A SAVAGE OUTBREAK—THE BATTLE OF THE FORTY SCOUTS—THE SURPRISE—PACK-MULES STAMPEDED—DEATH ON THE ARICKEREE—THE MEDICINE MAN—A DISMAL NIGHT—MESSENGERS SENT TO WALLACE—MORNING ATTACK—WHOSE FUNERAL?—RELIEF AT LAST—THE OLD SCOUTS' DEVOTION TO THE BLUE.

On our return to Sheridan we were deeply pained to hear of the sad death of Doctor Moore and Lieutenant Beecher, whose acquaintance we had formed at Fort Hays, and the former of whom we had learned to esteem most highly as a personal friend. A scouting party, not long before, had left the post just named, under the command of General Forsythe, of Sheridan's staff, and composed principally of those citizens who had seen frontier service. Dr. Moore accompanied it as surgeon, and Lieut. Beecher—a nephew of Henry Ward Beecher, and an officer of the regular army—held the position of chief of scouts, which he had filled for some time previously with much credit. The savages of the plains being again upon the war-path, that brave and well-organized little party of fifty were dispatched to pursue a band of Indians, which had appeared before Sheridan and run off a lot of stock.

Some of the scouts were now in the town, and from one of them we obtained an account of the expedition. Fresh from the mouth of that sandy hell in the river's head, which had sucked out the life-blood of so many of his companions, I wish my readers could have heard the story told with the rude eloquence in which he clothed it. As it is, how nearly they will come to doing so, must perforce depend on how nearly I can remember his language.

"You see, captain," he began (it is considered impolite among this class ever to address one without using some title), "we had the nicest little forty lot o' scouts that ever followed the plains fur a living, and trails fur an Injun. Thar wur ingineers, doctors, counter-jumpers, and a few deadbeats, but every one of 'em had lots of fight, and not the least bit of scare. Ther talents run ter fightin', an' ther bodies never run away from it.

"It wur kinder curious, though, to see the chaps that wur not bred ter ther business git along. They wur the profession folks. Some had a little compass, not much bigger 'n a button, that they carried on the sly. Good scouts don't need no such fixin's. These uns 'ud reach inter ther pockets, as if they was going ter take a chaw o' terbaccer, and gettin' a sly wink at ther needle, would cry out ter ther neighbors, 'I say, hoss, we 're goin' a little too much east of north!' or, 'I tell yer what, fel, we 're at least two p'ints off our course.' And all ther time they couldn't have told south from west, without them needles. But ther warn't a coward in the whole pack. Every one had a back as stiff fur a fight as a cat.

"We struck a large Injun trail the fourth day out, and kept it till evenin', but no other sign showed itself over ther wide reach that would have told a livin' bein' had ever bin thar before us. Next mornin', early, ther was a sudden fuss among our horses, and a cry from the guard, and, afore we knew it, eight pack-mules had been stampeded, and driven off. It wur a narrow call fur ther whole herd.

"The fellers had come down a ravine until they got close enough, and, then suddenly rushin' along in the grayness, set the mules inter a crazy run, and gathered 'em up, out of gun-shot. You may lick a pack-mule along all day, and be afraid he 'll drop down dead, and yet give him a fair chance to stampede, and he 'll outrun an elk, and grow fat on it.

"Stock and Injuns was both out of sight in a jiffy, and the order was given to saddle, and recapture. We were just raisin' inter ther stirrups, when some of the boys called out, and we saw the whole valley ahead of us filled with Injuns comin' down. Ther warn't no mules lost just then, and we kinder fell back onto a sort of high-water island in the Arickeree. That, yer know, is the dry fork of the Republican. Bein' low water then, as it is most of the time thar, nothin' but a dry bed of sand was on each side.

"It seemed as if the whole Injun nation was coming down on us. Such a crowd o' lank ponies, and painted heathen astride, yer never see. I expected seein' of 'em would prevent my ever seein' of my family agin. 'Jim,' says I to my chum, and 'Bill,' says he to me, and then we didn't say nothin' more, but as the heathen come a chargin', we both put a hand in our pockets, just as if the brains had been in one head, and then both of us took a chaw o' terbaccer.

"For the next few hours ther wur an awful scrimmage, and a shootin', and a hollerin', and a whizzin' of bullets, which made that the hottest little island ever stranded on sand. The boys had all dug out, with their hands, sort o' little rifle-pits, and fit behind 'em. We had good Spencers, with a few Henrys, and the way those patents spit lead at the devils' hearts wur a caution. The first charge, they cum close up to us, and for a hull minnit, that stretched out awfully, we were afraid they'd ride us down. It was reg'lar coffee-mill work then, grindin' away at the levers, and we flung bullets among 'em astonishin'. As fast as one Injun keeled, another'd pick him up, and nary dead was left on the field.

"They follered up the charge game by a siege one, and peppered away at us from the neighborin' ravines and hills. Ther number wur about eight hundred, and some had carbines, and others old rifles and pistols. A few would sneak along in the bottom grass, and get behind trees, and then thur would be a flash, and a crack, and the ball would come tearin' in among us, sometimes burrowin' in a human skull, or elsewise knockin' down a horse. And all around, on the ridges, the squaws were a dancin' and shoutin', and the braves, whenever any of 'em got tired of shootin', would join their ugly she's, and help 'em in kickin' up a hullabaloo.

"I reckon, arter they'd killed the last hoss, they must ha' had a separate scalp-dance fur each one on us. Plain sailin' then, ther red fellows thought—less than fifty white men down in the sand, and most a thousan' Injuns roun' 'em, and more 'n a hundred miles to the nearest fort; the weaker party bein' afoot, too, and the other mounted.

"But we soon made 'em pitch another tune, beside ther juberlatin' one. We had took notice of a big Injun, with lots o' fixins on him, cavortin' all round ther island, and a spurrin' up the braves. We made certain it wur the medicine man, and found out arterward that he'd been tellin' on 'em ther pale-faces' bullets would melt before reachin' an Injun. Six on us got our rifles together, and as ther old copper-colored Pillgarlic cum dancin' round, we let fly. If Injun carcasses go along with ther spirits, I reckon ther bullets we put into the old sinner, got melted, sure enough. And what a howlin' thur was, as his pony scampered in among the squaws, empty saddled!

"It wur an awful sight to look roun' among our little sand-works—twenty killed and wounded men, covered with blood and grit. Our leader, Col. Forsythe, was shot in both legs, a ball passin' through the thigh part of one, and a second breakin' the bones of the other below the knee. He wur a knowin' and cool officer.

"Lieut. Beecher, a nephew of the big preacher, was shot through the small o' the back, and lay thar beggin' us to kill him. He too wur a brave man, and didn't flinch, never, from duty nor danger. They say that his two sisters were drowned from a sailboat on the Hudson, two years ago, and that the old parents are left now all alone. Doc. Moore was shot through the head, and sat thar noddin', and not knowin' no one. I spoke to him once, and he kinder started back, as if he see the Injun which shot him, still thar. He wur a good surgeon, and all the boys liked him. I hev got his gun down at my tent, all full o' sand, whar it got tramped arter he fell.[4]

"Culver lay dead on one side of our little island, shot by an Injun that crawled up in the grass. Lots o' others was wounded, and our chances looked as dark as ther night which wur coming down on us. But we was glad ter see daylight burn out, as it kinder gin us a chance to rest and think.

"That night was awful dismal. The little spot o' sand, down thar in the river's bed, seemed ther only piece o' earth friendly to us, and we were clingin' to it like sailors ter a raft at sea. The darkness all around was a gapin' ter swaller us, and a hidin' its blood-hounds, to set 'em on with ther sun. Night, without any thin' in it more 'n grave-stones, is terrifyin' to most people, but just you fill it full of pantin's for blood in front, and Death sittin' behind, among the corpses, and watchin' the wounded, and a feller's blood falls right down to January. It kinder thickens, like water freezin' round the edges, and your hands and feet get powerful cold, and you feel as if you wouldn't ever be thawed out, this side of the very place you don't want ter go to.

"Toward midnight, Stillwell and Trudell crawled out o' camp, to go for relief. They were to creep and sneak through the Injun lines, and get beyond 'em by daylight. Then they would lay by, and push on ag'in, when dark cum, toward Wallace. That little spot of barracks, a hundred and twenty-five miles off, kept up our hope mightily. It was our light-house, like. We were shipwrecked among savages, and had sent a couple of yawls off, to tell the keeper thar of danger. We knew if the news reached, blue coats would flash out to us, like spots of light, and our foes go before 'em as mist.

"But footin' it nights, and layin' by days, fur over a hundred miles, through Injun country, is slow work, and we didn't, most on us, expect much; and our hearts follered the little black spots, showin' us our two companions a creepin' off into darkness, like a couple of wolves. It took good men, too, from our little party, and fur awhile I was faint-hearted. In our shipwreck, it seemed like takin' bottles which might ha' helped to hold out, and flingin' 'em into ther waves, with messages tellin' how and whar we went down.

"About two o'clock Lieut. Beecher died, havin' for some time begged the men to end his sufferin's by shootin' of him.

"We all kept perfect quiet that night—no fire, nor wur ther a sound heard, from our little island, by the heathen on the bluffs. An just that quietness gave 'em the worst foolin' they ever had. It seems the road down river had been left open by 'em, hopin' we would steal out and run for it durin' the night. We bein' all on foot, they could overtake us in the mornin', and worry on us out easy. Durin' the dark we waited quiet, and watched, and passed water to our wounded, and sprinkled it over some of 'em who couldn't drink.

"It wer just kinder palin' like way up in the sky, and we could see that off down East, somewhar, ther mornin' was commencin' ter climb, when Jim nudged me, and says, 'Chum, what's that?' We both stuck our ears right up, like two jackass-rabbits, and listened. It wur all dark near the ground, but we could hear a steady, gallopin' sound, comin' in toward us from up the ravines, and over the hills. It wur like a beatin' of ther earth with flails by threshers you couldn't see.

"The sound came a creepin' along the sod so quick we soon knew it wur the Injuns, on ther ponies, comin' down ter pick up the trail. And now we could see 'em a bobbin' along toward us in ther gloom, the rows er ugly heads goin' up and down, like jumpin'-jacks. It just seemed as ther side er ther night had been painted all full o' gapin' red devils, and ther sun wur jest revealin' on 'em. 'Lay still!' wer the word, and each man hugged his sand bank, just a skinnin' one eye, like a lizard over a log. They 'd no idee we were thar, not bein' able to understand the grit of that little forty, and they cum gallopin' along, careless-like, happy as so many ghosts goin' ter a fun'ral. But it warn't our fun'ral just then. When they 'd got so close we could smell 'em, colonel guv the word ter fire, and we let 'em have it. Stranger, you ain't no idee what a gettin' up bluffs, and general absentin' of 'emselves ther wur. Arter the fust crack, yer couldn't see an Injun at all, but jest a lot er ponies, diggin' it on ther back track, and you knowed painted cusses wer glued ter ther opposite side on 'em.

"We had fightin' until night ag'in, but no men were killed arter the fust day. The savages were cautious-like, and took long range fur it. We now commenced cuttin' off the hind quarters of our dead hosses, and boilin' small pieces in a empty pickle-jar belongin' ter ther colonel. Burke, he 'd dug a shallow well, too, which gave us plenty of water. Hoss meat isn't relishin' at fust. One kin eat it, but, as ther feller said about crow, he don't hanker arter it. Ther gases had got all through ther carcasses, and we had ter sprinkle lots o' gunpowder inter the pot, to kill the taste.

"The fust hoss cut up was my old sorrel. He didn't go well while livin', and couldn't be expected to when dead. Instead of takin' a straight course, and givin' some satisfaction, he jumped across all the turns inside o' me, and brought up bump agin my hide, as if he wer comin' through. He had that same trick o' cuttin' corners when livin', and I perceded ter give him up as a uncontrollable piece of hoss flesh.

"When night come on agin, Pliley and Whitney attempted ter get through ther Injun lines and make fur Wallace, but were driven back. Fur ther next few days we kept eatin' hoss flesh, and fightin' occasionally. The third night Pliley and Donovan succeeded in gettin' away.

"On the fourth day, Doctor Moore died. After the fifth, no Injuns was visible, and we gathered prickly pears and eat 'em, boilin' some down inter syrup. Our mouths were all full of ther little needles, and it wer mighty hard keepin' a stiff upper lip. We were eatin' away on our forty-eight horses, and watchin' and hopin'. We couldn't move, and leave our wounded, or the Injuns would be on 'em right off. The poor fellows had no surgeon, and were sufferin' terrible as 't was.

"Ther mornin' of ther ninth day broke with a cry of 'Injuns!' Now, human natur' can't stand fitin' allers. To carry out my shipwreck idee, fellers on a raft kin cling an' swaller water fur awhile, but they can't fight a hull grist o' hurricanes. Hoss meat an' prickly pears ain't jest ther thing, either, to slap grit inter a man. Ther were a big crowd comin', sure enough, way off on ther hills. We were kinder beginnin' ter despond, when a familiar sort o' motion on the fur dark line spelt in air the word, 'Friend!' It wer the advanced guard o' relief, approachin' on ther jump. Why, boy"—and the old scout seized hold of Semi, and shook him in excitement—"talk of Lucknow and ther camels a comin', they warn't nowhar. The blessed old blue cloth! If yer want ter love a color, jest get saved by it once. When I get holed in ther earth, I 'll take back ter dust on a blue blanket, an' if I get married afore, gal an' I'll wear blue, an' the preacher'll hev ter swar a blue streak in jinin' us!"

We afterward met others of the scouts—intelligent, clear-headed fellows, with much more of cultivation than our rough friend possessed—and they corroborated his story in every particular. I have let him tell it in his own way, not only because vastly more graphic than any words of mine could be, but also to the end that the reader might become acquainted with a genuine frontiersman—one of that class which is wheeling into line with the immense multitudes of Indians and buffalo that time and civilization are bearing swiftly onward to hide among the memories of the past.

That the savages suffered very severely in their several attacks upon that little band of heroes on the Arickeree, was evident from the number of bodies found by the relief, as it hastened forward from Fort Wallace. The corpses were resting on hastily-constructed scaffolds, and some had evidently been placed there while dying, as the ground underneath was yet wet with blood.