Joseph Mills Hanson

“ With flags and guidons flaunting proudly in the breeze, the sunlight dancing on sabre scabbards and carbine barrels, men cheering and horses prancing under the impulse of excitement on all sides of the great martial square, the army rolled forward across the swelling, verdant hills, a huge living engine of destruction moving onward to crush, or to be crushed by, the barbaric host in its front. Al, riding in the centre, behind the General, looked around him with flashing eyes, for never before had he viewed so inspiring and majestic a scene. ”

“ And should more delight in a clean-cut fight, stout blade and
courage whole,
That the morbid skill of a critic's drill in the core of a sin-sick
soul.
Three stars that shine on the trail of life can make man's
pathway bright,
And one is the strength of the living God, that stands in his
heart upright,
And one is a noble woman's love, on which his heart may lean,
And one is the sight of his country's flag, to keep his courage
keen. ”

“ More than once during the long days between Omaha and Kansas City, Al and his companions worked for hours up to their waists and shoulders in the water alongside the barge, freeing her from some obstruction or a lodgement against the bank.
But all labors have an end, and at length the great bend at Kansas City came in sight, with the little town straggling along the river and the rugged, precipitous hills rising behind it, which in a few decades were destined to be covered with the crowded dwellings and the towering business structures of a great metropolis. ”

“ And the wind-whipped crests where the condor nests on the roof-ribs of the world
Have marked the thin, blue jet of smoke from my flashing muzzle hurled.
Oh, I am the mate of the deep-lunged men, stout son of a martial line,
From Uruguay to the Kootenay, from mangrove-reef to pine;
In the throbbing glare of the desert air, by the rocks where the rapids purr,
There is never a gun for fight or fun like the steel-blue Winchester! ”

“ The muskets began to rattle in a disjointed way, Al's among the rest, while Wallace's revolver popped viciously. Everything in front was veiled in thin white vapors, and the men in the charging line resembled shadows, dancing upon a curtain. But the Confederates, like a stampede of buffalo, held to their headlong course. Shortly the officer bawled, in a voice almost tearful,
"No use, boys! They're flankin' us. They're across the creek, up and down. Come back; back to the buildings!"
Most soldiers fear being flanked more than death itself in front. ”

“ To serve the onward march of man,
Which sweeping down the vale of time
With gathering strength and hope sublime
Is never checked nor stayed.
COWBOY SONG WE are up in the morning ere dawning of day
And the grub-wagon's busy and flap-jacks in play,
While the herd is astir over hillside and swale
With the night-riders rounding them into the trail.
Come, take up your cinches
And shake up your reins;
Come, wake up your bronco
And break for the plains;
Come, roust those red steers from the long chaparral,
For the outfit is off for the railroad corral! ”

“ The chief ignored the friendly, outstretched hand, but he looked at Al frankly, even though defiantly. "No, Al Briscoe," he made answer, firmly. "You and I are enemies. And while my people have strength left to fight the white men, we will be enemies. I know that what you say is true, though many of my people will not yet believe it. The whites will conquer in the end and take from us the last of this, our great, free, beautiful land to which they have no right except the right of being strong enough. ”

“ I've lurched across the Painted Plains, my temples like to burst,
And seen men suckin' out their veins to quench their burnin' thirst,
With the sky a blazin' furnace and the earth a bakin' sea,
And he was there beside us—and was just as dry as we.
Oh, hang these army politics, when jealousy and spite
Can rob a veteran of his praise, his dearest, hard-earned right!
There's just one kind of officer enlisted men can like—
The kind who keeps his bearings when the shots begin to strike.
And that's the kind that Miles has been; he never ducked or flinched ”

“ The Indians, in a seemingly countless horde, then sprang up and made a rush for the fort, which seemed about to be overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers. But the garrison was in position and ready for them. Volley after volley poured into the approaching mass of savages, while the shells of the artillery tore through their ranks. Unused to bearing the losses of an open, stand-up fight, the Indians quickly gave way and fled back to the ravines, where, however, they remained, stubbornly pouring in an intense fire, which searched every portion of the fort. ”

“ No sound save the hoofs of the column
As they swish through the dry prairie grass,
No life anywhere save a hawk, high in air,
Gazing down as we wearily pass.
There is never a foe we may grapple
In the heat of a steel-clashing fray.
For the quarry we hunt is a shadow in front
That flits, and comes never to bay;
A feather of smoke to the zenith,
The print of a hoof in the sod,
A shot from the grass where the far flankers pass
Sending one more poor comrade to God.
Would we rest when the day's work is over
And the stars twinkle out in the sky? ”

“ The night of August 9, which had witnessed the end of the battle of the Little Missouri, as the fight in the Bad Lands came to be called, found the army camping beside the bed of a dry creek; and each man lay down to sleep after a supper consisting of one cracker and a bit of bacon, with nothing to drink, while the horses had neither food nor water. The two following days were more like nightmares than realities. Most of the mules and oxen of the two wagon trains contrived to stagger along somehow. ”

“ AFTERGLOW (On the Missouri) TWILIGHT on the river, summer everywhere,
Prairie flowers perfuming the warm June air,
Breezes stirring softly on the high bluff's crest
Where stand a lad and maiden, looking toward the West.
Just a lad and maiden, standing, hand in hand,
While the lights are fading from the sunset's fairyland,
While on butte and buttress dies the crimson afterglow
And the mists creep upward from the river far below. ”

“ Straight ahead, through the gap in the battle line, could be seen the guns of the Prairie Battery, going forward, the cannoneers clinging to the limbers, the cavalry escort galloping furiously on either side. A moment more, and the boom of a howitzer rose above the lesser noises of battle, followed by another and another, and the shells, circling high, burst like great, white flowers against the rugged, dark green front of Tahkahokuty. A terrified commotion could be seen among the people in the camps on its crest. ”

“ I am king of my day as he of his, from the swamp to the saw-backed spur,
And there's never a trail but has heard the hail of the ringing Winchester!
I've saved the leaguered wagon-train from the scalping-knife and stake;
I have held the lead through the blind stampede in the bison's dust-dimmed wake ”

“ Up along the steep, boulder-strewn breast of Tahkahokuty, through timber and underbrush, went the thin, irregular line, eagerly watched by the troops below and but feebly opposed by the warriors above. It was hard climbing, and more than once Al and others in the detachment stumbled and fell over stones or tree roots. As they neared the top and came into clear view from the crest, the fire of the Indians increased in intensity, though the savages continued to shoot high so that very few of the soldiers suffered. ”

“ Through the picket-ropes at night?
When a man or horse is hungry, ain't he bound to try and bolt?
When the trail got light and thin
And the ridges walled us in,
And the flankers had to scramble with their toes and finger-nails,
While the wind across the peaks
Whipped the snow against our cheeks,
Then the horses had to suffer for the badness of the trails. ”

“ Through the wall of smoke before them, created by the volley, again broke the Confederates on the run, their [Pg 383] dreadful yell preceding them, the two frayed battle flags eddying above the smoke like the masts of catboats in a seaway.
"Lord, Al, they don't fight like Indians!" gasped Wallace, hoarsely.
As a photograph on the brain there came to Al a flashing recollection of the broad plain fronting Tahkahokuty, bathed in the sunlight, with the Sioux swooping and circling before the steadily advancing troops. ”

“ Of bellowing bison in mad retreat
And the panic of smaller things.
Behind them the flames speed onward
O'er level and slope and swale,
And the grass is melted to embers,
Whirled high on the parching gale.
As strong as the ocean's billows,
As fierce as the blizzard's breath,
Is aught in Nature that may withstand
The league-long sweep of this scorching brand
That clutters the plains with death? ”

“ They soon emerged from the woods, passed up through a ravine and so out upon the bluffs, where presently they turned into a faintly marked country road running to the southeast, toward Arrow Rock. For hours they travelled, alternately at a trot and a walk, through the pretty, rolling country of Saline County, now passing among stretches of forest, gay with the foliage of Autumn, and again moving across reaches of open land, dotted here and there with little farms, most of them deserted and falling to decay. ”

“ If we should encounter Indians before we reach the fort and anything should happen to me, remember that your first care must be your mother and your little brother and sister. Protect them with your life but keep cool and do not throw it away. And afterward,—well, my boy, just do your duty by our dear ones and yourself as you honestly see it; no one can do more. And remember always that you are the son of a soldier."
Al's face paled a little beneath the tan while his father was speaking but he returned the latter's gaze steadily until he had finished. ”

“ I'm as dry as the Mormon Trail!"
Well, stranger, that there is the yarn o' Jake,
Jake Dale, o' the "Lucky George."
He wasn't no saint with a gilt-edged crown;
His language would shatter a church-steeple down;
He'd a thirst in his throat that nothin' could drown,
An' a fist like a blacksmith's forge.
But, all the same, he'd a Christian soul
If he hadn't the Christian creed,
An' a better heart, by a blame long shot,
Than some pious folks that brag a lot
On savin' their souls, but haven't got
No time fer their brother's need. ”

“ Come, now for the steers in the long chaparral,
For we're far on the way to the railroad corral!
The afternoon shadows are starting to lean
When the grub-wagon sticks in a marshy ravine
And the herd scatters further than vision can look,
For you bet all true punchers will help out the cook! ”