TROOPERS ON THE TRAIL.
Captain Meinhold was on old Indian campaigner, and his lieutenant,
a gallant young fellow named Lawson, although much younger in the
service, took to the work naturally.
They were fortunate in having all the essentials of a good troop. They
had good horses, well seen to and in fine order. Next, they had good
men, well disciplined, who liked their officers, and consequently were
ready to endure hardship and extra duty without murmuring.
No company, therefore, was better prepared than Company B of the Third
Cavalry to make a good record whenever it had a chance.
Pushing on by night as well as by day, and taking only such time
to rest and feed as was actually necessary, even Steve Hathaway
himself--an old “Overlander” who was used to getting through at all
costs, even if the stock went under in doing it--was satisfied with the
progress made by the soldiers.
On the third day out from the fort they had news from Buffalo Bill, for
the scouts he had promised to send back met them, and now the order to
“hurry up” did not require to be repeated.
Feeling almost certain that an Indian fight was before them, the
seasoned troopers were as keen as war horses who snuff the smoke of
gunpowder. There was no hanging back on the part of any one of them.
Taking a route described to them so minutely by the scouts that
Hathaway, with his experience, knew exactly where Buffalo Bill must
be, they pushed on at the top of their speed. Steve told Captain
Meinhold that they would see the tracks of Buffalo Bill and his party,
if nothing more, inside of twenty hours.
“We must do that--or else stop to hunt,” replied the officer. “Our
rations are all out.”
“Men who can’t go twenty hours without eating have got no business to
come on the great plains at all,” responded the tough old scout, who
was himself thoroughly familiar with all the hardships of Western life.
The course now lay directly over the almost boundless plains, with
no water except some half-stagnant pools met with now and then in a
buffalo wallow, and it was a weary journey for both men and horses. But
toward night the blue of the hills once more greeted their eyes, and
when at last the grateful evening air, cool and pleasant, came to them,
the hills were in full view.
A short halt at sunset by some poor water and yet poorer grass gave the
animals and men a brief rest, and then the forced march was resumed,
not to be broken by any ordinary circumstances until the hills and good
water were reached.
This occurred after a long night ride, just at dawn, and the two hunter
scouts, riding ahead, had the good luck to come upon a herd of elk in
the mouth of the pass which first opened up before them.
Three of the animals were shot down before they could get out of range,
so that meat was plentiful for the soldiers when they made their
morning halt. The grass was good, too, and both men and horses had a
good chance to recuperate after their hard travel.
The two scouts, after a brief rest, taking from Steve Hathaway the
course he meant to travel, started off to find Buffalo Bill and to
carry to him the news that help was at hand.
Before they left, Captain Meinhold arranged a code of smoke signals
with them which would aid his movements--signals that would tell him
when and where Buffalo Bill and his men were found, and whether they
were fighting.
A halt of about three hours gave both men and animals sufficient rest
and feeding time to make them quite fit for another rapid journey.
It was now deemed best to skirt the base of the hills until the trail
was found. Hathaway became more and more eager as they went on, for
he felt confident that Buffalo Bill would have the prudence to wait,
and, therefore, that they would soon join him and his own good faith be
proved.
The man had lived a hard and criminal life, but he now saw a chance to
redeem the past and he was eager to seize it.
About noon they came upon the trail where Buffalo Bill and his party
had entered into the hills.
Captain Meinhold asked Steve how long it was since the king of the
scouts had passed.
“The trail is cold,” was the reply. “The night dew has fallen on it. He
must be a long way ahead, if he has not halted to wait for us. He is on
a trail almost as fresh as his own--and the trail of a bigger crowd,
many times over. If he and all with him are wiped out, it is his fault.
He should have waited for us, for I told him I’d guide you straight to
his trail, and I’ve done it.”
“Halt!” cried the captain, turning to his men. “There are smoke signals
rising. They must be from the scouts who left us. Yes, it is so. Three
quick smokes half a minute apart. That means that a fight is going on.
“But it is strange. There is no long, steady smoke lasting five
minutes--the signal which I arranged with them to show that Buffalo
Bill was there. They must surely have forgotten, or else misunderstood
me. Ah, there is another smoke spiral--another and another--but they
are farther off!”
“And they are not made by those two scouts or by their friends,” said
Steve. “Those last puffs of smoke came from the vicinity of that
devil’s hole they call Nick’s Cavern.”
“I don’t know the place. Who is there?” asked the officer.
“It is the favorite resort of the Death Riders--and a strong place.
They are a gang of cutthroats and outlaws, sir--one of the worst in the
West. I know them only too well! They have seen these signals, and the
men probably think they are signs of their own comrades.
“They’ll be moving down to help them, too. Whatever gang are fighting
over there will get help from them if they are fighting Buffalo Bill.
They hate him so bitterly that they would gladly risk their lives on
the chance of wiping him out.”
“Then we will move on. If there is a fight going on, the sooner we get
into it, the better.”
And the captain at once put his command to a trot.