CHAPTER VI.

"AY, WHERE WERE THEY?"

By the unaccountable disappearance of his parents and the horses, Brinton was left in a state rather of perplexity than alarm. The time was so brief since they left him, that he could not understand how they had gone far, nor why they did not answer the guarded calls he made.

He noticed that when in obedience to his urgent entreaties the couple rode away, followed by his own pony, they went down stream, that is, in the direction of the current. Surely they could not have passed any distance, and he believed they heard his voice when, making a funnel with his mittened hands, he pronounced the words—

"Father! Mother! where are you?"

If they did not reply, it was because of the danger involved in doing so. It was incautious on his part to shout, even in a suppressed voice, at such a time.

The bank on his left was a little higher than his head, and so sloping that the horses could climb out with little effort; but, as will be recalled, the night was unusually dark, and he might pass over the plainest trail without knowing it.

He ran some distance further, keeping close to the water, but still failed to find them.

"They have climbed out of the bed of the stream; something unexpected has occurred, or they would not leave me in this manner."

He felt his way to the bank, and easily placed himself upon the level ground above. There he strove to pierce the gloom, but nothing rewarded the effort.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" he muttered, "if this isn't the greatest surprise I ever knew. It looks as if the ground had opened and swallowed them."

In the northern sky the heavy gloom was relieved by a faint glow, which at first he took for the aurora borealis, but a few minutes' scrutiny convinced him that it was the light of some burning building, the dwelling evidently of some ranchman, whose family had probably paid with their lives the penalty of tarrying too long.

"A few hours more, and father, mother, and Edith would have shared the same fate. It may still be theirs to do so."

The sound of a whinny from behind caused him to turn his head. He could see nothing, but he was sure that it was one of his father's ponies that thus made known his presence.

It would have been the height of imprudence, however, had he acted upon such a belief, after what had so recently occurred, and when a safe and certain test was at his command.

He emitted a low tremulous whistle of such a musical tone that it reached a goodly distance in spite of the gale.

"That can be heard further than the neigh, and, if it finds the ear of Jack, no one can restrain him from coming to me."

But though the call was repeated there was no response. The alarming conclusion was unavoidable: the sound had been made by an Indian pony near at hand.

Aware that his own situation, despite the darkness, was perilous, the youth sat down on the frosty earth, near the edge of the bank, until he could gain some idea of his bearings.

Within the next ten seconds the whinny was repeated, and this time seemingly within a dozen feet, but below the bank, and consequently between him and the water.

He knew what it meant: the hostiles had crossed the stream lower down, and were ascending it in the search for the fugitives. But for the fact that one of their ponies showed a strange lack of training, the youth would have run right into them.

It might be that the reckless horse was a captured one!

They were so close, however, that Brinton did not dare to flee, especially as he did not know in which direction safety lay. He lay flat on the earth, with his head just above the edge of the bank, so that had there been any light he could have seen what was going on below.

It is rare that a night is totally devoid of the least ray of illumination. Brinton, therefore, could never believe he was mistaken when, peering down into the gloom, he fancied he discerned the shadowy outlines of a horseman move slowly in front of him, like the figure of the magic lantern. It melted in the gloom, and then came another and another, until he counted six. The sounds of the hoofs on the hard ground removed the doubt which otherwise he might have felt.

"The same party," was his thought; "one is missing, and, if I am not mistaken, I had something to do with his disappearance."

A different noise came to his ears. One of the bucks was making his pony climb the bank where the slope was abrupt. The labour was hard, but after a strenuous effort he stood on the earth above. He was followed by the others in Indian file, the ascent taking but a few minutes.

The disturbing feature about this business was that the whole party had climbed the bank within a dozen feet of where Brinton was lying, and they halted when so near that he was half afraid some of the horses might step on him.

Had there been any light in the sky he would have felt they were trifling with him, as a cat plays with a mouse.

But, if the hostiles could not see or detect his presence, their horses were sure to discover that a stranger was near.

"It's too bad!" thought Brinton, who, believing that his own people were safe, was able to give more thought to himself; "it looks as if there's no getting rid of them. I think this is a good time for me to leave."

For a single moment he was certain he was discovered. One of the warriors uttered an exclamation, and a slight sound showed that he had dropped from his horse to the ground. The youth was on the point of rolling over the edge of the bank and taking to his heels, in the hope that the darkness would allow him to escape, when, to his dismay, a tiny point of light flashed out of the gloom.

One of the hostiles had dismounted to light a cigarette, placing himself so that his horse's body kept off the wind.

Brinton's position gave him a good view of the operation. The savage drew the match along a portion of his blanket. The youth saw the slight streak of light and heard the tiny sharp explosion followed by the bursting into flame. The buck shielded it with his curving hands, which were raised to meet the stooping head, as it bent forward with the cigarette between the lips.

The glare of the diminutive flame gave a peculiar tint to the fingers, which caused them to glow as if with heat. Then the reflection showed the arched nose, the broad face, the serpent-like eyes, and a few straggling hairs on the upper lip, with a glimpse of the dangling locks, thrown forward by the stoop of the head.

The glimpse was momentary, but it was clear enough for Brinton to recognise the young Indian as Wolf Ear, who he knew was fond of cigarette smoking, that being one of the habits he had acquired among civilised folk.

"I am sorry it wasn't you I shot from his horse in mid-stream," was the resentful reflection of him who had once been a devoted friend of the Ogalalla.

The cigarette being lighted, the buck vaulted upon the back of his pony, where he could be seen by the fiery tip in the dense darkness.

Brinton wondered why the group of horsemen remained where they were, instead of riding away. That, like many other actions of theirs, was incomprehensible to him.

But while he lay flat on the ground, debating what he should next do, if indeed he could do anything, he was frightened by the discovery that gradually but surely the figures of the Indians and their ponies were coming into view.

The explanation was that the sky, which had been overcast all day and a portion of the night, was slightly clearing—not to any extent, but enough to increase the peril of his own situation to an alarming extent.

"It won't do to stay here any longer; I wonder why they have not discovered me before; they will do it in five minutes, if I remain."

His position was an awkward one for the movement necessary, but he had no choice, and he began stealthily working himself to the edge of the bank, with the purpose of letting himself noiselessly over to where he would be concealed from sight. All might have gone well had he not forgotten a simple thing. The edge of the bank gave under his weight, and he slid downwards, as if taking a plunge into the river, with the dirt rattling after him.

The noise, slight as it was, was certain to attract the notice of the Indians, a few feet away. Brinton knew this, and he did not wait to see the results. With the nimbleness of a cat, he turned at the moment of striking the bottom of the low cliff, and bounding to his feet, ran along below the bank at his utmost speed.

Had he continued his flight, quick disaster must have followed; but with a thoughtfulness and self-possession hardly to be expected, he abruptly stopped after running a hundred feet and again threw himself on his face, at the bottom of the bank, and as close to its base as it was possible for him to lie.

He knew that he could reach this point before the hostiles would comprehend what had taken place, and consequently before they would attempt to pursue him. Since he had no chance against their fleet ponies, he would have been speedily run down had he continued his flight down the river bed, for he heard the sound of their hoofs as they dashed after him.

The pursuers were cunning. Their ears had told them the course he had taken. Several forced their animals down the bank, to prevent his turning back over his own trail, while the others galloped close to the edge above, all the party taking the same direction. Thus it would seem that but one desperate hope remained to him, which was to dash into the river and struggle to the other side. But the splash would betray him. The water was probably deep enough to force him to swim. With the thermometer below zero, and encumbered by his clothing, he must perish with cold, if he did not drown.

Where then was the hope of eluding the hostiles, who were clinging so persistently to his track?

There was none excepting in the trick to which he had resorted, and Brinton knew it.

He was no more than fairly nestled in his hiding-place, when the clatter of hoofs showed that one of the horsemen was almost upon him. He could only hug the base of the bank, and pray for the danger to pass. It did pass, but it was sure speedily to return. It was this belief which led the youth to resort to another artifice, that would have done credit to an experienced ranger of the plains.

Instead of turning about and running upstream under the bank, he waited until the horsemen above had also passed, and were invisible in the gloom. Then he hastily clambered up the slight bluff, rattling down the dirt again in a way that sent a shiver through him. Had they been as near as before, they must have certainly discovered him; but if the noise or the crumbling dirt reached the ears of any, they supposed it was caused by some of their companions, for no effort at investigation was made.

Upon solid ground once more, Brinton sped straight out over the plain, and directly away from the river, until he dared to pause, look around and listen.

He saw and heard nothing to renew his fear.

"Can it be that I have shaken them off at last?" he asked himself; "it begins to look like it. Where under heaven can the folk be? I hope they have pushed toward the Agency, and nothing will happen to them."

Now it was that he detected something, so faint and indistinct that at first he could not identify it; but, while he wondered and listened, it resolved itself into the sounds of a horse's hoofs. They were not such as are made by an animal galloping or trotting, but by walking. Furthermore, he heard but the one series of footfalls.

A sudden impulse led Brinton to repeat the whistle which he had vainly emitted some time before, when groping along the bank of the Big Cheyenne. Instantly a faint neigh answered, and a pony assumed shape in the darkness as he approached on a joyous trot.

"My own Jack!" exclaimed the overjoyed youth, flinging his arms about the neck of his favourite and kissing his silken nose; "Heaven be thanked that you are restored to me at last. But where are the folk?"

Ay, where were they?

CHAPTER VII.

"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."

CHAPTER VIII.

"THE BUCKS WERE COMING UP ALARMINGLY FAST."

"When General Forsyth arrived," continued the scout, in his description of the battle of Wounded Knee Creek, "he ordered the male Indians to come for a talk. They come out, scowling and sullen, and gathered in a half-circle in front of Big Foot's tent. The chief was inside, ill with pneumonia.

"The general told them they must surrender their arms in groups of twenty. By this time they were thoroughly enraged, but most of our boys thought they were so cowed they would obey without much trouble. I didn't like their looks, and told Jenkins at my side to hold himself ready, for I believed them fellows meant mischief, and a fight was sure.

"'I guess not,' he answered; 'they're obeying orders.'

"The first score slunk back without a word. We waited a long while, and by-and-by they came out agin, and how many guns do you 'spose they brought with 'em. Just two miserable pieces, worth so much old iron.

"The major was impatient because of the delay, and, when he saw this, he too was angry. He turned and talked a few minutes with General Forsyth, both speaking so low that I couldn't catch what they said, though I seen the general was as angry as the major, but he kept cool. You see, the major was managing the business, but he made sure that everything was done as General Forsyth wanted.

"The cavalry was now ordered to dismount, and they done so, forming a square about fifty feet back and closed in, standing within a half-dozen yards of the Indians that was in the centre.

"It was plain that the latter didn't mean to obey orders, though they pretended to. Accordingly a body of cavalry was sent to make the search themselves. When they came out, which they did in a few minutes, they brought sixty good rifles with 'em. That was doing the business up in style; but the general and the major didn't intend there should be any half-way work about it. The soldiers were directed to search the bucks themselves, for there was no doubt that all of 'em had their guns hid under their blankets.

"The Sioux stood scowling, ugly and savage. When about a dozen had been searched and their rifles brought out, they couldn't stand it. They were furious. Like a flash, the rest of 'em whipped out their guns from under their blankets and let fly at us. It was so sudden that before we knew what it meant, a hundred guns had been fired, and the reports sounded like one volley.

"It was all done in a twinkling. There we were, close enough almost to touch the redskins, and the flash of their rifles was right in our faces. I remember that I was looking into the muzzle of one of 'em, when the gun went off, and I felt the bullet nip my ear; but others weren't so fortunate, and the poor boys dropped as though so many thunderbolts had fallen among 'em.

"It didn't take us long, howsumever, to get in our work.

"I can tell you," added Scout Jackson, "there were lively times for twenty minutes or half an hour. During the battle we stood off some distance when firing at each other, but it was like you and me standing near enough almost to shake hands, and blazing away. Them redskins fought hard. It was bang, bang, with the soldiers dropping all around, and no saying when your own turn was to come.

"But the hostiles got the worst of it. Some of 'em, seeing how it was going, broke through our lines and dashed for the hills to the south-west. We followed 'em, and the fighting kept up as bad as ever, though the shots wasn't so rapid. We lost about thirty, and more than that wounded, and of them some are likely to die."

"Where were the squaws and children during the fight?" asked Brinton.

An expression of scorn passed over the face of the scout as he made answer—

"Where was they? Fighting like so many wild cats. You'll be told that we chased and shot down women and children. There's no question that a big lot of 'em was killed, and how was it to be helped? Them squaws was dressed so much like the bucks that you couldn't be certain which was which. From the way they fought, you might have believed each one was ten bucks rolled into one.

"But of course we cleaned 'em out, for that's what the Seventh always does, when it undertakes that sort of thing; from what I've told you, you'll know there was hot work for a time. A youngster about like yourself had charge of a Hotchkiss gun. and the way he handled that all through the fight made us feel like cheering, even when we didn't dare to stop shooting long enough to do so.

"When the Sioux fled, this youngster dragged his gun from the knoll where he had been stationed. Leftenant Hawthorne was at his side, and the fighting had become skirmishing on the crests of the ravines, where Big Foot's band had taken refuge. The bullets were singing and whistling through the air, but that boy wheeled his Hotchkiss to the mouth of the gulch, where the firing was the heaviest. The minute he done that, he and the men attached to the gun become the targets of the Indians, who was determined to shoot 'em down. The bullets splintered the wheels of the gun, and sent the dirt flying right and left and in the air. A ball struck Leftenant Hawthorne's watch, glanced off, and wounded him; but the youngster pushed the gun forward and shelled the pockets in the ravines.

"That boy kept it up, pushing steadily on and sending the shells wherever they could do the most harm. When the battle was over, he was found wounded, leaning against the shattered wheel of his gun, too weak to stand erect. Big Foot was among the killed."

Brinton Kingsland was so interested in the story of his companion, who was too modest to dwell upon his own exploits, that he forgot for a few minutes his own situation and the absence of his friends. With only a brief comment on what had been told him, he said, starting up—

"But, Nick, of what have I been thinking? Here the morning is fully come, and I have not learned anything of father, mother, and Edith. How could I forget them so long?"

"It was my fault more than yours," replied Jackson; "there's nothing to be made by staying here; let's ride out of the gully and look around; I've had a bite, and have something left over; will you have it?"

"Not just now," replied Brinton, as he rode side by side with him out of the depression where he had spent the night.

Reaching the higher ground, they looked over the surrounding country. The youth gave his chief attention to the rear—that is, in the direction of the Big Cheyenne, for he believed that Wolf Ear and the other hostiles were not far off. But, if so, they were not in sight.

The scout, however, had discovered something in front, and at a considerable distance, which interested him. Shading his eyes with one hand, he gazed intently toward the north.

"By gracious!" he exclaimed, "I believe that's them."

"Where?" eagerly asked his companion.

"I don't mean your folk, but that waggon train with supplies from Rapid City."

Brinton's heart sank, for his hopes had been high; but he found some consolation, after all, in the declaration of the scout.

A mile away, across the prairie, a party seemed to be preparing to leave camp. At that distance it was impossible to identify them, but Jackson was positive that they were the train in search of which he had left the camp at Wounded Knee.

Brinton's hope was that his parents were with them. It would have been hard for him to explain just why his hope was so strong in this respect, but it seemed reasonable to suspect that the light of the camp had attracted their notice during the darkness, and that they had gone thither, after finding it impossible to rejoin him.

The real, but slight, ground on which he based this fancy was that his pony Jack had been found while he, his owner, was travelling in a direct line from the Big Cheyenne toward the camp. Since the animal must have kept company for a time with the other two, the Kingslands had continued the same course, and might have descried the twinkle of the camp fire.

"I myself would have seen it, had I not ridden the other way and gone into the gully, where I couldn't detect anything a dozen feet away."

"Yes, I'm almost sure it's them," added Jackson, after further studying the camp; "let's find out."

The proposition suited Brinton, and the two headed their ponies toward the camp.

Although at the moment of starting there was no danger in sight, and the supply train did not seem to have been disturbed, Nicholas Jackson was too experienced to forget every precaution, and while he studied the scene in front, he kept glancing toward the other parts of the compass.

And it was well he did so, for a few hundred yards only were passed when he said in a low voice, in which no excitement could be noted—

"It looks as if them bucks would like to j'in our company."

Brinton glanced back, and saw the half-dozen hostiles with whom he had had his stirring experiences the night before dashing towards them from the direction of the Cheyenne.

There was no need to engage them in a fight: indeed, it would have been the height of imprudence to do so. Jackson and Brinton were well mounted, and they instantly struck their horses into a run. The Indians shouted on perceiving that they were discovered, and they also urged on their animals. Several shots were fired, but the distance was too great to do execution.

The race had continued but a little while when it became apparent that the pursuers were gaining, Jackson's horse was doing his best, but Brinton's was not. He could draw away from the Indian ponies, but his rider held him back to keep the scout company.

The chase could not last long, for the camp was comparatively near at hand, but the bucks were coming up alarmingly fast.

"There's no use of both of us being overhauled," said Jackson; "ride ahead and save yourself."

"But I can't desert you."

"Faugh! don't be foolish; you can't help me, and you're sure to be shot if you stay; off with you!"

"But what will become of you?"

"That's nothing to you; it looks as if I must bid you good-bye; Billberry has gone lame, but I'll make the best fight I can, and if I go down, some of 'em have got to go with me."

Brinton was much perplexed what to do, but he knew that the question of life and death must be decided within the next few seconds.

CHAPTER IX.

"HE HAS MADE HIS LAST SCOUT."

The perplexing question was settled by Brinton Kingsland's pony taking his bit in his mouth and speeding towards the camp of the supply train, as if driven by a hurricane.

The youth could not but feel conscience-smitten at this apparent desertion of a comrade in dire extremity, but there was no help for it. Besides, Jackson was right when he urged Brinton to lose no time in saving himself, since it was out of his power to help the imperilled scout.

The pursuing hostiles had now approached near enough to make their shots effective. The whistling bullets warned Brinton of his danger, so he threw himself forward on the neck of his pony, who rushed ahead with arrowy swiftness.

The clatter of hoofs made young Kingsland glance to his left: there was Billberry, the scout's steed, with neck outstretched, going madly on.

He had been touched by one of the flying bullets, and in his panic forgot the weak leg that already had delayed him to a fatal extent. His desperate burst of speed brought him alongside of Jack, whose rider, to his amazement, saw him shoot ahead at a pace which none of his kind could surpass, and none there could equal.

But his bridle-reins and stirrup-straps were flying in the gale caused by his own tremendous swiftness. Brave Nick Jackson had been shot from the back, and was fighting his last fight.

Brinton Kingsland tugged at the rein of Jack, and shouted a savage command in the same breath, The pony would not stop, but, slackening his speed, described a circle, which brought him round with his head toward the pursuers.

Pierced by one of the balls of the bucks, the scout fell from his saddle, but, recovering himself with wonderful dexterity, turned about, and with levelled Winchester bravely faced his foes.

The shots were rapid on both sides, and those of Jackson did much execution. But his fate was sealed from the first, and none knew it better than he.

"I can't stand that!" muttered young Kingsland, the moment he succeeded in facing Jack the other way; "I have already played the coward, though, heaven knows, I couldn't help it."

Something of his daring seemed to tingle in the veins of his pony; for, now that he was urged to return, he headed straight for the group of combatants, and shot forward at full speed.

Meanwhile the members of the supply train were not idle. They had descried the coming of two horsemen from afar, and were quick to recognise them as friends.

Had there been any doubt, it vanished at sight of the pursuing Indians behind them. Three were in the saddle in an instant, and scurrying away to the relief of the solitary man fighting for his life.

Brinton was not aware they were at his heels. He mistook the sound of their horses' hoofs for that of Jackson's animal, who, he supposed, had turned, and was rushing into the heart of the peril, as his kind will do when forced out of a burning building.

The first warning the youth received of the true state of affairs was when the approaching horsemen fired from behind him at the group crowding around and pressing the scout so sorely. But the hostiles were quicker than he to see their peril. They wheeled hastily, and, flinging themselves over the necks of their ponies, skurried in the direction of the Cheyenne.

It is the custom of the American Indians to carry off their dead and wounded. The latter probably looked after themselves in this instance, but in their haste the two that had fallen by the hand of Nick Jackson were left stretched on the ground.

An extraordinary incident now took place. In the furious struggle one of the hostiles had become dismounted. Disregarding the fate of his companions, or probably seeing that the brave scout had become so weakened that the peril no longer existed, he leaped from the back of his pony and dashed forward to give the white man his finishing-stroke. Before he could do this, the relief party were so close that he did not dare to tarry. He turned to remount his pony, but the animal had become panic-stricken in the flurry—it may have been that he was struck by a bullet—and was galloping off, as if for his own life. Furthermore, he made straight for the camp of the supply train, so that his capture was impossible.

But there were two other animals that had lost their riders, and, if he could secure one of these, he might yet save himself.

They, however, were galloping among the others riding for life toward the Big Cheyenne. The bucks, with less chivalry than the youth had shown in similar circumstances, gave no heed to the peril of their dismounted comrade, but sped across the prairie at the utmost speed of which they were capable.

Among them was possibly one who, seeing that the whites, instead of keeping up the pursuit, had halted around the fallen scout, gave a little thought to their comrade. This friend would not turn back himself, nor did any of the others do so, but with the palm of his hand the former smote one of the riderless ponies across the eyes and shouted a command in his ear. The horse checked himself with a cry of pain, reared, shook his head, and then, dropping out of the group running close together, wheeled and trotted toward the dismounted Indian.

The latter gave a thrilling exhibition of running. He saw that his only hope lay in reaching one of the ponies of his comrades that had basely deserted him, since to undertake to recapture his own animal must take him into the camp of his enemies. He therefore exerted himself to the utmost to overtake the party before the whites could overtake him.

Had there been none interested besides the three members of the supply train, all would have gone well with the buck, for, as we have said, they gathered around the fallen scout and gave their whole attention to him. But there was another, who resolved that this miscreant should pay for his unpardonable barbarity to a brave and fallen enemy. That one was Brinton Kingsland.

Quick to grasp the situation, after finding himself too late to help poor Jackson, he noted the solitary Indian, and believing him to be the one who had laid the scout low (though if he had not struck the actual blow, he was equally guilty), he compressed his lips and muttered—

"I'll teach you a lesson, you assassin!"

The redskin, as he ran, grasped his Winchester in his right hand in a trailing position. The heavy blanket was secured at the throat by some fastening that held it in place. The lower portion streamed out over his back, as did his long black hair, in the wind created by his own fleetness, while his leggings doubled and twinkled so fast that they resembled the spokes of a swiftly-revolving wheel He was, indeed, running with astonishing speed.

"Now, Jack, do your best! There isn't any time to lose, and you are not going to let a miserable redskin outspeed you."

The pony flung up his head, snuffed the air, stretched out his neck, and away he went with arrowy swiftness. He knew what was wanted of him, and was not the one to shirk his duty.

It was at this juncture that the fugitive, going like a whirlwind, turned his head for an instant and glanced back Brinton was watching him, and saw the scowling face glaring like a wild beast through the thicket of flying hair.

"Great heavens! it's Wolf Ear!"

During these exciting minutes the youth had forgotten about the young Ogalalla, until this glimpse of the well-remembered features told him the startling truth. The shock caused him involuntarily to tighten the rein of Jack, and the animal, obedient as he generally was, instantly slackened his pace.

But the hesitation was for a few seconds only. Brinton felt that he ought not to have been surprised after the events of the preceding day and night.

"He deserves death more than any of the rest, for his knowledge has been greater than theirs, and his excuse is less. I'll run him down and make him prisoner."

Again he spoke sharply to Jack and twitched the rein. The noble animal stretched away with the same graceful swiftness he had shown from the first.

But the Ogalalla was cunning. He had seen the Indian pony as it withdrew from the rest and came trotting toward him in a bewildered way, as though not quite understanding what it meant; but if the animal was perplexed, Wolf Ear was not. He read the meaning aright, and saw that one desperate chance remained. If he could hurl himself upon the back of that same steed before the white youth overhauled him, the prospect was good for his ultimate escape.

Brinton comprehended everything as vividly as he, and did not spare Jack. He aimed to interpose himself between Wolf Ear and his pony, and thus prevent their meeting. Every nerve and muscle was strained to accomplish that end.

Young Kingsland was already close enough to shoot down the fugitive, and he felt he deserved to be laid low, but, as we have shown, such was not his purpose. An indefinable dislike to slay a foe, even though ferocious and guilty, prevented his firing the shot that would speedily have ended it all.

The rest of the hostiles had disappeared over a swell of the plain and were out of reach.

Why did not Wolf Ear, when he saw he could not reach his pony in time, halt and bring his gun to bear on his fierce pursuer?

He did. The cunning fellow, almost within reach of the pony, and at the moment when his heart was beating high with hope, saw everything frustrated by the action of the animal. The sight of a person coming toward him at such terrific speed, even though belonging to the race to which he was accustomed, was too disturbing to be accepted with serenity. He raised his head as he came to a halt, surveyed the bounding figure, and then, with a snort of affright, wheeled and trotted toward the river.

His speed was much less than that of the Ogalalla, but of necessity it compelled the latter to run farther than he would have done had the beast remained stationary, and it was just that brief interval of enforced stay on the ground that told the Ogalalla the white youth must reach him before he could overtake the pony.

"Surrender, Wolf Ear!" called Brinton; "you can't help yourself."

Evidently Wolf Ear held a different opinion, for he wheeled like lightning, and levelled his rifle with the reply—

"That's the way I surrender! Do you surrender!"

The action was so sudden that Brinton could not forestall him. He was fairly caught.

It was, however, far from Brinton's thoughts to yield to this startling command. He flung himself over the other side of the saddle, so as to offer as little of his body as possible to the aim of the miscreant. He was certain he would fire and shoot down his horse, if not himself. He waited with an intensity of emotion which cannot be described.

One minute, two minutes passed, but no report came. Then Brinton heard the suspicious clatter of a horse's hoofs, and peeped over the spine of Jack. He was in time to see Wolf Ear galloping off on the hack of the pony. With inimitable dexterity he had secured the animal during the brief interval at his command, and was now going like the wind over the prairie, after his departed comrades.

The Ogalalla, however, was not too far away to shout back a taunt and the words—

"Wise young man, my gun was not loaded, but it served me as well."

Then he whisked over the elevation and vanished.

There was no help for it, and the chagrined Brinton wheeled and galloped toward the group whom he had left some distance behind on the prairie. They were riding slowly to the camp, supporting a form between them. Dreading the truth, Brinton held back until the others reached the camp. Then he rode forward and asked—

"Was Nick badly hurt?"

"He is dead; he did not speak after we reached him. He was a brave fellow, but he has made his last scout."

Brinton sighed, for he respected and loved the man who had thus died for his country.

But another question was on his lips. He looked around the camp, and his heart sank at his failure to see any of the loved ones whom he was so hopeful of finding there. In a trembling voice he put the query.

The answer was what he dreaded: they had neither seen nor did they know anything of them.

CHAPTER X

"OH, THERE IS WOLF EAR!"

It will be remembered that when Brinton Kingsland dropped to the ground in the gathering darkness to check the crossing of the Big Cheyenne by the Sioux, whose leader had met him in mid-stream, he called in an undertone to his parents to hasten out of the range of the flying bullets; he repeated the command to his pony Jack, who obediently trotted after them.

The father and mother, at this time, had no more thought of separating themselves for any distance from their brave son than he had; but two causes brought about the singular accident already referred to.

The excited words of Brinton and the reports of the guns led the couple to think the danger more imminent than it was. As a consequence, they rode farther than was necessary, but still not to a point that ought to have caused any difficulty in their coming together when prudent to do so.

Mr. Kingsland's pony travelled faster than that of his wife, thus placing him a few yards in advance. The gloom had not yet become deep enough to prevent their seeing each other; but at a moment when the wife was about to ask her husband to stop, she was surprised to see him turn to the left, his pony struggling up the bank to the level ground above.

"Why do you do that, Hugh?" she called in a guarded voice, but at once following him.

He did not answer, but narrowly missed falling out of the saddle. His animal continued moving away from the river-bank, and presently struck into an easy gallop, which rapidly increased the distance from the stream.

Mrs. Kingsland now suspected the meaning of the strange action, and urged her pony beside that of her husband, which was going so fast that she was obliged to travel farther than she supposed before coming up with him. Then, laying hold of the bridle, she brought her husband's pony to a halt.

"What is the matter, Hugh?" she asked; "are you ill?"

"Gracious! what have I been doing?" he exclaimed, in turn bewildered, and looking about in the darkness.

"Why, you have been trying to run away from us," said Edith, with a laugh, believing the whole thing to be a joke on her father's part.

"You have come a good way from the riverbank," replied the disturbed wife; "I tried to check you, but could not."

"I understand it now," said he, passing his hand across his forehead, in the effort to collect his thoughts. "Just after we started a faintness seized me, and I knew nothing until this minute. I don't understand why I did not fell out of the saddle."

"I saw you reel, and you must have come near doing so. How do you feel now?"

"Much better. Strange that I should have been attacked in that manner; but I am sure it will not occur again. What will Brinton think?"

"I have heard the report of guns, but all is quiet now."

"I feel little alarm, for they will not dare to cross while he is guarding the ford."

"Is he not in danger?"

"No; he is lying on the ground, and they cannot see him; he will hold them at bay as long as he wishes."

"But they may come over at some other point and get behind him."

"I did not think of that," said the husband more thoughtfully; "but I am sure he will not stay any longer than he ought. It won't do for us to go back, for, if the Indians do cross the river, we shall be in their path. It may be well to go part of the way over our own track, so as to make it easier for him to find us. Come on, and make no noise."

"But you are not taking the right course," protested his wife: "you should turn more to the left."

"I feel almost sure you are wrong; but you have had your senses about you all the time, which is more than I have had, and I bow to your decision."

"But, mother, you are not right," interposed Edith, now fully awake; "you should go that way"; and she indicated a route widely different from that of either—so different, indeed, that her mother could not accept it.

"No, dear, you are wrong," she calmly replied. "I will lead."

And yet there is reason to believe the child was nearer right than either, and had her suggestion been adopted, much of what followed might have been averted.

While they were riding, as they believed, in the direction of the Big Cheyenne, Mr. Kingsland noticed that the pony of his son was not with them. His wife said that he did not come up the river-bank, and was probably waiting for Brinton to go to him. It will thus be seen that the youth was wrong in his supposition about the movements of Jack.

By-and-by the time came when Mrs. Kingsland saw she had committed a sad blunder, and, instead of approaching the river, had gone still farther from it; they could hear nothing of its flow, and were lost on the prairie. Husband and wife now debated what was best to do.

It was found that when each, including Edith, named the supposed direction to the stream, they were as widely apart as before.

"The wisest course is to stop trying to find the river," remarked the husband, "for every effort only takes us farther away; we might as well go into camp right here."

"And freeze to death."

"No; we will ride round until we find some shelter from this cutting wind, and then make ourselves as comfortable as we can until morning. Do you see that light away to the south?"

That which the ranchman observed was the glow already referred to as attracting the notice of Brinton. The latter saw it in its true direction—that is, in the northern horizon, from which the bewilderment of his parents will be evident.

In the hope of finding their way to the river the couple acted upon what might be considered a compromise. It is not necessary to say that every yard thus traversed increased the space between them and the youth who, at that moment, was groping blindly in quest of them.

The wanderings of the stray ones, however, were fortunately not long continued, when the ponies of their own accord descended a depression in the prairie. It was not deep or well protected, and was not reached until after they had passed over several elevations, but they accepted the shelter thankfully, and dismounted.

The three were cramped from their long constraint, and Edith ran around and here and there for some minutes before she was willing to be tucked away for the night. Their abundant clothing enabled them to get along much better than might be supposed; the little one lay between father and mother, the ponies being allowed to stay by themselves. As in the case of Brinton, the long wintry night passed without disturbance or incident.

With the coming of daylight Mr. Kingsland roused himself. Seeing his wife and child were still sleeping, he did not awake them, and took the best survey he could of their surroundings.

The weather was still intensely cold and the sky overcast. A look at his watch showed it was near eight o'clock when he clambered out of the depression and looked about him.

The first discovery to cause surprise was the shelter that they had enjoyed during the night. Instead of being a ravine, like that where Brinton had slept, this was a rough irregular excavation, some forty or fifty feet in diameter. The sides sloped gently, the whole appearance being that of an immense hole left by some great explosion of gunpowder, to which a providential chance had guided their horses.

The husband saw no sign of any living being besides those with him, nor could he form any surmise as to the course to be taken to effect a meeting with his son.

"What will Brinton think? After doing so bravely the work I ought to have done, we left him in the lurch. We are as much lost to each other as if in the depths of an African jungle with miles intervening. I can't help feeling that the top of that ridge yonder would give me a view that would disclose something important."

He debated with himself whether it was prudent to walk thither and obtain the coveted survey. It was little more than a hundred yards distant, and it did not seem that any harm could come to the loved ones whom he would leave but a few minutes.

"I must manage to get my bearings in some way before I can do anything. The sun seems to be off yonder behind the clouds, but really it appears to me as if it were in the wrong place!"

He ended the doubt by striding to the elevation, rifle in hand. Since his faintness of the night before, he felt better and stronger than he had for weeks, and this fact doubtless had much to do with the feeling of self-confidence which now nerved him.

Reaching the crest of the ridge or swell in the prairie, Kingsland was disappointed. The same kind of view confronted him on every hand, and he experienced a repetition of that sensation which often comes to one in his situation: if he could only pass to the top of the next elevation, he would obtain the view he wanted.

But Hugh Kingsland was too wise to yield to the prompting. One precious member of his family was already gone he knew not where, and he would incur no risk of its being further broken up.

He was roused from his meditations in the most startling manner conceivable, the cause being a rifle-shot, undoubtedly aimed at himself. On the summit of the ridge at which he was gazing, and almost at the very point, two Indian bucks suddenly walked up from the other side in plain sight. While they were still ascending, and when only their heads and waists showed, one of them brought his rifle to his shoulder and tried his skill on the white man across the valley-like depression.

Mr. Kingsland did not tarry long enough to reply, but hurried back to the hollow where he had left his wife and child. They had awakened, but were not alarmed at his absence, the wife suspecting the cause. She had brought out what was left of the lunch, and she and Edith were calmly eating when he reappeared, his looks and manner showing that he had made some terrifying discovery.

He quickly explained what had taken place, adding—

"I am in doubt whether to mount the ponies and start to flee, or to stay where we are and try to fight them off."

"You saw only two, and they were on foot."

"But they are sure to have ponies near, and more than likely more of the hostiles are within call."

"Let us stay here until something is learned," said the wife, showing admirable coolness and courage.

Whether or not this was the wiser course remains to be seen, but it was followed. Mr. Kingsland crept to near the top of the hollow, and lying extended at full length against the sloping bank, peered over, with his rifle ready to fire at the first appearance of danger. His position was such that he could detect the approach of anyone from that side, while his wife guarded the other in a similar manner.

The ponies having been quieted, Edith was cautioned to remain near them, and to avoid exposing herself to any stray shots that might be fired. As long as she kept at the bottom of the hollow with the animals, she and they were safe.

A full hour passed without the least sign of the hostiles. A less experienced person might have accepted this evidence that the danger had passed them by; but when a second hour had worn away with the same quietness everywhere, the husband and wife still maintained their watchfulness.

The forenoon was half gone before this vigilance was rewarded. Mrs. Kingsland called to her husband that there was something suspicious in front of her; and pausing only long enough to make sure that nothing of the kind was immediately before him, he slipped down the hollow and up the opposite slope to her side.

"Where is it?" he asked in an undertone.

"Just over that first swell, and a little to the left."

"I see him; keep down out of sight!"

He placed the muzzle of his repeating Winchester over the side of the hollow, took careful aim at the rough head that had risen a few inches above the slight swell in the prairie, and let fly. The aim was a perfect one, as was shown by the instant disappearance of the crown and the cry, which from behind the elevation sounded as if much farther off.

Instantly three or four replies came from other points along the swell, and the bullets chipped the dirt about the face of Kingsland, who ducked his head out of range. Knowing, however, how much depended on his concealing his weakness from the hostiles, he fired four shots quickly, without special aim, and with no expectation of accomplishing anything except that named.

"If I can make them think there are half a dozen rifles here on the watch, they will be careful about attacking. But they mustn't know how weak we are."

"I don't admit that we are so weak in this hollow and with that repeating gun, and you feeling so strong and well."

At this juncture a cry was heard from Edith. She had forgotten the command of her father, and crept up the opposite slope.

"Oh, there is Wolf Ear!"

And before anyone could interpose she sprang up the bank and ran toward the ridge where her father had first seen the two hostiles. The horrified parents at the same moment saw three other Indians dash toward the innocent child, who never dreamed of her awful peril.