The single track led on for upwards of a half-mile, where they came upon a hurriedly abandoned campsite. There was a broken tepee-pole, some scraps of deer meat, fragments of clothing, an old moccasin, and a few stray feathers from a war-bonnet. Bright Star ran busily about the place, looking intently at the ground.
“Maybe six, seven, eight Indian,” he told the others, after a time. “Also one pale-face. Big man.”
“Hear that, fellows,” cried Tom, his eyes glinting. “That’s our old pal, Pat Fagan, for sure. He’s turned renegade and joined up with Prairie Wolf and the Sacs, just as we figured.”
“Shall we tell Captain Van Alstyne about this?” inquired Ben.
“Naw,” replied Bill Brown, deep resentment in his tone, “he won’t believe ther’s an Injun war on, till he gits a flyin’ tomahawk in the back o’ his skull.”
CHAPTER 10
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Horsemen of the Prairie
ALL that day, and the next morning, too, the band of troopers from Fort Dearborn continued their steady travel westward, over the rolling prairies of the Illinois country. The four scouts—three whites and one red—led the march, and from time to time the agile Bright Star would alight from his horse and examine the trail they were following. His study always revealed that the Prairie Wolf and his Sacs, together with the deserter, Pat Fagan, were fleeing before them.