Finding the Lost One
Colonel Waller had been telegraphing from Cedar Mountain to all
reachable parts of the North where the Crows were likely to be, without
getting one word of comfort. Then up to the door of his house the
morning after the devastating race came Red Cloud of the calm, square
face, and behind him riding, a dozen braves.
At precisely the right moment prescribed by etiquette, he opened: "Me
savvy now why you no run heap good horse."
"Humph!" said Waller.
"Didn't I tole you watch when Crow come?"
"Humph!" was the answer.
"You no got him back yet--no?"
"No," said the Colonel, with some asperity.
"Why? White scout no follow trail?"
"The rain wiped out all trail," was the answer.
"Your scout heap no good," said Red Cloud. Then, after a dozen slow
puffs at his pipe, during which he gazed blankly and far away, the
Indian said: "Ogallala very good scouts. Maybe so they find trail. What
you give for follow Crow? Maybe find, bring back your pony."
Without a doubt, this was the easiest way. The Ogallala scouts would
gladly pursue their ancient enemies and force them to give up the stolen
horse. These men knew which line the Crows would most likely take, and
could probably pick up the trail in a day. Prompt action was necessary.
The Indian bands were breaking up and going home laden with plunder,
their fresh trails would render it impossible to follow the trail of the
horse thieves. The Colonel's mind was quickly made up.
"Red Cloud," he said emphatically, "I'll give you two hundred and fifty
dollars cash if you find Blazing Star and bring him back here in good
condition within one week."
The Indian Chief smoked for a few puffs and said: "Seven suns, no good.
Crow country far away; one moon maybe."
Reckless riders like the Crows might easily ruin a horse in one month;
so, at length, a compromise was reached, whereby Red Cloud was to
receive two hundred and fifty dollars if within two-weeks; and one
hundred if a month passed before the return. Then the Sioux Chief rose
"to find his young men," and his party rode away.
It was nine the next morning when the sentry discovered a considerable
body of mounted Indians in the northeast, riding rapidly toward the
Fort. Had it been from the south, he would scarcely have made a report.
Before ten o'clock they had arrived. They numbered about fifty warriors
in full war paint. They were singing their war songs, and fastened to
their coup sticks were one or two terribly fresh-looking scalps. At
their head was Red Cloud. A hundred troopers were under arms, so they
did not hesitate to admit the Indians. The warriors passed through the
gate; then spreading out before the Colonel's house, their opening ranks
revealed the noble form of Blazing Star. Bestriding him was the boy
Chaska, his bright eyes and clear white teeth gleaming in a smile.
A mighty shout went up among the white men as the blooded racer was led
to the Colonel's office. One or two formalities, and the two hundred and
fifty dollars was paid over to Red Cloud. Blazing Star was hastily
examined, found in perfect trim, then handed over to the Irish hostler.
"You take him to the stable," was all the Colonel said, but he said it
in large capital letters and it was full of grim threats and reminder,
hostler Mike led the lost darling back to the stable where a crowd of
men were waiting.
Red Cloud crammed the new wealth into his tobacco pouch and rode away at
the head of his men.
Al Rennie felt sick with disgust that he should fail when the trail was
fresh, while the Sioux, on a washed-out trail, made such a showing in so
short a time. He was puzzled, too, by the scalps. The two he managed to
examine were not fresh. But he had to swallow his disgust.
All that day the Indian bands had been going off. Their camps were
breaking up; they were dispersing to their homes. The Plain was nearly
deserted that afternoon when hostler Mike took Blazing Star out into the
heat of the sun to give him the thorough washing and cleaning that he
surely needed. A minute later, Mike came rushing across the square to
the Colonel's office.
"Colonel, Colonel," he gasped, "come here, sir."
"What's the matter with you?" said the Colonel in a voice of wrath which
boded ill for a new blunder.
"Colonel, come at once. Come, it's Blazing Star."
There was a total lack of soldier decorum in the hostler's address. He
was so intensely excited that the Colonel overlooked the informality and
went quickly to where Blazing Star was standing tied to the washing
post.
"There, sir; look there--and there!" ejaculated Mike with growing
excitement, as he pointed to Blazing Star's legs. "And look at that!"
and he swept his bony finger round the big liquid eye of the racer. The
Colonel looked, looked closer, parted the hair, looked down to the roots
and saw _paint--red paint, white paint, black paint_--traces of
horseshoes, red hands, white patches and stripes; not much, but enough
to tell the tale.
Without a question, _Blazing Star was the Pinto that had won the race_!
The simple Red men knew that the Buckskin was overmatched, so they
secured the only horse on the plains that _could_ win. They drove the
Crows away at the right moment to leave a red herring trail. Then,
having captured the stakes, they calmly collected two hundred and fifty
dollars for restoring him to his owner. The simple Red men!
And when Jim Hartigan heard of it he yelled with joy. He laughed; he
almost cried. After all, his horse had won; his Blazing Star was the
steed of all the plains. He was tossed with different moods--regret and
joy, grim humour, sadness and madness; he was stirred to the depths; all
his primitive nature was set free. He did not sleep for hours, and when
the dawn was near, his boyhood memories filled his brain and he was back
in the livery stable garret once again, and repossessed of all his
boyhood's ways and words he softly swore himself to sleep.