Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1901-08-14
Copyright, 1901, by Charles King


I
Ine GROUNDS break away IN a lirtie
swale or hollow to the right front,
where the prairie begins its slope to.
ward the far concave bend of the river,
anu over this rift there bursts upon
their straining gaze sight never to be
forgotten. Away to the front there
rises billowy butte perhaps two miles
distant, about one-half probably of Its
southwark slope just visible, and that
slope Is thickly sprinkled with darting,
dashing red riders in wild commotion.
There are the Sioux In all their savage
glory. There, close at hand, must be
the beleagucred train. Here, closer Mt
hand, just behind the low curtain in
front, must Turk the Brule scouts.
Look! A FASH a pun at the very crest,
not 400 yards away now, so determined
has been the Baldwin's onward rush.
Look! Another! And now there Is not
second to lose. The Sioux nave seen
and opened fire A shrek goes up from
the brazen thront. The airbrakes grip
the wheels. The long train slows so
suddenly that men are hurled forward
In every car.
Lie low, you In cab and tender!
yells Langdon rs the conductor, duck
Ing, scramhles to the shelter of the cab.
Flash after flash. puff after puff, the
ridge line blazes. Spat comes bullet
on the iron breast behind him as Lang
don leaps from the pilot to the sloping
ground and sprints back along the side
of the train just coming to standstill.
This way! This side, Company Cr'
he yells, waving his cap on high, his
eyes flashing, his voice thrilling
through the rare, exhilarating atmos-
phere. Spread out! Open out-five
yards apart! Forward-fast as you
can! We've got to have that ridge be-
fore they can line on it. Come on!
Come onp
1t Is only rush of n few hundred
feet now. The eastward scouts of the
hostiles are but handful. The braves
are closing in on every side about the
weary defenders on the farther slope.
The glut for blood and rapine has
blinded the eyes of old Stabber, their
fiery chief. The frantic signals of his
scouts have been ignored in the fury
of their assault, in the faith that all re-
sistance will be over in another mo-
ment, and then, at the head of his wild
warriors, he can dash in upon them in
furious charge, and the train, with its
helpless women, Its beaten, beseeching
men, Its screaming children making
sweet music for his savage ears, will
be the prey and spoil Of the Brule. In
the din and crash Of battle he never
needs the backward rush of the few
warriors at the crest. He thinks them
Joining in the charge till White Wolf,
his son, topples headlong from his
pony, gasping warning with his last
breath, till, yelling with mingled fury
and dismay, n dozen braves bear down
upon him at mad gallop and sweep him
away to the safety of the west, for
there, striding down the prairie slope,
spreading out to right and left, comes
the long, blue line Of hated soldiery
backed up by scores of fighting men all
with cracking rifles. Here and there
In little groups his warriors fire wildly
in reply, but the defense, too, has again
taken heart and, with exultant cheers,
is pouring in n hot fusillade. A dozen
ponies are sprawled in death agony
upon the sward. Half dozen gaudy
braves are stricken, some even unto
heath. There is nothing for 1t but to
scoop up the dead and dying brethren
and then to dash away for council at
safe distance. And five minutes later,
laughing, weeping, cheering, hand
shaking and embracing. 500 men are
mingled in joy and triumph about the
bullet riddled train. Women and chill
drer are sobbing in the arms of loved
ones, and scores of quivering lips are
pouring praise and blessing on the
name of Eric Langdon and eager
voices shouting and clamoring for him
to show himself and then hushing al
most to silence in awe, dismay and
wild anxiety. The last seen of him he
was lenping along the railway far in
front of his line, waving and cheering
them on. Had he, too, been snatched
up in the smoke and dust and swept
away by the Indian band? He had
utterly disappeared. He could nowhere
be found.