“We ought to have some guns along so as to get them out of those ravines,” said Parker.
“If we could get an enfilading fire on them——”
“Well, perhaps we shall pick up some guns as we go along,” said Carl. “But I know that it is useless to try them with small arms. Give an Indian five minutes’ start and you will never see him again. Just wait until you see the Bad Lands. There is not a tree or a bush on it, and how the Indians can live there beats me.”
At this moment the adjutant galloped up and interrupted their conversation.
“Preston, the colonel wants you out ahead,” said he.
“I don’t know whether I can show him the way or not,” said Carl, a little taken back by this order. “But I will have to go and try. Good-by, Parker. I’ll see you when we get into a fight with the Indians.”
Carl rode up and saluted the colonel, and was ordered to put himself on the trail and go ahead as fast as his pony could stand it. The trail was plain enough,—it had been made by the Indians while going to and from the Pine Ridge Agency,—and Carl at once put his pony into a trot and followed it up without any hesitation at all. The column was kept closed up all the while, and there was no talking allowed in the ranks. They kept on until they reached some willows that fringed the banks of a stream, and there the colonel announced that they would stop to allow their horses a few moments of rest and to wait for the wagons, which were lumbering along some distance in the rear. At the end of an hour, having eaten their dinner and smoked their pipes, the column mounted again and set off in pursuit of Big Foot.
“Well, Carl, what do you think of it?” asked the colonel, as he rode up beside the scout, who was going along in his usual trot. “Is this what you came to the fort for—to hunt Indians?”
“Yes, sir; but I think you had better hold up a bit,” answered Carl. “Your horses do not act as though they could stand it, and they will be pretty well played out to-night.”
“Why, your horse doesn’t seem to mind it a bit,” said the colonel.