THE PURSUIT.
A short while before the band of Red Hatchet dashed into view, with
their captive, a Cheyenne scout had arrived in the little camp of the
Indian soldiers bearing dispatches from headquarters.
There was a letter from the general thanking Lieutenant Carey for his
valuable services rendered thus far, and giving certain instructions
for his future guidance, while he was ordered to do all in his power to
ascertain the force of the hostiles in the Bad Lands, now intrenched,
and the chiefs who were urging them to resistance.
A letter also came from Major John M. Burke, at the Pine Ridge Agency,
which was as follows:
"MY DEAR CAPTAIN CAREY.--You see I anticipate your title, for I know
it will come in return for the services you are rendering in this war.
"The Sioux here known as Friendlies, and the hostiles in the Bad
Lands, are very uneasy at your being on the trail with your Cheyenne
soldiers, and a greater security is felt by the army all along the
line, knowing that you will head off any move the Sioux may make of
importance.
"If it was not that General Miles is held in check by the President,
he would quickly strike a blow that would forever put down these
Indian wars; but as it is, he has to go with caution, as orders are
constantly coming from as far back in his rear as Washington City, and
so he is trammeled.
"Surgeon Frank Powell, your old and trusted friend, is here, hatching
affairs like a hawk, and Buffalo Bill is on the alert for a move when
orders come to him giving him the word to go.
"I am just back from the Wounded Knee battle-field, and it must have
been a terrible affair.
"I have heard of your courage there, and that you left on the trail of
Red Hatchet.
"If you find him I am sure the 'Hatchet' will be forever buried.
"With good will, believe me,
"Yours, JOHN M. BURKE."
He was also notified that another company of Indian scouts was ordered
to report at a certain point, awaiting orders from Lieutenant Carey,
and two troops of cavalry, and a Hotchkiss gun were stationed within
easy call, should he need them, while the commanding general had
appointed him acting captain until further orders.
"If this war lasts long enough, and I do not get killed, it shall be
captain in reality," muttered Kit Carey.
Then he broke the seal of another letter.
It was from Surgeon Frank Powell, and only a few lines, as follows;
"MY DEAR CAREY.--It has just come to my knowledge that the officer
who captures Red Hatchet, the red fiend who started the Wounded Knee
fight, is to go up a step in promotion.
"Go for the two bars on the shoulder straps, for you are the man to
win them.
"Yours, FRANK POWELL."
And just as he read these lines, that the captor of Red Hatchet was to
be promoted, by one of those strange coincidences that those we speak
of, or are in our minds, appear before us, into sight dashed the Sioux
band, and at their head their terrible young chief.
"Speak of the devil and his imp appears," cried Kit Carey, and hastily
thrusting his papers away he called for his men to saddle and follow
him.
For once he, too, had been caught, if not napping, at a disadvantage.
He had not looked for a foe from the rear.
Had he come from the front he would have come in sight in ample time to
give them a chance to be prepared for him.
But along the very trail he was guarding, and from the Bernard ranch
direction, came Red Hatchet and his band.
"And that lovely girl is his captive. I feared it," cried Kit Carey, as
he recognized in the captive of the chief the settler's daughter.
Hastily he took in the numbers of the Indians, and then glanced over
his own party.
"I can leave two scouts here, and take fourteen men with me. Just half
his force, and little less than half; but I will make the attempt to
rescue the girl and get my captaincy, too."
His Cheyenne scouts were soon about him, mounted and armed for the
chase, and with a few orders to the two left behind to still guard the
trail and await any courier that might arrive, the officer sprang into
his saddle and darted away in hot pursuit.
The Sioux had now all of a mile the start, but Kit Carey knew that
their ponies must be well worn after the ride they had had, and his
animals were comparatively fresh.
At a sweeping gallop they went along, the Sioux in full sight, and the
pursuers steadily gaining upon them.
But Red Hatchet was as cunning as he was brave, and he would not force
his ponies to full speed, knowing they could not last long at that pace.
He took in, too, that they could not be readily flanked from the nature
of the ground, and counting the men on his track he saw that where he
had thirty braves Kit Carey had fourteen.
Under ordinary circumstances he would have halted and taken some
Cheyenne scalps, confident of his ability to do so, for he hated these
Indian allies of the whites most bitterly.
But with that tall form in the lead, with his darkly-bronzed, fearless,
handsome face, his deadly aim and desperate courage even Red Hatchet
dared not halt to fight back a force only half his own in strength.
He knew those men as the captors and slayers of Sitting Bull, the
mighty chief, and he was well aware that the White War Eagle did not
count numbers when there was work to be done.
So he would hold on in his flight until a chance came to ambush his
pursuers, and while his captive was sent on under two trusted warriors,
he would remain to fight the White War Eagle with the advantage of
position added to numbers.
"Let the White War Eagle follow, and he will run into an ambush, and
his scalp hang at the belt of the Red Hatchet," said the chief to
Jennie, whose heart sank within her at the danger that the daring
officer must encounter in his effort to rescue her.