A Daughter of the Sioux

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A Daughter of the Sioux, by Charles King

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Title: A Daughter of the Sioux A Tale of the Indian frontier
Author: Charles King
Illustrator: Frederic Remington and Edwin Willard Deming
Release Date: August 10, 2006 [EBook #19023]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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Produced by Chuck Greif, Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

A DAUGHTER OF THE SIOUX
[Illustration: RAY'S TROOP.]
A Tale of the Indian Frontier
BY GENERAL CHARLES KING
AUTHOR OF "THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER," "FORT FRAYNE," "AN ARMY WIFE," ETC., ETC.
"He is bred out of that bloody strain That haunted us in our familiar paths." King Henry V.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY FREDERIC REMINGTON and EDWIN WILLARD DEMING
NEW YORK THE HOBART COMPANY 1903
COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY THE HOBART COMPANY.
A Daughter of the Sioux Published March 15, 1903
* * * * *

CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
FORESHADOWED EVENTS,
CHAPTER II.
ABSENT FROM DUTY,
CHAPTER III.
A NIGHT ENCOUNTER,
CHAPTER IV.
THE SIGN OF THE BAR SHOE,
CHAPTER V.
A GRAVE DISCOVERY,
CHAPTER VI.
FIRST SIGHT OF THE FOE,
CHAPTER VII.
BLOOD WILL TELL,
CHAPTER VIII.
MORE STRANGE DISCOVERIES,
CHAPTER IX.
BAD NEWS FROM THE FRONT,
CHAPTER X.
"I'LL NEVER GO BACK,"
CHAPTER XI.
A FIGHT WITH A FURY,
CHAPTER XII.
THE ORDEAL BY FIRE,
CHAPTER XIII.
WOUNDED--BODY AND SOUL,
CHAPTER XIV.
A VANISHED HEROINE,
CHAPTER XV.
A WOMAN'S PLOT,
CHAPTER XVI.
NIGHT PROWLING AT FRAYNE,
CHAPTER XVII.
A RIFLED DESK,
CHAPTER XVIII.
BURGLARY AT BLAKE'S,
CHAPTER XIX.
A SLAP FOR THE MAJOR,
CHAPTER XX.
THE SIOUX SURROUNDED,
CHAPTER XXI.
THANKSGIVING AT FRAYNE,
CHAPTER XXII.
BEHIND THE BARS,
CHAPTER XXIII.
A SOLDIER ENTANGLED,
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE DEATH SONG OF THE SIOUX,
L'ENVOI.
* * * * *

ILLUSTRATIONS
FRONTISPIECE
"THE MAJOR SOUGHT TO BLOCK THAT MORNING'S RIDE IN VAIN"
RAY'S TROOP
"THE SOLDIER LEAPED FROM HIS SADDLE"
"WITH ONE MAGNIFICENT RED ARM UPLIFTED"
"SOME FEW OF THEIR NUMBER BORNE AWAY BY THEIR COMRADES"
"CHARGE WITH ME THE MOMENT THE LEADERS YELL"
"HUSH! SHE'S COMING"--SHE WAS THERE
* * * * *

A DAUGHTER OF THE SIOUX
CHAPTER I
FORESHADOWED EVENTS
The major commanding looked up from the morning report and surveyed the post adjutant with something of perturbation, if not annoyance, in his grim, gray eyes. For the fourth time that week had Lieutenant Field requested permission to be absent for several hours. The major knew just why the junior wished to go and where. The major knew just why he wished him not to go, but saw fit to name almost any other than the real reason when, with a certain awkward hesitancy he began:
"W--ell, is the post return ready?"
"It will be, sir, in abundant time," was the prompt reply.
"You know they sent it back for correction last month," hazarded the commander.
"And you know, sir, the error was not mine," was the instant rejoinder, so quick, sharp and positive as to carry it at a bound to the verge of disrespect, and the keen, blue eyes of the young soldier gazed, frank and fearless, into the heavily ambushed grays of the veteran in the chair. It made the latter wince and stir uneasily.
"If there's one thing I hate, Field, it is to have my papers sent back by some whipsnapper of a clerk, inviting attention to this or that error, and I expect my adjutant to see to it that they don't."
"Your adjutant does see to it, sir. I'm willing to bet a month's pay fewer errors have been found in the papers of Fort Frayne than any post in the Department of the Platte. General Williams told you as much when you were in Omaha."
The major fairly wriggled in his cane-bottomed whirligig. What young Field said was true, and the major knew it. He knew, moreover, there wasn't a more painstaking post adjutant from the Missouri to the mountains. He knew their monthly reports--"returns" as the regulations call them--were referred to by a model adjutant general as model papers. He knew it was due to young Field's care and attention, and he knew he thought all the world of that young gentleman. It was just because he thought so much of him he was beginning to feel that it was high time to put a stop to something that was going on. But, it was a delicate matter; a woman was the matter; and he hadn't the moral courage to go at it the straightforward way. He "whip sawed" again. Thrumming on the desk with his lean, bony fingers he began:--
"If I let my adjutant out so much, what's to prevent other youngsters asking similar indulgence?"
The answer came like the crack of a whip:--
"Nothing, sir; and far better would it be for everybody concerned if they spent more hours in the saddle and fewer at the store."
This was too much for the one listener in the room. With something like the sound of a suppressed sneeze, a tall,