Chapter Twenty-One--Preparations

     I met Colonel Benjamin Ratliff and the Ft. Tyler army brass about three hours later and gave them my report.
     “Something very strange happened at the Indian encampment last night. I’m not sure how it started but several teepees caught fire, bullets started going off like somebody had dropped them in a fire, and the horses stampeded through the camp. I estimate that about 150 Indians were killed or wounded.” Then I shook my head. “All it seemed to do, though, is incense them. My guess is that they probably thought some white man slipped in and started all the ruckus.”
     “Did you?” Ratliff asked me, glaring at me suspiciously.
     “No, I didn’t. I don’t know how it started. I do know that one of the white women escaped, however. I saw her earlier today and the Indians almost nabbed her again, but some fellow on a horse picked up her and they got away.” I grinned wryly. “I helped them a little bit, but I think they’ll be safe.”
     “The rest of the women?”
     “Still in the camp. I saw them this morning helping care for some of the wounded.”
     Ratliff chewed on his lip, thoughtful. “Well, maybe that will win them a few points.” Then back to me. “Conclusions?”
     “It looked very much like they Indians were preparing to attack very soon. War paint being put on, weapons gathered, medicine men stomping around in a rage. They may have a big war dance tonight to get everybody stirred…or they may not wait. I suggest we not dawdle.”
     Then Major Underwood called out to Ratliff. “Colonel, look.” He pointed.
     We all followed his finger, and got a huge surprise. Coming towards us were five Indians of varying tribes, under a flag of truce. They wanted to talk.
     I glanced at Ratliff. “Well, maybe here’s our chance at a peaceful settlement.”
     “Let’s hope so.” Then, “Major Underwood, Sergeant McCoy, Lieutenant Murphy, come with me. You, too, Mr. Constance.”
     So our little group rode slowly towards the Indian ambassage, which was also proceeding at a deliberate, dignified pace. I saw a representative of the Nipita and four other tribes of the area. More tribes than I had noticed were in the camp…
     The two groups stopped about fifteen feet apart. We all stared at each other for a few moments, then one of the Indians, the Nipita, said, “I am called Four Feathers, of the Nipita. I will speak in behalf of my brothers.” He looked at Ratliff. “You are the commanding officer of your troops?”
     “Yes, I am,” and he introduced the rest of us. Four Feathers nodded, and then gave us the name of the four Indians with him.
     “They do not speak English,” Four Feathers said, “so I will translate.” Looking at Ratliff, he went on. “You have scouts. You know that various tribes of the Indian nations have been gathering not far from here. We know that you have also been gathering troops.” He motioned with his head to the long train of soldiers behind us.
     “Yes,” Colonel Ratliff replied, glancing quickly at me. “We have received intelligence concerning your gathering, and when we did, we responded by calling together more troops. However, we hope, as I trust you do, that some solution to this matter can be peacefully arranged. Can you tell us why so many of your warriors have come together?”
     Four Feathers had been translating for the other Indians, and when Ratliff asked his question, the Nipita’s eyebrows shot up. “You do not know?”
     Ratliff hesitated. “We…think we do, but we need to hear the reason from your own lips.”
     Four Feathers nodded. “You do not have eyes or ears in our camp.”
     “We had eyes and ears on your camp, but none inside. The ears could not get close enough to hear what was being discussed.”
     The Nipita looked over at me. “You were the eyes and ears.”
     I nodded.
     "What did you see?”
     I narrowed my eyes at him, glanced at Ratliff, who nodded. “Probably in excess of 2,500 braves. Several bands of Nipita. Other tribes, not as numerous. Preparing for war. About 25 white women. Who, I might add, we will want back before there can be any possibility of peace.”
     Ratliff gave me a hard look, but he couldn’t dispute the condition. He just wanted to run things. Well, maybe I’d let him, and maybe I wouldn’t.
     I continued. “Last night, I saw chaos in the camp. Teepees on fire. Ammunition exploding. Horses stampeding. The light of the morning showed many dead and wounded. And also warriors preparing for attack.”
     Four Feathers was watching me as I spoke, no evidence from his countenance as to whether I was correct or not. But then, he nodded. “You see well, white eyes. 2,500 warriors, perhaps more. Yes, we have the women, minus one who escaped last night.” He stopped for a few moments, then asked, “You were watching last night. Did you start the fires?”
     “No, I did not. Frankly, I was asleep when I heard the bullets exploding. I looked down at the camp and all hell had broken loose.”
     Four Feathers studied me for a moment, not sure whether he believed me or not. Then I went on, “This is all well and good, Four Feathers, but you still have not told us the reason for the gathering of so many warriors.”
     “The white men dig into a mountain sacred to all the Indian peoples in this region. A burial ground, ancient, from many, many years ago. We want that digging to stop.”
     My eyes met Ratliff’s and we both nodded. It seems that, for the moment, I was spokesman. “Yes, this is what we suspected. We call the mountain Turtle Mountain, and some of us knew that it was sacred to you.”
     “Then why do you violate our sacred mountain?”
     “The white men believe that the mountain now belongs to them, thus they can do with it as they wish. There is much wealth in that mountain.”
     Four Feathers snorted. “The white man thinks of nothing but money. He knows nothing of things that are sacred and holy.”
     “That is not always true. And what of your own people? Have the Nipita always respected the sacred sites of the Santara? When the Moshawa take the land of the Tilachi, do they not use it as they wish? Is the Indian more pure than the white man in this matter?”
     “There are many mountains, all around,” Four Feathers responded, waving his arm in a gesture taking in the whole surrounding area. “Why cannot the white man dig in these mountains and leave alone that which is sacred to us? If the Indian took something precious to the white man, what would the white man do?”
     I nodded. “He would fight, just as you are prepared to fight. Unless it was useless. What do you want?”
     “We want the digging to stop. When the digging stops, we will release the women and our warriors will disband.”
     Ratliff shook his head. “There will be no discussion of terms until the white women are released. We will not even talk as long as you hold over our heads the use of hostages.”
     “We will release the women when we have assurance that the digging has ceased. Not before.”
     Again, Ratliff shook his head. “No. The women must be released first.”
     “We will not do that.”
     Impasse.
     Ratliff sighed and looked at me. I said to the Nipita chief, “Four Feathers, is it the mountain that is sacred or the fact that your dead are buried there?”
     “What do you mean?”
     “If the mountain is only sacred because you have your dead buried in it, then if we permitted you to come, remove your dead, and take them to another mountain for burial, would this be acceptable?”
     Four Feathers responded, “We bury our dead only in sacred ground. All we ask is that this be respected. The digging must stop.”
     I looked at Ratliff and shrugged. Then I spoke to Four Feathers again. “I do not think that the Colonel has the authority to tell the mining company to stop digging. Perhaps we could escort you to a meeting with those who are doing the digging and you can discuss the matter with them.”
     “NO!” The Indian said, resoundingly. “This is only a delay.”
     Well, yes, that was true, I was trying to delay the bloodshed for as long as possible. But Ratliff cut in, “Mr. Constance is correct. I cannot speak for the mining company. I cannot tell them to stop digging. But I will be happy to ride with you to Whitewater where negotiations can be held to see if some peaceful solution can be arranged.”
     “Bah,” Four Feathers said, waving his arm disgustedly. “All you need to do, Colonel Ratliff, is tell the diggers that you will not fight to defend their theft of our mountain. If you will not defend them, then they must leave. It is that simple.”
     It may have been that simple to Four Feathers, but it wasn’t that simple. Ratliff would have to obey whatever orders came from Washington. And Washington would obey money. Meaning the Kilmer Mining Company. Regardless of how many died. Indeed, there would be a goodly number, in Washington and out west, who would be delighted to have a war. A war that the United States would surely win and there would be hundreds, perhaps thousands, fewer Indians to worry about. So, yes, indeed, since the only good Indian was a dead one, then a war would be a mighty handy thing. Legalized murder.
     The Indian then said, “You have until the sun reaches its highest point tomorrow to stop the digging. We will know. If the digging has not stopped at that time, we will attack and stop it ourselves and your blue suits will not stop us.” He spoke those last words looking Colonel Ratliff.
     “We will stop you, Indian, rest assured of that,” Ratliff told him.
     “How many lives will it cost you, white eyes?” Four Feathers responded. “We are prepared to die to defend that which is sacred and honorable to us. Are you prepared for your women and little ones to die so that other white eyes might become rich?” He paused for effect. “Tomorrow,” he said one more time, and the five Indians started to ride off. Then Four Feathers stopped and said to me, “Your women will not be injured or abused. But they will not be released, either, until the digging has stopped.” Then to Colonel Ratliff, “And if the digging never stops…” He left it at that, and started to ride off with his companions.
     “You better not hurt those women,” Ratliff called after them, but if he was heard, he received no acknowledgement.
     For a few moments, we watched them ride away, then Ratliff turned to me. “Do you have any analysis of that?”
     I shrugged. “Haven’t the faintest, unless he was lying about their having scouted and wanted to get some idea of the size of your force. I do know this: they aren’t dumb enough to think the mining company is going to stop digging, or even if it did, that it wouldn’t start up again once the Indians disbanded. That was a pretext if I’ve ever seen one.”
     The colonel looked thoughtful. “Yeah, that might be it. Do you think they were trying to delay us some?”
     “Maybe. But how long were they here? 30 minutes? That’s not going to delay you much.” I gave him a half chuckle. “Colonel, there’s no telling what an Indian is up to. My best guess—to see where you were and how many men you had.”
     He grunted. “We’ll probably never know, will we.”
     “Probably.”
     “Will they hurt the women?”
     My face was grave. “Wouldn’t bet much against it.”

     “You know those mountains around Whitewater,” Ratliff said to me, as we rode at a brisk canter towards the town. “What are the best ways to attack it, from the Indian point of view?” Given the recent happenings, Ratliff had changed his plans. He no longer intended to attack the Indians at the canyon for fear they might have already left and thus his troops would be completely out of position to stop any invasion of Whitewater. So we were proceeding on to the town to set up defenses there.
     I glanced at him. “You’re an old Indian fighter. Why are you asking me?”
     “Just wanted your opinion. Two heads and all that.”
     I nodded. “I never knew of, or heard of, an Indian using much strategy. They have a trick or two they like to pull, but with this massive a force, I don’t expect anything but a head-on assault. How good are your men?”
     I heard him breathe out audibly. “Some vets, some green, most I don’t know because they’ve never been under my command.”
     I grunted. “You’re going to have 3,000 screaming, screeching, howling savages coming towards you at full gallop. That, as I’m sure you know, dear Colonel, is an incredibly frightening site.”
     “You’ve seen it before?”
     “No, but I’ve seen three or four coming at me and that was frightening enough.”
     “My men won’t run,” he replied, and I suspect his words conveyed a whole lot more confidence than he felt.
     “I wouldn’t give them a chance to, if I were you. Either attack, or set up a defensive perimeter the Indians can’t penetrate.”
     His eyebrows shot up. “Where?”
     “What was your plan?” I asked him.
     “I like to see the lay of the land before I devise some strategy. That valley is pretty open, isn’t it?”
     “Yeah. West of Whitewater it is. But it narrow to a funnel maybe a half mile from town. The biggest problem I see is that we don’t know where they are coming out of those mountains.”
     “I’ve got some men scouting right now. I’d like for you to go join them since you know where that canyon is where the Indians have been camped.”
     I was chewing on my lower lip thoughtfully. “That’s not going to work, Colonel. Those Indians could come out of those foothills anywhere within a 20 mile stretch of land, and they could easily slip through at night when your scouts couldn’t see them.” I shook my head. “No, as much as I hate it, we’re going to have to let them get fairly close to Whitewater.” I made a sweeping motion with my hand. “You can’t fight them straight up in this valley, not the way you’re outnumbered. It’s 30 miles wide and they can outflank you or just overwhelm you. Close to Whitewater, where this valley narrows, you can hide your men in the hills and mountains. Build a barricade at the west end of Whitewater and put as many men as you can spare behind it. Then hide some in the southern hills, some in the northern, hit them with your artillery, then attack.”
     Ratliff glanced at me, annoyed. “We don’t have any artillery, you know that.”
     I smiled. “Oh, yes, you do. But we need to hurry…”

     Interestingly, the Army and I weren’t all that far behind Sam and Robin, but we camped a couple miles outside of town. Ratliff sent Major Underwood into Whitewater to let the sheriff know what we were doing and so nobody would be alarmed at the camp fires they might see. It was a big camp, obviously.
     “How do you read it, Mr. Constance?” Colonel Ratliff asked me. “Do you think the Indians will attack tomorrow after their noon deadline has passed?”
     I had a distinct feeling he already had his mind made up on that subject and was simply wanting to see if I agreed with his already-made-up-mind.
     “No, they won’t attack at noon, they’ll attack an hour or two before sunset.”
     That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “Sunset? You don’t think they’ll wait until sunrise the next morning?”
     I shook my head.
     “Why?”
     “Colonel Ratliff, in what direction does the sun go down every evening?”
     He frowned a moment, then understood. “The sun will be behind them and in our eyes.”
     “Something like that. But believe me, they will hit quick because a lot of those fellows get spooked after dark and won’t want to fight.”
     And then it started. A sound that was liable to drive every white man—and woman—out of their minds in the next 24 hours.
     The pounding of drums. Reverberating off the mountains and hills like an echo straight out of the bottom of a tomb. Telling us that the Indians, indeed, were coming. Soon.
     But not until they had stretched our nerves to the breaking point.
     I gave Ratliff a wry grin. “A little psychological warfare, it seems.”
     He nodded. “They’ll keep that up until they are ready to attack.”
     I shook my head. “No, not exactly. They’ll stop, probably noon tomorrow. The deadline. Then there will be nothing but silence, which will be just as nerve-racking. And they’ll make us wait…and wait…and wait. And shatter our nerves some more.” I paused and looked towards the hills where the drums were pounding. “And then 3,000 of them will slowly come over those hills. They’ll stop, let us see them for a few minutes. Slowly come trotting towards us…pick up speed…start their war cries….”
     “All right, all right, I know the routine,” Ratliff said, irritably. “You’ll start getting on my nerves before long.” He sighed. “We better go get our…artillery, don’t you think?”
     The “artillery” was going to be barrels of blasting powder. My idea was to bury as many as we could in the ground on the Indian approach to Whitewater with enough of the barrel showing that a bullet would ignite the powder. As the Indians rode over or past them, army sharpshooters would fire at the barrels and the resulting explosion could do a whole lot of damage. Psychologically as well as physically.
     “But where are we going to get the blasting powder?” Ratliff had asked me when I had told him about it earlier.
     “What do you think mining companies use to dig those shafts?”
     And a slow smile had spread over the colonel’s face.
     His current suggestion about getting the blasting powder as soon as possible was a very good one. Only thing was, I had absolutely no intention of going into Whitewater. There was a very good chance, almost a surety, that the sheriff, at least, would know me—Rob Conners—so I was going to have to beg out of that one. “Why don’t you take Major Underwood or Sergeant McCoy with you? I’d like to go out and scout around, see where we might want to place the powder.”
     Ratliff wasn’t suspicious. “Yeah, that’s not a bad idea. We’ll need some idea of where to bury it. I’ll get as many shovels as I can, too, and put the men to work on it tonight.”
     “The sooner, the better. I don’t expect an attack before close to sunset tomorrow, but I don’t trust an Indian, either.”
     “Ain’t that the truth.”
     “Ask them about dynamite, too, although I wouldn’t ask anyone to get close enough to throw it. That would be suicide.”
     “Yes, it would.”
     So Ratliff took McCoy with him, in search of Len Kramer, who could authorize the use of the powder. If he didn’t, Ratliff would take it anyway. The colonel would made some vague promise about the government paying Kilmer Mining for it, but if Kramer had any brains at all, he knew he’d never see the money. But, frankly, it was his mining company that was being saved by the army, so he oughtn’t complain too much.
     But I watched Ratliff and McCoy ride towards Whitewater and I felt a tinge of sadness. She’s there…I dropped my head. But I can never go…
     With a sigh, I turned my attention to surveying the ground over which the natives must traverse to reach their ultimate goal.

     Kilmer Mining Company’s office was already closed, but Colonel Ratliff went to the sheriff who knew where Len Kramer lived. Len, naturally, was interested in the latest developments.
     “I don’t guess,” Ratliff said to him, “that Kilmer Mining would consider meeting the Indians’ demands of closing down operations.”
     “Uhhhh…no.”
     “Did you know Turtle Mountain was sacred to most of the tribes in the territory?”
     Len hedged a little. “Well, we’d heard something to that effect, but we also understood that the land now belonged to the United States and thus was available for our use.”
     Ratliff nodded. “Well, the natives dispute that, and as I’m sure you’ve heard, have about 3,000 warriors ready to reinstate their claim to it.”
     Len appeared distressed. “There’s nothing that can be done to avoid bloodshed?”
     The colonel shook his head. “Not short of closing operations. We even suggested to them that you’d be willing to let them come and remove their dead and take them to another burial ground, but this one is sacred to them so they are willing to fight for it.” He paused. “They have no chance, I wish they would understand that. Even if they were to win this battle and wipe Whitewater off the map, they couldn’t hold the land for long. The United States Army would come with full force and drive them out.” He shook his head again, this time in dismay. “It’s so useless and so many are going to die.”
     “Can you stop them?” Len asked.
     “Well, we hope so. It’s one reason I wanted to talk to you. How much blasting powder do you have? Barrels.” He explained the plan to Len, who nodded.
     “I’ll give you all I have. I’m not exactly sure how much we have, but one of our foremen would know. Let’s go ask him.”
     The foremen, two of whom—Hank Jurgens and Phil Frazier—were met earlier in the story—lived on site near the mines. That was also where all mining materials were kept. Len found Jurgens, who told him that they had 51 barrels of powder.
     “That would wipe us out,” he said, “but we could still do some digging while we waited for more.” He looked at Colonel Ratliff. “Where do you plan on burying the stuff?”
     “Well, I’ve got a man out right now scouting the best places. We’re going to have to put them fairly close to Whitewater so that my sharpshooters won’t be totally exposed. What we hope the explosions will do is create enough havoc and discord among the Indians that my men will be able to hit them hard enough to drive them off.”
     Jurgens replied, “I’ve heard that Indians don’t like taking too many casualties, so it could work.”
     Ratliff nodded. “Yes, but what I fear is the mountain is so sacred to them that they may fight to the last man.” He sighed. “Savages or not, that’s way too much bloodshed and will cost me a lot of good men, too.”
     Nobody was happy about it, but Ratliff continued, talking to Jurgens, “How soon can you get the barrels to me?”
     “I’ll get to work on it right now.” He gave Len Kramer a whimsical smile. “I might even be able to get some of my men to help dig if Mr. Kramer promises them a little bonus.”
     Len smiled back. “I think that can be arranged. Or at least a couple days off.”
     Jurgens, replied, “They might prefer that. We’ll talk about it later. Let me get to work on it.” To Ratliff, he said, “You need shovels, too?”
     “As many as you can provide.”
     “Dynamite? Got a lot of that, too.”
     Ratliff said, “I wish we could figure out a way to use it, but I don’t think we could get close enough.”
     “I got wire that will stretch a quarter mile. We could blow up a whole lot of Injuns if we planted enough of the stuff just under the ground and set it off at the right moment.”
     The colonel was interested. “How much of that wire do you have?”
     Jurgens said, “Probably only a couple miles of the stuff. Not very much at the moment, I’m afraid. I was getting ready to order some more.”
     “Bring it. And all the dynamite you can carry. On the double. I’d like to start burying the stuff tonight, if possible.”
     “Done. When do you expect the Indians to attack?”
     “Hear those drums?”
     Everybody could hear the drums. “Yeah,” Jurgens said, looking in the direction of the sound.
     “That means an attack is soon. My main scout thinks tomorrow a little before sunset to put the sun in our eyes. They won’t attack as long as those drums are beating, but when they stop, it could be any time.”
    Jurgens sighed. “Then we better get to work….”

     Meanwhile, I spent the evening doing what I told Colonel Ratliff I was going to do, viz., look for some good places to bury the powder. There hadn’t been a lot of rain lately, so the ground was hard and would be difficult to dig in, but then, we wanted at least part of the barrel to show so that the sharpshooters’ bullet would ignite the powder. I wondered if it would be just the same if we didn’t even bother burying them. The Indians would see the humps of ground, and after the first two exploded, they’d know what they were. But if we spread them out judiciously, we ought to be able to do a lot of damage.
     When Ratliff returned, I showed him what I had in mind. “How many Sharps rifles do you have?” I asked him. A Sharps, as noted earlier, was the most powerful rifle at the time, and a real marksmen could hit a target at least 500 yards away. In fact, the term “sharpshooter” came from the ability to use this rifle. Buffalo hunters for the most part used the Sharps to virtually wipe out the Plains herds. The best shooters could down a buffalo at 600 yards. The Sharps could fire about 8-10 rounds a minute, as it could hold only one bullet at a time. But the expert with it could fire fairly rapidly.
     “I’ve only got 10, but I’ve got plenty of ammo for them.”
     “And you said Kilmer is going to let us have some dynamite as well?”
     “Yes.”
     I nodded. “That’s great. Let me tell you what I think we ought to do.” Turtle Mountain, north of Whitewater, ended with a gradual slope about a mile west of town. The southern hills extended as far as the eye could. So there was a fairly narrow corridor between the southern and northern hills west of town, though it gradually began to widen about a half mile from the town limit. “We want to hit them as far away from Whitewater as possible. Put your best shooters on the northern and southern hills, and we’ll bury the barrels starting about 500 yards out, maybe in rows of 10 each, 50 yards apart. The Indians won’t have any kind of order to their attack, they’ll just come as fast and as hard as they can, each man to himself. If your men can start exploding those barrels right when the first wave hits them, then keep exploding them as the momentum of those behind pushes them forward, we can make quite a mess. Let’s run the dynamite about even to the extremity of the Turtle Mountain foothill, so that any Indians that get through the barrels—and most of them will—will get a nice surprise. We need to get a barricade built about a quarter mile from town. Put several dozen men behind it. Then once all the barrels and dynamite have been exploded, hit ‘em with your cavalry from both flanks. Also, have some men on both flanks of the corridor leading into Whitewater, shooting from the hills. Finally, you want to put some men on the roofs of buildings in town to pick off any Indians that might get through.”
     Ratliff nodded. “It’s a good plan. Let’s work on it.” He looked at me. “How many natives do you think will make it into Whitewater?”
     I chewed on my lower lip. “Best case scenario is if they start taking too many losses, they may retreat. Send your men after them if they do, but watch out for an ambush. The Indians are good at drawing whites into a trap by seemingly fleeing from the battlefield.” I gave him a wry face. “It’s an old trick. Joshua used it in the Bible.”
     “Yeah,” Ratliff said.
     “But even if they don’t pull back, hopefully we will have whittled the numbers down sufficiently enough that they won’t be able to do much damage if they reach Whitewater.” I shook my head. “But if there are 3,000 of them…”
     “I think we can stop them.”
     I looked at him. “Good luck.”
    
     It took Hank Jurgens about three hours to get everything together, but near midnight he showed up with a trail of wagons behind him. I had been showing Colonel Ratliff where I thought the best places to bury the barrels would be, and Sergeant McCoy had to run us down.
     “Colonel, the miner is here with the powder and dynamite.”
     “Thank you, Sergeant. Get a detail of men with shovels and get them and the barrels over here on the double.”
     “I’ll go show Jurgens where we want the dynamite planted,” I said.
     “Ok. We’ll handle this end, you handle that end.”
     “You do have men working on a barricade about a quarter mile from town like we talked about, don’t you?”
     He nodded. “A nice, solid, log barricade, from foothill to foothill. But I’ve pulled it in a little closer to town. It will give my men on both sides of the valley more shooting room. The Indians are going to have fun getting through, or around that gauntlet.”
     I nodded. “Build that barricade as high as you can with some cavities in it for your men to shoot through.”
     Ratliff gave me a wry smile. “You must think I’m an amateur, Mr. Constance.”
     I didn’t smile back. “No, I don’t think that at all, Colonel Ratliff. What I don’t think of, I expect you to.” I headed off towards the dynamite wagon.
     So we worked for the next several hours, the constant beat of the Indian drums wearing thin on everyone’s nerves. I thought we had a pretty good defensive plan, with four different levels of defense—the barrels, the dynamite, the barricade, and then the men in town, to which would be added the flanking attack of the cavalry. But 2,500+ Indians were going to be hard to stop, regardless of what we did. The barrels of powder were buried longways, with just enough of the barrel showing to give Ratliff’s shooters a good target—and to blow the powder upward, not back into the ground. The Indians would be on them before they knew what they were. Jurgens and I discussed where we wanted to place the dynamite. Given the configuration of the corridor west of town, and where the blockade was being built, we would be able to get 10 bundles of dynamite buried. He had enough cable to connect that much to the plunger box, and he was going to let 10 of his experienced miners push the plungers.
     “You know,” he said, “if we put this stuff close enough together, and in a straight line, we might be able to blast a trench big enough that will make it very difficult for them to get across.”
     I stared at him thoughtfully. “How big a trench do you think you can create?”
     He shrugged. “Depends on how much dynamite we use.”
     “Five feet deep? Ten feet wide?”
     He considered a moment. “We’d have to clean up the mess afterwards, shovel out the detritus, excess dirt, etc., but yeah, we could probably do that.”
     I smiled. “Then why wait for the Indians to arrive? Why don’t we just dig that trench right now, and put as many men as needed tomorrow morning getting it the way we want it? With sharp pikes sticking up out of the ground on both sides, and in the trench.”
     “You give the word, and that’s what we’ll do,” Jurgens said.
     “Get the dynamite planted,” I said to him, “I’m going to go talk to Ratliff.”
     I told the colonel my idea. “Let’s blast the trench now. Get your men digging it as deep and as wide as possible tomorrow. Have some others make as many sharp-pointed spikes as possible, something else the Indians will have to work their way through. Then, put 50 men behind the barricade, and 100 horsemen in the hills, 50 on each side, between the trench and the barricade and when any of the Indians get through, your men can flank them.”
     He nodded. “I like the idea. I’m also going to hide 400 cavalry in the hills on either side and when the Indians get past, I’ll have them attack from behind. We should have them surrounded.”
     “That’s good. One more thing.”
     “Yes?”
     “Has anybody talked to the mayor of Whitewater? Is he planning an evauation of the town?”
     “I think he’s moving all the women and children into the park east of town. The men are setting up one last stand at the far end.” He shook his head. “But if the Indians get that far….”
     “Yeah.”
     The work went on all night. With enough men working, it didn’t take long to get the barrels concealed, and Ratliff let his men sleep in shifts. He put a number of them to work building the barricade and making pikes. “Six feet high on the barricade and at least 8 feet long on the pikes,” he told them. Chances were very good that they’d have to compromise on the height of the barricade, but six feet was the goal. The Indian drums continued to pound. Jurgens got the dynamite buried, capped, and strung, and by dawn was ready to blast.
     “This will tear up the ground pretty good,” he said, “and make some big holes. It will just be a matter then of getting in there and digging the trench like you want it.”
     “Colonel Ratliff has plenty of men to do that,” I told him. I rubbed my eyes. I was getting weary. I had missed my nap the day before…
     We made sure everybody was cleared out of the region, giving the dynamite a wide berth. Jurgens made a motion to his men, and ten plungers went down simultaneous. There was a grumble, then the earth literally trembled. This was followed by a humongous roar, and dirt and dust and debris flew into the air to a height of at least 100 feet.
     I smiled. I wonder what the Indians thought of that…
     In what seemed like slow motion, the dirt and dust descended from the sky and began settling onto the ground. But there was still plenty of it in the air. “We’ll need to let that settle for a while before we can get in there and see what we’ve got,” Jurgens said. But he was smiling. “I love a good blast, and that was a dandy.”
     We had till...when?...to finish our preparations.
     But, regardless, I had no intention of being anywhere near there when the Indians attacked. I had other plans.

     Colonel Benjamin Ratliff was working his men like, well, like 3,000 Indians were getting ready to attack. The trench that the dynamite had begun kept several dozen men occupied for the entire morning, digging, scraping, hauling. Somebody came up with the idea, “Why don’t we pour some of that blasting powder all across the bottom of the trench, put some wood and such over it, and then if the Indians get that far, set it alight it and they’ll have a wall of fire to go around, too.” Ratliff and I looked at each other, accusingly, as if in “Why didn’t you think of that?”, so several barrels of powder were dug up, their contents spread evenly throughout the trench, and then wood piled on top of that. A little trickle of powder was then dribbled to a place in the trees, and Ratliff then ordered one of his men, “Macey, when those Indians get to within 20 yards of this trench, you light that powder. That should give them a nice, warm reception.”
     “Yessir,” the little red-headed, freckled-face corporal, who didn’t look like he was over 16, said with a grin from ear-to-ear. “We’re gonna have roast Injun for supper.”
     Ratliff just harrumphed at that and walked away.
     Hank Jurgens was hanging around, helping as he could, as were nearly all of the miners. Len had given them the day off to assist in the preparations. I looked at Hank. “You got some kerosene we could pour over that wood in the trench? That would sure help liven things up some more when that powder ignites.”
     He smiled, and nodded. Then his smile widened to a grin. “I’ve got something else that will spook them redskins, too.” He called for a couple of his men and gave them some orders. I saw them grin, too, and they took off. I didn’t know what Jurgens had in mind, of course, but if it would help….
     His men got back about an hour later. They were pulling a couple of wagons. One of them was full of cans of kerosene. The other was full of…firecrackers.
     “I figure if those ‘crackers start popping when that fire goes up that maybe the Indians will think that hell is shooting at them, too, get the willies, and run off.”
     It was a great idea and I told him so. “Where did you get all the firecrackers?” There were more than just regular firecrackers. We would have a Fourth of July fireworks display when all that stuff went off.
     And, not surprisingly, he replied, “Well, the Fourth of July is coming up here pretty soon…”
     So by about 1 PM, we had our defenses pretty well set. There were only about 40 barrels of powder buried now, but Ratliff’s sharpshooters would start our defense by exploding them. It wouldn’t kill many of the Indians, but it would slow them down, and spook their horses. This would give Ratliff’s cavalry a chance to attack from both flanks. As the Indians moved into the mountain corridor towards Whitewater, several dozen soldiers would start shooting from each side. At 20 yards from the trench, the powder there would be set off and that could be a real sight. Any of the natives who made it past that faced the barricade with about 50 men behind it. Then, in the town proper, another 25 were being stationed on the rooftops as snipers just in case any of the Indians made it that far. If there were still 300 to 400 Indians left by then, well, so much for Whitewater. The barricade at the east end of town would be manned by miners and the men of the town. I didn’t have a lot of confidence in the regular citizens, but the miners were a tough bunch. They’d at least delay the Indians until the people could escape the park and head east. Somewhere. Rogersville, is what I’d heard. It was the closest town south, but it was 90 miles. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be necessary.
     About 12:30, the drumming, which hadn’t stopped since it had begun the day before, ceased. It was noticed. The drumming initially had gotten on everybody’s nerves for a little while, and then became largely accepted as part of the environment. Now when it stopped, the silence was eerie. People looked around at each other, but nobody said anything. All thoughts turned to the same question—are they going to attack now?
     More psychological warfare by a race of men who were very good at it.
     Colonel Benjamin Ratliff looked around for me, and didn’t see me. “Where’s Constance?” he asked an adjutant.
     “I don’t know, sir, he was here a little while ago. You want me to go find him?”
     “Yes, I’d like to talk to him.”
     “Yessir.”
     The adjutant searched and asked. And nobody knew where I was.
     There was a good reason he didn’t find me. I wasn’t there. I was long gone.