The next caller at the cabin was Nicholas Jackson, who had been a scout under General Crook, and was now serving General Miles in the same capacity at Pine Ridge. He brought news of Sitting Bull's death, and assured the pioneer that every day spent by him and his family away from the agency increased their peril.
"You shouldn't delay your start a single hour," was his remark, as he vaulted upon his pony and skurried away.
Before deciding the all-important question, it was agreed that Brinton should gallop down to the reservation and learn the real situation. It was a long ride to Pine Ridge, and involved the crossing of the Cheyenne, White, and several smaller streams, but the youth was confident he could penetrate far enough to ascertain the truth and get back by sunset. If it were necessary to go all the way to the agency, this was impossible, for the days were at their shortest, but he must penetrate that far to find out what he wished to know.
When Brinton flung himself into the saddle of Jack, his tough and intelligent pony, just as it was beginning to grow light in the east, after his hasty breakfast and "good-bye," he was sure he would be caught in a snow-storm before his return. The dull heavy sky, and the peculiar penetrating chilliness, left no doubt on that point.
But with his usual pluck, he chirruped to his pony, lightly jerked his bridle rein, and the gallant animal was off at a swinging pace, which he was able to maintain for hours without fatigue. He was heading south-east, over the faintly marked trail, with which the youth was familiar and which was so well known to the animal himself that he needed no guidance.
Two hours later, the young horseman reached the border line of Custer and Washington counties, that is between the county of his own home and the reservation. This was made by the Big Cheyenne River, which had to be crossed before Pine Ridge was reached. Brinton reined up his horse and sat for some minutes, looking down on the stream, in which huge pieces of ice were floating, though it was not frozen over.
"That isn't very inviting, Jack," he said, "but the ford is shallow and it's no use waiting."
He was in the act of starting his pony down the bank, when on the heavy chilly air sounded a dull explosive crack. A nipping of his coat sleeve showed that the bullet had passed startlingly near him. He turned his head like a flash, and saw, not more than a hundred feet distant, the figure of a Sioux buck or young warrior bareback on his horse, which was standing motionless, while his rider made ready to let fly with another shot from his Winchester rifle.