The Young Ranchers; Or, Fighting the Sioux

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

He saw half a dozen Sioux gathered around the wounded Starcus, evidently in conversation. Being strong in his lower limbs, and with his wounded arm bandaged as well as it could be, he required no attention or help from them. After all, knowing the buck had been a close friend of the young rancher, they must have seen nothing remarkable in the mercy that had been shown to him. White men are as capable of meanness and cruelty as the Indians, but few of them disregard the laws of honorable warfare, and still fewer are deaf to the cry of a hapless foe.

A few minutes later the group moved slowly back in the direction of the ridge. A couple, however, drew off, and began a more systematic hunt of the ponies that had shown such a fondness for their freedom. They managed matters with such skill that they soon coaxed a couple of the fleetest back to captivity. With the aid of these they soon corralled the others, and the party gathered with their animals at the base of the ridge.

Warren Starr remained at a safe distance for the greater part of an hour, in the hope of learning something of the intentions of the Sioux. But they gave no sign that he could understand. The ponies were in plain sight near the trees, and he caught glimpses of their owners moving back and forth, but nothing could be learned as to what it all meant.

He now debated what he should next do. He was free, well mounted, and at liberty to follow his own judgment.

His immediate anxiety was concerning Tim Brophy. He knew he was in the most perilous strait of his life; Warren's parents might be as badly situated, but he had no knowledge of the fact. He therefore hoped for the best concerning them. But if there was any way of helping his friend it was beyond his power to discover it. He was a prisoner in the hands of a dozen watchful and treacherous Sioux, who were not likely to give him the least chance of escape, and any attempt on the part of Warren to befriend him would not only be utterly useless, but would imperil his own life.

He had appealed to Starcus to make the effort, but Warren saw the force of the Indian's declaration that it was beyond his power. He was wounded himself, and at the first move to interfere in behalf of the captive, who had killed one of their best warriors and badly bruised a couple, would be likely to bring down their vengeance upon his own head. Distressing as was the conclusion, there was no escaping it—he must turn his back on his devoted comrade. Warren accepted the situation like a martyr, and had decided to continue his search for his folks, of whose whereabouts he had only the vaguest idea.

Two lines of action presented themselves, and there was much to be said in favor of and against both. By sharp riding he could reach Fort Meade before sunset, and there whatever help he might need would be cheerfully given by the commandant. Under the guidance of the friendly Indian scouts, they could search for the rancher and his family; and their knowledge of the people, as well as the country, would render such search far more effective than any by the youth, without taking into account the force that would insure safety instantly on such discovery.

But this plan involved considerable time, with the certainty that his folks must spend another night in imminent peril—a night that he could not help believing was to prove the decisive one.

Knowing nothing of the death of Jared Plummer, Warren hoped that he was with his father, despite the gloomy prophecy of Tim Brophy. If the young rancher could join them, the party would be considerable, and ought to hold its own against any band of Indians such as were roaming through the country. Besides, all would be well mounted and prepared for flight whenever advisable.

These and other considerations, which it is not necessary to name, decided the youth to make further search for his folks before riding to Fort Meade.