Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1914-07-07
A TALE OF THE OLD FRONTIER
BY Edgar Beecher Bronson


to own so stout-hearted a mate, Foun-
tain replied: ... ra
Good, then; it's two horses instead
Of one, and off we CO." 'e
In five minutes we were mounted
and away, on wide circle to the east
at an easy pace that raised little dust.
An hour later. we'll to the east of the
road and counting on the effects of the
whisky to dull them of their natural
vigilance. we swung back toward the
point where Fountain had chosen to
dump his bait and plant his ambush.
1t was nearing twilight when we
crept into the recesses of the rocks
that commanded the position. ~
Beneath us lay sight never to be
forgotten. For some time we had been
hearing the "Ho-o-hays" of their rev.
ell; now we saw It.
The loiterers with the iettisoned va
Uses had come up and brought their
plumber; that was plain at anglance.
Nor had the generous lunch box that
also had gone overheard been
neglected. n
For many yards around the little
camp fire, at which they had been boil
ing coffee the yellow plain was ALTER
with the Fountain finery, all of 1t ex-
cept such as the members OF the band
had already appropriated for their per-
sonal adornment.
A few Of the bucks were stretched
full length on the ground, and the rest
were dancing furious]y around the fire.
It was all we soldiers could do to
keep from breaking into screams Of
laughter at the gortesGue figures. al
though for Fountain and his wife it
was anything but funny. She had
hardly spoken since leaving the stage
until, at the crest OF the barrier, slip
ping between the lieutenant and my
self, she nearly cost us a surprise OF
the band. When she saw the savages
tricked out in her wardrobe, hats and
all, she caught her husbands arm,
whispering angrily:
ooh! my God! Death to the demons.
Oh! Oh! My blue hat. and the pink
one! Ny grandmother's matilda! And
look. look my, my Oh! I shall die
of shame-don't look-I've nothing
left! All my clothes profaned and
ruined!"
Oh, but it was show! My word
for it. but the Chihuahua millinery
they had appropriated made them the
fanciest lot of war bonnets ever red
skins sported. feather plumes tossing
and bright ribbons streaming in the
evening breeze.
And the rest! Pink silk hosiery on
some, blue and red on others! And
trousers! Never get an Indian, in
those days. into regular pants, but the
abbreviated style those valises furn-
ished plainly suited them to death, for
practically every last one of them was
wearing a funny sort none of us sold
iers had seen before, that wouldn't be
much real protection to man in
cold climate, all covered with bright
ribbons and pretties.
But Fountain did not allow us much
time to take in all of that show, so it
is only just glimpses I can recall.
=, Didn't take him long, I guess, to de-
velop case Of mad about as unfor-
giving as his wife's; for when We be-
gan to "come to" from the trance her
part Of the show threw us into, what
should we note but that big, ugly old
coffee cooler, evidently the chief, was
ambling around the fire in the lieu
tenants full dress uniform. n
Cooked hat roosting on his feathers,
dress sword dangling about his legs,
and, now and then, tripping him a
header I guess Fountain was hoping
would come near enough to breaking
his neck to save the necessity of
shooting that new uniform full of
holes Only, the sword didn't do it..
So, presently, the lieutenant passed
the whispered word down our line,
Fire at the word, and then into them
with the pistols!"
Seconds later the word came. And
while it was already dusk, the range
was so short that little lead was wasted
so little, in fact, that the pistols soon
did the rest-did it SO effectually that
/ have always feared there was little
Of the retrieved wardrobe not over
ventilated for winter wear.
Details? Just little too gruesome.
I'm afraid, for the refined sensibilities
of these days. but may say it was
only four, to the best of my memory,
that got to their ponies and escaped.
1t was not often, however, In our
clashes with the Navajos that we got
something for nothing. and that affair
was no exception to the general rule.
Drunken Indians fight like fury,
stand up and take their medicine more
cheerfully than when sober-actually
don't come to realize they are dead I'M
til you get their scalps of.
So it was with that band. Why, at
our first fire even those who had
jagged themselves into a trance we had
supposed would surely lessen the odds
against us, were on their feet in an in
slant, and once we were down among
them were jabbing savagely with their
lances.
None broke for their ponies until
we had most Of the band down for
keeps, not. | am sorry to say, until
three of my best were stiffening on the
ground And there to this day the
three sleep, ranked within the shadows
of the lava.
Our reprisals were so heavy Foun-
tain should have been happy, it seemed
to me. but when he found the chief
fallen across the fire and his new full
dress uniform coat pretty well re-
duced to cinders, he looked anything
but pleased.
1t was still early in the evening when
We got back to the stage coach, where,
finding Fountains mules meisurably