CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Confluence of the Stinking Water and South
Fork
Back on the island the next morning,
the Indians renewed hostilities. Again, Mean to His Horses sent his
men in attacks against Falcon, Coletrain, and the Buffalo soldiers
who were defending the island. And again the attack resulted in
high cost to the Indians, this time inflicting no additional
casualties among the soldiers.
Then, at mid-morning, Mean to His
Horses tried a new tactic. He had two of his men bring forth a
captive, and they stood just on the bank of the river so the
captive could be seen. The captive was clearly a white man, a
soldier, because he was in uniform.
“What the hell?” Coletrain said. “What
is he doing there?”
“Do you know him?” Falcon
asked.
“Yes, sir, I know him. That’s Sergeant
Depro. But he is supposed to be back at Fort Keogh. I have no idea
what he is doing here.”
“Buffalo Soldiers!” Mean to His Horses
shouted across the water. “Leave your guns and go away. I will let
you live and I will send the white-eye soldier with you. If you do
not leave your guns and go away, I will kill the white-eye soldier,
and his death will not be swift.”
“Depro!” Coletrain shouted. “Depro,
what are you doing there?”
“Coletrain! Sergeant Coletrain, is that
you? Don’t let me die, Coletrain! Me an’ you is friends, ain’t we?
We soldiered together! Don’t let me die!”
“Is that man a friend of yours?” Falcon
asked.
Coletrain shook his head. “He’s a long
way from being a friend,” he said. “But he is a soldier, so it
doesn’t matter whether he is a friend or not.”
“Who is your best shot?”
“Well, sir, I don’t mean to brag,
none,” Coletrain said. “But that would be me.”
“All right,” Falcon said. He turned to
speak to the remaining soldiers, speaking just loudly enough for
them to hear him.
“Men, Sergeant Major Coletrain and I
are going to take out the two Indians who are holding Depro. I want
all of you to pick out one of the other Indians as a target. As
soon as we fire, you fire in volley. If we can take down seven or
eight of them all at the same time, the rest of them are likely
going to pull back, and that will give Depro a chance to come
across the river.”
The soldiers all nodded, then got into
position and each of them picked out a target.
“You take the one on the left, I have
the one on the right,” Falcon said.
“What about Mean to His Horses?”
Coletrain asked.
“He’s sitting up on his horse, thinking
he is in command,” Falcon said. “But I’m shooting a Winchester, and
as soon as we kill the two who are holding Depro, I’ll re-chamber a
round and kill Mean to His Horses.”
Coletrain chuckled. “Damn if it ain’t
worth gettin’ shot a couple of times, just so’s I can see the
expression on ol’ Mean to His Horses’s face when he realizes what’s
happened.”
“Take aim,” Falcon said, raising the
rifle to his shoulder. “I’ll count to three.”
“Get ready, men,” Coletrain called to
the others, as he raised the carbine to his shoulder.
“One, two, three, fire,” Falcon
said.
Falcon and Coletrain fired at the same
time, their shots followed almost immediately by the rest of the
soldiers. The two Indians who were holding Depro fell, as did at
least six more Indians. Mean to His Horses was totally shocked, and
for just a second, he looked on in disbelief. Then, quickly, he
realized what happened and he turned his horse to gallop away, but
it was too late. As a coda to the previous volley, one more shot
rang out, and Mean to His Horses fell from his saddle.
Depro was as shocked as Mean to His
Horses had been, and he was still standing in place.
“Depro, run!” Coletrain said. “Come
over here to us!”
Depro started across the water toward
the island, and as he did so, the remaining men of Coletrain’s
platoon fired a second volley to keep the Indians back. As Depro
reached the island, Schuler reached up and pulled him down to
safety.
“Thank you,” Depro said. “Thank you. I
thought I was a goner for sure.”
“What were you doing with them,
Sergeant Depro?” Coletrain said. “I thought you were back at Fort
Keogh.”
“I had to go back,” Depro said. “I
couldn’t leave the wagon.”
“You couldn’t leave the wagon? What
wagon? Leave it where?”
“Sarge! Someone is comin’!” Schuler
yelled.
“Get ready men,” Coletrain
said.
Once again, the men got into position
to repel an attack, then as the body of men grew closer they could
be seen riding in column of twos. Also, they saw the red and white
guideon fluttering at the head of the column.
“It’s Lieutenant Bond and our men!”
Schuler shouted excitedly, and all the men stood then, and began
cheering and waving.
“It looks like you men had quite a
battle here,” Cody said, taking in all the dead
Indians.
“It kept us from getting bored,” Falcon
said.
“Damn, I went with the wrong group,”
Ingraham said. “I should have been here, where the battle
was.”
Cody chuckled. “Don’t worry about it,
Prentiss. I’m sure a man with your fertile imagination will be able
to compensate.”
Ingraham squinted his eyes for a
moment, then suddenly saw the possibility in what Cody said, and he
laughed out loud.
“You know, Colonel Cody. I do believe
you are right,” he said.
DeMaris
Springs bivouac
The wounded and dead were brought back
to the Ninth Cavalry bivouac area. One of the wounded, Private
Travis Jackson, had died before they could get him back. The
remaining wounded were treated by Dr. Urban, who was brought from
town by Benteen, just for that cause.
“Did you have a surgeon in the field
with you?” Dr. Urban asked as he looked at Sergeant Major
Coletrain’s wounds.
“No, sir,” Coletrain said.
The doctor examined the wounds closely.
“Well, someone took the bullet out.”
“Yes, sir, that would be Colonel
MacCallister.”
Dr. Urban clucked his tongue and shook
his head. “Is there nothing that man can’t do? He did as good a job
as any surgeon I know.”
Coletrain smiled. “Yes, sir, seemed
like he sort of know’d what he was a’ doin’, all
right.”
“Sergeant Major Coletrain?” Schuler
said, as Coletrain began packing his shirttail back
in.
“Yes, Schuler, what is
it?”
“I think maybe you had better take a
look at the guns.”
“What guns?”
“The guns we picked from back at the
island,” Schuler said. “The guns the Injuns was
usin’.”
“What about ’em?”
“I think you had better take a look at
’em,” Schuler said.
Benteen was in his command tent having
coffee with Falcon, Cody, and Ingraham, when Coletrain stood
outside and asked if he could enter.
“Of course you can come in, Sergeant
Major,” Benteen replied. “Grab a stool and join us. We’re having
coffee and a discussion about you.”
“About me, sir?”
“I’m putting you in for the Medal of
Honor,” Benteen said.
Coletrain smiled broadly. “Well, sir,”
he said. “Well, now. Yes, sir, that would be quite an honor.
Especially since I don’t feel I did anything to earn
it.”
“Colonel MacCallister does,” Benteen
said. “And I set quite a store in what he has to say.”
“Colonel, I appreciate the kind words,”
Coletrain said.
Benteen’s orderly handed a cup of
coffee to Coletrain, and he thanked him, then took a
swallow.
“Now then, Sergeant Major, you wanted
to see me?”
“Yes, sir,” Coletrain said. “Sir, after
the fight, several of the men went out onto the battlefield and
began gathering up the guns the Indians was usin’. I thought they
was all armed awfully well, and now I know why.”
“Why?”
“Here are the serial numbers of three
of the rifles.”
Coletrain pulled a little piece of
paper from his pocket, then began reading from it. “410543, 410275,
410221.” He stopped reading and looked up at Benteen. “The fact is,
Major, every weapon we picked up started with the numbers four one
zero. I just read these three because privates Wright, Dunaway, and
Karnes recognized them. They are same carbines they were carryin’
before we got the new issue, and was told to turn them in. And
seein’ as I made out all the inventories, I remember that all the
carbines started with the numbers four one zero.”
“What are you saying, Sergeant Major?
Are you suggesting that, somehow, the Indians managed to get their
hands on our old weapons?”
“Not, just somehow,” Coletrain said. “I
know how they got them.”
“Depro?”
“Yes, sir.”
Benteen nodded, then got up from his
stool and walked over to the door. The three soldiers Coletrain had
mentioned were standing there, in case they were needed to validate
the weapons as having belonged to them. Benteen believed Coletrain,
and thus needed no validation. But he did need them for something
else.
“Soldiers, find Sergeant Depro and
bring him here.”
“Yes, sir,” Dunaway said.
“Under arrest,” Benteen
added.
The three soldiers, who had no love
lost as to Depro, smiled in anticipation of the
assignment.
“In shackles,” Major Benteen
added.
“I should have listened to you in the
beginning, Sergeant Major,” Benteen said. “You suspected he had
stolen the weapons when they disappeared from the arms room, didn’t
you?”
“Yes, sir, but all it was, was me
thinkin’ it. I didn’t have any proof.”
“Well, we do now,” Benteen
said.
At that moment, Private Dunaway
returned.
“He ain’t nowhere around, sir,” Dunaway
said. “Someone said they seen him leave, goin’ toward
town.”
“Gentlemen,” Benteen said to Falcon,
Cody, and Ingraham. “Would you like to go into town with
me?”
Falcon and the others rode into town
for the express purpose of finding and placing under arrest
Sergeant Lucas Depro, but when they got the town, the reaction of
the townspeople was such that they put Depro aside. The town was in
a major celebration mode, with the volunteer firemen’s band
playing, fireworks exploding, and a general attitude of
giddiness.
“What is going on?” Benteen asked
someone who was standing on the side of the street, watching all
the proceedings
“Ain’t you heard? The Injuns has been
whupped.”
“Are they talking about your fight at
the island?” Benteen asked Falcon. “How did they find out so
fast?”
“Paper! Paper! Get your paper here!” a
paperboy was yelling from the corner. “Extra, read all about it!
Injun village wiped out!”
“Indian village?” Falcon asked. He
shook his head. “Somehow I don’t think they are talking about the
island fight.”
Ingraham dismounted, then went over to
the paperboy and bought four papers, one for each of
them.
EXTRA EXTRA
EXTRA
BIG INDIAN BATTLE!
Marvelous Victory!
MANY
INDIANS KILLED
TO
BUT THREE
MILITIA MEN
KILLED
Our own brave militia conducted a
surprise raid against the Crow Village on the Meeteetsee River last
night. The results of the attack were so successful that your
humble publisher has seen fit to print this, an extra issue, in
order to place all the glorious details of the battle before the
eyes of the public.
The attack was carried out by
the Wyoming Civilian Militia, organized just for this purpose. In a
brilliantly conceived tactical operation, Colonel Pierre
Bellefontaine led but twenty men in an attack against three hundred
or more armed and wily heathens. Striking in the night, the Wyoming
Civilian Militia brought terror into the hearts of the selfsame
savages who had but so recently brought terror into the hearts of
the hapless white people whom they have so cruelly ravaged in their
numerous debaucheries against innocent farmers, ranchers, and
homesteaders.
Unwilling to surrender, the
savages put up a fierce fight. Bullets were whistling through the
night air in their deadly transit as they sought their targets. For
hours the battle raged, with the Indians’ terrible screams and war
cries renting the air as if the howls came from all the banshees of
hell. But through it all, our brave militia men stood their ground,
often fighting hand to hand against numbers far superior to their
own. Finally, as dawn broke, the village stood quiet and empty, its
inhabitants having either fled or now lying dead on the
ground.
Huzzahs for Colonel
Bellefontaine and his brave militiamen, and plans are now underway
to hold a town dance in their honor. All are invited where, we are
told, souvenirs and booty taken from the village will be on
display.