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King, Charles, 1844-1933

"A Daughter of the Sioux A Tale of the Indian frontier"


Now, with heavier losses than had befallen Wayne in '76, Ray's command
beheld with almost tranquil hearts the coming of the fierce array in
final charge. Behind them, not two miles, to be sure, rode in swift,
well-ordered pursuit the long line of comrade troopers. But there had
been intervening years of campaign experiences that dulled to a degree
the earlier enthusiasms of the soldier, and taught at least the
assumption of professional composure that was the secret wonder of the
suckling trooper, and that became his chief ambition to acquire. It is
one thing to charge home at a hard-fighting command when friends and
comrades back the effort and cheer the charging line. It is another to
charge home conscious that other chargers are coming at one's heels.
Magnificent as a spectacle, therefore, this closing dash of Lame Wolf's
warriors was but a meek reminder of their earlier attack. Long before
they came within four hundred yards of the leafy stronghold,--the
moment, indeed, the brown Springfields began their spiteful bark,--to
right and left the warriors veered, far out on either flank. Screeching
and yelling as was their savage way, they tore madly by, flattened out
against their ponies' necks and, those who could use their arms at all,
pumping wild shots that whistled harmless over the heads of the
defenders and bit the blackened prairie many a rod beyond.


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