STILL IN THE SADDLE.
The long ride which followed was something that Lieut. Parker often
thought of with a shudder. It is true that there were no wild animals
to bother him—nothing but the coyotes, which gathered around him and
kept pace with him almost to the fort; but the thought that he was
alone on the plains and the uncertainty of what the Sioux intended to
do with his guide troubled him more than anything else. As darkness
came on apace, and the wolves began to howl all about him, Parker drew
rein on the opposite bank of a small stream and allowed his horse to
graze and recover his “second wind,” for he had been riding rather
rapidly of late, being anxious to get over as much of the trail as he
could before the gloom came to shut it out from his view, and now he
began to think of that envelope he had in his pocket.
“Isn’t it lucky that the squawman did not say anything to me about that
dispatch?” said the lieutenant to himself. “Suppose he had asked me to
give it up to him? Would I have done it? I guess not. Nobody sees the
inside of that envelope unless he takes it off my dead body.”
After passing half an hour in this way, Parker watered his horse and
again set out for the fort. The animal went along as lively as ever,
and during the whole of that night Parker rode with his hands in his
pockets, and never touched the reins at all. The way seemed to have
no end; but just as he was forgetting his troubles and his head began
to bend forward, as if he were almost asleep, his horse broke into a
gallop and began to neigh. Almost at the same instant a voice close in
front challenged him.
“I declare, I am pretty close to the fort,” said Parker; and it was all
he could do to keep from yelling. “An officer without the countersign,”
he said, in reply to the sentinel.
The lieutenant was so anxious to see the colonel, and tell him of what
had happened back there in the Sioux camp, that it seemed as though the
corporal never would come; but he made his appearance at last, and the
first thing he did was to recognize his own officer.
“Why, lieutenant, I am glad to see you again, sir,” said he, extending
his hand, “but I don’t see Carl, the Trailer, with you.”
“He stopped back there in the Sioux camp,” said Parker. “I tell you I
am tired,” he added, seeing that the corporal opened his eyes and was
about to speak. “I want to get to bed as soon as possible.”
The colonel got up from a sound sleep to read the dispatches, and
the young officer stood by, whirling his hat in his hand and waiting
impatiently until he got through; and when the colonel looked up and
was about to tell him to go to his quarters, for he had done with him
for the night, he noticed that Parker looked very solemn.
“What is the matter with you?” he asked pleasantly.
“Matter enough, sir,” replied the lieutenant. “I have lost my guide
and you have lost a scout.”
Without waiting for an invitation, Parker went on and told his
companion what had happened at the Grand River school. The colonel
looked grave, and settled back in his chair as though he did not know
what to make of it.
“And you came on alone?” he said, when Parker finished his story.
“Yes, sir; but my horse picked out the way. When it grew dark I could
not see my hand before me.”
“Well, go to your quarters now, and get all the sleep you want. We will
talk the matter over again in the morning.”
“That is a pretty way to treat a man who is in danger of his life,”
said Parker to himself as he went out to put up his horse. “If I had
been dead it would have been the same thing.”
Of course there was great excitement among the officers and men of
the garrison when it became known that Carl, the Trailer, had been
captured by the Sioux in broad daylight and Lieutenant Parker left to
find his way to the fort alone. They did not know which to wonder at
the most—Parker’s knowledge of “plainscraft,” or the audacity of the
Indians in making a capture almost within reach of the fort, and when
they were not on the warpath. And then there was the squawman. It was a
great marvel to the officers how Carl became acquainted with a person
so low down in the world, but the colonel thought he knew. He sent for
the lieutenant immediately after breakfast and asked him to go over his
story again. This time all the ranking officers of the garrison were
present in his room.
“Are you sure you saw but one squawman in the party that assaulted
you?” asked the colonel, after Parker had gone over his adventure for
the second time.
“I saw but the one, sir,” said Parker, “and I wouldn’t have known what
he was if it had not been for his voice.”
“I will wager that there were two of them there,” said the commanding
officer. “You see,” he added, turning to his officers, “there used
to be two hard characters in this country who were named Harding and
Ainsworth, and they hired out to Carl’s father to herd cattle for him.
They understood their business, but Mr. Preston thought that it would
be well worth while to watch them. One night he detected them robbing
him, and he shot both of them; but they made out to get away in spite
of their wounds. One would think that they would go as far from this
country as they possibly could, but it seems that they had friends
among the Sioux, and right there was where they went. They sent word to
Preston where they were, adding that they were waiting an opportunity
to take revenge upon him. They said they were waiting for a chance to
wipe out the entire family.”
“But do you suppose that is the only thing they have in mind, sir?”
asked the major. “Don’t you imagine that there is somebody who is going
to step in and enjoy the property that Carl may leave behind him?”
“I have heard that hinted, too, but somehow I can’t believe it,” said
the colonel. “Mr. Preston died a natural death, and if they make away
with Carl, they will do away with the last one of the family. I do
wish I could get my hands on those men,” added the officer, rising to
his feet and walking back and forth in the room. “It does not make any
difference where a man goes, he is bound to make some enemies if he is
so fortunate as to fall into property. In the States they are jealous
of him, and out here they want to kill him. If Carl was a poor man
those squawmen would not take the least notice of him.”
It was evident that the colonel blamed himself for allowing Carl, the
Trailer, to go off to Standing Rock Agency with Lieutenant Parker;
but Carl had been off there a dozen times and came back safe, and he
supposed he could keep on doing it. After taking a few turns up and
down the floor he announced that he couldn’t see any way out of it, and
that all they could do would be to stay there in the fort and wait to
see what was going to happen to Carl.
“I would like to take a few of my men and go up there and release
him,” said he, once more seating himself in his chair, “for somehow I
am as much interested in that boy as though he were my own. But you see
I can’t stir without orders. If I go up there it will bring on a fight,
sure.”
The colonel rested his elbows upon his knees, gazed fixedly at the
floor for a few minutes, and then raised his eyes and fastened them
upon Lieutenant Parker.
“I will tell you what I might do,” said he. “I could make out a report
to General Miles, and request that he make a demand on the Sioux for
Carl, the Trailer. In that way I can get him.”
The officers all drew a long breath of relief, for they were thinking
about that very thing themselves.
“What do you say, Parker? Can you make that trip to Standing Rock
Agency and back without a guide?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the lieutenant promptly. “I will start this
afternoon.”
“I won’t ask you to do it so soon as that,” said the colonel with a
smile. “I will relieve you of all duty to-day, and to-morrow you and
your horse will be rested up and fit to make the journey. Come to me
to-morrow afternoon at four o’clock.”
The colonel arose, and the officers took up their hats and bowed
themselves out. They all laughed as they extended their hands to Parker.
“I wouldn’t mind being in your place myself,” said the major. “You are
going to get up a reputation as a scout. You won’t have any use for
Carl when he gets back.”
“I will be glad to take that report to General Miles, because I want to
do something for Carl,” said Parker. “He got into trouble through me,
and I want to get him out.”
After exchanging a few words with each of the officers, Parker went
into his own quarters, where he found his room-mate waiting for him. He
had not been summoned into the colonel’s presence with his comrades,
but he knew he would hear the full report when the lieutenant came out.
“Well?” said Randolph, as Parker drew off his shoes and stretched
himself out on his bed.
“Well,” said Parker, “it is going to be just as the major says. I am
going to get up a reputation as a scout. I am ordered to report to the
colonel to-morrow afternoon at four o’clock.”
“Where are you going?” asked Randolph.
“To Fort Yates.”
“Who are you going to take as your guide?”
“I am going alone,” said the lieutenant proudly.
“Well, I shall not bid you good-by as I did the last time you went, for
like as not you will come back all right.”
“I hope to, certainly,” said Parker with a smile. “The Sioux will not
bother me. That squawman told me so.”
“I would not place too much dependence on that squawman,” said
Randolph. “If it suits him to lie about it, he is going to do it.”
“I shall go right ahead as though there were no Sioux there. That is
the way that Carl did.”
Lieutenant Parker did not sleep much that day, for he was too busy
thinking about what the future might have in store for him. After
rolling and tossing on his bed for an hour, he went out to see about
his horse. The animal was his main dependence now. If he missed the
trail and wandered away on the plains, he might never find the fort.
The horse was hitched out in the middle of the stable, and Sergeant
Leeds, his coat off and sleeves rolled up, was busily engaged in
cleaning him off.
“I thought you would not object, sir, seeing that the beast’s feet and
legs were covered with dust,” said he.
“I am much obliged to you,” said the lieutenant. “I came out to do that
myself. He has got to take me to Fort Yates to-morrow.”
“Will you take your company with you, sir? I could really enjoy a ride
of two hundred miles.”
“I am sorry that I can’t take anybody. I shall go alone.”
“Alone, sir? Why, there is every chance in the world for you to get
lost.”
“I came from Grand River alone after dark,” said Parker.
“Well, that’s a heap more than I could do. The horse will be ready when
you want him.”
Sergeant Leeds continued his work with a despondent look on his
face, and Parker went out, feeling in all his pockets for a piece of
loose change. But the paymaster was not due yet, and, like all young
officers, the lieutenant had managed to get rid of his money over the
sutler’s counter.
“I’ll bet you I don’t spend my next quarter’s salary with him,”
muttered Parker, as he once more turned his steps toward his room. “The
very time I need money I have not got it.”
The day wore away at last, however, and at precisely half-past four
o’clock the lieutenant walked his horse up in front of the colonel’s
quarters, and leaving Sergeant Leeds to hold him, he went in and
reported that he was ready.
“I don’t feel exactly right in sending you off in this way,” said the
colonel, “but you are the only one who knows the route. You are sure
you won’t get lost?”
“Not if my horse knows the way.”
“Well, there you are. Go on, and be back as soon as possible.”
The lieutenant took the envelope, put it into his pocket, made a
salute, and went out. He shook hands with Sergeant Leeds, mounted his
horse, and rode out of the parade-ground.