Boone's Lick

"Oh, let's just shoot 'em," G.T. said.

"That might work if we had adequate ammunition," Pa said.

"Don't we?" I asked. I only had five shells myself but I figured Pa would have plenty. Pa shook his head.

"The goddamn stingy army," he said. "We don't have much ammunition--the whole fort don't have much, for that matter."

All of a sudden a weak feeling came over me, much like the one that had come over me the day the grizzly bear charged. What had happened to the dead miners might be about to happen to us. Missouri began to look a lot better to me, crawdads or no crawdads.

"Don't shoot, they may be fu

"Stop shooting, damnit! They're still out of range," Pa yelled again.

121

I guess he was right. The Indians looked close, like the grizzly bear had looked big, but they weren't close--unless the woodcutters were all bad shots. Not a single Indian fell, or even ducked. A few of them had guns and popped at us a few times--four or five others, showing off, I guess, raced into bow-and-arrow range and let fly. Most of the arrows just thunked into the wood wagons, though one axman got hit in the leg.

"We're in plain sight of the fort," Sam observed. "I expect they'll send out a relief force, if these boys will just be patient."

Neither Sam nor Pa had fired a shot, or even raised their guns.

"I wish I had a spyglass--damn it, why did I come off without one!" Pa said. He wasn't paying the whooping, yipping Indians much mind. Instead he seemed to be trying to see into the forests.

"You think there's more?" Sam asked.

"There could be," Pa said. "There could be lots more."

"Doubt it," Sam said. "The Sioux will rarely hold an ambush. The Cheye

"We could try for the fort," Sam suggested, after a while.

"They'd be on us like weasels on a squirrel," Pa said. "We're safest right where we are."

Just then it began to cloud over--I thought of Uncle Seth and his beliefs about bad things happening in cloudy weather.

The Indians who were harassing us began to yell even louder and to make insulting gestures--two or three of the woodchoppers continued to pop at them, but so far we hadn't hit a single one.

"I hope that relief Sam was talking about gets here pretty soon," G.T.

said.

It was a comfort that we could see the fort--the back side of it, anyway-

-but from where we crouched, behind our wagons, it looked about fifty miles distant. What if everyone was in the mess hall, eating porridge with molasses, and hadn't noticed that we were under attack? Maybe they were all so busy eating and cussing that they hadn't even heard the shooting.

"This is the last time I ever come woodcutting with only four shells for my gun," Pa said. "If the damn army can't spare us no more ammunition than that, I believe I'll just stay in."

By then most of the woodcutters had shot up all their ammunition, and yet no Indians were dead. The woodcutters stood holding their useless rifles

--they all looked scared.

Then six or seven more Indians came loping into the valley from the far end. They ti-yied a little, but they didn't join the party that had us trapped. They were nearly naked, and all painted up, but they seemed in an idle mood. One got off and examined one of his horse's hooves. The 122

others rode off and left him. The Indian with the sore-footed horse gathered up a few sticks and began to build a little fire.

"Sam, I'm getting a bad suspicion," Pa said. "You know how sometimes you can kind of feel Indians, if there's a bunch of them around close?" Sam just nodded his head.

"I'm feeling Indians," Pa said. "I'm feeling lots of Indians! Damn, I regret not bringing my spyglass!"

Just then we heard a bugle, though we could see no soldiers. There was a kind of ridge between us and the troops--it was called Lodgepole Ridge, though I didn't know that until much later.

As soon as they heard the bugle about half the Indians that had been circling us pulled off and

went over to the little group that had just loped into the valley.

The warrior with the sore-footed horse was all by himself, warming himself by his little fire.

Then the cavalry began to pour over the little ridge, with a bugler and a flag and Colonel Fetter-man in the lead--I recognized him by his white gloves.

"The goddamn fool, don't he see that it's a trap!" Pa yelled.

I thought he'd be happy that relief was finally coming, but he wasn't happy. He began to jump up and down on the wagon, waving his arms and yelling for the soldiers to go back.

Of course, they were a mile or two away--they couldn't hear him. Even if they had, it's not likely Colonel Fetterman would pay much attention to a woodcutter.

The six or seven Indians who had just loped up the valley took fright when they saw the cavalry-- they hit out across the valley for the nearest trees.

Only the lone Indian with the sore-footed horse didn't seem concerned. He scattered his little fire and hopped on his horse, watching the soldiers for a minute before he went trotting off.

"Decoys! Decoys! That's all they are," Pa said, jumping off the wagon.

"Hasn't the damn fool been in the army long enough to learn about decoys?

"

"Hey, what's the army doing?" G.T. asked.

"They're supposed to rescue us."

That had been my opinion too--and even the opinion of the Indians who were harassing us--the minute they saw the cavalry most of them began to peel off toward the woods.

Maybe Colonel Fetterman had meant to rescue us, when he left the fort, but the sight of those decoy Indians swayed his judgment. The cavalrymen 123

had been moving along at a slow gallop, but then the bugler blew the charge. I guess the colonel thought he could cut those few Indians off before they reached the woods.

In a minute the cavalry was in full charge, headed for the Indian with the sore-footed horse-- only his horse made a quick recovery and was soon outru

"The oldest trick, the wounded bird," Pa said. The cavalry was deep in the valley now, but they weren't catching the Indians, who were on fine quick horses.

"Look, Sam," Pa said. "Oh, Lord," Sam said. "Oh, dern," G.T. said.

The woods on every side began to boil with movement--I wasn't sure what was happening, at first. There was so much snow kicked into the air that I thought it might mean some kind of avalanche, caused by a buffalo herd that had decided to pass through.

But it was all Indians, hundreds of Indians, maybe thousands, and the war cries they screamed as they plunged into battle nearly scared my scalp off, and G.T.'s too. In nightmares I still hear those war cries today.

In a minute the Indians had closed around the cavalrymen--the few cavalrymen who tried to retreat were quickly cut down. There were so many arrows in the air that they made a cloud. I even saw a crow fall--it had just been flying low over the valley and suddenly found itself stuck with arrows.

"We better go, while they're busy," Pa said, crawling up on the wagon seat.

"Oh, they don't want us," Sam said.

That seemed to be true--the Indians who had been circling us pulled away to join the general battle; guns were popping all over the valley, arrows and lances skewered men on the run, while others got hacked down with hatchets.