Tales of the Trail: Short Stories of Western LifeInman, Henry
History
Tales of the Trail: Short Stories of Western Life
Inman, Henry
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; West (U.S.) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Western stories
In a few seconds after the doctor's death, in the midst of a terrible
onslaught by the Indians, the General was again struck--this time near
the ankle, the ball perforating the bone as perfectly as if done with
an auger.
The firing of the scouts had not all this time been without telling
effect upon the Indians--many a painted warrior had bitten the dust
before the sun was two hours high. At each successive charge of the
redskins, the scouts, cool and careful, and deliberate, took aim,
and when their rifles were discharged each put a savage _hors de
combat_--there was no ammunition wasted!
Nor had the besieged escaped from the fearful onset of their enemies:
besides the casualties related, nearly all the horses had been
killed--in fact, before noon all but one had fallen, and it is told
that when he too was killed, one of the warriors exclaimed in English,
"There goes the last horse, anyway!"
At this juncture, with all their horses killed or wounded, the Indians
determined upon one more grand charge which would settle the unequal
contest. So they rallied all their forces and hazarded their reputation
upon the aggregated assault.
This charging column was composed of about one hundred and fifty "dog
soldiers" and nearly five hundred more of the Brulés, Cheyennes, and
Arapahoes, all under the command of the celebrated chief "Roman Nose."
Superbly mounted, almost naked, although in full war dress, and painted
in the most hideous manner, formed with a front of about sixty men,
they awaited in the greatest confidence the signal of their chief to
charge.
Their leader at first signaled to the dismounted men beyond this line
of horsemen to fire into the scouts, and thus make his contemplated
charge more effective. At the moment of the fusillade, seeing the
little garrison was stunned by the fire of the dismounted Indians, and
rightly judging that now if ever was the proper time to charge, Roman
Nose and his band of mounted warriors, with a wild ringing war-whoop,
echoed by the women and children on the hills, started forward.
[Illustration: THE CHARGE.]
On they came, presenting even to the brave men awaiting their charge, a
most superb sight.
Soon they were within the range of the rifles of their friends, and of
course the dismounted Indians had to slacken their fire for fear of
hitting their own warriors.
And this was the opportunity for the scouts. "Now!" shouted Forsythe;
and the scouts, springing to their knees, cast their eyes coolly along
the barrels of their rifles, and opened upon the advancing savages a
deadly fire.
Unchecked, undaunted, on dashed the warriors. Steadily rang the sharp
report of the rifles of the frontiersmen. Roman Nose falls dead from
his horse; "Medicine Man" is killed; and for an instant the column, now
within ten feet of the scouts, hesitates--falters.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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