Lieutenant Parker had not much time to waste if he expected to be before the commanding officer in half an hour, and he went about his work as if he was thoroughly in earnest. He placed his horse in one of the stalls, removed his saddle, gave him a good feed at the same time, in order to “brace him up” for his long journey, and then proceeded to rub him down. All the while he was thinking about his recent interview with Carl, the Trailer, and promised himself that he would steer clear of that subject in future.
“I’ll do that for you, sir,” said a voice near him.
Parker looked up, and saw Sergeant Leeds with his hand to his cap.
“I really wish you would,” said he, putting the brush into the sergeant’s willing hand. “I’ve got just half an hour to get my supper Page 79 and present myself before the colonel, and I want the horse to go away with me to-night.”
“Very well, sir. The horse will be ready.”
Parker hurried off, and in a few minutes was standing before the washbowl in his own quarters. He wished to get a little of the dust of travel off his hands and face, put on a clean shirt, and make himself appear as neat as an officer should who expected to have an interview with his general before he slept again. His room-mate had been on guard duty the night before and was now making up for his loss of sleep; but he heard Parker stepping about the room, and opened his eyes and stretched his arms.
“Well, old fellow, I am glad to see you back,” said he. “Do you know I have been worrying about you ever since yesterday morning?”
“About that war-party?” said Parker.
“They are the very fellows. They did not come about the fort, but some of the scouts discovered them and reported to the colonel. That is what made him send the captain out after you.”
“Well, I got away from them all right. I hope I shall be as lucky this time.”
“This time!” repeated Randolph. “Why, where are you going?”
“I am going to Fort Yates.”
Randolph was utterly amazed to hear this. He threw off the blanket and sat up on the bed.
“The colonel wants to send a report to General Miles, and is now adding a word about this war-party I met,” continued Parker. “I’ve got to be with him in half an hour.”
“You are going in command of a big escort, of course,” said Randolph, angry at himself because he was so long neglected. “Perhaps I will get a chance to go with you.”
“I don’t think you will this time. I am only going to take Carl, the Trailer.”
“And no more?” said Randolph, who grew more and more amazed.
“He is all I asked for, and I believe I am going to get him.”
“Well, when you get ready to start come in and let me bid you good-by,” said Lieutenant Randolph, again stretching himself on Page 81 the bed. “I will never see you dressing in this room again.”
“Our biggest scouts take no more with them than that,” said Parker. “They want somebody with them if they get into trouble, but they don’t want a large party for fear that they cannot conceal themselves.”
“Who is talking about concealing a party?” asked Randolph in disgust. “You had better not let the colonel know that.”
“He knows it already.”
“And did he agree to it?”
“He raised no objections to it, but told me to come back in half an hour. I tell you I had better go on, for twenty minutes of my time is gone already. Good-by, Rand. I hope I shall see you again within forty-eight hours.”
This was too much for Randolph. He got upon his feet and shook his companion’s hand as though he never expected to see him again. Then he opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but no sound came forth. He turned and threw himself upon the bed again.
“I declare, I hope that everybody won’t act that way,” said Lieutenant Parker, as, with a face that had lost considerable of its confidence, he took rapid steps toward his mess-room. “The first thing I know I shall begin to behave that way myself.”
When Parker entered the mess-room he summoned the cook, and found that all that was left for him was what remained of what the officers had had for dinner. “If Lieutenant Parker could only wait for a few minutes”—but Lieutenant Parker could not wait for even one minute. He had an order from the commanding officer which must be fulfilled to the letter; so the cook began to bestir himself, and in a short time a very good meal was placed before him. He ate with his watch open beside him, so that he could cast his eyes upon it with every mouthful he took, and at precisely the time agreed upon he jumped up and started for the door. As he stepped down off the threshold, the first one he saw was Carl, the Trailer. The savage scowl had left his face and he looked just as he did during their hunt.
“You are on hand, I see,” said Lieutenant Parker. “Come on; we have not a single instant to lose.”
The young officer took his way toward the colonel’s headquarters, and found him in the act of sealing an envelope which he was going to send to General Miles. He simply nodded when the boys came in and then went on addressing it; and when he had got that done he settled back in his chair, struck a match to his pipe, which had gone out, and looked at them for several minutes without speaking. Finally he said:
“Preston, are you sure that you want to go to Fort Yates in company with Lieutenant Parker?”
“Why, colonel, I don’t see anything wrong about him,” said the guide. “We will get the dispatches into the hands of the general in due time, but how soon you will get the letters he sends in return I don’t know.”
“Ah! that’s just what I am afraid of,” said the colonel uneasily. “You are afraid there will be somebody there to watch you when you come out.”
Carl, the Trailer, said that that was what he was afraid of.
“Well, I don’t know as it makes much difference to me what he sends in return,” said the colonel, after gazing abstractedly at his table for a few minutes. “He will have to send them down by his own scouts. If you can get into the fort, it is all I ask for. If you are all ready you can go. I shall expect you back here in three days.”
Lieutenant Parker wanted to tell his colonel that if he did not see them by that time day after to-morrow he would not see them at all, but he thought he would wait and let his actions speak for him. Parker took the papers which the colonel handed him and put them into the pocket of his coat, which he buttoned up; and after shaking him by the hand and listening to his words of encouragement and advice, the boys went out. There were many around the gate to see them off, for Lieutenant Parker had never gone on an errand like this before, and when the boys mounted their horses and rode out of the stables, caps were lifted all around them. Randolph was there, Page 85 for he could not stand idly by and let his companion go off on that dangerous mission without another word to him.
“Good-by, old fellow,” said he, pressing up close to Parker, so that he could take his hand. “Remember that I shall look for you by day after to-morrow.”
“I will be on hand,” exclaimed Parker, with a sweeping salute to all the rest of them who had gathered around. “If the horses hold out I shall certainly be here.”
“That fellow acted as though he was not going to see you any more,” said Carl, when they had left the fort behind them. “I don’t see the use of their making so much fuss over our going. I have been to Standing Rock Agency half a dozen times since this trouble began, and have always got back safe.”
“Well, it had no effect upon me except to make me all the more determined to come back,” said Parker. “The colonel said that if we could get into the fort it was all he asked for. Now, what does he mean by that?”
“It means that some things have happened Page 86 that are going to put us in more danger than we supposed,” said Carl. “To my mind there is something up.”
“You think the dance has got farther along than we know anything about?” said Parker.
“It must be that. The Sioux are determined that no one shall cross their reservation. But the first thing we have to do is to get those papers you have in your pocket into the hands of General Miles. We will wait until we see how the matter looks then.”
This was a long time to wait. Lieutenant Parker was anxious that something should be done at once; but Carl kept his horse in a fast walk all the way—sometimes, when he got tired of that, letting him trot for a short distance, and Parker was obliged to keep pace with him.
“Don’t be in too big a hurry,” said the guide, who saw that Lieutenant Parker was slyly pricking his horse with the spur to make him go faster. “Let them go easy now, and save their speed for by and by.”
The guide relapsed into silence, but at the same time his eyes were busy. He kept a Page 87 close watch over the summit of the neighboring swells to make sure that they had not been seen by some of Sitting Bull’s couriers, who were on the lookout for them to find out where they went. As soon as they found out that the guide and his companion were headed toward Fort Yates they would get ahead of them, and so post the Sioux in regard to their coming. Grand River, which lay immediately across their path, was the permanent camp of the Sioux. Beginning on the right, at the mouth of the river, there was Antelope’s camp, Grand River school, Sitting Bull’s camp, Bull Head’s camp, Pretty Bird’s camp, and Spotted Horse’s camp; and by going farther up the river there was Thunder Hawk’s camp. It did not seem possible that they could get through there without being seen by somebody. And these camps extended for seventy-five miles along the course of the river. Of course Lieutenant Parker did not know this, but the guide did; and, while he kept his gaze wandering over the tops of the hills, he was thinking up some plan by which he might cross the river, get Page 88 through their lines, and take the trail of fifty miles to the fort. The Grand River school seemed to him to be the best place.
“I wish I knew just what is going on in that camp,” said he, after thinking the matter all over. “Kicking Bull has come up here from the Cheyenne reservation to teach Sitting Bull’s followers the dance, and I would really like to know if he is at it to-night. If he is, we can get across the river anywhere; but if he is not engaged in teaching them, the different camps will be full of Indians, and we shall be seen as surely as we come out of the water. Don’t you wish you had stayed at home?”
“That is a pretty question for you to ask,” returned Lieutenant Parker indignantly. “Somebody has got to do it, and I don’t see why I can’t.”
The guide relapsed into silence again, and for long hours neither of them said a word. Nothing was heard except the faint swishing of the buffalo grass as the horses brushed it aside with their legs, and the faint tread of the animals’ feet upon the sand. Finally the guide allowed his horse to gallop, and Page 89 that was a great relief to Lieutenant Parker’s feelings. And one thing which surprised Parker was the ease with which Carl’s horse kept up. No matter how fast he went he was always within Parker’s reach. Thus walking and galloping by turns, the hours passed away much sooner than Parker had thought possible, and finally, to his immense satisfaction, the guide pulled up his horse and began to look about him.
“There ought to be a school-house over there,” said he.
“Why, are we at the river?” asked Parker.
“It is only about twenty feet ahead of you. Do you hear any yells anywhere?”
“Nothing but the coyotes.”
The guide listened a moment, and then turned his horse and rode down the stream, Lieutenant Parker keeping close at his heels. Presently he turned again and rode down the bank, and then there was the splashing of water beneath his horse’s hoofs. The ford was a shallow one, and how Carl had struck it in that darkness was a marvel. It continued for perhaps five minutes, and then Parker Page 90 felt himself mounting the opposite bank. He stopped his horse when his guide did and listened intently, but he heard no sound of any kind.
“Now, sir, you may go as fast as you please,” said Carl.
“How far is the fort from here?”
“About fifty miles.”
“But the Sioux will hear us.”
“No, they won’t. They are off somewhere attending that Ghost Dance.”
Lieutenant Parker waited to hear no more. If his guide thought it safe to go with the full speed of their horses it was nothing to him. He drew up on the reins, touched his horse with his spurs, and went away like the wind.
This was the first race that Lieutenant Parker and Carl, the Trailer, had ever engaged in, and if there had not been so much at stake they would have thoroughly enjoyed it. For miles they kept going at the top of their speed, and then, to Parker’s amazement, his horse fell behind and required constant spurring to make him keep up. After they had gone half the distance to the fort, Parker reluctantly drew rein and gave up the contest.
“That is one thing at which you can beat me,” said he. “I had no idea that that nag of yours could show so much lightness of foot.”
“It is always so when a fellow brings out Eastern horses to beat them,” said the guide. “You take a race of five miles, and the Eastern horse will beat; but you take a race of Page 92 twenty miles, and it is safe to back the endurance of the pony.”
“Then I wouldn’t stand much of a show with the Sioux in a fair trial of speed,” said Parker.
“Not if you had any distance to go. More than one fellow has been hauled off his Eastern horse and killed within sight of his friends. I remember hearing some trappers talk about it at the time of the Custer massacre. One fellow, who had a nice horse, happened to get away from the hostiles, and took out across the plains at the top of his speed, followed by six or seven of the savages. The Indians were going to give up after a while, but all of a sudden they saw the officer pull out a pistol and put it to his own head. You see, he knew what his fate would be if captured. That is the only time I ever heard of an Eastern horse beating a pony.”
Lieutenant Parker was not very well pleased with such talk as this. It reminded him too much of what might be his own case if he ever got into a race with the Indians. Lieutenant Kidder and band, who had been Page 93 overtaken and annihilated by some of the same Indians among whom he was going, had tried on American horses to escape the death they saw threatening them, but after a race of fifteen miles the ponies came up, and it was all over with them. He did not ask any more questions after that until his guide pointed out something on the top of a distant swell. He looked, and there were the walls of the fort in plain sight; and scarcely had this thought passed through his mind when he heard a voice directly in front of him saying:
“Halt! Who comes there?”
“An officer without the countersign,” replied Parker.
“Halt, officer. Dismount. Corporal of the guard!—Number 6.”
Lieutenant Parker and his guide dismounted, and in a few minutes the corporal came up, bringing a lantern to assist him in making out who the visitors were.
“I have been sent here with dispatches for General Miles,” said the young officer. “I am Lieutenant Parker, and this man is my guide.”
“Well, I guess you are all right, so you can come on,” said the corporal. “How did you get through the Sioux lines, sir?”
“We did not have any trouble with the Sioux at all,” said Parker. “I guess that Kicking Bull is holding a Ghost Dance somewhere, is he not? We listened, but we heard no yelling.”
“That’s where he is now, sir; but the agent sent to him to give up the man, and old Bull told him that he was going to send him home. But what’s the use of that, sir? The Indians will learn all they want to know in that time, and they can go on with the dance without his help.”
When Lieutenant Parker followed the corporal through the gate, which stood wide open, he kept his eyes on the watch for some of those wily Sioux braves who were there to apprise Sitting Bull of their coming, but he saw none. In fact he had not seen a Sioux Indian since he left Fort Scott. He began to breathe a good deal easier.
“I believe we can go out as we came in,” said he in a low voice to his guide. “The Page 95 Indians are all away learning the Ghost Dance, and there is not one of them here to carry the news to headquarters.”
“I hope it is so, but I am afraid it isn’t,” said Carl. “Some brave, somewhere, has seen us come in here, and when we are ready to go out he will have help enough to stop us.”
Parker sent in his name by the orderly who stood in front of the general’s door, who in a few moments came out, again, with an invitation to the lieutenant to step inside. Parker obeyed, and presently found himself in the company of an elderly gentleman who had evidently just got up out of a warm bed, for his hair was all rumpled up, and he had thrown on a dressing-gown which enveloped him from his head to his heels.
“I believe I have seen you before, Lieutenant Parker,” said the general, taking the papers which were handed him.
“Yes, sir; that was when you ordered me to report to Colonel Dodge of the —th Cavalry.”
“Well, you found it a good place, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir. That is, it is well enough now.”
“What do you mean by now?”
“I mean, sir, that the colonel has got so that he can trust me, and he sends me out on little expeditions—like this one, for instance.”
“Oh,” said the general with a smile. “Well, you live up to your full duty while you are in garrison and I will answer for it that you will see plenty of service of this kind.”
The general then opened the dispatches, and when he had got a page half read he noticed that Parker was still standing, with his hat in his hand, and he told him to sit down, at the same time offering a slight apology for his neglect. The lieutenant thanked him and took a chair, running his eye over the articles of furniture with which the general had thought it necessary to surround himself, and he made up his mind that the officer was not as fond of hunting as his colonel was. There were no weapons to be seen, and not a stuffed head of antelope or buffalo did he see to remind him of the plains.
“Now, lieutenant, I shall want you to have Page 97 my answer in your colonel’s hands as soon as possible,” said the general. “Do you want some refreshments—you or your men?”
“No, sir. We brought in our pockets a bite to eat. I have but one man with me.”
The general did not say anything more. He did not express surprise that Parker had come away from the fort with only a guide, for he evidently thought that was the way to do. He wrote rapidly for fifteen minutes, and when the dispatch was completed he handed it to the young officer and said: “There you are, sir. Good luck to you,” and his interview with the general was completed.
“He is a man after my own heart,” said Parker, when he came up to the place where the guide was standing, holding the horses. “There is the officer of the day at the gate. Let us ask him to pass us out.”
This was easily done, and the boys mounted their horses and turned their faces homeward. It was now broad daylight, and Lieutenant Parker wondered how they were going to slip by the Indians unperceived. It depended upon where the Indians were. If they were Page 98 still interested in their Ghost Dance, they could cross the river without being seen by anybody; but if they were done with it and were at home, they would be discovered and stopped. He thought at first that he would see what Carl thought about it; but on looking toward him he found that he was engaged in filling up his pipe, and was going to indulge in a smoke.
“I believe I will not say anything to him about it,” said Parker. “When he is ready to tell me, well and good; but I don’t care to let him see how ignorant I am.”
And the guide did not get ready to broach the subject until they had passed over the fifty miles that lay between them and the river, and were drawing near to the school-house. It was a barren-looking place, with no flowers or shade-trees around it, and it was not such a spot as would have been chosen for a place of learning in a civilized country. There was no school in session now, for, their parents being deeply interested in the Ghost Dance, the children could not be expected to learn anything; and, furthermore, they had Page 99 to go to the new camp with their elders. As Parker looked at the house he was certain that he saw a head thrust carefully around it and then as quickly withdrawn. He glanced at his guide and was satisfied that he had seen it, too, but his face never changed color.
“It is all up with us,” he said coolly.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Parker; and although he intended that his voice should be firm, it trembled a little in spite of himself.
“It means that we are captured; at least I am, but you can go where you please,” said the guide.
“Good heavens! Let us fight!” exclaimed the lieutenant; and in an instant he had thrown his Winchester up to his shoulder and held it in position.
“Put up your gun,” said Carl sternly. “If there is one Indian there, there are a dozen. Besides, the report of your rifle would bring the whole camp on us. Every one of those tepees out yonder has two or three Indians in it, sleeping soundly.”
“How do you know?”
“Why, haven’t you seen the women looking out once in a while? Of course they know that we are coming, and depend on those fellows behind the school-house to capture us. Now, when I am gone——”
Carl was about to go on and give his companion some minute instructions as to the course he must pursue in order to reach the fort, but just then, as they went rapidly along the road which ran close by the side of the school-house, half a dozen Indians, painted in all manner of grotesque shapes, suddenly sprang up from their place of concealment and made a wild dash for the guide’s horse. One seized his horse by the bridle, and another took hold of his gun, which was slung over his shoulder by a broad strap, and with a knife cut it loose from him. No attention was paid to Parker, who sat on his horse and wondered if the savages in a fight moved as quickly as these did.
“White soldier, you go on,” said one who seemed to be the leader of the assaulting party. “We want nothing to do with you.”
Lieutenant Parker turned and looked closely Page 101 at the speaker. The voice did not sound as though it came from an Indian, and when he had taken a second glance at him, Parker saw his white skin through the places where he had not been touched up by the paint. He was a squawman beyond doubt, and the lieutenant wondered what Carl had been doing to him to incur his enmity.
“Yes,” said the guide, “you go on to the fort; I will have to stay here.”
“Why, how in the world am I to find my way back there unless you go with me?” inquired Parker, who was amazed at the proposition.
“You can see the sun, can’t you? Well, just keep it to your right and go ahead. Trust a little to your horse. He has been that way once, and he can follow his old trail back. Good-by.”
“Good-by,” said the squawman. “You have wasted time enough here already.”
As if in answer to the threat implied by these words, two of the Indians raised their guns and pointed them at his head, and Parker, taking the hint, urged his horse forward Page 102 and began crossing the river. When he reached the opposite side he turned to look at Carl, and found that he and his captors were just disappearing behind the water oaks which lined the banks of the stream.
“Carl knew what he was talking about when he said that some brave, somewhere, had seen us go into the fort,” thought the lieutenant, who was very much depressed by what had occurred. “But it beats me how he got into trouble with that squawman. Carl never associated with such fellows as those. They have got him, and now the next thing is to find out what they are going to do with him. I must see the colonel about it as soon as possible.”
Parker’s first care was to sling his Winchester over his shoulder, and his second to put his hands into his pockets. He remembered how he had drawn that rifle to his face and pointed it at an imaginary Indian who would attempt to rush upon him, and here he had gone and surrendered to half a dozen savages who took his guide away from him. He was fairly disgusted with himself when he thought Page 103 of it. Why did he not make a fight, as he had wanted to do?
“Perhaps it is just as well for me that I didn’t,” said Parker to himself. “There must have been five hundred Indians in that camp, if they were all in their tepees, and of course I couldn’t hold my own with them. If I ever reach the fort, which is extremely doubtful, Randolph will make no end of fun of me.”
By casting his eyes a little in advance of him Parker could see that his horse was following the old trail that he had made some hours before. He could easily tell it, for there were two trails, the grass all pressed down and leaning in the opposite direction, and it had been made while the dew was on. He came along there in the night, but how would it be when they reached the trail over which they had passed in the daytime? He could only wait and see.
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 Page 106 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 Page 108 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 Page 109 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 Page 110 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 Page 111 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 Page 113 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 Page 114 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 Page 115 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.
Carl, the Trailer, was sadly depressed when he saw Lieutenant Parker ride his horse into Grand River—not so much on his own account, but he was thinking of the dispatches which the latter carried in his pocket. Although he spoke encouragingly to him, he did not expect that the young officer would find his way through to the fort alone. The chances were that the horse would fail to follow his own trail, and perhaps take his rider a hundred miles out of his way. But these thoughts had barely passed through his mind when he was recalled to himself by the actions of the squawman. The latter took possession of the revolver which Carl carried in his hip pocket, and then seized him by the arm and pulled him to the ground.
“Don’t be so rough, if you please,” said Page 117 Carl indignantly. “I could have got down without any of your help.”
“I suppose you could, but you see I wanted to help you down,” replied the squawman with a grin. “You have stayed in this country just to see how this fight was coming out between your people and the Sioux, and you have stayed a little too long.”
“Do you think there is going to be a fight?” said Carl. He listened for the squawman’s reply, and he believed every word he said. Of course he was going to seek a chance to escape before long, and he wanted to take back with him some news for the colonel.
“A fight? Well, I should say so,” said the squawman angrily. “Before it is over you and all the rest of the white people will be food for the wolves.”
“You believe in the Ghost Dance, then? Don’t pull me so hard; I can keep up with you.”
“Of course I believe in it, and so does every man who has seen it. If I didn’t believe in it, here’s something that would set me all right.”
He bared his brawny arm up to the shoulder when he said this, and showed Carl the scar made by a bullet which had come very near ending his life.
“You see that, don’t you?” said the squawman, fairly hissing the words through his teeth.
“Of course I see it. But you had no business to be caught robbing my father. I did not do it.”
“I know you didn’t; but I have got you now, and I intend to make use of you, too. Go in here.”
The squawman paused in front of a tepee whose flap was wide open. Carl entered and found himself on the inside of an Indian house, and, although he had been in similar situations before, he did not see how any Indian tepee could be as dirty as this one was. The beds were scattered all over, for the Indian women had not yet found the time to gather them up, and on one of them lay half a dozen children fast asleep. Without an invitation he sat down on one of the beds and waited to see what the squawman was going to do next. That worthy seemed to be in excellent spirits, and it was not long before the secret came out.
Carl and the squawman
Carl captured by the squawman.
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“Those women you saw outside don’t all belong to me,” said he, as he took his pipe from his pocket. “One of them is my wife, and the others belong to my partners, Ainsworth and Tuttle, whom your worthy general has got in limbo. You heard about our holding up that stage, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I heard all about it. Some of you fellows shot the driver because he would not stop for you, and you stand a pretty good chance of having your necks stretched.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” said the squawman. “But you must not allow that to be done.”
“I?” exclaimed Carl. “I can’t help you any.”
“Yes, you can. When the war was here—and I know about it, for I was on the Confederate side—they used to exchange prisoners, didn’t they?”
“I believe they did.”
“Well, now, ever since those two fellows Page 120 were caught I laid out to capture you the first time you crossed the reservation, and get you to write a letter to General Miles, telling him that if he would let those men go I would let you go. But first there has got to be some little business between us.”
Carl leaned his head upon his hands, looked reflectively at the ground, and thought about it. What he had heard went a great way to convince him that his circumstances were not as bad as he thought they were. The squawmen had sent these threatening messages to his father during his lifetime, and he supposed that when he was captured there was nothing but death awaited him; but, somehow, General Miles had managed to capture two of the men who were given to holding up stagecoaches, and that had put a different view on the matter. This squawman—Harding, his name was—came to the conclusion that he had better go easy with Carl. He would offer to exchange him—one scout for two prisoners—and then he would be all right. He could afterward capture Carl, and do what he pleased with him. The scout saw through Page 121 his scheme as easily as the squawman did; and, furthermore, he was anxious to help it along. Very cautiously he let his hands drop until they rested on his breast. There was one thing upon which Carl congratulated himself at the time of his capture, and that was that the squawman did not attempt to search his clothes in the hope of finding more weapons. He thought that the rifle and single revolver were all he had; but stowed away in the inside pockets of his moleskin jacket were two revolvers which he thought might come handy in time. He could feel them now, as he allowed his hands to drop.
“Well, what are you thinking of?” asked Harding, as he lighted his pipe and sat down on a bed opposite to the one Carl occupied. “You can write, can’t you?”
“Oh, yes, I can write, but I don’t know that it will do any good,” said Carl.
“I will bet you can put it down to him so that it will do some good,” said the squawman with a hideous smile. “Suppose you tell him that the only scout he has got at Fort Scott stands a fair chance of being tied up to the Page 122 stake if he don’t release my partners. What then?”
“Of course I can tell him all that, but you can make up your mind to be hanged if you are ever captured,” said Carl. “Is there anybody here who can read writing?”
“Yes; there are three fellows here who used to go to school at Carlisle,” said the squawman. “You see, after you have written the letter I will take it to them to see if you have read it to me right, and if you have I will send it off.”
“It is lucky I spoke to you about that,” said Carl to himself. “I’ll write such a letter as I am willing those Carlisle fellows should read. Do they, too, believe in the Ghost Dance?” he added aloud.
“I tell you that everybody believes in it who has seen it,” returned the squawman. “Everything goes to prove that it is a part of the religion that the white folks have got up for themselves.”
“In what way does it prove it?” asked the scout. He had a chance now to learn something about the Ghost Dance. He was more Page 123 interested in it than he was in effecting his escape.
“Why, this earth is going to be destroyed,” said Harding. “It is all worn out now, the buffalo and all the other game is gone up, and we are going to have it new, as it was before the white folks came here and spoiled it all for us. Those who don’t believe in the Ghost Dance will all be killed by a fire or an earthquake or something, and those who believe enough in it to wear their ghost shirts will be saved.”
“What is that about the ghost shirts?” said Carl; for you must remember that what this squawman said was all news to him.
“Hold on and I will show you one,” said Harding. “You must say nothing to nobody about it, for if you do, the shirt will not be of any use to me.”
“Oh, I will say nothing about it,” said the scout with a laugh. “I shall not get a chance. If the general will not exchange those two prisoners for me, I shall be in a bad fix.”
“Won’t you, though?” said the squawman with a grin. “You will be gone up, sure. Page 124 However, it will give you a little chance for your life.”
“You bet it will,” said Carl mentally. “While you are waiting for your letter from General Miles, I will be looking out for an opportunity to escape.”
The squawman went to one side of the tepee, and after removing the iron kettle which contained what was left of the breakfast and kicking aside a few old pots and pans, he finally drew out a buffalo bag that contained one thing that he prized above everything else upon earth. In a few minutes he drew out the ghost shirt, and held it up so that Carl could have a fair view of it. The garment was made of a light buckskin, sewed with deer sinew, and cut in the form of all the Indians’ hunting-shirts. The outside of it was ornamented with rude pictures representing buffalo, deer and ravens, who seemed to be in full flight.
“Now, when we get this on, the white man’s rifle won’t amount to a row of pins,” said the squawman. “The weapon will refuse to fire, or the bullet in it will be turned aside and drop to the ground.”
“Who told you all this?” asked Carl.
“The medicine man; and he is the one that prayed to the Messiah while they were on their way home, and he set them miles ahead on their journey.”
Carl did not say anything, but his thoughts were busy. What a pity it was, he thought, that Ainsworth and Tuttle did not have on those ghost shirts when General Miles’ force came up with them.
“You see it is sewed with sinew,” said the squawman, “and that proves that we must not take anything into the dance that the white man has made. We can wear anything that we have made ourselves, but nothing else.”
“Do you think you are going to whip the white man?”
“Not unless we have to.”
“And when you do whip him,” continued Carl, “you will have to use the weapons he made for you, will you not?”
“Well, that is a different thing,” said the squawman, after thinking a moment. “Of course we will have to use the weapons he made for us, and why not? He brought all Page 126 this trouble upon us, and we would show ourselves lacking in sense if we didn’t use his own weapons upon him.”
“You say your shirt would not be of any use to you if you were known to have shown it to a white man,” said Carl. “How do you make that out?”
“All I know is what the medicine man told us,” said the squawman, packing his garment away again in its dried buffalo skin. “We are going to whip them easy when we put our shirts on, but we don’t want your folks to know anything about it.”
“Well, before I write that letter to General Miles you say you have some business to transact with me,” Carl reminded him. “What is it?”
“It is this,” said the squawman, seating himself once more on the bed. “You have got lots of cattle there, more than you need, and I want you to write me out a bill of sale for a thousand head.”
“What will be the use of that? You will not want the cattle until this fight is over.”
“I know that; but if anything should Page 127 happen, and our medicine man should be mistaken, we want to get the cattle without any trouble. You have left men on your ranch to protect them.”
“Of course I have, and they will shoot down anybody who comes around there fooling with the stock. But your medicine man won’t be mistaken. The grass is not green yet.”
“No, but our medicine man sees that our people are getting impatient, and he has agreed to shorten the time of the Messiah’s coming until this winter. That is why we are keeping up the dance so long—just to show him that we are ready for him as soon as he wants to come.”
Carl was astonished, for he had never heard that there were people who could bring the world to an end whenever they pleased. While he was thinking about it a shrill voice on the outside of the tepee set up a shout, and the squawman jumped to his feet and went to the flap of the door to listen. In a short time he came back again, after speaking a few words to the women who stood close about the tepee, and said:
“It has come at last.”
“What do you mean? The fight?”
“Oh, no. We have got orders to pack up our houses and move up to the dance-ground.”
For a few minutes there was great commotion among some of the women in camp, a few making preparations to strike tents, and the rest hurrying off to saddle their husbands’ horses. The braves did not do anything except bring their weapons out of the tepees and stand by until their nags were brought up. Carl, seeing that no attention was paid to himself, went out of the tepee and took his stand by the squawman’s side.
“Do you see those men who are sitting in front of their wigwams smoking their pipes?” said Harding. “Well they are those who don’t believe in the Ghost Dance. The soldiers say they don’t want them to engage in it, and that is enough for them.”
“They will be saved when the world comes to an end as well as those who do believe in it, will they not?” said Carl.
“Not much, they won’t,” answered the squawman indignantly. “This world is going to be destroyed and a new one made in the place of it; and those men, who are perfectly willing that the whites should come here and steal all their land and drive away the buffalo, will go somewhere, and no one will ever see them again.”
“Where’s my horse?” asked Carl suddenly. “Or are you going to leave me here?”
“Not as anybody knows of,” said the squawman with a laugh. “You must go on with me up to the other camp. I have been trying for a long time to get hold of you, and now that I have got you I am going to hold fast to you.”
“How far is that camp from here?”
“About thirty-five miles.”
“Did you tell one of the women to saddle my horse?”
“No, because the horse don’t belong to me. The one who took your horse by the bridle and stopped you is the one who laid claim to the horse.”
“And who has my rifle and revolver?”
“They went to some others of the party. Oh, you will never see them again.”
Carl was not much disappointed to hear this. He knew that his valuables were all gone, having become the property of those who helped capture him, but there were certain other things he had that he intended to hold fast to—the revolvers in the breast of his jacket. So long as they were not discovered and taken away from him he would not give up all hope of some day making a dash for his freedom.
“Have you not an extra horse, so that I can ride?” asked Carl.
“No; the women have got all the rest—and they need them, too. You will have to walk; I don’t see any way for you to get around it.”
The horse of the squawman had by this time been brought up, and he swung himself into the saddle, first making a motion to Carl to keep close by his side. As they got a little way out of the camp Carl saw that the crier’s voice had been obeyed, for they fell in behind a long row of Indians who were already taking Page 132 their way toward the new camping-ground. They were mostly braves, the women having been left behind to strike the tepees. The squawman did not exchange a word with any of them, and neither did Harding converse with him as freely as he had done heretofore. He did not want to let the bucks see how familiar he was with a prisoner.
The boy was not accustomed to travelling so far on foot, and before their journey was ended he was about as tired as he could well be. At length, to his immense relief, he discovered the camp within plain sight of him. It was situated on a plain which seemed to have no end, with high rolling hills on three sides of it, and on the outskirts were several “sweat-houses” in which the braves purified themselves while making ready for the dance, and in the centre was perhaps a quarter of an acre of ground on which the grass was completely worn off. This had been done by the braves while learning the Ghost Dance from Kicking Bull. There were a large number of tepees scattered around the edge of the plain, but Carl had witnessed the sight Page 133 so often that he barely took a second look at them. What he wanted was to get somewhere and sit down.
“I’ll bet that the men who dance here will get dust enough in their mouths to keep them from telling the truth for months,” said Carl. “Five days! That’s a long time to keep it up.”
“It is sometimes called the ‘dragging dance,’” said the squawman. “The men get so tired after a while that they can’t lift their feet. Now we will pick out a good place for my tepee, and then we will sit down. You act as though you were tired.”
Harding kept on for half a mile farther, picked out a spot that would do him, dismounted, and pulled his never-failing pipe from his pocket. Carl thought he could enjoy a smoke and passed his tobacco-bag to the squawman. The latter ran the weed through his fingers and praised its purity.
“We don’t get any such tobacco out here,” said he. “We have to eke it out by smoking bark with it. Say, Carl, how much do you get for scouting for that fort?”
“I don’t get anything,” said Carl.
“Do you get up at all hours of the night and run around for that man for nothing?” asked the squawman in astonishment.
“Oh, that’s no trouble. When I want money I can easily get it.”
“That is what comes of your having more money than you want,” said Harding; and it was plain that he was getting angry over it. “If I had one quarter of what you have got, I would leave this country altogether.”
It was useless for Carl to tell the squawman that the only way for him to get money was to go to work and earn it, for he had tried that plan on him while he was herding cattle for his father; so he said nothing. He leaned his elbows on his knees and watched the women as they came up and selected places for their tepees. When the squawman’s was put up, Carl found that he was in a position to see the Ghost Dance without going away from it. He would learn something more about it, then.
“Have your women got your tepee all fixed?” asked Carl. “Well, I am hungry.”
The squawman was hungry himself, and he had ordered the fire to be built and the iron pot to be placed over it. By the time that Harding had smoked his pipe he arose to his feet with the remark that he guessed grub was about ready, and went into the tepee. Carl kept close at his heels, and found that the iron pot had been removed from the fire and set in the middle of the tepee, with two wooden spoons beside it. The squawman took one, while Carl took the other and began to fish what he liked best from out the pot. That was all they had. The meat had been fresh the day before, but it had been cooked so many times that there was scarcely anything left of it. But he made a pretty good meal after all, and when he had satisfied his appetite he filled his pipe, lighted it with a brand from the fire, and went outside to enjoy it.
“I wouldn’t be at all uneasy if I knew where Lieutenant Parker is at this moment,” thought he, seating himself on a grassy mound beside the tepee. “I wonder if that horse has sense enough to follow his own trail back to Page 136 the fort? And why didn’t they capture him, too, when they took me? I guess the squawman let him go.”
While he was busy thinking in this way Harding came out, followed by his wife.
“I am going up to sweat myself, to make myself ready for the Ghost Dance which will come off to-morrow,” said he. “Don’t attempt any nonsense now. These women will keep their eyes on you.”
“Why can’t you let me go with you?” asked Carl. “I want to see what you do in that sweat-box.”
“Well, I think on the whole that you had better stay here,” said Harding. “The bucks don’t like your kind any too well——”
“Why, that ought not to make any difference with them,” said Carl, who was evidently astonished at the squawman’s words. “I can see some of them here that have eaten more than one meal at my father’s house. They ought to think well of our family for that.”
“That does not make any difference. You belong to a class that has humbugged them Page 137 all the way through, and there are men here in the party who have sworn to kill every paleface they meet. So I guess you had better stay here.”
Carl had no idea of attempting to escape while the squawman was in the sweat-box. There were too many bucks all around him; and, besides, he had some preparations to make. He wanted to get rid of his boots and borrow a blanket to conceal his moleskin suit. Thus equipped, he believed that when the Ghost Dance was at its height he could slip away, and those who met him on the road, seeing nothing but the moccasins he wore and the blanket wrapped around his head, would surely take him for one of their own number and say nothing to him. He believed that he would try it, anyway.
“The only question is in regard to these women,” soliloquized Carl. “If they get excited and go down there to see the dance, I can make it. If I once get over these hills they will never see me again. But suppose I am overtaken? Well,” he added, clutching his hands about his revolvers, “I won’t be Page 138 tied to the stake without some of them going with me.”
Carl glanced at the women and saw that they had seated themselves opposite to him, and, wrapped up in their blankets, appeared to take no notice of anything; but he knew better than to attempt anything while they were on watch. They sat side by side, but never exchanged words with each other. The day and night wore on until it was twelve o’clock, but still no sounds came from the camp. Finally Carl grew tired of doing nothing and went into the tepee. He picked out a bed, the most comfortable one in the lot and as far away from the others as he could get it, and stretched himself out upon it. He thought of Lieutenant Parker, wondered what the Ghost Dance was going to be, and then passed off into the land of dreams.
Morning came at length, and Carl raised himself on his elbow to find the squawman fast asleep on a bed by his side. He got up and went to the door to examine things. He saw that some changes had been made in the dancing-ground since he slept. A tree, denuded Page 139 of all its branches except near the top, had been erected near the centre, and there was a staff, with a polished buffalo-horn on one end and a plumed horse-tail on the other; a bow with its bone arrows and a gaming wheel with its accompanying sticks were made fast below it. But prominent among all was something that attracted Carl’s attention and drew from him a sneer of disgust. It was the Star-Spangled Banner.
“I don’t see what the Government has done to be insulted in this way,” said he. “I think they had better leave that thing out.”
For want of something better to do Carl filled his pipe, and sat there and smoked it. There were a few braves stirring about with nothing on hand to do, and now and then one came out of his tepee and started toward the sweat-boxes. He was going to prepare himself for the dance. For an hour Carl sat there waiting for something to happen, and during that time the camp became thoroughly awake. One of the women came to the door and motioned him to enter—a sign that his breakfast was ready. The squawman still lay Page 140 asleep on the bed, but the kettle had been taken off the fire and occupied its usual place in the centre of the tepee.
“This meat is not half done,” said Carl, trying to scoop up a piece from the middle of the pot. “You ought to be at our camp for a little while. They would show you how to cook a breakfast.”
While Carl was engaged in lighting his pipe at the fire, a commotion suddenly arose in the camp. It did not take the form of yells, as it usually did, but there were subdued growls and the scurrying of feet hurrying toward the dancing-ground. Carl wanted to see what was the matter, and so he hastened out. The dancing-ground was alive with Indians, all thoroughly armed, who stood watching the approach of three horsemen coming toward them. Carl felt for his binoculars, but they were away, keeping company with his horse and rifle.
“Those are Indian policemen, if I ever saw them,” said he. “What do they want here? If I could only make them see me. Eh? What do you want?” he added, turning fiercely Page 141 upon one of the Indian women who seized him by the arm and tried to draw him inside the tepee. “Get away.”
Carl abruptly thrust out his foot and tumbled the woman over backwards. She fell all in a heap, but at the same time she uttered a yell so loud and piercing that it straightway aroused the squawman, who came out with a rush.
“If Tuttle was here now he would play smash with you for serving his woman in that way,” said Harding, laying a heavy hand upon Carl’s arm and jerking him toward the tepee. “Get inside, where you belong.”
Carl went because he could not help himself, and the door was closed behind him. He was alone in the tepee, the squawman and the women having stayed outside to see what was going to happen. Carl wanted to see, too, and by looking around the tepee he found a place where the skins of which it was formed had not been stitched as closely together as they ought to have been, or, if they had been, the constant moving of the tepee had drawn them apart. It did not take him long to make this hole larger than it was, and by placing his eyes close to it he found that he could see everything that happened on the Page 143 dancing-ground. The braves were still huddled together awaiting the approach of the three horsemen, and finally they began shouting at them and waving their guns; but the police did not stop. They were under orders which must be obeyed. When they came up with the braves the spokesman of the three began a speech to which the Indians paid no attention. They began yelling as soon as he began speaking, and for a few moments a great hubbub arose. In all his life on the plains Carl had never heard such a commotion before. Six or eight hundred Indians could easily drown out three men, and Carl could not hear a word they said. He expected every minute that some excitable young braves would shoot the policemen, but finally the latter gave it up and turned their horses toward the fort. Carl was greatly disappointed. He left the side of the tepee and seated himself on the bed, and a moment later the door opened and the squawman came in.
“That was one time they did not make it,” said he, giving one of his hideous grins.
“What did they want?” said Carl.
“They wanted to know if Kicking Bull had gone home yet, and when somebody told them that he had, they gave us the agent’s order to stop the Ghost Dance.”
“Well, are the Indians going to do it?”
“Not much, they ain’t. We did not come up here thirty-five miles for nothing. We have got the ground right here, we are away from everybody so that we can’t disturb them, and we intend to go on with it.”
“The next time the agent sends men here to tell you to stop the dance he will send an army with them.”
“Let him. He will see some of the biggest fighting that he has ever seen yet. We shall be fighting for our religion, our homes, and all that is dear to us; and when men get that way, they generally stay until all are killed. Now I will lay down and have my sleep out.”
“Are you not going in the dance?”
“I shall go in about the third day. By that time some of the men will grow tired and drop out, and I will take their place and stay till it ends.”
“Must I stay in here all the time?”
“Oh, no. You can go out and sit down where you were before, but you had better take this blanket along with you and wrap it around your head so that you will be taken for an Indian. Now mind you, don’t attempt any more nonsense. These women know when you ought to come in, and the next time one of them takes you by the arm and motions toward the tepee you had better start. If you don’t, I’ll be after you.”
Carl took the blanket and went out; and for five long days, except the time he took to eat his meals and to sleep, he sat there with his blanket wrapped around his head and watching the Ghost Dance. To his surprise he could see nothing about it to excite so much admiration in the Sioux. When the braves got ready to begin the dance, a neatly-dressed young squaw walked up to the pole with a bow and four arrows in her hand. The arrows she shot to four different points of the compass—north, south, east and west. The warriors then separated and hunted up the arrows, which were bound into a bundle and tied to the pole. After that a medicine Page 146 man made his appearance, and surrounded by the warriors, of whom there were a dozen in all, began making a speech to them. This was called the small circle, the other Indians not having completed their “purification,” which they did by going through the sweat-box.
The medicine man occupied nearly an hour in making his speech—they were at so great a distance from Carl that he could not understand what was said—and then somebody else took his place. It was a brave who had passed into a trance during their last dance. He must have seen some wonderful things while he was in the spirit world, for he occupied their attention for another hour, and then he, too, gave way to another. There was no yelling, except what the speakers made themselves, but all seemed to be deeply interested.
Finally the braves who had been in the sweat-box began to come out and join those about the pole, and at last the large circle was formed, and then began the dancing. They took hold of hands and began moving Page 147 around the circle from right to left, and this thing was kept up until the people grew so tired that they could scarcely walk. The old Indians, knowing that this was to be a dance of endurance, barely lifted their feet, while the young braves bounded into the air and tried in various ways to show their enthusiasm. In a short time the dust raised by the feet of the dancers arose in clouds so thick that Carl could hardly see the circle at all. When one showed signs of giving out the others would jerk him around the circle, until at last he sank down from utter exhaustion.
“Well, if this is all there is of the Ghost Dance I am going to bed,” said Carl about twelve o’clock that night. “It makes me tired to look at them.”
Carl had not neglected to keep his eye on the women, who had sat all that day watching the Ghost Dance, and he saw that they were watching him too. When he arose and went into the tepee they got up and followed him. The squawman was still stretched out on his bed slumbering heavily, and Carl wondered if he were trying to make up for the sleep he Page 148 would lose during the two days that he expected to pass in the dance.
The next morning, when Carl got up, he went to the door and looked out. The circle was there, larger than it was before, and some of the braves seemed to be pretty nearly exhausted. He noticed that there was not so much bounding into the air as he had observed the day before, the young braves who had indulged in that practice having got weary and given the dance up to somebody else.
“It is the same old dance,” said Carl, going outside and seating himself on his favorite hillock. “The old men are in there yet, but the young ones have gone out. What a dust they raise! It is no wonder that the squawman called it the ‘dragging dance.’”
He was getting tired of the Ghost Dance. He had nothing to do but sit there and look on. He thought that if some of the officers at the fort could have seen it they would not be so anxious to stop it, for the thing would die out of itself as soon as cold weather came. But then an Indian was long-winded. If his Page 149 medicine man had told him that the dance was to be continued for ten days, he would have found some way to get through with it. He heard a rustling in the tepee, and the squawman came out and stood beside him.
“Have you got a pair of moccasins that you can let me have?” asked Carl, remembering that he needed one thing more to complete his disguise. “This boot hurts my foot so that I can scarcely step on it.”
“I reckon,” said Harding, who turned about and went into the tepee again. He fumbled around there for awhile, and then came out with a pair of moccasins in his hand which he threw down beside Carl. “There is some foot-gear which my old woman made for herself to go into the Ghost Dance with. You may find them pretty large, but if you strap them up tight around the ankles I guess they will stay on. What do you think of the Ghost Dance?”
“Is that all there is to it?” asked Carl in reply.
“Why of course it is,” said the squawman in surprise. “I think that if you kept up Page 150 that motion for five days you would think there was something to it.”
“Do you want that I should tell you the truth?”
“Of course. I don’t want you to lie to me.”
“Well, I think it is the biggest fake that ever a party of men indulged in,” said Carl, who did not expect that the squawman would take kindly to this criticism.
“You do? I have a good notion to choke you for saying as much.”
“You wanted the truth, and now you have it. I would like to make you a bet. In less than a year you won’t hear a thing of the Ghost Dance. Your religion will die out entirely.”
“What makes you think so?” said the squawman, who seemed surprised to hear this.
“Because the Messiah won’t come. The soldiers will come in here——”
“Oh, shut your mouth. The soldiers won’t have a thing to do with it. If they come on us, we’ll whip them in a way that will do their hearts good.”
“You will see. If I see you at the end of a year——”
“You will not see me, unless that letter you write to the general brings my partners back to me.”
“When do you want me to write that letter?”
“Just as soon as the Ghost Dance is over. You haven’t got any paper with you?”
Carl replied that he had not.
“There is one man now in the dance who has got a lot of paper by him. As soon as he gets through I will go to him for some.”
“That’s all right,” said Carl to himself. “Now I will tell you one thing, and that ain’t two—you won’t see me when this dance is over. I will be miles on my way toward Fort Scott. That is better,” he added aloud. “These moccasins feel as though I had nothing on my feet.”
Carl put his boots aside, filled his pipe, and once more turned his attention to the Ghost Dance. Harding also filled his pipe, but he did not sit down.
“You are going to see more of it, are you?” said Carl, as the squawman moved toward the dancing-ground. “Now, what is the reason I cannot go down there with you?”
“Your face is pretty brown, that is a fact, but it will hardly pass for an Indian’s face,” said Harding. “You will be safer where you are. Those bucks don’t like to have white folks see their dance.”
“That’s all right,” said Carl, as he stretched his moccasined feet before him and wondered how fast he could run if the Sioux got after him. “I’ll stay here till the women go away.”
That was a long time to wait, and Carl was so impatient to be doing something that it was all he could do to contain himself. He had his full disguise now, his moccasins and his blanket, and if he only had in his hand that Winchester rifle which the squawman had covered up in his bed before he left the tepee, and the shades of night were closing around him, he would not be caught as easily as he was before. The evening of the third day came around at last, and Harding began to strip himself for the dance. He had nothing on when he came out of the tepee except a colored woolen shirt, moccasins, and a pair of leggings which came up over his trousers.
“Now, Carl, I am off,” said he. “Do you think I can stand it for two days?”
“I should think you might stand it as long as anybody,” said Carl.
“I want to warn you that you must not think of running off while these women are here to watch you,” said Harding earnestly. “You heard what a yell one of them could give. Well, if these two set up a yelp it will reach everybody. They will keep good watch on you while I am gone.”
Carl made no reply, but sat there on his mound and saw the squawman and his wife go down to the dancing-ground; but he was all awake now, and ready to improve the first chance to seek safety in flight. But the trouble was, the two women were as watchful as ever. When he went into the tepee to get his meals or to go to sleep, his keepers were close at his heels. To save his life he could not get an opportunity to escape one moment from their vigilant eyes. The days wore on and at last the dance was completed, and with a long-drawn whoop the braves separated and all of them started for their tepees, some of them so Page 154 nearly overcome with exhaustion that they crawled on their hands and knees. The squawman came also, and he had to be helped by his wife. He went into the tepee and laid down, and Carl, feeling somewhat discouraged, followed him.
“That is one chance gone,” said he, looking daggers at the two women who had watched him so closely. “Now, when will I get another?”
An hour passed in this way and the camp was fast asleep—all except the woman who sat by the door, and who, save when she was relieved by the other woman, kept watch over him while he slept. Suddenly there was a commotion in the camp, and no one knew what had occasioned it. A wild whoop, followed by others at shorter intervals, rang out on the still air, bringing the squawman to his feet and sending him out at the door to listen. It turned out to be a courier of some kind, and he was detailing some news to the camp. The squawman listened intently, and then came back with the face of a demon.