"The Iron Horse"

Manawatu Times, Volume XLIX, Issue 3281, 26 February 1926, Page 10

" The Iron Horse"

By Edwin 0- Hill.

CHAPTER XXTV THE RED ALLIES OF DEROUX Aa the red yearo of 1867 declined and the road thrust Into the heart of the buffalo range, the two greatest and most powerful Indian nations of the northern plains, the Cheyennes and the lordly Sioux, -rose in a last effort to halt the march of empne. Red Cloud, war chief of the Sioux, sent his ultimatum: “We do not want you hero. You are scaring away the buffalo.” Porcupine, head chief of the Cheyennes, sent a similar message, more threatening, more insolent The only answer was the shriek of the iron horse. Then the storm broke. All along the great trails white men fought for their lives against wave after wave of Indian attack. Along the Platte River the military rode or marched from Forts Kearney, McPherson, and Sedgwick, and struck heavy blows westward of Fort Russell and Cheyenne, Fort Sanders at Laramie and Fort Douglas at Salt Lake City. Upon the plains the friendly Pawness roved under their white chief, Major Frank J. North, fighting with reckless bravery against their hereditary foes, the Sioux and Cheyennes. The advance of the Union Pacific was an armed march. The surveyors were the scouts. Behind came the sappers, the grade makers, shovelling and levelling and sleeping by night in their “prairie monitors,” hovels dug from the earth and roofed with its sod. Then came the forts on wheels, work trains and freight trains, the box cars double-walled and lined with sand bags for extra protection. The men were well supplied with rifles and muskets. Wherever the gangs tolled their Sprlngflelds. Spencers, Remingtons or Winchesters were stacked near by. Engineer and firemen kept their guns in easy reach. Trainmen worked with revolvers swinging at their belts. Upon the surveyors fell the first fury of the Indian assault. Then the emboldened war parties struck eastward. Gangs of graders were attacked almost daily, butchered and driven back to the main body. Track-layers, tie-men ftnd station hands slept under guard, going to work every day with pick or shovel in one hand and rifle in the other. The army helped so far as was possible, but there were now nearly five hundred miles to guard, nearly a thousand miles of reconnaissance. • The picket line inside which the road was building with unfaltering progress stretched thin. Genral Crook kept calling for more troops. , , ~ “It’s hard to surround three Indiana with one soldier,” he wired. But the road never halted. The fighting Irish, who were the backbone of the great advance, showed the stuff they were made of, and the order that went, out to all workers, "never to run when attacked. ' suited them down to the ground. End of track was the favourite . attacking point of the war parties. Frequently with cunning which defied the best scouting, they struck without warning, sweeping around the cluster of defenders in a swift-revolving ring, showering arrows and bullets. In August end of track steadily climbing was at Lodge Pole, reaching into the hills, leading for Davy’s pass. Work was pressed furiously, and the gangs were driven hard. Back in Julesburg five hundred men had refused to work, sullen over a shortage ,of beef and unmoved by Casement’s promise that a great herd was on its way. likely to arrive any day Short-handed, the gang bosses pressed the loyal men harder than ever and the rails went forward with barely diminished effort .sledges hammering an unceasing refrain of conquest. Brandon was in the thick of it. Casement had made him a tie boss, with fifty men under him. He ran his crew in sight of his friends Case! and SlattOry and frequently had opportunity to pass the word with these devoted admirers. Pat never tired of telling the story of the fight at Haller’s and Davy had become something of a celebrity among the men at end of track. But the young man was very unhappy. Miriam had refused to see him when he went to the car the day following the fight to explain how circumstances had forced him to break his word. He was grateful fot Marsh’s sympathy. Marsh had said that he himself could do little with his daughter, that she was sorely hurt and disappointed.

“Miriam thinks you promised her lightly, meaning all the time to fight Jesson. Davy, she thinks you deliberately put her off with a lie. Her name has been dragged into the trouble by these loose-tongued talkers. and she feels bitterly humiliated. Better stay away from her for a while. She’ll feel differently later on.” “Oh, I shall stay away,” said Davy with a short laugh. “I guess I have done enough to ruin me with Miriam.”

His heart was sore. He wanted to tell Miriam, would have told her, that he had determined to Keep away from Jesson even if it meant leaving Julesburg and abandoning his hope of working for the railroad: that he had been decoyed to Haller’s by a lying message, and that he had been forced to fight for the honour of his mahhood. He recalled her face as she stood in the tent after the fight, sadly looking at him. He groaned when he thought of the picture he must have presented—blood streaming from the

A Romance of East and West

cut over his eye, shirt half torn from his back, face grimy where the blood hadn’t discoloured It.

“It was enough to shock any girl," he thought “I must have looked like a crazy man to her. But damn it all!”

He walked forward to the spikers to see how the rails were going ahead, to get a notion of how many ties would be needed for the rest of the day. Casey hailed him with delight “ ’Tis the bye,” he called to Schultz. “Sure an’ it is the conquerin' hero ’Tis the Irish in him that carries him to victory, me Tootonic friend. Ye have my backin’ Davy, fer champeon of the U.S. and parts west. Never was a grander left hook displayed be mortal man. There’s none can come near ye, Davy, though I misdoubt ye might come to grief in Donegal, though a dinnaw.” “Oh, dry up, Pat,” said Davy. “My fighting has brought me nothing but trouble. I wish 1 had never gone to that place.” "Don’t say it, bye. Ye performed a, poobllc service when ye bate up that snake in the grass, that Jissrfn. What’s troublin’ ye?” “Enough,” said Davy, shortly. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Ye don’t have to,” said Casey. “It’s the gurrl. But I have a word fer yer ear, Davy. She’ll come around in time. Th’ bist av tbim are like that. Sure and they’re gunpowder and sunshine all mixed. The first Mrs. Casey raysimbled he.;, though with more of the gunpowder, I do raymimber.”

He stopped, springing from Davy’s side. Old Schultz was swaying to the ground, his knees giving way under him. . An arrow stuck out .from the back of his left shoulder. As they knelt over him a second arrow passed over them with a soft hiss. Casey raised a wild yell, electrifying the track workers. His cry was followed by a perfect pandemonium of whooping, the savage cry of the Cheyennes. The railroad men sprang into action, shovels and tamping irons flung to one side as they caught up their rifles. Stringing out along the track In skirmish line, they fired steadily, lying prone or stooping upon one knee, taking full advantage of whatever cover they could find.

Off to the left the Cheyennes were swarming, their ponies breasting through the long grass. Young men eager for distinction, had wormed close to the track, silent as snakes to open the attack with arrows, hop ing for a few scalps at the outset But they were dealing with mei trained in warfare, natural fighters, cool headed, deliberate. Declining a; direct charge after the first bust of arrows and bullets, the red raiders swerved -to form a great ring of running ponies. They kept barely within range as they rode, bending far down against the protecting flanks of the ponies, ripping the air with yells of hatred and defiance.

Davy and Casey, half running, carried Schultz between them to the shelter of a box car, dim bln A under it and dropping behind the protection of hastily piled cross-ties. The old man had fainted, and while he was unconscious they removed the arrow. The wound was bad but not fatal. Davy thought Schultz had bled a little from the mouth. A lung had been grazed, likely. They gave him water when he came to, and he smiled up at them in his slow, cheerful way

“Dose fellows dey haf not got he old Schultzy yedt,” he said. "Idt iss noddings, dis bin prick.” “Pat,” said Davy, intently studying the circling Cheyennes, “there must be five hundred in that ring. We could stand ’em off, but there’s very little water left at this time of day. A lot of the boys are sure to get hit, and they'll suffer like hell. Can you run an engine?” “I kin do anything!” said Mr Casey.

“Well, you’ve got a job,” said Davy. “It’s up to us. They put the engine crew out of business when they jumped us. Flynn is dead or badly hurt, and they’ve made a pin-cushion out of that poor fireman." "Lave us be goin," said Pat

Turning Schultz over to Digny and two or three others that had sought refuge under the box car, Davy and Pat made a dash for the locomotive, running like the wind with arrows slipping past them with soft, sibilant hisses to embed and quiver in the sides of the cars. Pat went down once, cursing wildly, but Davy dragged him to his feet and they plunged on, reaching the cab, and dragging themselves up and into it. Davy leaped to the fire-box as Pat tried the steam. He worked desperately, throwing in length after length of the dry wood, and in a minute the steam gauge was climbing. “Let her have it, Pat!”

“Glory be, we’re on our way," yelled the voluntary engineer. They backed from the beleagured train, picking up speed rapidly as the firebox reddened and steam fed into the cylinders. Wrong end to, wood tender in front, they backed down the track out of the fight. Casey juggling his steam power like an old hand at the game, Davy cramming the' firebox full and hauling fresh wood from the back part of the tender, ready to feed it into the ravenous maw of the furnace.

“Where did you learn that trick, Pat?"

“I’m a man of parts, blister Brandon. I’ll have ye know, ’ said Casey. ‘The’ list of my accomplishments would astound yo, if 1 were not too modest to recount thim. I learned it in the war, Davy, me bye. In the

company of a dozen brisk lads I stole an Injlne wanst out from under the noses av the rebels. I’ll tell ye the tale, come the day.” Ducking beneath the cab windows they charged through the ring of racing Indians. A bullet or two splintered the side of the cab. A few arrows found lodgment and hung humming like wires for an intsant. Then they were out of danger, speeding towards Julesburg forty miles away. Blue smoke trailed a long flat plume behind the lunging locomotive. Pat sent up an exultant yell. “We’re burning the breeze Davy. Sure and the U. Pay would give me a medal could they know what I am gettin’ out of th’ ould taypot. She’s doin’ better than thirty, me bye.” “Drive her,” shouted Davy. “Drive her like hell, Pat! I’ll keep your fire up.” Less than an hour and a-half after they had broken through the ring of Ceyenne warriors, they thundered into Julesburg, Pat throwing the harsh whistle wide open. The tearing scream of the locomotive startled the two. Men and women poured from saloons and boardinghouses. AH Julesburg knew what the alarm meant—lndians. The crowd came surging through the streets.

Davy leaped from the locomotive before Pat could stop his new pet, and dashed up the main street toward Union Pacific headquarters. two blocks distant. He burst through the door shouting for Marsh. The superintendent ran forward, Miriam at his elbow.

“Marsh,” Davy yelled, “the Cheyennes have attacked at the end of track. The men have got to have help. It’s a big band.” Marsh paused only a moment to dictate a message to his telegraph operator.

“Get Major North,” he said. “Wire him to' send his Pawnees. They should be at Lone Tree, only a few miles beyond. They ought to reach the fight in half an hour’s riding after getting the message. How many are in the war party?” “Five hundred, I should say, easily,” said Davy. "They'll be hard to beat off, Mr. Marsh. We’ll need all the men we’ve got.”

"The worst of it is, the military are not here,” said Marsh. “A troop of the Second Cavalry is out along the line somewhere —God knows where. And there’s a few detachments of the Thirty-sixth Infantry which can be reached by wire. But we will have to depend on our own men.” He seized his hat and made for the door, calling to Davy: “There’s no time to be lost. I’ll call for volunteers. You follow. Grab any good men you can find.” He hurried out, Davy at his heels, but Miriam stepped quickly forward. “Take care of yourself, Davy. You are rash, reckless! That was a brave thing you did, bringing the engine back for help. I wanted to tell you so. But these Indian attacks are dreadful. Don’t expose yourself.” "What difference would it make?” he asked, childishly. “How much would you care if I got an arrow through me? Why do you want me to promise you anything? \ You know I don’t keep my promises.” As on the evening he stood with her in the car, when once before he gave way to stubborn resentment born of the feeling that he had been ill-used, he lashed himself, strangling his well-nigh overmastering desire t throw his arms around her and t her how dearly he loved her, perm ting the devils of stubborness and anger to throttle his love. She flinched and paled under his harsh words And then her eyelids flashed. One could go just so far with Miriam Marsh, even in her humbler and softer moods. “No,” she said, “I would scarcely expect you to keep any promise, Davy. You have quite sufficiently proved that your word —to me, at least —has m value. I am sorry I asked you. You had better go now. Father is waiting, I imagine.” She turned abruptly to hide the tears that were rising in her eyes and stiffened her back to conquer th sobs that were ready to shake her Davy saw nothing cf this. His sullet resentment was blind. He turned to the door, flung it open and slammed it to viciously, another gesture or childishness which he himself recognised. Then he ran swiftly down the street toward the growing crowd. (To be Continued.)