Cattle-Ranch to College Page 3

  CHAPTER I.

  AN INDIAN ATTACK.

  A solitary horseman rode into the little frontier town of Bismarck,shortly after dark one evening, about twenty-five years ago. Horse andrider passed up the single unpaved street; in the darkness no onenoticed the fagged condition of the animal, nor the excitement of therider, betokened by the continued urging of his weary pony.

  The town was unusually full of the nomadic people who made up itspopulation, cow-punchers, saloon keepers, gamblers, freighters, andoutlaws. The evening quiet was constantly broken by the sounds ofrevelry, and the report of a pistol occasionally punctuated the generalnoise as some hilarious cowboy playfully shot at the lights.

  In the dim ray cast across the street through the small windows of thesaloons and dance halls, no one saw the horseman ride up the street to"Black Jack's," one of the most conspicuous saloons; here he stifflydismounted and tied his pony to the pole where stood a row of otherhorses. After glancing around to see that all was secure, he entered. Hewas hailed with a chorus of shouted greetings and questions.

  "Hello, Harry! what's the matter?"

  "Why, there's Harry Hodson! What drove you down the trail to-night?"

  "Are you dry, old man? Come and drive a nail with me."

  These and many more questions poured in on him so thick and fast that nochance, for some time, was given him to speak.

  As the crowd drew around the newcomer, who was a sober, steady cattlemanfrom twenty-five miles up the river, they noticed that there wassomething out of the ordinary in his manner. Even the fact of hisappearance at that place and hour was unusual.

  "No, boys," he said, in answer to the many invitations to drink. "Ithink we'll all need clear heads before daylight."

  "Why, what's the trouble?" chorused the crowd.

  "The fact is," continued Hodson, hurriedly, "I _cached_ my cattle andthen came down to tell you that a big bunch of Indians crossed the riverabove my place this afternoon, and they looked as if they were on thewar path."

  All were attentive now, and even the most reckless of these wild men,living continually in the midst of dangers, wore grave faces.

  "I didn't stop to investigate. I wasn't taking any chances, you see," hewent on. "So I ran my cattle over onto Woody Island and then starteddown the trail, giving the word to the fellows along the road. Hostileshave been pretty thick across the river lately, and I've had to watchout."

  By this time all hands were thoroughly interested. As Hodson went onwith his tale, the men drew nearer to him, their faces showing howkeenly they realized what his news might mean to all.

  Questions followed thick and fast.

  "How many were there? Where did they cross?" asked one.

  "How many horses? Did they have any squaws with them?"

  Without giving Hodson a chance to answer, they all began to talk in anexcited babel of voices, advancing opinions and theories as to what hadtaken place. One big fellow, in a red flannel shirt, asserted that theymust have crossed the river at Elbow Island; another contradicted thisstatement and said that the stream was too wide at this point and thatthey crossed in "bull boats," as the rude craft made of buffalo or cowhides stretched over strong light frames of willow were called.

  Hodson stood apart while this discussion was going on, with the boredair of one who was fully acquainted with the facts and could end theunnecessary talk in a moment if he was allowed an opportunity.

  "Big Bill" Smith, one of the older men, took in the situation. "Dry up,"said he; "let Harry talk, will you? He's the only one who knowsanything."

  "Well," said Harry, as the crowd once more turned to him, "there isn'tmuch talking to do, but there's plenty of hustling ahead for us. Abouttwo hundred Indians crossed the river up at Sioux Ford. They weretravelling pretty light, and I guess they are looking for beef oranything else they can lay their hands on; probably they think they canscare us off with a few shots and then run the stock off. They had alot of horses--not enough to go around--but a lot. We've got to getready for them on the jump, for if they're coming they'll be here beforedaylight, and the stock and wagons will have to be got in right away."

  "Somebody go for Jim Mackenzie," said Big Bill.

  As one of the men started for the door to carry out this order, a tall,commanding figure, grizzled and somewhat bent, but more from hardshipthan from age, entered the room. He was recognized at once as thesheriff: the central figure when trouble was brewing, but a retiring,inconspicuous citizen when all was peaceful.

  When action was required he was in his element. A man to depend on intime of trouble, one to command in an emergency. It was very noticeablethat these rough cattlemen, accustomed to depend upon themselves, whowhen off duty acknowledged no law except their own wishes, instinctivelylooked for a leader when confronted with this common danger. No onethought for an instant of questioning his orders, but obeyed withmilitary precision. For the time, his word was law.

  "Harry," said the sheriff, turning to the bringer of these bad tidings,after the above facts had been told him, "you put your saddle on my bayand take a couple of men with you back on the trail. Bring back JimWhite and his outfit of wagons and stock; he's camped down on Hay Creek.There are some smaller outfits on the Black Hills road; better help themget in. You'll want to hustle," he added, as Hodson and his two helperswent out.

  "Smith," continued the sheriff, issuing orders as fast as a pony couldtrot, "take a couple of men and get in the circle bar [symbol: largecircle with bar under it] stock, there's only a night-herder withthem. The rest of you who have wagons and stock out, bring them inyourselves. All you loose men," he added, as he noticed that several menstill lingered in the hot, close, smoke-filled room, "get your guns,saddle up, and come to my shack."

  The sheriff had been in the place but five minutes, but now fat SamWhitney, a frequenter of the place, Black Jack, the saloon keeper, and acouple of soldiers from the fort across the river, were all thatremained with him.

  The men outside could be heard saddling up, struggling with theirrefractory horses, and calling out to each other; from time to time therapidly diminishing sound of galloping hoofs came to the ears of thesilent men who for the moment remained motionless.

  The sheriff was planning his defence against the expected Indian attack,and the men who were with him, without a word, waited for theannouncement of his next move. It was Jim Mackenzie, and they putthemselves in his hands with blind confidence.

  Bismarck was a frontier town in the full sense of the word. A collectionof rude houses, more or less strongly built of logs and dried mud,straggled along the single street. Placed at the intersection of theexpected railroad and the Missouri River, a town of considerable sizewas mapped and many streets with high-sounding names were projected. Butonly Main Street was actually laid out. The houses, which theirinhabitants called shacks, were built on the north side of the streetfacing the south, in obedience to the natural law of cold climates, soBismarck boasted really of but half a street, and that a short one.

  Fort Abraham Lincoln, situated directly across the river, was supposedto afford protection to the settlers from the Indian marauders, but thehardy, self-reliant frontiersmen were generally able to take care ofthemselves. Not many of the inhabitants stayed the year round. The fewwho did remain through all seasons--the saloon keepers, horseshoers,stable keepers, and the three families--dwelt in the more pretentioushouses. The other residences were mere temporary shelters, which theirowners would not have considered worth fitting up had they been able todo so.

  Around the outskirts of the town were always a number of freightoutfits, and this night was no exception to the general rule. Thecumbrous wagons were drawn in a circle, harnesses lying in a seeminglyhopeless tangle on the wagon tongues, and the tents were pitched againsttheir sides or canvas lean-to's were rigged up. A number of greasy menlounged around the campfires, some sleeping, some re-braiding whips,some mending harness or chopping out new brake blocks. The work stockwere grazing at a little distance where the grass wa
s good, guarded byan armed herder.

  To these freighters' camps came the sheriff himself to warn them of theimpending danger. Immediately all was activity. The work stock werebrought, and, in a trice, harnessed to the heavy wagons. The mules wereurged forward with shouts and cracking of whips, and soon the wholeoutfit was on its way to form a cordon around the town, or, at least, onthe side that was most likely to be attacked.

  Mackenzie rode with the wagon-train for a short distance, then branchedoff after giving some final orders, or rather suggestions, for anyemergency that might arise.

  "So long," he said.

  "So long," said the driver of the leading team. (Whether a man wasleaving for a trip across the street or across the continent, theparting words were, invariably, "So long.")

  Mackenzie went on his way, skirting the town, keeping his eyes and earswide open. There was nothing within hearing to indicate that thesettlement was in danger of attack from the dreaded Indian. Theteamsters could still be heard shouting to their mules, and anoccasional creaking squeak from the wagons broke the stillness. Thesheriff listened in vain for more ominous sounds.

  "The reds are still pretty far off, or they are keeping mighty dark," hesaid to himself, as he put spurs to his horse and galloped towards oneof the better-looking houses that stood on a little rise some distancefrom the Main Street settlement. Messengers had been sent in everydirection, to warn sleeping citizens, and all had been arranged forexcept this household, one of the three families of the town.

  Mackenzie rode up to the door and, without dismounting, knocked.

  In an instant there was a sound of bustling, for the Westerner sleepswith one eye open, and is ready at a moment's notice for anything thatmay occur.

  "Who's there?" shouted a voice.

  "Mackenzie," answered the sheriff.

  Almost at the same moment the door opened, and a man stepped out.

  "Hello, Worth!" said the sheriff. "You'd better bring the wife andchildren further down. Harry Hodson just came down the trail and reportsa big bunch of Indians a few miles up, and----"

  But Worth did not wait to hear any more.

  "John," Worth shouted back into his shack; "you and Ben help your motherpack up the bedding and take care of the baby. We've got to be lively.You know what to do. You see, Mac," he said, turning to the horseman, "Ithought I might as well get things started while you were telling meabout these hostiles."

  "All right," said the sheriff. "Good scheme. You might as well saddle upand come along with me so you can find a place beforehand for the wifeand kids."

  In a few minutes both men were on their way to the centre of the town:Mackenzie, to send out his pickets and guards, and to arrange theplacing of stock and wagons; Worth, to find a temporary shelter for hisfamily. The boys, John and Ben, were left behind to look after the home,pack up the goods, catch and saddle the horses. It was a seemingly bigtask for boys of ten and twelve, but from the time these boys were ableto walk they--in common with other boys of the frontier--had to look outlargely for themselves. They were strong, sturdy little chaps. John, theelder, was his father's right-hand man, and when Mr. Worth was away onone of his frequent freighting trips, John was often called upon to takecare of the family in emergencies much like the present one.

  In this frontier town, the reports of bands of hostile Indians coming toraid and kill were not uncommon. The single man, active, mounted, armedwith weapons as familiar to him as his right hand, had no fear of notbeing able to outwit or escape the enemy, wily as the redskins were. Infact, the Indians themselves were well aware of the ability of theplainsmen to cope with them when unhampered by women and children, sothey practically never began hostilities until they could get theirwhite enemies at a disadvantage. The few families were, therefore, theirespecial point of attack. It was their helplessness that tempted theonslaught and aroused the savage instincts of these marauders. When thehead of the family, the bread winner, was away, the dread of thesefearful, relentless attacks on his helpless ones abode with him always.The mother and children, left at home, lived always under the shadow ofthe same fear.

  John and his brother, therefore, fully understood the danger and theneed for speedy and careful preparation. They had often, at the warningof the hostiles' approach, helped their mother make a fort of the solidlog house by piling up the scanty furniture and bedding against thedoors and windows, leaving only loopholes for their rifles; and thoughthe present situation was one that would make ordinary boys uselessthrough fear, John and Ben, on the contrary, were too busy to worry;they knew exactly what was to be done, and in their sturdy, independentway went to work to do it.

  "Say, Ben," said John, as they went toward the corral (the circularinclosure in which the saddle horses were kept), "I'll bet it's justthose Indians we saw across the river, day before yesterday, while wewere hunting Gannons' horses. There was a lot of squaws in that bunch,do you remember?"

  "That's right," assented Ben; "and I'll bet that some of Gannons' horseswere in that lot of Indian ponies. If it was ten dollars reward insteadof five, it might have been worth while to run the risk of trying tofind out; but five dollars is too little to go fooling around a strangeIndian's camp for."

  The talk was ended by their arrival at the corral and the subsequentbusy time catching and bridling of the horses. The ponies were then ledto the door, where they were saddled. As they were cinching them up--asthe tightening of the girths is called--Mr. Worth returned. In a fewminutes the whole family were on their way to the Sebells', one of theother Bismarck families who lived on Main Street.

  In town they found all activity. Horsemen were galloping to and fro,cattle, horses, and mules dashed in and out, wagons driven at full speedcrossed and recrossed the dusty street. As soon as they were installedat their new-found shelter and their household goods disposed of, Johnwent with his father to get in the extra stock of horses and mules, for,next to his family, these are the freighter's chief care.

  They found their stock together, as was expected, for animals,particularly horses, that come from the same place, always staytogether. This instinct made it much easier for the herder to gather hisown, when there were many animals belonging to different outfits on acommon grazing ground. The Worth stock was promptly driven inside thenow almost complete circle of wagons, and there tied.

  A group of men were busy piling up boxes, barrels, and bales, taken fromthe freighters' wagons, into the semblance of breastworks. As John andhis father approached, the sheriff came forward and joined them.

  "Family all right, Worth?" he asked, kindly. "I sent up a couple of mento help you and they reported that your shack was deserted and the placelocked up for keeps. You didn't waste any time."

  "That was good of you, Mac," said Mr. Worth, holding out his hand. "Howyou're able to think of so many things at once, beats me. Yes, we gotout in pretty quick shape; you see my boys, Johnny here and Ben, arefirst-rate hands to depend on in an emergency. They did pretty near thewhole thing to-night. By the way, the boys were hunting horses up theriver day before yesterday, and saw quite a large bunch of Indians inthe brush below Harry Hodson's."

  MOUNTING A BUCKING BRONCHO.]

  "Why didn't you say something about this before?" interrupted thesheriff, turning to John.

  "Ben and I have seen plenty of Indians," said John, eagerly. "There werea lot of squaws in this bunch, so I didn't believe they were a warparty. We didn't think anything more about them until this scare came upto-night."

  "Well, you have got a good head on you, young man. I don't know but youare right, and this may be a false alarm. Still Hodson generally knowswhat he's talking about." The sheriff was speaking more to himself thanto his hearers. "I'm glad we've got a lot of first-rate scrappers withus; I guess the reds would think twice if they knew what they wererunning up against."

  All was now comparatively quiet. The work and strain of preparation wassucceeded by a time of waiting, a period of suspense that was, perhaps,harder to bear than the first shock of the unpl
easant news.

  John and his father returned to their temporary home to calm themother's fears. Mrs. Worth had the family rifle ready, and Ben hadpolished and oiled every cartridge in the belt, so that they would slipin without jamming. Mr. Worth shouldered the gun and went out, leavingthe boys with their mother. Though all was now quiet and his mother andbrother were asleep, John could not close his eyes. He understood, ashis younger brother could not, the danger that menaced the household andthe town. Death, swift, by knife or bullet, or slow through torture, wassure to come if that band of Indians got inside the inclosure. He hadheard gruesome tales describing the treatment that the savages meted outto their prisoners and the horror of it would not leave him. At last hecould stand it no longer. Quickly he rose from the heap of bedding andstole to the door. He was fully dressed, and his little six-shooterstill slung on his left hip where he had buckled it when the sherifffirst knocked at the home shack.

  All was still outside, except for the occasional stamping of a pony orthe distant wail of a coyote. Pickets were posted just over the rise tothe north of the town, from which direction the attack was expected.They were to give warning of the approach of the Indians by a rifleshot.

  Suddenly there was borne on the breeze to the waiting men the sound ofgalloping horses. Louder it grew, then fainter; then again still louder.So the sound wavered, but ever came nearer.

  The watchers sprang to their feet, rifles ready, eyes gleaming.

  "Steady, boys," said the calm voice of Mackenzie. "Wait a bit."

  Still the thumping of many hoofs approached nearer.

  What had become of the pickets? Had they been all killed with theenemy's noiseless arrows? Or had they been lured away beyond hearing andshot?

  Daylight was breaking; the enemy could now be seen, that was onecomfort. And as they stood, ears alert, eyes strained, their nerveskeyed up to the tensest pitch, awaiting the onslaught, that ominousnoise of hoof-beats came ever nearer, nearer, nearer.

  Suddenly a horse's head appeared above the brow of the hill, thenanother and another until quite a score or more were in plain view. Theydashed down the incline toward the corral of wagons. But they were allriderless! Presently two riders appeared. They shouted a greeting asthey came down the hill and explained that they were of the N bar Noutfit (that is to say, their brand bore these marks:) [Symbol:N over N with line between].

  A space was hastily cleared between the wagons to allow these newcomers'horses to enter the inclosure; but it was too late; the bunch parted,turning to right and left. The two herders also separated in pursuit,each following a bunch.

  Immediate danger over, the waiting men relaxed their extra vigilance,and all hands watched the efforts of the two herders in their vainattempts to head off their charges. The sheriff was just saying, "I wishsome of you fellows would help round up that bunch; we want to get themall in before the hostiles show up," when a third horseman appeared,riding like the wind.

  "Say, that chap has got a fresh horse," said "Casino," one of thefreighters.

  The new arrival, after a headlong dash, regardless of ditches, brush,and badger holes, succeeded in rounding up the frightened horses, andwith the help of the herder, drove them into camp. A similar performancesoon brought in the other bunch.

  As the new rider trotted in through the gap, some one shouted: "What'llyou take for that horse? He's a regular whirlwind."

  "Yes," said one of the herders, "he's a dandy, isn't he? My stock wouldhave got away if Johnny Worth hadn't come out on Baldy."

  "So it's Johnny Worth, eh!" said Bill Smith. "Good work, kid."

  "Oh!" said Johnny, "they're only worn-out, winded plugs; they were easyfor Baldy. He was saddled and all ready," the boy added in explanation.

  "Well done, Johnny," said the sheriff, who had once before that nightpraised the boy's pluck. Then, turning to the group about him, "Some ofyou boys had better get breakfast," said he; "there's no telling whenthat war party may turn up, and you must eat now when you have thechance."