"Prepare to mount!" commanded Captain Clinton as he rode up in front of his own troop, and the words were immediately repeated by the other two company commanders.

In obedience to this order each trooper placed his left foot in the stirrup, and at the command "Mount!" which was given soon after, they all rose from the ground as if moved by the same set of springs, and seated themselves in the saddles at the same instant. No man was a half a second ahead or behind his companions. The three company officers then rode back to the colonel to report that their respective companies were ready to march, and after they had listened to some verbal instructions from him, they bade him and the rest of the officers good-bye, the bugle sounded the "Advance," and the troopers, moving four abreast—or, as a soldier would have expressed it, in column of fours—rode out of the gate. There they found Wentworth seated on a wiry little mustang, which looked altogether too small to carry so heavy a rider. Recognizing George, who rode by Captain Clinton's side, he gave him a friendly nod, and without saying a word turned his horse and rode away, the troopers following a short distance in his rear.

When soldiers are on the march and in no danger of immediate contact with the enemy, they are allowed numerous privileges, of which the troopers composing this particular scouting-party were not slow to avail themselves. Some of them drew their pipes from their pockets and filled up for a smoke, others threw one leg over the horns of their saddles and rode sideways, "woman-fashion," and conversation became general all along the line. But this talking and smoking did not interfere with their marching, for they rode rapidly, and made such good progress that by three o'clock in the afternoon they were within sight of the ruins of Mr. Wentworth's ranche. And a sorry sight it was, too. Nothing but a pile of blackened sun-dried bricks remained to mark the spot on which a few days ago had stood a happy home. Household furniture of every description was scattered around, but every article had been smashed beyond all hope of repair. What the savages had not been able to carry away with them they had ruthlessly destroyed. George did not wonder that Mr. Wentworth felt vindictive. The man did not have a word to say, but the expression that came to his face as he sat in his saddle gazing sorrowfully at the ruins of his home spoke volumes.

When the troopers came within sight of the ranche, George discovered that there was a horse staked out near the ruins, and that he had an owner in the person of a tall, gaunt man, who rose from the ground and rubbed his eyes as if he had just awakened from a sound sleep. His dress was an odd mixture of the civilized and savage. He wore a pair of infantryman's trousers, a rancheman's red shirt, and an Indian blanket of the same color was thrown over his shoulders. His head was covered by a Mexican sombrero, and his feet were protected by a pair of gaudily-ornamented moccasins. While waiting for the troopers to come up he filled a short black pipe and lighted it at the smoldering fire beside which he had been sleeping.

"That's Mountain Mose," said Captain Clinton in reply to George's inquiring look. "He no doubt gave himself the name because he has lived on the Plains all his life. He is a lazy, worthless vagabond, but what he doesn't know about Indians isn't worth knowing. If he would only wake up and display a little energy, he would be invaluable as a scout."

"What is he doing here?" asked George. "He seems to be waiting for us."

"Yes, I expected to find him at this place. He has been out to take a look at the trail of that war-party who did all this damage.—Well, Mose, any news?"

"Not much, cap," drawled the scout. "You put straight for the Staked Plains, an' if you are lively enough to ketch 'em anywhar, you'll ketch 'em thar."

"Then we shall never get the cattle," said the captain. "If the Indians are going in there, they intend that the stock shall die of thirst rather than fall into our hands."

"That's jest their little game, cap," said the scout, puffing at his pipe. "You see, they'll keep along on the edge of the desert, so't they can have grass an' water in plenty, an' if you don't pester 'em none they won't go into the Staked Plains at all; but if you push 'em hard they'll run the critters in thar an' leave 'em, hopin' that you will run your hosses an' men to death while you are huntin' 'em up. You won't never see the young ones, nuther; an' I don't see why the colonel sent out sich a party as this so late in the day, anyhow. We'd oughter been a hundred miles along that thar trail by sun-up this mornin'."

George felt the deepest sympathy for Mr. Wentworth, who listened attentively to what the scout had to say, although he said nothing in return. His almost overwhelming sorrow showed itself in his face, but did not take the form of words.

As Captain Clinton had made no halt for dinner, the colonel having instructed him to find and receive the report of the scout as soon as possible, he decided to stop here and allow his men an hour or two for rest and refreshment. Giving their horses into the charge of some of the troopers, he and his two company commanders walked away with the scout, while George rode off to hunt up Bob Owens. He staked his own horse out beside Bob's, and then walked back with him to take a nearer view of the ruins.

"How do you suppose that that man in the sombrero and moccasins knows that the Indians who did this have fled toward the Staked Plains?" asked Bob after he and his friend had spent some moments in silent contemplation of the savages' handiwork. "He certainly hasn't had time enough to follow the trail clear to those plains."

"Of course not," answered George. "But he probably followed it far enough to see that it leads in that direction."

"Well, explain another thing while you are about it," continued Bob. "I have been out on a scout before now after the hostiles, following a trail that was as plain as the nose on one's face, when all at once the scout would leave that trail and strike off over the prairie where there wasn't a sign of a pony-track."

"He was taking a short cut on the Indians," observed George.

"I know that, and sooner or later he would bring us back to that trail again; and sometimes we would have gained so much on the hostiles—who had perhaps been twenty-four hours' journey ahead of us when we left the trail—that we would find their camp-fires still smoking. Now, what I want to know is this: How did that scout know that those Indians were going to that particular spring or creek or ravine near which we found the trail?"

"Have you ever hunted foxes?" asked George.

"I should say I had. When I left home I owned a hound that couldn't be beaten in running them, for he was posted in all their tricks. But what have foxes to do with hostile Indians?"

"I am simply going to use the tricks of the one, which you understand, to explain the tricks of the other, which you do not understand," replied George. "They are a good deal alike in some respects. A fox, when he finds himself hard pressed, will resort to all sorts of manoeuvres to throw the hounds off the trail. One of his tricks is to run over a newly-ploughed field, if he can find one, where the scent will not lie. What would that brag hound of yours do in such a case? Would he waste valuable time in running about over that field trying to pick up a scent that wasn't there?"

"No, he wouldn't. He would run around the outside of the field until he found the place where the fox left it."

"Exactly. Now, an Indian is just as full of tricks as a fox is. When he is afraid of pursuit he will break his party up into small bands, and, although the trails made by these bands will lead in different directions at the start, you will find, if you break up your own party and follow them for a while, that they all tend toward the same points, where these little bands will all be reunited. Of course each of the trails will be obliterated as much as possible. Some of them will lead over rocky ground, where the hoof of a pony will leave no imprint; others will come to an abrupt termination on the bank of some stream; and others still will end at a place where the prairie has been burned over. When these war-parties break up in the way I have described, a place of meeting is always agreed on beforehand; and if a scout understands his business he can tell pretty nearly where that place is, for it is sure to be on the straightest and most direct route to the agency if the raiders belong to a 'friendly' tribe, or to their principal village if they belong to a tribe that is openly hostile. If these Kiowas take to the Staked Plains, they will probably enter it directly north of here, at its widest part. Then this Mountain Mose, if he is the scout he pretends to be, will leave their trail to take care of itself and draw a bee-line for the nearest water; and it will take thirty hours' rapid marching to reach it, too."

"How do you know? Have you ever been there?"

"No, but my herdsman Zeke has; and he has described the course to be followed so minutely that I can go there any day the sun shines or any night when the stars shine."

Bob did not say anything, but his friend noticed that he looked a little incredulous.

"It is not so difficult as it appears to be at first glance," George hastened to say. "Why, when a party of young Indians want to go into a strange country for plunder and scalps, they gather around some old warrior, who traces on the ground the direction in which they must travel in order to reach that country, describes all the water-courses and locates the principal landmarks to be found along the route; and with nothing but these verbal instructions to guide them, these little rascals, some of them not more than thirteen or fourteen years of age, will make a journey of hundreds of miles through a region that none of them have ever visited before. My bump of locality is not so large as an Indian's, but still I have a pretty good memory, and I have travelled many a mile through a strange country without going a step out of my way."

"What sort of a looking place is Staked Plains, anyhow?" asked Bob. "I have heard so many terrible stories told about it that I am almost afraid of it. What gave it that name? Are there any stakes there?"

Bob was inclined to be facetious when he said this, and consequently he was not a little astonished to hear George say in reply,

"There may not be any stakes there now, but there used to be. It is a terrible place, and many a wagon-train has left its bones there. It is big enough to get lost in, for it lacks only about six thousand square-miles of being as large as the State of New York; and although it is not exactly a desert, as we understand the word, it is a barren waste, where nothing living permanently resides on account of the great scarcity of water. A long time ago the Mexican traders marked out a route with stakes across the plain where they found a few small fountains, and that was what gave it the name it bears. Zeke says it is a perfect bake-oven. There are no trees to shelter you, no grass for your horses, no fuel to build a fire with, and an almost unearthly silence broods over it. I am not superstitious, but Zeke always speaks of it with a shudder, and I tell you I don't want to see any place that he is afraid of."

The two friends continued to talk in this way until Captain Clinton's cook came up and told George that dinner was ready. They rested half an hour after the meal was over, and then set out again, Mountain Mose leading the way and Mr. Wentworth, as before, riding by himself. As George was a sort of supernumerary, he was under little restraint, and consequently he rode where he pleased—sometimes in company with the scout, sometimes beside Captain Clinton, and then fell back to exchange a few ideas with Bob. He did not, however, waste much time with the scout. The latter was talkative enough until he learned that George held the same position that he did, and then he froze up at once.

"You're a pretty-looking scout, you be!" he exclaimed, moving his eye over the boy's trim figure. "Do you reckon you could tell the trail of a Kiowa from the track of a coyote?"

"Yes, I reckon I could," answered George with a smile. "But you need not be jealous of me, for I shall not interfere with you in any way. I came to the post to hunt Greasers, and not to trail Indians."

"Oh, you did, eh? So you're the chap that's goin' to show the boys the way acrost the Rio, be you?"

"I am," replied George.

"Well, all I've got to say is, that them that follers you is fools. I thought mebbe you was agoin' to poke your nose into my business; and that is something I won't put up with from nobody. If thar's anything I do understand, it's Indians."

This was true, but it sometimes happens that luck is not on the side of those who know the most. The scout would have given anything he possessed if he had been fortunate enough to perform the exploit that George assisted in performing before two days more had passed over his head.

Bob Owens did not fail to notice that there was not the least semblance of a trail to be seen anywhere. They had left it at the ruins of Mr. Wentworth's rancho, and he waited with no little impatience to see where they would pick it up again. He found out about sunset, for at that time the column reached the banks of a small water-course, and there they struck the trail, which was so broad and plain that it could be followed at a gallop. George, in company with some of the officers and the scout, spent a few minutes in looking it over, and then rode back to report the result of his observations to Bob Owens.

"There are not many warriors in the party," said he, "but they are so well supplied with horses that they can have a fresh mount every day if they want it."

"How do you know that?" asked Bob.

"Because I saw their tracks," replied George.

"That's not explicit enough. I suppose you did see the tracks of the horses, and so did I; but how in the world is a fellow going to tell whether or not those horses had riders on their backs? That's something that can't be done."

"Don't be too sure of that. Look here! Would you believe it if I should tell you that those Indians passed along here after daylight on Thursday morning?"

"No, I wouldn't," replied Bob bluntly. He could not, for the life of him, understand how anybody could draw such conclusions as these by simply looking at the print of a pony's hoofs in the grass; and if he had not been so well acquainted with George he would have inclined to the belief that his friend was "spreading it on" in order to make himself out a wonderful trailer. "I can't make head or tail of this business, and I don't believe you can, either; that is, I mean I don't see how you can."

"Well, listen while I explain," said George good-naturedly. "In the first place, I noticed, while we were passing through that belt of post-oaks back there, that some of the horses left a very devious trail, passing through thick bushes and under trees whose branches were so low that they would have swept a rider out of his saddle if he had not been on the alert to avoid them. Those horses were all loose."

"Perhaps not," exclaimed Bob. "The Indians might have passed through there when it was too dark to see where they were going."

"I know they might, but they didn't, as I shall presently show you. The horses which made those crooked trails were not mustangs. They were American horses, and their presence proves another thing that I didn't think to speak of before; and that is, that the Indians raided other ranches besides Mr. Wentworth's. How do I know that they were American horses? Because their tracks were larger than a pony's, and some of them were shod. The tracks made by the mustangs led through the open part of the timber, where there were no bushes and low branches; and this is one proof that the Indians did not pass through there in the night-time. If they had, they could not have kept in such open ground. I found further proof that these mustangs were all mounted by noticing that they did not stop to graze, as the loose horses did, being kept in constant motion by their riders. What do you think now?" asked George, seeing that Bob began to open his eyes.

"It reads like a book, don't it?" was Bob's reply. "But you have forgotten one very important thing. You said that the Indians passed through those post-oaks early on Thursday morning. How do you know that they didn't pass late on Thursday afternoon or early on Friday morning?"

"You think you have got me there, don't you? Well, you haven't. If there are 'sermons in stones and books in running brooks,' as the poet tells us there are, what is the reason that the print of an Indian pony's hoof may not contain a page of information that will prove to be useful to him who has the skill to read it? On Wednesday night there was a very heavy dew, if you remember."

"I don't remember," replied Bob; "I never pay any attention to such things."

"But you must pay attention to such things, and a good deal of it too, if you are going to be a Plainsman. During the last two nights there has been no dew at all. I noticed that some blades of grass, which had been pressed down by the hoofs of the horses and cattle, were covered with sand which stuck fast to them, having been dried on. This told me that the tracks were made while the grass was wet, and that the Indians had passed that way early on Thursday morning, or before the sun had risen high enough to dry off the dew. There were not more than fifteen or twenty of them. I didn't have time to see just how many, but they have stolen over a thousand head of steers and horses. Now, remember all I have told you, and see if I haven't made a pretty good guess."

"Do you think we shall catch them?" asked Bob.

"Well," answered George slowly, "raiding Indians have been overtaken and neatly whipped before now, but I have always believed that it was more by good luck than good management. These fellows will begin to show their tactics as soon as they find out that they are pursued. Then they will probably leave behind a few of the best mounted of the band to attract our attention and lead us away from the others, who will make all haste to take the prisoners and the stolon stock to a place of safety. If we bite at that bait, we shall lose everything, for as soon as the decoys have led us as far out of our way as they care to have us go, they will disappear all of a sudden, and we shall never see them again. If we keep on after the main body, and travel fast enough to gain on them, they will drop the stock in the desert, break up into squads of twos and threes, and we shall have nothing to do but to turn about and go home again."

The Indians did manoeuvre pretty nearly as George said they would, but Captain Clinton and his scouting-party did not go back to the fort until they had accomplished something.



CHAPTER X.

HOW GEORGE SAVED THE CAMP.

The troopers went into camp about midnight, having been nineteen hours in the saddle, during which time they had marched more than seventy miles. They halted on the bank of a small stream near a ford over which the Indians had passed during their retreat. The trail was plain, and some of the troopers, who did not know quite as much about trailing as they thought they did, declared that they were close upon the heels of the raiders.

"How is that, George?" asked Bob Owens, who had been detailed as one of the corporals of the guard. "Some of the boys say that if we should follow the Indians for an hour or two longer we would be within sight of their camp-fires."

"What makes them think so?" asked George.

"Because they have found tracks with the sand still running into them. Is that one of the signs by which to tell the age of a trail?"

"Under some circumstances, yes; in the present case, no. You could tell the age of a trail in that way if the ground around it had not been disturbed. This country about here is all quicksand, and you can take your stand almost anywhere along the banks of this stream, and by jumping up and down shake the ground for ten feet on all sides of you. When our heavy column crossed the ford and climbed this bank, it shook the earth, and that was what set the sand to running down into the tracks."

"I declare!" exclaimed Bob, gazing admiringly at his friend; "is there anything a trailer isn't obliged to know?"

"If he wants to be an expert he must keep his eyes and ears wide open, and pay strict attention to little things which almost anybody else would consider to be beneath his notice. It is wonderful what proficiency a person who has a talent for such things can acquire by practice. For example, this scout of ours could learn more about a trail in two minutes than I could in an hour. But he is fearfully jealous," added George with a laugh, "and you ought to have seen how mad I made him while we were passing through that belt of post-oaks this afternoon. Seeing that Captain Clinton was waiting very impatiently for information, I volunteered the statement that the hostiles had passed that way early on Thursday morning, and that Mr. Wentworth was not the only one who had suffered at their hands. The captain asked Mose what he thought of that, and Mose replied, 'I think jest this here, cap: if that kid is agoin' to lead this yere party he had better say so, an' I will go back to the post. He's a'most too fresh, an' he'd better go back in the woods an' practise at holdin' his chin.' But he did not contradict my statement, and that was all the evidence I needed to prove that I was right in what I said. The tracks here on the bank are not as fresh as you suppose. If they were wet, it would be a sign that the Indians crossed the ford since three o'clock this afternoon."

"Why since three o'clock?" asked Bob.

"Because the sun went under a cloud at that hour, and hasn't showed himself since to dry off the water that the horses and cattle brought out of the stream on their feet and legs."

While the two boys were talking in this way George was getting ready to go to bed. The camp was located at the foot of a perpendicular bluff which was perhaps twenty feet in height. On the top of this bluff the horses were picketed, and beyond them were the sentinels who were to look out for the safety of the animals and keep guard over their slumbering companions. Everything outside of the circle of light made by the camp-fires was concealed by the most intense darkness. Not even a star twinkled in the sky. George spread his blankets in a sheltered nook at the foot of the bluff and courted the "drowsy god" in vain. He was tired and his eyes were heavy, but he could not go to sleep. After rolling and tossing about for nearly two hours, he became too nervous to remain inactive any longer, so he slung his rifle on his back and climbed to the top of the bluff, where he found Bob Owens and two other non-commissioned officers sitting beside a fire and conversing in low tones. At another fire a short distance away sat Lieutenant Earle, the officer of the guard, nodding over his pipe.

"Hallo!" exclaimed Bob, "what brought you out here?"

"Oh, I want somebody to talk to," replied George, throwing himself on the ground by his friend's side, "Somehow, I can't sleep, and that's a new thing for me."

"You are not afraid of the hostiles, are you?" asked a corporal from the other side of the fire.

"Oh no, because I know that we have nothing to fear from them on such a night as this. If there were any hostiles in the neighborhood, they might slip up and steal a few horses, if they thought they could get away with their booty, but they wouldn't attack a party of the size of ours and bring on an open fight. It is too dark."

"Why, that is just the reason they would attack us," exclaimed the corporal, who, although he had often been on a scout, had never participated in a battle. "They rely upon the darkness to cover their movements and to assist them in effecting a surprise. I have read it a hundred times."

"Ah, yes," replied George—"story-book Indians make attacks at all hours of the day and night, but live Plains Indians don't. The reason for it is this: They believe that they will go into the happy hunting-grounds with just the same surroundings that attend their departure from this world. If an Indian is crippled or blind or ill, he will be just the same Indian in the spirit-land. If he dies from the effects of disease, he will suffer from that disease for ever; but if he is killed in battle on a pleasant day, and while he is in the possession of all his strength and faculties, he will go straight to the Indian's heaven under the most favorable circumstances."

"Suppose he is killed on a rainy day?" said the corporal on the other side of the fire.

"Or a snowy one?" chimed in a sergeant.

"Then he is doomed to paddle through rain or snow through all eternity," replied George; "and that he doesn't like either is proved by the fact that he will not stir out of camp while it is raining or snowing if he can help it. If an Indian is hanged, like Captain Jack or those thirty-seven warriors who were executed at Mankato in 1863 for participation in the Sioux massacre, he loses all chance of ever seeing the happy hunting-grounds. So he does if he is scalped; and that's the reason Indians make such efforts to carry off the body of a fallen comrade. A Plains Indian never willingly goes into a fight during the night. If he did, he would make it much warmer for us here on the frontier than he does now. He may make use of a night like this to get into position for an attack, but if left to himself he will not raise the war-whoop before daylight, because he believes that if he is killed during the dark he will be condemned to pass all eternity in darkness."

"Well, that is something I never knew before," said the corporal, "and I have been on the Plains a good many years. Now that I think of it—"

"Corporal of the guard, No. 7!" came the call through the dense darkness, whereupon Bob Owens jumped to his feet.

"What's the trouble out there, I wonder?" said he.

"Go and see," replied the sergeant with a sleepy yawn: "that's the only way to find out."

"Sergeant," said the officer of the guard, "if those horses have had grass enough, have them brought in and tied to the stable-lines. Look well to their fastenings."

"Corporal of the guard, No. 7!" came the call again; and this time it was uttered in a louder and more earnest tone.

Bob, who was walking toward post No. 7 with a very deliberate step, now broke into a run, and George jumped up and followed him. A fortunate thing it was for that camp and its inmates that he did so. His thorough acquaintance with the ways of some of the inhabitants of the Plains enabled him to prevent a catastrophe which would certainly have resulted in a serious loss of life, and brought Captain Clinton's scout to an inglorious end then and there. When he and the corporal reached post No. 7 they found the sentry on duty there lying flat on his stomach and gazing earnestly toward the horizon.

"What's the matter, Sprague?" demanded Bob.

"I don't know, I am sure," replied the sentry. "If the hostiles had made up their minds to pay us a visit, they wouldn't make such a racket as that, would they? There! don't you hear it? Something's coming this way, I tell you, and coming on a keen jump, too."

The three held their breath and listened intently. A second later the breeze brought to their ears the sound that had attracted the attention of the sentry—a deep, rumbling sound, faint and far off, but increasing perceptibly in volume. It resembled the constant muttering of distant thunder, but they all knew it was not that. Bob's face brightened at once, but George's grew pale. The corporal did not know the danger that threatened them, but his companion did; he had heard something like it before. He had heard it on the night that Fletcher and his band of raiders stampeded his stock, and he had thrown himself into an old buffalo-wallow and allowed three hundred frantic cattle to gallop over his head.

"Why, it must be cavalry from Fort Tyler," said Bob at length.—"But I'll tell you what's a fact, boys," he added, as a fresh gust of wind brought the sound more plainly to his ears: "there must be lots of them, for I never heard such a roar of hoofs before. They are coming this way, too. I hope they'll not run over us."

"Well, they will run over us," said George, speaking quickly but calmly, "unless you take immediate steps to prevent it. They are not cavalry; they are buffaloes."

"Oh! ah!" exclaimed Bob.

"Humph!" ejaculated the sentry, jumping to his feet.—"Don't tell the boys what I called you out for, will you, corporal? To tell the truth, I was just a little bit—"

He finished the sentence by shrugging his shoulders, and Bob, who knew what he meant by that, was about to assure him that he would say nothing in the hearing of the "boys" that would enable them to "get the laugh" on him, when George Ackerman broke in with—

"You had good reason to be alarmed, and this is not a matter to be dropped with an 'ah!' and an 'oh!' and a 'humph!' You are in great danger, if you only knew it. Those buffaloes are stampeded, and will not stop until they are all out of breath."

"Well, if they don't want to stop, let them run," said Bob. "Who cares? They don't owe us anything. They will of course turn aside when they see us."

"But they will not see you unless you do something to attract their attention," exclaimed George impatiently. "They will be in among us in five minutes more, and men and horses will be trampled into the ground like blades of grass. Wake up and do something, can't you? The safety of the camp depends upon you, and if you don't move, I will."

"Great Moses!" ejaculated Bob. He was thoroughly aroused by the earnest words of his companion, but having never been placed in a situation like this before, he did not know how to act. "You don't mean that—I never heard of—"

"Yes, I do mean that they will trample the whole camp to death unless you prevent it; and I don't care whether you ever heard of such a thing being done or not," cried George, seizing the corporal by the arm and shaking him as if he wanted to put a little energy into him.

"But what shall I do? Shall I order up the reserve and get the horses out of the way?"

"You haven't got time to get them out of the way. The buffaloes will be upon us before you could take half a dozen of them to a place of safety. Arouse the camp the first thing, and then call up a few good men to go out and split the herd the moment it comes in sight."

Bob, who was still in the dark, was about to ask how he should go to work to "split" the herd after he had selected the men, but George did not give him the opportunity. The rumbling of the approaching hoofs grew louder and louder, and every moment was precious. It sounded before them and to the right and left of them, indicating that the herd was an immense one, and that it was advancing with a front broad enough to overwhelm the entire camp. Knowing that no more time could be wasted in debating the matter, George unslung his Winchester and fired two shots into the air. The effect was almost magical. The camp, which had been so quiet a second before, was aroused into instant life and activity. Loud cries of "Indians!" and "Fall in!" arose on the still air, followed by blasts from the bugle and stern notes of command. The officer of the guard was promptly on the ground, and to him Bob reported that a herd of stampeded buffaloes was bearing down upon them. The announcement startled the lieutenant, but he acted with the greatest coolness. As fast as the men came up he ordered them back to take care of the horses—all except a dozen or so of the best soldiers known to him, whom he ordered to follow him. By the time he had taken up his position, which was on a little rise of ground about fifty yards from post No. 7, Captain Clinton came up. Taking in at a glance the arrangements which his subordinate had made to avert the terrible danger that threatened the camp, he left him and his picked men to carry out those arrangements or perish in the attempt, while he hastened back to see that the horses were well secured.

"Steady!" commanded Lieutenant Earle, speaking in his loudest tones, in order to make his voice heard above the roar of the threatening hoofs, which sounded like the noise made by an approaching hurricane. "We are here to conquer or die. If we don't split that herd they will trample us out of sight in the ground. We can do it if we are only cool enough to hold our position. Don't fire until I give the word, and then put in the shots as rapidly as you know how."

Bob's hair fairly stood on end, and not even the calm bearing of George Ackerman, who was constantly by his side and who knew their danger better than he did, or the lieutenant's assurance that the herd could be split if they did their full duty, could relieve Bob's mind of the positive conviction that he and his comrades were doomed to certain and speedy death. But his courage never faltered, and to show that he did not intend to allow himself to be outdone in steadiness even by a shoulder-strap, he walked up and kneeling beside his officer (the men in the front rank were all kneeling, so that those in the rear rank could shoot over their heads) waited for the order to fire.

Nearer came the terror-stricken buffaloes, louder grew the thunder of their hoofs, and, as if to add to the horror of the situation and to test the courage of the lieutenant and his devoted little band to the very utmost, the horses behind them began to grow unmanageable from fright and to struggle desperately to escape from their fastenings.

At length, after a few moments of dreadful suspense, the time for action arrived. A rapidly-moving mass, which was plainly visible, owing to the fact that it was blacker than the darkness of the night, burst into view and bore down upon the camp and its little band of defenders. So loud was the noise made by their hoofs at this moment that the troopers did not hear the order to fire, which the lieutenant shouted out with all the power of his lungs; but they saw the flash of his revolver, and lost no time in opening a hot fire upon that portion of the herd which was directly in front of them. To Bob it seemed that the rapid discharges of their breech-loaders had no effect whatever. The black mass before him was as black and as dense, apparently, as it was when he first saw it, but, strange to say, instead of plunging upon him and his companions and trampling them out of all semblance to humanity, it seemed to remain stationary, although the deafening roar of those countless hoofs told him that the frantic herd had not in the least slackened its pace. In fact, his eyes and ears seemed to have suddenly become at "outs," for they did not endorse each other as they usually did. His eyes told him that his carbine was fired rapidly, for they showed him the flashes that followed the pulling of the trigger; but his ears took no note of the fact, for he could not hear the faintest report. The reason for this was, that the herd, having been split in two by the first volley, was moving by on each side of them with a roar and a rush that would have drowned the discharge of a section of artillery.

How long the buffaloes were in passing Bob never knew, for he took no note of time. It was probably not more than two or three minutes, but during that brief period he passed through an ordeal that he never could think of afterward without feeling the cold chills creep all over him. But he did not flinch, and neither did his companions. When the last of the buffaloes passed to the right and left of them, and the lieutenant jumped up and stretched his arms and legs as if to assure himself that he had not been stepped on anywhere, he found that not one of his men had moved from his place. The front rank was still kneeling, the rear rank was standing, and they were both as well aligned as they were before the firing commenced.

After ordering the front rank to rise, and bestowing upon them all a few hearty words of commendation, the lieutenant marched his men back to the camp, where they found some of their companions under arms, and the rest engaged in bringing in the horses and making them fast to the stable-lines. The animals were in such a state of alarm, and showed so strong a desire to run off with the retreating buffaloes, that Captain Clinton thought it advisable to put a strong guard over them for the rest of the night, with instructions to examine their fastenings every few minutes. When this guard had been detailed and the sentries had been changed, the rest of the troopers went back to their blankets.

Bob and George were proud of the part they had acted in saving the camp from destruction, and consequently when they spread their blankets beside one of the fires they were somewhat provoked to hear the man who was piling fresh fuel upon it attribute their narrow escape to "luck." But still there was nothing very surprising in this, for it not infrequently happens that a soldier stationed in one end of a camp does not know what is going on in the other end of it, especially in times of excitement. The same thing happens in a fight. A soldier may be able to give a clear statement of the part his company took in it, but he knows nothing of the general plan of the battle or of the number of the killed, wounded, captured or missing, until he has had time to talk the matter over with his comrades or to read a published account of it. During the war it was a common saying among the soldiers in the field that they never knew anything about the fights they had been in until they saw the papers.

"I have been on the Plains nearly three years," said the trooper who was punching up the fire, "and that was the first time I ever saw a herd of stampeded buffaloes."

"I never saw one," said another trooper. "I heard this one, but my horse kept me so busy that I couldn't take time to look at it."

"I had a fair view of it," said the one who had first spoken. "My horse was quiet enough after I got the bit between his teeth, so that I could manage him, and I stood up there by that farther fire and took it all in. I tell you, it was a sight!—a regular cataract of buffaloes a hundred feet wide, tumbling over a bank twenty feet high. I have always heard that when buffaloes become frightened and get to running they turn aside for nothing; but this night's experience gives the lie to all such stories, don't it? When they saw our camp they turned to the right and left, and crossed the stream above and below us, and never did us the least damage. Luck was on our side, wasn't it?"

"'Luck'!" repeated Bob in a tone of disgust; "I guess not. There were about a dozen men, of whom George Ackerman and I made two, who stood between you fellows and certain death. If we hadn't held our ground as if we had grown there, there wouldn't have been one of you left to tell the story of this night's work."

The troopers lying about the fire were greatly astonished at these words, and called for an immediate explanation. Bob told the story in a few words, adding, as he directed the attention of his auditors to George Ackerman, who was lying at his ease on his blanket,

"There's the fellow you have to thank for your 'luck.' Sprague heard them coming, and so did I after he called me out to his post, but we didn't know what it was until Ackerman told us. He was the one who alarmed the camp. I know I did something toward splitting that herd, for I could see the fire come out of my carbine and my cartridge-box is empty, but I never heard a report. I didn't hear anything but the thunder of those hoofs, and I shall hear it to my dying day."

"I wonder what started them?" said one of the troopers, after he and his companions had asked a few questions concerning the behavior of the various members of the squad. "Indians?"

"Probably they did," answered a sergeant, who just then came up to the fire to light his pipe, being unable to go to sleep until he had taken a smoke to quiet his nerves.

"Probably the Indians had nothing to do with it," said George. "Don't you know that a herd of buffaloes will feed within a mile or two of an Indian camp for days at a time, while half a dozen white men would scare them out of the country in less than an hour? Well, it's a fact."

"What is the reason for it?" asked Bob.

"The reason is to be found in the different modes of hunting them. The Indian, who depends largely upon them for food and clothing, kills no more of them during a run than the squaws can take care of. He hunts them almost altogether with the bow and arrow, which are not only very effective weapons at short range, but they make no noise to scare away the game. He hunts according to long-established rules, none but the best men in the tribe being permitted to take part in a run, and in this way the game is secured before the buffaloes get frightened enough to break into a stampede. The white man, who hunts principally for profit, keeps up the killing as long as he can hold the herd within range of his gun. He follows them persistently during the daytime, and at night lies in wait to shoot them as they come to the streams to quench their thirst. A buffalo is a very stupid animal, but, after all, it doesn't take him long to get some things through his head."

"Fresh, purty fresh!" murmured a voice.

George looked over his shoulders and saw the scout lying close by on his blanket. He had come up to the fire and arranged his bed without attracting the attention of any one.

"Do you think there is nobody in this party who knows anything except yourself?" demanded George.

"Well, no; judgin' by the way you sling your chin, you know it all," replied the scout.

"What do you suppose first put this herd in motion?" asked one of the troopers, who had not yet gained all the information he wanted.

"That's a question that nobody can answer unless he was on the ground and saw them start," answered George.—"You'll not dispute that, will you, Mose?—Our Texas cattle will often get stampeded by the sight of a little cloud of dust that is suddenly raised by the wind; or some night a careless herdsman may step between them and the fire and throw his shadow upon them; or some of the young and foolish members of a drove will fall to skylarking, and that will frighten the others, and the first thing you know they are all off like the wind. Buffaloes have just as little sense. My herdsman has told me that he has seen hundreds of them, when they were suffering for water, walk into a stream that was literally choked with the bodies of their companions who had been caught in the quicksand."

"Say," growled a drowsy trooper from his blanket, "suppose you boys go somewhere and hire a hall?"

George laughed, and, taking the hint thus delicately thrown out, brought his lecture on buffaloes to a close. The remembrance of the thrilling scene through which he had just passed did not keep him awake. On the contrary, sleep came to his eyes almost immediately, and the last sound he heard as he was about to pass into the land of dreams was the subdued voice of the scout murmuring, "Fresh, very fresh!"



CHAPTER XI.

TELEGRAPHING BY SMOKES.

The camp was aroused at an early hour the next morning, and by the time it was fairly daylight breakfast had been disposed of and the column was again in motion. The firing-squad had brought down a goodly number of buffaloes in their efforts to split the herd—enough to furnish the whole camp with a hearty meal and to enable each trooper to carry two days' cooked rations in his haversack. During the first few miles of their march there was no trail for them to follow, all traces of the thieving Kiowas having been obliterated by the hoofs of the stampeded buffaloes; but this did not interfere with the movements of the scout, who, from the start, led the way at a rapid pace. He knew the general direction in which the trail led, and that was enough for him.

"Where do you think we shall pick it up again?" asked Captain Clinton of George, who rode by his side.

"Do you see that butte?" asked George in reply, directing the officer's attention to a single high peak in the distance, which marked the south-eastern boundary of the dreaded Staked Plains. "We shall not see another drop of water until we reach that mountain, and we shall find some traces of the Indians there, if we do not find them before."

"Purty fresh!" exclaimed the scout, who had overheard every word of this conversation.

"Well, if you know better, why don't you say so?" demanded George. "Every prediction I have made so far has turned out to be correct. Now, see how far I miss it when I tell you that the Indians camped beside that butte last night."

"Then we are gaining on them?" said the captain.

"We are," was the boy's confident reply. "And for the reason that we have followed a direct course and ridden rapidly, while the Indians took a roundabout way and moved slowly, being hampered by their stolen cattle."

George's calculations proved to be correct. About three o'clock in the afternoon they again took up the trail, and followed it at a gallop. They reached the peak just before dark, and found abundant evidence that the Indians had recently camped there. The troopers halted here too to get a little rest and a wink of sleep, but at nine o'clock they were once more on the move. The next halt was made about two in the morning, and at daylight they were again in their saddles and riding ahead as rapidly as ever. The trail led them along the borders of the Staked Plains, giving some of the troopers, who had never before scouted so far in this direction, their first view of that desolate region. A gloomy-looking place it was. As far as their eyes could reach they could see nothing but sandhills, with stunted weeds and clumps of grass which seemed to be struggling hard to maintain a foothold in the arid soil.

They had marched perhaps ten miles from their last camp when George Ackerman, who was riding by Captain Clinton's side, discovered something. He looked at it for a moment, and then called the officer's attention to it.

"They have begun their tricks at last," said he. "Do you see that dark streak out there in the grass? That's a new trail. There! Mose has discovered it, and is going out to see what it looks like."

Bringing the column to a halt, the captain, accompanied by George and some of the officers, rode forward to the place where the scout, who had got down from his horse, stood bending over the trail. After he had taken plenty of time in which to make his investigations, he straightened up to announce the result.

"Four of them varmints has gone this way, cap," said he. "They've left a plain trail, on purpose to coax you to foller 'em."

"They shall be gratified," answered the captain promptly. "As my party is larger than theirs, I can stand more divisions than they can. I would as soon whip them in detail as to whip them in a lump.—Earle, take a dozen men from your troop and follow it up."

"Very good, sir," replied the lieutenant.

"Have you brought your signal-code with you? All right! If you discover anything startling, send a courier to me with the fullest details. I will follow along after the main body. Be cautious, but at the same time keep moving, for we ought to be within striking distance of those rascals in a few hours more."

The lieutenant saluted and rode back to the column, drawing his sword as he went. Dropping the weapon behind the third column of fours, he gave the order. "The first three fours, right by twos—march! Column left—march!"

This brought the selected twelve alongside the new trail, which they at once began to follow up at a gallop, waving their caps to their comrades as they rode away. By selecting his men in this way the lieutenant did not happen to take Bob Owens, who rode farther back in the column. The young soldier, who was not in the habit of being slighted when there was anything of this kind going on, was both surprised and provoked at his officer; but he afterward thanked him for choosing his men as he did, and congratulated himself on having been left behind. Mr. Wentworth gazed longingly after the lieutenant, and sometimes seemed on the point of riding in pursuit of him; but he finally made up his mind to stay with the main column.

The troopers presently resumed the march, keeping up the same rapid pace as before, and in a few minutes lost sight of Lieutenant Earle and his party, who disappeared among the sandhills. The latter must have ridden very swiftly, for shortly after noon they were a long distance from the main body, their position being pointed out by a slender column of white smoke that suddenly arose in the air.

"That's them varmints, cap," said the scout, whose eye was quick to detect the signal. "They're talkin' to each other."

"I know there is somebody where that smoke comes from, but I am not sure that they are hostiles," replied Captain Clinton. "On the contrary, I am of the opinion that the men who built that fire want to talk to me. At any rate, I shall soon know."

As the captain said this he pulled his watch from his pocket with one hand, and with the other produced a note-book, which he held ready for reference. The column was not halted, but the eye of every man in it was fastened upon the distant smoke. When it had ascended to such a height that its top seemed lost in the clouds, it was suddenly cut loose from the ground by some mysterious agency, and floated off into space. A few seconds passed, and then two balloon-shaped clouds arose in quick succession from the same spot, and George took note of the fact that when the last one arose the captain looked at his watch. Another short interval elapsed, and then two more clouds arose, and finally two more; whereupon the captain gave his knee a ringing slap and consulted his note-book.

"I knew I couldn't be mistaken," said he. "That's from Earle, and he is about to communicate with me by courier.—Push ahead now, scout, for he is on a hot trail. Hallo! have you found another?" he added as the scout, instead of obeying the order to "push ahead," suddenly drew up his horse and threw himself from his saddle. "How many have gone off this time?"

"The same number," answered the scout, "an' they were goin' somewhar too, for their ponies were movin' at full jump when they turned off here. They're up to some trick or another, but I can't tell yet what it is."

"Then we must find out, for it is our business to look into these little things. I should like to know where this trail leads to, and I want—Let me see."

The captain turned about and ran his eye over the column, which came to a halt as soon as the commanding officer was seen to stop his horse. He seemed to be in a quandary, out of which he was helped almost immediately by the sight of a soldierly figure upon which his gaze rested for a moment.

"He's the man I want," said the captain aloud.—"Ackerman, will you tell Lieutenant Smith, who is now in command of Earle's troop, that I want to see Corporal Owens?"

"Certainly, sir. May I go with him?" replied George, who knew in a moment that there was something in the wind.

The captain nodded assent, and George galloped back to the column. When he returned Bob Owens rode at his side. The captain was writing—copying something upon a piece of paper from his note-book—but he stopped long enough to return Bob's salute, although he did not say anything to him. Seeing that the officer's horse was growing restive at the delay, and that by his constant pawing and tossing of his head he disturbed his rider, who did his writing while seated in the saddle, Bob dismounted and took the animal by the bridle, and the troopers who remained in column seized the opportunity to fill and light their pipes.

"There!" said the captain at length.—"Step up here, corporal, and I will explain this to you.—Ackerman, tell Lieutenant Smith to pick out twelve good men to follow this new trail."

By the time the lieutenant had received and obeyed this order, Captain Clinton, who was a fast talker, had told the corporal just what he wanted him to do, and explained to him the contents of the paper he had copied from his note-book; and Bob, who was quick to comprehend, had caught and weighed all his words as fast as they were uttered. He then put himself at the head of his men and led them away, George Ackerman riding by his side.

"Now we are off for another lark," exclaimed Carey as soon as he and his companions had left the column out of hearing. By some chance, he and Loring and Phillips had been selected to accompany Bob on every one of his expeditions, and as they had never failed to accomplish the object for which they were sent out, they began to think that there was nothing too hard for them to undertake.

"But this may not be so much of a 'lark' as you think," said Bob; and Carey afterward recalled the words when he found himself debarred from accompanying other scouting-parties on account of a painful wound in his sword-arm. "We are not out after deserters now, but Indians."

"What are you going to do with them if you find them?" asked Loring.

"I shall make things as lively for them as I can," replied Bob. "But I don't think I shall come up with them; and the captain doesn't expect me to. He is going to follow every trail and force the Indians to go back to their agency, whether they want to go or not; that is, unless we can overhaul them before they get there."

"I know we are not out on a 'lark,'" said George Ackerman. "What would you say if we had to go into camp to-night without water?"

"Gracious!" exclaimed Phillips, looking around at the sandhills, which now shut them in on all sides. "The prospect of finding a stream or a spring is not very flattering, is it? I wish we could find one now, for the water in my canteen is just ready to boil."

"You had better be careful of it," said George, "for it is much better than none at all."

"Is there any water to be found in this country?"

"Oh yes; and this trail will take us to it by the shortest route. An Indian can't live without water any more than we can, and he knows just where to find it."

"Say, George," exclaimed Bob suddenly, "didn't I hear Mose say that when the four horses that made this trail turned off the big trail, they were going at full speed?"

George replied that he did say so.

"How did he know it?" continued Bob.

"By the looks of the tracks and the distance between them. When a horse is walking his hind foot covers about half the print made by his fore foot, and the tracks are from two and a half to three feet apart. When the horse is trotting the tracks are not so distinct, the one made by the fore foot being nearly covered up, and they are from seven to eight feet apart. When he is running the print of only one foot can be seen, as a general thing the ground about the tracks is considerably disturbed, and they are from seven to twelve feet apart."

If Carey and the rest of the squad did not learn to their entire satisfaction that they were not out on a picnic this time, the horses on which they were mounted certainly did, for before an hour had passed they were very much in need of water—so much so that Bob brought them down to a trot, and at last to a walk. At the end of another hour their riders began to suffer in the same way, and it was not long before every drop in their canteens, warm as it was, had disappeared. Whether it was the parched appearance of things around them; or the effects of the wind, which came into their faces as hot as a blast from a furnace; or the reflection of the sun's rays from the sandhills around them; or the sand itself, which arose in the air when disturbed by their horses' hoofs, and settled in their mouths and nostrils,—whether it was one or all of these causes combined that made them so very thirsty they did not think to inquire, but certain it was that they would have welcomed the discovery of a water-course more heartily now than at any other time during their march. Just how long this state of affairs was to continue they did not know, for there was not one among them who could tell whether water was five or twenty miles off. The only thing they could do was to follow the trail and await the issue of events with all the patience they could command.

After they had been separated from the main column for about three hours, two incidents happened which served to relieve the monotony of the march, and caused them, for the time being, to forget how uncomfortably hot and dusty and thirsty they were. As they were riding silently along behind George Ackerman, whose fast-walking nag had carried him some distance in advance of the squad, they saw him draw rein all of a sudden and raise his hand with a warning gesture. Then he backed his horse under cover of a convenient sandhill, and pulling his field-glass from the case he carried slung over his shoulder, he levelled it at some object that had attracted his attention, but which could not be seen by the troopers.

Bob at once ordered a halt, and rode forward to inquire into the matter. When he reached George's side he found himself on the outskirts of a sort of basin in the plain, which looked as though it might have been scooped out by the wind. It was covered with sand, and dotted here and there with little bunches of yellow grass and weeds. On the opposite side of this basin, which was perhaps a mile and a half wide, was a single horseman, who was riding toward them at a rapid pace.

"I couldn't make out, at that distance, whether he was a friend or foe, so I thought it best to warn you," said George.

"That was all right, of course. Can you make him out with your glass?"

"Very plainly. He's a soldier—one of Lieutenant Earle's men, probably."

"That's just who he is," exclaimed Bob after he had taken a look at the horseman through the field-glass. "I know him. That signal-smoke we saw just before we left the column was sent up to inform the captain that Earle had despatched a courier to him with some important news, and now we will find out what it is.—Come on, fellows," he added, waving his hand to the squad; "it is one of our own company, boys."

Bob and his companion rode out in plain view, and a few seconds later the troopers joined them. Their sudden appearance must have astonished the approaching courier, and perhaps alarmed him too, for he pulled up his horse with a jerk, and, shading his eyes with his hand, gazed at them long and earnestly. They waved their caps to reassure him, and in a few minutes he came up. The first words he uttered showed that he had already had quite enough of scouting in the Staked Plains.

"Did anybody ever see so dreary a hole as this?" said he as he lifted his cap and drew his handkerchief across his forehead—"nothing but sandhills as far as you can see, and one looks so much like another that a fellow don't know how to shape a course. It must be just fearful in here when the wind blows.—I say, corporal, where am I? and what are you doing out here?"

"I can't answer your first question, for I don't know myself," answered Bob. "I was sent out to follow a new trail we found just after you sent up that smoke. What was the meaning of it?—Carey, climb up to the top of that sandhill and tell us if you can see anything."

"Lieutenant Earle sent up that smoke to let the captain know that he was about to send him some news," replied the horseman; "and I don't see why the captain didn't send up a reply, for I don't know where to find him."

"I will point out his position as near as I can before you leave us," said Bob. "Is that news of any importance?"

"I should say it was," exclaimed the courier. "We've struck it hot, I tell you. On the banks of a little stream we found somewhere off in that direction—"

"Look here, Aleck!" exclaimed Loring; "I thought that canteen of yours looked as though it had been dipped in water not so very long ago. Why don't you pass it around? We haven't got a drop left."

"Is that so?" said the courier, who promptly unslung his canteen. "You are welcome to it, but touch it easy, so that everybody can have a taste, and don't forget to save some for Carey.—As I was saying, on the banks of that stream the scout discovered the tracks of little boots."

The troopers all uttered exclamations when they heard this, and Loring was so anxious to hear more that he forgot he was thirsty, and after holding the canteen in his hand for a moment passed it to a comrade without tasting of its contents.

"Mr. Wentworth acted as though he thought he ought to go with Lieutenant Earle's squad, and when he hears that he will be sorry that he stayed behind," observed Bob.

"Won't he, though!" said the courier.

"I suppose there is no doubt that the tracks were made by his boys?" said George.

"None whatever. How could there be? The Indians have no other prisoners with them."

"They have none that we know of," said George. "But as they visited other ranches, they may have taken other boys captive."

"How do you know that they did visit other ranches?" demanded the courier. "Mr. Wentworth didn't say anything about it in my hearing."

"Nor in mine, either," replied George. "But he did say in my hearing that he had lost not more than half a dozen horses, and the trail shows that they have more than fifty with them."

"Well," said the courier, looking down at the horn of his saddle in a brown study, "if that's the case, the Indians may have—No, they didn't, either," he added, brightening. "Mr. Wentworth told the colonel, in Lieutenant Earle's hearing, that the Indians jumped down on his ranche just after he had finished mending his oldest boy's boots. He put a patch on each one of them just under the ball of the foot, and those patches showed in the tracks."

"Ah!" exclaimed George, "that will pass for evidence."

"At any rate," continued the courier, "I was ordered to tell the captain that we were on the trail of the party who had the children. That's all the news I have, I believe.—What shall I tell the captain for you, corporal?"

"Say to him that you found me following up my trail as fast as the condition of my horses would permit," answered Bob. "It is as plain as daylight, and if I could only get some water now and then, I could follow it at a gallop.—What is it, Carey?"

"A smoke away off to the south-east," replied the soldier, who was lying flat on the top of the nearest sandhill.

Bob at once dismounted and made his way up the hill, followed by George and the courier. They did not expose their full height to view, but crept up on their hands and knees, and when they reached the top pulled off their caps before they looked over it. They knew that Indians, when they are retreating, always leave some of their number to watch the trail, and they adopted these precautions in order to avoid discovery by these rear-guards should there chance to be any in the neighborhood. The reflection of the sun's rays from the brass ornaments on their caps would have been seen by a watchful Indian at an almost incredible distance.

"I see the smoke," said Bob, pulling from his pocket the paper which Captain Clinton had given him—"Where is your watch, George? Now look for the signal."

The smoke, like the one Lieutenant Earle had sent up a few hours before, ascended in a straight, slender column for a few seconds, and then floated away out of sight. A few seconds later three little columns, shaped like the clouds which are thrown out by the discharge of a cannon, arose in the air in quick succession, followed after a little delay by three others. Bob waited and watched, but as no more clouds appeared, he knew that the signal had been made. The next thing was to find out what it meant.

"George," said he, "after those first three smokes appeared how long was it before the others were seen?"

"Just thirty seconds," replied the time-keeper.

Bob ran his eye over the paper he held in his hand, and presently found the following, which he read aloud: "Three smokes, followed at the interval of half a minute by three others, are intended to point out the position of the signalling-party."—"There you are!" said he, turning to the courier. "Fix in your mind the place from which that smoke arose, and then travel a little to the north of it, so as to allow for the captain's progress, and you will find him."

"How far away was that smoke?" asked the courier as he and his companions crept back down the hill.

"Fifteen miles," replied George.

"Whew! Well, I'll get there if I can. Who's got my canteen? Why, you have left some in it!" he added as one of the squad handed him the article in question. "Don't any of you want another taste?"

Yes, there were plenty there who could have drained the canteen to the last drop and then called for more, but knowing that the courier would have need of it before he had galloped fifteen miles under that broiling sun with the hot wind blowing upon him, they all declared that they had had enough.

After Carey and Loring had moistened their parched lips the courier sprang upon his horse and waved his farewell, while Bob and his men, feeling somewhat refreshed, took up the trail again and followed it at a trot.



CHAPTER XII.

ANOTHER FEATHER FOR BOB'S CAP.

The second diversion of which we have spoken occurred about an hour after Lieutenant Earle's courier left them. It was nothing more nor less than the discovery of the fact that the party of whom they were in pursuit had been joined by another warrior, whose pony's tracks came from the direction in which the lieutenant was supposed to be scouting. Bob and his men did not seem to attach much importance to this, but George did. He looked the ground over very carefully, and reached conclusions that astonished himself.

"Bob Owens," said he in a low tone as they resumed the march, "you've got another chance to put a feather in your hat—a big one, too. Lieutenant Earle will never rescue Mr. Wentworth's boys, but you can if you're smart."

Bob, who always listened in the greatest amazement (and with some incredulity, too, it must be confessed) to his friend's predictions, could only look the surprise he felt. How any one, by simply looking at a pony's track, could tell what a party of men whom he had never seen were going to do, he could not understand.

"To begin with," continued George, "our Indians expected to have an addition made to their party, and they expected also that it would be made just where it was made. How do I know that? By the looks of things. The ponies were all huddled together in one place, and they must have stood there a good while, judging by the stamping they did. Their riders must have dismounted there, for I saw the prints of their moccasins in the sand. I noticed also that the side of the nearest sandhill had been disturbed, and that told me that one of their number had climbed up there to watch for the expected warrior."

"Perhaps he was watching for us," suggested Bob.

"If he was, he wouldn't have watched for us with his feet, would he?" demanded George.

"'With his feet'?" echoed Bob.

"Yes. He would have been more likely to watch for us with his eyes."

"How do you know that he didn't?"

"Because he climbed up on our side of the hill, and that would have exposed his whole body to our view if we had been anywhere within sight of him. His eyes were turned the other way; that is, in Lieutenant Earle's direction. He wasn't afraid of being seen by us, but he took all due precautions to conceal himself from the gaze of any one who might happen to come that way from Lieutenant Earle's command; for near the place where the ponies were standing I saw the tufts of grass he had pulled up to tie around his head."

"Well, I am beat!" exclaimed Bob.

"What beats you?"

"You do: I didn't see any of those things."

"Probably you didn't, for the reason that you didn't look for them. You see, I have passed a good many years on the Plains, and I have learned that eternal vigilance is the price of a cowboy's life and liberty. When his scalp depends upon the correct reading of such signs as those which I have just described to you, he is not often caught napping. My long association with Zeke, whose eyes seemed to be everywhere, has got me into the habit of keeping my own eyes open. Probably there were other things there that would have been perfectly plain to Zeke or Mountain Mose which I didn't see.

"Now, of course I don't know that this new warrior brought Mr. Wentworth's children with him when he came over to join our Indians, but everything seems to point that way. One of the proofs—and the strongest, in my humble opinion—is found in the fact that the Indians allowed their captives to dismount on the banks of that stream the courier told us of. I am inclined to believe that they went farther than that, and compelled the boys to walk in the mud and leave their tracks there."

"I don't see why they did that," observed Bob. "I should think they would want to keep everybody from knowing where the boys were."

"So they would if they had intended to keep the boys with them, but they did not. This is their plan, as near as I can get at it; and in order to make my explanation clearer I will call the party of which Lieutenant Earle is in pursuit No. 1, that which we want to find No. 2, and that the captain is following up No. 3. The warriors in No. 1 are doubtless the best mounted of all the raiders. When they separated from the main body they left a broad trail, so that they could be easily followed, taking the children with them, and leaving now and then a sign of their presence, for no other purpose than to coax the captain to follow them with his whole force. As soon as they reached a piece of rocky ground, where a pony's feet would leave no track, one of their number picked up the boys and brought them over here, where party No. 2 was waiting for him. Those he left behind will show themselves to Lieutenant Earle occasionally, and perhaps open a little fight with him, just to induce him to continue the pursuit. Party No. 3 will drive the stock ahead as fast as possible, and get away with it if they can; but if they find that they are likely to be overtaken, they will drop the cattle and do everything they can to keep the captain on their trail, so as to give party No. 2 a chance to escape with the prisoners. Now, that's a long story, and no doubt it is a hard one to believe; but I don't think I am far from right when I tell you that it is quite in your power to carry off the honors of this expedition. Captain Clinton will have his hands full until he recovers that stock; so will Lieutenant Earle as long as he follows those will-o'-the-wisps in front of him; and to you will be left the duty, as well as the privilege, of looking out for the safety of Mr. Wentworth's little boys."

"Whew!" panted Bob, who was very much impressed, although not wholly convinced, by his companion's clear and forcible reasoning. "Then I am the chief man in this scout, am I? Suppose—I say, just suppose—I should be lucky enough to rescue those boys alive and unharmed, what would the fellows say? What would Mr. Wentworth say?"

"The boys would cheer you, and you would win Mr. Wentworth's everlasting gratitude," replied George. "But, Bob, the prisoners have not been rescued yet, and I warn you that unless you are as sly as a fox you will be the means of their death. If the Indians discover you, and find themselves unable to escape, their very first act will be to kill those boys."

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Bob, dropping his reins upon the horn of his saddle and pulling off his cap with one hand while he scratched his head vigorously with the other. "Good gracious! The captain never thought of that when he sent me off with this squad, did he? George, the responsibility is too heavy for me. I think I'll ask the captain where he is, and then go and report to him."

"That wouldn't be a very smart trick," protested George. "You would not only be taken to task for wasting valuable time, but the Indians, seeing a smoke that they couldn't understand arise on their trail, would take the alarm at once, and you would lose a fine chance of distinguishing yourself."

"Don't you suppose they saw the smoke that Lieutenant Earle sent up?"

"Of course they did—the captain's too. Those same smokes were a good thing for us, for I am of the opinion that they threw our party off their guard by leading them to believe they are not pursued. You mustn't send up a smoke along this trail if you want to catch those Indians. What are your orders, anyhow?"

"To follow the trail until I am recalled or until the Indians throw me off entirely," replied Bob.

"Then don't you see that you would be disobeying orders by marching your squad back to the column without a recall?" asked George. "You would surely get yourself into trouble by doing that, and besides, you would be hauled over the coals for not taking better care of your men and horses. They couldn't stand twenty miles more to-night without a rest, and how much of a rest could they get here in this oven, with no grass or water? Don't do it, Bob."

"But the prisoners—just think of the prisoners!" exclaimed the perplexed corporal. "I don't want to feel that I am responsible for any harm that may befall them."

"I don't see how you are going to shirk it."

"Well, will you take command?"

"Certainly not," answered George quickly. "Don't confess your incapacity by surrendering your authority. Besides, a scout never commands—he only advises; and I will help you in that way all I can. Go on, and say that you will do your best."

"I will," said Bob, slamming his cap upon his head and seating himself firmly in his saddle. "If we can only place ourselves in a position to cover those boys, the Indians will not have a chance to touch them, I'll bet you. My men are all good marksmen."

"And I am a tolerable one myself," said George. "A single hair of those boys' heads is worth the lives of all the Indians that ever saw the Staked Plains, and if it becomes necessary to shoot in their defence, I am ready. There is a high sandhill, and if you will stop here for a few minutes I will go up and see if I can discover anything."

Bob raised his hand to halt the squad, and George swung himself out of his saddle. His first care was to lay aside his cap and rifle, and his next to pull up a quantity of grass and weeds to be used as a screen. With these in one hand and his field-glass in the other he crept slowly to the top of the sandhill, and, holding the screen a few inches above the ground, he pushed his field-glass under it and looked around.

"Aha!" was his mental exclamation, "I shall have good news to carry back to the boys. There's a deep gully about five miles off, and there must be a stream of water running through it, or else those willows would not be growing there. I wish we had got here an hour earlier, for then I should have had daylight to aid me in making my observations. The Indians probably halted in that gully a few hours ago, and the question to be decided now is—Hallo! If that isn't smoke rising among those trees, what is it? And didn't that little cluster of bushes over there on the top of that hill shift its position just now?"

George's heart beat wildly as he propounded these inquiries to himself. He took another long look, and then with a very slow and gradual motion he deposited his screen upon the sand and backed down to the plain. His stealthy movements told the troopers that he had seen something.

"Corporal," said he as they rode up to him, "before you ask any questions let me suggest that you order your men to remove their sabres as quietly as possibly."

Bob quickly unhooked his own sabre from his belt, and looked at his men, who made all haste to follow his example. They knew that there could be but one reason for this order. A steel scabbard hanging by the side of a careless rider will strike against his spurs with every step his horse takes, or rattle against his leg as the trooper walks about, giving out a clear ringing sound that will betray his presence to foes far less watchful and sharp-eared than Indians.

"So we have run them into their holes, have we?" said Bob when he had acted upon George's suggestion.

"That remains to be seen. They are camped about five miles from here, and one of their lookouts is watching the trail."

The troopers looked at Bob as if to ask what he was going to do about it, and Bob, who had as little idea of the orders he ought to give under the circumstances as he had of the Greek language, looked at George. The latter did not say anything, for he wanted the troopers to hold fast to their belief that the corporal was able to act for himself in any and every emergency; but he gave his friend a look that was plainly understood.

"Dismount," commanded Bob; "we'll rest here until we can determine upon something. Let every man keep fast hold of his horse, for a neigh from one of them would make dough of our cake in a little less than no time. Eat and whisper as much as you please, but—"

"Don't smoke," put in George.

"Oh, Moses!" ejaculated the troopers in subdued tones.

"An Indian will smell smoke from a pipe or a camp-fire a long distance," added George.

"Then keep your pipes in your pockets, where they can't do any mischief," said Bob.—"George, I'd like to take a look at that camp."

George at once led the way up the hill, but when he neared the top he said in a whisper,

"Perhaps you had better trust to my eyes instead of your own; not but that you can see as far as I can, but you might be a little careless in handling that screen, and the least false motion on your part would be seen by that lookout, whose eyes are as good as a telescope."

"All right!" replied Bob, who wondered what he should have done if George had not been there to advise him. "What shall we do?"

"Let me take another look, and then I will talk to you."

So saying, George crept back to the top of the hill and looked under his screen as before. It was rapidly growing dark, but he could see that the sentry still kept his position, and that the camp-fire was burning brightly.

"They do not stand in the least fear of pursuit," said he as he backed down to Bob's side, "but they have taken measures to prevent surprise, as they always do when they are on the war-path."

"How long do you suppose that sentry will stay there?"

"Just as long as his friends stay in the gully. I do not mean by that that this particular Indian will act as lookout all the time, but that some member of the party will be constantly on the watch."

The first thing to be done was to decide upon a plan of operations, and this took a good deal of hard thinking, for there was a good deal depending upon it. George made the most of the suggestions, and Bob accepted every one of them without argument. The camp was to be attacked as soon as they could get within reach of it: both were agreed upon that. Bob advised a surround, in order to prevent the escape of any of the Indians; but George objected, urging as a reason for his objections that no one but an Indian could work his way through those thick bushes and trees without making a good deal of noise, and that would knock the whole thing in the head.

"Don't be too ambitious," said he. "Don't try to grab too big a handful, and so run the risk of losing everything. Keep your men near you, so that you can have an eye on every one of them. Look out for the boys; and if by so doing you give the Indians a chance to escape, as you will most likely, let them go and welcome."

An immediate advance having been resolved upon, and the part that each man was to play in the coming fight (provided the Indians decided to make a fight of it) having been thoroughly discussed, Bob and his companion returned to the place where they had left the troopers. The former issued his orders in a few brief words, and in a very short space of time eight barefooted men, armed only with their carbines and revolvers, were drawn up in line ready to do his further bidding; while the four troopers who were to be left behind to hold the horses and to take care of the sabres, shoes and stockings which their lucky comrades had thrown upon the ground, listened with as good grace as they could to a few parting words from their corporal.

"Now, boys," said the latter, "keep quiet and don't smoke. We have been following the trail of only five Indians, but we don't know how many may have joined them since they went into camp; so you must hold yourselves in readiness for any emergency. Keep a good lookout for the signal, and if you don't see it by the time the moon rises, which will be about midnight, take care of yourselves. Draw as straight a course for the column as you can, and tell the boys, when you find them, that the reds got the best of us while we were trying to do our duty. Good-bye.—Lead on, George."

Although our hero had passed his life amid scenes of danger, and more than once listened to the sound of hostile bullets (that was during the "neighborhood row" of which we have spoken in the first volume of this series), he had never before taken part in a scout after Indians, and it may be readily imagined that Bob's parting words did not serve to encourage him in any great degree. Bob seemed to think that there was a possibility that their attempted surprise might end in utter defeat. The bare thought was enough to make George's hair stand on end, but it did not make him lose any of the sympathy he felt for the boy-captives or falter in his resolve to do all he could toward effecting their release. In obedience to Bob's order to "lead on" he raised his rifle to his shoulder and glided off into the darkness, the troopers following in single file. Before he had marched half a mile Bob hurried up and placed himself by his side.

"Say, George," he whispered, "you are not going toward the camp. If you follow this course, you will miss it by half a mile or more."

"I don't want to go toward the camp," was the reply. "We must circle around so as to come up in the rear of that sentry, who, as I told you, will stay on the top of that hill as long as his friends stay in the gully."

"Do you think we can capture him without alarming the others?"

"We are not going to try; at least, I sha'n't advise it. If we can save the boys, we ought to be satisfied. That sentry will dig out as soon as he scents danger, and all we can do is to let him go."

"How awful still it is, and how fearful dark!" continued Bob. "I hope you won't get confused and miss your way."

"There is no danger of that," replied George confidently. "I can see the stars, and they are as good as a compass to me. I have often travelled by them, and they have never fooled me yet."

"Where are the wolves, I wonder?" said Bob, who was so impatient and so highly excited that he could not long hold his peace. "They keep up their unearthly howls every night when we wish them a thousand miles away, but now, when a yelp from one of them would be a relief, they don't put in an appearance."

"And I am glad of it," said George. "Don't you know that a pack of wolves are the best sentries a camping-party can have?"

Yes, Bob said he was aware of that fact.

"Well," continued George, "don't you see that the little breeze there is stirring is blowing from us toward the camp? If there were any wolves around, they would probably be on the other side of the gully, for it would be a waste of time for them to prowl around here among these sandhills, where they couldn't find even a rabbit to eat. The moment they caught our wind they would scamper off, and then 'Good-bye, prisoners.' I wish I knew where those Indians have staked out their ponies, for I stand more in fear of them than I do of that sentry. If we should get to windward of them, they would kick up a rumpus directly."

The longer Bob talked with George the more clearly the difficulties attending his undertaking seemed to stand but before him, and the greater grew his anxiety and impatience. If his attempt to surprise the Indian camp failed, there was no telling when Mr. Wentworth's boys would be heard of again. If it suited their captors to spare their lives, they would doubtless be sold to some band who lived at a great distance from the agency, and who would take the greatest pains to keep their existence a profound secret. If they were ever given up at all, it would only be after that particular band had been soundly thrashed for some outrage, and then they would be brought forward as an element in the "peace negotiations," their captors demanding a heavy ransom and taking great credit to themselves for surrendering them. But this might not happen for years, and during that time a great many things might happen to the boys. They might become so completely broken down by cruel treatment that their death would be a blessing, or else so thoroughly infatuated with the Indian mode of life that, if left to themselves, they would choose to go back to the wigwams of their savage masters rather than return to the home of their father.

"It's now or never," said Bob to himself after he had thought the matter over. "I don't wonder that Mr. Wentworth feels so spiteful, for if these Indians are not killed during this scout, they will never be punished for what they have done to him. The government is too tender-hearted to touch them, and if Mr. Wentworth takes the law into his own hands, he will be sure to suffer for it. They will go back to their agency to grow fat on government grub and be kept warm in winter by government blankets; and their agent, in order to prevent an investigation that might take a few dollars out of his pocket, will be ready to swear that they have never been off their reservation. I wonder how he would feel if he saw his own children carried into captivity?"

For two long hours the weary troopers continued the march, stopping for rest only when Bob and George climbed some sandhill to reconnoitre the ground before them. The deep silence that brooded over the Staked Plains was almost oppressive. The bare feet of the troopers gave out no sound as they sank into the yielding sand, and all that could be heard was their labored breathing as they walked behind their leader, trusting implicitly to his guidance. They never uttered a word, but Bob's impatience and nervousness would have kept his tongue in constant motion had it not been for George, who gave him an energetic prod in the ribs whenever he showed a disposition to become colloquial. He felt that he must do something pretty soon or sink under his burden of responsibility, which seemed to grow heavier the longer he walked; consequently, when George stopped all of a sudden and silently pointed his finger at a dense wall of trees that ran across their path, his delight knew no bounds. The ravine in which the Indians were encamped was close in front of them. The murmuring of the waterfall which came up from its wooded depths was a pleasant sound to his ears, but he and his troopers had much to do before they could quench their thirst at that rippling stream.



CHAPTER XIII.

HE WINS IT FAIRLY.

As it was not necessary to waste any precious time in giving verbal orders, a complete code of signals having been decided upon before they left their horses, George at once threw himself upon his hands and knees, and worked his way along the edge of the bluff until he reached a position directly above the camp, the location of which was pointed out by a little blaze, scarcely larger, apparently, than the flame of a candle. He looked in vain for the sentry, and would have given something handsome if there had been some one at hand to tell him just where he was.