"What was in that letter he gave you?" asked Perkins.
"That letter won't do me much good," replied Guy, with a discontented look; "the Colonel's got it and I guess he means to keep it."
"Not if it is going to save your life," said one of his roommates.
"But how is it going to do that? I must first fall into the hands of the Sioux, and I don't want to do that, I bet you. I have not forgotten those men that they killed."
"I will tell you what let's do," said Perkins. "Let's go and see Cyrus. He will know whether or not there is anything to it."
This the boys decided to do; and when the soldier had finished grooming the horse, they came out and turned their steps toward the guide's headquarters.
"By the way," said Lieutenant Perkins, before they had gone many steps on their road, "who is this young fellow, Winged Arrow, or whatever you call him, anyway? Was he richly dressed?"
"I don't see what his clothes had to do with that," said Arthur. "Of course he was richly dressed, if it took the last cent he had. An Indian will put all he has on his back, even if his stomach goes empty."
"This fellow didn't, I tell you," said Guy. "The most I could see of his uniform was buckskin; and it was fixed up in a way that must have taken some squaw a year or more to turn it out so neatly. I saw his pants, or a portion of them that was not covered up by his leggings, and they were the costliest kind of broadcloth; much better than those we wear,—we mounted Lieutenants who draw $1500 a year."
"I wonder if his father is rich," said Perkins.
"There!" exclaimed Guy. "I knew there was something I had forgotten. I never thought to ask him who his father was."
"You made a mistake there," said Arthur. "He must be a man of some note in the tribe, or his son would not be allowed to meet an enemy on the lines. You say that there were Sioux watching you all the time?"
"Yes, and he showed me the hiding place of one of them; but you might as well look for a needle in a haystack as to try to make him out. My horse smelled him, however, and that was the reason he ran away with me."
The boys had by this time reached the guide's headquarters, and there they found the man of whom they were in search sitting on an empty cracker box, smoking his pipe. We ought rather to have said "the boy," for Cyrus was about their own age. No one knew what his other name was, whether Cyrus was his given or surname, and, as he did not volunteer the information, no one cared to ask him. He had been born on the plains, for no one could have learned so much unless he had been; and the boys had told one another confidentially that there was a story back of it. He was talkative enough whenever he was approached on any other subject, but the moment they tried to pry into his parentage Cyrus closed his mouth and would say nothing more. He was very friendly with all the young officers, accepted the cigars and tobacco which they offered him, and gave them "points" when they went out on a scout after Indians; but who his father was was a question he would not answer. He was taller than any boy in the party, and the muscles on his arms were something to wonder at.
"Halloo!" said he, knocking the ashes from his pipe and filling up for a fresh smoke, "Guy got a reprimand. I can see it plainly enough. Why didn't you obey the Adjutant's orders, and come in when your game flew off over the ridge?"
"Well, there is once that you are mistaken," said Guy. "I told the officer of the day just why I did not come back, and he said that the next time the Colonel trusted me I was to do just as I was told."
"Kendall is the officer of the day, is he not?" replied Cyrus. "That is the first time I ever knew of him letting a young officer off so easily. You must have seen something over there."
"Yes, I did; and I want to know if you ever heard of, or have seen something, I don't care what it was, which was given to a white man that would save his life if he were to fall into the hands of the Sioux?"
"I certainly have," replied Cyrus.
"What was it?" asked all the boys at once.
"Have you found such a thing?"
"No; but I had something given to me. It was a letter which Winged Arrow's father had written to him to come home."
"Where is the letter?"
"The Colonel's got it and I don't know whether he means to give it up or not. I tell you it put him on nettles too. It tells of a massacre that is to come off very shortly. The Colonel says that the next time we go out after a load of wood we have got to look out."
"I know pretty nearly all the Sioux that there are in that camp, but I never heard of Winged Arrow before," said Cyrus. "What sort of a looking chap was he? Tell me all about the history of that letter, and then I will tell you some more."
Once more Guy began and told his story, and Cyrus seemed to take it all as a matter of course, for he never expressed surprise at anything the young officer told him. When Guy had finished his tale, Cyrus lighted his pipe and sat with his elbows on his knees, looking thoughtfully at the floor.
"So it seems that we young officers have got some friends in the camp of the Sioux all unbeknown to us," said Guy, after waiting for Cyrus to say something. "They don't want us all killed off."
"Well, that stands to reason," said Cyrus. "This Winged Arrow has been under instruction of white people all the time for eight years, as you say, and he doesn't want to see any of your kind hurt. That letter will save the life of anybody who falls into the hands of the Sioux."
"Do you know that to be a fact?" asked Arthur, who, like all the rest of the party, was greatly astonished.
"Yes, sir; I know it is so," said Cyrus, emphatically. "Mine was saved once by a simple bunch of sage brush which I had in one of my pockets."
"Oh, go on and tell us all about it," chorused the boys, looking around for some place to sit down. "I don't see what there could have been in a lot of sage brush to save your life."
"It is not a long story, so you need not get ready for an all night's entertainment," returned Cyrus. "You know I have always been kind of friendly toward the Indians; whether Sioux or Pawnee, it made no sort of difference to me, for I live a good deal like them myself. About two years ago we had some war on with the Sioux, about some land, of course, and I was off scouting by myself to see what I could find. I was not attached to any post then. One day I was within hearing of a tremendous fight that came off between our fellows and the Sioux, but I did not go near the battlefield until it was all over. The next day I went up and found that our men had been victorious. The dead and wounded Indians were buried where they had fallen, and our own people had disappeared. They had been carried away by our fellows so that the reds could not dig them up and mutilate them.
"I was just about mounting my horse to go on again, when I heard a groan coming from a thicket close at my side, mingled with the cries in the Sioux tongue of 'Water! Water!' I tell you I did not feel safe in going up to find out what the matter was, for the Indians, even though they are wounded unto death, have a way of keeping a weapon in their hands ready to be the death of any one who comes near them; but finally I made out to see the man, and there was not anything in the shape of a revolver or knife near him. He was shot through both hips, but had managed to drag himself out of sight there in the thicket where he had lain undisturbed by our forces when they were burying the dead. When I came up to him he held out his hands piteously and begged for water. He saw that I was supplied, for he had his eyes on my canteen, and although somebody might call me a fool for doing it, I took it off and gave it to him. He was a human being and somehow I could not bear to knock him in the head. He seemed greatly surprised at that, and grateful too; and after a little while I began a conversation with him. He told me that he had been shot out there on the plains, but had dragged himself to those bushes without a weapon of any kind, and that nothing remained for him but to lie there and die. Of course I could not do anything for him, for he was shot in such a way that he could not sit upright on a horse. I left him the little grub I had and promised that if I could find any one to send after him, I would do it; but that was all in my one eye. I supposed when I left him it would be the last of him.
"Just as I was about to get on my horse and ride away from him, he thrust his hand into his medicine sack and drew out something wrapped up in buckskin, which he held toward me. I said nothing, but took it, and when I was a little way off I unrolled the thing, and found that I had a handful of sage grass. My first impulse was to drop it, for I did not believe that it would be of any use to me; but in time I happened to remember that such things HAD served prisoners in some way or another and saved their lives."
"Why, how would it do that?" said Arthur.
"I do not know," replied Cyrus, "whether it is a sign from one Indian to another, or some medicine which they think will protect anybody who has it,—it is beyond me quite. It did not protect this Indian; for if it had, the white man's bullet that shot him through the hips would have been turned away and never hit him at all. Well, I took it, put it in one of my pockets, and started on the trail of our forces, intending to overtake them as soon as I could, when the first thing I knew I ran plump into a squad of about twenty warriors; or, rather, they ran into me, for they came over a hill and surrounded me before I could think twice. 'Well' said I, 'You are gone up this time. It is no use trying to get away, but some of these savages will go before you do.' So I cut loose with my rifle—"
"Do you mean to say that you shot while the Indians were all around you?" exclaimed Guy in astonishment.
"Certainly," replied Cyrus. "I supposed that if I was caught alive, there could be only one case for me, and that was to be tortured, so I determined to do what damage I could before I went. I got two of the warriors, and I did not make any mistake about it either, and then somebody shot my horse through the head and I came to the ground. Before I could say 'General Jackson' I was disarmed and my hands tied behind my back. I was done for at last."
The boys waited impatiently for Cyrus to go on with his story, but he leaned his elbows on his knees and took a few long pulls at his pipe. At length Guy began to grow indignant.
"Well, it seems as though the Indians left a great deal of you, if they did burn you to death," said he. "Didn't they leave enough of you to finish your tale?"
Cyrus laughed heartily.
"I was just going over in my mind the way things happened there during the next few minutes," said he, when he had sobered down. "They all began shouting at once, and I knew by the noise they made that we were safe from our boys, and that I had nobody to rescue me. Some began shouting out one thing and some another, but I knew from what they said that they were in favor of disposing of me at once, because they did not think it safe to take me to their village. They put a lariat around my neck, jumped on their horses and started for a little grove of willows about five miles off; and although I was a pretty fair runner, I was completely whipped by the time we got there. I tried my level best to make them listen to me, but I might as well have shouted against the roar of Niagara. When we got to the willows I could not say a word. They untied my hands and while some proceeded to cut the fuel with which they were about to torture me, the others peeled off my clothes; and they went into every pocket to see what I had that was worth stealing. Presently one of them took up my pants which had my pipe, tobacco, and money in them, and the first thing he drew out was that roll of buckskin which contained the sage brush that the wounded Indian had given me. The grunt he gave when he unrolled it was enough to bring all the Indians about him. The shouting instantly ceased. They examined the sage brush, turned it on all sides to see if there was anything more with it, and at last looked at me.
"'Have you fellows got so that you can listen to a white man at last?' said I, 'I know where I got that, and who gave it to me. If you will go with me I will show him to you.'
"They could understand me well enough when they were not shouting so as to drown my words. One of them, who spoke a little better English than the rest, ordered me to tell my story; but I told him that I could speak his own language better than he could, and so spoke to him in his own dialect. When I got through they wanted to hold a consultation and they drew off several feet, this time leaving me untied. When they came back they allowed me to put on my clothes and told me to lead them to their wounded comrade. If I had been a tenderfoot then I should have been in a fix, for the prairie on all sides looked the same; but there were certain little landmarks which I remembered, and in process of time I brought them to the bush which concealed the man of whom I was in search. One would have thought from the anxiety they showed to meet the man, that there would have been a big jubilee over finding him; but they did not act so at all. They simply exchanged a few words with him and then came back to me. My horse, weapons, and every thing I had lost by them was restored, all except my sage brush, which I wanted more than I did anything else. Then they told me I could go; and I lost no time in getting out of there. That letter of yours, Lieutenant, might do the same thing for any one who happened to have it about him; and for that reason I would like to see it. Don't you think the Colonel would give it up if you asked him?"
Cyrus, who had allowed his pipe to go out while he was talking, struck a match on the floor and turned toward Guy for an answer.
"And do you really believe that that bit of sage brush, which anyone could have picked up on the prairie, was the means of saving your life?" inquired Guy, when Cyrus ceased speaking.
"Or it may have been the water and food you gave him," said Arthur. "Almost anybody would have been grateful for that."
"No, it was the sage brush," said Cyrus earnestly. "The Indians carried it with them when they went to the wounded man and showed it to him before they told me that I could go. He exchanged a few words with them in tones so low that I could not overhear them, and after that they came to their decision regarding me. I say it was the sage brush and nothing else."
"Guy," said one of his roommates, "you must get that letter. Cyrus wants to see it."
"It is not that so much as I want it to help me in something I am going to do to-night," said Cyrus. "I don't want you boys to say anything about it, but I am going to try to get those dispatches to Fort Robinson as soon as it becomes dark."
The young officers were really surprised now. Here was a boy who was about to take the same chances that two of their most trusted scouts had attempted only a short time before, and he knew that he was going to fall into the hands of the Sioux before he got through. For a minute or two no one spoke. They looked at Cyrus and then at one another, and finally shook their heads as if the matter was too deep for them to understand.
"I am going to try it to-night," said Cyrus, and for the first time in their lives the boys saw him put on a determined look, which revealed more of the boy's character than they had ever dreamed of. Cyrus had pluck in him; there were no two ways about that. "If I fail, as a good many better men than I have, who have tried it, it will be the last you will ever see of me."
"But, Cyrus, how do you know that the letter will prove an advantage to you?" asked Guy. "You seem to be depending upon something that none of us ever supposed that a Sioux had; I mean gratitude."
"Oh, I know the way your speakers and writers of books have ventilated their opinions on that subject, but I will tell you that gratitude is a thing that Indians have as well as white men," said Cyrus, getting upon his feet and pacing the floor. "You call an Indian a savage, and say that everybody who falls into his hands is booked for Davy's locker sure enough; but some of them have hearts. If the Colonel would let me, I would not be afraid to take Guy's letter and go into the Sioux camp this very minute."
"Well, you have more faith in them than I have," said Guy, astonished by the proposition, "You go into the Sioux camp to-night and we will never hear any more stories from YOU; you can bet on that."
"Somebody has to take the risk, and since the Colonel has been to me, I can't well refuse. We shall all be massacred if we stay here, and if some one has got to die in order to save the rest, it might as well be myself as anybody. Guy, will you get the letter for me?"
"Certainly," said the officer, who had never heard Cyrus speak in such a tone of voice before. "It is my letter and I must have it."
"Don't say anything to him about what I have told you," said Cyrus. "I am disobeying orders by telling you, and you must keep my secret."
After the boys had all promised to be careful, Guy Preston came out and turned toward the Colonel's quarters. He heard the invitation in the commandant's voice, "Tell him to come in," and Guy entered and found the officer pacing up and down his narrow room as he had seen him twice before. Indeed he did not appear to have anything else to do. He wanted to find some way of getting out of the predicament he was in, and he hoped by walking the floor that something would occur to him.
"Sit down, Mr. Preston," said he.
"Thank you, sir, but I don't want to stop long," was the reply. "I gave you a letter which Winged Arrow gave to me, and you have not returned it. The young savage wanted me to keep that letter in my uniform wherever I went, thinking it might be of service to me if I were captured."
"Why, you don't expect to fall into the power of the Sioux, do you?" said the Colonel with a smile.
"No, sir, I don't expect to, but there is no telling what may happen."
"I thought I would send that in making out my report," said the officer. "If you don't mind, that is what I will do with it."
Guy was astonished and greatly alarmed when he heard this. Aside from the protection which the letter might afford him, there was Cyrus who was particularly anxious to have it, in view of the perilous undertaking which the passing of the hours was rapidly bringing toward him. Cyrus was a favorite with all the officers and men, and he must have the letter if there were any way to bring it about. He did not believe in such things, but Cyrus did, and he thought that the mention of his name would help matters a little.
"I have been talking to Cyrus about it, and he wants to see it," said he, at a venture.
"Oh, Cyrus," exclaimed the Colonel, rising to his feet and going to his desk, "That puts a different look on the affair. I suppose that when he is done with the letter that you will bring it back."
"Yes, sir; when he IS DONE with it," replied Guy, extending his hand for the document.
The Colonel evidently did not notice the emphasis he placed upon the verb, for if he had he would have asked him to explain. He handed out the letter, and, after thanking him for it, Guy put on his cap and left the room.
"I said when he was DONE with it I would return it," said he to himself, as he ran across the parade ground, "that will be after the letter has served his purpose. I hope it will assist him in getting out of the hands of those rascally Sioux, if he is unfortunate enough to fall into them; but I don't know. I would rather see our regiment drawn up with sabers in their hands than to believe in this thing."
Cyrus was in the quarters alone. The young officers having thought of various duties they had yet to perform, had gone away to attend to them. He received the letter with a smile and gave it a good looking-over. "It WAS drawn by an Indian," he remarked, as he folded up the letter and placed it in his pocket.
"Now when you are all through with that, you must give it back to the Colonel," said Guy, "I have promised him that. But it seems to me that you are relying on a poor prop."
"You probably get your notions of Indians from some books that you have read," replied Cyrus. "I never have heard of a war yet in which some prisoner, either white man or savage, did not owe his life to some such thing as this. You never see anything about it in print, because the majority of people they capture are not high enough up to believe in such foolish ideas. They don't believe that because a thing is senseless and can't speak, that it will be of any benefit to them; but you ask some men, who have been out here on the prairie all their lives and have associated with Indians more than they have with the whites, what they think of these things. They will tell you that there is more faith to be put in them than in a regiment of soldiers."
Guy was amazed to hear Cyrus talk in this way. He grew animated and talked like some one who had been through all the books at school, and, furthermore, his words carried weight with them. Guy was encouraged. He hoped that Cyrus would get through in safety with his dispatches, or, failing that, the letter would take him through the hostile ranks of the Sioux and bring him unharmed back to them.
"You talk as though you were not going through," said he, not knowing what else to say.
"Well, those two men who tried it the other night were well up in all that relates to the Indians and the prairie on which they live, and if they did not get through there is a small chance for me. Now I want to lie down and take a little sleep, and when the Orderly comes he will know where to find me."
"I may not see you again and so I will bid you good-by," said Guy, who felt that he was parting from an older brother. He thrust out his hand, and Cyrus took it and clasped it warmly. Not another word was said. The officer put on his hat and left the quarters.
"Don't I wish that I had half the pluck that that man has?" said he to himself. "If that were all, he would hoodwink the savages in some way; but they are too many for him. Good-by Cyrus. I will never see you again."
It was a long night to Guy Preston and his two companions who were with him—two of them were on duty and they did not see much of them—and when the next day came it was harder than ever, for they were obliged to pretend ignorance of Cyrus's whereabouts. When he got up Guy passed the time until breakfast in attending to such duties as were before him, and then he drew a bee line for the guide's headquarters. He wanted to see if anybody there knew anything of Cyrus.
"You tell where Cyrus is," said Tony, who was taking his after-breakfast smoke. "When I went to bed he lay right there; but when I got up this morning his bunk was empty."
"It is my opinion that he has gone off with the dispatches that we failed to get through with the night we tried it," said Mike, who was Tony's partner on that unsuccessful expedition.
"Good land! He can't get through," exclaimed Tony. "I tell you, Lieutenant, the Sioux are thicker than blackberries in a New England pasture out there. Whichever way we turned we saw something to drive us back. The Kurn knows mighty well that we would have gone on if we had seen the ghost of a chance to get through, because all the men here are in the same fix that we are; but what are you going to do when every tuft of grass you look at turns out to be an enemy?"
"Could you see the Sioux?" asked Guy.
"No; but our horses smelled them, and that was enough for us. Whenever they stopped and looked before them with cocked ears and snorted, we went back and tried some other way; but it was the same all around the camp. But I am mighty sorry to lose Cyrus. He was the best fellow in camp."
"Certain. If he isn't captured, the Sioux will drive him back. There's one thing that I have got against him," said the other scout. "He has left his horse behind him. If I had had anything to do with his going away, I should have told him to be sure and take that pony."
Until very recently Guy did not believe that a white man's horse could scent an Indian further than he could see him, but he did believe it now. His experience with his excited horse the morning before had confirmed the story.
"A white man's horse won't go up to an Indian that is lying in the grass," continued the scout. "He will turn out and go some other way; and an Indian's pony acts just the same way with a white man. The horses enter into the spirit of the matter and hate a foe as heartily as their riders do."
Guy had heard all he wanted to hear about Cyrus's disappearance, and returned to his room to get ready for guard mount, for he was to go on duty then. Not one of his roommates could tell him a single thing he had not learned already. No one knew when Cyrus went away, and the only thing for them to do was to wait patiently for two or three days, or until they could hear from Cyrus direct. Guy was glad to have some duties to perform, because they kept him on the move and he did not have as much time to think as he did when left to himself.
At twelve o'clock his relief came on and, after eating his dinner, Guy went into his room and laid down to get a wink of sleep to prepare him for the mid-watch which came on at six o'clock; but it seemed to him that he had scarcely closed his eyes when he was aroused by the long roll and the hurrying of feet outside his quarters. To get up, pull on his boots, seize his coat with one hand and his sword with the other was done in less time than we take to write it, and Guy rushed out to find his company rapidly falling in on the parade ground. Perkins came up at the same instant, and met Guy with some encouraging words.
"The massacre has come and in much less time than Winged Arrow thought it would," said he. "Now where is your letter?"
Guy did not have time to answer, for the sharp voice of the Colonel was heard ordering them to their stations. When Guy got up on the palisade and took his position in readiness to defend the gun which was pointed toward a distant swell, he had opportunity to look about him.
"All ready with that gun?" asked the officer in command.
"All ready, sir," replied the Captain of the piece, squinting along the gun to make sure that it covered the hill. "I can knock the last one of that group if I can get orders to fire now, sir."
Guy looked toward the swell and saw a party of half a dozen warriors there, all of whom were mounted save one. He had just time to note this fact when he saw the dismounted man start down the swell toward the Fort, while the others of the group disappeared behind the hill. The man was plainly a prisoner and had been liberated. Guy's heart seemed to beat loudly as he drew nearer to the officer who commanded the gun and said, in a scarcely audible whisper:—
"Is that Cyrus, sir?"
The man who had a glass removed it from his eyes long enough to stare blankly at Guy, and then, as if getting something through his head, he leveled the glass once more and said, while he caught a momentary glimpse of the figure:—
"By George! I believe you are right."
The excuse that Cyrus made, that he wanted to lie down and get a wink of sleep before the Colonel's Orderly came to find him, was merely a pretense to get rid of the officer, and nothing else. When Guy went out he lay down on his bunk, but he did not stay there more than five minutes. No one came in to bother him, and Cyrus, thinking that as good a time to reach the Colonel's quarters without attracting the attention of anybody, got up and, by keeping close to the palisades and behind the out-buildings, drew up at last before one of the windows of the commanding officer's room. It really was not a window at all, but an opening left in the logs and covered with a piece of muslin so as to admit the light. He listened, but could hear nothing but the steady tramp of the Colonel as he paced back and forth in his room. Then he raised his hand and with his knuckles gave a peculiar rap on the casement. A moment afterward the corner of the piece of muslin was drawn aside and the Colonel's face appeared.
"I am here," said Cyrus. "I want those dispatches that you have ready for me."
"Come in," said the commanding officer, and with a few moves he drew the tacks which confined the window and made a hole large enough for Cyrus to squeeze his broad shoulders through.
"Have you a needle and thread?" asked Cyrus.
"Yes, everything is all handy. You sit down here in my bedroom, and if any of the officers come in to see me they will be none the wiser for it."
Cyrus seated himself in one of the spots which the Colonel pointed out to him—it was not a chair, however, but an empty box which had once contained canned beef—and pulled off his buckskin jacket, while the Colonel went into the next room and presently returned with the dispatches for which the boy was about to run so much risk. It was a very small package, but there was a great deal written on it. It conveyed to the Commanding General the information that the Colonel had succeeded in building Fort Phil Kearney, but instead of using it as a basis for movements against the hostile Indians, the Sioux had shut him up in it, hoping that when their ammunition and provisions gave out, they could make a raid and destroy every man there was in the Fort. His condition was perilous in the extreme. Every wagon train that he sent out for fuel was protected by a large force, and if the Sioux were smart enough to cut off one of those forces, or get between them and the Fort, thus dividing his men, the annihilation of all of them would be a matter of hours and not of days. He begged earnestly for re-enforcements of five hundred men, and he could do nothing until such force arrived.
"I wish the General could be here for about five minutes and see just how we are situated," said the Colonel, as he placed the dispatch on the table by the side of Cyrus. "He would learn better than to send out such a small body of troops as mine to confront the whole tribe of Sioux Indians. Cyrus, I hope you will get through with that dispatch."
"Kurn, if any living man can accomplish it, I can," said the scout. "Now, have you got the other dispatch ready?"
"Yes, but I don't place any faith in that. If you are caught the savages will strip you—"
"And this dispatch will be the only one they will find. Our fellows fooled the rebels more than once by carrying concealed papers—"
"But rebels and Indians are two different things. To be honest, I do not think that you will be able to get through; but if you do, talk to that General as you would to a father. You can tell him more in regard to our situation here than I could write in a week."
"I will do my best, Kurn, but you must not place any dependence on me. Tony and his partner have tried it and failed, and that leaves but a small chance for me."
Cyrus, having pulled a knife from his pocket, was busy with his buckskin shirt which he had drawn off, cutting away the inside lining to make a receptacle for the dispatches about which the Colonel was so anxious. It was close up under his arm, so that when the shirt was on and Cyrus stood at his ease, no one would have supposed that there was anything hidden away there. The opening for them being made, Cyrus folded the dispatches into a smaller compass than they were before, and having placed them therein proceeded with his needle and thread to sew up the opening again, just as it was before.
This being done, he was ready for the second dispatch, which was really a "bogus dispatch" and was intended solely for the Indians to read. The Colonel knew that there were some savages in that party who could read English, and he knew, too, that this bogus dispatch, if the other could be concealed, would have an alarming effect upon them. It was the idea of Cyrus, and the Colonel had reluctantly agreed to it. It was very different from the dispatch that had been concealed in the scout's hunting shirt, and said that the General's letter had been received, that the re-enforcement of one thousand men would be amply sufficient to break up the Sioux camp, and that when they arrived he would be ready to assume the offensive.
"I don't suppose Red Cloud will believe that, even if it is read to him," said the Colonel. "The General's letter has been received. Pshaw! There is not a man living who can get through those lines and reach me with a dispatch from him."
"So long as they don't know that, we don't care what they believe," said Cyrus, pulling off his moccasin and stowing the dispatch away inside of it. "If it will only throw his camp into confusion that is all we ask for. Well, Kurn, good-by. Remember, I will do my best."
"Good-by, Cyrus," replied the Colonel, extending his hand. "You have been faithful and just to me while you were here, and I shall depend upon you."
"Don't do that, Kurn; don't do that," said Cyrus, earnestly. "I will do my best, and that is all anybody can do."
Cyrus pressed the Colonel's hand for a moment, then turned toward the window and in another instant was gone. He made his way to his quarters without seeing anybody, threw himself upon his bunk, and in a little while was fast asleep. His comrades came in and aroused him when it was time to go to supper, but Cyrus did not want any. He kept his bunk until his roommates were all in bed and fast asleep, and the sentries on duty had proclaimed "Twelve o'clock and all's well!" when he began to bestir himself. His first duty was to satisfy himself that all the scouts were in dreamland, and when this had been done he took his rifle, put on his hat, and noiselessly left his quarters. The next thing was to pass the sentries; but a man who could pass within five feet of a slumbering Sioux was not to be deterred by passing a white sentry on his post. To climb the logs and drop down on the other side was an event that was easy enough for Cyrus to accomplish, and in a few minutes the tramp of the sentries was left out of hearing.
Why was it that the Colonel was so anxious to have him leave the Fort without being seen by anybody? To tell the truth, everybody in the Fort was becoming discouraged. Three weeks had now elapsed since the erection of the palisades, and during that time the Sioux had completely surrounded them and shut them in as tight as though they had "been bottled up." A person was at liberty to go anywhere within a mile of the Fort, because certain guns which had been accurately trained covered every foot of the space; but over the hills it was as much as a man's life was worth to venture. Guy Preston was the only one, when searching for his birds, who had disobeyed that order; but it was a miracle that he had been allowed to come back. The signal tower, which stood at the distance of half a mile from the Fort, was manned every morning by four men who went out there to keep watch of the Indians; but every time that group was ready to go out, it took a Company of men to protect them. That was before Red Cloud had made his new order, that the only way to get rid of the whites was to kill all the men and burn the palisades, and this order was in force at the time Cyrus left the post. By drawing his warriors off in the daytime, Red Cloud was tempting the Colonel to send out a train for fuel, and when that was done the massacre was to begin. The Colonel was determined to get dispatches through by some means, but he did not want to let the men know that another person had tried it and failed. It would not be long, he thought, before the men would think that it was utterly impossible to get through the Sioux lines, and so would give it up, stay there, and be massacred. He knew better than any other man did the danger that they were in, and it was no wonder that he felt downhearted.
The Fort being left out of sight and hearing, Cyrus threw himself on all fours and made his way toward Piney Creek, a little stream on the banks of which the post was located. He intended to get as far as possible below the encircling bands of Sioux before daylight, then arise to his feet and go toward his destination as fast as he could. This was a new way of leaving the lines behind him, the other scouts preferring to strike out over the prairie and try their chances in that way; but it seems that the Sioux were alive to this movement also. The stream was not large or deep enough for him to descend its current, otherwise he would have sought a log somewhere and attempted to swim by them; but as it was he was compelled to wade sometimes in the water and at other times to flounder through bushes so thick that the darkness could almost be felt, and he did not cover more than a mile an hour. Every few feet he would stop and listen until his acute senses told him that the way was clear, and then he would struggle on again.
But Red Cloud, the head chief of the Ogallala Sioux who were making war because they were determined that the road should not pass through their country, was an old campaigner and not to be beaten by any such trick as this. He withdrew his warriors in the daytime so as to tempt the Colonel to send out a train to get fuel, but knowing that the train could not come out at night, he sent his men in closer, being equally determined that no scout should get out to carry the news of their condition to other quarters. Consequently Cyrus had not progressed more than a mile or two when he heard a smothered exclamation in front of him, and before he could sink down where he was and get his weapon into a condition for use, he found himself in the clutches of a Sioux warrior, upon whom he had almost stepped. Of course Cyrus resisted, but it was all in vain. Another Sioux joined in the fracas, another and another came up to assist, and in less time than it takes to tell it, the scout was thrown prostrate on the ground, his weapon twisted out of his grasp, and his hands bound behind his back. It was all done quietly, and one standing at a distance of twenty feet away would not have known that there was anything going on. Why did Cyrus not take out his letter when the Sioux caught him? Because his hands were bound, and he knew that those who had him prisoner were not the ones who had any authority in the band.
In spite of what he had said to the contrary, Cyrus was not a little alarmed when he found himself powerless in the hands of the Sioux; but it was useless to resist the savages, lest he should feel the prod of a knife in his flesh, and when they put a rope around his neck and started off with him, Cyrus went along with them as quietly as if he had formed one of the party.
It was four miles to Red Cloud's village, and Cyrus could not see anything on the way to remind him where he was. The Indians knew the course, and when they brought him into their town he was surprised at what he saw there. He had never seen so large a multitude of savages as was gathered there under Red Cloud. There were several camp fires scattered about among the lodges, none of which were wholly extinguished, and, aided by the light that they threw out, Cyrus could see nothing but tepees on all sides of him. He was conducted at once to a lodge a little apart from the others; one brave threw up a flap of it which served as a door and Cyrus was thrust in. It was all dark in there, and Cyrus hesitated about stepping around for fear that he should tread upon some of the inmates, when one of his captors came in and seized him by the shoulder.
"Sit down," said he fiercely.
Here was one Indian who could talk English, and the hope arose in the captive's breast that perhaps he could learn something from him.
"Where shall I sit down?" said he. "Are there any persons here asleep?"
The answer was not given in words, although Cyrus wished it had been. The Indian seized him by the neck and in a moment more he was laid out prostrate on the ground.
"Sit down where you are," said the savage, more fiercely than before.
Cyrus did not say anything more just then, but straightened up as soon as he could and looked around to see what the Indian was going to do. By the aid of a camp fire whose light streamed in through the flap of the door that was now open, he could observe the movements of his enemy quite distinctly. He saw him pull his blankets about his shoulders and take a seat beside the door with his rifle across his knees. Cyrus drew a short breath of relief for he had nothing more to fear from him until daylight. That tepee was to be his prison, and the savage was to be his watcher as long as the darkness continued.
Cyrus was a captive now. There was no mistake about that. The only thing he could do was to lie down and wait as patiently as he could until daylight came. The rope with which he was bound was very painful to him, but Cyrus knew it would be worse than useless to ask his sentry to loosen it. The savages knew too much for that. They had had some bitter experience with the trappers of the mountains in granting them the free use of their hands, and they did not mean to be caught that way any more.
It must have been about two o'clock when Cyrus was captured, and he thought he had never known the time to pass so slowly as did the hours that intervened before the first gray streaks of dawn were seen in the east; for they told him that something was to be done with him very speedily. During those hours he was often compelled to change his position on account of his bonds, but the savage never once changed his. If he had been a marble man he could not have sat more motionless; but all the time his eyes were fastened upon his captive as if he meant that not a sign from him should escape his notice. Finally the flap of the door was drawn further aside, and an Indian's face appeared. He wanted to see whom they had captured, but he said not a word to Cyrus or his watcher. Presently other faces appeared, until Cyrus thought that the whole camp of the Sioux was astir.
Daylight came on apace, and then Cyrus began to take some note of the things in the lodge in which he was confined, and found to his surprise that he was in no danger of stepping on slumbering inmates. With the exception of himself and the sentinel who was keeping watch over him, the tepee was as empty as it was when it was put up. It was probably intended as a sort of prison for anybody who might be captured by the Sioux, but up to this time Cyrus had the satisfaction of knowing that he was the only one who had seen the inside of it.
"And if I could have my way I am the last one who will see how it looks," said Cyrus to himself. "No doubt they expected to capture a good many more. Somehow I don't feel as safe by having Guy Preston's letter about me as I did by having that scrap of sage brush that the Indian gave me. Well, if it doesn't effect my release it surely would not effect Guy's, if he were here in my place."
It must have been nine o'clock before anyone came near him again, and all the while he was in agony through his bonds which seemed to hurt him more the longer he was tied up with them. But they could not make him forget his stomach, which was clamoring loudly for something nourishing. He had not eaten anything since dinner the day before, and even a hard-tack he thought would prove very acceptable. While he was thinking about it, two Indians came to the door of the tepee, and they came in a hurry as though they were after something. They exchanged a few words with his sentry—they were spoken so low that Cyrus did not fully comprehend them—and then one of them seized Cyrus by the collar and dragged him to his feet. The first thing he did was to untie the prisoner's bonds; and when Cyrus felt his arms at liberty he stretched them out with an exclamation which testified to the delight he felt.
"If I just had you two here alone, how quick I would end you up," said he, to himself. "I will bet you could not catch me in a fair race. They are going to take my clothes also," he added, when one of the Indians proceeded to take off his hunting shirt. "Does that mean that I am to get ready for the stake?"
It certainly looked that way, but Cyrus never uttered a word out loud. He submitted to the disrobing as quietly as he could, and even assisted them when something about his clothes bothered them; and in two minutes more he was stripped clean. But he noticed two things, filled as he was with other matters, and standing in fear of the torture which seemed to be not far distant: the savages, when they came into possession of his various articles of wardrobe, were careful to look into all the pockets. Not one escaped their vigilance. His pipe, his knife, and tobacco, and various other trinkets, which men have about them, were quickly taken by his captors, until finally a grunt from one of them announced the finding of Winged Arrow's letter,—the one he had received from his father. The grunt speedily brought his sentry to his feet, and he leaned over the shoulders of the others and stared hard at the drawings. Not a word was said to Cyrus as to how he came by the papers, but they exchanged several incoherent expressions, which no doubt were perfectly understood among themselves, but which were Greek to the captive. At last they seemed to have come to an agreement regarding something, for one of them started off at a keen run, while the other went on examining his clothes. When he pulled off one of the moccasins the bogus dispatch dropped out.
"Now you have something that will do your heart good," muttered Cyrus. "Why don't you run off with that? They have left my clothes here on the ground—"
But Cyrus was a little too hasty in coming to this conclusion. The finding of the bogus dispatch, of course, created another series of grunts, which ended a good deal as the first one did. The other captor seized the paper and disappeared with it, but before he went he gathered up the clothes and carried them away also. That was too much for Cyrus, and he sat down on the ground and thought about it, while the sentry returned to his seat by the door.
Half an hour passed, during which Cyrus's mind was in a state of confusion. This treatment was very different from any he had received while a prisoner in the hands of the Indians, and he had been one four times when nothing but the stake seemed to be waiting for him. Twice was he rescued by soldiers; a third time he was saved by an old squaw who somehow got it into her head that Cyrus resembled her son who had been killed by the whites; and the fourth time that bunch of sage brush brought about his release. Now it was that letter of Winged Arrow; and he confessed that his chances were slim indeed. It is true that he was very young in years to be the hero of all these adventures, but those among the mountain men with whom he was best acquainted declared that he had been in skirmishes enough to fill out three or four books. Like the Medicine Man among the different tribes, who runs all sorts of risks to make his followers believe that he has found the proper "thing" at last which will turn all the white man's bullets away from him, Cyrus took every risk in time of war that anybody could take and live. He was foremost in all the Indian fights and was one of Colonel Carrington's favorite scouts. When everyone else failed he called upon Cyrus, and Cyrus had never been found wanting. All men who live among the Indians soon fall into their ways, and every one of them believed that Cyrus had discovered some "medicine" that brought him safely out of any danger he might get into.
At the end of half an hour, another faint step was heard outside the tepee, the flap was thrown further open and this time Winged Arrow appeared. Cyrus recognized him on the instant from the description that Guy Preston had given him, and the first thought that passed through his mind was that he had never seen a finer-looking Indian. His face wore a scowl which did not in any way add to his appearance, and he did not pay any attention to his keeper at all. In his hands he carried all of Cyrus's clothing which he threw toward the prisoner with the muttered exclamation:—
"I suppose these things belong to you. Put them on."
Cyrus was fully as surprised as Guy Preston to hear himself addressed in perfect English by an Indian in his war clothing, but he lost no time in obeying instructions. When he came to his hunting shirt he carelessly grasped it under the right arm, and a thrill shot through him when he felt the dispatch there as he had left it. The bogus dispatch, the one that was intended for the Indians to read, was gone.
"Now you look more like yourself," said Winged Arrow, as he turned about and beckoned to some one behind him, "I guess something to eat would not do you any harm, would it?"
An Indian girl came into the tepee and laid Cyrus's breakfast before him on the ground, and quickly went out again. Winged Arrow calmly seated himself on the ground. Cyrus did the same, and while he was busy with the viands which Winged Arrow had provided for him, he kept one eye fixed upon the young Indian as if he hoped to see something in his face which would give him a faint glimpse of what the future had in store for him; but Winged Arrow's features were as unmoved as if he had no secret to communicate. The provisions did not trouble him much, for it was not as hearty a breakfast as some he had eaten at the Fort, although the grub there was getting scarce since the Sioux had shut them in from all the world—a joint of beef which had once been warmed, but was now cold, a chunk of Indian bread which had doubtless been cut out of some "parfleche" repository and a cup of cold water formed the substance of his breakfast. But it was better than nothing, and finally it had all disappeared except the bones.
"Now I am ready for anything you have to propose," said Cyrus. "What do you fellows intend to do with me?"
"You belong to me and so I am going to set you free," said Winged Arrow, as if he were talking of something that did not interest Cyrus in the least. "It was the worst thing I ever heard of, getting you free, for our people have all something against you."
"I don't see how they make that out," replied Cyrus, feeling in his pockets for his pipe. "You can't point to a single thing that ever I did that injured you in the least. I have let more than one chance go by that I have had of sending your people to the Happy Hunting Grounds, and have let them get off scot-free when I might have had a scalp to take with me as well as not."
"But something is always happening to take you away from us," said Winged Arrow, "and what do you suppose it was that saved your life this time?"
"Was it that letter that you gave to Guy Preston?"
The young savage took the letter out of his bosom and gave it to Cyrus, who took it and stowed it away in one of his pockets.
"Now that letter can answer one more purpose," said Winged Arrow. "Any man who is captured after that will lose his life."
"How do you make that out?"
"I promised my father," began Winged Arrow.
"By the way, who is your father?" said Cyrus. "He must be a man of considerable standing in the tribe or else you would not be permitted to meet a man between the lines, or to hold a chat with me now."
"He is a Medicine Man," replied the young Indian. "If there is a fight here you will see him in the foremost ranks. He has a medicine which he believes will render him impervious to the white man's bullets. You do not believe in such things, do you?"
"Yes, I do," said Cyrus, earnestly. "One of your people gave me such medicine, which afterward saved my life."
"What was it?" asked Winged Arrow, becoming interested.
"A handful of sage brush wrapped up in a piece of buckskin. I don't see why you fellows can't have some medicine of that kind as well as some others. What did you promise your father?"
"That I would join him and help fight for the lands which the whites are trying to cheat us out of, provided he would give me the choice of saving two white men who might chance to fall into our hands. I had an eye on that black horse which that Lieutenant rides—What did you say his name was?"
"Guy Preston; and he is just the best white fellow that ever lived."
"I am not saying anything about that. I had an eye on him ever since you left Fort Robinson, and yesterday I chanced to meet him outside the lines. I told him that the letter would save his life, but now he has gone and given it up to you. I kept my promise, although I had a hard time of it. If that letter comes into our camp on another man, it will save his life too; but that is all."
"Don't you think you are in big business to help the Indians to clean out the whites?" said Cyrus, who did not know what else to say.
"You must have seen Guy Preston down there at the Fort, and he told you all I had to say on that point," replied Winged Arrow with a scowl. "Of course I shall help the Indians clean out the whites. This is our country; no one else has any claim upon it, and we are bound to wipe them out or die with weapons in our hands. Say," said the Indian, almost in a whisper, "I read your bogus dispatch, but the other is safe where it belongs."
"What other?" asked Cyrus, startled in spite of himself.
"The one you have got in your hunting shirt. I put my hand on it, but did not dare take it out. If I had, and had read it to Red Cloud, that letter would not have saved you."
"What did that bogus dispatch do?" inquired Cyrus, drawing a long breath of relief. The savages had had the genuine dispatch in their hands and it had been saved to him through Winged Arrow, who had so much at stake. He had never heard anything like it before, and his admiration for the young Indian was almost unbounded. He believed now more firmly than he had before that there were some traits in the savage character with which the white men were entirely unacquainted.
"It did not do much," replied Winged Arrow. "Red Cloud sent off a band of scouts to see if the dispatch told the truth, but he did not believe that any living man could have gotten through our cloud of warriors with news to the Fort. I repeat that I did not dare take out that other dispatch, for that told the truth; and you would have been tied out to the stake now."
"Well, I am glad it is no worse," said Cyrus. "You may fall into the hands of some of our people some day——"
"Well, when I do it will be when I am dead," returned Winged Arrow emphatically. "You can't help me then. But here come the braves to take you back to the Fort. Give Guy my kindest regards and tell him to keep that letter about his own person. It will save one more and that is all."
A party of warriors rode up at this moment, one of them carrying Cyrus's Winchester which he gave into his hands. He stopped for a moment to shake hands with Winged Arrow, but the latter stood with his hands behind him, which Cyrus took as a sign that no hand shaking was to be allowed; so he touched his hat to the young savage, and, following the motions of one of the Indians, started off toward the Fort. Not a thing was said to him during their long walk until they arrived at the top of the swell, from which they could see the palisades. One glance was enough to show him that the vigilant soldiers were on the watch. He saw a commotion in the Fort, occasioned by the men hurrying to their quarters, which was a gentle hint to the savages that they had come close enough.
"There are your friends," said one who had evidently talked English to him the night before, "Go home."
Cyrus renewed his efforts at hand shaking, but the Indians turned their horses and retreated behind the hill.