THE WAR TRAIL
CHAPTER I
A COURIER FROM THE WEST
The sun was setting behind the western rim of the plain, as White Otter, a famous young war-chief of the Ogalala Sioux, drew near the low ridge of foothills which he had been approaching since daylight. He was bound on a hunting expedition for deer, having promised to kill a fat young buck for his grandfather, old Wolf Robe, the aged Sioux chief.
White Otter approached the timber with his usual caution. He knew that the forest often concealed foes as well as game, and he determined to take no risks. He rode slowly toward the cover, therefore, watching for the slightest warning of danger. He was within easy arrow range of the woods when his pony suddenly stopped and snorted nervously. White Otter instantly became alert. Drawing his bow, he slid to the ground, and sheltered himself behind his pony. Then for some time pony and rider watched the forest.
A loud crackling of undergrowth, and a number of soft, bounding footfalls told him the cause of his alarm. He had startled a deer from its feeding ground at the edge of the plain. Convinced that the place was free of foes, he mounted his pony, and rode to the edge of the timber.
This range of heavily timbered foothills was a favorite hunting ground of the Ogalalas, and White Otter had visited the locality many times. He was entirely familiar with the usual haunts of game, and knew the location of every spring and salt lick. Once in the timber, therefore, the young Sioux rode slowly along a well-worn game trail which brought him to a small grassy park in the dip of the hills. A little stream trickled through one end of it, and made it an ideal feeding ground for deer and elk. As it was also an attractive and sheltered camp site, and offered an abundance of feed for his pony, White Otter decided to remain there for the night.
The twilight shadows were already gathering as the Sioux tied his pony in the woods and seated himself at the edge of the little park to watch and listen. Although the day was about gone he hoped that he might secure his game before darkness finally settled down. It was not long before he was roused by a rustling of wings above his head. Looking up, he saw a pair of plump spruce grouse on a limb directly over him. As the birds stretched their necks and cocked their heads to look at him, he drove an arrow through the body of the cock grouse. The bird fluttered helplessly to the ground, and White Otter immediately broke its neck. The remaining grouse still sat peering down at him. He made no attempt to kill it. It was a law of his people to kill only what they required that there might always be sufficient game to replenish the supply.