“A cavalry horse,” exclaimed the general, quickly. “There’s the U. S. on its shoulder, and saddle marks on its back.”
“It’s out of the Second Cavalry, too, general,” added Major Elliot. “When I was at Sedgwick I noticed a full company mounted on white horses.”
“Do you see any Indian sign, Comstock?—As to who did this? Or whether there’s been a fight?” demanded the general.
Scout Comstock and the Delawares examined the carcass, and the ground around-about, for token of arrow or cartridge-shells or pony tracks; but they could find nothing. The horse had been shot and stripped; that was all.
“Then there’s the chance, isn’t there,” proposed Major Elliot, “that the animal may have dropped out, and that they shot him and took his saddle and bridle to prevent the Indians making use of him?”
“We must hope so,” answered the general.
Yes, they all hoped so; but presently, on the march, Comstock spoke, from where he was skirting the wagon-trail.
“There’s somethin’ wrong, sure, gen’ral. Now we’re diskivverin’ signs that talk. This here party we’re follerin’ has quickened up an’ spread out more irregular, so they’re on both sides the trail, as well as in it.”
“And there’s another dead horse, isn’t it?” directed Major Elliot.
Yes, a second dead white horse awaited, just ahead; shot in the trail, and stripped, like the first.