THE MOVEMENTS OF LITTLE BLACK FOX
The woodlands on the northern side of the great Reservations of Dakota
amount almost to a forest. From Beacon Crossing, after entering the Pine
Ridge Reservation, a man might travel the whole length of the Indian
territory without the slightest chance of discovery, even by the Indians
themselves; that is, provided he be a good woodsman. And this is what Seth
accomplished. He did it without any seeming care or unusual caution. But
then he was consummate in the necessary craft which is to be found only
amongst the sons of the soil, and, even then, rarely outside the few who
have been associated with Indians all their lives.
It was soon after sunrise on Monday morning that Seth found himself in the
neighborhood of the principal Indian camp of the Rosebuds. Yet none had
seen him come. He was hidden in the midst of a wide, undergrown bluff.
Directly in front of him, but with at least four hundred yards of
uninterrupted view intervening, was the house of Little Black Fox.
Seth was not usually a hard rider--he was far too good a horseman--but
when necessity demanded it he knew how to get the last ounce out of his
horse. He had left the farm on Saturday morning, and at midnight had
roused the postmaster of Beacon Crossing from his bed. Then, at the hotel
of Louis Roiheim, he had obtained a fresh horse, and, by daylight on
Monday morning, after traveling the distance through nothing but mazy
woodland, had reached the locality of Little Black Fox's abode. Thus he
had covered something like one hundred and seventy miles in less than
forty-eight hours. Nor had he finished his work yet.
Now he lay on the ground in the shadow of the close, heavy-foliaged brush,
watching with alert, untiring eyes. Something of the Indian seemed to have
grown into the nature of this uncultured product of the prairie world. He
had smothered the only chance of betrayal by blindfolding his horse, now
left in the well-trained charge of the dog, General. For himself he gave
no sign. Not a leaf moved, nor a twig stirred where he lay. If he shifted
his position it must have been done in the manner of the Indians
themselves, for no sound resulted. He knew that a hundred pairs of eyes
would infallibly detect his presence at the least clumsy disturbance of
the bush. For the Indian is like the bear in his native woods. He may be
intent in another direction, but the disturbance of the leaves, however
slight, in an opposite direction, will at once attract his attention.
The squaws were astir at daylight. Now, as the sun rose, it became
apparent that there were many preparations going forward in the chief's
quarters. There was a gathering of ponies in a corral hard by. Also the
long "trailers," already packed with tepee-poles and great bundles of
skins and blankets, were leaning against the walls of the corral.
To Seth's practised eyes these things denoted an early departure; and, by
the number of ponies and the extent of the equipment, it was evidently to
be the going of a large party. But time went on, and no further move was
made. Only all those who came and went seemed busy; not on account of what
they did, but from their manner and movement. Through the greater part of
the day Seth kept his sleepless watch. Only once did he abandon his post,
and then merely to return to his horse to secure food from his
saddle-bags. When he rose to go thither it was to be seen that he was
fully armed, which had not been the case when he left the farm.
Seth's arguments were as simple and straightforward as he was himself, and
none the less shrewd. The position was this. The Indians were in a state
of ferment, to which, of course, the chief was party. Second, the chief
was going off on a hunting trip, and apparently abandoning his people at a
critical time. Third, he had received warning of Rosebud's danger from one
whose knowledge and good-will could be relied on. Fourth, the warning had
come to them, indirectly, from the one man who he now had every reason to
suspect had no very good-will toward Rosebud; but he also saw, or thought
he saw, the reason of that warning. It was that this man might clear
himself should the chief's plans go wrong. These were Seth's arguments,
and he intended to prove them by remaining on Little Black Fox's trail
until he was assured that the danger to Rosebud no longer existed. It was
in the nature of the man that he had sought no outside aid, except that of
his faithful General.
The story the watcher read as he observed the Indians' movements was a
long one. The climax of it did not come until late in the afternoon, and
the conclusion not until an hour later.
The climax was reached when he saw a tall figure coming up from the
direction of the bridge. A grim pursing of the lips lent a curious
expression to the smile that this appearance brought to his face. The man
was clad in a blanket, and his gait was the gait of an Indian. There was
nothing to give any other impression to the casual observer. But Seth was
very intent, and he saw the color of the man's face. It was then that his
lips shut tight and his smile developed something tigerish in its
appearance.
However, he remained quite still, and saw the man pass into the chief's
house. He did not reappear for a full half-hour. When at last he came out
he departed at once the way he had come. Half an hour later the chief's
ponies, a number of squaws, and the baggage, set out accompanied by half a
dozen mounted bucks. Another half-hour and Little Black Fox appeared and
vaulted to the back of his waiting pony. A dozen warriors joined him
almost at the same moment, gathering from different directions, and the
chief rode off at their head.
Then it was that Seth rose from his hiding-place. He stood watching the
going of these men until he had made sure of the direction they were
taking. They were making for the river ford, and he instantly ran back to
his horse and mounted. Just for a second he hesitated. Then he set off for
the wagon bridge as fast as he could urge his horse.
It was late the same afternoon that Charlie Rankin rode up to the River
Farm and greeted Rube, who was hard at work upon the stockade. He was a
large, cheery Britisher, with a florid face and ready laugh. He drew up
with a jerk, sprang to the ground, and began talking with the perfect
freedom of long friendship.
"I've passed the word, Rube," he said, without any preamble. "It's gone
the round by this time. I thought I'd run over and consult you about the
womenfolk. I'm new to this work. You are an old bird. I thought of sending
the missis into Beacon."
Rube paused in his work and surveyed the horizon, while, in his slow way,
he wiped the perspiration from his weather-furrowed face.
"Howdy, Charlie," he said, without displaying the least concern. "Wal, I
don't know. Y' see this thing's li'ble to fizzle some. We've had 'em
before. Guess my missis an' the gal'll stay right here by us. I 'low I
feel they're safer wi' us. Mebbe it's jest a notion. If things gits
hummin' I'd say come right along over an' share in wi' us. Y' see if it's
a case of git, we'd likely do better in a party. Seth's away jest now."
The old man's quiet assurance was pleasant to the less experienced farmer.
There was soundness in his plans too. Charlie nodded.
"That's good of you. Of course, we've got the warning, but we don't know
how far things are moving. Do you?"
"Wal, no. But I don't think ther's anything to worry over fer a week or
two."
"I thought there couldn't be, because I saw your Rosebud riding down
toward the river as I came along. And yet----"
But Rube broke in upon him vehemently.
"Goin' to the river?" he cried. Then his usual slow movements suddenly
became electrical. He strode away to the barn, and left Charlie to
follow.
"What's up?" the latter asked, as he paused in the doorway.
"Up? Up? What's up?" The old man was saddling a big raw-boned mare with
almost feverish haste. "She's no right goin' that aways. An' I promised
Seth, too. I didn't know but what she wus in the kitchen. Here, fix that
bridle while I get into the house. Ha' y' got your gun?"
"Yes; but why?"
"Wal--y' never can figger to these durned Injuns when they're raisin'
trouble."
The old man was off like a shot, while Charlie fixed the great mare's
bridle. He returned almost immediately armed with a brace of guns.
"Say, ken y' spare an hour or so?"
As Charlie looked into the old farmer's face when he made his reply he
read the answer to all he would have liked to ask him. Rube was consumed
with an anxiety that no words, delivered in his slow fashion, could have
conveyed to any one but Seth.
"Certainly, as long as you like."
"Good boy," said Rube, with an air of relief. "I wouldn't ask you, but
it's fer her." And the two men rode off hastily, with Rube leading.
"By-the-way," said Charlie, drawing his horse up alongside the dun-colored
mare, "Joe Smith, north of us, says some neighbor of his told him there
were tents on the plains further north. I was wondering. The troops
haven't been sent for, have they?"
"Can't say," said Rube, without much interest. Then he asked hastily,
"Which way was she headin'?"
The question showed the trend of his whole thought.
"Why, straight down."
"Ah, Nevil Steyne's shack."
"He lives that way, doesn't he?"
"Yes."
The two men rode on in silence. This was the first time Charlie had ever
seen Rube disturbed out of his deliberate manner. He made a mental resolve
to bring his wife and children into White River Farm at the first sign of
actual danger.