“I figure it’s time we brought in them other two wings, Major,” Shad Sweete advised.
He nodded. “Very good. Go ahead and get one of your trackers over to Major Royall’s unit. Bring Cody back. I want him to take these six Pawnee and ride ahead to find out if that is the herd … if they can see the village—or some sign of just where I’ll contact the enemy.”
Cody rode in, received his orders, then immediately pointed his big buckskin northwest, leading six Pawnee off among the hills in the direction he believed he would find the camp.
Time dragged itself out in the steamy heat of the plains as the horses and mules grew restless, deprived of water, restive for grazing. For what seemed like hours in the growing heat beneath the rising sun, they waited. Then—
“There!” Carr called out, pointing.
Sweete twisted in the saddle to find Cody headed back in at an easy lope. He wore his characteristic irrepressible grin.
“By damn—you found something, didn’t you, son?”
Cody nodded at Sweete, then turned to Carr. “It’s just like I told you, General. So I left the trackers there to keep an eye on things till your men can come on up.”
Carr smiled approvingly. “I take it they have no idea we’re about to ride them down?”
“You caught ’em in camp—and they ain’t running yet.”
“No camp pickets out?” Carr asked anxiously. When Cody shook his head, the major responded enthusiastically, “By Jupiter—I’ll have them this time!”
“If I can advise you on your approach to the village, General,” Cody said. “I’ve spotted a way in—a small detour. Take your command around and through these low hills yonder… keeping off to the right. We’ll keep wide of the village and come in from the north where the river lies. From there you can start your charge.”
“Without detection?”
Cody nodded. “We stay hidden behind those hills, that bunch won’t have a clue until you’re riding down on top of them.”
Carr issued his orders to have his command reunited, and in a matter of minutes the entire column was pushing forward once more, just about the time Sweete noticed the plodding wagon train pulling into sight at their rear. The wagon master’s teamsters and mules had been having their time of it slogging the overburdened wagons through the spongy soil and the clinging sand of the Platte Bluffs.
By keeping to the ravines and following the scouts as they blazed their trail behind the low hills, no man allowed to break the skyline, Sweete and Cody led the soldiers within sight of the village, then turned and galloped back to the head of the column.
Cody held up his hand to signal the troops to halt. “You’ve got less than fifteen hundred yards to cross until you make contact with the outlying lodges, General.”
“They haven’t spotted you?” Carr asked nervously.
“You’ve caught them napping. Warm day like this—most of their war ponies are still out grazing in the herd. Men relaxed back in the shade of the lodges. Children playing at the springs.”
“A total surprise?” asked the major as he squinted into the summer blue of the sky, finding the few lazy spirals of smoke caught on the hot summer breezes in the near distance.
“There’s good, flat ground for your cavalry to cross getting into the village,” Shad said.
Cody agreed. “Tailor-made for a cavalry charge, General.”
“This is our day, boys!” Carr cheered before he returned to the head of his column to break out his attack squadrons.
As the major issued marching orders down through the cavalry command, North’s Pawnee scouts were already at their toilet, preparing for the coming fight. After stripping saddles from their horses and stowing them in the freight wagons, the trackers bound up the tails of their ponies in anticipation of action. That done, the scouts then tied their own long hair back and mixed earth-paint with due ceremony. Weapons were polished while here and there small knots of the brownskins smoked a bowl of tobacco together before mounting up. Many of them now pulled from their bedrolls a blue army blouse, the better to be recognized in the dust, confusion, and fear of battle by the young, untried white soldiers of the Fifth Cavalry.
Carr assigned H Company under Captain Leicester Walker to charge in on the left flank while Lieutenant George Price and A Company would make the dash on the right.
“You are to turn the hostiles’ flanks if they attempt escape,” Carr instructed his battalion leaders. “Their backs will be to the river. That must be their only path of escape. Once you have secured the village from escaping on the flanks, ride to the rear of the village and seize the pony herd.”
“General, I figure them Pawnee will jump that Cheyenne pony herd before any of your boys can get there,” Sweete said.
Carr turned to Frank North. “Major—you’ll be sure to have control of your trackers and see that they do not interfere with my attack.”
North nodded once. “They’ll run for the ponies, General. But you can be sure I’ll keep ’em out of the way for you.”
“All right. Captain Sumner with D Company, and Captain Maley leading C Company, you both will take the front of our charge. Major Crittenden will ride in command of this center squadron. Major Royall, your squadron of companies E and G remain in reserve immediately in my rear. Ready your units for the attack, gentlemen.”
As the company commanders passed orders down the line, Major Frank North boldly placed his Pawnee battalion on the far left flank, in plain sight of the village, awaiting the order to charge. When Lieutenant Price with A Company had moved off about five hundred yards to the right and signaled that he was ready, Major Carr finally rose in the stirrups. Since Lieutenant Price’s company had the farthest distance to cover before reaching the village, the charge would be guided on it. Like the power of a passing thunderstorm to raise the hair on his neck and arms, Sweete sensed the electrifying tension crackle through the entire outfit as Carr issued the first order of the coming attack.
“Sergeant Major: move out at a trot!”
Joseph H. Maynard turned in the saddle to bellow his command. “Center-guide! Column of fours—at a trot. For-rad!”
Prancing away with the rest, Sweete noticed that the dry, hot wind had picked up suddenly, blowing out of the west, born out of the front range of the Rockies far, far away. With a glance toward the high mountains, how he wished he were there among its beckoning blue spruce and quaky. Then he found his thoughts yanked brutally back as the clatter of those hooves and the squeak of leather, the rattle of bit chains, went unheard in that unsuspecting village of Dog Soldiers. In a matter of heartbeats, the three flying lance points had closed to a thousand yards … and still no sign they had been discovered by the Cheyenne.
In the next moment there appeared ahead of Shad a young horseman atop a white pony, standing guard among the distant herd grazing lazily on the grassy bench. As if shot, the Indian reined about abruptly, racing headlong for the village, hair flying, down the long slope into the valley.
Sweete turned his head, trying to listen to the loud voices swirling around Carr and Cody at the point of the charge, hearing only shouts and curses—unable to understand anything for the noisy charge of the three hundred. One thing was certain as sun to the old plainsman: the soldiers intended to reach the village before that lone herder could warn those in camp.
Carr hollered out again, near standing in the stirrups, flinging his command behind him at his bugler.
John Uhlman jammed the scuffed and dented trumpet to his parched lips as the entire command loped onward toward the village. But no call came forth.
Up and down the front men began hollering, adding to the confusion, as bugler Uhlman tried again to blow his charge. Then Quartermaster Edward M. Hayes shot up beside Uhlman and yanked the horn from the bugler’s hand as their mounts jostled.
Hayes brought the bugle to his mouth and blew the soul-stirring notes of Carr’s charge.
Up and down the entire line throats burst enthusiastically, raising their raucous cheer as hundreds of Spencer
