“In the Red Desert, sir. He and the rest of the party are with the Bates party, but he sent my pardner and me in with dispatches for General Casement.”
“All right. You’ll find General Casement at Cheyenne. They’re still doing business with end o’ track. I saw your old yellow mule, and one of the Muldoons on her back. Now you and your partner crawl under a wagon and help out. Grab a gun apiece. You can shoot? Good!”
The Pawnees had disappeared; and although the wagon corral waited all the afternoon, they did not return—did not come even into sight, again!
Several other Sioux were to be seen, in the rough country north of the line. They seemed to be spying. They did not venture nearer, but Major Hurd was wise enough not to open the corral; all along the line the graders’ camps, if they knew about the enemy, were playing safe, too.
Dusk settled, and still there was no sign of the Pawnees.
“This will never do,” finally Major Hurd declared. “We’re only twenty miles from Cheyenne, and the whole line is being held up. I hate to spare a single man, but we’ll have to send back for an escort, colonel. I can’t risk taking this train on, without better protection. It’s too valuable a prize.”
“You can detail a couple of those soldiers, I suppose.”
“We may need them; but it can’t be helped. Where’s the corporal? I’ll——”
George nudged Terry, and Terry understood. He stood forward and saluted.
“We’ll go, major. We’re carrying dispatches anyway.”