Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 March 1894 — PULLING THROUGH. [ARTICLE]

PULLING THROUGH.

Detroit Free Press “Did you see that?" A stage coach which has been pushing along the overland trail in western Kansas is suddenly pulled up by the driver, who rises in his seat, points to the broken ground on the right and ahead and turns to the two outside passengers to repeat: “Did ye see that? Thar’s, tnfuns ambushed>in that dry ravine ahead.” Two passengers on top, five inside, seven in all, but two of them are women —wives of army officers. Five men with #un and pistols. The driver won’t count unless a bullet brings down one of the horses. “Ready inside, thar?”: he asks. 4 *Tell them wimmeu folks to crouch down on the floor and keep quiet. Throw open them doors and fasten ’em back. One of you better come here. Now, then, thar may be ten or fifteen or thar may be fifty or sixty of the varmints. They’ve got their ponies, in course. They’ll make the rush jest whar the road bends to’rds the river, They’ll cum whoopin’ and yellin’ like lunatics broke loose, but don’t let the noise rattle ye. I’m goin’ to put my horses on the dead run and keep ’em goin’ at that, and I expect the rest of ye to do the shootin’. Everybody all ready? Then here we goes!” Two women crouching on the floor of the coach praying to God—five pale faced mea with teeth hard set, gripping their rifles and determined to make a good fight of it. With a shake of the lines the driver breaks the four horses into a run and then braces his feet and looks straight ahead. The spirited animals will be terror stricken at the first yell and run away. He must keep the coach in the road or a wipe-out is certain. Yes, the Indians are there —half a hundred of them. They have been in ambush for an hour. This is the first stage to the west for three days; it will be the last for a fortnight. It is another Indian outbreak and Custer’s men will ride over the Smoky Hill section to find mutilated corpses at every relayhouse for a hundred miles. The bend in the road is reached, and of a sudden fifty ponies rush out of the dry ravines, which spread out there like the fingers of a human hand,and fifty Indian warriors whoop, shriek and yell at the top of their voices. They fire their rifles and discharge their arrows as they charge, but it Is a wild fusilade. “Steady, now!" calls the driver, but keeping his eyes on his flying horses. “My little trick has knocked ’em out. They’ll have to swing in behind us, and you fellers want to take it cool and not waste yer lead. Geewhiz, but ain’t them horses cuttin’ •out the pace.” The Indians fire at the men on the roof —they urge their ponies to overtake the swaying, bounding, flying coach —they yell like devils let loose. Crack! crack! crack! go the rifles. A pony falls —a warrior throws up his hands and tumbles to the earth—the driver gets a firmer grip on the lines and mutters: “Splendid! splendid! Couldn't ask ’em to do better. If them fellers inside has got sand we’ll pull through all right.” The warrior’s were gaining. With a sudden rush the mob parted to take the stage right and left and to get at the horses. Then from the open doors rifles and revolvers cracked —from the women crouched o*' the floor with faces buried in their hands came shrieks and wails of despair. u lt’s a straight run now, and the Lord help us!” whispered the driver, as he shifted all the lines to his left hand and drew his revolver and opened fire. TT Take that, ye painted devil! Down ye go, ye spotted cavuse I That’s the last arrer you’ll ever shoot, my yellin’ buckl Revolvers is the thing, boys —down with yer rifles and use them barkers !” “Oh, God! have pity on us!” prayed the women between their sobs, but the white faced men firing through doors over their heads heard them not. Thud! splash ! whiz! came bullet and arrow. There was the jingle of breaking glasssplinters flew about —drops of blood fell upon the upturned faces and burned like fire. All at once the pandemonium ceased and silence reigned. The Indians had abandoned the attack. On that three-mile stretch lay a dozen dead and wounded bucks —more than that number of dead and wounded ponies. “Whoa! ray beauties!" called the driver, as he laid aside his pistol and

separated the lines. “This ere foul is over, and ye needn’t throw any more shoes off. Easy, now—whoa* How is it with you fellers back thar?’ As the frightened horses began tp slacken their pace he cast a swift glance over his shoulder. The three men were lying down on the roof. Haifa mile further on he brought the horses to a halt and called to those inside. A man faith blood on bis face and hands stepped out and asked-- - - ———. “Are they gone?” “Yes —licked ’em in afa’r fout. Anybody hurt down thar?” “Women all right—men all wounded. How is it up there?” “Whoa, horses! Lemme see. This feller’s dead —that one’s dead —t’other one only hard hit, I guess. That’ll do. That’s a heap better’n the seven who was clean wiped out Monday afternoon. Git in and chirk up the wimen. We’ve passed the danger p’int, and it’s only two miles to No. 4. Somebody must hev bin prayin’ to God to pull us through, and He’s dun it in purty good shape,"