A Daughter of the Sioux: A Tale of the Indian frontierKing, Charles
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A Daughter of the Sioux: A Tale of the Indian frontier
King, Charles
Dakota Indians -- Fiction; Indian women -- Fiction; Western stories
The noonday sun was staring hotly down, an hour later, on a stirring
picture of frontier warfare, with that clump of cottonwoods as the
central feature. Well for Ray's half hundred, that brilliant autumn
morning, that their leader had had so many a year of Indian campaigning!
He now seemed to know by instinct every scheme of his savage foe and to
act accordingly. Ever since the command had come in sight of the Elk
Tooth the conviction had been growing on Ray that Stabber must have
received many accessions and was counting on the speedy coming of
others. The signal smokes across the wide valley; the frequent essays to
tempt his advance guard to charge and chase; the boldness with which the
Indians showed on front and flank; the daring pertinacity with which
they clung to the stream bed for the sake of a few shots at the foremost
troopers, relying, evidently, on the array of their comrades beyond the
ridge to overwhelm any force that gave close pursuit; the fact that
other Indians opened on the advance guard and the left flankers, and
that a dozen, at least, tore away out of the sandy arroyo the moment
they saw the line start at the gallop;--all these had tended to convince
the captain that, now at last, when he was miles from home and succor,
the Sioux stood ready in abundant force to give him desperate battle.
To dart on in chase of the three warriors would simply result in the
scattering of his own people and their being individually cut off and
stricken down by circling swarms of their red foes. To gather his men
and attempt to force the passage of the Elk Tooth ridge meant certain
destruction of the whole command. The Sioux would be only to glad to
scurry away from their front and let them through, and then in big
circle whirl all about him, pouring in a concentric fire that would be
sure to hit some, at least, exposed as they would be on the open
prairie, while their return shots, radiating wildly at the swift-darting
warriors, would be almost as sure to miss. He would soon be weighted
down with wounded, refusing to leave them to be butchered; unable,
therefore, to move in any direction, and so compelled to keep up a
shelterless, hopeless fight until, one by one, he and his gallant
fellows fell, pierced by Indian lead, and sacrificed to the scalping
knife as were Custer's three hundred a decade before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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