FLAT ON THE GROUND WAS PEERING OVER THE RIDGE.
It was some minutes before he could determine which way they were really going, but when he finally saw that they were bound down the valley, the boy's heart beat high with hope. He could venture down to the Platte as soon as they had passed entirely out of sight, and find some place to cross well to the west of them. An hour he waited and still they were in view. Then they seemed to disappear in a little clump of timber. He waited fifteen to twenty minutes, and they were still there. Then it suddenly dawned upon him that the whole band were resting in the shade while their scouts searched the neighborhood. He was five or six miles from the river, and every inch of ground in front was open. He knew well that their eyes were keener than his, and should he make a dash for it they would certainly see and give chase. What he could not detect, and did not dream of, was that miles still further away down the Platte another dust cloud was slowly advancing—Wallace's troop coming upstream—and their scouts were watching that.
At last, after another hour of anxiety, he determined to slip away westward, go up the Rawhide a few miles until he could gain the shelter of some low-lying ridges, crossing the stream, and making a wide circuit, sweep around to the Platte. He might still reach it before dark and find a ford, or at least a place to swim across; he could trust "Big Jim" for that. But even as he would have put this plan in execution, he saw to his dismay a new move among the warriors. Four little dots came riding from the timber and pushing back up the valley. These were only the advance. In half an hour the whole band came jogging leisurely out of the shadows, and little dots farther east came streaking across the flats to join them. Fred saw that the whole war party was now retracing its steps and coming back upstream, and that now, if he waited, he might pursue his original intention of crossing at the shallows, ten miles below the mouth of the Rawhide. And so, patiently and pluckily, he kept his ground,—"Big Jim" contentedly filling himself with buffalo grass the while,—and not until the sun was low in the west did Fred realize their real intent. Just as the scouts, far in advance of the main party, reached the winding banks of the Rawhide, they seemed to hold brief consultation; one of them plunged through to the western side, the other three turned and came straight toward the watching boy.
Great Heavens! It meant that the whole party was coming up the Rawhide, and before dark would find and follow his track. Fred's first impulse was to mount, and giving Jim the spurs, ride on the wings of the wind back to the north—back to the Niobrara, where he had left the troop in bivouac. There at least was safety, for they could not trail him in the dark. But the second thought covered him with shame. Go back—go back now! Never, so long as he had a chance for life and hope. Away from here, and instantly, he must speed on his mission, and in another moment his girth was tightened, and "Big Jim," astonished, was racing away eastward, but keeping the sheltered ridge between him and the Platte.
CHAPTER XIII.
AWAY TO THE RESCUE!
THAT night Fred Waller slept fitfully on the open prairie, with "Big Jim" tethered close at hand. Saturday morning found him ten miles to the east and ten miles further from the river than the point where he watched the Sioux the previous evening. Hungry and worn with anxiety as he was, the poor boy's heart sank within him when he cautiously peered over the ridge into the valley. After an early[149] morning ride, he saw the dust clouds near the stream, and felt that he was still cut off. Noon was near when, far as he could see up or down, the valley was clear; and then creeping out from his lair, he again mounted and rode straight for the Platte. Warily he watched in every direction, but no intruders came. He was spurring over the flats only a mile from the river before the first sign of pursuit was made. Then, far back toward the bluffs he had left, Fred spied a little party of warriors coming after him full tilt. Never stopping for more than one glance he gave Jim the rein, urging him to full speed; marked, as he flashed across it only a few hundred yards[150] from the bank, the trail of a cavalry command going up the valley and wondered whose it could be; then he and Jim went crashing through the gravel at the water's edge and plunged boldly into the running stream. Deeper and deeper brave old Jim pushed in until the waters foamed about his broad and muscular breast; then Fred threw himself from the saddle, and keeping tight hold of the pommel and steadying his carbine with the same hand, "Swim for it, old man!" he shouted to his gallant horse, and in another minute he and Jim were floating with the current, yet rapidly nearing the other shore. Three minutes and, dripping wet but safe, they were scrambling up the[151] south bank and speeding away over the bounding turf with the baffled pursuers still two miles behind.