A Daughter of the Sioux: A Tale of the Indian frontier Read online

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  A DAUGHTER OF THE SIOUX

  RAY'S TROOP.]

  _A Tale of the Indian Frontier_

  BY GENERAL CHARLES KING

  AUTHOR OF "THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER," "FORT FRAYNE," "AN ARMY WIFE," ETC., ETC.

  "He is bred out of that bloody strain That haunted us in our familiar paths." _King Henry V._

  ILLUSTRATIONS BY FREDERIC REMINGTON _and_ EDWIN WILLARD DEMING

  NEW YORK THE HOBART COMPANY 1903

  COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY THE HOBART COMPANY.

  _A Daughter of the Sioux_ _Published March 15, 1903_

  * * * * *

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I.

  FORESHADOWED EVENTS,

  CHAPTER II.

  ABSENT FROM DUTY,

  CHAPTER III.

  A NIGHT ENCOUNTER,

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE SIGN OF THE BAR SHOE,

  CHAPTER V.

  A GRAVE DISCOVERY,

  CHAPTER VI.

  FIRST SIGHT OF THE FOE,

  CHAPTER VII.

  BLOOD WILL TELL,

  CHAPTER VIII.

  MORE STRANGE DISCOVERIES,

  CHAPTER IX.

  BAD NEWS FROM THE FRONT,

  CHAPTER X.

  "I'LL NEVER GO BACK,"

  CHAPTER XI.

  A FIGHT WITH A FURY,

  CHAPTER XII.

  THE ORDEAL BY FIRE,

  CHAPTER XIII.

  WOUNDED--BODY AND SOUL,

  CHAPTER XIV.

  A VANISHED HEROINE,

  CHAPTER XV.

  A WOMAN'S PLOT,

  CHAPTER XVI.

  NIGHT PROWLING AT FRAYNE,

  CHAPTER XVII.

  A RIFLED DESK,

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  BURGLARY AT BLAKE'S,

  CHAPTER XIX.

  A SLAP FOR THE MAJOR,

  CHAPTER XX.

  THE SIOUX SURROUNDED,

  CHAPTER XXI.

  THANKSGIVING AT FRAYNE,

  CHAPTER XXII.

  BEHIND THE BARS,

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  A SOLDIER ENTANGLED,

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  THE DEATH SONG OF THE SIOUX,

  _L'ENVOI._

  * * * * *

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  FRONTISPIECE

  "THE MAJOR SOUGHT TO BLOCK THAT MORNING'S RIDE IN VAIN"

  RAY'S TROOP

  "THE SOLDIER LEAPED FROM HIS SADDLE"

  "WITH ONE MAGNIFICENT RED ARM UPLIFTED"

  "SOME FEW OF THEIR NUMBER BORNE AWAY BY THEIR COMRADES"

  "CHARGE WITH ME THE MOMENT THE LEADERS YELL"

  "HUSH! SHE'S COMING"--SHE WAS THERE

  * * * * *

  A DAUGHTER OF THE SIOUX

  CHAPTER I

  FORESHADOWED EVENTS

  The major commanding looked up from the morning report and surveyed thepost adjutant with something of perturbation, if not annoyance, in hisgrim, gray eyes. For the fourth time that week had Lieutenant Fieldrequested permission to be absent for several hours. The major knew justwhy the junior wished to go and where. The major knew just why he wishedhim not to go, but saw fit to name almost any other than the real reasonwhen, with a certain awkward hesitancy he began:

  "W--ell, is the post return ready?"

  "It _will_ be, sir, in abundant time," was the prompt reply.

  "You know they sent it back for correction last month," hazarded thecommander.

  "And you know, sir, the error was not mine," was the instant rejoinder,so quick, sharp and positive as to carry it at a bound to the verge ofdisrespect, and the keen, blue eyes of the young soldier gazed, frankand fearless, into the heavily ambushed grays of the veteran in thechair. It made the latter wince and stir uneasily.

  "If there's one thing I hate, Field, it is to have my papers sent backby some whipsnapper of a clerk, inviting attention to this or thaterror, and I expect my adjutant to see to it that they don't."

  "Your adjutant does see to it, sir. I'm willing to bet a month's payfewer errors have been found in the papers of Fort Frayne than any postin the Department of the Platte. General Williams told you as much whenyou were in Omaha."

  The major fairly wriggled in his cane-bottomed whirligig. What youngField said was true, and the major knew it. He knew, moreover, therewasn't a more painstaking post adjutant from the Missouri to themountains. He knew their monthly reports--"returns" as the regulationscall them--were referred to by a model adjutant general as model papers.He knew it was due to young Field's care and attention, and he knew hethought all the world of that young gentleman. It was just because hethought so much of him he was beginning to feel that it was high time toput a stop to something that was going on. But, it was a delicatematter; a woman was the matter; and he hadn't the moral courage to go atit the straightforward way. He "whip sawed" again. Thrumming on the deskwith his lean, bony fingers he began:--

  "If I let my adjutant out so much, what's to prevent other youngstersasking similar indulgence?"

  The answer came like the crack of a whip:--

  "Nothing, sir; and far better would it be for everybody concerned ifthey spent more hours in the saddle and fewer at the store."

  This was too much for the one listener in the room. With something likethe sound of a suppressed sneeze, a tall, long-legged captain of cavalrystarted up from his chair, an outspread newspaper still full-stretchedbetween him and the desk of the commander, and, thus hidden as to hisface, sidled sniggering off to the nearest window. Young Field hadfearlessly, if not almost impudently, hit the nail on the head, andmetaphorically rapped the thrumming fingers of his superior officer.Some commanders would have raged and sent the daring youngster rightabout in arrest. Major Webb knew just what Field referred to,--knew thatthe fascinations of pool, "pitch" and poker held just about half hiscommissioned force at all "off duty" hours of the day or night hangingabout the officers' club room at the post trader's; knew, moreover, thatwhile the adjutant never wasted a moment over cards or billiards, he,the post commander, had many a time taken a hand or a cue and wageredhis dollars against those of his devoted associates. They all loved him.There wasn't "a mean streak in his whole system," said every soldier atFort Frayne. He had a capital record as a volunteer--a colonel and,later, brigade commander in the great war. He had the brevet ofbrigadier general of volunteers, but repudiated any title beyond thatof his actual rank in the regulars. He was that _rara avis_--a bachelorfield officer, and a bird to be brought down if feminine witchery coulddo it. He was truthful, generous, high-minded, brave--a man whopreferred to be of and with his subordinates rather than above them--torule through affection and regard rather than the stern standard ofcommand. He was gentle and courteous alike to officers and the rank andfile, though he feared no man on the face of the globe. He was awkward,bungling and overwhelmingly, lavishly, kind and thoughtful in hisdealings with the womenfolk of the garrison, for he stood in awe of theentire sisterhood. He could ride like a centaur; he couldn't dance wortha cent. He could snuff a candle with his Colt at twenty paces andcouldn't hit a croquet ball to save his soul.
His deep-set gray eyes,under their tangled thatch of brown, gazed straight into the face ofevery man on the Platte, soldier, cowboy, Indian or halfbreed, but fellabashed if a laundress looked at him. Billy Ray, captain of the sorreltroop and the best light rider in Wyoming, was the only man he everallowed to straddle a beautiful thoroughbred mare he had bought inKentucky, but, bad hands or good, there wasn't a riding woman at Fraynewho hadn't backed Lorna time and again, because to a woman the majorsimply couldn't say no.

  And though his favorite comrades at the post were captains like Blakeand Billy Ray, married men both whose wives he worshipped, the major'srugged heart went out especially to Beverly Field, his boy adjutant, alad who came to them from West Point only three years before the autumnthis story opens, a young fellow full of high health, pluck andprinciple--a tip top soldier, said everybody from the start, until, asGregg and other growlers began to declaim, the major completely spoiledhim. Here, three years only out of military leadingstrings, he was ayoung cock of the walk, "too dam' independent for a second lieutenant,"said the officers' club element of the command, men like Gregg, Wilkins,Crane and a few of their following. "The keenest young trooper in theregiment," said Blake and Ray, who were among its keenest captains, andnever a cloud had sailed across the serene sky of their friendship andesteem until this glorious September of 188-, when Nanette Flower, abrilliant, beautiful brunette came a visitor to old Fort Frayne.

  And it was on her account the major would, could he have seen the way,said no to the adjutant's request to be absent again. On her account andthat of one other, for that request meant another long morning in saddlewith Miss Flower, another long morning in which "the sweetest girl inthe garrison," so said they all, would go about her daily duties with anaching heart. There was no woman at Fort Frayne who did not know thatEsther Dade thought all the world of Beverly Field. There was only oneman who apparently had no inkling of it--Beverly Field himself.

  She was the only daughter of a veteran officer, a captain of infantry,who at the age of fifty, after having held a high command in thevolunteers during the civil war, was still meekly doing duty as acompany officer of regulars nearly two decades after. She had beencarefully reared by a most loving and thoughtful mother, even in thecrude old days of the army, when its fighting force was scattered insmall detachments all over the wide frontier, and men, and women, too,lived on soldier rations, eked out with game, and dwelt in tents orramshackle, one-storied huts, "built by the labor of troops." At twelveshe had been placed at school in the far East, while her father enjoyeda two years' tour on recruiting service, and there, under the care of anoble woman who taught her girls to be women indeed--not vapid votariesof pleasure and fashion, Esther spent five useful years, coming back toher fond father's soldier roof a winsome picture of girlish health andgrace and comeliness--a girl who could ride, walk and run if need be,who could bake and cook, mend and sew, cut, fashion and make her ownsimple wardrobe; who knew algebra, geometry and "trig" quite as well as,and history, geography and grammar far better than, most of the youngWest Pointers; a girl who spoke her own tongue with accuracy and was notbadly versed in French; a girl who performed fairly well on the pianoand guitar, but who sang full-throated, rejoiceful, exulting like thelark--the soulful music that brought delight to her ageing father, halfcrippled by the wounds of the war days, and to the mother who sodevotedly loved and carefully planned for her. Within a month from hergraduation at Madame Piatt's she had become the darling of Fort Frayne,the pet of many a household, the treasure of her own. With other younggallants of the garrison, Beverly Field had been prompt to call, promptto be her escort when dance or drive, ride or picnic was planned in herhonor, especially the ride, for Mr. Adjutant Field loved the saddle, theopen prairie or the bold, undulating bluffs. But Field was the busiestman at the post. Other youngsters, troop or company subalterns, had farmore time at their disposal, and begged for rides and dances, strollsand sports which the post adjutant was generally far too busy to claim.It was Esther who brought lawn tennis to Frayne and found eager pupilsof both sexes, but Field had been the first to meet and welcome her; hadbeen for a brief time at the start her most constant cavalier. Then, asothers began to feel the charm of her frank, cordial, joyous manner, andlearned to read the beauty that beamed in her clear, truthful eyes andwinsome, yet not beautiful face, they became assiduous in turn,--two ofthem almost distressingly so,--and she could not wound them by refusals.Then came a fortnight in which her father sat as a member of acourt-martial down at old Fort Laramie, where were the band,headquarters and four troops of the ----th, and Captain and Mrs.Freeman, who were there stationed, begged that Mrs. Dade and Esthershould come and visit them during the session of the court. There wouldbe all manner of army gaieties and a crowd of outside officers, and, asluck would have it, Mr. Field was ordered thither as a witness in twoimportant cases. The captain and his good wife went by stage; Esther andBeverly rode every inch of the way in saddle, camping over night withtheir joyous little party at La Bonte. Then came a lovely week atLaramie, during which Mr. Field had little to do but devote himself to,and dance with, Esther, and when his final testimony was given and hereturned to his station, and not until then, Esther Dade discovered thatlife had little interest or joy without him; but Field rode backunknowing, and met at Frayne, before Esther Dade's return, a girl whohad come almost unheralded, making the journey over the Medicine Bowfrom Rock Springs on the Union Pacific in the comfortable carriage ofold Bill Hay, the post trader, escorted by that redoubtable woman, Mrs.Bill Hay, and within the week of her arrival Nanette Flower was thetoast of the bachelors' mess, the talk of every household at FortFrayne.

  And well she might be. Dark and lustrous were her eyes; black, luxuriantand lustrous was her hair; dark, rich and lustrous her radiant beauty.In contour her face was well nigh faultless. It might have been calledbeautiful indeed but for the lips, or something about the mouth, that inrepose had not a soft or winsome line, but then it was never apparentlyin repose. Smiles, sunshine, animation, rippling laughter, flashing,even, white teeth--these were what one noted when in talk with MissFlower. There was something actually radiant, almost dazzling, about herface. Her figure, though _petite_, was exquisite, and women marked withkeen appreciation, if not envy, the style and finish of her varied andvarious gowns. Six trunks, said Bill Hay's boss teamster, had beentrundled over the range from Rawlins, not to mention a box containingher little ladyship's beautiful English side-saddle, Melton bridle andother equine impedimenta. Did Miss Flower like to ride? She adored it,and Bill Hay had a bay half thoroughbred that could discount the major'smare 'cross country. All Frayne was out to see her start for her firstride with Beverly Field, and all Frayne reluctantly agreed that sweetEssie Dade could never sit a horse over ditch or hurdle with the superbgrace and unconcern displayed by the daring, dashing girl who had sosuddenly become the centre of garrison interest. For the first time inher life Mrs. Bill Hay knew what it was to hold the undivided attentionof army society, for every woman at Fort Frayne was wild to know allabout the beautiful newcomer, and only one could tell.

  Hay, the trader, had prospered in his long years on the frontier, firstas trader among the Sioux, later as sutler, and finally, when Congressabolished that title, substituting therefore the euphemism, withoutmaterial clog upon the perquisites, as post trader at Fort Frayne. Noone knew how much he was worth, for while apparently a mostopen-hearted, whole-souled fellow, Hay was reticence itself when hisfortunes or his family were matters of question or comment. He had longbeen married, and Mrs. Hay, when at the post, was a socialsphinx,--kind-hearted, charitable, lavish to the soldiers' wives andchildren, and devotion itself to the families of the officers whensickness and trouble came, as come in the old days they too often did.It was she who took poor Ned Robinson's young widow and infant all theway to Cheyenne when the Sioux butchered the luckless little huntingparty down by Laramie Peak. It was she who nursed Captain Forrest's wifeand daughter through ten weeks of typhoid, and, with her own means, sentthem to the seash
ore, while the husband and father was far up on theYellowstone, cut off from all communication in the big campaign of '76.It was she who built the little chapel and decked and dressed it forEaster and Christmas, despite the fact that she herself had beenbaptized in the Roman Catholic faith. It was she who went at once toevery woman in the garrison whose husband was ordered out on scout orcampaign, proffering aid and comfort, despite the fact long whispered inthe garrisons of the Platte country, that in the old, old days she hadfar more friends among the red men than the white. That could well be,because in those days white men were few and far between. Every one hadheard the story that it was through her the news of the massacre at FortPhil Kearny was made known to the post commander, for she could speakthe dialects of both the Arapahoe and the Sioux, and had the signlanguage of the Plains veritably at her fingers' ends. There were notlacking those who declared that Indian blood ran in her veins--that hermother was an Ogalalla squaw and her father a French Canadian furtrapper, a story to which her raven black hair and brows, her deep, darkeyes and somewhat swarthy complexion gave no little color. But, longyears before, Bill Hay had taken her East, where he had relatives, andwhere she studied under excellent masters, returning to him summer aftersummer with more and more of refinement in manner, and so much of styleand fashion in dress that her annual advent had come to be looked uponas quite the event of the season, even by women of the social positionof Mrs. Ray and Mrs. Blake, the recognized leaders among the youngmatrons of the ----th Cavalry, and by gentle Mrs. Dade, to whom everyone looked up in respect,--almost in reverence. Despite the mysteryabout her antecedents there was every reason why Mrs. Hay should be heldin esteem and affection. Bill Hay himself was a diamond in therough,--square, sturdy, uncompromising, generous and hospitable; hisgreat pride and glory was his wife; his one great sorrow that their onlychild had died almost in infancy. His solecisms in syntax and societywere many. He was given at times to profanity, and at others, whenmadame was away, to draw poker; but officers and men alike proclaimedhim a man of mettle and never hesitated to go to him when in financialstraits, sure of unusurious aid. But, even had this not been the case,the popularity of his betterhalf would have carried him through, forthere was hardly a woman at Frayne to speak of her except in terms ofgenuine respect. Mrs. Hay was truth telling, sympathetic, a peacemaker,a resolute opponent of gossip and scandal of every kind, a woman whominded her own business and was only mildly insistent that others shoulddo likewise. She declined all overtures leading to confidences as to herpast, and demanded recognition only upon the standard of the present,which was unimpeachable.

  All the same it came something like a shock to society at Frayne that,when she appeared at the post this beautiful autumn of 188-, nearlythree months later than the usual time, she should be accompanied bythis brilliant and beautiful girl of whom no one of their number hadpreviously heard, and whom she smilingly, confidently presented as, "Myniece, Miss Flower."

  "THE MAJOR SOUGHT TO BLOCK THAT MORNING'S RIDE IN VAIN."]

  There was a dance the night the Dades got home from Laramie. Nearly allday long had they driven in the open buckboard over the rough, windingroad along the Platte, and Mrs. Dade was far too tired to think ofgoing, but Esther was so eager that her father put aside his preciouspaper, tucked her under his arm and trudged cheerily away across theparade toward the bright lights of the hop room. They had a fairly goodstring orchestra at Frayne that year, and one of Strauss's most witchingwaltzes--"Sounds from the Vienna Woods"--had just been begun as fatherand daughter entered. A dozen people, men and women both, saw them andnoted what followed. With bright, almost dilated, eyes, and a sweet,warm color mantling her smiling face, Esther stood gazing about theroom, nodding blithely as she caught the glance of many a friend, yetobviously searching for still another. Then of a sudden they saw thebonny face light up with joy uncontrollable, for Mr. Field came boundingin at the side door, opening from the veranda of the adjutant's office.He saw her; smiled joyous greeting as he came swiftly toward her;then stopped short as a girl in black grenadine dropped the arm of hercavalier, the officer with whom she was promenading, and without amoment's hesitation, placed her left hand, fan-bearing, close to theshoulder knot on his stalwart right arm, her black-gloved right in hiswhite-kidded left, and instantly they went gliding away together, henodding half in whimsical apology, half in merriment, over the blackspangled shoulder, and the roseate light died slowly from the sweet,smiling face--the smile itself seemed slowly freezing--as the stilldilated eyes followed the graceful movements of the couple, slowly,harmoniously winding and reversing about the waxen floor. Even at thePoint she had never seen more beautiful dancing. Even when her stanchestfriend, Mrs. Blake, pounced upon her with fond, anxious, welcomingwords, and Mrs. Ray, seeing it all, broke from her partner's encirclingarm, and sped to add her greeting, the child could hardly regainself-control, and one loving-hearted woman cried herself to sleep thatnight for the woe that had come into the soft and tender eyes which hadfirst beamed with joy at sight of Beverly Field, then filled with suddendread immeasurable.

  But the major sought to block that morning ride in vain. The impetuouswill of the younger soldier prevailed, as he might have known it would,and from the rear gallery of his quarters, with his strong fieldglass,Major Webb watched the pair fording the Platte far up beyond PyramidButte. "Going over to that damned Sioux village again," he sworebetween his set teeth. "That makes the third time she's headed him therethis week," and with strange annoyance at heart he turned away to seekcomfort in council with his stanch henchman, Captain Ray, when theorderly came bounding up the steps with a telegraphic despatch which themajor opened, read, turned a shade grayer and whistled low.

  "My compliments to Captains Blake and Ray," said he, to the silent youngsoldier, standing attention at the doorstep, "and say I should be gladto see them here at once."

  That night the sentries had just called off half past one when there wassome commotion at the guard-house. A courier had ridden in post hastefrom the outlying station of Fort Beecher, far up under the lee of theBig Horn range. The corporal of the guard took charge of his reekinghorse, while the sergeant led the messenger to the commander's quarters.The major was already awake and half dressed. "Call the adjutant," wasall he said, on reading the despatch, and the sergeant sped away. Inless than five minutes he was back.

  "I could get no answer to my knock or ring, sir, so I searched thehouse. The adjutant isn't there!"