It was mid-afternoon when Fred Jeffries appeared on a rise some three hundred yards to the front of the patrol. He had been gone for almost two hours on an advanced scouting mission in which he had ranged far ahead of the dragoon column.
He hadn’t gone on a solo reconnaissance simply to be alone for a while. Many times a man alone could discover prey—human or animal—that might evade discovery if warned by the disturbance created by numerous pursuers.
Since the scout was in no hurry as he rode toward them, none of the dragoons were alarmed by his unexpected return to the column. A feeling of disappointment swept through the detachment, however. The sooner they found Running Wolf and his band, the sooner they would return to enjoy what they could of Fort Buffalo’s questionable comforts.
When Jeffries reached Major Matt Devlin, he reined in. “I found the place where Lieutenant Standish and his patrol buried them dead men.”
“Good work, Mr. Jeffries,” Devlin complimented him. “That will save us a lot of time in having to find a spot to begin serious tracking of the hostiles.”
“Five graves, correct?” Standish asked.
“That’s what I counted,” Jeffries said. “Them poor jaspers sure picked a bad place to set up camp. That was the lowest laying country in the area. Ever’where else was higher, so nearly anybody coulda looked down on that place. Even a small herd o’ nervous buffalo coulda snuck up on ’em.”
“Let’s press on over there,” Devlin said. “The trail left by the Kiwotas is old and cold, but we know for sure that Running Wolf and his band passed through there. At least we can pick up which direction they headed, even if the tracks eventually disappear.
“That’ll take some looking around,” Jeffries remarked. “But don’t worry, Major. I’ll be able to figger it out.”
“Then, let’s go,” Devlin said.
The patrol moved forward, reaching the place where they could look down on the scene where the five white men had been killed. The patrol leader signaled a halt as he surveyed the area.
“You’re right, Mr. Jeffries,” Devlin said. “Those men did pick an extremely poor place to set up a bivouac.”
“If it had rained, they’d have been flooded out,” Standish observed.
“They was prob’ly all from back east and plumb inexperienced, that’s all,” Jeffries said. “A feller has to be out here a while to start thinking in terms of finding the most comfortable spots to sleep or to avoid trouble.”
The view from their vantage point offered an immense amount of the prairie country for visual inspection. It was easy to determine that no other human beings—neither friendly whites nor hostile Indians— were nearby. This was the spot that victims should have picked for their camp. It would have been impossible to launch a surprise attack on them.
“This was a good place for Running Wolf and his friends to launch their assault,” Devlin remarked.
“ Those unfortunate men were struck with dozens of arrows each,” Standish recalled. “I imagine the Indians sat up here and leisurely shot downhill at their victims.”
Devlin shook his head. “It’s a shame. You would think the poor devils could have fought back or at least made an attempt to escape.”
“They were probably too drunk,” Standish surmised. “The area was filled with scattered whiskey bottles. I’m pretty sure the Indians didn’t drink it all.”
“Well, that’s two mistakes, then,” Devlin observed. “Besides camping in a bad place, they were also intoxicated.”
Jeffries grinned. “I learned a long time ago that there was always a time and place to drink. For them boys on that day, things was definitely all wrong for enjoying liquor.”
“Let’s get on down there and see if we can pick up any information on which way Running Wolf and his warriors went,” Devlin said.
“I recall that the trail seemed to lead off to the south,” Standish said. “But because I had to return to the site of the wagon massacre to retrieve those children, I didn’t have time to make certain of that.”
“We’ll let Mr. Jeffries determine which way to go,” Devlin said.
“I’m much obliged for your confidence, Major,” Jeffries said.
“You’ve sure earned it,” Devlin said.
“We might be able to figure out if they changed direction later on since there’s been no real bad storms or nothing to wash away tracks,” Jeffries explained.
When they reached the site of the killings, the troopers could easily see the relatively fresh patches of dirt that revealed the locations of the graves where the five white drunks had been buried.
Jeffries dismounted. “I’ll ask y’all to not walk around as of yet. I want to see what kind o’ sign I might find.”
Sergeant Dawson barked at his dragoons, “Sit fast to saddle!”
Jeffries walked all around the area, nearly bent double as he searched for some evidence that would give an indication of which way Running Wolf and his cohorts had gone. The best thing he could find was scuffed dirt and a few stones that had been kicked away as if struck by horses’ hooves. That was enough for the skilled frontiersman. He mounted up and rode out, following the faint trail as best he could. He went a little more than a mile before he turned back and rejoined Devlin and the rest of the dragoons.
“They headed south like the lieutenant figgered, Major Devlin,” Jeffries announced. “But we still ain’t got much to go on, but I’m sure they didn’t turn off to the east or west. It was straight toward Kansas Territory all the way.”
“Are you sure they would go in that direction?” Devlin asked. “That’s Pawnee country down there.”
“I’m positive, Major,” Jeffries assured him.
“That’s good enough for me,” Devlin said. “Then, it’s to the south we’ll travel.”
Young Lieutenant Standish was not so sure. “The Kiwotas and Pawnees have been fighting and looting each other for eons, sir. Such a move would seem dangerous on Running Wolf’s part.”
“That is exactly why he did it,” Devlin stated.
Jeffries agreed. “Running Wolf is still perty young. He’s got to make his reputation as a war chief, so he’s prob’ly hoping he can find a few wandering Pawnees or at least a small camp of that tribe. It’d be quite an honor for him and his pards if’n they showed up back home with Pawnee scalps and trophies.”
Devlin was thoughtful. “The whole idea might turn sour for him, too. What if a large group of Pawnees finds that small Kiwota war party?”
“That’s part o’ the fun for ’em, Major,” Jeffries said. “If there wasn’t no danger involved, Running Wolf wouldn’t do it ’cause he couldn’t win no honors.”
“Then, let’s proceed to the south, Mr. Jeffries,” Devlin said.
“Here we go,” Jeffries said, once again heading out to scout ahead.
“Columns of twos!” Devlin commanded his men. “For’d, at a trot, yo!”
Once again the dragoon patrol moved across the prairie to close the distance between themselves and their clever, dangerous quarry. Sergeant Dawson sent out flankers as usual, but this time he also picked a couple of the veteran soldiers to act as rear guard. Those men would occasionally leave the detachment to make sure no one was closing in from the opposite direction.
They pressed on across the vastness of the open range country, crossing over the invisible boundary that divided the Dakota Territory from Kansas Territory. The sun, though far from the intensity it would reach in mid-summer, was warm enough to affect both men and animals. However, since there was plenty of water in the area in the form of creeks and ponds, no one experienced any discomfort from thirst.
Devlin glanced to the southeast. “Fort Leavenworth is about seventy-five miles in that direction.”
“Yes, sir,” Standish said. “I wouldn’t mind being stationed there. As far as I’m concerned it’s the perfect post. The place is too far west to have any idiotic pomp and ceremony, yet close enough to the east to be able to boast of quite a few comforts and conveniences.”
“Not at all like our poor old Fort Buffalo, hey?” Devlin remarked with a grin. “But wouldn’t you like all the luxuries of an eastern garrison sometime in your career?”
“I would never be able fit in normal garrison society, sir,” Standish said. “I’ve been out on the frontier since leaving West Point three years ago.”
“That’s true of most of us, Lieutenant,” Devlin said. “My poor family hasn’t been in comfortable quarters even once during all my years of service. I don’t think the army wants any of us brought back to civilization either. We would be like embarrassing country cousins.”
“You want to know something, sir?” Standish asked. “I take a great deal of pride in that.”
“Me, too, Lieutenant Standish,” Devlin said.
Standish suddenly pointed ahead. “Look, sir! Here comes Mr. Jeffries, and he’s riding hell-for-leather and waving his arms.”
Devlin wasted no time. “Detachment! Form as skirmishers left and right, at a trot, yo!”
The two lines of the patrol split up, half going to the right of the officers and half to the left to form one rank facing outward. As Sergeant Dawson joined Devlin and Standish, the patrol’s three corporals saw to it that their men were correctly aligned.
Jeffries came on, riding hard, closing the distance between himself and the dragoons as fast as he could.
“Detachment, halt!” Devlin commanded.
The patrol, now with carbines drawn and ready, reined in as one man. Sergeant Dawson took a quick moment to make sure everything was proper, then turned his attention back to the approaching scout.
Jeffries’ horse almost stumbled from the violent way its rider brought the wild gallop to a halt. The scout, breathing hard, spoke directly to Devlin, saying, “Pawnee—war party—close by.”
“How many?” Devlin asked.
“Wait—” Jeffries took a deep breath. “Wait—”
“I shall wait if it pleases you, Mr. Jeffries,” Devlin said. Aside from respecting Jeffries’ ability as a scout and tracker, he also had such faith in the man’s ability to accurately judge situations that he followed, without question, whatever advice the scout gave. “But I would appreciate it if you could recover yourself as quickly as possible.”
Jeffries took a drink from his canteen, then another breath. “Now I can talk,” he said. “There’s a Pawnee war party a coupla miles to the south. They got about forty, maybe fifty warriors. But they ain’t gonna give us no trouble. They’re looking for Kiwotas.”
“I see,” Devlin said. “Evidently our old friend Running Wolf and his friends managed to do some mischief against their old enemies, hey?”
“That’s right, Major Devlin,” Jeffries said. “They stole some women and horses and killed three Pawnee men. That’s how come that war party is looking for them. I know the leader from when I was a boy traveling through here with my boss. The feller’s name is Sees-the-River, and he’s hopping mad.”
“Did you tell this Sees-the-River about this patrol?” Devlin asked.
“Just a little,” Jeffries said. “Since he ain’t upset at us, he wants to have a powwow. He thought it was a good thing that we both was after the same Kiwota war party.”
“Do you think I should speak with him?” Devlin asked.
“It’d be a good idea, sir,” Jeffries said. “But I figger it’s best if’n just you and me went. Some o’ them Pawnee might get upset if they see these dragoons. There’s some old scores they might want to settle, y’know what I mean, Major?”
“Indeed I do,” Devlin said. He turned to his second in command. “Take over until my return, Lieutenant Standish.”
“Yes, sir!” the lieutenant replied.
“Lead on, Mr. Jeffries,” Devlin told the scout.
Jeffries turned his horse and took off at a canter with the army officer close behind him. They went easily across the rolling country for a couple of miles before spotting the Pawnees. Jeffries didn’t hesitate a bit as he led Devlin to the meeting with the war chief called Sees-the-River.
Devlin experienced a stab of nervousness as he noted that all the warriors were mounted, painted, and obviously spoiling for a fight. But Jeffries’ calm demeanor eased most of the anxiety he felt.
One of the Pawnees rode forward. He was a large, muscular man with only a strip of hair left on his shaven head. Painted in a black, white, and blue pattern, his bronze-colored face had a savage, yet aristocratic look about it.
“Hello to you again, Fred Jeffries,” the Indian said in English.
Jeffries replied in the Pawnee language, then added, “This is Soldier Chief Devlin. The Kiwotas fear his war making and call him Looks Ahead.”
“Hello to you, Looks Ahead,” the Pawnee said. “I am called Sees-the-River.”
“Hello to you,” Devlin said. “My friend Jeffries tells me you search for a Kiwota war party.”
“Yes!” Sees-the-River exclaimed. “The son of bitches bastards killed three men of my tribe and took away women and horses. We find the women yesterday all dead and used. The horses are with the Kiwotas.”
“Do you know which direction they went?” Devlin asked.
Sees-the-River pointed to the northwest. “That way to visit their Sioux friends, I think. They are other son of a bitches bastards that we hate. It will be hard for us to go there and kill them. The Sioux will kill us. Can you go there? If you go there and see the Kiwotas, kill them. Do this, and I will call you my brother, Looks Ahead!”
“I would be happy to be your brother, and if that is the direction they went, I most certainly shall fight with them to kill or capture all the war party,” Devlin said. “I, too, am angry at them. They killed some white men and white women. I want to catch them and punish them.”
Sees-the-River looked past the major and scout. “Where are your soldiers, Looks Ahead?”
“They are waiting for me back a ways,” Devlin answered. “All are ready for a good fight.”
“Do you have many?” Sees-the-River asked in unabashed curiosity.
Devlin smiled. “I have plenty.” He didn’t want to tempt the Pawnees into testing his detachment’s strength. “Together, we can make the Kiwotas run for their lives.”
“I like that idea, Looks Ahead,” Sees-the-River said.
Jeffries spoke directly to Devlin. “That gives me an idea, Major. If them Pawnee head to the northwest as far as they go, they might turn the Kiwotas back eastward before they can find the Sioux.”
“I understand,” Devlin said. “And if we go straight north, we might intercept them.”
“That’s the plan, but we might not either,” Jeffries said. “There’s always a chance they’ll slip through or meet up with the Sioux and settle in for the rest o’ the summer.”
“It’s worth a chance, though,” Devlin said. “As a matter of fact, it’s the best we can do right now.”
Jeffries looked back at Sees-the-River and spoke to him in the Pawnee tongue. Then he finished in English, saying, “What do you think of that idea?”
“I think it is good,” Sees-the-River said. He immediately swung his horse around and rode back to where the rest of the Pawnee warriors waited a short distance away. After only a few short moments, shouts arose from the group, and they all galloped off toward the northwest.
“It doesn’t take them long to go into action, does it?” Devlin remarked with a grin.
“They’re boiling mad, Major,” Jeffries said.
The pair wheeled their own horses around and galloped back to the detachment. They found the dragoons still drawn up for battle. Devlin wasted no time in reforming them back into a double column, then moving northward.
“Let’s slant a little to the east, Major,” Jeffries advised. “That’ll give the Pawnees some running room to stampede Running Wolf and his band in the direction we want ’em to go.”
“Lead on, Mr. Jeffries!” Devlin said.
As they cantered across the prairie, Devlin informed both Lieutenant Standish and Sergeant Dawson of the plan to allow the Pawnees to flush the Kiwotas before they had time to join up with any of their Sioux friends.
Jeffries stayed close enough to keep in sight, yet far enough ahead of the patrol to be able to give ample warning if the situation turned nasty. They continued to travel, the anticipation of a potential fight keeping everyone keyed up and alert.
“Sir!” Standish shouted. “Jeffries has just signaled.”
Devlin glanced up to see the scout making a rapid return. Jeffries came to a dust-billowing halt. “It’s the Kiwotas, Major!” he shouted. “Just over the rise. The Pawnees have got ’em heading south.”
“Form as skirmishers left and right, at a trot, yo!” Devlin commanded.
The patrol quickly and efficiently performed the maneuver, aligning themselves for the coming fight as they continued forward in the battle formation.
“Draw pistols!” the major ordered.
With revolvers held in their right hands, the dragoons moved toward the rise. When they topped the high ground, they could see the Kiwota war party a couple hundred yards ahead.
Wishing he had a bugler, Devlin took a deep breath and bellowed, “Charge!”