JOGGING ALONG AT AN EASY PACE.
That evening therefore the little troop once more rode down the valley of the White River, the "Smoking Earth" as the Indians called it, and by sunset were camped at Red Cloud. In much distress of mind Mr. Blunt called upon the commanding officer to tell him of the disappearance of the money and his trumpeter, and to ask the colonel's advice as to the proper course for him to pursue. It was agreed that telegrams should be sent at once to the captain at Fort Laramie and to the commanding officer at Sidney barracks on the railway, notifying them of the crime and the desertion. Blunt begged for a moment's delay until he could hear from Sergeant Graham, whom hehad sent to make certain investigations, and long before tattoo the sergeant came—and with him the hospital steward.
"Lieutenant, the store-keeper says he sold just such a handkerchief as that to Trumpeter Waller last week, and the steward can tell about the chloroform."
Both officers looked inquiringly at the steward.
"Yes, sir, it was pay day that young Waller handed me a penciled note from Sergeant Graham, saying that he had a bad tooth-ache and asking for a little chloroform, and I gave it to him."
"I never wrote such a note, sir, and never sent him on such a message," said Graham.
CHAPTER VII.
TELEGRAPHIC DISPATCHES.
BBAD news travels fast. Captain Charlton at Fort Laramie was stunned by the tidings flashed to him by telegraph from Red Cloud. Despite the array of damaging evidence, he could not bring himself to believe that Fred Waller was a thief: but he was sore at heart when he thought of the misery and sorrow the news must bring to the dear ones at his army home—above all to the proud old sergeant, whose life seemed almost[76]bound up in the boy. Well knowing that it could only be a day or two before the story would make its way to the posts along the railroad, and would reach Sanders, doubtless, in a more exaggerated form, the captain decided to warn his wife at once, and by the stage leaving that very night a letter went in to Cheyenne, and thence by train over the great "divide" of the Rockies to Fort Sanders, giving to Mrs. Charlton all particulars thus far received, but charging her to say nothing until further tidings.
BAD news travels fast. Captain Charlton at Fort Laramie was stunned by the tidings flashed to him by telegraph from Red Cloud. Despite the array of damaging evidence, he could not bring himself to believe that Fred Waller was a thief: but he was sore at heart when he thought of the misery and sorrow the news must bring to the dear ones at his army home—above all to the proud old sergeant, whose life seemed almost[76]bound up in the boy. Well knowing that it could only be a day or two before the story would make its way to the posts along the railroad, and would reach Sanders, doubtless, in a more exaggerated form, the captain decided to warn his wife at once, and by the stage leaving that very night a letter went in to Cheyenne, and thence by train over the great "divide" of the Rockies to Fort Sanders, giving to Mrs. Charlton all particulars thus far received, but charging her to say nothing until further tidings.
"I cannot believe it [wrote he], and am going at once to join the troop and make full investigation. Meantime I have written by thesame mail to Major Edwards, who commands at Sidney barracks, to make every effort to trace the boy, should he have come south of the Platte; and you must be sure to see, when the news reaches Sanders, that the sergeant is assured of my disbelief in the whole story, and of my determination that Fred shall have justice done him. It will be several days before you can hear from me again."
And the news reached Sanders, as he feared, all too soon. Telegraph offices "leaked" on the frontier in those days. The operators at the military stations were all enlisted men, who were not bound by the regulations of theWestern Union, and who could not keep to themselves every item of personal interest. The Sidney office wired mysterious inquiries to Sanders; Sanders insisted on knowing what it meant, and presently Laramie, Sanders, Sidney, Russell, Red Cloud, and even Chug Water were clicking away in confidential discussion over the extraordinary theft and flight. And Mrs. Charlton's letter came none too early to save old Waller from despair. It was a woman, a gabbling laundress, who first told him of the rumor, and Mrs. Charlton saw him hastening to the telegraph office just as she had finished reading the letter.
"Mr. Nelson, quick!" she called to a young officer just passing thegate. "Stop Sergeant Waller at once. Don't let him go to the office. Make him come here to me. He will hear and obey you."
And Mr. Nelson touched his cap, leaped lightly across the acequia, and his powerful young voice was heard thundering, "Sergeant Waller!" in peremptory tones across the parade. "Sergeant Waller!" echoed a half dozen voices as the loungers on barrack porches took up the cry, "Lieutenant Nelson wants you!" and the soldier instinct prevailed, the old man turned and hastened toward the officers' quarters.
"What is it, Mrs. Charlton," asked Nelson. "Has there been another fight? Is Fred killed? It will break the old man's heart."
"Oh, Mr. Nelson! I can't tell you about it yet!" she almost wailed. "There's bad news, and I'm afraid the old man has heard it. Stay here, near me a moment, can you? Oh, look at his face! Look at his face! He has heard."
White, livid, trembling from head to foot, the old soldier hurried toward the young officer and dumbly raised his hand in the mechanical salute.
"It is Mrs. Charlton who wants you, sergeant," said Mr. Nelson kindly. "Go to her," and without a word the veteran passed in at the gate.
HE RAISED HIS HANDS AND PRESSED THEM TO HIS EYES.
She held forth her hand, her eyes brimming with tears. Instinctively he halted, the old respect and reverence for "captain'slady" checking the wild torrent of grief and anxiety, but she caught him by the arm and led him wondering and submissive, yet overwhelmed with cruel dread, into her cool and darkened parlor. There, with wild, imploring eyes, the old man half stretched forth two palsied hands, his forage cap falling unheaded to the floor, his whole frame shaking.
"Don't give way, sergeant; don't believe it!" she cried, and at her first words a look as of horror came into the stricken old face, and the hands clasped together in piteous appeal. "Listen to what the captain says. His letter has just come, and I was sure, when I saw you, that someone had told you the rumor. Captain Charltonwill not believe a word of it. He was at Laramie on court-martial or it would not have happened. He has hurried back to Red Cloud to investigate, and he declares that Fred shall have justice done him. I'll never believe it—never! Why, we would trust him with anything we owned."
"I—I thank the captain. I thank Mrs. Charlton," he brokenly replied. "It's stunned like I am." He raised his hands and pressed them against his eyes, and one of them was lowered suddenly, feebly groping for support. She seized his arm and strove to lead him to a sofa. "You must sit down, sergeant," she said.
"No, ma'am, no!" he protested,straightening himself with a violent effort. "Now, may I hear what it is they say against my boy, ma'am? I want every word. Don't be afraid, ma'am, I can bear it."
Then, with infinite sympathy and pity, she told him, softening every detail, suggesting an explanation for every circumstance that pointed to his guilt; and all the time the old man stood there, his eyes, filled with dumb anguish, fixed upon her face, his hands clasped together as though in entreaty, his fingers twitching nervously. At every new and damaging detail, condone or explain it though she would, he shuddered as though smitten with a sharp, painful spasm; but whenit came to Fred's midnight disappearance—horse, arms, and all—in the heart of the Indian country, stealing away from his comrades in the shadow of disgrace and crime, the old man groaned aloud and buried his face in his hands. Some time he stood there, reeling, yet resisting her efforts to draw him to a seat. She pleaded with him hurriedly, impulsively, yet he seemed not to hear. At last with one long shivering sigh, he suddenly straightened up and faced her. His hands fell by his side. He cleared his throat and strove to speak:
"You've been good to me, ma'am—so good"—and here he choked, and for a moment could not go on—"and to my boy"—atlast he finished, with impulsive rush of words. "I know how they're sometimes tempted. I know how, more than once, the little fellow would be led away by the roughs in the troop, just to worry me; but he never hid a thing from me, ma'am, never; and if he's in trouble now he would tell me the whole truth, even if it broke us both down. I'll not believe it till I see him, ma'am; but I must go—I must go until I find my boy."
Blinded with tears, Mrs. Charlton could hardly see the swaying, grief-bowed old soldier as he left the house; but Nelson was waiting close at hand, and stepped forward and took his place by the sergeant's side.
"I don't know what the trouble is," he said, "but I'm going as far as the headquarters with you, and if there is anything on earth I can do to help you, do not fail to tell me."
That night, with a week's furlough and a letter from his post commander to Major Edwards at Sidney, old Sergeant Waller was jolting eastward in the caboose of a freight train.
CHAPTER VIII.
LOYAL FRIENDS.
IIT was on Friday morning, at daybreak, that the desertion of Trumpeter Waller was reported to Lieutenant Blunt. It was Friday night that the telegrams were sent to Laramie and that Charlton's letter left by stage. It was Saturday afternoon just before parade that the mail was distributed at Fort Sanders; and that very evening, before Major Edwards had received and had time to read his letter from the[88]West, the sergeant had started on his long and fatiguing journey. All night long in sleepless misery he sat in a corner of the caboose, occasionally rising and tramping unsteadily to and fro. At Cheyenne a delay of half an hour occurred, and he left the train and paced restlessly up and down the platform under the freight sheds. He dared not go down to the lighted offices and the crowded passenger station just below him. It seemed as though everyone knew of Fred's story by this time. He could see the gleam of forage-cap ornaments and the glint of army buttons among the people at the dépot, and knew there were several officers and soldiers there. Never before had he known what[89]it was to shrink from facing any man on earth; but to-night, though he almost starved for further news from his boy, he could not bring himself to meet them and ask.
IT was on Friday morning, at daybreak, that the desertion of Trumpeter Waller was reported to Lieutenant Blunt. It was Friday night that the telegrams were sent to Laramie and that Charlton's letter left by stage. It was Saturday afternoon just before parade that the mail was distributed at Fort Sanders; and that very evening, before Major Edwards had received and had time to read his letter from the[88]West, the sergeant had started on his long and fatiguing journey. All night long in sleepless misery he sat in a corner of the caboose, occasionally rising and tramping unsteadily to and fro. At Cheyenne a delay of half an hour occurred, and he left the train and paced restlessly up and down the platform under the freight sheds. He dared not go down to the lighted offices and the crowded passenger station just below him. It seemed as though everyone knew of Fred's story by this time. He could see the gleam of forage-cap ornaments and the glint of army buttons among the people at the dépot, and knew there were several officers and soldiers there. Never before had he known what[89]it was to shrink from facing any man on earth; but to-night, though he almost starved for further news from his boy, he could not bring himself to meet them and ask.
Along toward morning, at Pine Bluffs, a herdsman got aboard, and what he had to say was of startling interest. Hitherto the Indian war parties had kept well to the north of the Platte, "but" said he, "ever since Friday the Sidney road has been swarming with them—both sides of the river—and they are killing everything white they can lay their hands on."
"My God!" thought Waller, "and Fred must be in the very midst of them. Better so," he added, "if indeed he can beguilty." The herder had evidently been sorely frightened by all he heard, and he was hurrying to Sidney to join a party of cattle-men who were camping there. He had been drinking too, and took more and more as the night wore on, and became maudlin in his talk. It was nine o'clock on Sunday morning when they reached Sidney station, and the first thing that old Waller saw was a strong concord wagon with a four-mule team and an army driver. Two infantry soldiers with their rifles and girt with cartridge-belts were standing close at hand. Two officers were stowing their rifles inside the wagon, and an orderly was strapping the tarpaulin over the light luggage in the"boot." One of the officers the sergeant knew instantly—an aid-de-camp of the commanding general. The other was older in years and bore on his cap the insignia of the staff. The younger officer saw him before he could step into the office, and Sergeant Waller knew it—knew too, with the quickness of thought, that he had heard of Fred's disappearance and presumable crime. He could have shrunk from meeting his superiors in the shadow of this bitter sorrow and disgrace. Even while he could not accept the belief that his boy was actually a deserter and a thief, he knew full well what other men must think. But Captain Cross was a cavalryman himself, and had known old Wallerfor years. He dropped his rifle, came straight forward, and took him by the hand.
"Sergeant, I don't believe it of your boy; I've known his father too long," was all he said, as he pressed the veteran's hand. Poor old Waller, worn with anguish, long vigil, and utter lack of food of any kind, was now so weak that he could only, with the utmost difficulty, choke back the sobs that shook his frame. Speak he dare not; he would have broken down. Cross led him to the lunch room at the station and made him swallow a cup of coffee, then gently questioned him as to what he knew.
"We go at once to Red Cloud—Colonel Gaines and I—andmaybe on the road I shall hear something of him. Sergeant, rest assured your son shall have fair play," said the aid-de-camp, as he was about to turn away.
"But, captain—I beg pardon, sir," broke in Waller hurriedly, in almost the first words he had spoken. "Where is your escort? Surely you won't take this route without one?"
"There isn't a trooper at Sidney, sergeant. We have a couple of infantrymen in the wagon and another on a mule. That's the best we can do, and we've got no time to spare. We must be at Red Cloud to-morrow, and this is the shortest line."
"But, sir, haven't you heard? The Sioux are out in force andall along the road, both above and below the Platte. There's a herder on the train who told us. He got aboard at Pine Bluffs this morning."
"I can hardly believe that," answered Cross. "Captain Forrest with the Grays is scouting south of Red Cloud. Captain Wallace was ordered to watch the fords along the Platte on this line; Captain Charlton is out—or at least the whole troop has been, and there are three more. Surely Major Edwards would know over at the barracks, if the Indians were anywhere between us and the river,—we'll get an escort from Captain Wallace the other side,—but he has not heard a word."
"But I beg the captain to hear what the man says, sir," urged Sergeant Waller. "He's been drinking, but he tells the same story, practically, that he told us when he got aboard. Let me find him, sir."
And find him he did, even more maudlin and thick-tongued by this time, and evidently determined to make the most of his dramatic story for the benefit of the two officers and swarm of interested lookers-on. He only succeeded in inspiring the colonel with mingled incredulity and disgust.
"I don't believe a word of it," he said to Captain Cross. "And we are losing valuable time. We must start at once."
An hour later this peaceful Sabbath morning, the sergeant stood, cap in hand, before Major Edwards on the veranda of his pleasant quarters. Two pretty children were playing with a big, shaggy, lazy staghound, pulling his ears and tormenting him in various ways; a pleasant-faced lady came forth, sunshade and prayer book in hand, and at sight of her the little ones reluctantly rose and bade good-by to their four-footed friend, and the party started slowly away across the green parade to the post chapel, nodding and smiling to the spruce orderly, who stood respectfully aside to let them pass. Mrs. Edwards glanced quickly and sympathetically into the sergeant'ssad face as he stood there before her husband's easy-chair. She knew well what it all meant, but there was nothing for her to say. Small parties of infantry officers and of ladies and children joined them on the way to the humble wooden sanctuary; the soft notes of the bugle were sounding church call; a warm gentle breeze from the southern plains stirred the folds of the big flag; the sunshine was joyous and brilliant, and all spoke of peace, order, and contentment. Yet there stood Waller with almost bursting heart; and yonder, only a few miles across the grassy ridge to the north, rode that little party of officers and men to almost certain death.
The major looked up as he finished reading the letter placed in his hands.
"I have no words to tell you of my sympathy and sorrow, sergeant. Of course you know my plain duty in the matter. The sheriff has been notified, and two of his deputies already have gone out to search. He would hardly be mad enough to come anywhere near us, if guilty. But if he is taken he will be held here under my charge, and I will see that you have every proper opportunity of visiting him. The adjutant tells me you had heard something of the Indians being south of the Platte. What was it?"
"A man who boarded our train at the Bluffs, sir. He claimed tohave had to ride hard for his life yesterday afternoon, and that there were scores of the Sioux this side of the river. I took him to Colonel Gaines and Captain Cross, sir; but the man had been drinking so much that they distrusted him entirely. They left the station before I started for the barracks, sir."
The major sat thoughtfully gazing out across the parade a moment; then answered:
"We have had no rumors of anything of the kind, and they would be almost sure to come this way to us, if anyone heard of such stories. There are no settlers along the road, after leaving the springs, out here until you reach the Platte. I can hardly believeit, but we'll see what can be got from the man when he sobers up. Now the sergeant-major will go with you to the quarters, and I will see you later in the day."
But later in the day that promise was forgotten in an excitement of far greater magnitude.
CHAPTER IX.
LURKING FOES.
CCHURCH was over. The bugler had just sounded mess call, and the soldiers in their neat "undress" uniform were just going in to dinner, when a man on a "cow pony"—one of those wiry, active little steeds so much in use around the cattle-herd—came full speed into the garrison and threw himself from the saddle at Major Edwards' gate. It was the telegraph operator at the railway station. In his hands were two[102]brown envelopes, and Major Edwards, as he stepped forward to meet him, saw in his face the tell-tale look of a bearer of bad news.
CHURCH was over. The bugler had just sounded mess call, and the soldiers in their neat "undress" uniform were just going in to dinner, when a man on a "cow pony"—one of those wiry, active little steeds so much in use around the cattle-herd—came full speed into the garrison and threw himself from the saddle at Major Edwards' gate. It was the telegraph operator at the railway station. In his hands were two[102]brown envelopes, and Major Edwards, as he stepped forward to meet him, saw in his face the tell-tale look of a bearer of bad news.
"I've no idea whose horse that is, major. There were a half dozen of 'em in front of a saloon there in town, and I jumped on the first I saw. These have just come—one from Laramie, one from Omaha. I dropped everything at the office to fetch them to you."
Edwards tore open first one and then the other. The first read:
"Couriers in front of Captain Wallace report large war parties along the Platte, and some across, raiding the Sidney road. Fourteamsters killed, scalped, and mutilated three miles south of river. Bodies found. Warn back everybody attempting to go that way."
The second was from the office of the department commander himself:
"Indians in force south of Platte, on Sidney road. If Colonel Gaines and Captain Cross have started, send couriers at once to recall them."
The major's face was dark with dismay.
"They have been gone nearly four hours," he exclaimed. "Even if I had swift riders ready, who could catch them in time?"
"I've been a trooper all my life, sir," came sudden answer. "Give me a horse and carbine and let me go."
The major might have known 'twas Sergeant Waller.
True to his word, and arranging with the officers of the court-martial to return in case his further testimony was required, Captain Charlton set forth at daybreak on Saturday, intending to push straight through to Red Cloud as fast as mules could drag or horses bear him. To the Niobrara crossing the road was hard and smooth, when once they cleared the sandy wastes of the Platte bottom. He had a capital team, a light ambulance, and alittle squad of seasoned troopers to go with him as escort. It was a drive of nearly ninety miles, but he proposed resting his animals an hour at the Niobrara, another hour at sunset; feeding and watering carefully each time, and so keeping on to the old Agency until he reached his troop late at night.
No danger was to be apprehended until the party got beyond the Rawhide, and not very much until they were across the Niobrara, but Charlton and his half a dozen troopers had been over each inch of the ground time and again, and very little did they dread the Sioux.
After midday the little party had halted close beside the spotwhere Blunt's detachment had made their bivouac so short a time before. Here were the ashes of their cook-fires and the countless hoof-prints of the horses. Here, too, was the trail in double file, leading away northward across the prairie—a short cut to the Red Cloud road. Charlton followed it with his keen eyes, and noted with a smile how straight a line its young leader must have made for the "dip" in the grassy ridge a mile away, through which ran the hard, beaten track. Blunt prided himself on these little points of soldiership, as the captain well remembered, and when charged with guiding at the head of a column, was pretty sure to fix his eyes onsome distant landmark and steer for that, with little regard for what might be going on at the rear.
The ambulance mules, tethered about the tongue, were busily crunching their liberal measure of oats. Each cavalry horse, too, buried his nose deep in the shimmering pile his rider had carefully poured for him upon the dry side of the saddle-blanket. The men were contentedly eating their hard-tack and bacon and drinking their coffee from huge tin cups with the relish of old frontiersmen. One trooper, a few yards away out on the prairie, kept vigilant watch. Pondering deeply over the strange and unaccountable charge that had been laid at his young trumpeter's door, the captain wasslowly pacing down the bank, puffing away at the briar root pipe that was the constant companion of his scouting days. Suddenly he heard the sentry call, and, turning, saw him pointing to the ground at his feet.
"What is it, Horton?" he asked, going over toward him.
"Pony tracks, sir. The Indians have been nosing around here since our men left."
There were the prints of some half a dozen little unshod hoofs dotting the sandy hollows in the low ground near the stream, and easily traceable among the clumps of buffalo grass beyond. Charlton could see where they had gathered in one spot, as though their riders were then in consultation,and then scattered once more along the bank. Two hundred yards away stood the lonely log cabin, all that was left of what had been the ranch, and following the trail, the captain presently found himself nearing it. Two tracks seemed to lead straight thither, and before he reached it were joined by several more. Close to the abandoned hut the ground was worn smooth and hard; yet in the hollows were accumulations of dust blown from the roadway up the stream. Around here the pony tracks were thick, and just within the gaping doorway were footprints in the dust—some of spurred bootheels and broad soles, one still more recent of Sioux moccasins. Through the solid logwalls two small square windows had been cut and narrow slits for rifles, in the days when the occupants had frequent occasion to defend their prairie castle. The opening to the subterranean "keep" was yawning under the eastern wall, its wooden cover having long since been broken up for fuel. Charlton stood for a moment within the blackened and dusty doorway, and glanced curiously around him.
Except for the new footprints it looked very much as it did when he had first taken occasion to inspect the interior, earlier in the summer. There was nothing left that anyone could carry away, and he wondered why the Indians should have troubled themselvesto dismount and prowl about. An Indian hates a house on general principles, and enters one only when he expects to make something by it. Those recent boot-prints, nearly effaced by the moccasins, were doubtless those of some of Blunt's party. Curiosity had prompted some time-killing trooper to stroll out here and take a look at the place. The sunshine streaming in at the open doorway made a brilliant oblong square upon the earthen floor and lighted up the grimy interior. The steps cut down to the dark "dugout" were crumbling away, and it was impossible to see more than a few feet into the passage leading to the underground fortress, where as a final resort in anIndian siege the little garrison could take refuge. A lantern or a candle would show the way, but Charlton had neither. Taking out his match-case, however, he bent down, struck a light, and peered in. Somebody had done the same thing within the last day or two, for there were the stub ends of two matches just like his in the dust at the bottom of the steps, and there, too—yes, he lighted another match and studied it carefully—there was the print of cavalry boots going in and coming out again. Whoever was his predecessor, he had more curiosity than the captain. Charlton had seen prairie "dugout" forts before, and did not care to waste time now.
CHAPTER X.
IN SUSPENSE.
RRETURNING to the open sunshine he made the circuit of the house, and on the north side stopped and studied with an interest he had not felt before. A stout post was still standing on that side, and to the post a cavalry horse had been tethered within two days, and stood there long enough to paw and trample the gravel all around it. Charlton was cavalryman enough to read in every sign[114]that the steed had been most unwillingly detained. In evident impatience he had twisted twice and again around that stubborn bullet-scarred stump, and the troop commander could almost see him, pawing vigorously, tugging at his "halter-shank," and plunging about his hated but relentless jailer, and neighing loudly in hopes of calling back his departing friends. Charlton felt sure that, as the troop rode away, some one of the men had remained here some little time.
RETURNING to the open sunshine he made the circuit of the house, and on the north side stopped and studied with an interest he had not felt before. A stout post was still standing on that side, and to the post a cavalry horse had been tethered within two days, and stood there long enough to paw and trample the gravel all around it. Charlton was cavalryman enough to read in every sign[114]that the steed had been most unwillingly detained. In evident impatience he had twisted twice and again around that stubborn bullet-scarred stump, and the troop commander could almost see him, pawing vigorously, tugging at his "halter-shank," and plunging about his hated but relentless jailer, and neighing loudly in hopes of calling back his departing friends. Charlton felt sure that, as the troop rode away, some one of the men had remained here some little time.
A hundred yards across the prairie was the "double file" trail of the detachment on its straight line for the ridge, and here, only a little distance out, were the hoof-prints of a troop horse both comingand going. Even more interested now, the captain went some distance out across the prairie, and still he found them. Leaving the hut and following to overtake the troop, the horse had instantly taken the gallop; the prints settled that. But what struck Captain Charlton as strange was that the other tracks, those which were made by the same horse in coming to the hut, were still to be found far out toward the northeast. It was evident, then, that the rider had not turned back from the command until it had marched some distance from the Niobrara; that he had not gone back to the bank where they had been in camp, as would have been the case had he lost or left somethingbehind, but had come here to this abandoned hovel southeast of the trail. Now, what did that mean? One other thing the captain did not fail to note; that horse had cast a shoe.
Late as it was when he reached the camp on White River that night—after midnight, as it proved—Charlton found his young lieutenant up, and anxiously awaiting him. When the horses had all been cared for, and the two officers were alone near their tents, almost the first question asked by the captain was:
"Did you give any man permission to ride back after you left the Niobrara Friday morning?"
"No, sir," answered Blunt in some surprise. "No one asked,and every man was in his place when we made our first halt."
Immediately after reveille on Sunday morning, a good hour before the sun was high enough to peep over the tall white crags to the east of the little camp, the two officers were out at the line, superintending the grooming of the horses. Fifty men were now present for duty, and fifty active steeds were tethered there at the picket rope, nipping at each other's noses or nibbling at the rope itself, and pricking up their ears as the captain stopped to pat or to speak to one after another of his pets. Always particularly careful of his horses, Captain Charlton on this bright sunshiny morning was noting especially the condition oftheir feet. Every one of those two hundred hoofs were keenly scrutinized as he passed along the line. But there was nothing unusual in this—he never let a week go by without it.
"You seem to have had a number reshod within the last few hours, sergeant," he said to Graham, as he stopped at the end of the line.
"Yes, sir, I looked them all over yesterday morning. Every shoe is snug and ready now, in case we have to go out. Seven horses were reshod yesterday, and over twenty had the old shoes tacked on."
Grooming over, each trooper vaulted on to the bare back of his horse and rode in orderlycolumn down to the running stream, and still Charlton stood there, silently watching his men and noting the condition of their steeds. Blunt was bustling about his duties, every now and then looking over at his soldierly captain. Something told him that the troop commander had made a discovery or two that had set him to thinking. He was even more silent than usual.
At seven o'clock, after a refreshing dip in a pool under the willows close at hand, the two officers were seated on their camp-stools and breakfasting at the lid of the mess chest. Over among the brown buildings of the post, half a mile away, thebugles were sounding mess call and the infantry people were waking up to the duties of the day. Down the valley, still farther to the east, the smoke was curling from the tiny fires among the Indian tepees, and scores of ponies were grazing out along the slopes, watched by little urchins in picturesque but dirty tatters. All was very still and peaceful. Even the hulking squaws and old men loafing about the Agency store-houses were silent, and patiently waiting for the coming of the clerk with his keys of office. One or two young braves rode by the camp, shrouded in their dark-blue blankets, and apparently careless of any change inthe condition of affairs, yet never failing to note that there were fifty horses and soldiers ready for duty there in camp.
Their breakfast finished, Charlton said that he must go at once to the office of the post commander over in garrison, and that he might be detained some hours. "It will be well to keep the men here, Blunt, for we may be needed any moment."
And yet, as he was riding away with his orderly, Charlton stopped to listen to what Sergeant Graham had to say.
"Sergeant Dawson and Private Donovan wanted particularly to go over to the post for a few hours this morning, and so did some of the others, but I toldthem that the captain's orders were we should all stay at camp, we were almost sure to be wanted. They were all satisfied, sir, but Dawson and Donovan, who made quite a point of it, and I said I would carry their request to the captain." And to Blunt's surprise, as well as that of Sergeant Graham, the captain coolly nodded.
"Very well. They've both been doing hard work of late. Tell them to keep their ears open for 'boots and saddles'; otherwise they may stay until noon. After dinner, perhaps, I will give others a chance to turn."
Fifteen minutes later Captain Charlton was in consultation with the post commander, and afterguard mounting they returned to the colonel's house, where a tall infantry soldier, the provost sergeant, was awaiting him.
CHAPTER XI.
HEMMED IN BY SAVAGE FOES.
BBACK at the cavalry camp there was no little subdued chat and wonderment among the troopers. Lounging in the shade of the trees along the stream, and puffing away at their pipes, playing cards, as soldiers will, and poking fun at one another in rough, good-natured ways, the men were yet full of the one absorbing theme—Fred Waller's most unaccountable disappearance and the loss of so much of their hard-earned money.
BACK at the cavalry camp there was no little subdued chat and wonderment among the troopers. Lounging in the shade of the trees along the stream, and puffing away at their pipes, playing cards, as soldiers will, and poking fun at one another in rough, good-natured ways, the men were yet full of the one absorbing theme—Fred Waller's most unaccountable disappearance and the loss of so much of their hard-earned money.
"I would have bet any amount," said Corporal Wright, "that when the old man"—the captain is always the "old man" to his troops—"got back he would ride over Sergeant Dawson roughshod for letting Waller slip away on his guard; but I listened to him this morning and he talked to him just like a Dutch uncle. I tell you Dawson felt a heap better after it was over. He said the captain never blamed him at all."
Noon came, so did an orderly telling Mr. Blunt that the captain wished to see him over at the telegraph office, and to order the horses fed at once. Forty-eight big portions of oats were poured from the sacks forthwith. Dawson and Donovan were not yet back.
"Leave theirs out," said Sergeant Graham, "they'll be back presently. This means business again, and no mistake. Where's the trouble now, I wonder?"
Shall we look and see? Far to the south, far beyond the bold bluffs of the White River, far beyond the swift waters of the Niobrara,—"L'Eau qui Court" of the old French trapper,—far across the swirling flood of the North Platte, and dotting the northward slopes, swarms of naked, brilliantly painted red warriors in their long, trailing war bonnets of eagle's feathers are darting about on nimble ponies, or, crouching prone along the ridges, are eagerly watching a dust-cloud coming northward on the Sidney road.Behind them, between them and the Platte, are the weltering mutilated bodies of half a dozen herders and teamsters, and the smoking ruins of their big freight-wagons. Like the tiger's taste of blood, the savage triumph in the death of their hapless foes has tempted them far beyond their accustomed limits. Knowing the cavalry to be scouting only north of the Platte, they have made a wide detour and swooped around to this danger-haunted road, eagerly watching for the coming of other white men, who, like the last, should be ignorant of their presence and too few in number to cope with such a foe. Here along the ridge north of the little "Branch" of the Platte, half ahundred young warriors crouch and wait. Farther back, equally vigilant, other bands are hiding among the breaks and ravines near the river, while their scouts keep vigilant watch for the coming of cavalry. Forrest's Grays and Wallace's Sorrels cannot be more than a day's ride away, and will be hurrying for the road the moment they know that the Indians have slipped around them. Wallace, up the Platte, has already heard.
It is three o'clock this hot, still Sunday afternoon, and they have been six hours out from Sidney, driving swiftly and steadily northward, when, as they reach the summit of a high ridge and stop to breathe their panting team,Colonel Gaines takes a long look through his field glass. Just in front is the shallow valley of the little stream now called the "Pumpkinseed" though pumpkins were unheard-of features in the landscape of fifteen years ago.
Off to their right front, several miles away, lie the low, broad bottom lands of the Platte. Across the Pumpkinseed, a mile distant, another ridge, like the one on which they halted, only not so high; to the westward a tumbling sea of prairie upland—all buttes, ridges, ravines, coulées—but not a living soul is anywhere in sight. Far as his practiced eye can sweep the horizon and the broad lowlands of the Platte not a sign of living, moving object can ColonelGaines detect. Turning around, he trains his glass upon the tortuous road they had been following, and along which the dust is slowly settling in their wake. Something seems to attract his gaze, for he holds the binocle steadily toward the south. Naturally Captain Cross and the two soldiers follow with their eyes; the third infantryman has dismounted, and is readjusting the girths of his saddle.
"What is it?" asks Cross.
"I can't make out," is the reply, "Something is kicking up a dust there, some miles behind us. A horseman, I should say, though I've seen nobody. Wait a few minutes. He's down in a swale now, whoever it is."
HE TOOK A LONG LOOK THROUGH HIS GLASSES.
Everybody turns to look andlisten. Those were days when such a thing as a single horseman following in pursuit had a meaning that is lacking now.
Three, four minutes they wait in silence; then the colonel suddenly exclaims:
"I have him—a mere dot yet!"
Presently he lowers his glasses, and dusts the lenses with his handkerchief. His face is graver.
"Whoever that is, he is riding for all he is worth," he says. "I half believe he wants to catch us."
Another long look. Utter silence in the party. A mule in the wheel team gives an impatient shake of his entire system, and chains, tugs, and swing-bars all rattle noisily.
"Quiet there, you fool!" growlsthe driver angrily, and with a threatening sweep of his long whip-lash. Then the silence becomes intense again, and every man strains his eyes over the prairie slopes shimmering in the heat of the July sun. Suddenly an exclamation bursts from two or three pairs of bearded lips. Far away, but in plain sight in that rare atmosphere, a speck of a horseman darts into view over a distant ridge, sweeps down the slope at full gallop, and plunges out of sight again in a low dip of the rolling surface.
"No man rides like that unless there is mischief abroad," mutters Cross, as he swings out of the wagon to the ground. "Give me my rifle, Murray."
Then, sudden as thunderclap from summer sky, with wild, shrill clamor, with thunder of hoofs, and sputter of rapid shots; with yell and taunt and hideous war cry, from the very ground itself, from behind every little ridge; up from the ravines, down from the prairie buttes; hurling upon them in mad, raging race, there flashes into sight of their startled eyes a horde of painted savages.
"The Sioux! The Sioux!" yells the driver, as he leaps from his box.
"Hang on to your mules!" shouts Cross. "Down with you, men! Fire slow! They'll veer when they get in closer. Now!"
Bang! goes Cross' piece. Bang! bang! the rifles of thenearest soldiers. The mules plunge wildly, and are tangled in an instant in the traces. Over goes the wagon with a crash. Bang goes Gaines' big Springfield as he coolly spreads himself on the ground. An Indian pony stumbles and hurls his rider on the turf, and Cross gives an exultant cheer. Yet all the same he knows full well that now it is life or death. The little party is hemmed in by a host of savage foes.
CHAPTER XII.
MYSTERIOUS HOOF-PRINTS.