CHAPTER XXVIII.
Getting Ready For the Fight.
All the cavalry stationed at Fort Scott was in line. The “Sorrels,” the “Blacks,” the “Grays” and the “Bays”—so called from the color of the horses they rode—were there, eager for a move; and they all had their heavy overcoats on, and were equipped for a long and heavy march. The weather was as fine as anybody could ask for at that season of the year; the mornings were crisp and cold—just the time to put both horses and men in good trim for a headlong gallop; but everybody knew that by the time they got back again they would bring a blizzard with them.
Lieutenant Parker sat erect on his horse, with his eyes “straight to the front, striking the ground at a distance of fifteen yards;” but he had an eye out for Carl, the Trailer. Without turning his head he saw him rush into his room, and when he came out again he did not look much like the boy who had gone in a few moments before. He was bundled up all ready for a march. He saw him mount his horse—a sorry-looking old horse it was, too—ride around in the rear of the line, and take up a position a short distance behind his friend. The colonel exchanged a few words with the captain he was going to leave in command of the post, and then turned to the adjutant, who started off to put the column in motion. “Fours right!” he shouted; and in a few minutes the men were through the gate and threading their way across the prairie.
“I declare, you got a horse, didn’t you?” said the lieutenant, who, now that the line was fairly in motion, could talk all he wanted to. “Who’s is it? I hope the Indians will not get after us. If they do, you are gone up.”
“Where are we going—do you know?” asked Carl.
“I don’t know for certain, but from something I heard the colonel tell the adjutant I think we are going down to the Bad Lands,” answered Lieutenant Parker. “We are in pursuit of Big Foot, who became alarmed at the death of Sitting Bull and is running off to save himself.”
“If the Indians would just come in and behave themselves they would save lots of lives by it.”
The Bad Lands were quite a distance from Fort Scott—one hundred and ninety-two miles as the crow flies. In order to get upon the trail of Big Foot they were obliged to go across the Cheyenne reservation, through a section of South Dacota, which at that time was not given up to any Indians, and go the whole length of Pine Ridge reservation, before they would come up with him. How the general knew so soon that he was going to run away, was a mystery. Probably he knew something about Big Foot that others did not know, and had had his eye upon him for a long time. He feared Big Foot, with his little band of six hundred Sioux, more than he did the other Indians, and he thought that if he could get him to surrender the Sioux war would be brought to an end at once. But Big Foot had ninety miles the start of him, and those who have followed Indians while they were retreating from a foe know that he would travel night and day but that he would reach his destination before his pursuers did.
The Indians, when they go on the warpath, do not generally take much in the way of plunder to hinder their movements. Everything is thrown away except that which they actually need. Their squaws and children are mounted on fast horses, and they must keep up with the men or stand the chance of being captured. They even throw away their tepee poles, and that is something they do not often do. If they camp in a place where poles cannot be found they have to sleep out in the open air, and an Indian says that is not good for him. When they reach the Bad Lands they are comparatively safe. Nobody knows where those gullies and ravines lead to except the Indian; he knows where he can get water when he wants it, and he knows where the gullies afford the best purpose of resistance. It is no wonder that the Indians go there when they get into trouble. Carl knew all this, and was explaining it to the lieutenant as they rode along.