CHAPTER XI
MAJOR HURD IN A FIX
After all, it seemed good to be getting back into the midst of things again. Now George was all on fire to hasten ahead, and see the “doings.” So they stopped for only a night at the outpost of Fort Sanders on the Laramie River at the western foot of the Black Hills, twenty-two miles from the summit.
“Colonel Gibbon has directed that I furnish you with another escort,” said Lieutenant Wanless.
“We don’t need an escort now, lieutenant. The trail’s plain. There’ll be the graders’ camps,” objected Terry.
“Yes, and there’ll be the Sioux,” smiled the lieutenant. “They and the Cheyennes are busy—making their last fight, I guess. They’ve tied up operations several times since you passed through. Either you take the escort or you don’t go on.”
“Shucks!” George grumbled, privately. “We could travel faster alone. I want to see what’s on the other side of the hills.”
But orders being orders, they set out with a squad of G Company of the good old Second Cavalry, who were instructed to land them with the first survey party going in.
Yes, those were the advance graders, all right—sweaty, grimy, jovial Irishmen in their red shirts and scuffed boots and brogans, just knocking off work for nooning when the Fort Sanders escort, convoying two explorers, trotted in.
“An’ where have yez been?” asked the boss, Big Mike, curiously, of Terry.
“Into the Red Desert with General Dodge, for me, laying out the trail for you fellows. But my pardner’s been clear to the Green on the other side.”