That storm-burst along the range had turned for twenty-four hours every
mountain stream into a foaming torrent for a hundred miles. Not a bridge
remained along the Platte. Not a ford was fordable within two days'
march of either Emory or Frayne. Not a courier crossed the Box Elder,
going either way, until the flood went down, and then it transpired that
a tide in the affairs of men had also turned, and that there was trouble
ahead for some who had thought to find plain sailing. For two days
watchers along the lower Box Elder dragged out upon the shallows the
bodies of horses that once upon a time might have borne the "U. S."
brand, but were not girthed with cavalry saddles now. Nor were there
lacking other bodies to prove that the victims of the sudden storm were
not Uncle Sam's men, much as two, at least, of the drowned had been
wanted by Federal authorities but a week before. What the denizens of
Gate City and Fort Emory dreaded and expected to bear was that Dean and
his little party had been caught in the trap. But, living or dead, not a
sign of them remained along the storm-swept ravine. What most people of
Gate City and Fort Emory could not understand was the evidence that a
big gang of horse thieves, desperadoes and renegades had suddenly
appeared about the new town, had spurred away northward in the night,
had kept the Frayne road till they reached the Box Elder, riding hard
long after sun-up, and there, reinforced, they had gone westward to the
Sweetwater trail, and, old frontiersmen though they were, had been
caught in the whirl of water at Canon Springs, losing two of their
number and at least a dozen of their horses. What could have lured them
into that gloomy rift at such a time? What inspiration had led Dean out
of it?
Singly or in little squads, many of them afoot, bedraggled, silent,
chagrined, the "outfit," described by Trooper Carey had slunk away from
the neighborhood of the Box Elder as soon as the storm subsided.
Solemnly, as befitted soldiers, silent and and alert despite their
dripping accoutrements, the little detachment of cavalry had pushed
ahead, riding by compass over the drenched uplands, steering for the
Sweetwater. Late in the afternoon the skies had cleared, the sun came
out, and they camped in a bunch of cottonwoods on the old Casper trail
and slept the sleep of the just and the weary. Early next day they
hastened on, reaching the usually shallow stream, with Devil's Gate only
a few miles away, before the setting of a second sun. Here they feasted
and rested well, and before the dawn was fairly red on the third day out
from Emory they were breasting the turbid waters and by noon had left
the valley far to the south and were well out toward the Big Horn
country, where it behooved them to look warily ahead, for from every
ridge, though far to the west of their probable raiding ground, Dean and
his men could expect to encounter scouting parties of the Indians at any
moment, and one false step meant death.
The third night passed without alarm, though every eye and ear was
strained. The morning of the fourth day dawned and the sun soon tinged
the misty mountain tops to the far north, and Dean saw before him an
open rolling country, over which it would be impossible to march without
attracting Indian eyes, if Indian eyes there were within twenty miles.
And with proper caution he ordered his men to keep in concealment,
horses grazing under guard in a deep depression near a stream, men
dozing soundly by turns until the twilight came, and then the
stars--their night lights for a long, long march. Dawn of the fifth day
found them huddled in a deep ravine of the southern foothills, with
Warrior Gap not thirty miles away, and now, indeed, was prudence
necessary, for the faint light showed the fresh prints of innumerable
pony hoofs on every side. They were close on Machpealota's lurking
braves. Which would see the other first?
It must have been somewhere toward five o'clock in the afternoon that
Dean, searching with his field glass the sunlit slopes far out to the
east, heard the voice of his sergeant close at hand and turned to
answer. Up to this moment, beyond the pony tracks, not a sign had they
seen of hostile Indians, but the buffalo that had appeared in scattered
herds along their line of march were shy and scary, and old hands said
that that meant they had recently been hunted hard. Moreover, this was
not a section favored of the buffalo. There was much alkali and sage
brush along their trail, and only here and there in scanty patches any
of the rich, nutritious bunch grass which the roving animals so eagerly
sought. The day had been hot and almost cloudless. The shimmer of heat
along the lazy roll of the land to the south had often baffled their
blinking eyes. But now the sun was well to the west, and the refraction
seemed diminishing, and away over to the northeast a dull-colored cloud
seemed slowly rising beyond the ridges. It was this that Sergeant Bruce
was studying when he murmured to his young commander:
"I think that means a big herd on the run, sir, and if so Indians
started them."
One or two troopers, dozing close at hand, sprawled full length upon the
ground, with their faces buried in, or hidden by, their blue-sleeved
arms, slowly rolled over and came crouching up alongside. Dean dropped
his glasses and peered in the direction indicated by his comrade of
humbler rank. Dust cloud it was beyond a doubt, and a long peep through
the binocular proved that it was slowly sailing across the horizon in a
northerly direction. Did that mean that the red hunters were driving the
great quarry toward the village of the Sioux, or that the young men were
out in force, and with the full complement of squaws and ponies, were
slaughtering on the run. If the former, then Dean and his party would be
wise to turn eastward and cross the trail of the chase. If the latter
they would stand better chance of slipping through to the Gap by pushing
northward, deeper in among the pine-crested heights.
Behind the watchers, well down in the ravine, the horses were placidly
nibbling at the scant herbage, or lazily sprawling in the sun, each
animal securely hoppled, and all carefully guarded by the single
trooper, whose own mount, ready saddled, circled within the limits of
the stout lariat, looped about his master's wrist. All spoke of caution,
of lively sense of danger and responsibility, for they of the little
detachment were picked men, who had ridden the warpath too long not to
realize that there was no such thing as trusting to luck in the heart of
the Indian country, especially when Machpealota with his Ogallalla
braves was out for business. The cautious movements of the group along
the bank had quickly been noted by the wakeful ones among the troopers,
and presently the entire party, excepting only the herd guard, had
crouched up alongside, and with the comradeship born of such perilous
service, were now discussing the situation in low, confidential tones.
For half an hour they lay there, studying the signs to the northeast.
The dun colored cloud hung low over the earth for a distance of several
miles. The herd was evidently one of unusual size even for those days
when the buffalo swarmed in countless thousands, and finally the
sergeant spoke again.
"It's a big hunt, lieutenant. Whatever may be going on about the Gap
they've found time to send out young men enough to round up most of the
buffalo north of the Platte and drive them in toward the mountains. It's
combining pleasure with business. They don't feel strong enough in
number, perhaps, to make another attempt on troops armed with
breech-loaders, so while they're waiting until their reinforcements
come, or their own breech-loaders, they are herding the buffalo where
they can get them when they want them later on. We are in big luck that
no stragglers are anywhere around us; if they were it wouldn't take such
fellows long to spy us out."
Dean swept the ridge line with his glass. No sign of life nearer than
that far-away, betraying dust cloud. No symptom of danger anywhere
within their ken. He was thinking at the moment of that precious package
in his saddle-bags and the colonel's words impressing him with the sense
of responsibility the night they parted at Fort Emory. To-morrow, by
sunrise, if fortune favored him, he could turn it over to the commanding
officer at the new stockade, and then if the Indians were not gathered
in force about the post and actually hostile, he could slip out again at
night and make swift dash for the Platte and the homeward way, and then
within the week rejoin his sister at Fort Emory--his sister and
"Pappoose." Never before had the Indian pet name carried such
significance as now. Night and day those soft, dark eyes--that beautiful
face--haunted his thoughts and filled his young heart with new and
passionate longing. It was hard to have to leave the spot her presence
made enchanted ground. Nothing but the spur of duty, the thrill of
soldier achievement and stirring venture could have reconciled him to
that unwelcome order.
In one week now, if fortune favored and heaven spared, he could hope to
look again into the eyes that had so enchained him, but if there should
interpose the sterner lot of the frontier, if the Sioux should learn of
his presence, he who had thwarted Burning Star and the brothers of poor
Lizette in their schemes of vengeance, he at whose door the Ogallallas
must by this time have laid the death of one of their foremost braves,
then indeed would there be no hope of getting back without a battle
royal. There was only one chance of safety--that the Indians should not
discover their presence. If they did and realized who the intruders
were, Jessie Dean might look in vain for her brother's return. Pappoose
would never hear the love words that, trembling on his lips the night he
left her, had been poured out only to that unresponsive picture. Two
ways there were in which the Indians could know of his presence. One by
being informed through some half-breed spy, lurking about Frayne; but
then who would be dastard enough to send such word? The other by being
seen and recognized by some of the Ogallalla band, and thus far he
believed they had come undetected, and it was now after five
o'clock--after five o'clock and all was well. In a few hours they could
again be on their starlit way. With the morrow they should be safely
within the gates of the new stockade at Warrior Gap.
Turning with hope and relief in his face to speak to Sergeant Bruce, who
lay there at his elbow, he saw the blue-sleeved arm stretching forth in
warning to lie low, and with grave eyes the veteran was gazing straight
at a little butte that rose from the rolling surface not more than half
a mile away to the southeast.
"Lieutenant," he whispered, "there are Indians back of that hill at this
minute, and it isn't buffalo they're laying for."
Dean was brave. He had been tried and his mettle was assured, and yet he
felt the sudden chill that coursed his veins. "How can they have seen
us," he murmured.
"May have struck our trail out to the southwest," said Bruce slowly, "or
they may have been told of our coming and are stalking us. They've got a
heavy score to settle with this troop, you know."
For a moment only the breathing of the little party could be heard. All
eyes were fixed upon the distant mound. At last Dean spoke again.
"When did you see them first and how many are there?"
"Near ten minutes ago. I saw something fluttering swift along the sky
line just beyond that divide to the south. It skimmed like a bird, all
but the quick bobbing up and down that made me sure there was a
galloping pony under it. Then another skimmed along. It was the bunch of
feathers and red flannel on their lances, and my belief is that they
struck our trail back here somewhere, and that there's only a small
party, and they don't know just who we are and they want to find out."
"You're right. Look!" was Dean's sudden answer, for at the very instant
there rode boldly, calmly into full view two young Indians, who with
cool deliberation came jogging on at gentle speed, straight toward the
concealed bivouac of the troopers. Instantly Bruce reached for his
carbine, and two or three of the men went sliding or crouching backward
down the slope as though in quest of their arms. Full eight hundred
yards away were the riders at the moment, coming side by side in
apparent unconcern.
"Don't," muttered Dean, with hand outstretched. "They look anything but
hostile."
"That's when they're most likely to be full of hell, sir," was the
prompt answer. "See! others are watching behind that knoll," and indeed
as Bruce declared, a feather-decked head or two could be detected
through the glass, peering over the summit.
"Warn them to halt, then," cried Dean. "But we cannot fire unless they
provoke it."
Bruce was on his feet in a second. Standing erect and facing straight
toward the coming pair, he raised his right hand, palm to the front, to
the full length of his arm, and slowly motioned "stand." Every plainsman
knows the signal. In well-acted surprise, the Indians reined their
ponies flat back, and, shading their eyes with their hands a moment,
remained motionless. Then, as with one accord, each tossed aside his
rifle, and one of them further lifted high and displayed a revolver.
This, too, he tossed out on the turf, and now with both arms bare and
extended on high, with empty hands outspread, they slowly advanced as
though saying "See, we are without arms. We come as brothers."
But the sergeant never hesitated. Almost on tiptoe he repeated the
signal "halt," and half-turned imploringly to his officer.
"It's all a bluff, sir. They want to crawl upon us, see who and how many
we are. Let some of us fire warning shots or come they will, and the
moment they find out who we are, away they'll ride to bring Red Cloud
and all his bucks about our ears."
"I cannot fire," was the answer. "That's their flag of truce and we must
not ignore it. Let them come, sergeant; I'll meet them."