Fort Hays was eighty miles west from Fort Harker, and Fort Harker was ninety miles west from Fort Riley; so that now Fort Riley was one hundred and seventy miles distant. Not much of a fort was Hays either, composed, like Harker, of quarters and stables built of logs roughly faced. It was located on the south side of the crooked Big Creek, which between high clay banks flowed down to the Smoky Hill Fork River, fifteen miles south. On the north side of the creek, and up stream a little way, was the new town of Hays City, waiting for the railroad. Fort Hays was glad to see the column ride down, and pitch its tents nearby. Back from its first campaign was the Seventh Cavalry, and although it had not fired a shot, save the one by the picket, it had many tales to tell to the Fort Hays garrison.
Speedily up sprang like mushrooms the lines of dingy white army canvas. There was a great letter writing spell. Couriers were about to dash away with dispatches for General Hancock, and (what was of more importance) with word to Fort Riley. The general, as usual, had a regular journal to send.[115] General Gibbs also hastened off; for in the accumulation of mail awaiting at Fort Hays were letters from Mrs. Custer and Mrs. Gibbs and other women left behind, stating that the negro infantry there had mutinied and were behaving badly. However, General Gibbs was the man to discipline them, and he really ought not to attempt field service, anyway.
Shortly after the Seventh had reared its tents, Scout Bill Cody came riding in, and dismounted at headquarters. The orderly ushered him into the tent, to see the general. When the general and Bill emerged together, the general beckoned to Ned.
“Mr. Cody has brought word, we think, of your sister. Cut Nose the Cheyenne chief is reported to be west of here, with a little white girl he has adopted. He took her with him into Monument Station, and calls her Silver Hair, the station men say.”
“Did they keep her, sir?” asked Ned, eagerly. Oh, what if——!
General Custer smiled only sadly, and shook his head.
“No, my boy. The station men could not do that.”
“Was your sister a small gal, not more than a child; right pretty, with flax hair?” demanded Scout Bill Cody, searching Ned out of wide steady eyes as piercing as Wild Bill’s themselves.
“Yes!” said Ned. “Her name is Mary. She’s eight years old.”
[116]
“Well,” remarked Scout Cody, preparing to mount his horse, “her name is Silver Hair now. Cut Nose has her. At least, he did have her. But she was being well treated, they say. He’d made a sort o’ pet of her, the old rascal. The station men tried to buy her from him; but he said no. I’ll keep on the lookout for her. Maybe we can get her.” And dignified of face, jaunty of poise, off rode Pony Bill Cody, on errand bound. Thereafter Ned saw him frequently. He seemed to rank with Wild Bill Hickok as an important figure at Fort Hays and Hays City.
“Then she’s gone again, is she?” faltered Ned, to the general. “Cut Nose still has her, has he, sir?”
“Very likely. Yes, he took her, my lad,” answered General Custer, gently. “But here,” he added, in abrupt fashion. “She’s being well treated, didn’t Cody say? She was dressed like an Indian princess. What do you think of that? That’s something for which to be thankful. Think of other captive girls and women—how they’ve suffered. And we’ll get her, if it requires all the Seventh Cavalry and the United States treasury. Brace up, boy.”
For Ned was crying.
In due time dispatches arrived from General Hancock, who was still on the Arkansas, trying to bring the principal chiefs in to council. When, at dress parade, Lieutenant Moylan as adjutant read to the assembled troops the announcements or orders of the day, “by direction of the commanding general” he[117] included among them this special field order, issued from camp near the Arkansas:
II. As a punishment for the bad faith practised by the Cheyennes and Sioux who occupied the Indian village at this place, and as a chastisement for murders and depredations committed since the arrival of the command at this point, by the people of these tribes, the village recently occupied by them, which is now in our hands, will be utterly destroyed.
At that, delivered in Adjutant Moylan’s loud voice, from the troops arose a cheer.
“Well, ’tis war now, if ’twasn’t before,” declared Sergeant Henderson, that evening, within hearing of Ned.
“Why so, Pete?” asked one of the other soldiers.
“’Cordin’ to Wild Bill, that village had $150,000 worth of stuff in it; an’ d’ye suppose the Injuns’ll stand for the destruction of it all? Now they’ll claim we started the war, an’ we claim they started it, an’ what the end’ll be, nobody can say.”
“In my opinion,” said Sergeant Kennedy, “General Hancock ought never to have let that village-full get away from him. They played with him, and held him off, and then they gave him the slip.”
“You’re right,” agreed Henderson. “An’ now we’re up agin it, with the Injuns loose in three hundred miles square o’ territory, an’ we chasin’ ’em. An’ won’t there be a great howl, from the agents an’ the traders an’ the contractors, because the war is spoilin’ their business.”
[118]
“Those traders and contractors are responsible for much of this trouble, just the same,” asserted the lawyer “rooky” (who now was a veteran). “They do not deliver the agency goods in quality and quantity up to grade.”
“That’s true,” nodded Odell. “Yez ought to see some o’ the stuff that gets through to the Injuns. Shoddy cotton for wool; shirts ye can stick your finger through, an’ suits o’ clothes that won’t hang together while the Injun puts ’em on an’ that the Government pays the contractor thirteen dollars for!”
“Yes,” said Sergeant Henderson. “An’ the first thing the Injun does with the pants is to cut out the seat. What do they want o’ suits o’ clothes, anyway—one suit a year! An’ the government thinks to trade ’em this way for their lands an’ game an’ all that, an’ lets ’em get cheated into the bargain.”
“Huh!” grunted another member of the circle. “They don’t fare any worse’n us fellows. Did you notice that bread served out to us to-night? Talk about hard-tack! Cook says the boxes show it was baked in ’61—six years ago! Even a mule won’t eat it.”
“Sure,” answered Odell. “And didn’t wan o’ the boxes o’ salt beef opened at the commissary contain a big stone, to make it weigh more!”
General Hancock passed through back from the south. Then followed another event. This was the[119] arrival of the great General Sherman, who was commander of the whole Military Division of the Missouri, whereas General Hancock was commander only of the Department of the Missouri, in it. Of course everybody knew of General William Tecumseh Sherman, the man who had “marched to the sea.” And with General Sherman came, in the same ambulance from Fort Harker, the end of the railroad, Mrs. Custer and Miss Diana!
General Sherman proved to be just like his picture, which Ned had seen several times: a tall spare man, slightly stooped, with high forehead, and long severe face, crisp full beard of russet color, and blue eyes. “Brass mounted,” some of the soldiers called him; and the veterans referred to him affectionately as “Old Bill.” When he smiled he was very pleasant.
The post and the camp turned out in a review to do him honor. However, the best sight, to Ned, was the way in which, when the ambulance stopped at the tent and Eliza’s black face peered out all agrin, with a whoop the general rushed up and swung the happy Mrs. Custer to him. How they chattered!
The general busied himself making Mrs. Custer and the rest of the household comfortable in special new tents, on Big Creek, nearer the fort. For the Seventh Cavalry was ordered out again. Two companies were left at Hays; the six others, 350 men and twenty wagons, marched forth, into the north.
[120]
Wild Bill remained behind to carry forward dispatches when some were ready. Young Bill Cody was held to serve as scout for other cavalry. But when the Seventh started Ned witnessed riding ahead as guide, another young man, of fair complexion and handsome features and easy seat. His name was Comstock—Will Comstock. Ah, yes; and a splendid young scout he was, too, equal to the best; could speak Sioux and Cheyenne and some Arapaho, and talk the sign language, and knew every trail and water course. See that revolver he wears? Pearl-handled and silver-mounted! One of the finest revolvers on the plains. He thinks a heap of it, too, does Will Comstock.
Thus by ears and by eyes did Ned learn the character of the new guide.
The march was to be from Fort Hays and the valley of the Smoky Hill in central Kansas north across the broad plains country 250 miles to Fort McPherson on the Platte River in southwestern Nebraska. But although through the center of this country flowed down the Republican River, on whose upper waters 1000 hostile Sioux and Cheyennes were rumored to be lurking, without a fight the Seventh Cavalry arrived at Fort McPherson, named for General John McPherson, once commander of the Army of Tennessee.
Fort McPherson, in the Department of the Platte, was only a handful of cedar-log cabins, helping to guard the Overland Trail and the new union Pacific[121] Railroad, as in the south Fort Harker, Hays, and all guarded the Smoky Hill trail and the new Kansas Pacific Railroad. It was garrisoned by two troops of the Second Cavalr............