SOLDIERS TO THE RESCUE.

"Who fired that shot?"

Clear and stern rang out the question from the lips of Lieutenant Carey, as he beheld the great Sioux chief reel in his saddle from a shot fired by one of the Indian police.

To take Sitting Bull alive had been his orders, and only in case of direst necessity to fire a shot.

It was true that Sitting Bull had called his redskins to the rescue, yet the gallant officer and the Indian guard were in full flight, well mounted, and could have, perhaps, escaped with their prisoner.

Not until the last desperate moment would Kit Carey have dealt death upon the Sioux chief.

But an Indian officer had been stung to madness by a wound, there were hundreds of Sioux warriors pressing on in hot haste to the rescue, and many men were mounting to aid in tearing their loved leader from his captors.

Upon all sides redskins, mounted and on foot, were appearing. They had been the ones to open fire upon the capturers of Sitting Bull, and thus had the struggle for life or death been precipitated in an instant of time.

The Indian officer who had fired the shot at the Sioux chief had but avenged himself, for he had received his own death wound and fell from his horse even before the one he had turned his bullet upon did.

fire

"'Fire!' The order of Kit Carey was obeyed, and as the fighting became general, the death-knell of Sitting Bull rang out."
(See page 29)

Sitting Bull had reeled under the death wound, and then broke from between his teeth his death-cry and another command, his last utterance, calling his braves to the rescue.

With firm hand upon the bridle rein Kit Carey led the plunging horse of the chief onward, determined to carry him to safety, for he knew not that the wound was mortal.

Then suddenly Sitting Bull straightened up in his saddle, his arms were extended, his lips parted, yet no word came from them, and he fell headlong to the ground beneath the feet of the horses in their mad flight.

The Sioux saw their leader fall, and knew that he had gone to the happy hunting grounds of their people.

They could not rescue him alive, but they could avenge him dead.

And then went up one wild wail of woe, ending in a yell of rage and hatred that was appalling.

Kit Carey well knew the meaning of that weird, terrible cry, and the Indian guards knew it but too well also.

Was the little band doomed?

All glanced into the face of their young leader, who, surrounded now by odds too numerous to break through, had stood at bay.

"Stand and die right here, over the body of the Sioux chief!" cried Lieutenant Carey, and his red cavalrymen rallied around him.

But though shots rang out thick and fast, though the Indian guards fell dead and wounded, and the Sioux went down under the fire of the little band, they were not doomed to be sacrificed, for with a ringing cheer the gallant Boys in Blue, led by Captain Fechet, came dashing to the rescue, and now the cry became, "Soldiers to the rescue!"

Like an avalanche they came on, breaking the Indian line about the little band of captors, hurling back the surprised Sioux, and forcing them upon their village in temporary disorder.

But still the odds were terribly against the soldiers, and, maddened into frenzy by the death of their chief, the Sioux again formed for a rush, when into sight dashed Colonel Dunn and his infantry at a run, the machine guns being brought up in good style, and before this onslaught the followers of the mighty Tatanka Yotanke broke in wild disorder and fled.

Loud roared the guns, as the soldiers pursued, and the Sioux only stopped their flight when they reached the shelter of the ravines, where the small force dare not follow them.

Then suddenly the firing ceased, but the battle was won, and the Sioux chieftain lay dead upon the field where he had fallen.

"Lieutenant Carey, I congratulate you upon your escape, for it was a miraculous one. We knew you had gotten into trouble when we heard the firing, but, though we came to the rescue at a run, we expected to find you dead, you and every man of your force. Again, I congratulate you, sir," and the commanding officer warmly grasped the hand of the young soldier, who said in his modest way:

"It was a close call, sir, and your coming when you did, alone saved us. I am sorry Sitting Bull was killed, but the Sioux began the fight, and the man who killed him had already received his death wound. I shall never forget the look of reproach that the chief turned upon me as he felt the death grip upon him. There was a world of meaning in it."

"Well, Carey, it was just your luck to be in at the death of the most noted of Indian chiefs, and to escape complete annihilation afterward. I have heard you spoken of as a man of destiny and a man of luck, and if the two can be reconciled I believe you are both," a young infantry officer said, sauntering up and joining the group.

"Well, lieutenant, you can carry the body of the dead chief into headquarters when you will," the commander remarked.

"Yes, and no one can now say that Sitting Bull is not a good Indian," ventured a cavalry lieutenant, but though his remark was appreciated he was "frowned down" for appearance's sake.

But he was sustained by Kit Carey's decided response, almost vehement in fact:

"Yes, and when there are many more Indians made good in the same way this whole frontier will be the better for it. It is their nature to be savage, to rebel against restraint, and yet when they do unbury the hatchet they are not put down as they should be, with a lesson that will last them for all time, and which will do more to teach them civilization than anything else that can be done. The moment a redskin is killed certain humanitarians raise a howl of horror, not seeming to care how many officers and soldiers are slain, or the wives of settlers sacrificed, and their homes raided by these red wards of the Government; but, pardon me, I did not mean to speak so warmly upon a subject an officer, I suppose, has no right to discuss; but, mark my words, the killing of Sitting Bull will be denounced as cowardly, investigated, and wept over by people in the East, when, had his capture or death been delayed six hours longer, he would have led thousands of warriors into the field and deluged this whole borderland with the blood of settlers, their wives and children, not to speak of the soldiers," and Kit Carey wheeled on his heel and strode away, while the looks that passed between those who had heard his words showed that he had voiced the sentiments of those who understood the situation as it was.