeil, 
 commanding the detachment ; lastly, his young 
 daughter, Molly, a slip of a girl approaching 
 fourteen. 
 
 When the regiment had taken the field in 
 the spring, Mrs. Compton had gone East and 
 had taken with her Bridget McNeil. McNeil 
 had been Compton 's first sergeant when he 
 commanded B troop of the Fourteenth Regu- 
 lar Cavalry, and among the faithful people to 
 welcome Marion Compton to the frontier 
 when she had come there a bride from the 
 East, had been stout-hearted, warm-blooded 
 Bridget McNeil, the sergeant's wife. That 
 was five years before. Although differences 
 in rank and station separated them widely, 
 the warmest friendship had sprung up be- 
 tween the two women, characterized by abso- 
 lute devotion on the one hand and warm- 
 hearted appreciation on the other. 
 
 Mrs. Compton 's mother had died in Ma- 
 rion's infancy. Her father, who lived in 
 Washington, D. C., was a retired Army officer. 
 She had few friends outside the service. 
 When it was borne to her consciousness that 
 
WHAT THE SOLDIER SAW 19 
 
 there would" probably be a little Compton in 
 the fall, she had decided to await the event 
 in Omaha, Nebraska, where she could be well 
 cared for and yet sufficiently near her hus- 
 band for emergencies. And as Sergeant Mc- 
 Neil was with Major Compton 's squadron in 
 the field, she had easily prevailed upon the 
 devoted Bridget to accompany her, and, of 
 course, Molly, her daughter, had gone along. 
 
 Some time after arriving in Omaha a 
 telegram brought her word of a battle in the 
 Northwest, in which her husband 's command 
 had participated with many others. It was 
 an unlucky battle for Major Compton, for he 
 had been desperately wounded leading a 
 charge against swarming masses of red men. 
 He had been shot through the body and 
 through the face. After a hasty examination 
 they had laid him down on the field to die, but 
 when the battle was over and it was a drawn 
 battle at that, the Indians having success- 
 fully stopped the advance of the little army 
 the busy surgeon, for there were many 
 wounded, to say nothing of the killed, found 
 Compton still alive. 
 
 Fearing the effect of such untoward news 
 
20 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 on his wife, the gallant soldier had begged 
 that the fact that he had been so seriously 
 wounded might be kept from her. But there 
 happened to be with the force a war corre- 
 spondent, who, bending over Compton, lying 
 in the shade cast by a nervous broncho, was 
 astonished to hear him declare that soldiering 
 was a great life and fighting the only trade! 
 This doughty assertion was followed by ur- 
 gent advice to the correspondent to join the 
 army then and there! Incidentally, Compton 
 announced that he did not intend to die at 
 that time. 
 
 The campaign was over for that year. The 
 troops were under orders to return to their 
 posts. Fort Sullivan was about as near the 
 battlefield as any. Compton was carried back 
 there sometimes in litters by hand, sometimes 
 on a travois, sometimes in a wagon. The 
 horrors of that journey are not to be dwelt 
 upon. It was the thought of his wife and her 
 delicate state of health, he afterward de- 
 clared, which kept him alive amid all the 
 ghastly agonies. 
 
 Of course the story of the correspondent 
 got into the papers and Mrs. Compton read 
 
WHAT THE SOLDIER SAW 21 
 
 all about it in the first dispatch that came 
 long after the battle, for the army had been 
 out of telegraphic touch while in the field. 
 She moved heaven and earth for tidings, and 
 finally learned from the department that her 
 husband eventually would be found at Fort 
 Sullivan dead or alive. 
 
 Although the journey was attended by the 
 greatest hazard, she made up her mind to 
 make it without hesitation, as became a sol- 
 dier's wife. By the time she got the news, 
 she calculated that the returning troops must 
 almost have reached the post. She hastily 
 assembled her belongings, including the dainty 
 layette, over which she and Bridget McNeil 
 had toiled, and took the first train westward. 
 Before she started she wired the commanding 
 officer at Fort Sullivan a certain Calmore, 
 of her husband's squadron, to whom, with his 
 troop, the post had been intrusted when the 
 main force moved off when she would ar- 
 rive at the nearest railroad station, a hundred 
 and fifty miles away from the fort, and asked 
 that an escort might be there to take her 
 to the post. 
 
 The whole undertaking was fearfully risky 
 
22 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 for her. The journey by wagon would be 
 hard and exhausting for a woman in time of 
 peace. What would it be for her in time of 
 war? The Indians had been by no means 
 crushed, scarcely even subdued. Fort Sulli- 
 van was one of the furthest outposts of civili- 
 zation on the far-flung frontier. It had been 
 several times under fire that summer. Wan- 
 dering war parties frequently encircled it, 
 passing to the south between it and the rail- 
 road. 
 
 Poor Calmore was in a terrible state of 
 anxiety. He had the post to look after and 
 numberless refugees, including many women 
 and children. For all this he had too weak 
 a force at best, and there was but one second 
 lieutenant with him, and he had to keep him 
 at the post. Hadden was a gallant young 
 fellow, but he had only just joined the regi- 
 ment and had had no experience in the field, 
 anyway. Calmore could only spare half a 
 platoon for this escort duty, a force he recog- 
 nized to be woefully inadequate. If the regi- 
 ment had come back the task would have been 
 easy, but he did not dare delay sending to the 
 station. Calmore knew the situation thor- 
 
WHAT THE SOLDIER SAW 23 
 
 oughly. He realized that Mrs. Compton must 
 be brought to the post without delay the 
 sooner the better. The escort must be there 
 when she arrived. 
 
 Fortunately his force included some men of 
 rare quality. Sergeant McNeil had been 
 wounded early in the spring, and had been 
 sent back to the post to recuperate. He was 
 now completely recovered. He was a man 
 thoroughly to be trusted, fearless at all times, 
 cautious when caution was required, experi- 
 enced in Indian fighting and devoted to the 
 interests of Major Compton and his wife. 
 Calmore shrewdly suspected that McNeil's 
 wife would be with Mrs. Compton and he 
 knew, if anything were needed, that would 
 make the sergeant more dependable than 
 ever. He had given him a score of men, the 
 very pick of his little command, and dis- 
 patched him to meet Mrs. Compton, caution- 
 ing him on no account, if it were possible to 
 avoid it, to join battle with any war party of 
 Indians. It happened also that a small wagon 
 train had been made up at the railroad sta- 
 tion, and McNeil was directed to bring it in 
 as well. 
 
24 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 Such was the situation that made Sergeant 
 McNeil stop almost appalled in the pass 
 through which the trail to Fort Sullivan ran 
 some thirty-five miles or more from that 
 point, when he saw at the other end of it the 
 bright blanket and plumed head-dress of a 
 Sioux ! 
 
 As his mind ranged from the warrior ahead 
 to the train behind, the sergeant's face fell 
 and his heart sank. He could have put 
 stout-hearted, able-bodied, vigorous Bridget, 
 his wife, who was equal to the best of his 
 troopers in an emergency, on a horse. He 
 could have put Molly still a slip of a girl 
 in the care of some soldier, and if the worst 
 came to the worst he could have burned up 
 the wagons and fought his way through, or 
 died fighting, reserving final bullets for wife 
 and daughter. Any man with a woman in- 
 trusted to his care would by no possibility 
 neglect that precaution, in those old days in 
 the Far West, when menaced by capture by 
 the Indians. 
 
 But the presence of Mrs. Compton compli- 
 cated matters. Only her indomitable spirit 
 and her passionate determination to get to 
 
WHAT THE SOLDIER SAW 25 
 
 her husband had kept her from collapsing. 
 Every man in the detachment steady-going, 
 hardy, well-disciplined, self-respecting body 
 of veterans with only one youngster among 
 them was devoted to Marion Compton. 
 She had been an angel of mercy and tender- 
 ness to them when they had been wounded 
 or ill. Her glorious voice had led the singing 
 at many a Sunday service and had delighted 
 them at many an informal entertainment at 
 the lonely, isolated, frontier fort. Although 
 she was too good a soldier, both by inherit- 
 ance and association, ever improperly to in- 
 terfere between her husband and his com- 
 mand, her gentle influence had always been 
 exerted on the side of mercy to the soldiers 
 in trouble. They knew that, too. 
 
 All these men had welcomed her as a bride 
 and they felt proud in the thought that she 
 had come among them again. They could re- 
 member how her face had lighted up as she 
 saw them sitting their horses back of the sta- 
 tion platform when she had arrived. They 
 could still dwell upon the rare flush of color 
 and the smile with which she had acknowl- 
 edged their hearty cheers. With rude but 
 
26 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 heartfelt chivalry they were devoted to her. 
 They were proud that she had been commit- 
 ted to them. 
 
 Everything that men could do to make the 
 journey easy to her had been done by these 
 brave troopers. Sometimes they had almost 
 carried the ambulance, in which she rested, 
 over the rough places. They had eased the 
 vehicle down declivities and made smooth 
 going for her by actually clearing rocks and 
 stones from the trail with their naked hands. 
 They had made much slower progress on ac- 
 count of their care, but that did not make any 
 difference. No body of young soldiers could 
 have been more at the service of a charming 
 young belle who had captured all their hearts 
 than these veterans to Marion Compton. To 
 be sure, she was not much more than a girl 
 herself, in spite of her five years of married 
 life. 
 
 She was fearfully apprehensive and in 
 great mental anguish because of her husband, 
 of whom she had received no word since leav- 
 ing Omaha, save Sergeant McNeil's report 
 that the command was approaching Fort Sul- 
 livan and that Major Compton was still liv- 
 
WHAT THE SOLDIER SAW 27 
 
 ing. She was most profoundly grateful to 
 these grim guardians and protectors, who held 
 her in such tender and knightly regard. As 
 women should be, she was a thing sacred to 
 man, especially then. 
 
 But it was upon great-hearted, practical, 
 sensible, efficient Bridget McNeil that Marion 
 Compton most depended. The elder woman 
 was indeed a very present help in her time 
 of need ; her unfailing good nature, her cheer- 
 fulness, her bright and pleasing humor, her 
 self-sacrifice and devotion, the skill and ability 
 with which she spared her in every way, 
 brought comfort to the poor woman's tor- 
 tured heart and wearied body. And like 
 every woman who lived on the frontier in 
 those days, Bridget McNeil had acquired an 
 experience and an ability not to be held 
 lightly. 
 
 Mrs. Compton was a slender, delicate 
 woman. Sometimes at night the old Irish 
 woman had gathered her up in her arms as 
 if she had been a baby and soothed and com- 
 forted her in ways that only women know and 
 use. As for Molly McNeil, she was Marion 
 Compton 's devoted slave. And there was 
 
28 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 nothing she, like the men, would not have done 
 for her. 
 
 The army ambulance was an uncomfortable 
 vehicle for a sick and nervous woman even 
 under the best conditions. Marion Compton 
 was always glad when they camped for the 
 night and she could get out of it. Those 
 nightly rests were very pleasant. It was cool 
 without being chilly, the stars shone with un- 
 wonted brilliance in the clear air of the high 
 upland, the fire threw pleasant lights upon the 
 groups gathered hard by. Sometimes Mrs. 
 Compton sang to them, although she found it 
 hard and naturally was not in good voice. 
 The men enjoyed it exceedingly and Molly 
 joined in, and Bridget and sometimes the men 
 themselves sang, too, or tried it. 
 
n 
 
 WHEREIN THE OLD SCOUT JOINS 
 THE LITTLE COMMAND 
 
 SERGEANT McNEIL, having quieted his 
 horse, at last threw up his hand and 
 beckoned. The canyon made a little 
 bend back of him and the wagon train was 
 not in sight from the broad opening at the 
 further end, where he had seen the Sioux. 
 Corporal Jackson, riding with the men, saw 
 the sergeant's signal. Divining that some- 
 thing was wrong, he promptly halted the train 
 and trotted forward to join his superior. 
 
 " What's up!" he asked, saluting with his 
 hand, for McNeil stood high in the regiment 
 and every man was as glad to serve under him 
 and was as proud of him as of Major Compton 
 or of Allenby, the old Civil War general, in 
 command. For answer McNeil pointed ahead. 
 Jackson followed with his eyes his superior's 
 index finger. His lips broke into a startled 
 
SO A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 exclamation. Where McNeil had seen one In- 
 dian the two men now saw a score. 
 
 The canyon opened widely from the point 
 where the soldiers stood, and far beyond its 
 passage through the foothills lay the rolling 
 country, watered here and there, the lines of 
 the brooks indicated by dusty undergrowth 
 and stunted trees, which extended from the 
 range to Fort Sullivan. The Indians were 
 coming from the north, and as the two sol- 
 diers watched, more and more of them came 
 into view until the whole end of the canyon 
 was filled with them. They were in violent 
 motion and commotion, galloping back and 
 forth, raising clouds of dust above them. 
 
 6 ' Good Lord!" exclaimed Jackson. "Look 
 at 'em comin'." 
 
 "There must be five hundred av them," 
 muttered McNeil, thoughtfully biting his grey 
 mustache. 
 
 "What in heaven's name can we do!" 
 
 The old sergeant shook his head. 
 
 "I know phwhat we can't do," he said 
 gravely. 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "Fight our way through that bunch." 
 
THE SCOUT JOINS THE COMMAND 31 
 
 "Of course not," answered Jackson, "and 
 there's "he stopped. 
 
 "The women an' the child," said the ser- 
 geant. 
 
 "Have they seen us?" 
 
 "For sure. I don't give 'em credit fer 
 bein' any blinder than I am, an' I saw wan 
 five minutes ago up against this yellow rock. 
 I guess he saw me, too, all right." 
 
 " What's that?" cried Jackson, suddenly 
 pointing. 
 
 "It may be a thrick," said the sergeant, 
 seizing his rifle. ' ' Get your gun out, Jackson, 
 an' " 
 
 "It's no trick," cried the corporal, never- 
 theless obeying the order. "That's a white 
 man." 
 
 The two soldiers, standing high upon the 
 trail, saw the whole scene as if it were a pic- 
 ture. About a hundred feet from the Indians 
 a figure on a horse suddenly galloped madly 
 up the canyon toward them. Apparently the 
 horse and his rider had been hiding in the 
 canyon, and the Indians had caught sight of 
 them, and they were making a mad dash for 
 life. The rider was bending low over the 
 
32 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 pommel of his saddle, the horse was a good 
 one, and he was being urged to the last pos- 
 sibility of his speed. Some hundreds of feet 
 behind him a score or more of Indians fol- 
 lowed, also at top speed of their ponies. They 
 had discarded their blankets, but their long- 
 feathered bonnets streamed out behind them 
 like plumes on knights of old. Their naked, 
 painted bodies gleamed in the afternoon sun- 
 light as they shook their weapons high in the 
 air. Although they urged their horses fran- 
 tically with wild yells which could be heard 
 faintly by the men up the canyon, they were 
 dropping behind. Eealizing this, the leader 
 of the pursuit suddenly advanced his rifle 
 and fired. The others followed his example 
 and the canyon echoed and reverberated with 
 the crackle of Winchesters and Remingtons. 
 
 Somehow or other the Indians were always 
 well armed, much better even than the sol- 
 diers. 
 
 "It couldn't be a thrick," said the sergeant. 
 "They can't pass us here. Jackson, ride 
 back to the thrain an' bring up four av the 
 best shots. Tell the others to git ready an' 
 we can check 'em here for a while, anyway. 
 
THE SCOUT JOINS THE COMMAND 33 
 
 Begorry, they Ve got him," cried the sergeant 
 suddenly. "Wait," he said, catching at the 
 bridle of the other man's horse. 
 
 "I told you it wasn't a trick," said Jack- 
 son. "He's down." 
 
 "But he's up; look!" 
 
 A bullet had killed the fugitive's gallant 
 horse and he had been hurled over the ani- 
 mal's head, but he was up on his feet in a 
 moment. With shouts of triumph, the In- 
 dians, who had momentarily checked their 
 pursuit at the sight of the disaster, started 
 forward again. To run was impossible. 
 There was but one way of safety. The man 
 coolly presented his own Winchester. The 
 soldiers saw the puff of smoke before they 
 heard the report, and the leading Indian 
 pitched out of his saddle stone dead. The In- 
 dians returned the fire, but excitement im- 
 paired their accuracy, and the fugitive stood 
 unharmed, firing rapidly. He was a rare shot, 
 for each second brought down a horse or an 
 Indian. The pursuit was checked and then 
 halted, although the minute the man turned 
 his back to run it would be resumed. 
 
 "I think we -11 ride down a little, Jackson,/' 
 
34 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 said Sergeant McNeil grimly, "an' give that 
 man a chance. He looks to me like old Mar- 
 nette. He's worth half a platoon to us if it 
 is. Come on." 
 
 The two men trotted rapidly down the de- 
 scending trail. The Indians saw them and 
 heard them, too, for although it was a long 
 shot and both men missed, the soldiers pre- 
 sented their carbines and fired down the 
 valley, whereat the Indians at once drew off. 
 The fugitive, keenly alive to everything that 
 was happening, now turned and ran up the 
 canyon. There was more excitement among 
 the Indians far beyond, at the bend of the big 
 rift. Their numbers appeared to be increas- 
 ing, but they did not venture on any advance 
 just then. In a short time the fugitive joined 
 the soldiers. 
 
 "I knew it," cried McNeil, reaching down 
 over the saddle and clasping the new-comer's 
 hand. " 'Tis ould Marnette. Begorry, I'm 
 glad to see you. ' ' 
 
 "Well, sergeant," said the old scout, "I 
 can well believe that, for I reckon you're go- 
 in' to need every man you can git a hold of 
 afore you gits out of this yere trouble." 
 
THE SCOUT JOINS THE COMMAND 35 
 
 The sergeant nodded. There was no dis- 
 puting the truth of that assertion. 
 
 "Phwhat's that bunch bey ant there !" he 
 asked briefly. 
 
 "Sioux and Cheyennes." 
 
 "Whose band I" 
 
 "Dull Knife's, I reckon." 
 
 "How did you happen to run into them?" 
 
 "I didn't; they ran into me," said old Mar- 
 nette, smiling grimly. 
 
 "I see," said the sergeant. 
 
 ' ' I was over at Fort Sullivan. Jest dropped 
 in to see how things was gittin' along. Cap- 
 tain Calmore hadn't nobody but me to send. 
 You was so long a-comin' back that he got 
 kind-a anxious, an' since I hadn't nothin' par- 
 tikler on hand, I volunteered to go out an' 
 look you up an' do what I could." 
 
 "Didn't the other throops av the regiment 
 git back yit?" asked the old sergeant most 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Not yet; they're expected to-day, ac- 
 cordin' to runners that hev come in." 
 
 "Did you hear anything about Major Comp- 
 tonyit?" 
 
 "He was alive when the scouts left the com- 
 
36 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 mand, but that was about all. Is his wife 
 back there?" 
 
 "Yes, she's there. That's why we're so 
 slow," answered the sergeant, "an' now we've 
 got to fight. Well, let's go back to the thrain. ' ' 
 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 "Beyant the bend, yonder." 
 
 "Have you got any likker on you, ser- 
 geant?" asked Marnette suddenly. 
 
 "No," answered McNeil tersely, "I don't 
 dhrink nothin' at all when I'm in command, 
 an' phwhat we have is in the kapin' of Bridget 
 in the wagon." 
 
 ' ' Say, Marnette, you look kind-a pale, ' ' said 
 Jackson. 
 
 "Well, you see, I've lost a leettle blood. 
 I've got a scratch jest yere, along my ribs, 
 an' " 
 
 In a second Jackson was off his horse. 
 
 "Mount," he said, "I'll help you." 
 
 "I can walk all right." 
 
 "Don't talk," said McNeil, "Jackson's 
 young an' light av foot. We must git back to 
 the wagons an' decide on phwhat 's to be 
 done." 
 
 It did not take them long to reach the wagon 
 
THE SCOUT JOINS THE COMMAND 37 
 
 train, the men of which, under the command 
 of Corporal Schmidt, the junior non-com, 
 with the detachment, were in a state of great 
 excitement. Molly McNeil was dancing about 
 in front of the ambulance talking eagerly to 
 young Danny Meagher, who was only a boy of 
 eighteen himself, and Bridget and Mrs. Comp- 
 ton were both peering anxiously out from 
 under the canvas cover, Mrs. Compton, as 
 usual, supported by the other woman. 
 
 In a last glance as he rode up, McNeil could 
 see at least five hundred Sioux and Cheyennes 
 in the mouth of the canyon back of him with 
 a big pony herd. 
 
 "Marnette!" cried Mrs. Compton as the 
 old plainsman edged Jackson's horse around 
 by the side of the ambulance, "you have come 
 from the post?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," answered Marnette, who 
 was an old and valued friend of her husband 
 and herself. "The troops ain't in yet," con- 
 tinued the scout, "but we had a message from 
 'em. They'd ought to git to Fort Sullivan to- 
 day." 
 
 "And my husband?" 
 
 "He was still alive when the message came 
 
38 A BABY OP THE FRONTIER 
 
 in, an' he sent word that he was feelin' pretty 
 cheerful. ' ' 
 
 " Thank God!" said the woman. "Let us 
 hasten on, sergeant. " 
 
 "I'm thinkin' we'll have to shtay a bit 
 where we are, ma'am," answered McNeil in 
 his rich brogue. "You see, there's only wan 
 way to git to Fort Sullivan, an' the Sioux are 
 down the canyon in foorce under old Dull 
 Knife, who's sharper than his name. But 
 don't fear, we'll hold 'em off an' manage to git 
 word to the post somehow, an' it'll mean jist 
 a little delay. Eh, men?" 
 
 The soldiers broke into cheers. 
 
 "Seddon," continued McNeil, smiling with 
 grim pleasure at the spirit of the men, "ride 
 for'ard to the bend av the pass an' kape an 
 eye on them Injuns. Lemme know if they 
 make any move to come up the canyon. 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Compton, if you'll let Brid- 
 get here, who's as good as a dochter, look at 
 Marnette " 
 
 "Have you been wounded?" exclaimed 
 Marion Compton. 
 
 "Jest a scratch in the side, ma'am," said 
 Marnette. "They got my broncho, but they 
 
THE SCOUT JOINS THE COMMAND 39 
 
 paid for him, an' they nearly got me, 
 too." 
 
 "Bridget, do what you can quickly, " said 
 Mrs. Compton immediately. 
 
 There was a medicine chest in the ambu- 
 lance. Bridget got it out and busied herself 
 with Marnette, who submitted with much re- 
 luctance and blushing protest to the baring of 
 his side. 
 
 " I ain 't used to this, ' ' he protested. ' 1 1 jest 
 washes 'em out an' gives 'em a lick of axle 
 grease an' lets 'em go when I git hit, 
 gener 'ly. ' ' 
 
 "Now," said Bridget, "be quiet. I'm goin' 
 to hurt you. 'Tis a nashty score an' 'tis an 
 ugly wound an' you've lost much blood. Here, 
 dhrink this." 
 
 ' ' Me eh ? ' ' said Marnette as he drained the 
 cup. "I'd be willin' to be shot in the other 
 side for another taste of that." 
 
 "It's no more you'll git," said Bridget. 
 "We may be after nadin' all we got fer others 
 that won't git off so aisy." 
 
 While this little colloquy had gone on, Mc- 
 Neil, Jackson, and Schmidt had engaged in a 
 rapid discussion. 
 
40 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "We can't go for'ard," said McNeil. 
 
 "We can't stay here, either, " said Jackson. 
 "If they should get over on that other side of 
 the canyon they could pick us off one by one, 
 it's so narrow here." 
 
 "You remember dot place ve shtopped for 
 dinner to-day dot high shelf near de brook 
 ver de canyon videns out und dere iss a broad 
 field on de odder side?" asked the junior cor- 
 poral. 
 
 "Perfectly, Dutch," said the sergeant. 
 
 ' 1 1 adwise dot ve go back dere und make our 
 shtand." 
 
 "Strikes me your advice is pretty good, 
 Schmidt," said McNeil. 
 
 "I haff seen some fighting in de old coun- 
 try," said the German phlegmatically ; "so 
 long as ve haff ammunition und somedings to 
 eat und drink we hold dem off dere." 
 
 "I believe you, my boy," said McNeil. 
 ' ' There 's plenty av ammunition in the wagons, 
 an' food, too, but it's the dhrink." 
 
 "Veil, dere ain't no shprings in dese vails. 
 Ve got to git it out of de creek verever ve are." 
 
 "Phwhat do you think about it, Jackson?" 
 
 "I think Dutch is right." 
 
THE SCOUT JOINS THE COMMAND 41 
 
 4 'Oh, Marnette," cried McNeil to the scout, 
 observing that Bridget had finished her task. 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 "Do yon remember that place abont five 
 miles back up the canyon, where the Big 
 Meadows are, an' the place broadens out to 
 about a mile wide f ' ' 
 
 "Do you mean where that trail runs into a 
 rocky shelf over the brook on the north side 1 ' ' 
 asked the scout. 
 
 ' ' I do. Phwhat do you think of it as a place 
 for a camp? Can we hould it?" 
 
 i l Sure, ' ' answered the old frontiersman con- 
 fidently. "It's about the best place in the 
 canyon. We can keep 'em back at the bend 
 yonder for a while, but the canyon here is so 
 narrer that they'd git over on the other side 
 an' that'd be the end of us. Up at the Big 
 Meadows there's no way to git us except by 
 chargin' right at us, an' I guess we can hold 
 'em off there." 
 
 "How are you feelin'?" 
 
 "Kind-a stiff." 
 
 "He's lost about a quart of blood. Look at 
 him," said Bridget. "His side's wet clear 
 down to his boots." 
 
42 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "I'm good for a lot of Sioux and Cheyennes, 
 nevertheless," said Marnette, smiling. 
 
 "Oh, father, can I shoot a gun if there's a 
 battle?" cried Molly. 
 
 "You little shpalpeen," said McNeil, smil- 
 ing at her. 
 
 "She's a chip av the old block, McNeil," in- 
 terrupted his wife quickly, "an' if the worrst 
 comes to the worrst she can handle a carbine, 
 as I can meself, wid any of 'em." 
 
 "Danny said I could shoot his gun some 
 time." 
 
 "If Trooper Meagher lets any female child, 
 or male one ayther for that matter, git hould 
 av his carbine, I'll have him before a court. 
 Do ye hear that, Danny?" 
 
 "I hear it, sor." 
 
 "Well, it goes." 
 
 "Men, what have you decided?" asked Mrs. 
 Compton, who had been an interested listener. 
 
 "Ma'am, we'll have to go back up the can- 
 yon to the place we have agreed upon, where 
 we can hould them off, an' then we'll thry to 
 git word to Captain Calmore or whoever is 
 at the post to come an' fetch us in," answered 
 the sergeant deferentially. 
 
THE SCOUT JOINS THE COMMAND 43 
 
 Marion Compton was experienced enough 
 and intelligent enough to understand the sit- 
 uation, but her heart sank for many reasons, 
 yet there was nothing else to be done. She 
 had an impulse to urge the sergeant to press 
 on to the post and try to cut a way through the 
 Indians, but she knew that her urging would 
 be in vain, and that it ought to be in vain. 
 McNeil was responsible for the safety of the 
 party, and he was man enough to assume his 
 responsibility, soldier enough to discharge it 
 unflinchingly, and not even her appeals could 
 move him from what he decided was the 
 proper course and of which her own intelli- 
 gence now approved. 
 
 "It won't be long, ma'am," said Bridget 
 consolingly. 
 
 "Of course not," said the sergeant, taking 
 his cue from his wife. "We'll send out a mes- 
 senger to-night, an' by day afther to-morrow 
 it '11 be all over." 
 
 Day after to-morrow! Her heart fell. 
 Could she wait that long? Mrs. Compton 
 looked piteously at Bridget, who was standing 
 by the ambulance. The latter put out her 
 hand and patted her mistress gently. 
 
*4 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "Thrust in God an' the saints, an' me, 
 ma'am," she whispered, knowing full well 
 what was in the poor lady's mind. "I'll see 
 you through, wid the help av them others." 
 
 "Sergeant," came the voice of Seddon 
 sharply as he turned his head around. 
 "They're moving up the canyon." 
 
 "Corporal Schmidt," said McNeil instantly, 
 "take four files an' go to the bend av the can- 
 yon, join Seddon, take command av the squad, 
 put your harses back av the bend here, an' 
 take cover, hould the Indians in check for an 
 hour or until four o 'clock ' he peered at his 
 old silver watch a moment "by that time 
 we'll be back in the meadows. Do you under- 
 stand!" 
 
 "I understant," said Schmidt, saluting in 
 acknowledgment of the formal order. * l Can I 
 haff any man I vant ? ' ' 
 
 "Certainly, take your pick." 
 
 "Take me, take me," shouted one man after 
 another to Schmidt, who waved them back. 
 
 He selected two Germans, an Irishman, and 
 an American a veteran of the Civil War. 
 
 "Any more orders?" 
 
 "None. Be off wid you," said McNeil. 
 
THE SCOUT JOINS THE COMMAND 45 
 
 So Schmidt and the little squadron trotted 
 down the canyon toward the bend. Fortu- 
 nately the place on the trail where they had 
 halted was wide enough to turn the wagons. 
 Everybody worked with speed, but quietly 
 and without confusion. Sending Jackson 
 ahead with half the men and following himself 
 with the other half, McNeil started his com- 
 mand up the canyon again. There was no 
 time for care, and they went ahead as fast as 
 they could. As they pressed on they heard 
 the crackling of the carbines of Schmidt's de- 
 tachment, which gave evidence that they were 
 engaged and holding their own. 
 
in 
 
 HOW THEY PREPARED TO DEFEND 
 THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN 
 
 THE place they had chosen was admirably 
 adapted for defence. The trail ran 
 into a broad shelf, which had been hol- 
 lowed out of the mountain wall by some pre- 
 historic torrent. The rocky wall, which was 
 concave, was deeply recessed so they would be, 
 in a measure, protected from an enfilading 
 fire when within its depths. If they could get 
 to it, the shallow brook rapidly descending the 
 canyon, whirling and brawling over its stony 
 bed, would furnish them with an abundance 
 of water. Beyond the main stream of the 
 brook lay a broad stretch of grass-covered 
 level ground, perhaps a mile in width and two 
 miles or more in length. It was well watered, 
 and on the farther side groves of small pines 
 grew thickly. The opposite wall of the canyon 
 rose gently. This fertile and lovely meadow 
 had been the site of a flourishing ranch be- 
 
 46 
 
PREPARING THE DEFENCE 47 
 
 fore the Indian troubles. The ranch owner 
 had left it, the buildings had been burned in 
 some foray. 
 
 The rock-strewn shelf rose with the trail for 
 twenty feet or more above the brook and mea- 
 dow. Its extent was limited, of course. There 
 was no place for the horses of the troopers 
 and the mules that drew the wagons and the 
 ambulance. It went awfully against the grain, 
 but they had to be abandoned to the Indians. 
 They were unhitched and unsaddled and driven 
 down across the brook into the meadow. Tears 
 stood in the eyes of some of these hard-bitten 
 rough riders as they parted from their horses, 
 but there was absolutely no help for it. 
 
 Working frantically, they dismounted the 
 wagons and arranged the beds around the 
 outer edge of the shelf to make a sort of rude 
 entrenchment, piling the running gear on top 
 or in the interspaces as a protection against a 
 possible attempt to rush the barricade. The 
 supplies they carried on their persons were 
 almost exhausted, but under the circumstances 
 McNeil broke open a wagon loaded with food 
 and supplies without hesitation in order to as- 
 sure to each man food, an extra rifle, and all 
 
48 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 the ammuntion necessary. And he delighted 
 Molly's heart by routing out for her a light 
 Eemington, the private property of one of the 
 officers, and a small revolver. 
 
 "Jist put a rifle an' a revolver handy for 
 me an ' the missis, ' ' said old Bridget. ' ' I don 't 
 expect to join in the fightin', but it may come 
 in handy. For you know I've got more things 
 to do than any av ye, for I'll look afther the 
 wounded. I've got to tend to Mrs. Compton, 
 too, an' I'm thinkin' that this detachment will 
 be larger than it is now before very long if we 
 don't git out in a hurry," she said sagely to 
 her husband. 
 
 "To git out in a hurry is impossible," said 
 the sergeant. "We may never git out at all, 
 at all, an' if we don't" he suddenly turned 
 to his wife and kissed her before them all 
 "you've been a good wife to a poor soldier." 
 
 "An' it's a proud woman I am to have ye 
 say those worrds, Tim McNeil," said Bridget, 
 her weather-beaten face flushing as the men, 
 who 'had seen everything, laughed and cheered. 
 
 "All av us will have to do the best we can," 
 said the sergeant. "We've dismounted the 
 ambulance an* we've made Mrs. Compton as 
 
PREPARING THE DEFENCE 49 
 
 comfortable an' as private as we can beneath 
 the canvas top, though 'tis a good targit 
 against the dark wall." 
 
 "I want to see Sergeant McNeil," said Mrs. 
 Compton from the covered ambulance body, 
 which had been placed like a tent in the safest 
 corner of the nook nearest the wall. Kocks 
 had been piled about it to protect it from 
 chance shots. 
 
 "Here I am, ma'am," said the big soldier, 
 presenting himself at the entrance. 
 
 "Sergeant," said Mrs. Compton, extending 
 her hand, "whatever happens I want you to 
 know how much I appreciate you. I think you 
 have all been true and devoted soldiers and 
 comrades, and I want you to tell the others, 
 too. I do not know whether I will come out of 
 this alive, but whether I do or not I want you 
 to understand how grateful I am and 
 
 "Nobody an' nothin' will ever harrm you 
 as long as there's a man in the troop livin', 
 ma 'am. ' ' 
 
 "I know that," said the woman, "but I am 
 very weak and ill- 
 She looked up at him with a tear-stained, 
 anxious face. McNeil stared down at her 
 
50 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 awkwardly but compassionately. He under- 
 stood. He bent over the hand she reached up 
 to him as she half reclined in the wagon and 
 kissed it like a knight of old. 
 
 "Why, we'd all die for you an' the major," 
 he said impulsively in profound pity. 
 
 "I know," said the woman, smiling faintly 
 as he withdrew and got to work again. 
 
 With soldierly precaution the sergeant now 
 directed that every receptacle that could hold 
 a drop of water must be filled. There might 
 come a time when it would be impossible to 
 get it, and water would be as precious as 
 though each drop were a diamond. 
 
 "Well, I guess we've done about everything 
 we can," he said to Corporal Jackson at last, 
 looking around his little band and raising his 
 voice so that all could hear. "We've got to 
 protect Mrs. Compton to say nothin' av 
 Molly an' Bridget to the very last. I know 
 I can depend on all you men. I ain't good at 
 spache-inakin', men, but when they come up 
 we'll all give 'em fits. Eh, bullies!" 
 
 "You bet your sweet life we will," roared 
 Jackson as the detachment broke into three 
 cheers. 
 
PREPARING THE DEFENCE 51 
 
 "We can hould this place for some time," 
 continued the sergeant, "but somebody's got 
 to carry word to Fort Sullivan. Who 11 volun- 
 teer?" 
 
 "I reckon that'll be my job," said Marnette 
 promptly. 
 
 " 'Tis you that can't do it," said the ser- 
 geant decisively. "You're wounded already. 
 Your wound '11 hurt worse to-night than it 
 does to-day. 'Tis got to be a well man that 
 thries that dangerous job." 
 
 "I reckon that's so," admitted the old 
 plainsman reluctantly. 
 
 "Who'll volunteer, laads?" 
 
 Every man in the half platoon jumped for- 
 ward, clamorous. 
 
 "Lemme go, sergeant," said young Danny 
 Meagher. "I'm the lightest an' fleetest av 
 foot. I can outrun any man in the regiment, 
 an' although I'm the youngest, I know the 
 country like a book. I'm smaller than the rest 
 of 'em, too, an' 'tis aisy it'll be to hide meself. 
 I can climb the rocks quicker an' I don't be- 
 lave there's a man who can shoot straighter 
 or ride fashter or who'll thry harder, if I do 
 say it meself." 
 
52 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "Phwhat do you think av the bhoy, Jack- 
 son?" asked McNeil. 
 
 "I'm in favor of lettin' the kid try it. As 
 he says, he's quicker than any of us. Take 
 most of us off our horses and we're no good 
 at all. We ain't cut out for dough-boys or 
 beetle-crushers. He can shoot. He knows the 
 country. He's got the nerve, too," said the 
 corporal decisively. 
 
 "Oh, let Danny go, father," cried Molly, 
 jumping up and down in her excitement, for 
 she was having the time of her sweet young 
 life. 
 
 "And has it come to this that a vet 'ran 
 sarrgeant av harse in the sarvice of the United 
 States has got to take counsel wid a shlip av 
 a girl!" 
 
 "Out av the mouths of babes an' sucklin's, 
 the good Book says," interposed Bridget 
 smilingly. 
 
 "An' av women, too, God save us," laughed 
 McNeil. 
 
 "Well, many a man would be better off if 
 he took the advice av his wife," retorted 
 Bridget. "You bachelors in the throop don't 
 know that yit." 
 
PREPARING THE DEFENCE 63 
 
 "But 'tis true, jist the same," said McNeil. 
 "Well, Danny, you can go. 'Tis a heavy re- 
 sponsibility to put on a laad, but somehow I 
 kind-a think you'll manage it." 
 
 "I will that, sor, or be a dead man." 
 
 "And if you're a dead man, don't you never 
 come back to tell us you've failed," said the 
 sergeant gravely. 
 
 "I will not." 
 
 "I'm not sendin' you out to git killed at all, 
 but to git through. ' ' 
 
 "Have you any orders, sor?" 
 
 "Only to git there an' tell Captain Calmore, 
 or whoever is commandin' the post, where we 
 are, an' that they'd better hurry." 
 
 "An', Danny," said Bridget, "a worrd in 
 your ear. Tell them to send a dochter wid the 
 rescue party, an' tell him to come quick, for 
 the love av hiven." 
 
 "I will that, ma'am." 
 
 "Now God bless you, for a brave broth av a 
 bhoy," said the good-hearted Irishwoman, 
 bending over and giving him a hearty kiss, 
 with which Danny blushed fiercely and the 
 men laughed gaily. "Perhaps," continued 
 the undaunted Bridget, "Mrs. Compton will 
 
54 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 be afther sendin' a message. Come over here 
 an' we'll see." 
 
 "You are going to try to get to Fort Sulli- 
 van, Danny?" asked Mrs. Compton. 
 
 "No, ma'am, I ain't go in' to thry it, I'm 
 goin' to do it." 
 
 "When do you start?" she asked, smiling at 
 his bold answer. 
 
 " Jist as soon as it gits dark enough to hide 
 
 1 Tell my husband to keep up his spirits and 
 not to give way. That I will soon be with him, 
 and that I'm all right yet," added Mrs. 
 Compton softly. 
 
 "Mother, may I kiss him, too?" asked Molly 
 as Danny came away from the ambulance. 
 
 " 'Twould be ondacent," said Mrs. McNeil, 
 laughing in spite of herself. 
 
 But Meagher, taking the initiative and re- 
 sponsibility, lifted Molly, who was only a little 
 girl in spite of her fourteen years, high up in 
 the air and kissed her bravely on the cheek 
 before he set her down. 
 
 "Well, now," said Sergeant McNeil, 
 "afther all this affectin' an' tender parting 
 which as a husband an' a father I might ob- 
 
PREPARING THE DEFENCE 55 
 
 ject to only I won't perhaps you'd better 
 make your preparations. Have you any 
 plan?" 
 
 "None, except to climb the wall as soon as 
 it's dark enough, an' then God help me." 
 
 "Take plenty of ammunition," said the ser- 
 geant. 
 
 "Best take my advice," said Marnette, "an* 
 don't travel too heavy. It's not so much 
 fightin' as strategy that's goin' to git you 
 through. ' ' 
 
 "That's a good worrd from long expayri- 
 ence," assented McNeil. 
 
 "I suggest that you strike across country 
 until you git to Black Creek an' then f oiler 
 that down until you reach the Big Buffalo 
 Wallers. You know that place?" continued 
 Marnette. 
 
 "I know. 'Tis jist beyond the big spring." 
 
 "Exactly. You'll find plenty of cover till 
 you git there. After that well, if the Lord 
 don't cover you I don't know what will. Don't 
 you risk nothin' by takin' a shot at no red- 
 skins, neither. We're all pullin' hard for 
 you." 
 
 "Here comes Schmidt an' his detachment," 
 
56 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 said one of the men suddenly as five men came 
 galloping up the trail ahead of the corporal, 
 who insisted on bringing up the rear of his 
 small command. 
 
 "They're comin '," said Seddon, in the lead, 
 as he reined in his horse outside the impro- 
 vised entrenchment. "There ain't so many 
 comin ' as there was, though, ' ' he added, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "I haff de honor to report dot I haff brought 
 back my detachment intact, und ve haff ac- 
 counted for several of de enemy," said 
 Schmidt, saluting gravely with his usual 
 punctilious care in his old-world way. 
 
 The sergeant smiled grimly as he acknowl- 
 edged the courtesy of the slow-going but hard- 
 fighting subordinate. 
 
 "Have your men turn their harses loose, 
 corp'ral, and then come in here. What do you 
 think of these preparations'?" 
 
 "It iss fine. Ve can hold diss place for vun 
 long time midout no doubt, und ve vill haff to 
 do it, for if dere is vun Injun dere iss five 
 hundred, und dey haff dere womans und dere 
 children und dere herds along mit 'em," was 
 the deliberate but not unexpected answer. 
 
PREPARING THE DEFENCE 57 
 
 "You had plenty of time to count them?" 
 asked McNeil. 
 
 "Ve had speech mit 'em." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Dey sent out a vite flag und ve met de 
 chief. He said if ve give up de vagons und 
 our guns he let us pass." 
 
 "And what did you say, Schmidt?" asked 
 McNeil. 
 
 "Ve told 'em to go vere dey vas going," 
 said the corporal, turning away amid a great 
 outburst of laughter from the men. 
 
 "Good!" said McNeil. "When they get 
 nearer we'll help them on their journey." 
 
IV 
 
 WHICH SETS FORTH THE EEPULSE 
 OF THE FIRST SAVAGE ATTACK 
 
 A~jL these operations had taken consider- 
 able time. It was late in the afternoon, 
 the sun was low on the horizon behind 
 the mountains, and it was already dusk in the 
 meadow when the first Indian appeared on the 
 trail down the canyon. Like the mountain 
 brook, which had cut its way through the 
 hills, the canyon was as crooked as a ram's 
 horn, and so narrow that an active man could 
 throw a stone from wall to wall through most 
 of its length. The pocket in which they were 
 encamped, however, was almost big enough 
 to be known in the wild West as a "hole." It 
 was at least a mile wide and the entrance 
 where the Indian appeared was just barely 
 within range of a good rifle, though a trifle far 
 for a trooper's carbine. Of course, the camp 
 was in plain sight and the Indian scout, think- 
 ing himself entirely safe, surveyed it keenly. 
 
 58 
 
REPULSE OF THE FIRST ATTACK 59 
 
 "I don't like the looks av him," said the 
 sergeant to Corporal Jackson. "You've got 
 a marksman's badge, give him a shot not 
 from your carbine, but from that Winchester 
 by your hand." 
 
 The corporal, nothing loath, knelt down, 
 rested the new and improved gun, which had 
 been shipped to one of the officers, on a con- 
 venient boulder, took long and careful aim, 
 and pressed the trigger. The Indian and his 
 horse, who had been standing like bronze 
 statues, went down with a crash. So sudden 
 and startling was the catastrophe that the 
 horse fell over the trail, pitching the Indian 
 out into the water of the brook, which there 
 happened to be both broad and deep. He 
 went in with a mighty splash. 
 
 "You got 'em both!" cried one as the men 
 broke into cheers. 
 
 But this announcement was a trifle prema- 
 ture. The Indian's pony had evidently re- 
 ceived the corporal's bullet, for he lay in a 
 huddled heap at the side of the brook below the 
 trail. The Indian himself, very much be- 
 draggled, and as they could guess furiously 
 angry, swam out of the pool, shook his fist 
 
60 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 threateningly at them, and skipped around 
 the bend just in time to escape another shot, 
 which Jackson sent after him. 
 
 "I guess that'll kape 'em off the trail, all 
 right, " said McNeil grimly. " 'Twas a long 
 shot, Jackson. You did well. ' ' 
 
 "Shust dake a look over dere," said 
 Corporal Schmidt, suddenly pointing across 
 the canyon. 
 
 Outlined against the sky on the opposite 
 canyon wall suddenly appeared a number of 
 feathered heads. Instantly they came in view 
 they fired at the camp. McNeil laughed. 
 
 "They're wastin' powdher an' shot there," 
 he said. 
 
 "Und dey vill be over our heads on diss 
 side," continued Corporal Schmidt. "See." 
 
 The next minute a rain of rocks came plung- 
 ing down the face of the cliff, but on account 
 of the overhang every one fell clear of the 
 entrenched camp and splashed into the waters 
 of the brook, which here ran close by, some 
 twenty feet below the shelf, or buried itself 
 harmlessly in the meadows. 
 
 "That's jest to let us know they're there," 
 said Marnette. 
 
REPULSE OF THE FIRST ATTACK 61 
 
 "It vould be better if dey had not done dot, 
 den ve vould not know," said Schmidt. 
 
 "Your experience has been in European 
 wars, Schmidt, but I want to tell you, after 
 havin' fought the Injuns for twenty years, 
 there ain't many tricks in the game they don't 
 know. They fight in their own way, but they 
 don't lose no chances," continued the old 
 scout. 
 
 "An* it's a pretty good way, too," said 
 Jackson, "an' those are the pick of all the In- 
 juns in the United States. An' that there 
 Dull Knife's most as good a gener'l as old 
 Crazy Horse or Eed Cloud hisself. The Gov'- 
 ment has been fightin' 'em ever since the Civil 
 War, an' we ain't got 'em yet." 
 
 "I'm thinkin' we'll git a few afore we git 
 out av here," said McNeil. 
 
 "And we will have plenty to choose from," 
 dryly remarked Marnette. "Look yonder in 
 the meadow." 
 
 Taught by the narrow escape of their scout, 
 the Indians had descended from the trail on 
 the farther side of the bend. They had 
 crossed the brook and were now filing into the 
 meadow near the bluff on the opposite side. 
 
62 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 They came in countless numbers apparently; 
 first the warriors, then the women and chil- 
 dren, then the herds. It was not a war party. 
 It looked more like a migration. The season 
 was late. It was evidently Dull Knife's big 
 band moving off to find safe winter quarters 
 where they could be sheltered from the cold 
 and snow and hidden from the soldiers, who, 
 to tell the truth, did not often resort to winter 
 campaigns. There were numberless fast- 
 nesses in the unexplored mountains, which 
 would be well suited to the purposes of the 
 savages. 
 
 They had evidently blundered on this party 
 of McNeil's, yet now that they had fallen in 
 with them, temptation to dispatch them was 
 irresistible. Their determination became 
 fixed when little Molly McNeil unthinkingly 
 jumped up on a wagon to get a better view. 
 The Indians caught sight of her skirts flutter- 
 ing in the breeze before her father, who 
 sprang toward her, could drag her down. 
 There was a woman and probably more women 
 in that camp! That settled it. They would 
 take them at whatever cost. 
 
 McNeil was furiously angry. He shook 
 
REPULSE OF THE FIRST ATTACK 63 
 
 Molly violently. He realized instantly what 
 the discovery of her presence would mean. It 
 would make his task that much harder. 
 
 "You disobajent child," he cried, raising 
 his hand, "didn't I tell you to kape back an 
 out av sight, an' now 
 
 "Be aisy wid the darlint, you know she's 
 only a child, an' 
 
 "To those Injuns out yonder she's a woman. 
 They'll never lave us now." 
 
 "They wouldn't have left us, anyway," said 
 Bridget, deftly extricating the frightened 
 Molly from her father's clutch, "an' they 
 would soon find out we was here." 
 
 The diversion fortunately saved Molly from 
 further punishment from her father. Eapidly 
 spreading over the meadow, the Indians now 
 opened fire. McNeil stepped closer to the bar- 
 ricade, as the men were already fingering their 
 rifled carbines. 
 
 "Kape fasht," he said, "till I give the 
 ordher. If we don't answer they'll come 
 nearer, an' the more shots we can git home 
 the healthier will be their reshpect for us. 
 Steady, bhoys, steady." 
 
 Back by the ambulance Molly was getting 
 
64 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 hers, for indignant Mrs. McNeil boxed her ears 
 soundly. 
 
 "The idea of vexin' your father, wid all his 
 cares an' responsibilities. If 'twas more 
 private I'd lay you over me knee." She set 
 her down violently. "Shtay there an' don't 
 you move till I give you lave." 
 
 Poor Molly, whimpering and very much 
 frightened, instantly obeyed. Meanwhile it 
 worked out just as the experienced sergeant 
 had foreseen. The Indians raced rapidly in 
 giddy circles past the shelf, generally throw- 
 ing themselves behind the horses and firing as 
 they passed. The bullets splintered against 
 the rock overhead or buried themselves in the 
 wagon beds. But one struck a trooper in the 
 arm. 
 
 "Are you badly hurrt, man?" asked Mc- 
 Neil anxiously as he saw the soldier stagger. 
 
 "In the arm." 
 
 "Is it broke!" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Go back to the women an' git it dressed 
 an' come back here," said McNeil briefly. 
 "Bridget." 
 
 "Phwhat is it?" 
 
REPULSE OF THE FIRST ATTACK 65 
 
 ' 'Here's work for you, an' Molly, too." 
 
 The Indians were coming nearer and nearer 
 with every revolution they made. 
 
 "We might give 'em a shot or two now, ser- 
 geant," said Jackson. 
 
 "It iss better to vait a little more, I dinks," 
 said the deliberate and cautious Schmidt. 
 
 "Every time they pass they git nearer," 
 said McNeil. "We'll have plenty of chances 
 prisently an'- 
 
 "Here they come again," said Jackson as 
 the streaming horde drew abreast of the little 
 entrenchment. 
 
 McNeil bent forward, took a critical look, 
 measured the distance, straightened up, lifted 
 his rifle. 
 
 "Give it to 'em, men. Not too fast. 
 Shteady." 
 
 The wagon-box fort was rimmed with smoke 
 which was punctured with fire. The rifles of 
 the defenders spoke almost in unison. Wait- 
 ing for the cloud of smoke to blow away before 
 they fired again, they saw as it lifted a dozen 
 Indian ponies down and half as many Indians. 
 One of them suddenly sprang to his feet. 
 Three rifles cracked simultaneously and the 
 
66 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 unfortunate Indian went down again, this time 
 for good. 
 
 "We've got plenty of ammunition an' we'd 
 better make sure. Give each wan av 'em lyin ' 
 there another bullet," ordered the sergeant. 
 
 It was grim work and ruthless, but perhaps 
 more merciful in the end, for it would be al- 
 most impossible for any wounded man to have 
 got away. He would have to lie there and suf- 
 fer or die, covered as he was by the guns of 
 the soldiers. Of course, the loss that had been 
 inflicted upon the Indians was trifling, com- 
 paratively speaking, but it was very healthy 
 for the defenders in its moral effect neverthe- 
 less. The circus riding ceased at once. The 
 Indians drew off to safe distance and began 
 to debate on what was to be done. 
 
 Evidently they decided that since night was 
 at hand, their first business would be to make 
 camp. One arm of the brook which divided at 
 the upper end of the meadow skirted the cliff 
 on the opposite side. There was a fine stretch 
 of woodland at the base of the other wall. 
 The Indians retired thither and pitched their 
 tepees. It was now so dark that the soldiers 
 could not make out what was being done, but 
 
REPULSE OF THE FIRST ATTACK 67 
 
 the presence of numberless little fires told 
 them that the Indians were preparing to make 
 a night of it. 
 
 The defenders were in reasonably good 
 spirits. Between Marnette's encounter and 
 the smart action of Schmidt *s squad on the 
 trail and the good shooting of the defenders of 
 the enclosure, they had accounted for nearly a 
 score of Indians with only two unimportant 
 casualties. Marnette declared that he was all 
 right, or would be, and the trooper whose 
 wound in the left arm Bridget and Molly had 
 dressed was already back at his place in the 
 fighting line. 
 
 The most serious accident that had hap- 
 pened to them had been the piercing of their 
 water cask by a stray bullet. As this cask 
 contained the larger part of the water supply, 
 the troopers had drunk freely of their canteens 
 during the heat of the fray, and they were 
 somewhat dismayed when they found that all 
 the water had run out of the cask except a 
 modicum at the bottom below the hole made by 
 the bullet. There was, however, in some 
 buckets a supply enough for the next day, if it 
 were carefully husbanded. Of course, the 
 
68 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 brook ran close by some twenty feet below the 
 level of the shelf. A little stretch of broken 
 rock intervened between the foot of the cliff 
 and the bank of the stream so that they could 
 not draw water up by dropping buckets over 
 on the ends of ropes, although they tried it. 
 
 McNeil decided to make no attempt to send 
 any one down to get water that night. The re- 
 maining buckets with their precious contents 
 were carefully concealed behind boulders and 
 whatever was left in the individual canteens 
 was added to the general store. Bridget took 
 upon herself the task of serving it out a cupful 
 at a time at such intervals as her husband 
 directed. 
 
 "Now, Danny," said the sergeant as soon 
 as it had become quite dark, "I guess you'd 
 better be makin' a shtart. We know that 
 there's a detachment av these Indians on the 
 bluffs over our heads. We know, too, that 
 you can't git up the cliff here, but up the trail 
 about half a mile the wall is broke. Did you 
 notice it when we passed this mornin'?" 
 
 "I did, sor." 
 
 "It's there you had better thry it. For the 
 love av hiven go cautious an' don't make any 
 
REPULSE OF THE FIRST ATTACK 69 
 
 mistakes, an' if you get killed may yon never 
 live to tell it. " 
 
 ' <I won't, sor." 
 
 "Anybody can git himself killed. That's 
 aisy. 'Tis the brave man that gits through," 
 continued the old sergeant. "Think of the 
 women that's here. It don't make so much 
 difference about the men. It's all in the day's 
 work, we've got to take phwhat's comin' to 
 us, but there's little Molly an' good old Brid- 
 get an' the major's lady." The sergeant 
 stopped, turned away, and shook his head. 
 "Well, no more av that. Go, my bhoy, an' 
 God an' the saints bless you." 
 
 Danny had taken off his uniform and had 
 put on a brown leather hunting suit that he 
 had taken from a package sent to Lieutenant 
 Hadden, who was about his size, and which 
 he had been specially commissioned to look 
 after. He had discarded his boots and put on 
 a pair of stout Indian moccasins. He shook 
 hands with the sergeant and turned away. As 
 he passed the ambulance he paused. Bridget 
 and Molly were standing there. 
 
 "Has Mrs. Compton anythin' else to say?" 
 he asked. 
 
70 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 1 1 She 's slapin ' now, poor darlint, ' ' answered 
 Bridget. "Go, an* may hiven protect you.^ 
 
 Bestowing a furtive pat on Molly's curly 
 head, Meagher climbed noiselessly over the 
 barricade, and set his moccasined feet on the 
 trail. He pressed close to the rock and slowly 
 made his way up the canyon, feeling with his 
 foot every step he took lest he might strike 
 a loose pebble or give other notice of his prog- 
 ress to the keenest and most watchful senti- 
 nels in the world; for he knew, as everybody 
 else did, that the Indian observers would prob- 
 ably be hidden in the grass of the meadow or 
 behind hillocks or in ravines not a hundred 
 feet away. 
 
 Danny had lived in the West for a long 
 time. He had been born in Nebraska, in fact, 
 and was an accomplished plainsman before he 
 joined the Army. He had been helped a great 
 deal by old Marnette's advice in a short talk 
 he had enjoyed in the intervals of fighting, 
 yet in spite of a cool head it was with a beating 
 heart that he crept along. 
 
SHOWS THE MEKCY IN THE BULLET 
 OF A FEIEND 
 
 BACK in the camp, McNeil was taking 
 counsel with his subordinates. 
 
 "If anybody could git through, that 
 bhoy'll do it," he said. 
 
 "But it may be beyond human power. 
 P'r'aps we'd better send another messenger 
 the other way," observed Jackson. 
 
 "I dink it vould be veil," assented Schmidt. 
 
 "What do you think about it, Marnette?" 
 
 "Of course," said the old scout after con- 
 sidering the subject carefully, "there's more 
 than a chance that the youngster won't git 
 through. If he don't, an' unless the people at 
 the post becomes alarmed becuz we don't come 
 in, an' send out to hunt for us of their own 
 accord, an' send a party strong enough to 
 rescue us, I guess we'll never leave this rock. 
 On the whole, I'm inclined to agree with our 
 German friend yere." 
 
 71 
 
72 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "But if we send another man, shall we send 
 him af ther Danny 1 ' ' 
 
 "No, he'd better go down the canyon." 
 
 "But the Injuns came from that way." 
 
 "Yes, that may make his chance harder or 
 it may make it easier. Nachur'ly the Injuns 
 might think nobody 'd be fool enough to go 
 down where they came up, an' there you are." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 "Well, we'll have to call for another volun- 
 teer," continued the scout. 
 
 "I'll go," said Jackson and Schmidt simul- 
 taneously. 
 
 The Irish brogue and the broken English 
 blended strangely, but McNeil shook his head. 
 
 "If anything should happen to me, you two 
 men would be needed. Marnette can't go, 
 nayther. ' ' 
 
 "Blast that Injun that got me," said Mar- 
 nette disgustedly. "Without meanin' any re- 
 flection on you soldiers, I'm the one man who 
 could have done it. ' ' 
 
 "But it is out of the question. We can't 
 send a wounded man on an errand like that. 
 Who is the best man to do it, now that 
 Meagher has gone ? ' ' 
 
THE BULLET OF A FRIEND 73 
 
 "There's Seddon," suggested Jackson. 
 
 "He iss a goot man," assented Schmidt. 
 
 "We can't make any commotion by askin' 
 for volunteers. Schmidt, bring Seddon over 
 here." 
 
 The conversation had been carried on in 
 low tones. There would be keen ears perhaps 
 within hearing distance. There were plenty 
 of Indians who understood English sufficiently 
 well to make out what was being planned if 
 they could hear. 
 
 Most of the troopers had rolled themselves 
 up in their blankets, pillowed their heads on 
 their saddles, and had gone to sleep by Mc- 
 Neil's direction. He wanted them to be as fit 
 as possible and there was no necessity for the 
 whole command to keep awake. Sentinels had 
 been placed and they were attentive to their 
 duties. Schmidt found Seddon without diffi- 
 culty and a touch on his shoulder awakened 
 him. 
 
 "De sergeant vants you," he whispered, 
 "und don't make any noise." 
 
 Seddon was on the alert on the instant. He 
 rose, walked over to the little group, and sa- 
 luted. 
 
74 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "Seddon," said McNeil, "we have decided 
 to send out another messenger, this time to 
 go down the canyon. It would make too much 
 commotion to wake the men an' ask one av 'em 
 to volunteer. We think you're the best man 
 for the job. 'Tis a juty I won't ordher any 
 man to undertake. ' ' 
 
 "I'll be glad of the chance, sergeant," said 
 Seddon eagerly. "I was terribly disappointed 
 when you chose Meagher." 
 
 "Good," said McNeil. "I knew we were 
 not mistaken, an' as it happens, you've got 
 the most dangerous task, the post of honor 
 afther all." 
 
 "Have you any orders?" 
 
 "None, except to go down the canyon an'- 
 you heard phwhat I said to Meagher. You 
 know that if we're not rescued we'll be picked 
 off wan by wan, an' in the end 
 
 "I understand," said Seddon. 
 
 "I wish you could git a huntin' suit 
 like 
 
 "We can fix part of that," said Marnette. 
 "You take my leather shirt an' gimme your 
 jacket. Mrs. McNeil's got another pair of 
 moccasins, she told me 
 
THE BULLET OF A FRIEND 75 
 
 "You can have 'em," chimed in McNeil. 
 
 "That will do fine," said Seddon, rapidly 
 divesting himself of his coat, which he handed 
 to Marnette. "Here's hoping that either 
 Meagher or I or both of us get through," he 
 said cheerfully, as he slipped on the moccasins 
 which McNeil fetched for him. "If I don't, 
 you will see that somebody writes to my 
 mother, sergeant I Captain Calmore has her 
 address in the company files." 
 
 "I will that," answered McNeil solemnly, 
 "but, plaise God, nothin' may happen. Is 
 there anything we can do for you?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Seddon. 
 
 "May God guard you, old man," said Jack- 
 son earnestly, for he and Seddon were very 
 warm friends and comrades of long standing 
 "bunkies," in fact. 
 
 "You haff de hardest task und de most hon- 
 orable," said Schmidt. 
 
 The four men shook hands with him and 
 Seddon turned away, clambered noiselessly 
 over the barricade, and went down the trail 
 as Meagher had gone up. 
 
 "I'll set up till twelve o'clock," said Mc- 
 Neil. "You two men can turn in if you want 
 
76 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 to. At twelve I'll wake Jackson an' at four 
 Schmidt '11 relieve him." 
 
 "I don't feel like sleeping now," said Jack- 
 son. 
 
 "Nor me needer," said Schmidt. 
 
 "How long do you think we can hold this 
 place, Jackson?" 
 
 "Jest as long as there are enough of us left 
 alive to keep off them Injuns. We've got am- 
 munition an' grit enough an' I guess we can 
 git water somehow." 
 
 "But they got one av us to-day. If that 
 bullet had gone a few inches to the right, the 
 man would have been killed. You know them 
 Injuns. They'll swarm about us an' pour a 
 perfect rain of lead in here an' some av us are 
 bound to git picked off. Onless ye can inflict 
 a heavy loss on them they'll kape it up until 
 we go wan by wan. An' they might git us all 
 in a day or two days, three at the outside, I 
 should think." 
 
 "Veil," said Schmidt, "all ve got to do iss 
 to keep at dem shust as long as dere iss any 
 of us." 
 
 "You're right there, Dutch, an' " 
 
 "Hark! What's that?" 
 
THE BULLET OF A FRIEND 77 
 
 The three men sprang to their feet and ran 
 to the barricade. Beyond the lower end where 
 the trail led down the canyon there was a 
 sudden rattle of shots. Flashes of light pene- 
 trated the darkness and in the silence of the 
 night the reports sounded loud and fearfully 
 near. 
 
 "Dey got him, 7 ' said Schmidt in an awe- 
 struck whisper. 
 
 "I'm afraid so," said McNeil. 
 
 "Poor Seddon!" at last said Jackson, turn- 
 ing away to hide his face. "Well, he died 
 like a brave man." 
 
 The next minute the whole meadow was 
 alive. It was quite evident what had hap- 
 pened. The Indians had guarded the lower 
 end of the trail and Seddon had blundered into 
 them. They could picture him fighting for his 
 life. That he did so that rattle of shots had 
 proved. The Indians had awakened all over 
 the meadow. They fired on the camp. The 
 men, now all wide awake, lay quiet behind the 
 wagons by McNeil's orders until the firing 
 gradually died away. There were no casual- 
 ties, and the remainder of the night passed 
 without other interruption or mischance of 
 
78 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 any kind. Indeed, the men all got some sleep 
 to fit them for the hard day to come. 
 
 At dawn they found that some of the In- 
 dians had been busy. In front of the soldiers 
 in the meadow a huge stake cut from a tree 
 on the other side had been driven into the 
 ground during the night. It was just out of 
 range from the shelf. The morning sun dis- 
 covered the naked body of Seddon bound to it. 
 He had been frightfully wounded, his body 
 was covered with blood, and from the way he 
 hung in the lashings it was seen that he was 
 in a terrible state. One arm hung absolutely 
 limp. The other was left free. He had been 
 scalped, too, but he was alive ! 
 
 Such anguish and rage filled the hearts of 
 these men that McNeil had to knock two of 
 them down with the butt of his gun to keep 
 them in the barricade. Not that he felt less 
 than the others; on the contrary, since it was 
 he who had sent Seddon out to this awful 
 death. But he realized that the Indians had 
 put him there to draw the men from the camp 
 so that they could be overwhelmed in the open 
 tempting them to a sortie which would result 
 in their instant destruction. Seddon would 
 
THE BULLET OF A FRIEND 79 
 
 have to stand the torture, and the men would 
 have to witness the sacrifice. It was horrible. 
 
 The Indians evidently believed that the ap- 
 peal to the soldiers could not be made too 
 strongly or too quickly. They brought bundles 
 of dry wood and piled them around the stake 
 at which they had tortured their wretched cap- 
 tive during the night. One of them next ap- 
 proached with a torch, which he plunged into 
 the dry wood. Seddon was still alive. He 
 lifted his free hand and brought it suddenly 
 up to his heart. His meaning was unmistak- 
 able. 
 
 "I'm the best shot of the bunch, " said Mar- 
 nette suddenly as the flames began to crackle 
 through the fagots, "an 7 I reckon it's up to 
 me to put him out of his mis'ry an' balk them 
 red devils." 
 
 "Lest anybody should think I am shirking 
 my duty, I want to say in the presence av all 
 av the men that I approve av phwhat you 
 would do," said McNeil, grim and grave of 
 face and voice. 
 
 "But it's too long a shot from here," said 
 Jackson hoarsely Seddon was his dearest 
 friend ; he could not bear to see him suffer. 
 
80 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "I don't intend to try it from yere," said 
 Marnette, quietly looking to his rifle. 
 
 "You know they're doin' it to make us come 
 out to rescue him? " 
 
 "Well, we'll make a bluff at that. I'll go 
 first, an' I suggest that you send ten men to 
 f oiler arter me in single file with their guns 
 loaded, sergeant." 
 
 "Good. Wid phwhat is left we'll open fire 
 so as to cover you an' make 'em think we are 
 the fools they're playin' us for." 
 
 "I'll stop jest as soon as I git in safe range 
 an' let him have one bullet an' then afore they 
 know- it we'll run back in the fort." 
 
 The ruse of the old frontiersman was quite 
 plain. He would make the Indians think that 
 the party was coming out to rescue Seddon, 
 by which means they would probably retire 
 until they thought the party had moved far 
 enough away from the enclosure to enable 
 them to get them before they attempted to 
 make any attack. 
 
 " 'Tis a foine plan an' I approve av it," 
 said the sergeant grimly. 
 
 "For the love av hiven!" said Bridget, 
 suddenly coming to the sergeant's side. She 
 
THE BULLET OF A FRIEND 81 
 
 was experienced enough to know what was 
 toward. 
 
 "Marnette is goin' to shoot him," whis- 
 pered her husband. ' ' Take Molly back there. 
 'Tis no sight for a child. Don't let even a 
 whisper of it git to Mrs. Compton's ears. 
 How is she?" 
 
 Bridget shook her head. 
 
 " She's a sick woman this day." 
 
 "Then go to her. 'Tis no sight for a woman 
 or a man aven. Do you all understand," he 
 asked loudly as Bridget drew away, "that all 
 this is done by me ordher?" 
 
 Nobody could say he shirked responsibility, 
 and it was a fearful one to condemn a man to 
 instant death. Yet there would be mercy in 
 Marnette 's bullet, the only mercy they could 
 show their unfortunate comrade. McNeil 
 looked at the old scout and knew that he would 
 not miss. His nerves were like iron. Eapidly 
 the sergeant directed Schmidt and then ten 
 soldiers to follow the scout. Jackson and the 
 others, white-faced and shaking, watched. 
 
 Wasting no more words, Marnette sprang 
 over the barricade, dropped down the face of 
 the cliff, crossed the brook while Schmidt and 
 
82 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 the other men followed him closely. They 
 made a great show of speed as they deployed 
 and advanced across the meadow. The In- 
 dians, who had bound Seddon, made a great 
 pretence of withdrawing, but McNeil and 
 Jackson observed that they did not go far 
 and that those near the camps were already 
 mounting their ponies. 
 
 For a moment it flashed into the minds of 
 Marnette and Schmidt, who were side by side, 
 that perhaps by a mad dash they could rescue 
 Seddon. McNeil, standing on top of the bar- 
 ricade, seemed to divine their thoughts. He 
 shouted out to them. 
 
 "You can't do that. For pity's sake, git it 
 over wid an' git back. They're mountin' be- 
 yant." 
 
 He gave an order and the barricade was cov- 
 ered with smoke as the volleys went through 
 the air. And in order to give the impression 
 that the number of the defenders was great, 
 the soldiers fired again and again, using their 
 spare rifles as well as their own. Meanwhile 
 the little band advanced slowly. 
 
 "Now," said Marnette, firmly halting at 
 last, "it's a long shot, but I can do it by the 
 
THE BULLET OF A FRIEND 83 
 
 help of God. The rest of you fire at the In- 
 dians as soon as I fire. ' ' 
 
 Seddon was a hero to the last. As the men 
 advanced he waved them back with his hand 
 and then again pointed to his heart. The old 
 scout took careful aim. Indeed, he could not 
 miss. He prayed as he glanced through the 
 sights. Then Marnette's rifle cracked and 
 Seddon collapsed, killed instantly. His head 
 fell forward. His anguish was over. There 
 was a new red spot on his white breast over 
 his heart. The old scout's nerve had served 
 him well. He had not wasted a moment. Al- 
 ready the flames were leaping high about the 
 post. 
 
 "Fine shooting, " said the old German in an 
 awe-struck voice. "A good endt for a brave 
 man. A friend's bullet in his heart. It iss 
 better so. Ve go back. Dey are coming on 
 de run." 
 
 The Indians, maddened by the trick, exas- 
 perated by Seddon 's release, hurried frantic- 
 ally on horseback across the prairie only to 
 be checked by the withering fire of the de- 
 fenders ; yet the little expedition did not come 
 off scot-free. One of the soldiers was shot 
 
84 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 through the body. As Schmidt had led the 
 advance he brought up the rear. He saw the 
 soldier fall. He picked him up and carried 
 him into the fort. He was not yet dead, but 
 his lease of life was evidently not a long one. 
 Seddon was dead, two soldiers were wounded 
 one mortally. Meagher was gone. The lit- 
 tle command was reduced to sixteen unharmed 
 soldiers, five drivers, who were as good as sol- 
 diers in defence, Marnette, and the sergeant. 
 
 "Well," solemnly began Marnette, wiping 
 the sweat from his brow, "I never did any- 
 thing on earth I hated to do like that." 
 
 McNeil grasped him by the hand and looked 
 him full in his white face. 
 
 "It was well done. The whole command 
 blesses you for it. Now men, three cheers for 
 Marnette." 
 
 "No," cried the old scout, "let's give 'em 
 for Seddon." 
 
VI 
 
 WHEREIN TROOPER DANNY MEAGHER 
 WINS THROUGH THE LINES 
 
 IT was with a beating heart that Danny 
 Meagher crept like a shadow up the rocky 
 trail on the side of the canyon. He 
 hugged the canyon wall, feeling his way cau- 
 tiously, straining his eyes ahead into the dark- 
 ness, and carefully examining every blacker 
 shadow that fell across the narrow trail just 
 wide enough for the wagon train to pass. 
 
 He was lost in the darkness, yet as the night 
 was still cloudless he could mark the top of the 
 wall by the stars. Fortunately there was no 
 moon and the valley, or pocket, to his left was 
 completely dark, save for the watch fires of 
 the Indian encampment on the further side, 
 which he was rapidly leaving behind. 
 
 In spite of his precautions sometimes he 
 would step on a loose pebble and the gentle 
 rattle of the stone as it gave way under his 
 
 85 
 
86 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 foot sounded in his strained ear like a volley 
 of rifle shots. 
 
 The boy's position was one of terrible dan- 
 ger. The Indians filled the valley to the left 
 of him. He knew that a detachment had been 
 posted on the hills above him. Whether any 
 one had been stationed on the trail ahead or 
 not he could not tell. Good generalship would 
 indicate that there would be a sentry or 
 watcher up the canyon to give notice of any 
 attempted escape that way. The Indians 
 were not accustomed to neglect points in the 
 game of war. 
 
 Danny had his carbine slung over his shoul- 
 der. He also had a small but heavy wood- 
 man 's axe, which he carried in his hand. This 
 with his service revolver in his belt constituted 
 his equipment. A shot would arouse the enemy 
 on all sides and was not to be thought of. If 
 he met any one he must trust to the axe as a 
 last resort. It was like a tomahawk, the silent 
 Indian weapon. 
 
 He had got some distance from the main 
 camp not very far, to be sure, because of his 
 slow and cautious progress, but quite out of 
 sight of it, owing to the crookedness of the 
 
DANNY MEAGHER GETS THROUGH 87 
 
 canyon when lie heard clearly in the stillness 
 of the night a sudden, rapid rattle of rifle 
 shots. He stopped and listened. The obvious 
 explanation was an attack on the camp, but 
 Danny had been trained in the open and his 
 ears were unusually keen, his judgment re- 
 markable for so young a man, and he decided 
 that the rifle shots came from further away 
 than the camp. 
 
 They could only mean the interception of 
 some one going to or from the camp another 
 messenger perhaps. If so, his attempt was a 
 failure. Then came a sound of rapid firing 
 from the meadow. 
 
 He stood listening for a moment, but it was 
 a problem he could not solve and as his own 
 business was pressing he started ahead, ven- 
 turing to run a little in the noise and confu- 
 sion. Suddenly rounding a big boulder, a lit- 
 tle distance away he saw an Indian. 
 
 The rifle shots had aroused the attention of 
 the redskin. He had stepped to the edge of 
 the trail, and, resting his hand on a small, 
 scrubby pine tree, was leaning far out looking 
 in the direction of the barricade, which, of 
 course, he could not see, with the valley 
 
88 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 wrapped in darkness before Mm. This Indian, 
 who had been stationed where he was to watch 
 the trail, was so interested in what was hap- 
 pening in the meadow that he had neglected 
 his principal business. He did not hear the 
 trooper, nor did he glance in his direction. 
 
 Meagher had a second or two to make up 
 his mind as to what course to pursue. He 
 needed no more time. He stepped softly for- 
 ward like a great cat and presently flung him- 
 self upon the Indian, praying to God that he 
 might be alone. So eager and intent upon his 
 prey was he that he actually forgot the axe in 
 his hand. It fell as he sprang toward the 
 Cheyenne. As he leaped he struck with 
 clenched fist and the full force of his right 
 arm. Although Danny Meagher had been 
 born in this country, he had inherited a full 
 measure of Irish temper from his father and 
 mother, and it was with difficulty that he re- 
 strained himself from shouting with the sheer 
 joy of conflict. 
 
 The Indian, as has been described, was lean- 
 ing far over the trail, which had here been cut 
 out of the side of the canyon, and there was a 
 sheer descent of some forty feet to the brook 
 
DANNY MEAGHER GETS THROUGH 89 
 
 below. Such was the force of Danny's leap 
 and blow that the Indian's arm was torn away 
 from the small tree to which he held, and with- 
 out having time to utter a cry, he was hurled 
 down the sharp declivity. The impetus of the 
 action would have carried Danny down also, 
 and it would have been utterly impossible for 
 him to have recovered himself at the brink of 
 the cliff, had he not luckily brought up squarely 
 against the stout sapling, which withstood the 
 momentum of his smash into it and did not 
 give away, so that by a violent effort the 
 trooper managed to retain his footing. 
 
 The Indian had been too astonished to ut- 
 ter a cry. As the soldier peered over the 
 brink of the little cliff he saw his body huddled 
 in a heap on the rocks below. The Indian was 
 either dead or stunned. It did not make much 
 difference from Danny's point of view, for be- 
 fore he could give the alarm the soldier would 
 be far away. Nor could he shoot him for fear 
 of giving an immediate alarm. 
 
 Waiting a moment to see if any attention had 
 been aroused by the encounter, he retraced his 
 steps to the trail. Taking the axe again, 
 Meagher, feeling sure that there was now no 
 
90 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 one in his path, ran rapidly up the trail, notic- 
 ing as he did so the gradual dying down of the 
 firing behind him. After ten minutes he came 
 to the place where he had decided to climb 
 to the top. 
 
 The canyon wall had been broken by an old 
 water course, which in the rainy season still 
 discharged a great volume of water into the 
 brook, at such time a roaring, rushing river. 
 It was dry now, and for the most part its as- 
 cent presented no difficulties. There was a 
 chance that it would be guarded at the top. 
 The chance Meagher would have to take. He 
 rushed up the steep and broken acclivity as if 
 he were charging a battery, for realizing that 
 he could not hope to ascend without making 
 any noise, he decided that the best plan was 
 to climb up at his best speed, regardless of 
 how many broken rocks he disturbed or what 
 attention he attracted. 
 
 Panting, perspiring, slipping, struggling, 
 at last he got within a hundred feet of the top. 
 There he stopped. There was certainly some 
 one above him on the brink of the cliff. He 
 heard voices, footsteps! The water course 
 turned sharply to the right of him. After 
 
DANNY MEAGHER GETS THROUGH 91 
 
 listening he decided that if any Indians were 
 there they would be grouped about that side. 
 
 It was now pitch dark. Clouds had ap- 
 peared and were drifting across the sky, veil- 
 ing even the faint light of the stars. The 
 wind had also risen. The brink of the canyon 
 was fringed with pines and the murmuring of 
 swaying branches in the fresh breeze gave him 
 a little more freedom of action. He could 
 make some noise now without being heard. 
 Evidently his approach had not yet been no- 
 ticed. 
 
 He decided upon the risky attempt of cross- 
 ing the ravine he was then on the right side 
 and ascending the cliff to the left, hoping to 
 gain the upland without being discovered. 
 This time he proceeded more cautiously than 
 before. He was glad that he was dressed in 
 the dull brown leather hunting suit instead of 
 his betraying uniform of blue and brass and 
 yellow, and that his feet were covered with 
 the soft moccasins in place of heavy, clumsy 
 boots and jingling spurs, which would infalli- 
 bly have betrayed him. 
 
 It was terribly difficult to climb the cliff 
 when he left the draw, or coulee. He crept like 
 
92 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 a monkey from rock to rock, now drawing him- 
 self up by means of cracks and crevices, now 
 placing his weight on small trees, now clinging 
 to flimsy undergrowth that bade fair to give 
 way under his weight. He finally stopped just 
 beneath the edge of the cliff. 
 
 In after years Danny Meagher often visited 
 that very spot. He could scarcely bring him- 
 self to believe that he had made the ascent as 
 he had that night. Indeed, had it been day- 
 light he could never have done it. Had the 
 emergency been less pressing he would never 
 have attempted it in the night, even with most 
 of its dangers unseen. 
 
 He crouched down behind a boulder just be- 
 low the cliff, the edge of which he could reach 
 by extending his hand. He was breathless, 
 almost exhausted, the sweat stood out on his 
 forehead. His heart was thumping madly 
 from the extra exertion in the high altitude. 
 In spite of himself he had made some noise. 
 Eight in the middle of the water course he 
 had unfortunately dislodged a rock, which had 
 gone bounding down into the canyon, a thou- 
 sand feet below. 
 
 Outlined against the sky he could see dimly 
 
DANNY MEAGHER GETS THROUGH 93 
 
 a group of four Indians at the mouth of the 
 water course off to his right that was now in 
 front of him as he faced them and knelt be- 
 hind the boulder. They were talking rapidly 
 and gesticulating wildly. He knew a little of 
 the Sioux dialect they were using, and he made 
 out that their suspicions had been aroused 
 and that they were sure somebody was there. 
 Two of them decided to descend the water 
 course to investigate. He saw them swing 
 over the brink of the cliff and scramble down. 
 
 The soldier waited, hoping that the two 
 who were left would go away, but they showed 
 no disposition to leave. Time was precious. 
 He decided at last he would have to get on, In- 
 dians or no Indians. His gun was still slung 
 over his back. He stood up carefully and laid 
 the axe on the top of the little cliff, here only 
 about six feet high. He swung the revolver 
 holster forward so he could seize it instantly 
 in case of need. He could easily spring at the 
 cliff and draw himself up, but that would make 
 a noise. He must get to the upland some 
 quieter way. 
 
 Keeping his eyes on the Indians and noting 
 with great satisfaction that they had not been 
 
94 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 disturbed yet, he climbed carefully upon the 
 boulder, behind which he had crouched, and 
 then reached his hand out to the upland, which 
 was here just about as high as his middle. As 
 he did so he felt the huge rock, which happened 
 to be delicately balanced, tremble under his 
 feet. In sudden alarm he sprang to the pla- 
 teau. As he did so the immense boulder was 
 dislodged and went crashing down the ravine 
 with a roar like a thunder clap. 
 
 The two Indians who had been sitting on the 
 edge of the cliff to the right sprang to their 
 feet, gun in hand, and stared in the direction 
 of the sound. One of them caught sight of 
 Danny, apparently, for he shouted something 
 to his companion and they both ran toward 
 him. Meagher was discovered. There was no 
 pretence of concealment as the second Indian 
 followed his companion. They had their guns 
 in one hand and hatchets or knives in the 
 other. 
 
 It took them but a few seconds to cover the 
 distance between them and Danny Meagher. 
 That was time enough for him, however. He 
 ripped out his revolver and shot the first In- 
 dian in the body, fired at the second, missed 
 
DANNY MEAGHER GETS THROUGH 95 
 
 him, but did not stop to see. He bolted across 
 the upland directly away from the canyon at 
 such a pace as he had never attained before. 
 For the moment the surviving Indian did not 
 attempt to follow. He stopped by his dead 
 companion and when he looked up the soldier 
 had disappeared in the darkness. 
 
 As luck would have it, Danny ran toward the 
 Indian pony herd. There seemed to be a con- 
 siderable encampment on the brink of the 
 canyon farther down. He had no idea how 
 many ponies there were, but it was evident 
 that there were a number. Dogs barked. 
 Back a mile or so, just directly over the barri- 
 cade of the soldiers, in the canyon, he saw 
 fires. There was commotion in that camp. 
 Guns were fired wildly. Yells and cries came 
 to him faintly. 
 
 The ponies were very restless. A lad was 
 guarding them. He sprang up suddenly in the 
 soldier's path. The trooper bowled him over 
 like a tenpin. The next instant Meagher 
 grabbed a horse and threw himself across it 
 before the surprised boy could prevent. Dig- 
 ging his heels into the pony's flanks, he gal- 
 loped away into the night. 
 
96 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 His movement frightened the herd and all 
 the ponies scattered. Meagher was without 
 means of guiding the pony he had been lucky 
 even to get on one but he was fortunately 
 headed in the direction that took him away 
 from the lip of the canyon, and he urged his 
 mount mercilessly to the very limit of his 
 power. 
 
 No one knew in what direction he had gone, 
 and after a while he found himself riding ap- 
 parently alone and not pursued. His heart 
 throbbed with exultation. He had passed 
 safely the most dangerous part of the journey. 
 It would go hard, indeed, if he could not com- 
 pass the rest. 
 
VII 
 
 WHEEEIN THE WATER OF LIFE IS 
 MEASURED BY THE BLOOD OF MAN 
 
 INFURIATED by the brilliant yet terrible 
 exploit by which they were prevented 
 from torturing poor Seddon, on the one 
 hand, and balked of their desire to provoke a 
 sortie with which their overwhelming force 
 could have dealt, on the other, the Indians kept 
 up a close and continuous fire on the camp all 
 day long. They took advantage of every 
 cover afforded by the rolling surface of the 
 meadow, the abandoned ranch buildings, 
 boulders, and dry water courses of the rainy 
 season, ditches or trenches cut by streams 
 in flood, to pour a hail of bullets upon the de- 
 fenders. 
 
 Most of the shots went wild flattened 
 harmlessly against the rocks or spent in the 
 closely packed wagon beds. But here and there 
 a bullet would penetrate some cranny and 
 bury itself in a soldier. By nightfall a number 
 
 97 
 
98 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 of them had been hit. Five of them were stone 
 dead, three were desperately and two severely 
 wounded. McNeil did not count those that, 
 scratched or grazed, were able to continue the 
 battle. 
 
 The Indians had paid dearly. Firing slowly 
 and carefully, the soldiers had inflicted ten 
 times as much damage as they had themselves 
 sustained. At least that was in accordance 
 with their best judgment. The meadow was 
 dotted with dead horses and some bodies of 
 dead warriors, which the survivors had not 
 been able to remove. 
 
 At five o'clock a great horde of Indians, 
 who had been galloping madly to and fro, 
 suddenly at a given signal from old Dull 
 Knife, who led the charge in person, faced 
 toward the shelf and galloped directly at it 
 under cover of the smoke of a heavy dis- 
 charge. At the full speed of their ponies the 
 wild horsemen rushed gallantly forward. 
 Their courage was indisputable. The rifle- 
 men, sharp-shooters, or whatever they may be 
 called, who had been firing from cover all day 
 long, now rose to their feet, or their knees, 
 and poured a redoubled fire across the shelf. 
 
WATER AND BLOOD 99 
 
 McNeil had divined it and his men were ready 
 for the grand assault. The soldiers, who were 
 provided with extra rifles and ammunition in 
 plenty, sent back shot for shot, and more. 
 
 Numbers of the Indians went down in the 
 charge, but it was not stopped until the sur- 
 vivors reached the creek. The footmen had 
 run with the horsemen as the latter came 
 abreast them and as the riders stopped and 
 fired the men on foot sprang across the creek 
 or plunged through it and sought to scale the 
 wall. Some of them actually gained a footing 
 on the shelf. The fighting was of the fiercest 
 description hand to hand and in the end it 
 was little Molly who saved the day. 
 
 Abandoning for a moment her care of the 
 wounded, she had stood, gun in hand, staring 
 at the awful tumult in front of her. A sound 
 drew her head around and she was horrified 
 to observe a file of Indians coming up the 
 trail to her left! 
 
 Engrossed in the bitter conflict raging 
 along their front, and uniting in the deter- 
 mined effort to drive the Indians from the 
 shelf, the men whose business it was to keep 
 watch on that side had turned toward their 
 
100 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 hard-pressed comrades. Above all the tumult 
 the sergeant heard Molly scream. He turned 
 to catch a glimpse of her flying toward the ex- 
 treme left of the half circle of wagons. He 
 did not dare leave the front of the line. To 
 Corporal Schmidt he committed it. 
 
 "To the left," he cried to the veteran, who 
 happened to be nearest him. The experienced 
 soldier needed nothing but that command. 
 Leaving the few men at the front of the bar- 
 ricade still fighting, Schmidt grabbed Mar- 
 nette and Jackson, who were both yet un- 
 harmed, and ran toward Molly. As they 
 started, the plumed head of an Indian rose 
 above the last wagon bed. They would be too 
 late ! The Cheyenne, swinging his war hatchet 
 in one hand, a revolver in the other, prepared 
 to leap down into the enclosure, but Molly sud- 
 denly presented her rifle and fired. The dead 
 Indian went down backward, carrying with 
 him several others, who were close at his 
 heels. The next moment the three men were 
 at the barricade emptying their own revolvers 
 into the detachment. Ineffectively attempting 
 to return this withering fire, the Indians 
 finally broke and fled. 
 
MOLLY SUDDENLY PRESENTED HER RIELE AND FIRED 
 
WATER AND BLOOD 101 
 
 Sunset found the shelf cleared of all assail- 
 ants, except dead ones, but at fearful cost. 
 Every white man on it was wounded some- 
 where. There were but five men fit for duty. 
 Three troopers and four teamsters had been 
 killed in the last assault. In a pinch, however, 
 some of the wounded men could still use a rifle 
 effectively. The Indians had been terribly 
 punished. The creek below was choked with 
 dead bodies. They had come on with the most 
 tremendous determination and had persisted 
 in the attack with a tenacity and resolution 
 almost unparalleled in savage warfare. They 
 had evidently had enough for that night at any 
 rate. Marnette and McNeil both felt that 
 there was no further assault to be appre- 
 hended until the next morning. Well did the 
 heroic defenders need that respite. 
 
 Before all the survivors McNeil caught 
 Molly to his breast. 
 
 ' ' My girl, ' ' he said, his heart throbbing with 
 pride, " 'tis you that saved us. You have the 
 makings av a soldier's wife in you. If it 
 hadn't been for your schramin 
 
 "And don't forget that shot from her rifle, 
 sergeant," said old Marnette. "Without that 
 
10 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 we'd have been done for between Injuns at 
 our backs an' them over there." 
 
 " It's proud of you I am," said Bridget Mc- 
 Neil, coming from the ambulance bed. "I'd 
 like to have been there meself, but instead of 
 takin' life I was savin' it." 
 
 "What d'ye mean!" asked McNeil. 
 
 Bridget lifted her hand. Into the sudden 
 silence broke the thin, small, shrill cry of new- 
 born life! 
 
 "It came," she said, "in the midst av the 
 fightin'." 
 
 "Is it a bhoy?" 
 
 * l 'Tis a beautiful girl child. If you could 
 have seen the poor mother lyin' there a- 
 clenchin' her hands an' a-lockin' her jaws to- 
 gether wid all the sufferin' an' pain because 
 she said she wouldn't utter a groan or make a 
 sound that might dishturb you or dishtract you 
 or kape you from fightin ' your best. ' ' 
 
 ' i God an ' the saints ! ' ' cried McNeil, taking 
 off his cap. "We've got another one to fight 
 for now, bhoys ! 'Tis a babby. The daughter 
 av the regiment." 
 
 < < Three cheers for the daughter of the regi- 
 ment," said Jackson. 
 
WATER AND BLOOD 103 
 
 And every man who was able to speak 
 joined in the acclaim. It was almost like the 
 salute to Caesar of those about to die. 
 
 "And how is Mrs. Compton?" 
 
 "As well as could be expected. I'm no 
 dochtor, but I did phwhat I could. Now I 
 must have some warrum wather." 
 
 "Wather!" cried McNeil. He looked about 
 him. "There's not a drap left, an'- 
 
 "An' we dare not kindle a fire," said Jack- 
 son. 
 
 "We must. Somebody's got to git some 
 wather. We can make a fire down there be- 
 hind the rocks. I've got to have it," said 
 Bridget doggedly. 
 
 "If you've got to have it," said the ser- 
 geant, "we've got to git it. What the com- 
 mandin' officer says goes." 
 
 He was haggard, he was weary, he was 
 wounded, he was overburdened with responsi- 
 bilities. He had fought like a tiger. Indeed, 
 it was his prowess alone that had saved them 
 in the end. Marnette never forgot how the 
 big sergeant had actually taken one Indian 
 up in his arms and thrown him bodily out 
 into the void by main strength. He loved to 
 
104 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 tell the tale in after days around the evening 
 fire, on the lonely trail or in mountain camp. 
 
 "An' if you must have wather, Bridget 
 darlint, I can't ask or ordher any man to git 
 it. rilgoineself." 
 
 "Who ever heard of the commandin' officer 
 appointin' hisself the water detail?" said 
 Corporal Jackson suddenly. "I'm the fresh- 
 est one of the bunch. I'll go. You're all 
 wounded 
 
 "Und so are you," said Schmidt. 
 
 "Yes, but it's only a scratch." 
 
 "Und so iss mine; I go," said Schmidt. 
 
 "Gimme a chance," cried Bagley, the sur- 
 viving teamster, who had fought as bravely as 
 any one. "I ain't a soldier; I can be spared." 
 
 1 ' Now, we 've been kept out of everything by 
 you soldiers," urged Marnette. "I guess it'll 
 be up to me this time." 
 
 They all crowded around McNeil. 
 
 "Soldiers an' gintlemen," he said quietly, 
 "for so anybody could call you after the fight 
 you put up" good fighting evidently being 
 the basis of McNeil's idea of a gentleman 
 "your ambitions do you honor, an' I know 
 there ain't a helpless man here who wouldn't 
 
WATER AND BLOOD 105 
 
 be willin' to thry it, but fair play compels me 
 to p'int out that Corp'ral Jackson spoke first. 
 If you can find a bucket that ain't been bat- 
 tered to pieces or shot through an' through 
 you can thry it as soon as it gits darker. 
 Meanwhile the rest of us will pile some rocks 
 up to hide the fire as best we can. I'm thank- 
 ful the ground runs low at the back. See, 
 there's been a shtrame av bullets gone through 
 the top of the ambulance. Begorry, if it had 
 set higher up, there would have been no baby 
 born this night at all." - 
 
 The sun at that season descended early and 
 the mountains cast deep shadows. The twi- 
 light was brief. Stripped of his boots and 
 laying aside his weapons, Jackson, carrying 
 the only bucket intact, left the enclosure. He 
 did not propose to descend to the creek in 
 front of the wagon beds. He decided it would 
 be safer for him to go up the canyon a little 
 distance, where the descent was easier and 
 where he could perhaps escape notice if he 
 were fortunate. The four men and the others 
 not too severely wounded to be unmindful of 
 everything watched him glide away in the 
 darkness in his stocking feet. 
 
106 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 After a while a shot rang out from the 
 meadow, followed by a number of others. 
 McNeil turned and looked at the other men. 
 Marnette shook his head gloomily. 
 
 "It might better haff been me," said tho 
 German. 
 
 "Or me," said Bagley. 
 
 "Well," said McNeil quickly, "we've got 
 to git some wather, not only for Bridget an' 
 Mrs. Compton an' the baby there's the 
 wounded men without a drap to cool their 
 lips." 
 
 "It's risky, but I'll try it this time," said 
 Bagley. 
 
 He sat down and began to tug at his boots. 
 The next instant a figure seen dimly in the 
 darkness mounted the wagon bed and stepped 
 slowly down into the enclosure. He was hold- 
 ing a bucket steadily in one hand. 
 
 "Jackson!" cried McNeil in low but de- 
 lighted voice. 
 
 "Quick, take the bucket," answered the 
 corporal feebly. 
 
 Schmidt took the bucket from him and then, 
 and not until then, did the iron nerve of the 
 man relax. 
 
WATER AND BLOOD 107 
 
 "They got me," he said. 
 
 He fell forward. McNeil caught him in his 
 arms. 
 
 "In the breast/' he murmured. "But I 
 brought the water for the women an' the 
 baby. 7 ' 
 
 He collapsed utterly with that last broken 
 word. There was a furious rattle in his 
 throat. McNeil eased him down to the ground. 
 There was a tin candle lantern sitting behind 
 a boulder. 
 
 "Fetch it here," he said in an awe-struck 
 whisper. 
 
 Some one handed it to him. Shielding it 
 from the meadow, McNeil turned to the pros- 
 trate man. There was a smile on Jackson's 
 face, but he was dead. McNeil opened his 
 jacket. There was a bullet hole in his breast. 
 His left arm was stained and there was an- 
 other bullet hole lower down in his body. 
 
 "He was hit three times," he said, "but he 
 had the nerve to bring that bucket back, an' 
 it's brimful." 
 
 "An' never spilled a drop!" said Bagley. 
 "What a man!" 
 
 McNeil handed the bucket to Schmidt. 
 
108 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 i i Take it to Bridget and say it is as precious 
 as the blood av men/' he said. "Tell her to 
 use it carefully, it's all we've got, an' when 
 it's gone we can't git any more." 
 
 "How goes the battle?" asked Mrs. Comp- 
 ton, lying back in her rude bed, a baby head 
 on her arm, as McNeil came over to her after 
 a while. 
 
 "We've held 'em off to-day, ma'am. We're 
 good for one more fight for you an' the babby, 
 too. If Danny got through they'd ought to be 
 here to rescue us in the mornin'." 
 
 "And if they don't come," said Mrs. Comp- 
 ton, "and anything happens, you will see that 
 we " 
 
 "We'll take care av you an' the child, 
 ma'am," said McNeil gravely. 
 
 "I want you to know what Bridget has been 
 to me to-night." 
 
 "I can guess," said the sergeant simply. 
 "She's been everything to me for twinty 
 years. ' ' 
 
 "And when Bridget has her washed and 
 dressed I want you to show the baby to the 
 men, if it is safe," said Mrs. Compton. 
 
 "They shall look at the little angel, ma'am," 
 
WATER AND BLOOD 109 
 
 said McNeil. "I'm thinkin' it's like to be the 
 only angel some of them '11 be after seein' ever 
 at all." 
 
 He turned away, leaving Bridget busied over 
 the low fire, where the water was heating, 
 with which she could wash and dress the baby 
 and care for the mother. A rare woman, this 
 army sergeant's wife, and a rare woman to 
 whom she ministered in that ghastly hour on 
 that bloody enclosure in the lonely mountain 
 pass. 
 
 She brought the baby out after a while. 
 The soldiers looked at it wonderingly. They 
 put out their big hands and touched it. The 
 wounded turned their eyes upward toward it. 
 They heard it cry again and then Bridget took 
 it back to its mother. There was no rest for 
 Bridget that night. She spent most of the 
 hours with the wounded, and Molly was her 
 brave little assistant. 
 
 "If they don't come airly in the mornin'," 
 said McNeil to Schmidt, Marnette, and Bagley, 
 "we're done for." 
 
 "I guess that's about right, sergeant," said 
 Marnette. 
 
 "Veil, we haff given dem a mighty battle, 
 
110 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 und dere iss some fight left in us yet," said 
 Schmidt. 
 
 "I don't feel like writing a report to-night, 
 but if I live the colonel shall know what sort 
 of men you are, ' ' said McNeil. 
 
 "The field will report us, all right, " said 
 Bagley. 
 
 "Well, we'll have to git ready for the 
 morniny said the sergeant, "and plan for 
 desperate further resistance." 
 
 The brave men passed the night, somehow, 
 each of them getting a few hours of sleep in 
 turn to fit him for the ghastly exactions to be 
 expected on the morrow. 
 
VIII 
 
 HOW DANNY MEAGHEE ESCAPED THE 
 INDIANS AND THE EATTLESNAKE 
 
 DANNY MEAGHEE rode the Indian 
 pony until he was ready to drop. 
 More by good fortune than anything 
 else he succeeded in getting him down to the 
 bank of the river, and as the stream had cut a 
 well-defined way through the sandy soil of the 
 upland, it was not difficult to keep the pony 
 headed along the bank of the river. He urged 
 him forward by every means he possessed 
 and got over the ground at a great rate. It 
 rather went against the trooper's grain to 
 drive the poor horse so, but the supreme neces- 
 sity justified his ruthless insistence. The pony 
 finally gave out utterly just as the first indi- 
 cations of dawn appeared on the horizon. He 
 refused to take another step; indeed, when 
 Meagher dismounted, the exhausted pony col- 
 lapsed utterly. 
 
 The trooper had reached the great bend of 
 ill 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 the river. To the north rose white-headed 
 Cloud Peak, towering over the Big Horn 
 Eange. Fort Sullivan lay to the northeast- 
 ward about fifteen miles. He would have to 
 leave the shelter of the river bed and proceed 
 over the treeless plain until he reached the 
 foothills. There were a few ravines here and 
 there, and before him were the springs of a 
 tributary to the river, which from time imme- 
 morial had been a favorite haunt of the buf- 
 falo, especially in the summer when the water 
 was scarce elsewhere. Indeed, the ground 
 was broken into huge pits or depressions 
 known as buffalo wallows. 
 
 As it was late in the fall there was no 
 water in these wallows. The early winter 
 rains had not yet set in, and the springs them- 
 selves were mainly dry. There was water 
 enough for his purposes, however. He filled 
 his canteen, bathed his face and hands, ate a 
 portion of the bread and meat he had brought 
 with him in the pocket of his jacket, drew in 
 his belt a little, and, feeling greatly refreshed 
 by rest, food, and drink, started toward the 
 wallows. The prairie ahead of him was a roll- 
 ing succession of gentle hills. From the de- 
 
DANNY'S DOUBLE ESCAPE 113 
 
 pressions in which he found himself he could 
 see little save the hills and the horizon, except 
 where the mighty range ran to the northward. 
 When he reached the crest of one of the ele- 
 vations he could catch a glimpse of further 
 hills and, away off to the north and west, al- 
 ways dominant, lay the great bulk of the 
 mountains. 
 
 Following the roundabout course of the 
 river, he had traversed some twenty-five or 
 thirty miles of territory and he now deemed 
 himself to be at least ten miles from the can- 
 yon wall guarded by the Indians. Mounting 
 the nearest and highest hillock, he surveyed 
 the country for miles in every direction. 
 There was not a sign of an Indian, or of any 
 other human being, for that matter, in any 
 direction. Of course, he realized there might 
 be thousands in the valleys, but there were 
 none on the hills, near or far. 
 
 He set out valiantly to walk the distance be- 
 tween him and the post. It was not good walk- 
 ing. In some places the ground was very 
 sandy. In stretches it was overgrown with 
 tough prairie grass, which greatly impeded his 
 footsteps. But through sand or undergrowth, 
 
114 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 or up hills or down them, or through valleys or 
 across ravines, he plodded steadily onward for 
 some hours. 
 
 From the sun he judged it to be about nine 
 o'clock, and that he had covered about half 
 the distance he had to go, when he decided to 
 sit down and rest. Although he had been ex- 
 tremely fortunate so far, he did not know 
 what demands he would have to meet, and it 
 would not do for him to be utterly worn out. 
 He must husband his resources for a possible 
 emergency. Instinctively he chose a shallow 
 ravine in which to rest as the propriety of con- 
 cealment was obvious. Indeed, he had never 
 mounted a hill without cautiously reconnoi- 
 tering before he showed himself over the top 
 of it. 
 
 He thought it unlikely that any Indians 
 were behind him on the prairie, but it was not 
 impossible that he might run across a wan- 
 dering band in front of him. It was warm in 
 the ravine, and he was very tired. He sat 
 down on the sandy bottom and, leaning 
 his shoulders against the bank, closed his 
 eyes. 
 
 When he opened them again after a nap, 
 
DANNY'S DOUBLE ESCAPE 115 
 
 which he had not meant to take, and the dura- 
 tion of which he did not then have time to de- 
 termine, he put his hand to the ground pre- 
 paratory to rising, while compunctions of con- 
 science filled his being. He felt exactly as a 
 soldier might who had slept when at his post 
 of duty. To be sure, there was no one to know 
 it or report it, he realized with a feeling of 
 thankfulness as he slowly turned over and 
 made ready to get to his feet and resume his 
 hard journey. 
 
 He had not got any further than his knees 
 and it was fortunate for him that he had 
 been so unusually deliberate when he heard 
 voices and the nicker of a pony ! He stopped 
 instantly and crouched down to his smallest 
 compass behind the bank. The voices were 
 fearfully near, and he could hear the tram- 
 pling of the feet of horses. There was no mis- 
 taking the Indian tongue. The sodded bank 
 of the ravine rose a foot or two above his head 
 and slightly overhung. As he crouched down 
 he could not see over it at all. He judged 
 from the number of voices and from the com- 
 motion made by the ponies that there must 
 be at least half a dozen men on the hillock 
 
116 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 just above the ravine. What they were doing 
 there, where they were going, what the mo- 
 ment would bring forth, he could not tell. 
 
 The horses were moving, but only restlessly. 
 It was evident that the party had halted. 
 There was a paralyzing sense of impotence in 
 Danny's mind. There was not a single thing 
 he could do but lie there. The ravine was too 
 shallow to hide him if he stood up and there 
 was no use in trying to crawl away. He would 
 be heard and presently he would be seen. Of 
 course, he could sell his life dearly. He 
 reached around and drew his revolver, he had 
 already unslung his rifle and it lay close at 
 hand. But he knew that the fight he would put 
 up would be a hopeless one. 
 
 To give him his just due, it was not his own 
 peril that almost stopped his heart, but the 
 sense of the possible, almost certain, failure of 
 his effort to tell the story of his beleaguered, 
 hard-beset comrades and the women that 
 overwhelmed him. He knew that unless help 
 came to them and unless he told the story 
 in all probability it would not they would be 
 overwhelmed in the canyon in spite of any 
 
DANNY'S DOUBLE ESCAPE 117 
 
 courage, heroism, or desperate, stubborn reso- 
 lution they might display in defence. 
 
 He was a prisoner. Wit and strength and 
 courage of men had failed. Chance only 
 would determine his fate and theirs. No, not 
 chance Almighty God! The boy prayed as 
 he crouched down there, revolver in hand, 
 as he had never prayed before. The Indians 
 were very deliberate. The soldier remem- 
 bered that the hillock whence he had de- 
 scended to the ravine seemed to be the highest 
 for miles around. They appeared to be sur- 
 veying the country, he gathered. With senses 
 keenly on the alert, scraps of words here and 
 there were all he could understand. He de- 
 cided that they were riding around the top of 
 the hill and looking in every direction for 
 some trace of him ! 
 
 He was thankful that for the last mile he 
 had gone down a ravine, which was rocky, so 
 that he had left no "sign" for these keenest of 
 trailers. They had not chanced upon any 
 marks of his progress across the open coun- 
 try, they had not picked up his trail anywhere, 
 and they did not seem to notice the ravine so 
 close at hand, perhaps because they could see 
 
118 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 at a glance into every part of it from where 
 they were, except just that very spot where the 
 soldier crouched down. 
 
 He berated himself for his dereliction, in 
 the midst of his prayers, because he had gone 
 to sleep, but when he came to think of it, the 
 very fact that he had slept there was what 
 probably saved him, for he had chanced into 
 the one spot in the vicinity invisible from that 
 hill. As a matter of fact, his nap had been a 
 very short one, half an hour at the outside, he 
 decided as he glanced at the sun while he 
 waited alike helpless and almost hopeless. 
 
 The suspense was becoming unbearable. 
 He thought that if nothing else discovered his 
 presence, the wild beating of his heart, which 
 sounded in his ears like the roll of a drum, 
 would certainly betray him. The sweat 
 beaded his brow. There was no mirror at 
 hand to tell him how he looked, but his face 
 was as white as the alkali patches over which 
 he had walked; yet his eyes blazed and his 
 mouth was closed in the tense, set line of high 
 resolution. 
 
 He had taken a chew of tobacco before he 
 dozed, and the wonder was that it had not 
 
DANNY'S DOUBLE ESCAPE 119 
 
 choked Mm while he slept. It tasted suddenly 
 bitter in his dry mouth, and he made up his 
 mind at once to discard it, when a new and 
 more terrible peril was added to the dangers 
 encompassing him. He had his head turned 
 up staring at the top of the bank a few feet 
 above it, expecting every moment to see the 
 skyline blotted out by the figure of an Indian. 
 They were talking furiously now, and evi- 
 dently debating some question hotly, when into 
 the man's strained mind penetrated a slight, 
 sibilant hissing sound full of menace. It 
 came from the left of him and he recognized 
 instantly with a thrill of horror as he turned 
 his head in that direction that he was about 
 to be attacked by a rattlesnake! the deadly 
 crotalus pyrrlius, the rare and most venemous 
 red variety. 
 
 There, a few feet away from him, the hid- 
 eous monster was coiled. His head was pro- 
 truded and his body ready for a spring. It 
 would have been easy for the trooper to have 
 shot the head off the snake or to have sprung 
 back and then cut it in two with the axe or 
 even to have battered it to death with a stone, 
 but if he made the slightest move the Indians 
 
120 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 would hear him. And if he did nothing to 
 protect himself, the snake would strike. 
 Either way meant horrible death. 
 
 He was filled with horror, but his mind 
 worked quicker than the snake could spring, 
 that is to say, like the lightning flash. That 
 plug of tobacco which he was about to spit out 
 saved him. It was the only weapon at his 
 command. He worked his jaws furiously for 
 a second or two and then he suddenly thrust 
 his face as near the snake as he could without 
 moving his body or making a sound. The 
 reptile had not shaken his rattles yet; if he 
 had, that would have been as bad as a rifle 
 shot, for it would have attracted the attention 
 of the Indians, and one of them would have 
 ridden over to the ravine to kill it. Before the 
 snake could move, before he could make the 
 spring for which he was coiled, before he 
 could shake that cluster of rattles on his tail, 
 the soldier spat out. 
 
 The mouth and eyes of the snake were filled 
 with tobacco juice. The effect was surprising. 
 The bewildered creature, his eyes and mouth 
 smarting, with a venom and a poison the like 
 of which he had never experienced, fell back- 
 
DANNY'S DOUBLE ESCAPE 
 
 ward blindly writhing and glided noiselessly 
 away. The trooper could have shrieked in 
 the nervous reaction. It was only by the most 
 terrific effort that he kept from crying aloud 
 as his body shook and trembled with the awful 
 strain. He felt that it was all up with him. 
 He could control himself no longer. For a 
 moment he had an impulse to rise and shout 
 and fight. 
 
 The next instant the Indians above him on 
 the hillock got in motion. The listener heard 
 words here and there. The pomes' feet thud- 
 ded on the soft ground and away they gal- 
 loped. He listened for a few moments, to be 
 sure that they were riding from and not to- 
 ward him, and then collapsed utterly in the 
 ravine. He lay there on his face shivering and 
 shaking and sobbing like a girl. He had es- 
 caped by the providence of God and his own 
 wit two of the deadliest perils of the West 
 the Indian and the rattlesnake. The venom- 
 ous serpent was still writhing in the bottom 
 of the ravine some distance off, blind and over- 
 whelmed by the acrid tobacco juice. 
 
 Danny lay limp and helpless until the sound 
 of the footsteps died away. He listened for 
 
122 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 some time thereafter before making a move, 
 for one of the Indians might have been left 
 on the hillock as a watchman, but he heard 
 absolutely no sound. Finally he cautiously 
 raised his head and peered over the edge of 
 the ravine. There was no one there. The 
 hillock shut off the view of the direction in 
 which the Indians had gone. He stood up and 
 looked about him. He was alone once more. 
 
 He took a huge stone and put the snake out 
 of its misery, cut the rattles off as a souvenir 
 of his peril, and then on his hands and knees 
 he climbed the hillock. Away off to the south- 
 ward he saw a little group of Indians. They 
 appeared to be galloping back in the direction 
 of the camp whence they had come. He sur- 
 mised they had been sent to get him, and hav- 
 ing failed to find his trail, had gone back to- 
 ward the canyon in hope that they might in- 
 tercept him there. 
 
 It seemed to the soldier that now at last he 
 was free from any further perils. He de- 
 scended the hillock to the ravine, which hap- 
 pened to run in his direction. He picked up 
 his rifle and axe and ran desperately down it. 
 When it bent to the northward he left it. He 
 
DANNY'S DOUBLE ESCAPE 
 
 climbed another hill and once more surveyed 
 the country and found he was still alone. He 
 decided that he would make a run for the post. 
 He broke into a long, easy dog-trot, which he 
 had learned from the Indians, and at high 
 noon he stopped, panting, exhausted, dust-cov- 
 ered, his throat parched, his legs heavy as 
 lead, before the gate of the wooden stockade of 
 Fort Sullivan. 
 
IX 
 
 SETS FOETH THE DEPAETUEE OF 
 
 THE FIEST SQUADEON TO EE- 
 
 LIEVE THE BESIEGED 
 
 THE sentry on the tower at the corner of 
 the big stockade discovered the ap- 
 proach of Danny Meagher while he was 
 yet a great way off. He saw that the new- 
 comer was running hard, and from his waver- 
 ing and uncertain gait it was evident that he 
 had been running a long time, and was almost 
 at the end of his strength. The sentry 
 watched him for a few moments and then 
 carefully scrutinized the far horizon back of 
 the rapidly approaching figure. If there were 
 Indians in his rear it would account for the 
 apparently desperate effort of the man to 
 reach the post, toward which he was heading. 
 But there was not a solitary figure to be seen 
 upon the horizon, except the runner. 
 
 There was a field glass handy. The sentry 
 seized it, focused it, and looked for a long 
 
 134 
 
TO THE RESCUE 125 
 
 time. He made out that the man was clothed 
 in a brown leather hunting suit, although he 
 appeared to be carrying the rifle of a soldier. 
 At first it popped into the sentry's mind that 
 it might be old Marnette, of w^hose departure 
 every one was aware, but the glass negatived 
 that idea. The soldier could see that the man 
 was white and that was all. 
 
 As the runner drew nearer the sentry turned 
 and called the corporal of the guard. That 
 worthy forthwith joined him on the observa- 
 tion platform and after steady staring decided 
 that the matter was of sufficient importance 
 to be referred to the sergeant of the guard. 
 He, in turn, reported it to the young officer of 
 the day, who made haste to join the others on 
 the platform. 
 
 Now, within the somewhat restricted limits 
 of the stockade everything that went on was 
 more or less public property. The successive 
 appearance of the various persons on the plat- 
 form of the observation tower was noticed by 
 one and then another and finally by everybody. 
 The officers and men at once sought places 
 whence they could see what was happening. 
 Finally old General Allenby, the commander 
 
126 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 of the regiment, himself came out of his quar- 
 ters with the adjutant, and, suddenly aware of 
 the unusual excitement, stopped by the foot 
 of the tower and hailed to know what was 
 toward. 
 
 "There's a runner coming in, sir." 
 
 "A soldier?" asked the general. 
 
 "We don't know, sir. He doesn't wear a 
 uniform. Sergeant Peters thinks he recog- 
 nizes him. He will be here in a moment." 
 
 "Let us go out of the gate, Mr. Tyson," 
 said the general to the adjutant. "We can 
 afford to take chances with one man," he 
 continued, smiling grimly, for his regiment 
 had been roughly handled by the Indians, and 
 the men had been never so thankful as when 
 they reached Fort Sullivan only yesterday 
 night with their wounded and sick, chief of 
 whom was Major Compton, who was still 
 alive, although that was about all that could 
 be said of him. The two officers ordered the 
 gate unbarred and opened and stepped with- 
 out. By this time the messenger was close 
 at hand. The general stared at him. There 
 was something familiar about him. But it was 
 Tyson, before whom Danny had appeared 
 
TO THE RESCUE 127 
 
 more than once for various small evidences of 
 his ebullient spirits, who recognized him. 
 
 "That will be Trooper Meagher of Gal- 
 more 's troop, sir." 
 
 The general threw his head back toward the 
 gate. Several officers were coming through to 
 join the commander. He recognized the man 
 he sought. 
 
 "Captain Calmore," he cried sharply. 
 
 "Sir." 
 
 "You know that man?" 
 
 Calmore took a long look. 
 
 " It 's Trooper Meagher, although what he is 
 doing without his uniform I don't know." 
 
 "Was he one of Sergeant McNeil's detach- 
 ment!" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Umph!" said the general. "Looks bad. 
 Better have the assembly sounded, Mr. Tyson, 
 and then officers' call. Now, my man, what is 
 it?" he continued, facing Meagher as TysoD 
 turned away to carry out the command. 
 
 Danny Meagher was fairly dropping from 
 fatigue. He was pale as death. His eyes 
 were bloodshot. His face was covered with 
 sweat and dust, and he was in a state of almost 
 
128 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 complete exhaustion. He did not realize until 
 lie stopped at what a desperate pace he had 
 covered the last half dozen miles of his jour- 
 ney. By a brave effort he drew himself up, 
 brought his moccasined heels together, raised 
 his hand, and saluted like a good soldier. The 
 general promptly acknowledged the courtesy. 
 
 "Out with it," he said. 
 
 ' 'For the Lord's sake, sor," whispered 
 Danny with parched lips, " could I have a 
 drink !" 
 
 " Water, here," cried the general, "and 
 whiskey. The man's nearly done for. Here, 
 my man" he pointed to a pile of wood on 
 the side of the trail left there by one of the 
 logging parties "sit down." 
 
 "Thank you, sor," said Danny, taking a 
 long pull from one of the canteens offered 
 him. "I come from Sergeant McNeil." 
 
 "Yes, where is he?" 
 
 "About ten miles from the mouth av Turkey 
 Creek Canyon, at the Big Meadows, sor," was 
 the answer. 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "When I left he was camped on a shelf av 
 rock overlookin' the meadows, an' there was 
 
TO THE RESCUE 129 
 
 five hundred Sioux an' Cheyennes attacMn' 
 him, sor." 
 
 "Good God!" exclaimed Captain Calmore 
 amid a general movement of astonishment and 
 alarm. 
 
 The general threw up his hand for silence. 
 
 "What time did you leave f" 
 
 "Jist at dark last night, sor." 
 
 "It's all of forty miles," said the general, 
 who knew the country like a book. ' ' You have 
 come through in quick time." 
 
 "Sergeant McNeil bid me say, sor, wid his 
 respectful compliments, that he'd hould the 
 place as long as there was a man alive, sor, an' 
 then shoot the women an' children, an' 
 
 "I know McNeil," said the general quickly. 
 "He will do what he said." 
 
 "I know him, too," came from Calmore 
 amid a chorus of hearty approval from the 
 other officers. 
 
 "He directed me to say, sor, that if you'd 
 plaise come as quick as you can, it'd be helpful 
 to the women, of which there are three, Mrs. 
 Compton, his wife, an' his daughter, an' per- 
 haps, praise be to God, there is another wan by 
 now, although she might be a boy. ' ' 
 
130 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked the general 
 sharply. 
 
 "If the general plaises, Mrs. Compton " 
 
 began Danny. 
 
 "Oh, I recollect, " said the general. "Great 
 heavens, what a situation !" 
 
 "An' he said, sor, would you plaise send a 
 dochtor wid the relievin' force?" 
 
 The general nodded again. Back in the fort 
 the bugles were ringing the assembly, the old 
 call preparatory to action, and as its cadences 
 died away it was followed by the officers' call. 
 
 "Meet me at my office, gentlemen, and one 
 or two of you see that this man is well cared 
 for, and fetch him over to headquarters as 
 soon as he is able to move." 
 
 "I'm able to go along wid the general now, 
 sor," said Danny stoutly, rising to his feet in- 
 domitably. 
 
 "Good," said the general. "Come along. 
 You have done well. I'll hear the details of 
 your story later." 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said to the officers whom 
 he met at his office a little later most of them 
 had heard his little colloquy with the messen- 
 ger, by the way "Sergeant McNeil's detach- 
 
TO THE RESCUE 131 
 
 ment and Major Compton's wife and Bridget 
 and Molly McNeil and the valuable little 
 wagon train are attacked in heavy force. 
 How many did you say there were?" 
 
 "They looked like a million to me, sor," 
 answered Meagher, "but ould Marnette 
 
 "Oh, did he get there?" interrupted Gal- 
 more. 
 
 " Yis, sor, after bein' wounded, but not bad. 
 He said there was about five hundred av 'em 
 warriors, that is wid their women an' chil- 
 dren. ' ' 
 
 "McNeil entrenched himself, of course?" 
 
 "Yis, sor." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 ' ' Behind the wagon beds on a shelf opposite 
 the Big Meadows in Turkey Creek Canyon." 
 
 "I know the place," said Calmore. 
 
 "And I and I '' repeated the others. 
 
 "We can trust McNeil to uphold the honor 
 of the regiment and defend the place to the 
 last extremity. Trooper Meagher left last 
 night " 
 
 "Fine work, sir," said Calmore. 
 
 "Very. It must be thirty miles as the crow 
 flies, and forty miles across country. I pro- 
 
132 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 pose to send the four troops of the first squad- 
 ron Compton's to rescue the party. Va- 
 cancies caused by illness or wounds will be 
 filled from the second squadron." 
 
 The officers of the first squadron broke into 
 spontaneous cheers. Those of the second 
 looked very glum and disappointed. 
 
 "The second bore the brunt of the fighting 
 last month," continued the general, as his 
 eyes swept the room filled with officers. ' * Cap- 
 tain Calmore, you haven't had the chance for 
 active service the others have enjoyed to 
 you the command. Surgeon Ormond, you will 
 go with the party. Take whatever you may 
 need for the unusual demand you are certain 
 to meet." 
 
 " Thank you, general," exclaimed the de- 
 lighted Calmore. 
 
 "How about your horses and the train 
 mules!" continued the general, turning to 
 Meagher. 
 
 "We had to turn 'em loose in the meadow, 
 sor. The Injuns got 'em all. 
 
 "Umph, I suppose so. Well, we'll have to 
 use the troop horses to bring back the wagons. 
 I can't send any mules along because I want 
 
TO THE RESCUE 183 
 
 you to go fast, Calmore. You can take your 
 time returning with the wounded. " 
 
 "Am I to go now, sir?" asked Calmore 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Instantly," said the general. "And re- 
 member that your orders are to rescue that 
 party and bring them back, and not to be 
 led into pursuit of the Indians. That will be 
 task enough for you or anybody." 
 
 "I understand, sir," said Captain Calmore. 
 
 "Mr. Tyson," said the general, "you will 
 prepare the orders. The men will carry every- 
 thing they need on their persons, or in their 
 saddlebags, no baggage train, and, Calmore, I 
 am doubtful whether you will get there in 
 time at best, but spare neither man nor horse 
 so long as you keep the command together. 
 Five hundred Indians is no small task even for 
 two hundred and forty of ours to attempt. It 
 is probably a band from Crazy Horse's com- 
 mand, and we know how they can fight. ' ' 
 
 "If the general plaises," said Meagher, 
 "but Marnette said it was Dull Knife's band." 
 
 "And that old rascal is one of the best. 
 We'll never have peace along the frontier as 
 long as he's alive." 
 
134 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 ' i Have you any orders, general 1" asked 
 Calmore. 
 
 "None," answered the general. "I leave 
 everything to you." 
 
 Calmore saluted and ran from the room, 
 followed by all of the officers of the first 
 squadron. As it happened, the captain of one 
 of the troops was wounded, the captains of two 
 other troops were on detached service, and 
 the remaining troop was Calmore 's own. In- 
 deed, it was the absence of these other sol- 
 diers which permitted the command to be 
 given to so young a captain as Calmore. He 
 had under him a group of youngsters, lieuten- 
 ants, hard riders, and gallant fighters, just the 
 crowd for a dash and a fight. 
 
 The men of the regiment were already 
 drawn up outside on the parade ground. Cal- 
 more briefly communicated the general's or- 
 ders to the first squadron, then he ordered the 
 men to break ranks and go to their quarters 
 and equip themselves for the expedition. He 
 allowed them ten minutes for the task. Before 
 he dismissed them he explained what that 
 task was, what they were expected to do. 
 
 Now, the first squadron was Compton 's own, 
 
TO THE RESCUE 135 
 
 and every man felt a direct personal interest 
 in the work cut out for him. The commander 
 of the second squadron conferred briefly with 
 Calmore and detailed enough men to fill out 
 the vacancies in the four troops. The veteri- 
 narians and the stable sergeants also replaced 
 every horse which showed any signs of unfit- 
 ness for the hard march with the best avail- 
 able from the other squadron. 
 
 Calmore 's own preparations were soon com- 
 pleted. Booted and spurred and armed, he 
 was ready in five minutes. There was one 
 duty he had to perform. The hospital was 
 adjacent to his quarters, and he went into 
 Compton's room. That officer was lying com- 
 pletely helpless on his bed. He had reached 
 the post in the worst possible condition he 
 could exhibit and still be alive, but one day in 
 a comfortable bed with clean linen, warm 
 water, and careful nursing had already 
 wrought wonders. 
 
 "I heard the bugle calls," he whispered, as 
 his trusty junior bent over his bandaged face, 
 "and then cheering. I thought first that Mc- 
 Neil's party had got in, but my wife has not 
 joined me and what is it?" 
 
136 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 " It's a messenger from McNeil, Compton," 
 said Calmore, dropping distinction of rank in 
 this informal intercourse between friends. 
 
 "Yes? What's the news!" asked the major, 
 his thin hand clenched but his voice steady 
 like a soldier's. 
 
 ' l They have been overtaken by a large band 
 of Sioux and Cheyennes." 
 
 "How many?" 
 
 "Five hundred." 
 
 "And McNeil had but twenty men and the 
 drivers." 
 
 "He seems to have acted with discretion and 
 courage and conduct, for he entrenched on 
 that shelf in the canyon by the Big Meadows. 
 The messenger 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Trooper Meagher." 
 
 "Good boy!" 
 
 * ' Got in ten minutes ago with an appeal for 
 help." 
 
 "And my wife?" 
 
 "Well and cheerful when Meagher left. The 
 general has given me command of the first 
 squadron, ours. We are to ride immediately 
 to bring them back." 
 
TO THE RESCUE 137 
 
 "If anybody on earth can do it you can, 
 Calmore, and the troopers of that squadron. 
 Say to them that I know they will do all that 
 officers and soldiers can do, and that I would 
 almost give the rest of my life to go along. 
 My soul rides with them." 
 
 "Your spirit will animate us, old friend," 
 said Calmore. "And keep up your cour- 
 age." 
 
 6 ' Tell my wife, if you get there in time, that 
 I am living just to see her again." 
 
 "We'll get there in time. I'll tell her. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 "God bless you!" 
 
 Calmore hurried out of the room. His or- 
 derly was walking his horse up and down in 
 front of the hospital. He sprang into the 
 saddle and trotted toward his command. The 
 general and the officers, who were to remain 
 behind with their wives and children, were 
 grouped around the gate. The other squadron 
 of the regiment was lined up on the opposite 
 side as if for a review. The band was out. 
 The old general loved to do things up in style. 
 He was going to play them out in fine form. 
 Calmore rode to the head of the squadron. 
 
138 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "Men," he said, raising his voice, "we are 
 to ride to rescue McNeil and his detachment, 
 our comrades in thi^ squadron. But we are 
 to ride for more than men. There are women 
 there. McNeil's wife and his daughter and 
 the wife of our major. He would give his life 
 to be here. He sends you this message: 'I 
 know that you will do all that officers and 
 soldiers can do, and my soul rides with you. 
 I know that if anybody on earth can do it, you 
 men can. ' ' ' 
 
 Amid frantic cheering, Calmore turned to 
 the general and saluted. 
 
 "Forward, at once!" said the old soldier, 
 and Calmore gave the command which put the 
 squadron in column and motion. 
 
 The band struck up the famous marching 
 song of the regiment. At a walk first, then at 
 a slow trot, the detachment passed rapidly 
 through the gates, the old general standing 
 hand in salute as the lean, hard-bitten, brown, 
 weather-beaten troopers of his beloved regi- 
 ment rode gallantly forth on their desperate 
 errand. 
 
 With the first troop of the squadron rode 
 Danny Meagher. He had appealed directly 
 
TO THE RESCUE 139 
 
 to the general and had begged to be allowed 
 to join the expedition. 
 
 " Since I have eaten an' drunk, " said 
 Danny, "an' since I've seen the squadron com- 
 ing, I want to go back in the field. I feel like 
 a new man already, sor, an' I can ride wid 
 the best of 'em. I want to be in at the death, 
 sor. Why, it'd be like desartin' the command 
 if I stayed back here an' rested. There'll be 
 time enough to rest when we've rescued 
 them." 
 
 The old general had laughed grimly. It was 
 the sort of spirit he liked. 
 
 * ' That 's the kind of men I want in my regi- 
 ment," he said. "You shall go, Meagher, and 
 you shall have the best horse in the regiment 
 to carry you." 
 
 "Any ould thing will do for me that gits 
 there, sor," said Danny. 
 
 6 1 My black stallion will get you there, ' ' said 
 the general. ' ' Orderly, tell the stable sergeant 
 to give the black to Trooper Meagher." 
 
 Tired though he was, Danny was grinning 
 widely from the back of the general's horse 
 in his humble place in the ranks of the troop 
 which trotted by. 
 
HOW THEY AEEIVED IN THE VERY 
 NICK OF TIME 
 
 CALMOEE was an experienced soldier. 
 He knew that he had a long, hard ride 
 before him, and that if he tired his 
 horses out at the beginning he would pay up 
 for it before he got through. The country he 
 had to traverse was execrable. Over the 
 prairie in the direction of Turkey Creek Can- 
 yon there was scarcely a sign of a road. The 
 land was rolling and broken and sandy, in 
 places cut by ditches and as the result of the 
 long dry season now covered with dust. It 
 was thirty miles to the mouth of the canyon, 
 and he judged he could not possibly reach it 
 before dark. Trail, there was practically 
 none. 
 
 The main point of supply was on another 
 railroad to the far north of Fort Sullivan. 
 Very few things were sent by the road that 
 ran south and west, and the canyon was not 
 
 140 
 
IN THE NICK OF TIME 
 
 very much used. Mrs. Compton had come that 
 way because it was nearer Omaha and quicker, 
 and the little emergency wagon train had been 
 sent that way for the same purpose. 
 
 In some places it would be necessary to go 
 up the canyon in single file and at a walk, so 
 bad was the trail. Although he had the pick 
 of the horses, they were by no means fresh, 
 for the regiment, except his own troop, part of 
 which was with McNeil, had been in the field 
 for the whole of the summer, and the men 
 had just got back to Fort Sullivan the day be- 
 fore. Nothing short of the great peril that 
 menaced the detachment would have brought 
 the general to order the fagged-out horses and 
 the equally worn and wearied troopers to the 
 field. Even if the horses and men had been 
 fresh, it would have been night before they 
 could reach the mouth of the canyon. In their 
 present condition it would undoubtedly take 
 much longer. 
 
 Calmore could not allow any straggling. 
 He had to keep his command closed up, and 
 the speed of it was the speed of the slowest 
 horse. If they had all been in as fine fettle as 
 the general's big black stallion, so proudly 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 bestrode by Trooper Meagher, there would 
 have been a mad race across the country, such 
 as romancers love to dwell upon, and the party 
 might have been rescued before nightfall, but 
 in real life things do not happen that way. 
 When the rolling ground was firm and hard 
 they trotted, when it was sandy and heavy 
 they walked, and sometimes they walked very 
 slowly indeed. Occasionally detours to get 
 across ditches were necessary. 
 
 The flankers were thrown out, a scouting 
 force marched ahead. No precautions were 
 neglected. Six o'clock found them at least six 
 miles from the mouth of the canyon. The foot- 
 hills of the range loomed before them in the 
 growing dusk of the short autumn day, while 
 back of them rose the snow-capped peaks of 
 the mighty mountains through which the can- 
 yon ran. They had reached the big spring 
 beyond the buffalo wallow, and here Calmore 
 made a halt, that the men might eat from their 
 haversacks and stretch their legs, and the 
 horses might be off-saddled, watered, and 
 given a brief rest. Every man was aching to 
 be on the march, Calmore as much as the 
 others, but he held them there for a full hour. 
 
IN THE NICK OF TIME 143 
 
 There was not an Indian in sight. Fires 
 were kindled, coffee was made, the men 
 brought out their pipes, and, except those on 
 picket duty, they all stretched themselves out 
 on the sand for a very much needed rest. Cal- 
 more and his youthful troop commanders had 
 an earnest discussion with Trooper Meagher, 
 Danny's topographical eye was remarkable, 
 and he could explain the whole situation. 
 They heard for the first time the details of 
 his wonderful escape up the canyon, his mad 
 ride on the Indian pony, the ruse by 
 which he discomfited the rattlesnake, and the 
 narrowness by which he avoided discovery by 
 the Indians. He told them how the land lay. 
 He even traced in the sand a map of the shelf 
 on the trail overlooking the meadows. 
 
 "I wonder how it would do to send one 
 troop along the north wall of the canyon to 
 go down where Meagher climbed up the wall; 
 while the rest of us go up the canyon so as to 
 take them behind two fires ?" asked one of 
 the juniors. 
 
 "It would not do at all, sor, savin' your 
 presence, because there's Injuns up there, a 
 lot of 'em, an ' you wouldn 't git by 'em widout 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 a fight, an' all chances of surprise would be 
 lost," the young trooper ventured to reply. 
 
 "True, Meagher is right, " said Calmore. 
 "Besides, there are so few of us and so many 
 of them that I dare not attempt a rescue with 
 a divided command. Our best plan, I think, 
 will be for all of us to go directly to the mouth 
 of the canyon, to drive up it as fast as we can, 
 and when we get to the meadows open out and 
 slam into them. ' ' 
 
 "I think that's the better way," said the 
 senior troop commander present. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," said Calmore, rising, "I 
 hate to do it, but it will be 'boots and sad- 
 dles.' " 
 
 No bugle was blown, of course, but the word 
 was passed, the horses were brought up and 
 saddled, the men took a last drink at the 
 spring and filled their canteens, the horses 
 were given another watering, and at the word 
 of command they moved off again. 
 
 Meagher, who naturally knew the country 
 better than most of the others, rode in advance 
 by the side of Calmore. It had grown dark 
 by this time, and progress was slower than 
 ever. The men were fretting because of the 
 
IN THE NICK OF TIME 145 
 
 delay, but it was impossible to go faster. It 
 was nearly ten o'clock before they reached the 
 mouth of the canyon. It would be five in the 
 morning at the rate they were going before 
 they got up to the Big Meadows. 
 
 The experienced Indian fighters in the party 
 knew that it was most unusual for the Indians 
 to attack in force after dark. If McNeil had 
 succeeded in beating off his assailants during 
 the day, the relief might reasonably expect to 
 find the survivors in possession of the place 
 at dawn. They did not linger on that account, 
 however, but pressed resolutely on. Calmore 
 and the soldier who seemed made of iron 
 he forgot his want of sleep and his fatigue as 
 he approached nearer the conflict rode ever 
 in the lead. There were one or two levels 
 where they could even gallop. Calmore did 
 not spare the horses now. Being now almost 
 within striking distance he gave to the pur- 
 suit everything that the animals had, and took 
 advantage of every bit of ground to come on 
 at the best speed. Still there were places 
 where single file and slow walk were neces- 
 sary in the narrowing, ever rising canyon. 
 
 At midnight halt was made for water and 
 
146 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 a fifteen-minute rest, although the horses were 
 not unsaddled. Half the distance up the can- 
 yon had been traversed, but the other half was 
 the harder part. The trail steadily ascended, 
 and the increasingly high altitude made it 
 more and more difficult to move rapidly, and 
 the horses grew more and more weary. It was 
 four o 'clock in the morning when they reached 
 the highest point in the trail. Rounding a 
 sharp bend in the canyon they could see be- 
 fore them in the faint glow of the coming dawn 
 the narrow lower end of the meadow. The 
 plain began to broaden out beyond the curve 
 and to the left, the southern side. A few rods 
 ahead of them there was an easy descent to 
 the level of the brook, and on the other side 
 of the brook grass land began, which presently 
 developed into the great meadow. 
 
 The place where Calmore and Meagher 
 stopped was the last spot which had been held 
 by Schmidt and his detachment to delay the 
 Indians while the camp was being made on the 
 shelf. And it was the same place where poor 
 Seddon had been captured. Sentries should 
 have been posted there, but possibly because 
 the Indians realized that they could seize their 
 
IN THE NICK OF TIME 147 
 
 helpless prey in the morning none were on 
 watch. Owing to the intervening cliff and the 
 broken out-jutting north wall of the canyon, 
 the soldiers could not see the barricade. In 
 fact they could only see the far southern por- 
 tion of the meadow, under the opposite can- 
 yon wall. In that direction faint lights 
 twinkled in the valley, embers apparently of 
 dying fires. The Indians were evidently still 
 there, and if they, the soldiers also. 
 
 Calmore was far in advance of the column 
 trailing in single file for a mile back of him. 
 He surveyed the country critically. He deter- 
 mined to send three troops and a half down 
 the slope to cross the brook and gallop up the 
 meadow. The other half -troop he intended to 
 dismount and advance along the trail toward 
 the shelf. The troopers headed for the mea- 
 dow would have to make a big detour before 
 they got to the meadow, and the men on foot 
 would probably make as good time as the 
 others. As fast as the troopers came up he 
 sent them quickly down, and halted them on 
 the little level of grass land. 
 
 The troops were facing westward, their 
 backs against the northeast wall of the canyon. 
 
148 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 The sun when it came up was over their shoul- 
 ders and they were still in the shadow, so they 
 were not observed by any one in the Indian 
 camp. Indeed the only place they could be 
 seen from the Indian camp was the single 
 spot where they defiled to the left and de- 
 scended to the level of the brook. But the In- 
 dians were not looking or expecting any enemy 
 in that direction. Those on the brink of the 
 canyon above could see nothing. The troopers, 
 however, could see the Indian encampment as 
 the sun's rays, falling over the top of the can- 
 yon, began to illuminate the valley. 
 
 Calmore waited until the last man had 
 passed. He had got his dismounted squad 
 ready for its march, and then followed by 
 Meagher, whom he had made his orderly, he 
 was about to ride down to the three troops and 
 a half which were lined up and ready at the 
 beginning of the meadow, when a sudden move- 
 ment in the Indian camp caught his eye. 
 
 "Look yonder, sor," said Meagher eagerly. 
 
 In his excitement he touched his officer on 
 the shoulder. Calmore and the trooper saw 
 the Indians mounting their ponies and ap- 
 parently assembling for a final attack. Many 
 
IN THE NICK OP TIME 149 
 
 of them rushed across the meadow and the 
 sweetest sound that ever came to the hearts 
 of those men was the crack of a rifle from the 
 mountainside. There was evidently some one 
 still alive in that barricade. Thank God, they 
 were in time! 
 
 ' ' You know what you have to do, ' ' said Cal- 
 more, turning to the dismounted troopers 
 under Hadden, their lieutenant, who had just 
 come from West Point the previous June, and 
 had seen no service. "We'll try to crowd 
 them over against the bank. Then you give 
 it to them." 
 
 "Very good, sir," said Hadden, saluting 
 and marching off at the head of his platoon. 
 
 1 ' No firing until I give the order, ' ' said Cal- 
 more to the squadron. "Now, gentlemen, 
 forward. ' ' 
 
 At a slow trot the little command in a col- 
 umn of fours moved up the narrow valley. 
 The brook and the tail of the meadow, as it 
 were, swept to the southward. The grass 
 land, which was fairly green and firm enough 
 to give them good footing, widened so that 
 they had plenty of room for maneuvering. 
 Just as they reached the last turn before the 
 
150 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 meadow Calmore deployed the troops. He 
 formed the battalion in a double line and bade 
 them open out as they advanced so as to cover 
 the whole width of the valley. He shot a 
 glance to the northward. He could see in the 
 shadows that Hadden's detachment was about 
 to pass the last bend and enter the valley 
 where they would be in plain sight. He de- 
 cided to wait a moment or two, believing that 
 the Indians might be attracted by the appar- 
 ently small numbers of the relief force to at- 
 tack them on the open face of the cliff. He 
 rode down the lines explaining what he wanted 
 the men to do and what he hoped to effect. 
 
 "When I give the word I want you to trot 
 until you get to that bend. When you get 
 around it, ride like blazes right at them. 
 Don't use pistols or sabres until you come to 
 close quarters." 
 
 He rode forward until he could see down 
 the valley, which was now filling with smoke 
 from a continuous discharge. Sure enough 
 the Indians caught sight of Hadden's little 
 party. They swerved off to their left and gal- 
 loped rapidly in the direction of the little band 
 now revealed in all its small numbers in full 
 
IN THE NICK OF TIME 151 
 
 view. Hadden's men sought cover and pro- 
 tection behind boulders on the trail and waited. 
 As the Indians drew nearer they coolly pre- 
 pared to open fire. 
 
 The crash of the first discharge was Cal- 
 more's signal. He turned and lifted his hand. 
 The Indians were in plain view. As the line 
 swung across the valley Calmore gave the 
 command to fire. A withering rifle volley 
 swept over the meadow, and then into the 
 smoke the troopers threw themselves at full 
 speed, yelling like mad and driving the spurs 
 into their horses' flanks and getting such 
 swiftness out of the tired animals as no one 
 would have supposed them capable of after 
 all they had gone through. 
 
 At the same instant Hadden 's men rose, and 
 recklessly exposing themselves, fired volley 
 after volley. The Indians, assailed on both 
 sides and completely surprised, were driven 
 into a bunch which afforded a splendid target. 
 But there were soldiers generals that is 
 among the Indians as well. They had been 
 surprised and attacked at a great disadvan- 
 tage. They had no further stomach for a 
 close fight. The losses of the few hot moments 
 
152 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 of that morning together with those that had 
 been inflicted by the gallant defence had seri- 
 ously depleted their ranks. Flight was their 
 only desire. Yet there were women and chil- 
 dren and herds that had to be protected. They 
 scattered out and as the impetus of the charge 
 spent itself they withdrew in fair order, skir- 
 mishing bravely and contesting every foot of 
 the ground. They were better mounted than 
 the soldiers, and better armed, and they cir- 
 cled around with dazzling swiftness, keeping 
 up a continuous fire, while slowly and steadily 
 giving back. 
 
 The valley rang with rifle shots and was 
 soon covered with smoke. The squaws needed 
 no urging. Indeed tepees had already been 
 struck, for the Indians knew that they could 
 finish the defenders on the shelf in the morn- 
 ing and they had made their preparations 
 to get out. Skirmishing and holding back the 
 charge and fighting hard, and they were at 
 hand-to-hand grips for part of the time here 
 and there, the brave, if savage, warriors 
 finally had the satisfaction of seeing their 
 women and children and herds escaping up the 
 canyon. They halted in the narrow gorge 
 
IN THE NICK OF TIME 153 
 
 above the meadows and here the chiefs dis- 
 mounted their men and prepared for a des- 
 perate defence, if assailed. 
 
 Calmore would have liked nothing better 
 than to have carried the place by assault, but 
 there were already a dozen riderless horses in 
 his squadron and there were many men who 
 clung to their saddles helplessly from wounds 
 more or less severe. Contenting himself with 
 throwing out a line of skirmishers lest the In- 
 dians should attempt to return to the meadow, 
 which they showed no disposition to do, he 
 rode toward the shelf which had been the 
 scene of so memorable a defence. 
 
XI 
 
 WHEREIN THE BABY IS INTEODUCED 
 TO HEE FATHEE 
 
 E~AVING the task of gathering up the 
 stray horses which had escaped from the 
 Indian herd, of seizing and destroying 
 the Indian camp, and securing the valley 
 against any possible return of the Indian 
 charge to his subordinates, Calmore, followed 
 by Meagher, who stuck to his heels, galloped 
 to the trail and joined Hadden, with whom Dr. 
 Ormond had marched, and whose men were 
 sent back for the horses. The three officers 
 and the trooper, all having dismounted, ran 
 toward the barricade. 
 
 It was as still as death behind the splintered, 
 bullet-torn ring of wagon beds. 
 
 "I wonder," said Calmore, struggling over 
 the rocky pass, "if there's anybody alive. " 
 
 "I hope we're not too late," said Hadden, 
 
 The next moment the four men stopped, 
 petrified. The battle had moved far up the 
 
 154 
 
THE BABY AND HER FATHER 155 
 
 meadows. The distant crack of a few random 
 rifle shots could be heard, but it was painfully 
 still in the barricade save for one sound that 
 came from it and that was a cry with which 
 most of the men, for they were all bachelors, 
 were strangely unfamiliar and yet it was un- 
 mistakable. It was the cry of a baby. The 
 four looked at one another. 
 
 4 'There is one living/' said Calmore, start- 
 ing forward. 
 
 "You got here too late, doc," said Hadden. 
 "Somebody else was on the job." 
 
 "That will be Bridget McNeil, sor," said 
 Meagher. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said the doctor. "I 
 guess there'll be plenty of work for me." 
 
 "We will soon find out," said Calmore. 
 
 He scrambled over the wagon bed, passing 
 the dead Indians who had been shot when 
 Molly had given the alarm. No effort had 
 been made to dispose of their bodies, of course. 
 
 "It's been a fearfully near thing," he said 
 to his companions as he leaped down into the 
 little enclosure. "And these men will never 
 be forgotten." 
 
 The little barricade was lined with dead, 
 
156 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 dying, desperately wounded men. They 
 were mostly in their places, where they had 
 been shot, rifles and pistols by their sides, 
 their heads pointed toward the meadow. The 
 few wounded earlier in the fight had been 
 dragged to the rear. There was not a man in 
 the enclosure who had not been hurt. Three 
 or four, badly wounded, lay on their backs 
 staring upward. A few feeble moans broke 
 from their lips. Those who were conscious 
 stifled them. They did not want to alarm Mrs. 
 Compton, it appeared afterward. 
 
 Sitting on the ground, his empty Winchester 
 across his knee, his revolver in his hand, his 
 back against the ambulance bed and the top of 
 his head bound with a bloody bandage, his lips 
 white, his eyes blazing, was Sergeant McNeil. 
 Half reclining on his elbow, revolver in hand, 
 lay Scout Marnette. In addition to the first 
 wound in his side, he had been shot in the leg 
 and could not walk. With a broken arm, his 
 revolver clasped in his right hand, Corporal 
 Schmidt was leaning his breast heavily against 
 a rock. All three of the men were close by the 
 ambulance. It was quite evident that they 
 intended to sell their lives dearly if the In- 
 
THE BABY AND HER FATHER 157 
 
 dians broke in, which the four new-comers 
 were certain they would have done in another 
 half hour if the relief party had not arrived. 
 
 Just in front of the parted entrance of the 
 ambulance stood Bridget McNeil. Clinging to 
 her skirts was a much-dishevelled, very badly 
 frightened little girl, her arm in a sling, and 
 a bloody scratch across her cheek. Bridget 
 McNeil stood erect and apparently unharmed. 
 In her right hand she had a Winchester rifle, 
 in her left she carefully clasped to her breast 
 an odd-shaped bundle, and, as the officers 
 stared, from that bundle came again that 
 strange cry. Calmore took off his cap as he 
 had stood in the presence of a nobler than 
 Queen Guinevere or more knightly souls than 
 those that sat with King Arthur about the 
 table round. 
 
 McNeil made an effort to rise, failed, 
 dropped the revolver, raised his hand to his 
 head. 
 
 "I have to report, sor," he said hoarsely, 
 "that we have been in action wid Dull Knife's 
 band of Sioux an' Cheyennes. We have 
 bate them off, sor, wid heavy loss to them an' 
 to ourselves; the women an' children, barrin' 
 
158 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 a slight wound or two to the young one yonder, 
 who would take part in the fighting are safe. 
 We had to let the horses an' mules go, sor, an' 
 the thrain 
 
 "McNeil," said Calmore, "there has not 
 been a more gallant defence in the whole his- 
 tory of the United States Army. Where is 
 Mrs. Compton?" 
 
 "She's here, sor," said Bridget, "an* 
 wantin' a doctor mighty bad." 
 
 Calmore and Surgeon Ormond stepped to 
 the ambulance. 
 
 "Mrs. Compton," said Calmore, the sur- 
 geon parted the curtains and crept within, "I 
 only want to say you are safe now. ' ' 
 
 ' i Thank God ! ' ' whispered Marion Compton 
 faintly, "and the brave men who held the 
 pass." 
 
 "You may well say that. Now, here is the 
 doctor, to do for you what he can." 
 
 But the major's brave wife, looking deathly 
 white and most ethereally lovely, waved the 
 doctor away. 
 
 "Bridget McNeil has taken care of me. I 
 can wait, doctor. I know there are men out 
 there, though they stifle their groans, who 
 
THE BABY AND HER FATHER 159 
 
 need you more than I. See," she said, '"'I was 
 ready." 
 
 Her hand extended itself to a loaded re- 
 volver that lay upon the cover. It was doubt- 
 ful if she could have lifted it or pulled the 
 trigger, but it was mute evidence of the spirit 
 that was within her. 
 
 "And have you seen the baby?" she asked 
 as the doctor started to leave. 
 
 " We've heard her cry," answered Ormond, 
 smiling cheerfully, "and I'm happy to say it's 
 as healthy a cry as I ever listened to. After 
 I see to the men, poor fellows, I will come 
 back to you." 
 
 "Doctor, my husband!" 
 
 1 ' Doing well and awaiting you at the post, ' ' 
 was the comforting reply. 
 
 "How is she!" asked Calmore as the doctor 
 rejoined them. 
 
 "I haven't made any investigation. She 
 looks like a terribly ill woman. I have no 
 doubt Bridget McNeil did the best she knew 
 how for her and the men." 
 
 Nineteen of them were dead, either killed 
 outright or had succumbed to wounds. The 
 survivors were Sergeant McNeil, Corporal 
 
160 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 Schmidt, Marnette, Teamster Bagley, and 
 three troopers, all of whom were wounded, 
 more or less badly though not mortally. The 
 Indians had managed to take away the bodies 
 of most of their slain, except those on the 
 shelf and those who had been shot by the re- 
 lief expedition that morning. But there was 
 no doubt that they had lost heavily. Perhaps 
 their casualties in the three days of fighting 
 may have amounted to one hundred, and there 
 were at least threescore of dead ponies lying 
 in the meadow. 
 
 Neither McNeil nor Marnette could walk or 
 ride horses. Schmidt, the teamster Bagley, 
 and the three privates could manage on a 
 pinch. Molly's wound was merely a scratch, 
 and nobody on earth could have been prouder 
 of it than she. When Captain Calmore patted 
 her on the head after learning how she had 
 saved them at the barricade, and how she had 
 taken her place with the rest with her rifle on 
 that last terrible day, she was the happiest 
 girl in Wyoming. 
 
 Having done all that could be done for the 
 wounded men and Molly, Dr. Ormond was at 
 last able to devote his attention to Marion 
 
THE BABY AND HER FATHER 161 
 
 Compton, who sadly needed his care. The 
 best treatment she received, however, was the 
 news that her husband was alive and safe at 
 the post, and that there had been a marked im- 
 provement in his condition and that he was 
 consumed with anxiety about her. The sur- 
 geon finally left her in very much better shape 
 than he had believed possible. 
 
 "Now what is to be done, doctor and gentle- 
 men? " asked Calmore of the young officers 
 of his command, having assembled them for 
 counsel in the meadows. 
 
 "It's ghastly/' said Ormond decisively, "to 
 think of moving Mrs. Compton and the 
 wounded over this horrible trail, and through 
 the foothills, and then across that rough 
 prairie, but we've got to get them to the 
 hospital quick. " 
 
 The Indian fire had destroyed some of the 
 running gears of the wagons, but enough re- 
 mained to complete at least three of them. 
 The beds that had suffered the least were 
 chosen and the more valuable contents were 
 repacked in them. The ambulance, of course, 
 was among these and every preparation was 
 made for the comfortable carriage of Mrs. 
 
162 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 Compton and two entirely incapacitated sol- 
 diers. 
 
 Calmore, in view of their hard day and night 
 march and their exhausting battle, gave the 
 whole command a rest, deciding not to under- 
 take the march back until the next morning. 
 The tired troopers slept under the protection 
 of strong guards, and no attempt was made 
 by the Indians to molest them. They had 
 had enough evidently. Indeed, cautious scout- 
 ing the next morning disclosed the fact that 
 the whole band had gone up the canyon and 
 about their own business. They had received 
 severe punishment in any case, and even if 
 Calmore had been able to follow them his or- 
 ders absolutely prevented. 
 
 The next morning they buried the dead at 
 the foot of the cliff, in front of the shelf they 
 had so gallantly defended, with their faces 
 looking across the meadow, which they had 
 swept with bullets with such deadly effect. 
 Covering them with the biggest stones they 
 could move, prayers were recited by the cap- 
 tain, and over them three volleys that echoed 
 and re-echoed over the meadow and through 
 the great canyon were fired. Then followed 
 
THE BABY AND HER FATHER 163 
 
 the music of taps, the soldier's "lights out 
 and farewell," after which they took up the 
 march. 
 
 They had got together scratch teams from 
 the captured horses to draw the wagons and 
 the ambulance. They went .slowly, at a snail's 
 pace, of course, and the eager troopers worked 
 like laborers clearing the trail in order that 
 the wagons carrying the wounded and the 
 women might proceed is easily and as 
 smoothly as possible. But it was a fearful 
 journey in spite of all they could do. Indeed, 
 sometimes they unhitched the horses and 
 fairly carried the ambulance over some of the 
 rough places. It had taken the soldiers from 
 noon till dawn to reach the meadows. Two 
 noons and two dawns passed before they 
 reached the welcoming gates in the wooden 
 walls of Fort Sullivan. 
 
 The whole command was out to receive 
 them, from the general down to the non-coms.' 
 wives from "Suds Bow." A frantic burst of 
 cheering arose as the wagons drew near. But 
 as they saw the grave face of Calmore gallop- 
 ing ahead of the rest, who came on more 
 slowly, strained silence succeeded. Calmore 
 
164 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 swung himself from his horse and saluted the 
 general. 
 
 "Well, Calmore, well?" said the old man. 
 
 " The women and children are safe, sir. 
 Molly McNeil slightly wounded. Mrs. Comp- 
 ton as well as could be expected. The 
 baby " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "It was born the night Meagher left the 
 camp. ' ' 
 
 "Girl or a boy?" 
 
 "Girl, sir; doing well." 
 
 "And the men?" 
 
 "I brought back McNeil, Schmidt, Mar- 
 nette, Bagley, and three troopers." 
 
 "And the rest?" 
 
 "We buried them on the field, sir." 
 
 "Good heavens! And the survivors?" 
 
 "Every one of them wounded. The doctor 
 thinks they will all recover." 
 
 "Get away from the gate!" cried the gen- 
 eral sharply. 
 
 There was no cheering now. Calmore had 
 spoken clearly and his voice carried. The am- 
 bulance drew abreast the little group of offi- 
 cers. The general took off his cap and stood 
 
THE BABY AND HER FATHER 165 
 
 at attention. McNeil and Marnette managed 
 to sit up in the second wagon. They got a 
 salute from the old man, who had been a 
 major-general in the Civil War, and it was 
 the proudest moment in McNeil's life when 
 by great effort he managed to return it. 
 Molly was on horseback. The soldiers grinned 
 at her. They would not cheer, but their ap- 
 preciation was evident. Bridget McNeil sat 
 in the front seat of the ambulance. The men 
 knew that Mrs. Compton was there. And so 
 between bared heads and uplifted hearts the 
 little band, followed by the troopers of Cal- 
 more, filed through the gates. 
 
 "You will let me see my husband right 
 away!" Mrs. Compton had made the doctor 
 promise. 
 
 " Instantly, my dear lady," said the sur- 
 geon. "It will be the best medicine for both 
 of you." 
 
 "And, Bridget, you will bring the baby!" 
 
 "Thrust me for that, ma'am," said Brid- 
 get, proud of the confidence reposed in her 
 and the hearty approval of the surgeon and 
 the rest for the way she had discharged her 
 duties and faced her responsibilities. 
 
166 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 The eager, young lieutenants manned the 
 stretcher on which Marion Compton was to 
 be put. The whole regiment was clamorous 
 to carry her, but Calmore and his own officers 
 of Compton 's own squadron claimed the 
 privilege. Very tenderly they got Mrs. Comp- 
 ton on the stretcher, the whole regiment look- 
 ing sympathetically on, they drew her out of 
 the ambulance and carried her into the hos- 
 pital. The general had already sent word to 
 Major Compton that his wife was safe and 
 was coming. They brought her in carefully 
 and laid her gently on a narrow bed placed 
 close by her husband 's in the private room he 
 occupied. 
 
 The hands of husband and wife met, and 
 all the power of great passion and absorbing 
 devotion could only express itself in feeble 
 pressure. 
 
 "Jack," said the woman, "thank God I am 
 here!" 
 
 "Indeed," said Compton, "if it had not 
 been for Him I am sure neither of us would 
 be here." 
 
 "I'm thinkin', sor," said Bridget, entering 
 the room at the same time, "that here's an- 
 
THE BABY AND HER FATHER 167 
 
 other one that you'd ought to be thankful to 
 God for." 
 
 "And to you, Bridget," whispered Mrs. 
 Compton, as the faithful Irishwoman uncov- 
 ered her bundle and laid the little baby on 
 Marion Compton 's arm, where her husband 
 could look at her by turning his head. 
 
 And that is the way the baby came. 
 
BOOK TWO 
 HOW THEY NEARLY LOST HER 
 
XII 
 
 IN WHICH THE BABY GETS 
 "ESCRUGED" 
 
 JUST five years had elapsed since the day 
 Lieutenant-Colonel John H. Compton, 
 United States Army, then only a major, 
 had been brought desperately wounded to this 
 very post, of which the mutations of the serv- 
 ice had now placed him in command. It was 
 therefore just five years since his brave, young 
 wife, Marion, had joined the half-dead soldier 
 in the hospital, while Bridget McNeil had in- 
 troduced him for the first time to his daughter, 
 born two days before on the trail amid inci- 
 dents as terrible and heart-rending as they 
 were exciting. 
 
 The baby, who had been christened Marion, 
 after her mother, had just successfully nego- 
 tiated her escape from the dining-room of her 
 father's quarters at Fort Sullivan. The 
 colonel had been exceedingly distrait and pre- 
 occupied during the meal. The old Civil War 
 
 171 
 
172 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 general, who had held the command when 
 Marion was born, had died, and the new 
 colonel of the regiment was on detached serv- 
 ice; the active command, therefore, of that 
 splendid body of hard fighters and gallant 
 horsemen, the Fourteenth Begular Cavalry, 
 had devolved upon the youngest officer of his 
 rank in the service ; and with the command of 
 the regiment came the command of the post. 
 
 Fort Sullivan was not much of a post. It 
 was one of those many temporary little fron- 
 tier forts with which the Western country 
 was dotted. Originally it was designed for a 
 garrison of three or four companies of in- 
 fantry or a troop or two of cavalry, seeking to 
 overawe and control vast expanses of terri- 
 tory, filled with roaming bands of savage In- 
 dians, not yet broken to the law and totally 
 unable to realize the power of the United 
 States from the petty manifestation of it they 
 were accustomed to meet. 
 
 Fort Sullivan was situated among the foot- 
 hills of the Big Horn Mountains. The enor- 
 mous mass of snow-capped Cloud Peak was 
 easily visible from the parade. The fort it- 
 self was nothing more than a rambling stock- 
 
BABY GETS " ESCRUGED " 173 
 
 ade, in which were contained the officers ' quar- 
 ters, storehouses, and barracks for the men, 
 and a watch tower. Adjoining the stockade 
 was a less defensible enclosure, the corral, 
 containing the cavalry stables and the yards 
 for mules, wagons, and the other miscellan- 
 eous livestock and impedimenta of an army 
 post. 
 
 The stockade was impregnable against any- 
 thing but artillery; soldiers with fieldpieces 
 could have knocked it to pieces in an hour, but 
 against the Indians it would serve. Outside 
 the post, extending for miles toward the moun- 
 tain range, lay a broad expanse of rolling 
 prairie. Near the post there was a grassy 
 meadow, which was used as a cavalry drill 
 ground, and whose proximity to the knoll, on 
 which the stockade rose, together with the 
 mountain brook to the left, had determined the 
 location of the fort. To the northward be- 
 yond this open space the land, which ran to 
 the foothills, began to be heavily wooded on 
 the slopes of the approaches of the great 
 range. 
 
 All through that long summer the county 
 had been in a state of feverish unrest. The 
 
174 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 Sioux and Cheyennes, temporarily quieted for 
 a few years, had grown menacingly bold and 
 reckless; they had gone on the warpath early 
 in the spring, and were still out. The whole 
 frontier was ablaze, settlers had been massa- 
 cred, and where they had wives or daughters 
 these had been made the victims of atrocities 
 too frightful to dwell upon. 
 
 Every available soldier in the Northwest 
 had been hurried into the field, except Comp- 
 ton and four troops at Fort Sullivan. They 
 had been retained where they were as a sort 
 of reserve to afford a rallying point in case 
 of disaster. The four troops also had to 
 guard an immense section of the country. The 
 main trails to the front passed by the stock- 
 ade ; there had been many small brushes with 
 the Indians while these cavalrymen were es- 
 corting wagon trains to the next post across 
 the range. The work was important indeed, 
 vitally necessary but both the colonel and 
 his men pined for a chance to take the field. 
 There was no help for it, however, orders were 
 orders and they had to remain at the post do- 
 ing this escort duty, which was exciting enough 
 and dangerous, too, heaven only knows. 
 
BABY GETS " ESCRUGED " 175 
 
 Colonel Compton had enjoyed his full share 
 of field work in years gone by, anyway, and 
 perhaps the authorities thought he ought to 
 be well satisfied with his present duty. 
 
 Marion Compton, while she sympathized 
 outwardly with her husband's disappointment 
 at his comparative inaction, rejoiced in her 
 heart that he was spared the dangers of the 
 field. She was very contented that summer 
 save for the constant apprehension that some 
 other detachment would be ordered to gar- 
 rison Fort Sullivan and the fresh men of the 
 first squadron of the Fourteenth Cavalry 
 would have to take the field. That was cer- 
 tain to come about sooner or later she and 
 everybody else knew, meanwhile she would 
 enjoy the day. 
 
 She was not the only woman at the post. 
 Two or three of the officers were married, and 
 there were twice as many children there, so 
 little Miss Marion Compton did not lack youth- 
 ful companionship. Then, too, there were a 
 number of married non-commissioned officers 
 stationed at the post. There were also a num- 
 ber of maids, mostly pretty, young Irish or 
 German girls, who found life at such a post, 
 
176 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 surrounded as they were by two hundred or 
 more gallant, dashing, young cavalrymen, 
 rather delightful. 
 
 The colonel's wife's maid was a jewel. Molly 
 McNeil had developed into as pretty a girl 
 as the proverbial Irish colleen of the story- 
 book. Her hair was black, her eyes were blue, 
 her skin was fair. As a maid she was a 
 veritable treasure ; but had she been as incom- 
 petent as she was able, Mrs. Compton would 
 have kept her, if for no other reason than that 
 she was devoted heart and soul to little 
 Marion, who reciprocated the passion she in- 
 spired so completely that the young mother 
 sometimes had to fight down a more than 
 passing pang of jealousy. 
 
 Sergeant McNeil had never so far recov- 
 ered from his wounds as to be again fit for 
 active service. With a medal of honor and a 
 pension, he had been given a well-earned re- 
 tirement. The happiest hour of the old ser- 
 geant's active and adventurous life had been 
 that on which he actually enjoyed the distin- 
 guished honor of reviewing the regiment, old 
 General Allenby in personal command and 
 giving him the salute, to which his long serv- 
 
BABY GETS " ESCRUGED " 177 
 
 ice, Ms merits, and his gallant conduct en- 
 titled Mm. 
 
 Thereafter a place as watchman in a CM- 
 cago bank had been found for him, and he 
 had gone East to accept it, taking with Mm his 
 faithful wife, Bridget. Molly had remained 
 with the Comptons as little Marion's nurse, 
 and although often urged to give up work 
 and come East and live with her father, now 
 abundantly able to support her, she had al- 
 ways refused. She loved her charge whose 
 whole life had been spent with her too much 
 ever to leave her, she declared. 
 
 One could hardly describe Molly McNeil's 
 devotion to Marion junior as whole-hearted, 
 however, for the bright, young Irish girl, now 
 just turned nineteen, also cherished a long- 
 existent and growing admiration for Trooper 
 Danny Meagher, one of the likeliest young 
 men in B troop. Yet she would rather have 
 died than allowed her preference to have be- 
 come known to anybody, much less to the ob- 
 ject of her affections. 
 
 In the first place, Molly was liked by all 
 and loved by many, and she took an exquisite 
 pleasure in being catholic in the distribution 
 
178 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 of her favors. In the second place, she was 
 having too good a time to resign, as yet, 
 everything in favor of one man. 
 
 Danny Meagher himself, who was hopelessly 
 in love with her, had no idea that he would 
 eventually carry off the prize. He had kissed 
 her without hesitation five years ago in the 
 canyon, but now he could scarcely find cour- 
 age enough to squeeze her hand on those rare 
 occasions when she permitted him to hold it. 
 
 Meagher also had a medal of honor. In- 
 deed, every survivor of the defence of the 
 train at Big Meadows, in the canyon, had been 
 granted the same coveted distinction, except, 
 of course, Marnette, who was not in the serv- 
 ice. Corporal Schmidt, that had been, was 
 now first sergeant of B troop, and Danny 
 Meagher would have won the chevrons of a 
 sergeant also had he not been so incurably 
 light-hearted, mischievous, and fond of fun. 
 Colonel Compton had his eye on him, how- 
 ever, and when he steadied down his promo- 
 tion was certain. Meagher was only twenty- 
 four and apparently as much of a boy as 
 when he made that mad dash through the 
 night to bring rescue to Sergeant McNeil. 
 
BABY GETS " ESCRUGED " 179 
 
 It so happened that B troop had been sta- 
 tioned elsewhere for the preceding three years. 
 It had only rejoined the squadron at Fort 
 Sullivan a few months before, so Danny, who 
 had heretofore regarded Molly McNeil as a 
 little girl, was greatly astonished at her de- 
 velopment. He had immediately sought to 
 establish himself once more on the old foot- 
 ing, but the young woman was not so minded. 
 Or, if she was, she cleverly concealed her 
 wishes and led Meagher a merry chase along 
 with the rest. 
 
 Molly was as flirtatious as she was pretty, 
 and the other young women of that jolly but 
 humble social circle, of which she was the 
 leader, followed her example. Colonel Comp- 
 ton used to declare whimsically that he had 
 more trouble between the men and the women 
 together than he would have had of an army 
 of either separately. 
 
 Molly's heart was a big one, however; in- 
 deed, it seemed sometimes to the keenly ob- 
 servant and not a little amused officers that 
 it was large enough to take in the whole regi- 
 ment, and baby Marion enjoyed a share en- 
 tirely disproportionate to her own small per- 
 
180 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 son. All the men adored the baby, though 
 they were madly jealous, especially Meagher, 
 of every caress Molly lavished upon her. 
 
 Colonel Compton had been distrait and ir- 
 responsive to his little daughter's advances at 
 dinner that late autumn day because he had 
 received tidings of the burning of a settlement 
 a few miles from the post by a larger and more 
 formidable war party of Indians than had 
 hitherto ventured near the fort. He had 
 promptly dispatched Calmore, one of his best 
 captains, with his troop to the destroyed set- 
 tlement, praying that some of the settlers 
 might have escaped and the succor might be 
 valuable, and hoping also that the arrival of 
 the cavalry might possibly save other outlying 
 settlements, or, at least, give the ranchers and 
 their families opportunity to get to the post 
 under a safe escort. 
 
 This troop had been gone a day and a half, 
 and nothing had been heard from it, which 
 was very disquieting. Whether to wait any 
 longer or to order out another troop to seek 
 for it or to go with heavier force were prob- 
 lems which weighed upon him deeply. Con- 
 tary to his usual habit, he had paid no atten- 
 
BABY GETS " ESCRUGED " 181 
 
 tion to Miss Marion's lively prattle. He 
 answered her monosyllabically and at ran- 
 dom. The young lady was not used to being 
 so disdainfully treated and she resented it in 
 her own fashion by bursting into a sudden 
 roar of weeping. 
 
 "What the -" exclaimed the colonel, 
 catching himself just in time as his wife in- 
 terrupted with uplifted hands. 
 
 "My dear!" 
 
 "What's the matter with you, baby?" he 
 asked. 
 
 There was no answer. When she got started 
 Marion could outmatch the capacity of Bot- 
 tom the Weaver, who boasted his qualifica- 
 tions for playing the lion's part. Like the 
 immortal Athenian, she demonstrated that 
 she could do it extempore, too, since it was 
 nothing but roaring. 
 
 "Marion, what do you want?" at last in- 
 sisted Colonel Compton firmly. 
 
 "I dess want to be escruged," Miss Marion 
 at last managed to choke out between her 
 vociferous sobs. 
 
 ' ' Well, in heaven 's name, i escruge ' her, Mar- 
 ion," said Compton to his wife. "I've got 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 troubles enough without having this child on 
 my nerves in this way." 
 
 " Molly," said Mrs. Compton with dignity, 
 "take Miss Marion out." 
 
 "I don't want to do in de kitchen wiv 
 Molly," roared the little lady. 
 
 "Well, take her anywhere out on the pa- 
 rade ground or any old place," said the dis- 
 tracted officer. 
 
 Molly, shooting a rather indignant glance at 
 him for had he not been harsh to her dar- 
 ling? looked to Mrs. Compton for confirma- 
 tion. She took her orders from the mistress, 
 not the master. 
 
 "Yes, take her out on the parade, the 
 colonel is very much troubled to-day," she 
 said. 
 
 Molly nodded. She hadn't lived at the post 
 a year without comprehending some of the 
 troubles of the commanding officer, and eke 
 the commanding officer's wife. So she gently 
 bundled the small miss in her arms, and the 
 two made their escape. 
 
 "What is it that troubles you, John?" asked 
 his wife, coming around the table and sitting 
 down by his side. 
 
BABY GETS " ESCRUGED " 183 
 
 "The old situation, my dear," lie replied. 
 "Not hearing from Calmore, coupled with 
 the fact that the Indians had the audacity to 
 raid that settlement so near us. Their num- 
 bers, too, according to the report of old Mar- 
 nette, who brought the news of the attack, are 
 considerable. We had no reason to expect 
 anything of this kind, and it looks as though 
 the troops to the westward had been defeated 
 or outgeneraled, else the Sioux couldn't be 
 in such strong force hereabouts. ' ' 
 
 "Are there many of them?" 
 
 "There must have been three hundred in 
 that war party. You know Marnette is a most 
 reliable man 
 
 ' ' He went back with Captain Calmore, didn 't 
 he?" 
 
 "Yes, and his presence with that force 
 makes me a little less anxious. Calmore is a 
 splendid officer, but Marnette knows more 
 about Indians and Indian fighting than any 
 man on the frontier, and he loves it, too." 
 
 "I wonder why he didn't go to the front 
 with General Crook or 
 
 "Well, Marnette is getting old, and he's 
 mighty fond of a young woman not far from 
 
184 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 here with whom I, too, am mightily smitten, " 
 was the fond reply. 
 
 "Nonsense, John," said Marion Compton, 
 looking greatly pleased, nevertheless. 
 
 "And Marnette has told me that he rather 
 expected that all we'd have to do to get in the 
 fighting is to sit tight and wait until it came to 
 us. I laughed at the idea at first, but I begin 
 to believe he is right now. Well, I must go 
 into the office and 
 
 ' l Don 't go right away, John, ' ' said his wife. 
 "Stay with me a little while. I'll let the table 
 wait for Molly. Come, we'll go into the parlor 
 and I'll play for you. You look so tired and 
 worried. I can't bear to see that expression 
 on your face." 
 
 "And what would my command say if they 
 knew that when I ought to be about my busi- 
 ness, I was listening to you at the piano!" 
 
 "Well, they would probably say they wished 
 they were where you were if they got a 
 chance," answered his beautiful young wife 
 brightly. 
 
 "And well they might," returned Colonel 
 Compton. He looked at his watch. "I can 
 spare you a half hour." 
 
BABY GETS " ESCRUGED " 185 
 
 " Spare me!" smiled the girl brightly. She 
 was still not much more than a girl, although 
 many years a wife and five years a mother. 
 
 "Spare myself, then, you little witch." 
 
 And although she was rather a substantial 
 "little witch," he picked her up lightly in his 
 big, strong arms and carried her into the room 
 adjoining the dining-room. Like every other 
 frontier room, it was bare and sparsely fur- 
 nished; the only piano in the territory, it was 
 believed, had lodgment there, and the whole 
 garrison rejoiced thereat. 
 
 Presently the music of Marion Compton 's 
 clear, sweet soprano floated out into the room, 
 and a little later Compton himself joined in 
 some old song in a creditable tenor voice. The 
 half hour was soon gone, and something more 
 besides. For a little time Compton had for- 
 gotten his responsibilities and cares. The or- 
 derly, who opened the door, having knocked 
 once or twice without arousing attention, 
 thought they made a very pretty picture : the 
 woman at the piano, the colonel standing back 
 of her, his arm resting lightly and tenderly on 
 her shoulder. It was a pity to disturb them, 
 but he had news that could not wait. 
 
186 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir," he said sharply. 
 
 Compton wheeled on his heel on the instant 
 and looked at him, frowning. 
 
 "I knocked several times, sir, but could not 
 make you hear," exclaimed the orderly 
 quickly. 
 
 "Oh," returned Compton, " I understand. " 
 
 ' ' The officer of the guard reports that there 
 are Indians on the hills to the westward." 
 
 i ' John ! ' ' cried Mrs. Compton, as he turned, 
 snatched a hasty kiss, grabbed his cap, and 
 followed by the orderly, fairly ran from the 
 room. 
 
 In one corner of the post a tall watch tower 
 of logs had been built. Compton broke into a 
 run as he stepped off the low porch in front of 
 his quarters. He crossed the parade on the 
 double-quick, and sprang up the rude stairs of 
 the watch tower with the agility of a light- 
 footed boy. 
 
 Hadden, now one of the younger first lieu- 
 tenants, who was the officer of the guard, was 
 already there with the sergeant of the guard, 
 Schmidt, the survivor of the defence of the 
 train, and a veteran of many campaigns in the 
 old country, whence he came. 
 
BABY GETS ESCRUGED " 187 
 
 " Where are they?" asked the colonel 
 quickly. 
 
 The officer lowered his field glasses and 
 pointed across the meadow to the hill. 
 
 1 i There, sir," he cried, proffering the 
 binoculars to the colonel. 
 
 "Sioux und Cheyennes," growled old 
 Schmidt. 
 
 He had seen them often in the field and 
 recognized them, even with his naked eye. 
 
 "By George !" exclaimed Compton, after a 
 quick stare through Hadden 's field glasses, 
 "you are right. Where can Calmore be!" 
 
 "He should have been back long ago, sir," 
 ventured Hadden. 
 
 "Yes. Sergeant of the guard!" 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered Schmidt, saluting. 
 
 "Have the trumpeter sound 'boots and sad- 
 dles. ' Let the men get their horses in a hurry. 
 Mr. Hadden, tell the adjutant to see that every 
 man has all the ammunition he can carry." 
 
 "Very good, sir," cried old Schmidt, turn- 
 ing and plodding down the stairs. 
 
 The next moment the blare of a bugle was 
 heard throughout the enclosure. Hadden had 
 turned to follow the sergeant to carry out the 
 
188 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 orders he had received with reference to the 
 adjutant, but ere he could leave Compton 
 caught him by the shoulder; he dropped the 
 field glasses to the floor with a crash as he did 
 so. 
 
 "My God, Hadden!" he cried. "Look 
 there !" 
 
XIII 
 
 WHEEEIN LITTLE MISS MARION IS 
 TAKEN BY THE ENEMY. 
 
 THE colonel's face was as white as a 
 sheet. Hadden stared at him in amaze- 
 ment, not comprehending. 
 
 ' ' There, there, ' ' cried Compton, fairly shak- 
 ing with emotion. 
 
 Away off near the farther end, evidently 
 just having come out from the trees to the 
 northward, Hadden made out a tiny little fig- 
 ure toiling through the tall grass. He recog- 
 nized it at once. 
 
 "The baby!" he exclaimed. "What is she 
 doing there?" 
 
 "I don't know. Look yonder." 
 
 The Indians, too, had caught sight of the 
 little figure. A number of them detached 
 themselves from the mass on the hills and 
 galloped down the slope to the eastward that 
 led toward the meadow and the post. Comp- 
 ton was paralyzed with horror. 
 
 189 
 
190 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 < < I'll get her," cried Hadden. 
 
 He threw himself down the stairs. Some 
 of the more alert of the men were already as- 
 sembling on the parade, when Hadden burst 
 into the midst of them. 
 
 "A horse a horse !" he cried. 
 
 He seized the bridle of the nearest one. 
 
 "Everybody that is armed and mounted fol- 
 low me," roared the officer. "Open the main 
 gate." 
 
 The troopers of the guard, being dismounted, 
 had not realized what had happened, for no 
 one could see over the stockade. They knew 
 that something serious was up, and lost no 
 time in mounting and obeying the lieutenant's 
 orders. Throwing open the main gate the 
 lieutenant, followed by a score of soldiers, 
 dashed through it. 
 
 Hadden was a superb horseman, and he hap- 
 pened to have got a good horse. He had the 
 lead, too. He knew just what he wanted, the 
 others had to find that out. They had fol- 
 lowed blindly with the courage that the Amer- 
 ican soldier always manifests when his officer 
 leads him, and it was not until they opened 
 out on the meadow that they saw what they 
 
LITTLE MARION CAPTURED 191 
 
 were after. The colonel's daughter was the 
 pet and the pride of the regiment. Every man 
 in it loved her and she loved them all in turn. 
 She was utterly unconscious of her peril, but 
 they realized it and rode madly toward her. 
 
 Little Marion raised her head presently, and 
 saw the Indians, who were much nearer to her 
 than the soldiers. They did not frighten her, 
 for she was an intrepid child and had always 
 been thrown with men. Like her father and 
 her mother, she was absolutely fearless, she 
 had seen Indians before, and the bright 
 plumes of the magnificent war bonnets of the 
 Sioux and Cheyennes interested and pleased 
 her greatly. She waved her hand at them in 
 a childish glee. She did not see the troops 
 racing furiously on, gritting out curses and 
 prayers as they pushed forward, sparing 
 neither their horses nor themselves in their 
 endeavor. 
 
 It was a hopeless attempt from the first. 
 The Indians had too great a start and there 
 must have been two hundred and fifty of them 
 riding toward the baby. Yet Hadden and the 
 twenty heroes raced on. They were not the 
 only persons in the drama, for a trooper on 
 
192 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 foot, his face deathly white, suddenly appeared 
 back of the galloping squadron, racing like 
 them in their wake. The speed with which he 
 went was amazing; but of course he could not 
 keep up, or overtake the men on horses, but 
 he made a gallant run for the baby. It was 
 trooper Danny Meagher of the guard! 
 
 Back in the fort pandemonium was let loose. 
 Compton turned and called over the parapet 
 of the tower. 
 
 "For God's sake make haste and get your 
 companies out, gentlemen, my little daughter 
 is there in the meadow, and 
 
 Never in the history of the regiment were 
 three troops of cavalry mounted and moved 
 out so quickly. With frantic haste the men 
 saddled their horses and fell in line. Dexter, 
 senior captain present, raised his sword two 
 minutes after Hadden had burst out, and cried, 
 
 "All ready, sir." 
 
 "Go," said Compton, "get the child if you 
 can, but don't bring on a general action. 
 Stand by for signals from the post. Don't 
 leave the meadow." 
 
 He was a soldier, this colonel; and he real- 
 ized that although his child's life might be for- 
 
LITTLE MARION CAPTURED 193 
 
 feit, there were other women and children 
 there and gallant men whose lives could not 
 be thrown away. By this time two women 
 panted up the stairs, Mrs. Oompton and Molly. 
 
 1 i John/' cried the wife, who had heard, "is 
 Marion out there 1 " 
 
 "Yes, God help us. " 
 
 "Will they get her 1" 
 
 Colonel Compton took his wife by the hand. 
 
 "I am afraid so. Look!" 
 
 The woman strained her eyes out over the 
 prairie. By this time the Indians were fear- 
 fully near, yet Hadden and his men were going 
 like a hurricane, and far in the rear panted 
 that desperate runner. Immediately before 
 and below the gate the three troops, Dexter 
 in the lead, debouched from column into line 
 and joined in the great race. 
 
 But it was soon over. The leading Indian 
 was upon the child. He leaned down in front 
 of his horse, swept her up and held her high 
 in the air, and as he did so pealed out a ter- 
 rible war cry. The next instant the spitting 
 of rifles crackled over the plain, the first shot 
 coming from the lone runner. He stopped 
 short in his tracks and emptied his carbine 
 
194 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 into the Indians who had circled about follow- 
 ing their leader, and were now galloping back 
 across the meadow and up the hill. 
 
 The range was short the target was large, 
 and there were half a dozen empty horses 
 among the Indians, especially as Hadden 's 
 men poured in a close volley on them. The 
 Indians themselves made a quick return. They 
 were going fast and were execrable marks- 
 men, however, so only three of Hadden's men 
 were hit. Hadden himself received a scratch 
 on the cheek, one man was killed, and another 
 had his arm broken by a bullet. 
 
 With despair in his heart, the young lieu- 
 tenant checked his pursuit. He had made a 
 gallant ride, but he had been too late. With 
 twenty men he could not cope with the two 
 hundred and fifty Indians in the advance; he 
 might have attacked them, nevertheless, for he 
 was a reckless youngster and his blood was 
 up, but they would immediately be supported 
 by the other savages in great numbers on the 
 hill. It was not to be thought of. 
 
 By this time Hadden was joined by Dexter, 
 raising the total force to two hundred. The 
 odds were still impossible. 
 
LITTLE MARION CAPTURED 195 
 
 " Let's ride through the whole damned 
 bunch, cap'n," cried one of the men, "and 
 git back the babby." 
 
 Dexter hesitated. 
 
 "I'd like nothing better than to do it," he 
 answered, "but it would be a hopeless task, I 
 fear. Still " 
 
 And at that instant, faint and far from the 
 tower, came the bugle blowing the recall. That 
 settled it. 
 
 Compton, standing there alone with his wife 
 at his feet in a dead faint and Molly bending 
 over her, had seen it all. He knew that if he 
 gave the signal those gallant men would try 
 to ride through the whole Cheyenne tribe, but 
 it would be throwing away their lives, and he 
 decided instantly against it. 
 
 But before the men out in the meadow could 
 obey the recall, indeed they had become so 
 scattered in their wild ride that it took some 
 little time to get them into orderly ranks 
 again, there was a sudden burst of rifle firing 
 far to the left, behind an unusually steep hill 
 near which the river ran and around which the 
 trail entered the valley. Dexter was a good 
 
196 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 soldier and knew the situation as well as 
 Compton. Everybody knew it, in fact. 
 
 "That'll be Calmore and hard pressed, " he 
 said to the other captains; "we must relieve 
 him." 
 
 "Certainly," was the quick answer as they 
 noticed the Indians to the front galloping to- 
 ward the pass. 
 
 "Ill disregard the recall," said Dexter in 
 quick decision. 
 
 He rode out a little in advance of the three 
 troops, and lifted his sword to the figure he 
 could see standing on the tower. 
 
 Compton had heard the firing, he had seen 
 the smoke, he had a better view than the troop- 
 ers in the field. He waved his hand at Dexter 
 and the next moment ordered a bugle to be 
 sounded, which gave him the needed permis- 
 sion. 
 
 "Forward!" cried the veteran captain ex- 
 ultantly. 
 
 The squadron moved off at a gallop up the 
 meadow toward the pass behind the hill. They 
 got there just in time. Calmore with a dozen 
 wagons containing wounded settlers and their 
 women and children was fighting desperately 
 
LITTLE MARION CAPTURED 197 
 
 with the Sioux and Cheyennes circling around 
 him, furiously pouring in a withering fire. 
 Dexter did not wait a second. He fell like 
 a storm on the flank of the Indians, fighting 
 them back; indeed that was easy, for they in- 
 variably gave way before an impetuous, dash- 
 ing charge. Dexter kept his men well in hand 
 and it was not long before the way was 
 cleared. Calmore, who did not need any in- 
 structions, urged his wagons in Dexter 's rear 
 and then ordered his tired men up on Dexter 's 
 right. The whole body fell back skirmishing, 
 hard pressed by the Indians, who, although 
 they outnumbered the soldiers five to one, did 
 not venture to come to hand-to-hand death 
 grips with them. 
 
 Dexter handled his squadron with masterly 
 skill and they presently reached the fort, one 
 or two having been killed and a few more 
 wounded. Compton and the few men left in 
 the fort with the women and children met 
 them at the gate. 
 
 "You didn't bring back my baby?" cried 
 the desperate mother, as the excited soldiers 
 filed through and formed line on the little 
 parade. 
 
198 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 i 'Mrs. Compton," said Dexter, throwing 
 himself from his horse, "I wish I had been 
 in her place, ma'am." 
 
 "And you, too, failed, Mr. Hidden?" 
 
 "Madam," said the young lieutenant, "I 
 would cheerfully have given my life for hers. 
 I rode the best I knew how, but they had too 
 great a start over us." 
 
 "Did they kill her?" asked Compton 
 hoarsely. 
 
 "I don't believe so," answered Calmore. 
 "I saw her alive in the arms of a chief just 
 before Dexter attacked them." 
 
 "Were you all saved, Calmore?" 
 
 "Three men were killed, sir, and seven 
 wounded," answered Calmore, "but we 
 brought off a score or more of women and 
 children besides some wounded settlers. 
 That's Dull Knife out there with all the Chey- 
 ennes. If it hadn't been for our dash for the 
 settlement every woman and baby we've got 
 in the wagon would have been gone. The 
 whole Sioux nation is out, too. I am awfully 
 sorry to hear about the baby, Mrs. Compton," 
 continued Calmore. l 1 1 couldn 't love her more 
 if she was my own," he added, thinking of the 
 
LITTLE MARION CAPTURED 199 
 
 day lie had heard that baby's voice for the 
 first time five years before. 
 
 "Now that you are all safe, I want to know 
 how she got out," asked Compton sternly. 
 It was the first opportunity he had had to 
 investigate the affair. " Sergeant of the 
 guard ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Schmidt. 
 
 "Do you know anything about this?" 
 
 Then a white-faced man of the fort stepped 
 from the ranks of the guard and saluted. 
 
 " 'Tis me own fault, sor." 
 
 "Meagher!" cried Compton. 
 
 "If the colonel pleases, I was on guard an' 
 the little gate was opened as it always is, an' 
 my attention was dishtracted elsewhere an' 
 the child got out an' we didn't know it until 
 Leftenant Hadden burst through the main 
 gate, sor." 
 
 "What distracted you?" thundered Comp- 
 ton. 
 
 " 'Twas me, sor," said Molly McNeil, 
 bravely assuming her part of the responsi- 
 bility. " 'Twas me that tempted the bhoy. 
 Oh, the evil day that I was born, sor." 
 
 The colonel's eyes flashed, the color mounted 
 
200 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 in his bronze face, his lips set. He was furi- 
 ously angered and controlled himself with dif- 
 ficulty. 
 
 " Officer of the guard, put that man in the 
 guardhouse!" he cried. "Desertion of his 
 post of duty in time of war, is the charge. It 
 is punishable with death. Mr. Severance ! ' ' 
 
 "Here, sir," answered the adjutant. 
 
 "Make out a detail for a court to convene 
 in the morning to try Trooper Meagher for 
 deserting his post." 
 
 "Oh, for the love of hiven!" wailed Molly. 
 " 'Tis my fault, 'tis mine entirely." 
 
 She threw herself at the colonel's feet and 
 extended her arms. 
 
 "Out of my way," said Compton, harshly 
 turning aside. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "I want you all at 
 my quarters. Come, Marion," he took his wife 
 by the hand, he put his arm around her before 
 them all, and half led and half carried her 
 across the parade. 
 
 A low growl like thunder rose from the men, 
 then finally one of them, a little bolder than 
 the rest, voiced the demand. 
 
 "Colonel Compton, give us leave, sir, we'll 
 
LITTLE MARION CAPTURED 
 
 go out an' clean up the whole Cheyenne tribe 
 to git back the girl." 
 
 "For de honor of de regiment," added old 
 Schmidt, " Joust give us a chance." 
 
 "Aye," cried the first sergeant of A 
 troop, "give us a chance to wipe out the dis- 
 grace that has been brought upon us all, by 
 that coward yonder. It is a shame he is to 
 the Irish an' to the regiment an' to the 
 Army." 
 
 There was an instant surge toward poor 
 Danny, who stood disarmed and helpless in 
 the grasp of the troopers who had arrested 
 him. 
 
 "You're right, me bhoys," he cried. "I 
 desarve it all. Kill me, I'll welcome the bul- 
 let." 
 
 But Calmore, Dexter, Hadden, and the rest 
 of the officers threw themselves to the front. 
 
 "Get back in ranks there," roared Calmore 
 furiously, his soldierly instincts outraged by 
 their' mob-like movements. "What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "Ask the colonel to let us go out at 'em, 
 sir," the old sergeant-major rather demanded 
 than requested. 
 
202 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "You hear, Colonel Compton," cried Cal- 
 more. 
 
 For a moment the colonel hesitated. 
 
 "John," cried his wife imploringly, "let 
 them go, they may save her." 
 
 "No," said Compton decisively, " it is not 
 in the power of men. There are too many 
 Cheyennes out there. I am responsible for 
 these men, for these women and children in 
 this post. I can't throw the lives of these men 
 
 away uselessly. She's my daughter, but 
 
 Remember there are other mothers here, 
 Marion. I appreciate your spirit, men, I'd 
 like nothing better than to lead you on such a 
 charge, but it can't be. Captain Calmore!" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Dismiss the squadron, detail one troop 
 for guard, and then meet me in my quarters 
 at once with all the officers who can be spared ; 
 we must determine on our course of action." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 DISCLOSES HOW THE WILY DULL 
 KNIFE OFFERED AN EXCHANGE 
 
 IN view of the overwhelming numbers of the 
 Indians on the hills, the informal council 
 of war at the colonel's quarters de- 
 cided, that nothing on earth could be done 
 to rescue the baby. There was not a single 
 officer, or a trooper, for that matter, who 
 would not gladly have periled his own life for 
 the child. But the officers were placed in posi- 
 tions of public trust, the post was crowded 
 with refugees, its maintenance was necessary 
 for the safety of the trail and the keeping open 
 of the supply route to the front. Fort Sulli- 
 van was the only place of refuge, and the 
 only protection as well, of a vast area of 
 country. 
 
 The colonel and officers realized that he 
 had no right to jeopardize these great issues 
 for the life of one little baby, however precious 
 she might be to him. One or two of the junior 
 
 203 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 officers did, indeed, advocate a bold dash at 
 the Indian encampment, but the votes of the 
 older and more experienced captains were 
 unanimously against it. And by these votes 
 they showed their high qualities, for Marion 
 Compton, a piteous picture of silent appeal, 
 sat in a corner of the room listening to this 
 discussion, which would determine the fate of 
 her daughter. There were elements of hero- 
 ism in her composition as well, for she gave 
 vent to no outcry, she broke into no wild and 
 passionate entreaties. She sat as still and as 
 rigid as the mountain range, her white face 
 stony with horror and grief, her heart like lead 
 in her breast, listening to the verdict of these 
 brave, gallant, heroic men. 
 
 When all had spoken, Compton, with one 
 pitying glance at his wife, confirmed the view 
 of the majority. 
 
 "Gentlemen, you have decided rightly, " he 
 said. "To attempt, with our force, to ride 
 through those Indians would be madness. 
 There are women and other children here, God 
 bless them our first duty is to them. The 
 post must be defended at all hazards, we can't 
 spare a man." 
 
DULL KNIFE'S OFFER 205 
 
 "Let me go alone, sir," pleaded Hadden. 
 "I can't stand it to see your wife " 
 
 The lieutenant choked up and could not 
 finish. The colonel shook his head. 
 
 "You are too good an officer to be thrown 
 away, Hadden, and you don't know this In- 
 dian game. If Marnette were here now by 
 the way, where is Marnette, Captain Cal- 
 more?" 
 
 "Why," exclaimed Calmore in great sur- 
 prise, "didn't he come in with us?" 
 
 "I didn't see him," answered Compton. 
 "Did any of you gentlemen?" 
 
 "I was the last man in the gate," said Dex- 
 ter. "I saw every one in ahead of me, and I 
 am certain that Marnette was not there." 
 
 Calmore struck his hand on the table. "I 
 wouldn't have had anything happen to him for 
 the world," he exclaimed. "We had a run- 
 ning fight for two days, and I don't hesitate 
 to say that if it hadn't been for his skill and 
 resourcefulness we should have been wiped 
 out." 
 
 "How on earth was he left behind! That 
 old trapper has served both me and mine in 
 days gone by," returned the colonel feel- 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 ingly, ' i and I value and esteem him more than 
 any of you can. Don't take any blame to your- 
 self, Captain Calmore. In a running fight like 
 that it would have been impossible to watch 
 every man, besides I have confidence that if 
 he did not come in it was because he wanted 
 to stay out. Gentlemen, his absence gives me 
 a ray of hope." 
 
 "Oh," cried Mrs. Compton, "do you 
 think " 
 
 "I don't think anything, my dear, I only 
 hope, a little." 
 
 "Mrs. Compton," said Captain Dexter, 
 "with the colonel's permission, you surely 
 know how we feel? There isn't a one of us 
 who wouldn't try anything to get the baby 
 back." 
 
 "I know," faltered Mrs. Compton, "that 
 you are as brave and devoted a set of officers 
 and men as any on earth. I know as well as 
 you that nothing can be done for my baby now. 
 Her fate is in the hands of God." 
 
 "Yes," returned Calmore, a veteran of 
 many a hard campaign and desperate fight, 
 "I know these Indians well ; there is more than 
 a chance, I think, that they won't do her any 
 
DULL KNIFE'S OFFER 207 
 
 harm; being a baby they may adopt her into 
 their tribe. Of course if she were older " 
 
 "My judgment agrees with that of Captain 
 Calmore," said Dexter. "I don't consider the 
 case as absolutely desperate. " 
 
 "I pray not," returned the woman. "But 
 whether it be or not, we can do nothing. ' ' 
 
 "Certainly nothing now," said Emmett, 
 another troop commander, "but by - - if 
 we can get the regiment together we'll ride 
 through the whole Cheyenne tribe, sword in 
 hand, and rescue her or " 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Compton, "I have been 
 proud of my command, never more proud than 
 at this moment of bereavement. Now we must 
 counsel together about the defence of the post. 
 It may be that they won't attack us. They 
 have shown extraordinary boldness in ap- 
 proaching so far and I fear it may have gone 
 hard with the troops at the front, else how 
 could they be here in such force, so many miles 
 in their rear?" 
 
 At that moment the door opening on the 
 porch was thrown open, an orderly from the 
 guard appeared in the entrance. 
 
 "The officer of the guard directs me to re- 
 
208 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 port to the commanding officer, " he said, sa- 
 luting, "that a flag of truce from the Indians 
 is outside in the meadow, sir." 
 
 It was one of the conditions of this savage 
 warfare, that the white men were bound to 
 respect the conventions and habits of civiliza- 
 tion. A flag of truce must be received, al- 
 though the Indians themselves would not have 
 paid the least attention to a similar advance 
 on the part of the soldiers. 
 
 "Come, gentlemen, all," said Compton, 
 rising and buckling his sword around him, "we 
 have no secrets, and we'll see what they 
 want." 
 
 Followed by the other officers the colonel 
 repaired to the main gate. Old Sergeant 
 Schmidt reported that three Indians had rid- 
 den up, one of them carrying a dirty white 
 rag on the end of a lance, and they had been 
 halted by command some thirty yards away 
 from the gate. By the colonel's direction the 
 wicket by the side of the main gate was opened, 
 and Compton, attended by Calmore and Had- 
 den, stepped out, the other officers mounting 
 to the tower by the officer of the guard. The 
 three Indians sat their horses impassive as 
 
DULL KNIFE'S OFFER 209 
 
 statues, Compton, revolver in hand, stepped 
 forward a few paces and said : 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 "Me got letter, " said the leading Indian, a 
 magnificent specimen of Cheyenne manhood 
 with a gorgeous war bonnet on his head. 
 
 ' l Give it here, ' ' said the colonel. 
 
 "You no fire!" 
 
 "No." 
 
 It was a tribute to the honor of the white 
 man that the Indian recognized that no further 
 assurance was necessary. He kicked his pony 
 in the ribs and spoke a word, the animal 
 slowly trotted over to the three dismounted 
 officers. Calmore and Hadden kept him well 
 covered with their revolvers. The Indian rode 
 up with utmost unconcern and halted within 
 reaching distance of Compton. He handed 
 him a dirty, greasy scrap of paper. It read 
 this way : 
 
 "Dull Knife got big white chief's pappoose, 
 he give back, you give fort. You no give fort, 
 he kill baby." 
 
 The writing that of some half-breed was 
 as ignorant as the paper was dirty, but the 
 purport of the message was unequivocal and 
 
210 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 not to be misunderstood. The Indians offered 
 to exchange the baby for the post. The prop- 
 osition could not be entertained for a moment, 
 of course, and the colonel did not even hesi- 
 tate. 
 
 "No," answered Compton promptly. 
 
 "You no give!" queried the Indian. 
 
 Compton shook his head. 
 
 "Look," said the chief, turning in his sad- 
 dle and pointing back to the hill on which the 
 warriors were clustered. As he spoke, as if in 
 obedience to the gesture he made, a gigantic 
 Indian separated himself from the balance and 
 raced down the slope; he stopped just out of 
 rifle shot and held the baby up in his hand, 
 with the other he brandished a knife whose 
 bright blade reflected the afternoon sunlight. 
 
 "I will not give up the fort to anybody," 
 said Compton sternly, "but I charge you to 
 tell Dull Knife that if he hurts one hair of 
 that baby's head, as there is a God above me 
 I will make the Cheyenne tribe pay with a life 
 for every drop of blood that's shed. And 
 when I capture him I'll hang him for murder. 
 He knows what this regiment can do. Bid him 
 remember Big Meadows five years ago." 
 
DULL KNIFE'S OFFER 
 
 How much of this the chief understood could 
 not be known, for it was Calmore who asked: 
 
 "Is it Dull Knife's band, the same that we 
 defeated in the canyon when Marion was 
 born?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is he proposing that we give up the post 
 for the child!" 
 
 "Yes," answered Compton. 
 
 The chief grunted, pointed from the child 
 to the stockade as if for the illumination of 
 Calmore. 
 
 "And I have told him that we cannot en- 
 tertain the proposition." 
 
 "God, but it's hard," said Calmore grimly. 
 
 Hadden could no longer control himself. He 
 stepped closer to the chief and shoved his re- 
 volver at the man's head. 
 
 "You murderous dog," he said furiously, 
 "I don't know what stops me from pulling the 
 trigger." 
 
 "Eespect the flag, Mr. Hadden," cried 
 Compton. "Get back," he flung out his arm 
 toward the chief, ' ' and give them my message. 
 We won't give up the fort, and if you hurt 
 the child you'll pay." 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "White chief big fool," said the Indian, 
 turning his back on the group and trotting 
 away to his comrades. 
 
 6 'Won't you let me plug him, Colonel ?" 
 cried Hadden, nervously fingering his re- 
 volver. 
 
 "It can't be," said the colonel. "Come, 
 gentlemen. ' ' 
 
 In a few moments they were in the fort 
 again. A few words put the officers in posses- 
 sion of the proposition which the colonel had 
 so unhesitatingly rejected. Some of the men 
 heard it, too, and at once communicated it 
 to the others. The little fort was a seething 
 mass of passion. Dispositions to repel the ex- 
 pected attack and to hold the position were 
 quickly made. The number of the Indians 
 seemed to be increasing. It was the heaviest 
 war party that the Cheyennes had ever sent 
 afield. Experienced men estimated that there 
 were at least a thousand warriors there. They 
 were evidently making camp, for they made 
 no move to attack the post; on the contrary, 
 as night approached, fires were kindled here 
 and there on the hills and other preparations 
 made for the passing of night. 
 
BULL KNIFE'S OFFER 
 
 "vVTiether they would eventually attack the 
 post or not, no one could say, but Compton 
 did not expect any trouble during the night, 
 although the guards were warned not to relax 
 their vigilance and watchfulness on that ac- 
 count. 
 
 After seeing everything in readiness, the 
 colonel summoned Calmore and Dexter, the 
 two officers upon whom he placed most re- 
 liance, to his quarters once more. Again it 
 had been impossible to keep secret the Indian 
 offer of exchange and Mrs. Compton was 
 aware of it. She would not have been a 
 mother if her heart had not yearned toward 
 acceptance, but, like her husband, she knew 
 that was impossible. She was a soldier's wife 
 and she schooled herself to take up again the 
 ordinary duties of life, which, though they 
 sometimes are frightfully hard, yet after all 
 frequently save the breaking mind. 
 
 Supper was on the table when the colonel 
 and the two officers entered the room, and Mrs. 
 Compton bade them partake of what she had 
 provided. 
 
 "I have had to get it myself, John," 
 she apologized, wearily and heart-brokenly. 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 1 1 Molly is in a state of absolute and utter col- 
 lapse, poor girl, not only over the baby" she 
 bit her lips and fought down the choking sen- 
 sation in her throat "but because it was her 
 foolish flirting with Meagher that caused him 
 to neglect his duty and made them both for- 
 get the baby, who evidently slipped through 
 the wicket gate unnoticed. It was ajar at the 
 time, so far as I can learn." 
 
 ' ' Meagher deserves all that is coming to 
 him," said Calmore, a grim old bachelor, who 
 had little sympathy for woman's wiles appar- 
 ently. 
 
 " Yes, but all the same, I am sorry for him," 
 returned Dexter. "He was one of the best 
 troopers in the regiment." 
 
 "And we can never forget what he did when 
 Marion was born," said Mrs. Compton. 
 
 "That does not excuse him for his con- 
 duct," returned the colonel. 
 
 "Molly says it is all her fault," urged the 
 wife. 
 
 "But Meagher will have to take the punish- 
 ment just the same," returned Compton, 
 dereliction of duty being the one thing he 
 could not pardon. 
 
DULL KNIFE'S OFFER 215 
 
 " Molly says they will shoot him, but that is 
 not possible, is it?" asked Mrs. Compton. 
 
 "It is more than possible, " returned her 
 husband briefly. " Desertion of his post in 
 time of war." 
 
 "But this isn't war exactly," pleaded the 
 woman. 
 
 "Is it not?" returned the colonel. "You 
 will see before we get through with that crowd 
 yonder. ' ' 
 
 "And is he likely to be shot?" 
 
 "He ought to be," returned Dexter bitterly, 
 "if for no other reason than the old law a 
 life for a life. That little baby is worth a 
 thousand soldiers who desert their posts." 
 
 "Poor Meagher," said the woman gently, 
 choking back her tears. "It must be awfully 
 hard on him, and he was so fond of Marion." 
 
 "Yes," repeated the colonel, "but that 
 doesn't excuse him." 
 
 "It will kill Molly," pleaded his wife. 
 
 There was a tap on the door again. The 
 orderly, being bidden, entered once more. 
 
 "The officer of the guard says that the pris- 
 oner, Trooper Meagher, would like to speak 
 with the commanding officer." 
 
216 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "My compliments to Mr. Dalton," returned 
 Compton, "and tell Mm to send the prisoner 
 to my quarters at once." 
 
 "I wonder what he wants," said Calmore, 
 as the orderly departed. 
 
 "Wants to beg off, I suppose," returned 
 Dexter. 
 
 "No, I hardly think so," said the colonel. 
 "He isn't the kind that will refuse to face 
 the music and take his medicine." 
 
XV 
 
 IN WHICH TKOOPER MEAGHER 
 DESERTS TO THE ENEMY! 
 
 IN a few moments Meagher attended by a 
 corporal's guard was marched into the 
 colonel's room. His guards released him 
 and stepped back, the colonel motioned them 
 to remain in the room. 
 
 "Well," he said sternly. 
 
 Meagher moistened his lips and tried to 
 speak, but could make no sound. 
 
 "Speak out," said the colonel. "What do 
 you want?" 
 
 "If the colonel plaises," Meagher at last 
 
 gasped out, "I " he found great difficulty 
 
 in continuing. 
 
 "You have not come to beg for mercy, have 
 you?" 
 
 "No," returned the trooper, a little color 
 coming to his face. "I acknowledge me fault, 
 sor, an' 'tis all mine. You won't do anything 
 to Molly, sor!" 
 
 217 
 
218 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 * ' What can I do ? She is a woman and - ' ' 
 "It was me that tempted her, sor. I clane 
 forgot meself 
 
 "There is no 'justification in that." 
 "I know it, sor, I know what I've done an' 
 what I desarve. I know what the court mar- 
 tial will award me, I've got nothing to say 
 ag'in' the justice of it. I'm ready to take me 
 punishment like a man. I failed in me juty, 
 sor, but the colonel knows I'm no coward, an' 
 Captain Calmore knows it too, sor. ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Calmore, thus appealed to, "I 
 know it." 
 
 "You didn't come here to tell us that, I 
 take it," said the colonel. "I know what 
 you've done for us in the past. You've been a 
 brave soldier, but that can't save you now 
 
 "I am comin' to it, sor. Next to Molly," 
 said Trooper Danny, "I loved that babby of 
 yours, which I was there when she was born, 
 an' before I'm punished for me fault I'd like 
 to git her away from the red devils yonder, 
 if she's alive." 
 
 "Yes, we'd all like to do that," said Cal- 
 more coldly. 
 
TROOPER MEAGHER DESERTS 219 
 
 "Well, sor, I want to thry it, if the colonel 
 plaises. ' ' 
 
 "Try it!" exclaimed the colonel. "Are you 
 mad?" 
 
 "Oh, listen to him," interposed Mrs. Comp- 
 ton, who had heard, in silence, all that had 
 transpired. "He may be able to do something 
 for her." 
 
 "Have you a plan?" 
 
 "I have, sor." 
 
 "What is it!" 
 
 " 'Tis to escape this night an' pretend to 
 Dull Knife an' his men that I'm a desarter, 
 an' by that means to git into their camp an' 
 then to take a chance at stealin' away with 
 the young missy." 
 
 "Ninety-nine chances to a hundred you'd 
 get shot before you could have speech with 
 Dull Knife." 
 
 "Yes, no doubt, sor, but I'd be glad to take 
 the wan chance for the sake of the child, if the 
 colonel would let me. The court will prob- 
 ably condemn me to death anyway," pleaded 
 Meagher, "an' why not lave me thry to be av 
 use before I die; besides, sor, if I were kilt 
 that way, it would save the record of the ould 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 regiment, which has never had a case like 
 mine before. 7 ' 
 
 The door from the dining-room was thrown 
 suddenly open. Molly burst into the room and 
 threw herself at the colonel's feet. She had 
 been listening, small blame to her, and had 
 heard everything. 
 
 "For the love of hiven," she cried, "don't 
 lave him do it." 
 
 "And would you rather have him shot as a 
 criminal by his comrades than take that kind 
 of a chance f ' ' asked the colonel coldly, for he 
 had not much sympathy for Molly after her 
 folly. 
 
 "I don't want him shot at all, at all, for I 
 love him, an' I don't care who knows it," 
 Molly cried boldly before them all. 
 
 "Molly, is it the truth you're sayin'l" 
 asked Meagher, who could not keep the joy in 
 his heart at that wild confession out of his 
 face and voice. 
 
 "By all the saints it is," returned the 
 woman. "I treated you shamefully 'tis my 
 fault." 
 
 "Indeed 'tis not," protested Danny 
 Meagher earnestly. "Does the colonel be- 
 
TROOPER MEAGHER DESERTS 
 
 lave me? I'm as good as a dead man, I 
 wouldn't lie to him now." 
 
 "I don't believe you would," Compton ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 "An' I swear I don't want to pretend to 
 desart to save me life. I want to save the 
 child, an' I give the colonel an' the other offi- 
 cers present me word av honor that I'll come 
 back if I live, whether I save the child or not, 
 an' surrender meself a prisoner for trial. 
 'Tis only the word of a throoper, sor." 
 
 "The honor of a private soldier of the 
 American Army should be as dear to him as 
 that of any officer," returned Compton 
 gravely. 
 
 "And it is, sor, thank your honor for them 
 words," exclaimed Meagher. 
 
 "Oh, Danny, Danny," wailed the woman, 
 "don't go!" 
 
 " 'Tis only the colonel's permission I am 
 waitin' for, Molly darlin'," returned the 
 man. 
 
 "What do you think, Calmore?" asked 
 Compton. 
 
 "I don't think there is a chance in the 
 world, but as far as I am concerned, I'd rather 
 
222 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 have him shot by the Indians than do it our- 
 selves, and it would in a way save the regi- 
 mental record if he could escape. We have 
 had proofs of Meagher 's courage and address, 
 you know." 
 
 1 i I agree with Captain Calmore, ' ' said Dex- 
 ter in answer to an interrogative look from 
 the colonel. "I believe that Meagher means 
 what he says, and there is a bare chance that 
 he can bring it off. I am in favor of letting 
 him escape." 
 
 "Let him go, John," whispered Mrs. Comp- 
 ton, although no one had asked her opinion, 
 which, nevertheless, had more weight than any 
 other with her husband. "Perhaps he may 
 bring my baby back." 
 
 "I'll bring that baby back to you, ma'am, 
 or I'll die the death av a desarter, if the colonel 
 will only lave me go," said Meagher. 
 
 The colonel relapsed into a brown study. 
 
 "Meagher," he said at last, "I am inclined 
 to accede to your request." 
 
 "Hiven bless you, sor," answered Meagher, 
 his face lightening. 
 
 "You give me your word of honor that, suc- 
 cessful or not, you will surrender yourself for 
 
TROOPER MEAGHER DESERTS 
 
 trial again when opportunity arises and if 
 you live, of course! " 
 
 "Me word av honor, sor, so help me God, 
 the Blessed Virgin, an' all the saints." 
 
 "I take it," answered Compton briefly. 
 "Now as to the details." 
 
 "The moon will be up in an hour, sor," re- 
 turned Meagher. "I've thought it all out. I 
 can git over the wall of the corral, slink along 
 the stockade till I reach the meadow an' then 
 make a dash for it. The men on guard will fire 
 at me, the more av them the merrier, an' if I 
 could git hit an' slightly wounded so as not to 
 knock me out, it would be better, it would 
 make them Injuns belave then that I was 
 honest." 
 
 Molly McNeil completely gave way at this. 
 She lay on the floor moaning feebly. 
 
 "My dear," said the colonel sharply to his 
 wife, "if that woman doesn't stop whimper- 
 ing I will have her taken out. Very well, 
 Meagher, it shall be as you say. Corporal, 
 you have heard all that passed?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the corporal of the 
 guard. 
 
 "And you, too, men?" 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the squad, which had 
 fetched the prisoner. 
 
 "Take the prisoner away, and send Mr. 
 Dalton, the officer of the guard, and Sergeant 
 Schmidt to me." 
 
 "Thank you, sor, an' God bless you," cried 
 Meagher. "I'll do me best to show meself a 
 man an' to bring you back the baby, ma'am, 
 that I lost, bad cess to me." 
 
 "Oh, Danny, Danny," wailed Molly. 
 
 Meagher hesitated, made a step in the 
 maid's direction, but at a gesture from the 
 colonel he checked himself and started to 
 follow his guards. 
 
 "Corporal," said the colonel, looking at the 
 frantic but beseeching maid, "just let the 
 prisoner step into the dining-room alone a 
 moment. No, he won't run away now." 
 
 It was quite evident what the colonel gave 
 the soldier that permission for and Molly 
 struggled to her feet, followed after him, and 
 closed the door behind her. The colonel's 
 wife looked at him gratefully because of his 
 thoughtful kindness. 
 
 "Mr. Dalton," said the colonel, as the offi- 
 cer of the guard accompanied by Sergeant 
 
TROOPER MEAGHER DESERTS 225 
 
 Schmidt entered the room, "I have decided to 
 allow the prisoner, Meagher, to escape. He 
 intends to desert to the Indians in the hope 
 that he may be received by them, and find an 
 opportunity to steal away my little daughter." 
 
 "Very good, sir," returned Dalton, sur- 
 prised indeed, but too good an officer to show 
 any emotion. 
 
 "You are to let him get over the corral 
 wall near the stockade. He is to slink along 
 the stockade until he gets to the meadow and 
 then make a dash for it, the guard is to dis- 
 cover him and open fire upon him until he 
 gets out of range. Care must be taken, how- 
 ever, not to hit him, and the firing must not be 
 overdone. Let it be just what would occur 
 if a prisoner were escaping. Do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Schmidt, you, too, comprehend?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Very well, we must have no hitch about 
 the attempt; it's a forlorn hope, but it seems 
 to be our only chance." 
 
 "I will attend to it, sir." 
 
 "Very good, you can go." 
 
226 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 The colonel himself now stepped to the door 
 of the dining-room and called Meagher. The 
 trooper tore himself away from Molly's arms 
 and, without trusting himself for a backward 
 look, followed the colonel. It was Mrs. Comp- 
 ton who went to the poor fainting foolish 
 woman, who had got them all into such awful 
 trouble. 
 
 The escape was effected just as it had been 
 planned. The troopers on guard had re- 
 ceived their orders. As soon as the form of 
 the private was visible in the meadow in the 
 moonlight, they opened fire. Meagher played 
 his part to perfection, zigzagging as he ran 
 with furious speed toward the Indians. The 
 carbine fire from the stockade was tremen- 
 dous; it filled the whole valley with noise, 
 and awoke the Indians to instant attention. 
 There was quick mounting of ponies and rid- 
 ing to the front. The moonlight made things 
 plainly visible and the Indians soon realized 
 that some one was running away from the fort. 
 
 Meagher of course was not hit, and in a 
 short time he was out of range. He kept 
 on running, however, while Compton and Dex- 
 ter and Calmore watched him eagerly from the 
 
TROOPER MEAGHER DESERTS 237 
 
 watch tower. Just before he reached the fore- 
 most of the Indians something happened that 
 was not in the program. From the woods off to 
 the right came a sudden flash of light followed 
 presently by the sharper crash of a heavy 
 rifle. At the same time Meagher pitched for- 
 ward and fell prone on the grass. He was im- 
 mediately surrounded by Indians and they 
 could not see what further became of him. 
 
 "He's killed!" exclaimed Compton in great 
 dismay. "Who could have fired that shot? 
 Our last hope is gone." 
 
 The three officers stood gloomily watching. 
 They saw, or thought they saw, a figure 
 hauled from the ground and laid across one of 
 the horses, after which the Indians turned back 
 to the hills. They were just turning to de- 
 scend the tower when a man broke out of the 
 woods and hailed the fort. 
 
 "Don't shoot," cried a voice they all recog- 
 nized. "It's Marnette." 
 
 The colonel in an instant plunged down the 
 stairs to the wicket gate and met the old 
 scout. 
 
 "Wall, colonel," said Marnette cheerfully, 
 "I plugged that deserter all right." 
 
MS A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "Oh, Marnette," said Compton gravely, 
 "I am afraid you have spoiled our only 
 chance. ' ' 
 
 "How's that?" asked the scout quickly as 
 he entered the post. 
 
 "That was Danny Meagher. It was all a 
 scheme between us, he was to pretend to de- 
 sert so as to get a chance to rescue my baby." 
 
 "Is that Mrs. Compton 's babby I seed with 
 the Indians?" 
 
 "Yes," answered the colonel. 
 
 " I 'm mighty sorry I drawed a bead on him. 
 I seen him break away an' I heard all the 
 shootin' an' I nachur'ly thought you wanted 
 to git him. I wouldn't have done it for the 
 world. How did they ever git ahold of her?" 
 
 "You are not to blame and it cannot be 
 helped," answered Compton, after briefly ex- 
 plaining the circumstances. "It almost seems 
 as if every sort of luck were against us." 
 
 "Tain't so bad as that," answered Mar- 
 nette gravely, yet with a certain reassuring 
 cheerfulness and confidence. "I know them 
 Injuns well, I think there ain't no one in this 
 country that knows 'em better; they won't 3o 
 no hurt to the babby, they'll likely adopt her 
 
TROOPER MEAGHER DESERTS 
 
 into the tribe, thinkin' to save her for some 
 chief's squaw when she grows up, colonel. 
 But we'll git her long afore that. I didn't 
 come in with Cap'n Calmore this afternoon, 
 because I wanted to find out something about 
 'em. It is Dull Knife hisself. There's nigh 
 onto a thousand of 'em. They seemed to have 
 outgeneraled Crook an' Miles an' all the rest 
 of the soldiers, there ain't been a battle so far 
 as I can find out, but they left Crazy Horse 
 and made a quick dash here, hopin' to find you 
 off your guard at the post and seize it an' 
 then make a quick gitaway. ' ' 
 
 "Dull Knife sent me a letter written by some 
 half-breed, offering to exchange the baby for 
 the post, and saying they would kill her if I 
 didn't accede to his demand." 
 
 "It's jest a bluff, colonel," said Marnette. 
 "Now, with your permission, I had to turn 
 my pony loose in the woods yonder after I 
 git a little rest an' somethin' to eat an' drink, 
 I'm goin' to git some young soldier here to 
 go with me an' git away south an' east until 
 I strike a telegraph station an' git help for 
 you, unless you've got a better plan, for 
 they're goin' to attack you in the morning." 
 
230 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "Let me go with Mm, sir," said Hadden. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Hadden," said Marnette, 
 shrewdly sizing up the young officer, with 
 whom he had maintained an acquaintance, 
 since the day he met him first at the Big 
 Meadows, "if the colonel sez so, I'd about as 
 soon have you for trail mate an' fightin' mate 
 as anybody in this yere post." 
 
 "Thank you, Marnette," said Hadden. 
 
 1 ' Take Hadden if you wish, ' ' said Compton, 
 "although he is one of my best officers and I 
 can hardly spare him. ' ' 
 
 "We'll be back afore the fightin' is over," 
 said Marnette. 
 
 "And now, if you will go over to my quar- 
 ters you will find something to eat there." 
 
 "And I want to say a word to hearten up 
 Mrs. Compton," answered the old scout. 
 "Why, I love that babby as if 'twas my own; 
 I was there when your lady borned her an' 
 I'm goin' to be here when she is brung back to 
 her mother." 
 
XVI 
 
 IN WHICH THE OLD EEGIMENT 
 
 MARCHES AWAY TO HUNT 
 
 FOE THE BABY 
 
 MARNETTE and Hadden got away 
 safely that night. As Marnette had 
 anticipated, the Indians attacked the 
 post early the next morning. Short of an 
 escalade they tried every other possible way 
 to capture it, managing even to set fire to it, 
 but their efforts availed them nothing. The 
 soldiers easily drove them back, killing many 
 of them. They had not a chance on earth to 
 succeed with the tactics they employed, and 
 as water and provisions abounded in the 
 stockade, the garrison suffered no special 
 hardship; in short, had it not been for the 
 loss of the baby the whole affair would have 
 been rather enjoyable than otherwise for the 
 soldiers. 
 
 That fact, however, preyed on the whole gar- 
 rison. There never was a body of soldiers 
 
 231 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 who longed more earnestly to go out in the 
 open and grapple with their red besiegers than 
 they. The Indians wanted that, too, their 
 overwhelming numbers, their knowledge of 
 the rough, broken, mountainous country, so 
 well suited for ambush and surprise, so easily 
 defensible, ensuring them an easy victory over 
 so small a force. They could cut it to pieces. 
 Therefore to entice the troops away from the 
 post was what the Indians most particularly 
 desired, they would have made mincemeat of 
 the soldiers if they could have got them in the 
 open, for they were better armed and prac- 
 tically as well mounted as the troopers. The 
 cavalry horse was no better for service pur- 
 poses in that country than the Indian pony, 
 and the Cheyennes possessed a large number 
 of remounts, which the soldiers did not have. 
 
 Again, the Winchester repeating rifle with 
 which the braves were all armed was a more 
 serviceable weapon than the cavalry carbine. 
 Furthermore, the hills would have afforded 
 abundant cover for the Indians and the small 
 force of soldiers would have been caught in 
 the defiles and exterminated. Dull Knife was 
 one of Crazy Horse's best lieutenants, and in 
 
THE HUNT FOR THE BABY 233 
 
 many a campaign had shown his strategy and 
 tactics. On that score he was a worthy 
 antagonist for the very best commanders in 
 the Army. 
 
 The Indians, who had not yet killed the 
 baby, used her to irritate the soldiers. They 
 displayed her just out of range where she 
 could easily be seen by the garrison: some- 
 times they struck her, or appeared otherwise 
 to maltreat her. Those were the things 
 hardest to bear. 
 
 Marion Compton witnessed these evidences 
 of savage barbarity, for the soldiers could not 
 keep the wretched, heart-broken mother away 
 from the tower short of taking her thence by 
 force. Her feelings were harrowing to a de- 
 gree, yet she got a certain kind of satisfaction 
 from the evidence that the child was still alive. 
 
 After four days of this desultory siege, 
 Marnette crept into the fort one night and 
 brought the welcome news that Colonel Hunt- 
 ley, from the nearest post to the east, was 
 coming up with a battalion of infantry and 
 two troops of cavalry. The foot soldiers had 
 been loaded into wagons and they were com- 
 ing almost as fast as the mounted men. 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 Marnette transmitted to Colonel Compton 
 a plan of attack formed by Colonel Huntley, 
 by which it was arranged that the garrison 
 of the fort, on a given signal, should make a 
 demonstration in force, by a sortie, while he 
 fell on the rear of the Indians. But the In- 
 dians were better served by their scouting 
 parties than were the soldiers, and when 
 Colonel Huntley 's force arrived in the vicinity 
 of the post early the next morning, they had 
 broken camp and moved away to the north- 
 west through the mountain passes. 
 
 The siege was thus raised, and with the de- 
 parture of the Cheyennes the peril to that 
 country was over. Biding over the place 
 where the Indians had camped one of the sol- 
 diers found a little girl's shoe, which he 
 brought back to Mrs. Compton. That was all 
 that was left on the field of the child. In all 
 these days nothing had been seen of Danny 
 Meagher. The Indians had carried off the 
 bodies of those who had been killed in the 
 skirmishing. It was thought they might have 
 scalped and left the remains of the soldier, 
 but there was no sign of him anywhere. The 
 colonel took some comfort in this. He be- 
 
THE HUNT FOR THE BABY 235 
 
 lieved that Meagher might be alive and pos- 
 sibly able to effect something, but Marnette 
 privately held a contrary view; he had drawn 
 a bead on the soldier, the shot had been easy, 
 and he was not accustomed to missing his aim. 
 He did not say anything about this, however; 
 it would have been cruel to take away from the 
 parents of the little girl the hope upon which 
 they so much depended. 
 
 The newspaper men had accompanied Colo- 
 nel Huntley; having soon learned the story 
 of the baby it was promptly spread broadcast 
 over the United States. Public opinion was 
 greatly aroused, Colonel Compton's heroic 
 resolution, in sacrificing his child to his duty 
 as a soldier, meeting with instant commenda- 
 tion. 
 
 And the commanding officer of the Four- 
 teenth having opportunely received the much 
 coveted star of a brigadier-general, Compton 
 found himself, while still a young man, left in 
 command of the regiment, the new colonel 
 being kept on staff duty, to the approval of 
 every one. 
 
 Public opinion did more than approve. It 
 clamored for a winter campaign against Dull 
 
286 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 Knife, and for the annihilation of his band 
 which had been guilty of other atrocious 
 cruelties and maraudings. It had been the 
 policy of the War Department hitherto to con- 
 fine its expeditions to the open seasons, es- 
 pecially in the mountainous countries, and to 
 place the troops in forts and cantonments dur- 
 ing the winter. A different policy was to be 
 followed now, and Colonel Compton's earnest 
 request to take the field, backed as it was by 
 an overwhelming public demand so soon as 
 it was learned that his whole regiment was 
 assembled at Fort Sullivan equipped for a 
 winter campaign, was promptly granted. 
 Again he was given an independent command, 
 although he was the youngest lieutenant- 
 colonel in the army, with orders to go where 
 he would and to do what he might to run down 
 Dull Knife, to find his child, rescue her if she 
 were alive or to avenge her if she had been 
 killed, by breaking up or bringing in the pesti- 
 lential band. 
 
 It was a sad yet glorious day at Fort Sulli- 
 van, when the regiment, assembled for the first 
 time in its history, ten troops each, fifty strong, 
 marched away. It was a bright winter morn- 
 
THE HUNT FOR THE BABY 237 
 
 ing in December when they paraded for the 
 last time in the meadow. 
 
 They broke ranks for a few brief and hur- 
 ried moments of farewell, all too short, before 
 the final assembly was sounded. 
 
 Poor Marion Compton clung to her gallant 
 husband before the whole regiment, as the rest 
 of the women did to those whom they loved. 
 
 "I will find her, darling, " said the colonel 
 reassuringly, "if she is on the face of the 
 earth. Somewhere in those mountains Dull 
 Knife is hidden for the winter. We will comb 
 them until we find him, we will unearth him in 
 the most secret ravine of the deepest canyon." 
 
 "And you will be careful, dearest," whis- 
 pered his wife, "careful of yourself. You 
 know I have only you now." 
 
 "Careful of my men perhaps," said Comp- 
 ton, smiling at her, "but in expeditions of this 
 kind, you know, the commander must lead. ' ' 
 
 "You will watch over him, Mr. Marnette, 
 won't you?" pleaded the wife, turning to the 
 old hunter who was to accompany the expedi- 
 tion as chief-of-scouts. Marnette was never 
 very far away from the colonel's side. 
 
 "It's like askin' me to look after a lightnin' 
 
238 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 flash, " answered the old man, smiling kindly 
 at her, for he loved her very much and had for 
 a long time, "an' nobody but God can really 
 look after Colonel Compton, but I'll do my 
 best, ma'am. I got a hunch, too, that we're 
 goin' to bring back the little gal." 
 
 "If the colonel pleases, sor," said Molly, 
 who was Mrs. Compton 's constant and faith- 
 ful attendant, "will you please, sor, thry to 
 find out what is become of poor Danny 
 Meagher, and if he is alive, will you tell him 
 I am pinin' away for a sight of him?" 
 
 "That I will, Molly," said the colonel, look- 
 ing kindly into her pale face whence the roses 
 had all departed. He had long since forgiven 
 poor Molly her folly. i ' Now, Marion, we can 't 
 stay any longer." 
 
 He kissed his wife's cold cheek before them 
 all in that snow-covered meadow on that bright 
 winter morning. Then he turned to his or- 
 derly, mounted his horse, nodded to the bugler, 
 and the clear notes of the assembly call rang 
 over the little plain. Compton drew his sword 
 when the regiment was formed, spoke a sharp 
 word of command, when the cheering died 
 away, and then all took up the march. 
 
THE HUNT FOR THE BABY 239 
 
 The band which was to stay behind with the 
 two companies of infantry, which had been 
 detailed to garrison the post until the Four- 
 teenth came back, played merrily the famous 
 battle air of the regiment. The women and 
 children, wrapped in furs, stood in the mea- 
 dow looking long after the column trotting 
 across the clearing and disappearing among 
 the snow-covered foothills. They were headed 
 for the great range, somewhere in the heart of 
 which lurked the great and redoubtable chief 
 and his cruel warriors, like a group of savage 
 lions in their lair. 
 
XVII 
 
 DISCLOSES HOW DANNY MEAGHER 
 SHOWED THEM THE WAY 
 
 NEITHER horses nor men had ever sus- 
 tained such hardships or carried on a 
 campaign under such frightful difficul- 
 ties as Compton's column encountered. When 
 they started they had been accompanied by a 
 body of Shoshone scouts, but the intense cold, 
 coupled with the heavy snows which filled the 
 passes, had discouraged these Indian aux- 
 iliaries. They soon straggled away and aban- 
 doned the column. Yet they had no difficulty 
 in their trailing, because of the skill and devo- 
 tion of Marnette, who as chief-of-scouts had 
 associated with himself a band of hardy, well- 
 skilled, experienced frontiersmen. It resolved 
 itself into a white man's expedition therefore. 
 Dull Knife and his band had concealed them- 
 selves for the winter in the hidden recesses of 
 the mountains, which were traversed in every 
 direction by a network of deep canyons 
 
 240 
 
DANNY SHOWS THE WAY 
 
 through many of which flowed icy rivers. The 
 rude almost impassable trails along the sides 
 of these rifts in the mountains at this time 
 were covered with snow. The regiment had 
 been out of touch with civilization for at least 
 a week, and had penetrated far into the moun- 
 tain range, before its advance was halted and 
 scouting parties had been sent out from the 
 permanent camp in every direction. Can- 
 yon after canyon had been examined with no 
 results whatever. The fierce wind and the drift- 
 ing snow had obliterated the trails the Chey- 
 ennes might have left. Neither scout nor sol- 
 dier found a trace of them. 
 
 The other Indian bands of Sioux and Chey- 
 ennes who had been on the warpath the pre- 
 vious summer had been located and were 
 under observation, but Dull Knife's band had 
 so far remained concealed. As it had been 
 Dull Knife's band that had carried off the 
 colonel's daughter, Compton was certain that 
 if alive she would be found with this group 
 of Cheyennes; he therefore prosecuted his 
 search with the most desperate determination. 
 
 The suif erings of the horses and the soldiers 
 were terrible, but the troopers endured every- 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 thing without murmuring. They responded to 
 every demand made on them with a cheerful 
 enthusiasm which no cold was able to freeze 
 out of them. 
 
 Strange pictures they presented, coming in 
 from scout or mounted-guard duty, clad in 
 their great snow-encrusted buffalo overcoats, 
 huge fur caps, and gloves, with their beards 
 and mustaches frosted with ice and snow! 
 But it was certain to Compton that the regi- 
 ment had about reached the limit of human 
 endurance. Unless Dull Knife were soon 
 found, if he did not wish his men to be frozen 
 to death in that ghastly wilderness of snow 
 and ice and withering cold, he would have to 
 break camp and return to the fort. 
 
 Nothing had been heard from Danny 
 Meagher. No one knew whether he was alive 
 or dead. With despair in his heart, Compton 
 called a council of war, which met around a 
 huge fire in the midst of the camp. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "it is evident that 
 the men can 't stand this much longer. A more 
 cheerful, willing, courageous lot I have never 
 commanded. They have done everything that 
 mortal man could ask, but forage is running 
 
DANNY SHOWS THE WAY 243 
 
 low, rations are getting scarce, I dare not keep 
 them out much longer. What do you think?'' 
 
 Calmore and Dexter, who had both been 
 promoted to majors, looked at each other. 
 Dexter, as the younger, spoke first. 
 
 "I hate to say it, colonel, but I suppose you 
 are right." 
 
 "Yes," added Calmore, "unless we can find 
 them in a day or two, we shall have to move 
 out." 
 
 "We haven't rations for more than four 
 days longer, sir," said the commissary. 
 
 "A lot of the men are already suffering 
 from frost-bite. If this keeps up I can't an- 
 swer for the health of the command, sir," said 
 Osmond, the major surgeon. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the colonel, "I believe 
 it will kill my wife if we come back without 
 the baby." 
 
 "I know," said Calmore, speaking for all 
 the others. 
 
 "Well," said Dexter, "you needn't decide 
 anything to-night. We can't do anything until 
 K troop returns." 
 
 "Marnette and Hadden started day before 
 yesterday and were only rationed for three 
 
244 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 days. They must be back to-night, " said the 
 colonel. "Well, gentlemen, if they don't bring 
 a favorable report, we will break camp in the 
 morning and go back to Fort Sullivan." 
 
 "I hate to do it," growled Calmore. 
 
 "And I," added Dexter. 
 
 "And think what it means to me," said the 
 colonel. "Yet I have no option, I can't let 
 these men freeze to death." 
 
 Just before dark that night, Hadden and his 
 troop came in. They were covered with frost 
 and snow, and some of the men were freezing. 
 The poor horses were in a state of complete 
 exhaustion, they had covered miles of intricate 
 trails, but had found nothing. Disconsolately, 
 dejectedly, they made their report to the 
 colonel. 
 
 "He is in there somewheres, curse him," 
 said old Marnette, brushing the ice from his 
 face with both hands and warming himself by 
 the camp fire. "We've jest got to find him." 
 
 "I am afraid we can't do it now, old friend," 
 said Compton. "We have rations and forage 
 enough just about to get us back to Fort Sul- 
 livan. The men can't stand this any more." 
 
 "But they've jest got to stand it," said old 
 
DANNY SHOWS THE WAY 245 
 
 Marnette stubbornly. "I'll never go back to 
 the fort and face your wife without that 
 babby, or tidings of her, as long as I can set 
 a horse or pull a trigger. ' ' 
 
 "That is all very well for you, Marnette, 
 but I am responsible for the lives of these men 
 and the safety of this command. If I were 
 alone I would stay here in these mountains 
 with you until we died before we gave up." 
 
 "Colonel," said Calmore, who was standing 
 by, "give us one more day; we could stretch 
 our supplies to cover five days by going on 
 short rations. I know the men, they will take 
 a long chance at starvation before they will 
 go back beaten. I know the United States, 
 too, and the people of this country have got 
 their eyes on this column. We can't afford to 
 go back unsuccessful." 
 
 "Let me ascertain the feeling of the men," 
 said Compton. 
 
 Leaving the little group around the head- 
 quarters fire, the colonel walked from one 
 troop camp to another. What he said to the 
 first, he said in effect to them all ; it ran some- 
 thing like this, the men crowding around him 
 to listen: 
 
246 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "Men, we know Dull Knife is in the moun- 
 tains somewhere, but we haven't yet found 
 him. We've got four days' rations and for- 
 age left, which we might stretch to cover five 
 or six. You have shown a courage and devo- 
 tion and willingness to do everything that men 
 could that's beyond all praise. As I am re- 
 sponsible for you, I ought to break camp and 
 march back to Fort Sullivan to-morrow. 
 But, although I can't bear to give up, which 
 isn't the habit of the Fourteenth Cavalry, I 
 feel that I cannot keep you here unless you 
 are willing to stay. I will make a return party 
 out of those who want to go back. With the 
 rest, I'll stay in the mountains to the very 
 limit of safety and possibility, and beyond. 
 Who wants to go back!" 
 
 The troop he was addressing was that of 
 which old Schmidt was first sergeant. 
 
 "Gott in Himmel! ve vill shtay mit you, 
 colonel, ain't it, boys I" he began fiercely. 
 
 "Sergeant's right, sir," exclaimed a 
 trooper. 
 
 "We'll live a week on them four days' 
 provisions," said another. 
 
 "We won't go back without making a kill- 
 
DANNY SHOWS THE WAY 247 
 
 ing of Dull Knife's braves," boldly cried a 
 third. 
 
 "All who vill shtay fall in line und shtandt 
 at adention," growled old Schmidt. 
 
 The whole body fell in line instantly. Not a 
 single man even hesitated. The colonel's eyes 
 shone with pleasure. 
 
 "You are a body of soldiers and gentle- 
 men," he said, gravely saluting them, "that 
 any man on earth would be honored to com- 
 mand. There are no better men in this army 
 or in any other army, I am sure." 
 
 What happened in that troop happened 
 in all the others ; there was not a single officer 
 or man who wanted to go back. The whole 
 regiment, five hundred strong, had volun- 
 teered. 
 
 "I knowd how 't would be," said Marnette, 
 after they had thoroughly talked it over; 
 "them fellers is game an' grit down to their 
 heels, you couldn't freeze it out of 'em at the 
 north pole, an' you couldn't burn it out of 
 'em in hell either." 
 
 "What do you advise now?" asked the 
 colonel. "You know we've got to make it this 
 time." 
 
248 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 Old Marnette thought deeply, so much de- 
 pended upon him that he would fain give no 
 hasty judgment. At last he spoke, carefully 
 weighing his words. 
 
 "We've sent out three scoutin' parties an' 
 we've done the northeast pretty well, but we've 
 kind a neglected the s'uthern part, not thinkin' 
 of Dull Knife gittin' down so near the settle- 
 ments. Mebbe he's counted on that, an' is 
 down in there somewheres waitin' for the 
 spring to break up the snow an' give him a 
 chance to git north an' join the Sioux in the 
 open country where there's good buffaler 
 huntin' still. Let's try to the s'uth'ard." 
 
 1 ' Your advice is good," said Compton. "I 
 think I will send out three different parties to 
 scout south; you will take one, Grouard an- 
 other, and " 
 
 "Let me have the third," said Calmore. 
 "You know I know this game about as well as 
 anybody, except yourself and 
 
 "Good," answered the colonel. "We will 
 detail a lieutenant and twenty men to go with 
 each leader, take the best men and the best 
 horses in the regiment. We will give you 
 three days; at the end of that time you must 
 
DANNY SHOWS THE WAY 249 
 
 be back, that's the limit of our endurance. 
 Meanwhile I'll try to organize some hunting 
 parties to see if we can't get some game to 
 eke out our rations." 
 
 "I've got a hunch," said Marnette, "that 
 we are goin' to git him this time." 
 
 The little colloquy was broken by a rifle 
 shot from the farthest sentry to the west- 
 ward, who was stationed where he could com- 
 mand a view of the pass through which raced 
 a little brook so furiously that even the in- 
 tense cold had not yet frozen it. It was quite 
 dark by this time and Colonel Compton with 
 the other officers of the staff hurried to the 
 picket line. A short distance away, seen 
 dimly in the dusk and falling snow, stood a 
 solitary Indian, wrapped in a blanket, an 
 eagle feather rising from his head. 
 
 "What is it?" asked the colonel of the offi- 
 cer of the guard. 
 
 "There's an Indian out there, sir," an- 
 swered Lieutenant Alderdice. "He seems to 
 want to speak to us, but I have ordered him to 
 stay where he was, not to make a move under 
 pain of death. He has been hallooing at us 
 there he goes again." 
 
250 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 There was a lull in the wind at the time, 
 and for the first time since he had hailed the 
 voice of the Indian was plainly audible to 
 them all. 
 
 ' ' Don't shoot," came faintly. "Pm a white 
 man." 
 
 "That's no Indian," said Compton. "I 
 seem to know that voice." 
 
 "And I," exclaimed Dexter. 
 
 "That will be Meagher," cried Calmore. 
 
 The colonel darted past the sentinel and 
 pushed through the snow, with Calmore fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 "Keep them both covered," ordered Dex- 
 ter, who remained with the officer of the 
 guard, "and if it should prove to be an In- 
 dian and there is any treachery, give him a 
 bullet at the first move. ' ' 
 
 But there was no treachery, the Indian 
 dropped his blanket as the colonel drew near 
 and those who covered him saw him salute, 
 and the next instant the colonel had him by 
 the hand, shaking it furiously. 
 
 ' ' Meagher, ' ' he cried, " is it you ? ' ' 
 
 "It is, sor." 
 
 "And Marion?" 
 
DANNY SHOWS THE WAY 251 
 
 "Safe an' well, sor, at this minute.'' 
 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 "As near as I can judge, sor, she's about fif- 
 teen miles away in Dull Knife's village. 
 
 "Not up this canyon?" asked the colonel. 
 "We scouted that carefully when we first 
 came. ' ' 
 
 "You missed the little canyon that leads 
 off from it, sor, about eight miles up an' about 
 six into the heart of the mountains. Dull 
 Knife is there." 
 
 "Can you lead us to the spot?" 
 
 1 i I am afraid not, sor. I have got to be back 
 before marnin', they don't quite thrust me 
 yit. I'm supposed to be on a hunt, an' if I'm 
 not there in the marnin', they might do some 
 harrum to the child." 
 
 "Can't you guide us there?" 
 
 "I could, sor, but I'd better not." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Well, you see, sor, I can tell you the way 
 so that you can find it yourselves. I know a 
 thrail over the range an' I can cut across the 
 country an' git to the camp long before you 
 do. I'd better be there when you attack, for 
 there's no telling what they might do to the 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 child if they get a chance when the troops 
 burst in on them. ' ' 
 
 " How many are there?" 
 
 "Over six hundred, sor." 
 
 " Braves 1" 
 
 "Yes, sor, an women an' children besides. 
 Dull Knife has found a regular hole in the 
 wall, a pocket where they are camped, there 
 is only wan way in an' another way out." 
 
 "Thank God, she is alive. Have they mis- 
 treated her?" 
 
 "No, sor, she is rather a pet of the chafe, 
 he's dressed her out in buckskin an' even had 
 a little war bonnet made for her, for all she 's 
 a girl." 
 
 "Is she well?" 
 
 "Well an' happy as she can be, save for 
 wantin' her mother, sor." 
 
 "How did you escape?" 
 
 "You see, sor, the lasht man that fired at 
 me as I run across the meadow came near to 
 gittin' me. As it happened I shtumbled an' 
 fell jist as he pulled the trigger, the bullet cut 
 across the back of me skull, an' stunned me." 
 
 "It was a lucky stumble," said the colonel. 
 "That was Marnette." 
 
DANNY SHOWS THE WAY 
 
 " Glory be!" cried Danny. 
 
 "And what happened next! " 
 
 "When I came to I was in the midst of 'em, 
 sor, an 7 they was debatin' how they'd kill me. 
 I tould 'em I was desartin' on account of bad 
 thratemint at your hands, sor. There was a 
 half-brade interpretin' for 'em. But I doubt 
 I'd 'a' been kilt entirely if it hadn't been for 
 the babby, sor." 
 
 "What did she do?" 
 
 6 ' She broke away from the squaws that was 
 kapin' her an' run to me where I was lyin' 
 bound that tight I couldn't move hand or foot 
 an' me thinkin' it was all up an' bein' more 
 sorry for Mrs. Compton than meself, so help 
 me God." 
 
 "I know, I know." 
 
 "Well, sor, the child was already afther 
 winnin' old Dull Knife's heart wid her swate 
 ways, an' now 'tis nothin' he can deny her. 
 All the pappooses in the camp is jealous av 
 her. You should see her lord it over 'em, 
 sor." 
 
 "Go on, go on." 
 
 "Well, sor, she ups an' runs to me, an' 
 takes me head in her little arrums an' sez, 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 'My Danny,' jest as brave, sor, 'I want Danny 
 to play wid me.' An' the upshot of it all was 
 that afther questionin' me they adopted me 
 into the thribe in a sort av way an' give me 
 the job of lookin' afther the babby. I got to 
 be awful careful, too, sor, for old Dull Knife's 
 that jealous. He's lamed that it is the same 
 babby he nearly got from us all in the Big 
 Meadows an' that makes thim think more av 
 her than iver." 
 
 1 i There is some good in him, then." 
 
 "Not much, sor, if you could hear the things 
 I've heard av battle an' murder an' outrage. 
 Begorry, sor, it makes me blood run could. 
 I'm afraid always the old villain may take a 
 notion to kill her. 'Tis more than wan babby 's 
 scalp he's got. But 'tis a long shtory to tell 
 all av it " 
 
 "You're right. We haven't time to hear 
 more of that story now, Meagher, terribly in- 
 teresting as it is. You say you will go back 
 over the mountains?" 
 
 "Yes, sor, 'tis only about tin miles that 
 way. If you could shpare me a squad of men 
 that can climb like goats, I'll take them back 
 wid me an' they will come in handy. I'll put 
 
DANNY SHOWS THE WAY 255 
 
 them on the hill while I go down into the valley 
 to me tepee. " 
 
 "You shall have them," said the colonel. 
 "Let us go back now." 
 
 When the two men reached the camp they 
 were greeted with a ringing outburst of cheers ; 
 although Danny was painted like an Indian 
 and dressed as one, his comrades recognized 
 him. 
 
 "Men," said the colonel, "Meagher has 
 given us the location of the Indian camp. We 
 are going up the canyon to-night, we will hit 
 them in the morning. Meagher wants some 
 men who can climb like goats and who can 
 stand a hard march, to go with him to take 
 a position on the hills overlooking the camp. 
 Who will volunteer?" 
 
 ' ' I for one, ' ' cried Hadden. ' ' My horses are 
 dead beat now and my whole troop will go 
 afoot if you Will let us. ' ' 
 
 "Good," said Compton. "Let every man 
 of the troop that wishes to go with you, Mr. 
 Hadden; the rest of you saddle up and get 
 ready to move out. We'll take every man 
 jack that can go, leaving the sick and the 
 wagon train with the teamsters. The chief 
 
256 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 teamster can command the camp. We ought 
 to strike the hostiles by morning. ' ' 
 
 "Tain't up the canyon yere, is it?" asked 
 Marnette. 
 
 " No," answered Danny, " after you have 
 gone ahout eight miles up, there's a narrow 
 little drift in the mountains " 
 
 "I've seen it," said Marnette. "I didn't 
 know it led anywhere." 
 
 ' ' Well, it does," said Danny. "If you follow 
 that canyon for a mile, you come to a broader 
 pass an' if you follow that for five miles more, 
 over the range, you come to one of them 
 holes, pockets that is, as level as a floor, and 
 big enough for a brigade camp. There ain't 
 nobody knows of it except the Cheyennes. 
 Once there an' you've got 'em." 
 
 "I know it now," said Marnette. "I have 
 heard of it; strange I was such a dumb fool 
 as to forgit it. It's the best place in the whole 
 Big Horn Eange for Dull Knife to lie con- 
 cealed." 
 
 " 'Tis indeed," said Danny. "Now I'd bet- 
 ter go back to the camp, wid the colonel's per- 
 mission, sor." 
 
 "You have it," answered Compton. 
 
DANNY SHOWS THE WAY 257 
 
 4 * It's a cold night, sor," said Danny sug- 
 gestively. 
 
 "Here," laughed the colonel, handing him 
 his own flask, "we haven't got much of that 
 stuff, Meagher, but what we have you are 
 welcome to." 
 
 "We are all ready, Meagher," said Mr. 
 Hadden, coming up with his trooper behind 
 him. 
 
 "All right, sor," said Meagher. "Plaise 
 may I ask the colonel one question afore I 
 go?" 
 
 "A dozen if you want," answered Compton 
 promptly. 
 
 "How's Molly, sor." 
 
 "Well, I believe. She's back at the fort 
 with Mrs. Compton and the rest, praying 
 every hour on her knees for you and our 
 success." 
 
 "Thank you, sor. Afther I have sarved my 
 term for me neglected juty," said Danny, "if 
 I'm not shot, I'll ask the colonel's permission 
 to marry her." 
 
 "You have it now," returned the colonel. 
 
 i t Thank you again, sor, ' ' said Danny, grate- 
 fully beaming on Jiis commander. 
 
258 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "Good-bye," said Compton, extending Ms 
 hand. Meagher shook it, awkwardly saluted, 
 and turned away followed by Hadden. 
 
 It was quite dark now and the men filed by, 
 in the light snow that was falling, like grey 
 ghosts. In a minute the line halted and Danny 
 turned and came back. 
 
 "If you plaise, sor, I'll be afther wearin' a 
 white buffalo robe when the ould Fourteenth 
 raches the camp that belongs to Dull Knife. 
 It's the only one in the camp, but I can git it. 
 Will you kindly pass the worrd among the 
 bhoys not to fire at any one wearin' a white 
 buffalo robe. I'm apt to be in the thick av it 
 wid the little girl ; 'tis not so much for me self 
 I'm carin'." 
 
 "Good. We will watch out for you, 
 Meagher, ' ' said the colonel. 
 
 "Thank you, sor," and he was gone again, 
 and in less than a minute Hadden and his 
 troop had disappeared. 
 
 It took ten minutes perhaps for the rest of 
 the regiment to get in line and move out. The 
 sick, the frozen, the snow-blind and the in- 
 valids were left behind with the wagon train, 
 all deploring the hard fate that deprived them 
 

 THEY PLUNGED DESPERATELY ON IN THE DRIFTING SNOW 
 
DANNY SHOWS THE WAY 259 
 
 of the chance of participating in this des- 
 perate adventure. 
 
 With Compton and Marnette at their head, 
 the troopers saddled their horses and started 
 up the trail in a column of fours. They went 
 slowly, but they plunged desperately on in the 
 drifting snow and the bitter night. 
 
XVIII 
 
 HOW THEY ADVANCED IN THE COLD 
 HELL OF THE PASS 
 
 FOB hours the troops plodded slowly 
 and painfully up the canyon. Some- 
 times the icy, snow-covered trail, not 
 a good one under most favorable conditions, 
 narrowed so that it was necessary for the 
 long column to pass over it in single file. Fre- 
 quently they crossed from one side of the can- 
 yon to the other on huge boulders lying in the 
 bed of the stream which would have been ab- 
 solutely impossible for the horses had not the 
 space between been filled with masses of ice, 
 beneath which the low torrent ran. 
 
 Fortunately when they got well within the 
 canyon, it stopped snowing, the wind died 
 down, and about ten o'clock at night the full 
 moon burst from the clouds and gave them 
 abundance of light, save where the towering 
 walls of the pass, sometimes rising several 
 
 260 
 
THE COLD HELL OF THE PASS 
 
 thousand feet, threw the trail far beneath into 
 deep shadow. 
 
 In spite of their precautions, there were 
 many accidents. Horses stumbled and fell 
 into the river, carrying men with them. In one 
 instance a trooper was dashed against a wall 
 of rock and killed. Although the wind and 
 snow had both ceased, the cold was intense. 
 Only the most heroic resolution, the most in- 
 domitable persistence, animating their other- 
 wise frigid hearts enabled the troops to sus- 
 tain it. They plodded along silently, Mar- 
 nette, with the colonel, in the lead. Conversa- 
 tion was so painful as to be almost impossible 
 and speech was only resorted to in direst ne- 
 cessity. The old scout seemed to have an un- 
 erring faculty of picking out the most practica- 
 ble places for the slow advance of the freezing 
 command. Whenever the canyon opened into 
 a little pocket as it did sometimes, the troops 
 were halted and assembled, stragglers were 
 brought up and order was restored. 
 
 It was one o'clock in the cold still winter 
 morning when they reached the narrow en- 
 trance of the transverse glacial canyon which 
 led to the "hole," where Dull Knife had con- 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 cealed himself. It was a mere rift in the wall, 
 as if some titanic hand had cleft it with some 
 mighty blade from the lofty rim to the 
 abysmal depth far below. The narrow en- 
 trance, scarcely affording passage to a horse 
 and rider, looked grim and terrible. It was, 
 of course, too deep for any light from the 
 moon to penetrate and seemed like a thin 
 black scar in the face of the ice-bound wall of 
 the pass. 
 
 No wonder the scouts had passed it by un- 
 heeded, when they had before examined this 
 canyon. The walls here towered at least fif- 
 teen hundred feet above the trail and the 
 opening was a mere thread. A closer inspec- 
 tion showed that the lateral canyon also bent 
 sharply about a hundred feet from its inter- 
 section with the greater pass and unless a very 
 careful examination of the spot was made, it 
 looked more like a niche or scarred recess in 
 the face of the mountain than anything else. 
 
 The main pass was here a little wider than 
 ordinarily and trees grew on the banks of the 
 stream, which was fortunate for the soldiers, 
 for otherwise they would have been com- 
 pelled to ford the icy torrent, which would 
 
THE COLD HELL OF THE PASS 263 
 
 have been difficult, perhaps impossible. Axes 
 had been brought along and soon four huge 
 pines lay across the brook. By means of this 
 improvised bridge, the command presently 
 reached the other side. The strongest troop- 
 ers under Major Dexter briefly scouted the 
 narrow pass and returning reported it was 
 empty. Indeed all the veteran fighters knew 
 that no Indian on the continent would be 
 abroad on such a night if it could possibly be 
 avoided. The troops were certain they would 
 not be under observation, therefore they 
 cleared a little space in the snow and by means 
 of dry pine branches a huge fire was soon 
 kindled, coffee was made for the men, and the 
 horses were watered and given a scanty feed- 
 ing. 
 
 It was two o'clock in the morning when they 
 started, Marnette again in the lead. The new 
 canyon was so narrow, and ran in such a di- 
 rection that it was almost pitch dark within 
 it. Fortunately the brook, which ran through 
 it in the spring, summer, and fall, had either 
 been dried up before the winter set in, or it 
 had been frozen solid; the snow too was as 
 hard as iron, so the going was easier other- 
 
264 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 wise it would have been impossible. The 
 black rocks jutting out of the white crest were 
 easily discerned and avoided by the twisting, 
 stumbling, ever-mounting column. 
 
 There were a dozen places in the winding, 
 turning, climbing trail through the mountains 
 where a dozen men could have held the pass 
 against a thousand, but there were no men 
 there. Dull Knife was confident that his re- 
 treat would be undiscovered, and had no idea 
 that there were any troops on earth which 
 would have the hardihood to struggle up the 
 frost-bound canyon on such a night in such 
 weather. Doubtless he felt as safe as if he had 
 been in Gibraltar, had he known anything 
 about that famous fortress. But he was to 
 learn before the morning of what the Ameri- 
 can soldier was capable, and that the polar 
 temperature itself could not congeal him, or 
 his horse either. 
 
 The rare cold grew more and more intense 
 as the trail through the canyon if such it 
 could be called mounted gradually upward. 
 They attained a height of nine thousand feet 
 in this narrow pass before they began to de- 
 scend. Once in it they had to go on, as there 
 
THE COLD HELL OF THE PASS 265 
 
 was nothing else to be done. To stop was to 
 die, to turn back would be to perish miser- 
 ably. There was salvation in the advance, and 
 nowhere else. They had to seize Dull Knife's 
 camp to get rest, food, and fire. 
 
 With bent heads they plodded mechanically 
 on, keeping together by a sort of instinctive 
 coherence, obedient to habit acquired through 
 long years of soldiering. Often they had to 
 dismount and lead their horses for long dis- 
 tances. This relieved the horses and in a 
 measure warmed the men. 
 
 Only the most heroic care on the part of 
 the officers prevented straggling; benumbed, 
 dazed men seeking occasion to drop from their 
 horses and lie down to sleep and die. Some 
 of them did succeed in getting away from the 
 column unobserved in the darkness, and were 
 seen no more. But the great majority strug- 
 gled desperately on. The horrors of that win- 
 ter march of Compton's men were never for- 
 gotten by the army. It was a tale to tell 
 around warm firesides on wild winter nights. 
 
 After they had passed the high point, and 
 the descent began, the temperature grew a 
 little more bearable; but it was still fright- 
 
266 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 fully severe. Conversation was, of course, 
 practically impossible, yet some there were 
 whose positions and duties compelled them to 
 speak with frozen lips. 
 
 "We must be near," said Marnette to the 
 colonel at last. 
 
 He was an unerring judge of distance and 
 he was certain that they must now be close to 
 the place that Meagher described. 
 
 The colonel raised his head, he also lifted his 
 hand, those nearest him stopped and then those 
 farther away; it needed but a suggestion to 
 bring the whole long column, which came 
 crowding slowly onward, to a halt. The pant- 
 ing horses were too exhausted to move. There 
 was neither shaking of heads, nor pawing of 
 hoofs, nor jingling of bits. Their riders 
 leaned over their saddles as motionless as the 
 canyon walls. The officers slowly crowded to 
 the front near the colonel. Clouds of mist 
 from many breaths of men and animals hung 
 undisturbed above them in the stillness of 
 that terrible morning. 
 
 What had stopped them was soon apparent. 
 In that thin air, in that intense cold, sound 
 carried a long distance. They heard a dog 
 
THE COLD HELL OF THE PASS 267 
 
 bark! They were near the Indian camp evi- 
 dently. It was about half past four in the 
 morning. Through a rift in the range they 
 saw the whitish gray of the dawn. As they 
 listened the dogs barked again. 
 
 " Gentlemen, " said Compton, "Dull Knife's 
 lair." 
 
 The words seemed to put new vigor into 
 the troopers. One would have said, as they 
 reeled down the trail, they seemed to be at the 
 last gasp of human endurance. Yet it was 
 really not so ; these men had still some reserve 
 force. The colonel's three words had called 
 it into action. 
 
 "Carbines and revolvers," said Compton. 
 
 He loosened his own pistol in its holster 
 and unslung the carbine he carried across his 
 shoulders in common with the other officers 
 and men, and dropped it lightly in front of 
 him across his saddle. Without a word the 
 men did the same, although his and their hands 
 were so benumbed, in spite of thick fur gloves 
 they all wore, that their fingers would scarcely 
 do their work. 
 
 "We will jump the village the minute we 
 see it," he continued. "Keep fast the sabre 
 
A BABY OP THE FRONTIER 
 
 until we come close to them. Do you under- 
 stand i" 
 
 A hoarse, snarling growl of assent came 
 from those nearest, and both word and re- 
 sponse were passed down the long ranks un- 
 til the weakest stragglers at the other end 
 heard and were inspired by them. The men's 
 wordless answer was beast-like, perhaps, but 
 only men could have given utterance at all. 
 
 "I'll ride for'ard to the bend in the pass," 
 said Marnette, pointing ahead about a quarter 
 of a mile, "and see how things lay." 
 
 "Go ahead," said the colonel. 
 
 Like a white-frosted rime-covered ghost, 
 Marnette ventured ahead. He dismounted 
 when he reached the bend and plodded out of 
 sight on foot. He was back in a few minutes, 
 meeting the command slowly advancing as he 
 came. 
 
 "I couldn't keep them still longer, they were 
 freezing to death," explained the colonel. 
 "We had to move." 
 
 Marnette nodded. 
 
 "They are there," he said. "The trail 
 breaks sharp to the right an' opens into a 
 beautiful pocket, wide enough for the hull 
 
THE GOLD HELL OF THE PASS 269 
 
 regiment to form line. The village is under' 
 the north bluff, facin' south, an' the pony herd 
 is to the south an' below. Fires are almost 
 out, there's no watch, everybody is in the 
 tepees asleep. They don't dream there's a 
 soldier within a hundred miles of 'em." 
 
 "Good," said the colonel. "He turned and 
 rode back along the line, the men had by this 
 time got themselves into column of fours. 
 "Calmore," said the colonel, stopping at the 
 head of the first squadron. * ' Detach one troop 
 to pass around the village to the left to try 
 to capture the pony herd. ' ' 
 
 "Captain Emmett," said Calmore, "to you 
 that duty." 
 
 "Very good, sir." 
 
 "The rest of the squadron will form line 
 the instant they debouch from the pass and 
 ride through the village, driving the Chey- 
 ennes before them. Be careful of the women 
 and children, one of the latter may be my 
 own," said Compton. 
 
 "I understand, sir," answered Calmore. 
 
 "Don't fire on an Indian wearing a white 
 blanket if you can help it; that may be 
 Meagher." 
 
270 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 "We will take good care." 
 
 "I know you will, Calmore," said the 
 colonel, riding down toward Dexter 's squad- 
 ron, which brought up the rear. 
 
 "God give us luck, sir," cried Calmore, 
 after his superior as he rode away. 
 
 The instructions to Calmore were repeated 
 to Dexter, save that the latter was directed 
 to hold his rear troop as a reserve to be thrown 
 into action whenever circumstances might de- 
 termine. 
 
 "Close up," said the colonel, "let's have no 
 straggling; and now," he continued, raising 
 his voice, "let every man make his peace with 
 God, and do his best." 
 
 There was no cheering, only that low mut- 
 tering, ominous growl again. The colonel 
 reached his place at the head of the line and 
 glanced back. 
 
 "Forward," he said softly, and the march 
 at once began. 
 
 The wind was blowing toward them from 
 the camp. They could hear the dogs again. 
 But as yet it was only desultory barking, for 
 the Indian curs had not yet scented them, 
 what wind there was blowing in the faces of 
 
THE COLD HELL OF THE PASS 271 
 
 the soldiers. The trail was now broad and 
 smooth. 
 
 " Trot-march, " cried the colonel. 
 
 The pace was accelerated, the rapid move- 
 ment warmed them a little, they went faster, 
 they forgot for a moment the awful gripping 
 cold, the trot grew more rapid until they 
 reached the bend in the trail and looked down 
 into the valley. The camp and hundreds of 
 tepees lay before them. Faint smoke rose 
 from dying fires here and there among the 
 tents, but not a human soul was visible. They 
 caught sight of a dog slinking from tepee to 
 tepee. Emmett, preserving his column forma- 
 tion, now broke to the left and galloped off 
 toward the pony herd, the rest formed into 
 line in the open on the double-quick. 
 
 The dogs in the village scented them at 
 last, a wild howl and a furious barking rose 
 on all sides, tepee flaps were instantly thrown 
 aside, heads peered out sleepily, to awaken 
 into full life and action in a second. 
 
 "Charge!" roared Compton with all the 
 vigor he could command. 
 
XIX 
 
 THE WINTER FIGHT 
 
 THE horses' hoofs thundered on the hard 
 snow. The men cheered. Their blood 
 was up. It seemed warmer. 
 The village was suddenly red with naked 
 men. The Indian sleeps without clothing be- 
 neath his blankets and furs, even in the cold- 
 est weather. Every brave had at least a car- 
 tridge belt and a Winchester. There was some 
 distance between the mouth of the pass and 
 the village, the galloping horses had not trav- 
 ersed it when a sudden crashing outburst of 
 sound filled the valley. This was followed by 
 a steady crackling as every rifle in the hands 
 of five hundred braves was discharged at first 
 with one volley as it were by instinct, followed 
 by a rapid storm of bullets which swept across 
 the snowy level. But the Cheyennes only just 
 awakened from sleep, and not good shots at 
 best, did not do the execution with their hasty 
 firing which might have been expected, con- 
 
 272 
 
THE WINTER FIGHT 273 
 
 sidering the closeness of the range and the 
 largeness of the target. 
 
 It was impossible to miss entirely, however, 
 soldiers threw up their arms and fell here and 
 there, while horses went crashing down on the 
 snow. The firing of the Indians was as in- 
 effective to stop that rush as dust thrown at 
 a storm. 
 
 The next instant the troops were among the 
 tepees, and the rattle of their carbines and the 
 sharper staccato notes of their revolvers 
 showed how quickly they got to work. But 
 the courage of the Cheyennes was magnificent. 
 After their first surprise they rallied splen- 
 didly. The onrush of the charge was checked 
 by the thick huddle of the Indian tents. The 
 Indians withdrew to the lower end of the vil- 
 lage and then desperately, stubbornly, kept up 
 the fighting. 
 
 It was difficult to use the horses to advan- 
 tage. Compton gave the order to dismount 
 and then led a rush directly upon the Indians. 
 The fighting was of the hand-to-hand type. 
 The Indians were naked just as they had come 
 forth. If they lost that camp they knew that 
 their condition in the frozen mountain range 
 
274 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 would be frightful. They must conquer or 
 die. Old Dull Knife exposed himself reck- 
 lessly and both he and all his men fought 
 as only the northern Cheyennes bravest 
 of all savages braver even than the Sioux 
 could. Dull Knife was a villain, blood- 
 thirsty, cruel, depraved, as were the men he 
 led, but no one could deny their courage. 
 Sabres had been left with the horses, and 
 carbines were clubbed. It was gun butt 
 against tomahawk and scalping knife, white 
 arm against red one. 
 
 The colonel had been looking eagerly every- 
 where for his baby, the troopers had ridden 
 over numbers of Indian women, some fighting 
 as desperately as the men, but the most of 
 them fleeing to the side, with their children, to 
 get out of the way of the battle, but there had 
 been no sign of the little white baby anywhere. 
 Suddenly from out the Indian ranks a man 
 wearing a white buffalo robe and carrying a 
 child in his arms burst into the open space be- 
 tween the soldiers and the Cheyennes. 
 
 "Meagher!" exclaimed the colonel. 
 
 There had been a little temporary cessation 
 in the combat for a moment, while the rival 
 
THE WINTER FIGHT 275 
 
 fighters gathered themselves for a final strug- 
 gle. 
 
 "Hold your fire," cried Compton to his 
 men. 
 
 The soldiers dropped the carbines they had 
 presented at the advancing figure. But the 
 Indians recognized at once what was up and 
 a storm of bullets swept toward Meagher. He 
 had foreseen it and just before the volley he 
 ran swifty to one side toward the narrow wall 
 of the valley, which here rose sheer above the 
 camp. He threw himself against the wall, 
 thrust the child behind him, and stood defiant. 
 Winchester and revolver in hand. He was 
 yelling like a madman, as his barbaric Celtic 
 forbears had done in many a battle of the past. 
 
 It was daylight now and the soldiers and 
 Indians alike saw him plainly. With a whoop 
 of rage the great Cheyenne chief made for 
 him, with others of his following. Colonel 
 Compton started at full speed for him also and 
 the whole regiment followed to a man. 
 
 The Indians were naked, or very lightly 
 clad, while the soldiers were in heavy march- 
 ing order and further encumbered by great 
 fur overcoats. The Indians had much the 
 
276 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 shorter distance to traverse, too, and they 
 reached Meagher the more quickly. 
 
 Danny Meagher did not wait for them. His 
 rifle cracked again and again as they came on, 
 until the magazine was empty, then his re- 
 volver spat into their faces. He received a 
 half dozen wounds, but the blood of the fight- 
 ing Irish had not yet been drained from his 
 veins. Battling with the savage ferocity of 
 the Indians themselves, he leaped toward the 
 red horde, his gun rising and falling like a 
 flail. Then they grappled him, pulling him 
 down as big grey wolves pull down a righting 
 buffalo. The next second the troopers were 
 upon them. 
 
 The whole open was filled with a twisting, 
 struggling mass. The advantage was not al- 
 ways with the soldiers in this hand-to-hand 
 fighting, but the superior weight and more 
 desperate courage of the white race finally 
 told. 
 
 The Indians were driven back. Dull Knife, 
 fighting in the front, had received a dozen 
 wounds. Then they broke and fled, struggling 
 down the open toward the narrows at the 
 farther end. There was not a solitary pony 
 
THE WINTER FIGHT 277 
 
 for the chief even. Emmett had rounded up 
 the herd, not without some fighting, for a little 
 section of the village with many braves had 
 been pitched upon the other side. 
 
 The soldiers sought to follow, but encum- 
 bered as they were, they were no match in 
 speed for the Indians, and for the moment 
 Colonel Compton had forgotten everything 
 but Danny Meagher and his precious burden. 
 
 Little Miss Marion, too frightened to cry 
 out, they found to be absolutely unhurt. She 
 was dressed in buckskins and feathers, her 
 little face smeared with paint, but she was 
 alive and well. Colonel Compton clasped her 
 in his arms and then turned to look at 
 Meagher. He was a gory-looking spectacle, 
 his white blanket cut and torn to rags and 
 covered with blood welling from wounds on 
 his broad breast. Yet he was conscious still. 
 
 "I got her," said he. "Lef tenant Hadden 
 will be along presently. Sure 'tis dyin' I am, 
 but you'll give me back me place in the regi- 
 ment, sor." 
 
 "That I will, my brave boy," said the 
 colonel. 
 
 "And you'll tell Molly," faltered Danny, 
 
278 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 and then he closed his eyes, and lapsed into 
 unconsciousness. 
 
 " Major Osmond, " cried Compton. 
 
 "Here, sir," said the chief regimental sur- 
 geon, forcing his way to his superior's side. 
 
 "Look after this man. Do your best." 
 
 And Osmond dropped to his knees beside 
 the unconscious soldier. 
 
 The next moment the crashing fire began 
 again. The chief had taken advantage of the 
 respite for the men had crowded around the 
 colonel and Meagher and had burst into a 
 cheering at the sight of the baby and had 
 rallied his men, in the narrow mouth of the 
 canyon, which continued the trail. From this 
 opening and from behind a natural entrench- 
 ment of rocks he opened fire. The Indians 
 were doing more, Dull Knife had not fought 
 in Crazy Horse's school without learning 
 something. He was not beaten yet. There 
 were practicable trails ascending the wall to 
 the south, he detached part of his men to 
 scale it, and from high points, inaccessible to 
 the troops in. the village, poured in a drop- 
 ping and disastrous fire. 
 
 "Get into line," roared the colonel, quickly 
 
THE WINTER FIGHT 279 
 
 disposing his baby by the side of the gallant 
 soldier who had fought for her and the sur- 
 geon who was looking after him. "We must 
 rush the pass." 
 
 Seconded by their officers, the troops were 
 soon taking their positions coolly, though un- 
 der a galling fire. At command they advanced, 
 but were met by such a heavy fire from the 
 Indians behind the rocks as for the moment 
 checked them. The line staggered, wavered, 
 and came to a halt. Compton, Calmore, Dex- 
 ter, and the other officers leaped to the front. 
 
 "We've got to do it," the colonel cried. 
 "Nothing is gained as long as they are there. 
 Forward forward. ' ' 
 
 "For the honor of the Fourteenth," roared 
 Calmore. 
 
 The men took a surge forward, they bent 
 their heads as they had bent them before the 
 driving snow and came on, but whether they 
 would have succeeded in dislodging the four 
 hundred surviving Cheyennes, over one hun- 
 dred of them already having been killed, was 
 a grave question. 
 
 The colonel, emptying his revolver toward 
 the Indians, looked upward, half in prayer, 
 
280 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 half in hope of seeing something of Hadden. 
 At that instant, as if in answer to his unspoken 
 appeal, the rim of the canyon was filled with 
 men. By a lucky chance Hadden whom 
 Meagher had left behind struck the "hole" 
 just where the further pass ran out of it, 
 where the Cheyennes had elected to make 
 their stand. The excited men, seeing the 
 whole course of the battle beneath them, threw 
 themselves face down on the brink and opened 
 fire at point-blank range into the rear and on 
 the flank of the Cheyennes. The sound of the 
 first shot from above quickened the troops 
 below, and the next instant they were among 
 the rocks firing and fighting hand-to-hand 
 again. 
 
 Dull Knife, tomahawk in hand, sprang at 
 Compton who was leading. The great war 
 chief was covered with wounds and was a gory 
 spectacle. Pealing a war cry, he lifted his 
 hatchet. Compton was weaponless, but clos- 
 ing with the Indian, he fell upon him with all 
 his hundred and seventy-five pounds of bone 
 and sinew and struck him on the side of the 
 head a terrible blow with his fist. Dull Knife 
 staggered, and Marnette, who was ever by the 
 
THE WINTER FIGHT 281 
 
 side of the colonel, put a knife through the 
 old chief's heart. The rest of the Indians 
 broke and ran, followed by devastating shots 
 from the soldiers. 
 
 Two hundred and fifty Indians had been 
 killed, the remainder got away. They were 
 naked, shelterless, and freezing, adrift in the 
 mountains. 
 
 The battle was over, and Compton was as- 
 tonished to discover that he was in a profuse 
 perspiration in spite of the cold. 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 IN WHICH IT IS CLEAELY SEEN THAT 
 ALL ENDS WELL 
 
 THERE is little more to add. Victory 
 had been complete. Dull Knife had 
 been killed and his band, as an or- 
 ganized force, annihilated. His women and 
 children in the camp were in the hands of 
 Compton. The surviving braves, suffering in- 
 credible hardships during which many per- 
 ished from cold, struggled on, over the moun- 
 tains and through the passes until they could 
 join other bodies of Indians more fortunate 
 than themselves. 
 
 The camp was destroyed, every tepee was 
 burned with all the supplies, save just enough 
 to ration the troops and captives on their re- 
 turn march to the camp and Fort Sullivan. 
 The Indian women and children, numbering 
 several hundred, were mounted on the cap- 
 tured ponies and the rest of the herd shot. 
 This was cruel work, but the soldiers knew 
 
EPILOGUE 283 
 
 only one way to deal with Indians in that day, 
 and that was, to exterminate them and all 
 their belongings. 
 
 The men were allowed to rest until noon, 
 warming themselves by the huge fires and 
 eating their fill of the winter's store of buffalo 
 meat, which Dull Knife's band had provided. 
 
 Hadden's men, who had made a fearful 
 march over the snow-covered mountains, and 
 who looked it, were also mounted on the In- 
 dian ponies for their return. The regiment 
 had lost thirty-five killed and they had nearly 
 a hundred wounded, such had been the fierce- 
 ness of the close hand-to-hand conflict. Two 
 officers were among the killed and three among 
 the wounded. 
 
 Meagher was the object of the colonel's 
 most intense solicitude. If they could get him 
 to the fort the surgeon said that he would re- 
 cover. They made travois for the least dan- 
 gerously wounded and litters for those more 
 severely hurt, and with incredible love and 
 labor they carried them down the pass. 
 
 Late at night they reached the base camp. 
 On the way they found several of their com- 
 rades who had straggled from the line and had 
 
A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 been frozen to death with their horses, ghastly 
 monuments, covered with ice and snow, of the 
 human and brutal resolution which had strug- 
 gled on until death intervened. 
 
 The journey back to Fort Sullivan, terrible 
 as it was, seemed easy compared to what they 
 had undergone ; and a week after they broke 
 camp the column marched falteringly through 
 the main gate and then was dismissed to the 
 arms of its women. 
 
 A courier had gone on ahead, the indomi- 
 table Marnette whom no hardships or anxie- 
 ties could daunt, and the old scout in great joy 
 had told the young mother, whom he loved, 
 the story of the rescue of her daughter. Mar- 
 nette would not have missed the chance for 
 anything. Marion Compton met her husband 
 at the gate and took the baby from his arms 
 to her heart. For the first time the colonel 
 had to take the second place, but only for a 
 little while. Molly, who was close behind, in 
 obedience to the colonePs gesture, went to the 
 side of Danny Meagher's litter, bent over it 
 sobbing, and kissed him boldly before them all. 
 
 Charges against Meagher were, of course, 
 dismissed. A sergeant of C troop had been 
 
EPILOGUE 285 
 
 among the killed, and Meagher was promoted, 
 and when he recovered there was such a wed- 
 ding in the post as the rank and file had never 
 seen, the colonel himself giving away the 
 bride. And no sweeter woman ever gave her 
 heart and hand to a trooper than Molly 
 McNeil. Mrs. Compton had made the wed- 
 ding-dress, and, unprecedented honor, the 
 bachelor, Major Calmore himself, acted as 
 Meagher 's best man. 
 
 "You see," he said, "Meagher has been 
 with me in so many tight places it was only 
 fair for me to see him through this. ' ' 
 
 And there were no prouder and happier 
 guests at the wedding than Sergeant McNeil 
 and Bridget, who had got a leave of absence 
 from the bank to come back to the post and 
 the old friends of the regiment. The men of 
 B troop gave the young couple a rousing send- 
 off as they took the ambulance to the train for 
 a wedding journey for which Colonel Comp- 
 ton provided the wherewithal. 
 
 Little Marion had many stories to tell of her 
 captivity. The Indians had used her well, 
 even the great Dull Knife had condescended 
 to exhibit his fondness for her from time to 
 
286 A BABY OF THE FRONTIER 
 
 time, a great concession from a great warrior 
 who did not usually trouble himself much 
 about a child, especially a girl ! 
 
 She had picked up many words and phrases 
 during her sojourn in the tepees and one of 
 her favorite tricks was to strike her little 
 breast with a gesture, in exact imitation of the 
 Indian manner, and say: 
 
 "My Fader, Heap Big Chief I" 
 
 It was an assertion that no one in the regi- 
 ment had the least desire to dispute. 
 
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