"IT CAME LIKE ONE OF THEM KANSAN CYCLONES."
As he was on the point of giving up all hope of ever seeing him
again, Brinton Kingsland was naturally overjoyed at meeting his
favourite pony. The situation of the young man would have proved a
sad one, had he been compelled to wander over the prairie on foot,
for he would have been liable to encounter hostiles at any moment.
With the coming of daylight, he could hardly expect to avoid
detection by some of the numerous bands galloping hither and thither,
ready to pounce upon any defenceless settlers, or to cut off the
squads of scouts and soldiers whenever there was a chance of doing so
with little peril to themselves.
And Jack showed as much delight as his master. He thrust his nose
forward, and whinnied softly in response to the endearments of
Brinton. Doubtless he had been searching for him for some time.
"I tell you, old boy, there are only three persons whom I would
rather see just now than you; I won't mention their names, for you
know them as well as I do. Where are they? Surely they can't be far
off."
An examination of the horse disclosed that his saddle and bridle were
intact, thus proving that he had not been in the hands of any
enemies, who indeed would not have allowed him to stray off in this
fashion.
Brinton placed his foot in the stirrup, and swung himself astride of
the intelligent beast, who capered with pleasure at feeling his
master once more in the saddle.
Now that such good fortune had come to the youth, he grew anxious
about the dear ones from whom he had been so strangely separated.
There was something in the way in which they had drifted apart that
perplexed him. The interval in which it occurred was so brief that
he could not believe they were far asunder. The arrival of Jack
strengthened this belief, and now that he was in the saddle again, he
peered around in the gloom, half expecting their forms to take shape
and come forward to greet him.
The partial clearing of the sky continued. No snow-flakes drifted
against him, but the moaning wind was as biting and frigid as ever.
The straining gaze, however, could see nothing of horse or person,
though he clung to the belief that they were not far away.
But with that conviction came the other of the nearness of the
dreaded red men. He had left them on the bank of the Big Cheyenne,
which was not distant; and, failing to find him there, it was natural
for them to suspect the trick by which he had escaped.
But nothing was to be done by sitting motionless on his horse. He
ventured to pronounce the name of his father, and then his mother,
increasing the loudness of the tone to an imprudent degree. This was
done repeatedly, but no answering call was borne back to him.
Sound could not travel far against the wind on such a blustery night,
and they might be within a hundred yards without his being able to
hear them or they to hear him.
He had absolutely no guide or clue, and despair began to creep into
his heart. He asked himself what the result was to be if the aimless
wandering should continue through the night.
With the rise of the sun, Pine Ridge would be still a good day's ride
away, and it was too much to hope that they would be permitted to
gallop unchallenged through the reservation.
"Jack," said he, addressing his pony in the odd familiar way to which
he was accustomed, "I can do nothing; you will have to help us out.
So now show what you can do."
Whether the sagacious animal understood what was asked of him can
only be conjectured, but he acted as if he did. He threw up his
head, sniffed the air, pricked his ears, and started off at an easy
swinging gallop.
Brinton's heart rose with hope.
"He must know where he came from; a horse can teach the best hunter
at such a time, and Jack understands what he is doing."
The pony cantered but a comparatively short way, when he dropped to a
rapid walk, which grew slower every moment. It was interesting to
see him turn his head and look from side to side, for all the world
as if searching for something which he was surprised he did not find.
"You must be near the spot," said his master; "don't make any mistake
now, my boy."
He came to a standstill, still turning his head from side to side, as
if examining every point in sight. There could be no doubt that he
was disappointed, as naturally was his rider also.
"I know this is the spot where you left them to join me, but they are
gone. I can do nothing: everything depends on you, Jack, and you
must not fail me."
He resumed his deliberate walk, which was continued for only a short
distance. When he halted finally, his actions said as plainly as
words--
"I give it up! I've done my best, and, like you, am at my wits' end."
For a second time Brinton pronounced the names of the loved ones, and
while doing so, Jack took three or four additional steps, then
halted, threw up his head, snorted, and trembled.
These signs were unmistakable: he had discovered something. His
master urged him forward. He obeyed to the extent of a couple of
steps, and then refused to go further. Not only that, but he shied
to the left, and trembled more than before.
Brinton soothed him, and then leaned over the saddle and looked into
the gloom; and, as he did so, he almost fell from his seat, because
of the shock and faintness from what he saw.
The first glance told him that _something_ was stretched on the
frozen earth but a short distance away. Further scrutiny revealed
that it was a man, lying motionless at full length.
"It is father!" was the thought of the son, who was out of the saddle
in a twinkling, and running forward.
It was not the body of Hugh Kingsland, but of a stranger. He had
been a powerful man, who had made a brave fight, and had only yielded
to superior numbers.
Brinton did not attempt any examination in the darkness, for there
was no need to do so. He uttered a prayer for the unfortunate one,
and for those whom he must have left behind him, and added--
"Thank Heaven, it is not father! But who can say how soon he, too,
shall not be thus cut down with mother and little Edith?"
He remembered that although this tragedy had taken place so near him,
and within the last hour or two, he had heard no reports of guns nor
any sounds of conflict. That, however, was accounted for by the
direction of the wind, as already explained.
Really nothing seemed left for him to do. He had done everything in
his power to find his friends and failed. As long as night continued
the faculty of vision was useless to him.
"Well, Jack," he said despairingly, "do as you choose; I am helpless."
As if in sympathy with his young master, the pony moved off on a slow
walk, which he continued until, by some means, which Brinton hardly
understood, he clambered down into a gully, similar to the arroya in
which they had taken shelter that afternoon. In doing this, it is
probable that the animal was guided by that instinct which prompts
his kind to seek shelter from the severity of the weather, for the
refuge was a welcome one to the rider as well as himself.
On the way thither and after arriving there, Brinton signalled and
called repeatedly to his parents. The continued failure to bring a
reply led him to decide that nothing more could be done before
morning.
He flung himself off his pony, and made ready to remain where he was
until then. The gully was narrow, and the banks at the point where
he drew rein were high enough to shut out the gale. Food for himself
and horse was out of the question, and neither was suffering for want
of it. The Big Cheyenne had given to them all the water they wanted;
and physically, therefore, nothing in their condition was specially
unpleasant.
It would have been a great comfort to have had a fire by which to
nestle down, but two causes rendered this impossible: no material was
within reach, and, if there had been, he would not have dared to
kindle it.
Jack's saddle was removed, and, in obedience to the command of his
master, he lay down on the flinty earth, while Brinton disposed
himself so as to receive a part of the warmth of his body. Thus,
with the help of his own thick clothing, his situation was more
comfortable than would be supposed.
Despite his worry and anxiety, he soon fell asleep, and did not open
his eyes again until the grey light of the wintry morning was
stealing through the gully. He was chilled and cramped by his
exposure, but leaping to his feet, he soon restored his benumbed
circulation. Jack, seeing his master astir, sprang up, and looked at
him as if to announce that he was ready for any work that was before
them.
"Well, my boy, we shall have to go without our breakfast, but you and
I can stand that, I reckon, for this thing must end before we are
many hours older----"
"Well, I'll be shot!"
The exclamation was uttered by a horseman, who at that moment rode
into sight in the gully and checked his animal only a couple of rods
distant, adding--
"I didn't expect to meet you here, Brint; where are the rest of the
folk?"
"That's what I would like to know; I am worried to death, Nick; can't
you help us?"
"I'll do anything I can, my lad, but what is it?"
The newcomer was Nicholas Jackson, serving as a scout for General
Miles. It will be remembered that it was he who stopped at the home
of the Kingslands a short time before and warned them of their
danger. Had his advice been heeded, they would not have been in such
sore straits at this time.
Brinton quickly told of his strange experience of the night before
and his perplexity as to what he should do.
"I don't think anything has happened to them," was the reassuring
response of Jackson, "for the darkness was in their favour. They are
hiding somewhere in these gullies, just as you did, and dare not show
themselves."
"But how are we to find them?"
"There's only one way I know of--look for them."
"What are you doing here, Nick?"
"We learned at Wounded Knee that a company with supplies was to come
from Rapid City, and I have been sent out on a scout; an escort is
coming to bring them into camp. You have heard of the battle at
Wounded Knee Creek, I suppose?"
"Not a word."
The old scout compressed his lips and shook his head.
"I have been in a good many scrimmages under Generals Crook and
Miles, but that was the hottest half-hour I ever spent."
"How was it, Nick?"
"You know that the hostiles have been gathering in the Bad Lands ever
since this trouble began. We have them pretty well surrounded, but
there must be a big fight before we wind up this serious business.
Two days before Christmas word reached us that three thousand
Indians, including six hundred bucks, were there. You can understand
how much relief it was, therefore, to learn that Big Foot, with a lot
of Sitting Bull's fugitives on Cherry Creek Reservation, had
surrendered to Colonel Sumner.
"That was all well enough, but while conducting the band of two
hundred to the Missouri, the next day, the whole lot escaped and
hurried south to join Kicking Bear and the rest of the hostiles.
_Then_ the trouble began.
"Four days later Little Bat, one of our Indian scouts, discovered Big
Foot and his band eight miles north of Major Whiteside's camp on
Wounded Knee Creek, and four troops of the Seventh Cavalry started
for them, with me among 'em.
"As the hostiles spied us they formed a long battle line, all with
guns and knives, the knives being in their cartridge belts outside
their blankets.
"I tell you, Brint, things looked squally. We could see the gleam of
their black eyes, and the way they scowled and glared at us showed
that nothing would suit 'em better than to drive their knives to the
hilts into every one of us.
"But Major Whiteside meant business. He drew us up, too, in battle
line. Just then Big Foot was seen coming forward on foot. The major
dropped down from his saddle and went forward to meet him.
"'Me ill,' said Big Foot, 'me want peace--my people want peace----'
"The major was impatient.
"'I won't talk or parley with you,' he broke in; 'it is surrender or
fight; I await your answer.'
"'We surrender--we done so before, but could not find you,' said Big
Foot.
"I had my eye on the chief, who just then turned and motioned with
his arm to his own battle line. They seemed to be looking for the
signal, 'cause the white flag was shown at once. We rode forward
quick like and surrounded them, and a courier was sent off post haste
for four troops of the Seventh, and Leftenant Taylor's scouts to help
guard and disarm the party. They arrived the same day. Big Foot had
one hundred and fifty warriors fully armed, with two hundred and
fifty squaws and many children. Despite the surrender, we all knowed
trouble was coming, and it was not long before it came, like one of
them Kansan cyclones."