Authors: Charles G. West
“No,” Trace answered. “I just stumbled on you boys. I’m looking for somebody else. I saw that big party of Sioux hiding back there by the water, and I knew they were planning a little reception for somebody. So I decided to have a look-see.” Trace thought it unnecessary to say that he had come in search of Iron Pony’s band himself, and the half-Shoshoni boy who had set out to take revenge for his mother’s death. Trace continued, “I watched those eight bucks when they crossed the ridge back there. It wasn’t hard to figure what they were up to.”
The quick smile faded from Luke’s face as the seriousness of their situation returned to prompt him to ask, “What are our chances of getting out of this without a fight?”
“None,” Trace quickly replied, nodding toward a low hill off to the north. Luke turned to follow Trace’s gaze and saw a lone Sioux warrior in the distance, obviously scouting them. “They’ve already found us. Now that they know what we’re gonna do, they’ll be coming, all right.”
Captain Leach joined them at that point and immediately asked, “Are you sure of the number of hostiles? I’d hate to think you exaggerated the count and they’re getting away while we’re busy digging in here.”
Trace turned a cold gaze on the arrogant officer, thinking carefully before he answered. He didn’t like Leach—not since the first time he laid eyes on the little martinet—and his inclination was to tell him to go scout them for himself. Leach was about to repeat the question when Trace spoke. “Captain, you’re gonna get all the Injuns you can handle in the time it takes
that scout on the hill over yonder to go tell Iron Pony you ain’t riding into his ambush. Your sergeant did the right thing, having the men dig in and get ready. The Sioux are fighters—born to it—and these men of yours look pretty green to me. The best chance you’ve got of coming out of this thing with most of your men is to stay dug in here to make your fight. You’ve got your horses protected and plenty of drinking water. You can hold out here for a long time. If you can keep your head down, and kill off a good number of his warriors, Iron Pony might decide his losses ain’t worth staying on the attack.”
Leach cocked a skeptical eye at the tall man in buckskins. “I’m not so sure we couldn’t dispatch this band of savages with one concentrated volley. I doubt if they’ve ever faced a disciplined line of dragoons.”
Trace was rapidly losing his patience. He shot a quick glance at Luke Austen to see if the young lieutenant agreed with his captain. Luke showed no emotion one way or the other, staring unblinking at the mountain man. Shifting his gaze back to the captain, Trace said, “I don’t know about the moral effect of a disciplined volley, but I do know about Sioux warriors. If you stand your soldiers up in a line to fight, Iron Pony ain’t likely to line his boys up against you. He’ll just lay back and snipe away at your soldiers till he’s rubbed them all out. Then he’ll likely thank you for lining up another bunch.”
Leach didn’t say anything right away, but Luke could see that the mountain man’s obvious contempt for him was raising the captain’s bile. Irritated, but reluctant to chance serious casualties in the event Trace knew what he was talking about, Leach swallowed his pride, the bitter taste of which caused him to screw his face into a deep frown. “We’ll make a stand in these
emplacements until I can evaluate the hostiles’ fighting capability. Then we’ll see.”
The first sighting was not long in coming. The lone Sioux scout that Trace had spotted on the ridge had been gone for no longer than half an hour when a long line of mounted warriors suddenly appeared along the ridge line. Silent and motionless except for the occasional feather that fluttered in the gentle breeze ruffling the long buffalo grass, they presented a foreboding promise of what was to come.
After a lengthy wait with no show of action by the Sioux, Turley uttered, “Damn, how long are they gonna just sit there?”
“Long enough to make sure we see how many of them there are.” Trace answered. “Iron Pony is trying to intimidate us with his superior numbers,” Trace answered. “If he didn’t have the advantage in numbers, he wouldn’t be showing his strength. We don’t have to worry yet. He ain’t gonna come charging down here and take a chance on losing a lot of his warriors. Right now, he’s deciding how he’s gonna attack. My guess is he’ll come at us from the sides, up and down this creek.”
Captain Leach moved up beside Turley and Trace, his field glasses in his hand. “They’re still sitting there,” he said. “I believe they’re having second thoughts about attacking us.” He stood up, brazenly exposing himself while he scanned the seemingly endless line of warriors. “Hell, they know damn well we’ll cut ’em to pieces. They’ve lost their stomach for a fight.” He turned an accusing eye on Trace. “One attack en masse from us and they’ll scatter to the wind.”
Trace held his tongue. He had no more patience to waste on the arrogant officer. Looking around him at the nervous troopers, crouching low in their rifle pits and staring at the painted hostiles, he could see that
Iron Pony’s intimidation ploy was successful. Unlike their bullheaded commander, the men appeared none too anxious to mount any kind of assault. Eyes wide and mouths dry, even though there was a swiftly running stream right at their backs, they nervously checked their rifles again and again.
What the hell am I even doing here?
Trace wondered. Looking for the boy, he had found Iron Pony and the soldiers, but no White Eagle.
Holed up here with a bunch of green troopers and a damn fool officer who seems hellbent on committing suicide. It ain’t my job to keep the damn fool from getting scalped.
Still, he felt an obligation toward Luke and the rest of the innocent souls that Leach seemed so anxious to sacrifice. He shrugged his shoulders and moved over beside Luke.
“Lieutenant, I’m tired of trying to talk some sense into that hardheaded son of a bitch. You seem like a levelheaded young man and I hate to see you get yourself scalped because of him. I know he’s your captain and he’s the one supposed to be in charge. But if he orders you boys to charge up there after those Injuns, ol’ Iron Pony’ll just give way in the middle then close up around you and eat you up. He’s just praying that you’ll come after him.” Having said his piece, Trace left Luke to think it over and went back to the edge of the water where his horse was waiting.
Luke was left with a desperate decision. He looked beyond the kneeling figure of Sergeant Turley and focused on Captain Henry Leach, still standing defiantly on the upper ledge of the creekbank. Luke did not doubt that what Trace McCall had told him was true—if they mounted an assault on the line of Sioux, it would result in serious losses, perhaps even total annihilation. Luke had already experienced one massacre, he wasn’t anxious to be involved in another. He had been in the army too long to even think about disobeying
a command from his superior. Still, did he not have an obligation to protect the men from being sacrificed for the sake of one officer’s stubbornness?
Luke did not want to make the decision. He prayed to God that Leach would take Trace’s advice and stay put. Suddenly thoughts of Annie popped into his mind, and he realized that he wanted desperately to see her again. He tried to form a picture of her face in his mind, but found he could not.
No matter what happens here
, he thought, “I will get back to you.”
“Sir?”
Sergeant Turley’s question brought him back to the present. He had been unaware that he had spoken the last part of his vow aloud. Recovering his senses quickly, he responded. “Nothing, Sergeant, I was just thinking out loud.” He looked again at Leach. The captain had turned and was staring at his men, crouching in the pits. Luke knew Leach was making up his mind. “Sir,” Luke said, hoping to sidetrack Leach’s thinking, “I think McCall is right. We’re in the best defensive position here by the stream.”
Leach jerked his head around as if he’d heard a pistol shot. Glaring at his lieutenant, he barked, “I didn’t come out here to go on the defensive against a ragtag mob of savages. This might be a good opportunity for you to learn what it takes to command.” He turned to Turley. “Sergeant, pass the word to prepare to mount. It’s time we showed these savages what it means to defy the United States Army.”
“You ride out of here and they’ll cut you to pieces on both flanks,” Trace warned.
Leach smiled contemptuously. “They’ll play hell, trying to turn my flanks if I’m charging straight into them.”
“They’ve already done it,” Trace answered calmly.
Leach snorted his disbelief, his obvious dismissal of
Trace’s opinions apparent in his eyes. Displaying his impatience with those whom he regarded as fools, he extended his arm in the direction of the stoic line of Sioux on the ridge. “Unless my eyes have betrayed me, the enemy is standing in a line, waiting to be routed, and apparently showing no stomach to join in battle with a disciplined troop of cavalry.”
“Maybe you need some glasses,” Trace retorted, his tone low and even. “You better take a closer look at that line of warriors—a good third of ’em ain’t there no more.”
Trace’s remark brought Leach up short, and he jerked his field glasses up again to scan the formation of Sioux more closely. The line of warriors
was
spread out a little more than before, with slightly more space between the ponies. While Leach had been contemplating a move to attack, every third or fourth warrior had slowly backed his pony unnoticed from the solid line, disappearing from view below the crest of the ridge.
Immediately leaping to the wrong conclusion, Leach exulted in what he interpreted to be a confirmation of his initial assessment of the situation. “By God, they’re starting to withdraw.” Turning an angry leer in Trace’s direction, he spat, “Damn you, McCall, I should have never listened to you. If these savages escape, I’ve a good mind to put you in irons for aiding the enemy.”
“That might take a little more doing than you’re figuring on,” Trace answered calmly, his gaze locked on that of the captain’s.
A tense moment followed, while the two men glared into each other’s eyes, neither man blinking. Leach was the first to break the eye contact when he suddenly turned to Sergeant Turley. “Get ’em mounted, Sergeant, we’re gonna ride right over that
bunch on the ridge.” Running for his horse, Leach called out, “Bugler!”
Holding his horse steady in the midst of sudden confusion, Trace stood there watching the frenzied actions of the troopers as they scrambled from their rifle pits to collar their reluctant mounts. Looking across the stream to the point where the first soldiers were forming up behind their captain, Trace’s gaze met that of Luke Austen’s. Luke simply stared back at him, expressionless, obviously contemplating what Trace had told him before.
What a waste
, Trace thought when he perceived that Luke was not going to be able to bring himself to countermand the captain’s orders—he had been a soldier too long to disobey. He glanced back at the ridge where Iron Pony’s warriors remained, motionless, waiting.
Get ready, boys
, Trace said to himself,
here comes another serving of soldierboys.
Climbing on his horse, he walked the pony slowly across the stream to a point out of the way.
To the brassy blare of the bugle, Leach led his company of men up out of the creekbanks. His pistol drawn and held high overhead, he forced his tired mount into a gallop, charging straight up the rise toward the waiting Sioux. Sixty men strong, the troopers galloped, intent upon breaking the center of the hostiles’ line and scattering them with their rifle fire.
Upon first seeing the soldiers’ advance, the Sioux retreated slowly as if to give ground. Encouraged by this, Leach rallied his men to push recklessly onward. As the last trooper cleared the brush beside the stream, and the whole detachment was in the open, the stacatto notes of the bugle were suddenly swallowed by an eruption of rifle shots. Caught in a blistering crossfire, Leach was the first man killed as Iron Pony’s warriors rose up from the gullies on both sides of the troop. His tunic rent by numerous bullet holes, his
eyes wild with disbelief, he fell heavily in the grass as his horse charged on, arching and bucking.
Luke looked around him, horrified to see more and more saddles suddenly empty as his men were trapped in the crossfire. “Back!” he shouted, trying to be heard over the roar of the battle, now joined by the Sioux before him on the ridge. “Back!” he continued to shout. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sergeant Turley trying to lead a group of troopers back toward the stream, fighting desperately to cut his way through a swarm of hostiles that had closed in behind the soldiers. With no time to reload his pistol and rifle, Luke drew his saber and hacked his way through to join Turley. Together they led what was left of Leach’s command back to the stream.
Desperate and panic-stricken, the surviving troopers stumbled into the previously dug rifle pits, most of them letting their horses run free, intent only upon escaping the hail of lead balls and arrows. Ignoring a grazing wound that soaked his sleeve with blood, Luke reloaded and fired as rapidly as he could. Gradually, the attacking Sioux were driven back, thanks in large part to the efforts of Sergeant Turley, who could be heard throughout the encounter, cursing and threatening as he moved up and down the line of men until every man was firing his weapon.
As suddenly as it had started, the assault ended, and the Indians withdrew, taking their dead and wounded wherever possible. Still close to a state of shock, Luke forced himself to get up and check on the condition of his men. Upon seeing the lieutenant get to his feet, Turley made his way over, still keeping an eye on the retreating hostiles.
“Damn, Lieutenant,” was all Turley could manage at first.
“How many did we lose?” Luke asked.
“Well, I can’t be sure till I go back and get a careful count, but I think we’re missing a good half of the patrol.”
“Damn,” Luke swore. “It’s my fault. I knew Leach was making a big mistake. McCall tried to warn me, but I didn’t have the guts to face Leach down.” He paused and looked around him then. “Where is McCall, anyway?” In the chaos of the ill-fated charge, no one took notice of the mountain man’s whereabouts.