And so, finding Davies inflexible, Mr. McPhail had no alternative but to go himself. He had sent his demand; it had met with no response. He must attempt the arrest in person or become the laughing-stock of his Indian wards. Here at last Davies had to back him. It might be true that the officer would be sustained in his refusal to go and do his bidding, but if the agent went in person the lieutenant would have to send a detachment as a guard. Davies did more. He calmly informed McPhail that he should place himself at the head of the party and protect him to the extent of his ability; and so with the detachment as it marched away, watched by many an anxious eye, rode McPhail with his agency interpreter.
And when barely half-way to the cluster of tepees among the Cottonwoods at the point, there came to meet them in solitary state old Thunder Hawk himself. He wore no barbaric finery. His pony was destitute of trappings. He, himself, wore not even a revolver. Everything that might speak of war or even self-defence was left behind. When within a hundred yards of the foremost horsemen he reined in his pony and calmly awaited their approach.
Half a mile farther down the valley, clustered in front of their lodges, some of them lashing about on their excited ponies, could be plainly seen the warriors of Red Dog's band, and that that hot-blooded chief was in their midst could hardly be doubted, though he was too far away for personal recognition. All at once the seething group seemed to obey some word of command, for it heaved suddenly forward, and, breasting its way through the scattering outskirts, just as it had advanced on the agency that moonlit winter's night, the centre burst into view, one accurate rank of mounted Indians, and in another moment, wheeling and circling, all the individual horsemen came ranging into line at the flanks, and, reinforced every moment by galloping braves from the villages in the rear, Red Dog's big squadron, like Clan Alpine, came sweeping up the vale. Borne on the breeze like one long wail of foreboding, the weird chant of squaws and stay-behinds was wafted to the ears of the agency party. Another instant and the song was taken up in swelling chorus by the coming foe. McPhail, who had spurred eagerly forward as Thunder Hawk halted, now irresolutely checked his horse and glanced back, as though feeling for the support of the grim and silent guard.
"By God, Mr. Davies, I believe that traitor Red Dog means mischief!"
Making no reply whatever, the lieutenant simply raised his sword arm in signal to his party,—halt! whereat, sniffing the tainted breeze and anxiously eyeing the distant cavalcade, the horses of Davies's party stood nervously pawing and stamping. Evidently they liked the outlook as little as did McPhail. And there, all alone, fifty yards out in their front now, grave and motionless, still sat old Thunder Hawk.
"Do you suppose they will try to rescue if we arrest him here?" asked McPhail.
"Very probably. They regard him as a martyr, and so do I," was the answer.
"Here! gallop to the cantonments for help at once," said McPhail to his interpreter. "Say that Red Dog and his whole gang are coming," he shouted, instantly reining about and looking anxiously back. Behind him, nearly a thousand yards, lay the low, squat buildings of his official station. Beyond that, nearly two thousand more, and but for the flag and staff almost indistinguishable from the dull hues of the prairie, except to Indian eye, lay the low log walls of the cantonment. Already signs of alarm and bustle could be seen about the former. A buckboard was just hurriedly driving off, full gallop, for the distant barracks, scudding for shelter before the storm should break. Evidently Mrs. McPhail didn't mean to stand siege in her cellars this time. Already Lutz, who remained with the reserve, had mounted his men and was trotting out to the support of the advance. Already the long, barbaric array of Red Dog's band had come within rifle-range, and their clamoring chief, all bristling with eagle feathers, rode up and down across their advancing front, brandishing aloft his gleaming rifle. "Watch him as you would a snake," indeed! Here he came once more in open, defiant hostility, bent beyond possibility of doubt on instant attack should the agent attempt to lay hands on Thunder Hawk.
"Come in here, Hawk. I suppose you surrender!" yelled McPhail, nervously. Evidently something had to be done, and done at once.
"Not to you," was the determined answer. "I will surrender to soldiers when they demand, and to them only, and I'll await justice as their prisoner and not as yours."