CHAPTER XXVII.
Off to the Front.
But Carl’s way was not clear yet. He had one hundred and twenty-five miles to go before he would be among friends, and not a mouthful to eat while he was travelling that distance. It was true that he had revolvers in his pockets, and that jack rabbits were plenty. He had matches, too, in his possession, so that he could cook the meat after he shot it, but the report of his revolver might start the Indians looking for him. The boy thought of this as he sped on his way, and by the time daylight arrived he stood upon the banks of Grand River, which separated him from the trail that led to Fort Scott. Before he took to the willows he looked cautiously around, but there were no Indians to be seen.
“Those Indians who were going to the Bad Lands to fight the whites must have gone by the upper trail,” said Carl, as he took off his blanket and drew his revolvers, which he took in one hand and held above his head. “If that is the case I am all right. Lie there,” he added, throwing the blanket into the willows. “I have carried you twenty-five miles, and you haven’t done me any good, either.”
Carl took another glance around to make sure that the way was clear, and entered the water. He did not know how deep the water was, but by swimming and wading alternately he managed to cross the river, and without any more reconnoitering he struck out straight for the fort. During all his lonely journey he did not see an Indian, or a white man, either, to whom he could give the news of Sitting Bull’s death—for it was the source of a great deal of satisfaction to him. The brains of the Sioux nation were gone, and where would they look to find another man to take his place? Every time he thought of it he felt like yelling; and one time he did raise his voice, but stopped all of a sudden, and glanced around to see if there was anybody within hearing.
The day passed away and night came on, but the fort was every moment drawing nearer. He was tired and sleepy, but he could not think of stopping to rest until he conveyed the news to the commander of Fort Scott. He was certain that there had not been anybody along the trail, for he would have seen them; so he was going to be the first to carry the information. About twelve o’clock he became aware that he was at his journey’s end. He heard a challenge directly in front of him, and Carl came to a standstill. It seemed to him that the corporal was a long time in coming, but he heard the gate unfastened at last, and the non-commissioned officer came out.
“Who are you?” he asked, bending over and looking into Carl’s face.
“Well, I guess I have got a right here,” said the young scout. “Don’t you know me?”
“By gracious!” exclaimed the corporal. “Carl, the Trailer!”
“That is just what they call me when I am here among friends. I am tired and sleepy, but I want first to see the colonel. I have a report to make to him.”
“Come in. Lieutenant Parker is officer of the guard, and I know he will be delighted to see you. He has been on nettles every time your name is mentioned.”