The Indian police were as yet untried in war against their own race, and with the medicine men of the tribes urging them to madness almost in regard to the coming of a redskin messiah to aid them in wiping the pale faces off the earth, and again becoming the masters of their country.
Might not some, if not all, of those under his command prove treacherous?
It was a question that could not be readily answered; but he was launched upon his special work and must abide the consequences.
It was true that the Indian guards had proven heroes, and true as steel in the capture of Sitting Bull, but then the redskins were as fickle as the wind, here to-day and gone to-morrow, friends by day and foes by night.
Still Kit Carey hoped for the best, and at the head of his redskin cavalry boldly plunged into the dangers before him.
The Indians, having broken away from the reservations, and corrals held about them by the wavering line of soldiers, the young officer knew that to hover about the Bad Lands was his duty, and only chance of discovering the information he sought.
Knowing the country well he divided his force into squads, sending them to various points, from whence they could watch the trails in and out of the Bad Lands, and the bands that were assembling there.
In this way he hoped to get at the real force of the redskins, and by a round of the posts himself learn just what he wished from his Indian police, as to all movements made under their observation.
"I will learn the exact situation, if I have to go into the Bad Lands myself," he muttered, in his determined way.
When morning came he had placed several observation squads of his men, and by noon had only a dozen left with him.