“It must be that. The Sioux are determined that no one shall cross their reservation. But the first thing we have to do is to get those papers you have in your pocket into the hands of General Miles. We will wait until we see how the matter looks then.”
This was a long time to wait. Lieutenant Parker was anxious that something should be done at once; but Carl kept his horse in a fast walk all the way—sometimes, when he got tired of that, letting him trot for a short distance, and Parker was obliged to keep pace with him.
“Don’t be in too big a hurry,” said the guide, who saw that Lieutenant Parker was slyly pricking his horse with the spur to make him go faster. “Let them go easy now, and save their speed for by and by.”
The guide relapsed into silence, but at the same time his eyes were busy. He kept a close watch over the summit of the neighboring swells to make sure that they had not been seen by some of Sitting Bull’s couriers, who were on the lookout for them to find out where they went. As soon as they found out that the guide and his companion were headed toward Fort Yates they would get ahead of them, and so post the Sioux in regard to their coming. Grand River, which lay immediately across their path, was the permanent camp of the Sioux. Beginning on the right, at the mouth of the river, there was Antelope’s camp, Grand River school, Sitting Bull’s camp, Bull Head’s camp, Pretty Bird’s camp, and Spotted Horse’s camp; and by going farther up the river there was Thunder Hawk’s camp. It did not seem possible that they could get through there without being seen by somebody. And these camps extended for seventy-five miles along the course of the river. Of course Lieutenant Parker did not know this, but the guide did; and, while he kept his gaze wandering over the tops of the hills, he was thinking up some plan by which he might cross the river, get through their lines, and take the trail of fifty miles to the fort. The Grand River school seemed to him to be the best place.
“I wish I knew just what is going on in that camp,” said he, after thinking the matter all over. “Kicking Bull has come up here from the Cheyenne reservation to teach Sitting Bull’s followers the dance, and I would really like to know if he is at it to-night. If he is, we can get across the river anywhere; but if he is not engaged in teaching them, the different camps will be full of Indians, and we shall be seen as surely as we come out of the water. Don’t you wish you had stayed at home?”
“That is a pretty question for you to ask,” returned Lieutenant Parker indignantly. “Somebody has got to do it, and I don’t see why I can’t.”
The guide relapsed into silence again, and for long hours neither of them said a word. Nothing was heard except the faint swishing of the buffalo grass as the horses brushed it aside with their legs, and the faint tread of the animals’ feet upon the sand. Finally the guide allowed his horse to gallop, and that was a great relief to Lieutenant Parker’s feelings. And one thing which surprised Parker was the ease with which Carl’s horse kept up. No matter how fast he went he was always within Parker’s reach. Thus walking and galloping by turns, the hours passed away much sooner than Parker had thought possible, and finally, to his immense satisfaction, the guide pulled up his horse and began to look about him.
“There ought to be a school-house over there,” said he.
“Why, are we at the river?” asked Parker.
“It is only about twenty feet ahead of you. Do you hear any yells anywhere?”