John Ermine of the Yellowstone by Frederic Remington

Author:Frederic Remington [Remington, Frederic]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781411438309
Publisher: Barnes & Noble

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE TRUTH OF THE EYES

THE SOLDIERS WHO HAD BEEN IN THE WAGON-TRAIN fight carried John Ermine’s fame into cantonments, and Major Searles never grew tired of the pæan:

I do not go to war for fifty dollars,

You can bet your boots that isn’t not me lay.

When I fight, it’s only glory which I collars,

Also to get me little beans and hay.

But his more ardent admirers frowned on this doggerel, and reminded the songsters that no one of them would have made that courier’s ride for a thousand acres of Monongahela rye in bottles. As for Wolf-Voice, they appreciated his attitude. “Business is business, and it takes money to buy marbles,” said one to another.

But on the completion of the rude huts at the mouth of the Tongue, and when the last wagon train had come through, there was an ominous preparation for more serious things. It was in the air. Every white soldier went loping about, doing everything from greasing a wagon to making his will.

“Ah, sacre, John,” quoth Wolf-Voice, “am much disturb; dese Masta-Shella waas say dis big chief—what you call de Miles? She medicin fighter; she very bad mans; she keep de soldiers’ toes sore all de taime. She no give de dam de cole-moon, de yellow-grass moon; she hump de Sioux. Why for we mak to trouble our head? We have dose box, dose bag, dose barrel to heat, en de commissaire—wael ’nough grub las’ our lifetaime; but de soldier say sure be a fight soon; dat Miles she begin for paw de groun’—it be sure sign. Wael, we mak’ a skin dat las fight, hey, John?”

Ermine in his turn conceived a new respect for the white soldiers. If their heels were heavy, so were their arms when it came to the final hug. While it was not apparent to him just how they were going to whip the Sioux and Cheyenne, it was very evident that the Indians could not whip the soldiers; and this was demonstrated directly when Colonel Miles, with his hardy infantry, charged over Sitting Bull’s camp, and while outnumbered three to his one, scattered and drove the proud tribesmen and looted their tepees. Not satisfied with this, the grim soldier crawled over the snow all winter with his buffalo-coated men, defying the blizzards, kicking the sleeping warriors out of their blankets, killing and chasing them into the cold starvation of the hills. So persistent and relentless were the soldiers that they fought through the captured camps when the cold was so great that the men had to stop in the midst of battle to light fires, to warm their fingers, which were no longer able to work the breech-locks. Young soldiers cried in the ranks as they perished in the frigid atmosphere; but notwithstanding, they never stopped. The enemy could find no deep defile in the lonely mountains where they were safe; and entrench where they would among the rocks, the steady line charged over them, pouring bullets and shell. Ermine followed their fortunes and came to understand the dying of “the ten thousand men.

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