CONCLUSIVE EVIDENCE.
Blunt turned sorrowfully away and began to pace slowly up and down the
bank. Near at hand over a little camp-fire his coffee pot was bubbling
and hissing enticingly, but even the aroma of his accustomed morning
beverage failed to attract him. What was he to do? What could he do?
Ordered to remain there to escort the captain safely to Red Cloud, on
his return from the court, it was impossible to pursue. Equally unwise
would it be to send a small squad. Waller had taken his life in his
hands when he rode away through the night, but he could cross the
Rawhide and be in comparative safety, so far as the Indian attack was
concerned, by sunrise of this day. Now that daylight had come, Blunt
well knew that every stretch of prairie from the Platte to the White
River would be thoroughly searched by keen and eager eyes, and death
would be the very least that any small party of whites could expect. He
knew perfectly well that already he and his little troop were being
closely scrutinized from the distant ridges. Had he not seen in the
tepees of the Cheyennes, but the week before, as many as three pairs of
binocular field-glasses? and had not Colonel Randall told him they knew
their use and value as well as anyone? If there was only some way of
getting word to Captain Charlton at Laramie. There ran the single wire
of the military telegraph, but there was neither office nor station
nearer than Red Cloud Agency. No man in the troop would thank him for
being ordered to go either way with dispatches, though he knew the order
would be obeyed. Silently and gloomily, instead of with their usual
cheery alacrity, the men had got to work with their curry-combs and
brushes and were touching up their horses while waiting for their own
breakfast; and presently Blunt's orderly came forward, holding a tin
cup of steaming coffee.
"Won't the lieutenant drink a little of this, sir, and try a bite of
bacon? There isn't much appetite in the troop this morning, sir, but it
ain't so much because the money's gone. I've known the old sergeant and
the boy nigh unto ten years now, sir, an' I never thought it would come
to this."
Blunt thanked the soldier and sat down at the edge of the rushing
stream, sipping his coffee and trying to think what to do. The drink
warmed his blood and cheered him up a trifle. Ordering his horse to be
saddled, he mounted and, taking his rifle, rode through the Niobrara and
out upon the open prairie on the other side. It was not long before he
found the hoof-tracks made the night before, and, without knowing why,
he slowly followed them out toward the low ridge at the southwest. For
ten minutes he went at a quiet walk and with downward-searching eyes as
he reached the road, striving to decide which hoof-prints were made by
Waller's horse.
Suddenly, back at camp he heard the ringing report of a cavalry carbine
borne on the rising breeze, and, whirling about, saw that they were
signaling to him. Putting spurs to his steed he galloped full tilt for
the ford, and then for the first time saw the cause of the excitement.
Far up on the opposite slope, and jogging easily down toward the troop,
came an Indian pony and an Indian rider, but not in war-paint and
feathers. As Mr. Blunt plunged through the stream he recognized the
young half-breed scout known to all of the soldiers as "Little Bat," and
Bat, without a word, rode up and handed him a letter. It was from the
commanding officer at Fort Robinson, and very much to the point. It read
somewhat as follows:
"Captain Charlton telegraphs that he will be detained several days.
Meantime you are needed here, as the Indians are again quitting the
reservations in large numbers. Move immediately upon receipt of
this."
[Illustration: JOGGING ALONG AT AN EASY PACE.]
That evening therefore the little troop once more rode down the valley
of the White River, the "Smoking Earth" as the Indians called it, and by
sunset were camped at Red Cloud. In much distress of mind Mr. Blunt
called upon the commanding officer to tell him of the disappearance of
the money and his trumpeter, and to ask the colonel's advice as to the
proper course for him to pursue. It was agreed that telegrams should be
sent at once to the captain at Fort Laramie and to the commanding
officer at Sidney barracks on the railway, notifying them of the crime
and the desertion. Blunt begged for a moment's delay until he could hear
from Sergeant Graham, whom he had sent to make certain investigations,
and long before tattoo the sergeant came--and with him the hospital
steward.
"Lieutenant, the store-keeper says he sold just such a handkerchief as
that to Trumpeter Waller last week, and the steward can tell about the
chloroform."
Both officers looked inquiringly at the steward.
"Yes, sir, it was pay day that young Waller handed me a penciled note
from Sergeant Graham, saying that he had a bad tooth-ache and asking for
a little chloroform, and I gave it to him."
"I never wrote such a note, sir, and never sent him on such a message,"
said Graham.