CHAPTER IX
IN CAMP
The three horsemen jogged into camp, and it can hardly be stated who wasthe more impressed by the sight--John Ermine as he passed through thecrowds of soldiers, or the soldiers as they looked at the bare-backedrider with the yellow braids and the glaring handkerchief. They had lefttheir impedimenta with the worn-out ponies back in the hills with littlehope of recovering them. The gathering men who had seen the chase gavetokens of their approval by yelling _Ki-yis_ in imitation of theIndians. "Say, Yellow, you're no brevet"--"You wa'n't crazy to wait forthem Sioux"--"The general will feed you on mince-pie"--"You'll be asergeant in the rag-bag troop," and other expressions numerous and'uncooked' fell on their ears. Ermine felt embarrassed with theattention of so many people centred on him, but his face was cut tostand such shocks. His swift glances about the thronging camp began toillumine the "ten-thousand-men" proposition; he saw lines of tents,wagons without end, but no women; he would have to postpone that feast.
The officer leading stopped in front of a tent around which manyofficers and men were standing or coming and going. He spoke to one whowore a big hat and a split blond beard, a man less pretentious in hisgarb than any about him, but whose eye arrested Ermine by the commandingkeenness. Dismounting, the officer, saluting, said: "General Crook,these two men were just chased into camp by Indians. They say they areCrows, or at least from the Crows, and they want to be made scouts."
"What Indians chased you?" asked the general.
"We do not know; we were waiting on the hill to come in here bydaylight; they surprised us, and we did not stop to talk with them,"replied John Ermine.
"Where did you come from, my boy?" he continued.
"I came from the Stinking Water country to help you fight theSioux--myself and Wolf-Voice there," replied Ermine.
Turning to that waif, the general said, "Who are you?"
Patting his chest impressively, Wolf-Voice spoke: "Me? My mother she wasGro Ventre; I am a warrior; I spak de English; I was scout with YellowHair.[11] I am brav mans."
[11] General Custer.
"Umph--no doubt," softly hazarded the Gray Fox. "You were not with himwhen he died? I suppose you attended to that matter with properthoroughness. Have you seen any Sioux signs?"
"Yaas--day follar de wagon, dey aire leave dar pony-track all roun you."
Once fastening his quizzical eyes on the white lad, the general asked,"Do you talk Crow?"
"Yes."
"Can you make the hand talk?"
Ermine gave the sign for "Yes."
"Have you ever been to school?"
"No, sir."
"Who taught you to speak English?"
"My old comrade, Crooked-Bear," said Ermine.
"Crooked-Bear--Crooked-Bear," mused the general. "Oh, I give it up," ashe turned away. "You are not one of the Pike County breed, itseems--Crooked-Bear--Crooked-Bear. Take them to the scout camp,Ferguson." And the general retired to his tent, somewhat perplexed bythe young man's make-up.
The trio went on toward the scout camp, and as they passed a man on foothe inquired of Ferguson, "Where did you get that pair of aces?"
"The Sioux dealt them to me this morning; will they fill your hand?"
"Yes, sir--think they will." Then to John Ermine, "Do you savvy thiscountry, pardner?"
"Yes, sir; I have always lived in this country," spoke he, with a waveof his arm around the horizon which had the true Indian swing to it, anaccomplishment only acquired by white men after long years ofassociation with the tribes. All the signs and gestures made by Indiansare distinctive with them and are very suggestive from their constantuse of the sign language. The old chief of scouts recognized thesignificance of the motion on the instant, and knew that one who couldmake it very probably possessed the other qualifications for his corps.
"What is your name?"
"John Ermine, sir," came the answer. The "sir" had been an acquisitionof the last few interviews. He had heard it from the mouth ofCrooked-Bear on infrequent occasions, but his quick perceptions told himthat it was useful in these canvas towns.
"All right. Will you turn these men over to me for duty, LieutenantFerguson?" spoke the chief of scouts, who was a short infantry officerwith a huge yellow mustache.
"I will," replied Ferguson, as he turned his horse. "Go with CaptainLewis there; and good luck to you, Mr. Ermine."
After answering certain questions by the chief of scouts, which wereintended to prove their fitness for the job, the two late fugitives hadthe pleasure of knowing that Uncle Sam would open his wagons to them inreturn for their hair and blood when his representative should order thesacrifice. Wolf-Voice never allowed his mind to dwell on market values,and John Ermine felt that he could do what "ten thousand men" werewilling to do in an emergency.
CAPTAIN LEWIS.]
Having done with these formalities, under the trained guidance ofWolf-Voice the two men speedily found their way to the scouts' mess,where they took a hearty toll of the government. About the cook firesquatted or sprawled the allies of the white troops. There were Crowsand Indians from other tribes--together with half-breeds whose heraldicemblazonment ought to be a pretty squaw. A few white men came about fromtime to time, but they did not abide with the regular crew. New facesappeared as they came in from the hills to "cool coffee."
John Ermine walked aimlessly around camp, all eyes and ears. Nobackwoods boy at a country fair ever had his faculties so over-fed andclogged as he. In turn the soldiers attempted to engage him inconversation as he passed about among them, but the hills had put aseal of silence on his lips; he had not yet found himself amid thebustle.
Remarks which grated harshly came to his ears; the unkindness of themundermined the admiration for the white soldiers which the gentletreatment of the officers had instilled.
"Ain't that yellow handkerchief great?"--"Sure he'd do well with ahand-organ on the Bowery."--"Is he a square shake or a make-up?"--andother loose usage of idle minds.
"Say, Bill, come look at the sorrel Injun," sang one trooper to anotherwho stood leaning on a wagon-wheel whittling a stick, to which that onereplied: "You take my advice and let the sorrel Injun alone; thatbutcher knife on his belly is no ornament."
By noon Ermine's mind had been so sloshed and hail-stoned with new ideasthat his head was tired. They were coming so fast that he could not stowthem, so he found his way back to the scout camp and lay down on a strayrobe. The whole thing had not impressed him quite as he had anticipated;it had a raw quality, and he found he did not sift down into the whitemass; he had a longing for the quiet of Crooked-Bear's cabin--in short,John Ermine was homesick. However, after a few hours' sleep, he becamehungry, which shifted his preoccupation to a less morbid channel.
The scouts talked excitedly of the enemy with whom they had skirmishedout on the hills; they discussed the location of the Sioux camp, andspeculated on the intention of the Gray Fox. Sunlight or firelightnever in the ages played on a wilder group than this; not on the tribesof Asiatics who swarmed in front of Alexander; not in the deserts ofNorthern Africa: nor on the steppes of Asia, at any period, did sun orfire cut and color cruder men than these who were taking the long, longstep between what we know men are and what we think they were.
A soldier stepped briskly into the group, and touching Ermine on theshoulder, said, "The Captain wants to see you; come on." He followed tothe tent designated, and was told to come in and sit down. The officersat opposite, on a camp stool, and after regarding him kindly for amoment, said: "Your name is John Ermine and you are a white man. Wherewere you born?"
"I do not know, Captain, where I was born, but I have lived all my lifewith the Crows."
"Yes; but they did not teach you to speak English."
"No; I have lived some years with my old comrade up in the mountains,and he taught me to speak English and to write it."
"Who was your old comrade, as you call him? He must have been aneducated man," queried the Captain, looking insistently into Ermine'seyes.
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"Captain, I cannot tell, any more than to say that he is an educatedwhite man, who said he is dead, that his fires have burnt out, and heasked me not to speak about him; but you will understand."
Captain Lewis did not understand, nor did he avert his perplexed gazefrom Ermine. He was wondering about the boy's mind; had it becomederanged? Clearly he saw that Ermine had been a captive; but thismystery of mind cultivation by one who was dead--had he struck a newscheme in psychical research? The Captain rolled a cigarette andscratched a match on the leg of his breeches.
"My old companion told me I ought to come here and help fight theSioux."
"Have you ever been to war?"
"Yes; I took a scalp from a Sioux warrior when I was a boy, and I wearthe eagle feather upright," spoke Ermine in his usual low and measuredvoice.
"Ho, ho! that is good. I see that you carry a Spencer carbine. I havenot seen one lately; we do not use them now."
"It is the best I have, Captain." The Captain took his cigarette fromhis mouth and bawled: "Jones! _Oh_ Jones, Jones!" Almost instantly asoldier stepped into the tent, touching his forehead in salute. "Go downand draw a carbine, fifty rounds, a saddle, blanket, and bridle." Jonesdisappeared. "Oh, Jones, Jones, and a shirt and hat." Then turning toErmine, "Do you ever wear shoes?"
"Only this kind I have on, sir."
"Do you want some shoes?"
"No; I think I am better off with these. I have tried on the heavyleather shoes, but they feel as though my feet were caught in a trap."
"Ha, ha! a trap, hey--a good deal so; well, any time you want anythingcome to me. And now, my boy, may I give you a little advice?"
"You may, sir; I shall be glad of it. I know I have much to learn,"assented John Ermine.
"Well, then, you are an odd-looking person even in this camp, and thatis saying much, I can assure you. I will have a hat here in a momentwhich will displace that high-art headgear of yours, and may I ask ifyou will not take your hair out of those braids? It will be morebecoming to you, will not be quite so Injuny, and I think it will notinterfere with your usefulness."
"Yes, sir, I will," quietly said the young man, who forthwith undid theplats with a celerity which comes to the owners of long hair. Havingfinished, he gave his head a toss; the golden tresses, released fromtheir bindings, draped his face, falling down in heavy masses over hisshoulders, and the Captain said slowly, "Well, I will be goodGod-d----d!"
After having soothed his surprise by a repetition of this observationseveral times, the Captain added, "Say, you are a village beauty,Ermine, by Gad--I'd like a photograph of you." And that worthy continuedto feast his eyes on the bewildering sight. It seemed almost as thoughhe had created it.
The orderly entered at this point, loaded down with quartermaster andordnance stuff. His hat had found its way on to the back of his headduring these exertions, and he came up all standing, but the disciplinetold. All he did as he gazed helplessly at Ermine was to whistle like abull elk. Quickly recovering himself, "I have the stuff, sir,--but--butI'm afraid, sir, the hat won't fit."
"All right, all right, Jones; it will do." And Jones took himself outinto the darkness. To a passing comrade he 'unloaded': "Say, Steve, yousavvy that blond Injun what was run in here this morning? Well, he's inthe Captain's tent, and the Captain has got him to take his hair down,undo them braids, you see; and say, Steve, I am a son-of-a-gun if itain't like a bushel of hay; say, it's a honey-cooler. You will fall deadwhen you see it."
Meanwhile Ermine was put in possession of the much-coveted saddle and anew gun, one with a blue barrel without a rust-spot on it anywhere,inside or out. His feelings were only held in leash by a violentrepression. The officer enjoyed the proceedings hugely as the young manslipped into the new shirt and tied the yellow handkerchief round hisneck. The campaign hat was a failure, as Jones had feared. It floatedidly on the fluffy golden tide, and was clearly going to spoil theCaptain's art work; it was nothing short of comical. Frantically theofficer snatched his own hat from his camp-chest, one of the broadrolling sombreros common on the plains in those days, but now seen nomore; this he clapped on Ermine's head, gave it a downward tug togetherwith a pronounced list to the nigh side. Then, standing back from hiswork, he ran his eyes critically for a moment: "Good! now you'll do!"
Ermine's serious face found itself able to relax; the ripples broadenedover it, his eyes closed, and his mouth opened ever so little, onlyescaping looking foolish by the fact that he had a reserve; he did notclose or broaden too much.
"Well, my boy," said the officer, as he began to put up his papers onthe chest, "go down to camp now; the outfit moves to-morrow; you'll doin a free-for-all, by Gad."
Music]
When this greeted the easy ears of our hero, he found the loud bustle,so characteristic of the white soldier, more noisy than ever. Slowly thedancing refrain passed from regiment to regiment. The thing itself isdear to the tired soldier who dreads its meaning. It is always a merrybeginning, it accords with the freshness of the morning; when associatedwith youth it never fails to cheer the weary dragging years of him wholooks behind.
The tents fluttered down; men ran about their work, munching crackersand hot bacon; they bundled and boxed and heaved things into the escortwagons. Teamsters bawled loudly--it is a concomitant with muleassociation; yet they were placid about their work of hooking up; theiryells never interfered with their preoccupied professionalism. The softprairie winds sighing through the dreaming teamster's horse-blanketsfills his subconscious self with cracks, whistles, howls. "Youblaze!"--"Oh, Brown!"--"D---- you, Brigham!"--, ----, ----, and otherphrases which cannot be printed. That mules and teamsters have neverreceived a proper public appreciation of their importance in war is oneof the disheartening injustices of the world. Orderlies and mountedofficers tore about; picturesque men who had been saved from thescrap-heap of departing races ranged aimlessly or smoked placidly; theyhad no packing to do, their baggage was carried in their belts. One ofthese was John Ermine, who stood by his pony, watching Captain Lewis;this busy man with his multitudinous duties had been picked out for aguiding star. Having presently completed all the details, the Captainmounted and rode away, followed by his motley company. The camp beingcleared, the officer turned, and with a wave of his hand which coveredthe horizon in its sweep, yelled, "Go on now; get to the hell out ofhere!"
In quick response the wolfish throng broke apart, loping away over theyellow landscape flaming out toward all points; the trained skirmisherstrusted their instincts and their horses' heels. John Ermine rode slowlyover a hill, and looking backward, saw the long, snakelike columns ofhorse and foot and wagons come crawling. It was the most impressivesight he had ever beheld, but he could not arrange any plan in his ownmind whereby the command was going to fight the Sioux. All the Indiansin his world could not and would not try to stem that advance: as welltry to stop the falling of the snow or the swarms of grasshoppers.Again, there was no necessity, since the command could no more catch theSioux than it could reach the sailing hawks or flapping ravens.
Keeping his sharp eyes circling, Ermine mused along. Yes, he rememberedwhat Crooked-Bear had said: "The white men never go back; they do nothave to hunt buffalo in order to live; they are paid by the year, andone, two, even a lifetime of years make no difference to them. Theywould build log towns and scare away the buffalo. The Indians could notmake a cartridge or gun," and other things which he had heard came intohis mind. It was the awful stolidity of never ending time which appalledErmine as he calculated his strategy--no single desperate endeavor wouldavail; to kill all those men behind him would do the Sioux no goodwhatever. In single battles the white men were accustomed to leave moremen than that, dead, on the field. Still, think as he would, the matterwas not clear to him. A mile away on his right he saw a friendly scoutrise over a bluff; the horse and man made a dot on the dry yellow grass;that was the difference between the solid masses of dust-blown white menbehind him and the Indian people; that sight gave him a proportion. Ifall these white men
were dead, it would make no difference; if thatIndian on the far-off hill was dead, he could never be replaced.
John Ermine felt one thing above all this abstraction: it was adeep-seated respect for the Sioux personally. Except when a fellow-scoutoccasionally showed himself on a distant rise, or he looked behind atthe dust-pall over the soldiers, there was nothing to be seen of theSioux; that was another difference, and one which was in no wisereassuring to Ermine. The dry, deserted landscape was, however, an oldcomrade, and acted as a sedative after the flutter of the camps. Thecamp held dozy, full-bellied security, but these silences made his earsnervous for a rattle of shots and a pat-a, pat-a, pat-a, of rushingponies. That is how the desert speaks.