“A courier came into the camp and reported it, and I jumped at the chance for escape.”
“Who killed him?”
“The Indian police. Now, do you think I ought to report that to the colonel or wait until morning?”
“Go at once and report it. So Sitting Bull is dead. Come back here after you see the colonel and tell me your story.”
“I will, after I get something to eat and put some extra clothes on. I haven’t had these duds off for a week.”
“I will get you something to eat,” said the lieutenant. “I am anxious to hear what Sitting Bull did.”
The two boys went out, and Carl bent his steps toward the colonel’s room. The orderly, who sat at a table in the hall reading, was overjoyed to see Carl once more, and after listening to his report that he had something to say to the commander that ought not to be kept until to-morrow, went into where the colonel was lying.
“He will see you,” said he. “He won’t get up.”
The colonel was sitting up in bed, striving with both hands to make his few gray hairs cover his bald head, but he extended a palm to Carl and greeted him warmly.
“So General Miles took me at my word, did he?” he asked.