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. " '