John Ermine of the Yellowstone (16 page)

Only a few rifles ripped the night air in response to this, which he took to indicate that the better part of the Indians were along the river. He glided away, leading his pony, and the last the
soldiers saw was the flash of a gun turned in an opposite direction from the wagon train. Neither Wolf-Voice or Ermine again appeared.

The slow fight continued during the night and all the next day, but by evening the Indians disappeared. They had observed the approach of reënforcements, which came in during the following
morning, led by Ermine. Wolf-Voice, who had been on foot, did not make the rapid time of his mounted partner, but had gone through and acquired the fifty dollars, which was the main object.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
HE
T
RUTH OF THE
E
YES

THE SOLDIERS WHO HAD BEEN IN THE WAGON-TRAIN fight carried John Ermine’s fame into cantonments, and Major Searles never grew tired of the pæan:

But his more ardent admirers frowned on this doggerel, and reminded the songsters that no one of them would have made that courier’s ride for a thousand acres of
Monongahela rye in bottles. As for Wolf-Voice, they appreciated his attitude. “Business is business, and it takes money to buy marbles,” said one to another.

But on the completion of the rude huts at the mouth of the Tongue, and when the last wagon train had come through, there was an ominous preparation for more serious things. It was in the air.
Every white soldier went loping about, doing everything from greasing a wagon to making his will.

“Ah, sacre, John,” quoth Wolf-Voice, “am much disturb; dese Masta-Shella waas say dis big chief—what you call de Miles? She medicin fighter; she very bad mans; she keep
de soldiers’ toes sore all de taime. She no give de dam de cole-moon, de yellow-grass moon; she hump de Sioux. Why for we mak to trouble our head? We have dose box, dose bag, dose barrel to
heat, en de commissaire—wael ’nough grub las’ our lifetaime; but de soldier say sure be a fight soon; dat Miles she begin for paw de groun’—it be sure sign. Wael, we
mak’ a skin dat las fight, hey, John?”

Ermine in his turn conceived a new respect for the white soldiers. If their heels were heavy, so were their arms when it came to the final hug. While it was not apparent to him just how they
were going to whip the Sioux and Cheyenne, it was very evident that the Indians could not whip the soldiers; and this was demonstrated directly when Colonel Miles, with his hardy infantry, charged
over Sitting Bull’s camp, and while outnumbered three to his one, scattered and drove the proud tribesmen and looted their tepees. Not satisfied with this, the grim soldier crawled over the
snow all winter with his buffalo-coated men, defying the blizzards, kicking the sleeping warriors out of their blankets, killing and chasing them into the cold starvation of the hills. So
persistent and relentless were the soldiers that they fought through the captured camps when the cold was so great that the men had to stop in the midst of battle to light fires, to warm their
fingers, which were no longer able to work the breech-locks. Young soldiers cried in the ranks as they perished in the frigid atmosphere; but notwithstanding, they never stopped. The enemy could
find no deep defile in the lonely mountains where they were safe; and entrench where they would among the rocks, the steady line charged over them, pouring bullets and shell. Ermine followed their
fortunes and came to understand the dying of “the ten thousand men.” These people went into battle with the intention of dying if not victorious. They never consulted their heels, no
matter what the extremity. By the time of the green grass the warriors of the northern plains had either sought their agencies or fled to Canada. Through it all Ermine had marched and shot and
frozen with the rest. He formed attachments for his comrades—that enthusiastic affection which men bring from the camp and battlefield, signed by suffering and sealed with blood.

CHAPTER TWELVE

K
ATHERINE

T
HE SNOW HAD GONE
. T
HE PLAINS AND BOXLIKE BLUFF AROUND
the cantonments had turned to a rich velvet of green. The troops rested
after the tremendous campaigns in the snow-laden, windswept hills, with the consciousness of work well done. The Indians who had been brought in during the winter were taking their first
heart-breaking steps along the white man’s road. The army teams broke the prairie, and they were planting the seed. The disappearance of the buffalo and the terrible white chief Bear-Coat,
who followed and fought them in the fiercest weather, had broken their spirits. The prophecies of the old beaver-men, which had always lain heavily on the Indian mind, had come true at
last—the whites had come; they had tried to stop them and had failed.

The soldiers’ nerves tingled as they gathered round the landing. They cheered and laughed and joked, slapped and patted hysterically, and forgot the bilious officialism entirely.

Far down the river could be seen the black funnel of smoke from the steamboat—their only connection with the world of the white men. It bore letters from home, luxuries for the mess-chest,
and best of all, news of the wives and children who had been left behind when they went to war.

Every one was in a tremor of expectancy except the Indians, who stood solemnly apart in their buffalo-robes, and John Ermine. The steamboat did not come from their part of the world, and brought
nothing to them; still Ermine reflected the joyousness of those around him, and both he and the Indians knew a feast for their eyes awaited them.

In due course the floating house—for she looked more like one than a boat—pushed her way to the landing, safe from her thousand miles of snags and sandbars. A cannon thudded and
boomed. The soldiers cheered, and the people on the boat waved handkerchiefs when they did not use them to wipe happy tears away; officers who saw their beloved ones walked to and fro in caged
impatience. When the gang-planks were run out, they swarmed aboard like Malay pirates. Such hugging and kissing as followed would have been scandalous on an ordinary occasion; lily white faces were
quite buried in sunburnt mustaches on mahogany-brown skins. The unmarried men all registered a vow to let no possible occasion to get married escape them, and little boys and girls were held aloft
in brawny arms paternal. A riot of good spirits reigned.

“For Heaven’s sake, Mary, did you bring me my summer underwear?”

“Oh, don’t say you forgot a box of cigars, Mattie.”

“If you have any papers or novels, they will save me from becoming an idiot,” and a shower of childish requests from their big boys greeted the women.

In truth, it must be stated that at this period the fashion insisted upon a disfigurement of ladies which must leave a whole generation of noble dames forgotten by artists of all time. They
loosened and tightened their forms at most inappropriate places; yet underneath this fierce distortion of that bane of woman, Dame Fashion, the men were yet able to remember there dwelt bodies as
beautiful as any Greek ever saw or any attenuated Empire dandy fancied.

“Three cheers for the first white women on the northern buffalo range!”

“See that tent over there?” asked an officer of his ‘Missis,’ as he pointed toward camp; “well, that’s our happy home; how does it strike you?”

A bunch of “shave-tails” were marched ashore amid a storm of good-natured raillery from the “vets” and mighty glad to feel once again the grit under their brogans.
Roustabouts hustled bags and boxes into the six-mule wagons. The engine blew off its exhaust in a frail attempt to drown the awful profanity of the second mate, while humanity boiled and bubbled
round the great river-box.

The Indians stood motionless, but their keen eyes missed no details of the strange medley. Ermine leaned on a wagon-tail, carefully paring a thin stick with a jack-knife. He was arrayed for a
gala day in new soldier trousers, a yellow buckskin shirt beautifully beaded by the Indian method, a spotted white handkerchief around his neck, buckskin leggings on the lower leg above gay
moccasins, a huge skinning-knife and revolver in his belt, and a silver watch chain. His golden hair was freshly combed, and his big rakish sombrero had an eagle feather fastened to the crown,
dropping idly to one side, where the soft wind eddied it about.