48

46

On many a long day's march after that White rode by my side along the flanks of the column, and I got to know him well. A simpler-minded, a gentler frontiersman never lived. He was modesty and courtesy itself, conspicuous mainly because of two or three unusual traits for his class--he never drank, I never heard him swear, and no man ever heard him lie.

For years he had been CODY'S faithful follower, half servant, half "pardner." He was Bill's "Fidus Achates;" Bill was his adoration. They had been boys together, and the hero worship of extreme youth was simply intensified in the man. He copied Bill's dress, his gait, his carriage, his speech--everything he could copy; he let his long yellow hair fall low upon his shoulders in wistful imitation of Bill's glossy brown curls. He took more care of Bill's guns and horses than he did of his own, and so, when he finally claimed, one night at Laramie, the right to be known by some other title than simple Jim White--something descriptive, as it were, of his attachment for CODY, and lifelong devotion to his idol, "BUFFALO BILL," a grim quartermaster (Morton of the Ninth Infantry) dubbed him "BUFFALO CHIPS," and the name was a fixture. His story was a brief one after that episode. We launched out from Laramie on the 22d of June, and through all the vicissitudes of the campaign that followed, he was always near the Fifth. On the Yellowstone CODY was compelled to bid us a reluctant farewell to join General Terry.

A great loss to us was "BUFFALO BILL." He left his "pardner," Jim White, with us to finish the campaign as scout; and we little thought that those two sworn friends were meeting for the last time on earth when "BUFFALO CHIPS" bade good-bye to "BUFFALO BILL." "CHIPS" remained in his capacity as scout, though he seemed sorely to miss his "pardner".

It was just two weeks after that we struck the Sioux at Slim Buttes, something of which I told you in former chapter. you may remember that the Fifth had ridden in haste to the relief of Major Mills, who had surprised the Indians away in our front early Saturday morning, had whipped them in panicky confusion out of their "tepees" into the neighboring rocks, and then had to fight on the defensive against ugly odds until we rode in to the rescue. As the head of our column jogged in among the lodges, and General Carr directed us to keep on down to face the bluffs to the south, Mills pointed to a ravine opening out into the village, with the warning, "Look out for that gully; there are Indians hidden there, and they've knocked over some of my men."

Everybody was too busy just then to pay much attention to two or three wounded Indians in a hole. We were sure of getting them when wanted. So placing a couple of sentries where they could warn stragglers away from its front, we formed line along the south and west of the captured village, and got everything ready to resist the attack we knew they would soon make in full force.

General Crook had arrived on the scene, and, while we were waiting for "Lo" to resume the offensive, some few scouts and packers started in to have a little fun "rousting out them Injuns." Half-a-dozen soldiers got permission to go over and join in while the rest of us were hungrily hunting about for something to eat. The next thing, we heard a volley from the ravine, and saw the scouts and packers scattering for cover. One soldier held his ground--shot dead. Another moment, and it became apparent that not one or two, but a dozen Indians were crouching somewhere in that narrow gorge, and the move to get them out assumed proportions. Lieutenant Clark, of General Crook's staff, sprang into the entrance, carbine in hand, and a score of cavalrymen followed, while the scouts and others went cautiously along either bank, peering warily into the cave-like darkness at the head. A squad came tearing over, just as a second volley came from the concealed foe, and three more of our men dropped, bleeding, in their tracks. Now our people were fairly aroused, and officers and men by dozens hurried to the scene. The misty air rang with shots, and the chances looked bad for those redskins. Just at this moment, as I was running over from the western side, I caught sight of "CHIPS" on the opposite crest. All alone, he was cautiously making his way, on hands and knees, toward the head of the ravine, where he could look down upon the Indians beneath. As yet he was protected from their fire by the bank itself--his lean form distinctly outline against the eastern sky. He reached a stunted tree that grew on the very edge of the gorge, and there he halted, brought his rifle close under his shoulder, in readiness to aim, and then raised himself slowly to his feet, lifting his head higher, higher, as he peered over. Suddenly a quick, eager light shone in his face, a sharp movement of his rife, as though he were about to raise it to his shoulder, when, bang!--a puff of white smoke floated up from the head of the ravine, "CHIPS" sprang up convulsively in the air, clasping his hands to his breast, and with one startled, agonizing cry, "Oh, my God, boys!" plunged heavily forward on his face, down the slope--shot through the heart.

46

On many a long day's march after that White rode by my side along the flanks of the column, and I got to know him well. A simpler-minded, a gentler frontiersman never lived. He was modesty and courtesy itself, conspicuous mainly because of two or three unusual traits for his class--he never drank, I never heard him swear, and no man ever heard him lie.

For years he had been CODY'S faithful follower, half servant, half "pardner." He was Bill's "Fidus Achates;" Bill was his adoration. They had been boys together, and the hero worship of extreme youth was simply intensified in the man. He copied Bill's dress, his gait, his carriage, his speech--everything he could copy; he let his long yellow hair fall low upon his shoulders in wistful imitation of Bill's glossy brown curls. He took more care of Bill's guns and horses than he did of his own, and so, when he finally claimed, one night at Laramie, the right to be known by some other title than simple Jim White--something descriptive, as it were, of his attachment for CODY, and lifelong devotion to his idol, "BUFFALO BILL," a grim quartermaster (Morton of the Ninth Infantry) dubbed him "BUFFALO CHIPS," and the name was a fixture. His story was a brief one after that episode. We launched out from Laramie on the 22d of June, and through all the vicissitudes of the campaign that followed, he was always near the Fifth. On the Yellowstone CODY was compelled to bid us a reluctant farewell to join General Terry.

A great loss to us was "BUFFALO BILL." He left his "pardner," Jim White, with us to finish the campaign as scout; and we little thought that those two sworn friends were meeting for the last time on earth when "BUFFALO CHIPS" bade good-bye to "BUFFALO BILL." "CHIPS" remained in his capacity as scout, though he seemed sorely to miss his "pardner".

It was just two weeks after that we struck the Sioux at Slim Buttes, something of which I told you in former chapter. you may remember that the Fifth had ridden in haste to the relief of Major Mills, who had surprised the Indians away in our front early Saturday morning, had whipped them in panicky confusion out of their "tepees" into the neighboring rocks, and then had to fight on the defensive against ugly odds until we rode in to the rescue. As the head of our column jogged in among the lodges, and General Carr directed us to keep on down to face the bluffs to the south, Mills pointed to a ravine opening out into the village, with the warning, "Look out for that gully; there are Indians hidden there, and they've knocked over some of my men."

Everybody was too busy just then to pay much attention to two or three wounded Indians in a hole. We were sure of getting them when wanted. So placing a couple of sentries where they could warn stragglers away from its front, we formed line along the south and west of the captured village, and got everything ready to resist the attack we knew they would soon make in full force.

General Crook had arrived on the scene, and, while we were waiting for "Lo" to resume the offensive, some few scouts and packers started in to have a little fun "rousting out them Injuns." Half-a-dozen soldiers got permission to go over and join in while the rest of us were hungrily hunting about for something to eat. The next thing, we heard a volley from the ravine, and saw the scouts and packers scattering for cover. One soldier held his ground--shot dead. Another moment, and it became apparent that not one or two, but a dozen Indians were crouching somewhere in that narrow gorge, and the move to get them out assumed proportions. Lieutenant Clark, of General Crook's staff, sprang into the entrance, carbine in hand, and a score of cavalrymen followed, while the scouts and others went cautiously along either bank, peering warily into the cave-like darkness at the head. A squad came tearing over, just as a second volley came from the concealed foe, and three more of our men dropped, bleeding, in their tracks. Now our people were fairly aroused, and officers and men by dozens hurried to the scene. The misty air rang with shots, and the chances looked bad for those redskins. Just at this moment, as I was running over from the western side, I caught sight of "CHIPS" on the opposite crest. All alone, he was cautiously making his way, on hands and knees, toward the head of the ravine, where he could look down upon the Indians beneath. As yet he was protected from their fire by the bank itself--his lean form distinctly outline against the eastern sky. He reached a stunted tree that grew on the very edge of the gorge, and there he halted, brought his rifle close under his shoulder, in readiness to aim, and then raised himself slowly to his feet, lifting his head higher, higher, as he peered over. Suddenly a quick, eager light shone in his face, a sharp movement of his rife,, as though he were about to raise it to his shoulder, when, bang!--a puff of white smoke floated up from the head of the ravine, "CHIPS" sprang up convulsively in the air, clasping his hands to his breast, and with one startled, agonizing cry, "Oh, my God, boys!" plunged heavily forward on his face, down the slope--shot through the heart.