After searching about and speaking angrily, Lieutenant Pike ordered camp. It was lucky that they had taken the buffalo tongues, because now they might make a fire and cook the tongues.
What had become of the Lieutenant Wilkinson men seemed very queer. Early in the morning Lieutenant Pike led up the creek, from the trees, and did not find them. The three arrived at the spot where the two buffalo carcasses were lying. The wolves were eating the carcasses, in spite of the coat, but there were marrow bones left. Next, the lieutenant led down the creek. Not even the smoke of any campfires might be seen, and there were no pony tracks or footprints.
Stub used all his eyes, but discovered nothing. At night the lieutenant and the doctor were much worried.
“Injuns, mebbe?” Stub asked.
Lieutenant Pike nodded gravely.
“I fear so. We will hunt more to-morrow.”
That night it rained, and in the morning was still raining, cold. But they had had plenty to eat. This day they rode and rode, up the creek again, in the rain.
“It is bad,” said the doctor. “A long way from home. Only four shots left. No trail, no men, nada (nothing). Indian country. We look one more day; then we find the river Arkansaw.”
“Go to ’Nited States?” Stub queried.