Seventeenth Infantry had also arrived on a supply steamer. But they were both small companies—no more than thirty-five men each, which made for long days of weary tedium in their escort duties, what with at least three trips to the Tongue River and back each month. As well as keeping an eye out for the Indians rumor hinted were headed for the Yellowstone.
But since August, Smith and the rest hadn’t seen so muchas a feather, not so much as a warrior along the skyline. Except for the cold and their boring rations, and that grueling work offloading the steamers and loading the wagons … it was pretty tame duty. Then a few days back they had received intelligence from their scouts that some six hundred lodges of hostiles were south of the Yellowstone and moving north. With any luck the Sioux would be more interested in hunting buffalo than in making a nuisance of themselves.
They had pulled those ninety-four freight wagons and an ambulance away from the Glendive Cantonment just past ten-thirty A.M . yesterday. It hadn’t been long before Smith had noticed the first of the columns of white smoke far in their front beyond the hills. Instantly he recalled how Captain Miner had told his small cadre of officers about his uneasiness, at their breakfast fire when others complained that things had been too quiet.
“Those Sioux might even intend to intercept us.”
By the time Smith had reined about and rode back that two hundred yards to the front of the column with his sergeant, most of the soldiers and civilians had already sighted the shafts of signal smoke. Refusing to halt for no reason, Miner kept them moving for the time being as the men grumbled among themselves and the wagons creaked with the cold trace chains jangling in sharp bursts of metallic chatter in the dry air.
Beneath a brilliant autumn sun things remained quiet throughout the afternoon, despite those ominous signal fires ahead of their line of march. Near five o’clock yesterday the column went into camp at Spring Creek, * at a place the soldiers and teamsters had come to call Fourteen-mile Camp. By firelight Captain Miner wrote in his official journal for the day:
The camp is in the bed of a creek, and commanded by hills at short range on all sides but the south, where it is open toward the Yellowstone River. There is a good deal of brush, and some timber along the banks of the creek. The corrals were made as compactly as possible for the night, and secured with ropes; the companies were camped close to them, two on each side; thirty-six men and four noncommissioned officers were detailed for guard; two reserves wereformed and placed on the flanks not protected by the companies.
“With all that smoke, them savages surely must be telling someone about us coming,” First Lieutenant Benjamin C. Lockwood had said as night had come down on the 160 men of Miner’s command.
“Then that means they’re not strong enough to chance hitting us,” First Lieutenant William Conway replied confidently.
“Those fires just means they’re calling for more warriors,” Second Lieutenant William H. Kell advised. “We best cover some ground tomorrow.”
Just past eleven o’clock last night the entire camp was put on alert by a single rifle shot. Smith joined other officers rushing into the dark toward the ring of pickets Miner had thrown out around the wagon camp and the grazing mules.
“I’s the one fired that shot, sir!” a soldier admitted from the inky blackness of that night.
“What for, soldier?” Miner prodded as the man stepped closer.
“Saw a figure—took it to be a Injun, sir. Give him the challenge word, and he skedaddled off like I’d painted his ass with turpentine. I give a shot to either drop ’im, or speed ’im on his way.
Miner rotated the pickets an hour later at midnight and the men had settled back in their bedrolls.
Near three-thirty a brief rattle of gunfire brought Smith and the rest out of their blankets. Shot after shot
But since August, Smith and the rest hadn’t seen so muchas a feather, not so much as a warrior along the skyline. Except for the cold and their boring rations, and that grueling work offloading the steamers and loading the wagons … it was pretty tame duty. Then a few days back they had received intelligence from their scouts that some six hundred lodges of hostiles were south of the Yellowstone and moving north. With any luck the Sioux would be more interested in hunting buffalo than in making a nuisance of themselves.
They had pulled those ninety-four freight wagons and an ambulance away from the Glendive Cantonment just past ten-thirty A.M . yesterday. It hadn’t been long before Smith had noticed the first of the columns of white smoke far in their front beyond the hills. Instantly he recalled how Captain Miner had told his small cadre of officers about his uneasiness, at their breakfast fire when others complained that things had been too quiet.
“Those Sioux might even intend to intercept us.”
By the time Smith had reined about and rode back that two hundred yards to the front of the column with his sergeant, most of the soldiers and civilians had already sighted the shafts of signal smoke. Refusing to halt for no reason, Miner kept them moving for the time being as the men grumbled among themselves and the wagons creaked with the cold trace chains jangling in sharp bursts of metallic chatter in the dry air.
Beneath a brilliant autumn sun things remained quiet throughout the afternoon, despite those ominous signal fires ahead of their line of march. Near five o’clock yesterday the column went into camp at Spring Creek, * at a place the soldiers and teamsters had come to call Fourteen-mile Camp. By firelight Captain Miner wrote in his official journal for the day:
The camp is in the bed of a creek, and commanded by hills at short range on all sides but the south, where it is open toward the Yellowstone River. There is a good deal of brush, and some timber along the banks of the creek. The corrals were made as compactly as possible for the night, and secured with ropes; the companies were camped close to them, two on each side; thirty-six men and four noncommissioned officers were detailed for guard; two reserves wereformed and placed on the flanks not protected by the companies.
“With all that smoke, them savages surely must be telling someone about us coming,” First Lieutenant Benjamin C. Lockwood had said as night had come down on the 160 men of Miner’s command.
“Then that means they’re not strong enough to chance hitting us,” First Lieutenant William Conway replied confidently.
“Those fires just means they’re calling for more warriors,” Second Lieutenant William H. Kell advised. “We best cover some ground tomorrow.”
Just past eleven o’clock last night the entire camp was put on alert by a single rifle shot. Smith joined other officers rushing into the dark toward the ring of pickets Miner had thrown out around the wagon camp and the grazing mules.
“I’s the one fired that shot, sir!” a soldier admitted from the inky blackness of that night.
“What for, soldier?” Miner prodded as the man stepped closer.
“Saw a figure—took it to be a Injun, sir. Give him the challenge word, and he skedaddled off like I’d painted his ass with turpentine. I give a shot to either drop ’im, or speed ’im on his way.
Miner rotated the pickets an hour later at midnight and the men had settled back in their bedrolls.
Near three-thirty a brief rattle of gunfire brought Smith and the rest out of their blankets. Shot after shot
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