“You like those chaps,” said Mr Rawlings with a smile, “dearly, eh?”
“I do ‘muchly,’ as Artemus Ward says,” responded Ernest. “I should like to pay them out! But to make a long story short, with the remaining two Indian guides—who only came with me after I promised them a small fortune on my reaching a settlement—I managed to lose my way utterly; and then having lost the guides also, I wandered about hungry and cold until I met your hunters amongst the mountains, when all my troubles were ended.”
“Thank goodness they met you!” said Mr Rawlings cordially. “But those Indians must have deserted,” he continued musingly. “They are much too knowing to have lost their way.”
“Yes, I know it,” said Ernest Wilton. “They were afraid of encountering any of the Sioux, who are near you, I think.”
“Yes, too close to be pleasant,” said Mr Rawlings. “But we have not had any trouble with them yet.”
“And I hope you won’t at all,” responded the other with much heartiness. “Those Crow Indians with me were continually talking about Red Cloud and Spotted Tail. I think those were the names of the chiefs they mentioned.”
“Yes,” replied Mr Rawlings, “both have Indian reservations in Dakota.”
“Is that so? I thought that might be only their yarring when they said so; but they mentioned those two chiefs in particular, I remember now, and asserted that they intended ‘digging up the hatchet,’ as they termed it in their euphonious language, as soon as the spring came round! However, I wouldn’t place much credence in their statement, I assure you. Those Crows are such curs that they would say anything rather than venture ‘within measurable distance,’ as the phrase goes, of a possible enemy.” And Ernest Wilton laughed.
“I have heard some similar rumours myself,” said Mr Rawlings more gravely. “The last scout that came here from the township, just before the winter set in regularly, brought word that the Sioux were preparing for the war-path, or something to that effect; and, as the red men themselves say, there is never much smoke without fire. I hope to goodness, though, that it is only rumour! An Indian war is a terrible thing, my boy. I’ve seen the effects of one, years since, and never forgotten it,”—and Mr Rawlings laid his hand on Ernest Wilton’s shoulder, as if to impress his words more strongly. “It wouldn’t be pleasant for us here were another to break out now, and we so far from the settlements.”
“Isn’t there a military station near this of the United States troops?” asked the young engineer.