OFF TO THE FRONT.
But Carl’s way was not clear yet. He had one hundred and twenty-five
miles to go before he would be among friends, and not a mouthful to
eat while he was travelling that distance. It was true that he had
revolvers in his pockets, and that jack rabbits were plenty. He had
matches, too, in his possession, so that he could cook the meat after
he shot it, but the report of his revolver might start the Indians
looking for him. The boy thought of this as he sped on his way, and by
the time daylight arrived he stood upon the banks of Grand River, which
separated him from the trail that led to Fort Scott. Before he took to
the willows he looked cautiously around, but there were no Indians to
be seen.
“Those Indians who were going to the Bad Lands to fight the whites
must have gone by the upper trail,” said Carl, as he took off his
blanket and drew his revolvers, which he took in one hand and held
above his head. “If that is the case I am all right. Lie there,” he
added, throwing the blanket into the willows. “I have carried you
twenty-five miles, and you haven’t done me any good, either.”
Carl took another glance around to make sure that the way was clear,
and entered the water. He did not know how deep the water was, but by
swimming and wading alternately he managed to cross the river, and
without any more reconnoitering he struck out straight for the fort.
During all his lonely journey he did not see an Indian, or a white man,
either, to whom he could give the news of Sitting Bull’s death—for it
was the source of a great deal of satisfaction to him. The brains of
the Sioux nation were gone, and where would they look to find another
man to take his place? Every time he thought of it he felt like
yelling; and one time he did raise his voice, but stopped all of a
sudden, and glanced around to see if there was anybody within hearing.
The day passed away and night came on, but the fort was every moment
drawing nearer. He was tired and sleepy, but he could not think of
stopping to rest until he conveyed the news to the commander of Fort
Scott. He was certain that there had not been anybody along the trail,
for he would have seen them; so he was going to be the first to carry
the information. About twelve o’clock he became aware that he was at
his journey’s end. He heard a challenge directly in front of him, and
Carl came to a standstill. It seemed to him that the corporal was a
long time in coming, but he heard the gate unfastened at last, and the
non-commissioned officer came out.
“Who are you?” he asked, bending over and looking into Carl’s face.
“Well, I guess I have got a right here,” said the young scout. “Don’t
you know me?”
“By gracious!” exclaimed the corporal. “Carl, the Trailer!”
“That is just what they call me when I am here among friends. I am
tired and sleepy, but I want first to see the colonel. I have a report
to make to him.”
“Come in. Lieutenant Parker is officer of the guard, and I know he will
be delighted to see you. He has been on nettles every time your name is
mentioned.”
Lieutenant Parker was standing in front of his quarters waiting to see
what the corporal was going to find outside the gate, and when he saw
the two coming along the parade he came quickly toward them.
“I have got him, sir,” said the corporal.
If we were to say that the two boys were delighted to see each other
we should fall far short of the truth. Carl held out his hand, but the
lieutenant paid no attention to it. He rushed in, caught Carl around
his arms, and whirled him with his feet clear of the ground, all
unmindful of the presence of the corporal. Then he put him down and
seized him by the hand.
“I tell you I can rest in peace now,” said Parker. “Carl, how do you
do? How did you escape?”
“I’ve got a long story to tell you,” said Carl, “but first I must see
the colonel. I ought to report to him the first thing I do.”
“Come in here with me just a minute and then you can call on the
colonel,” said the lieutenant, leading the way into his quarters. “I
want to look at you.”
“Say,” said Carl in a lower tone, as the lieutenant closed the door
behind him, “Sitting Bull is dead.”
Parker had picked up a chair to place it for Carl to sit down, but he
stopped when these words fell upon his ear and put the chair down again.
“Yes, sir,” said Carl. “He resisted arrest and he was shot dead.”
“Why—why—who told you?” asked Parker.
“A courier came into the camp and reported it, and I jumped at the
chance for escape.”
“Who killed him?”
“The Indian police. Now, do you think I ought to report that to the
colonel or wait until morning?”
“Go at once and report it. So Sitting Bull is dead. Come back here
after you see the colonel and tell me your story.”
“I will, after I get something to eat and put some extra clothes on. I
haven’t had these duds off for a week.”
“I will get you something to eat,” said the lieutenant. “I am anxious
to hear what Sitting Bull did.”
The two boys went out, and Carl bent his steps toward the colonel’s
room. The orderly, who sat at a table in the hall reading, was
overjoyed to see Carl once more, and after listening to his report that
he had something to say to the commander that ought not to be kept
until to-morrow, went into where the colonel was lying.
“He will see you,” said he. “He won’t get up.”
The colonel was sitting up in bed, striving with both hands to make his
few gray hairs cover his bald head, but he extended a palm to Carl and
greeted him warmly.
“So General Miles took me at my word, did he?” he asked.
“General Miles?” repeated Carl. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“Why, I sent him notice that you had been captured by the Sioux band
when they were not on the warpath, and requested him to demand your
surrender.”
“This is the first I heard of it, sir,” said Carl, who wondered that
the colonel thought so much of him as all that. “If he sent any word to
the Sioux I don’t know it.”
The commander looked surprised but said nothing, and Carl went on
with his report. He looked more surprised as he listened, asked a few
questions to get at all Carl knew about the matter, and finally said:
“It serves him right. This Sioux war won’t amount to much.”
After a few moments’ conversation, during which Carl told him of the
way he had escaped, he went out and found Lieutenant Parker waiting
for him, who told him he would find everything he wanted to eat in the
officers’ quarters, and that as soon as he had changed his clothes, and
had taken the sharp edge off his appetite, he was expected to tell his
story. Carl hurried away, and in half an hour more he was in Lieutenant
Parker’s quarters, who was out somewhere, but when he came in a few
moments later he found Carl filling up for a smoke.
“I tell you, Parker, my pipe was the only friend I had while I was
posting along that prairie in the direction of the fort,” said he, as
he pulled a match from his pocket and struck a light. “It could not say
anything to me, but I drew almost as much encouragement from it as I
would from my horse, if I had had one.”
The young scout then seated himself and went on with his story,
omitting no detail that he thought would be at all interesting to
Lieutenant Parker. When he told of the Ghost Dance, he held his excited
auditor spellbound.
“It was the queerest thing in the shape of a dance that I ever heard
of,” said Carl. “There was literally nothing that was interesting about
it. They go round and round until they get tired, and then they drop.”
“Did you see anybody in a trance?” asked Parker.
“No, I got tired of watching the thing and went to sleep. If any one
was tormented in that way it was after dark.”
Carl stayed up with the lieutenant all that night, and when morning
came and they were relieved he went off to his quarters to find a
little rest in sleep. But all the teamsters were up, and he had to go
through with the same thing again. Of course he did not say anything
about Sitting Bull’s death. He had made a report of that to the
colonel, and he wisely decided that the information could come through
him. Everywhere he was regarded as a hero, but no one could understand
why Harding had suddenly become so lenient to him.
“I guess Harding has not got much stomach for a fight,” said one of
the teamsters; “I don’t believe he thinks there is going to be one;”
and this was the general verdict of all of them. But finally it came
out, nobody knew how, that Sitting Bull was dead. Of course everybody
was excited when they heard of it, but there were not a few who
believed, with the colonel, “that this Sioux war won’t amount to much.”
What was their surprise, however, when a white courier rode into the
fort about ten o’clock that morning, on a horse almost ready to drop
with fatigue, and brought a letter from General Miles. Of course there
were plenty of soldiers around who saw him go in, and they were wrought
up to the highest pitch of excitement while waiting for some one to
come out.
“I tell you, Carl, there is something up,” whispered Parker to the
young scout. “That man never came here with all that haste for nothing.
We are going to see something.”
“I hope you can go,” said Carl. “I won’t see any fun at all if you are
left behind.”
“You will go, won’t you?”
“Of course I will. If the Indians are going to have a dressing down, I
am going to have a hand in it.”
The two curbed their impatience as well as they could and watched the
colonel’s door. In a few moments the orderly came out on a run and bent
his steps toward the adjutant’s quarters; and in a second more out came
that officer, bareheaded and with no coat on, and straightway went into
the colonel’s room. This made the boys more inclined to believe that
“there was something up,” and this became realized when the adjutant
came out and called for the trumpeter.
“Now we are going to hear it,” said Parker. “I hope they will call for
Company D the first thing.”
The men at a distance took up the call for “the trumpeter,” sounding it
out loud and clear, and presently the man appeared with his instrument
in his hand. He exchanged a few words with the adjutant, then threw
back his head and put his trumpet to his lips. He did not blow the
call for any particular company, but he blew the general muster of the
cavalry; whereupon Parker almost jumped from the ground.
“Whoopee! I am going,” said he, seizing Carl’s arm with a grip that
astonished him. “You must go, too. Where’s your horse?”
This was something that Carl had not yet had time to attend to—getting
a horse to replace the one that he had left in the hands of the Sioux.
The very first man he came to was a teamster who had a couple of
horses, and he raised no objections whatever to loaning Carl the best
one in the lot.
“It won’t take you long to decide which one is the best,” said he, as
he led the way out of the gate, “’cause one is about as good as the
other. They don’t look as though they had any get up about them, but
you get on ’em and try ’em.”
“Will he run fast if the Indians get after him?” asked Carl, as he
slipped a bridle on the horse while the teamster put a saddle on his
back.
“Are you going out after the Indians?” inquired the man in surprise.
“By George! you want to look out.”
“That is the reason I asked the question.”
“I have never seen this horse in a race, but I bet you he will get
there. Look out that they don’t play the same trick on you that they
played upon Custer.”
“I will look out for that. You come in on the parade-ground and hold
him while I get my things.”
When Carl hurried through the gate he saw a long line of cavalry drawn
up on the parade-ground, with their officers at the head, and the
adjutant was just going into the colonel’s door to tell him that the
troops were all present or accounted for. They were all sitting stiffly
in their saddles, waiting for the word to move. They were waiting to
see, too, who was going to command them; but in a few seconds after
the adjutant disappeared the colonel came to the door, and then this
question was answered. He had his greatcoat on, a pair of heavy
gauntlet gloves on his hands, and the point of a sabre dragged on the
ground behind him.
“That’s all right,” said Carl, making haste into his room. “Now we
will see how much the colonel knows about fighting Indians.”