Colonel Forsythe, a man of indomitable pluck, and a skilled officer, himself ready to do and dare anything for his country, gazed at the painted face of Kit Carey with a look of considerable interest, for well he knew that the young officer had not thus disguised, and I may say disfigured himself, without some good reason.
To be thus in the costume and war-paint of a Sioux chief meant a great deal for one of Kit Carey's record, and that record was pretty well known in the army by his brother officers and men alike.
His career as a border boy, then his cadetship at West Point, followed by his brilliant Indian campaigning in the Black Hills country, and again fighting the Apaches, to be sent back to his old commander and friend, Colonel Crandall, had made the name of Kit Carey, first lieutenant of cavalry, a popular one in the army, and it was respected by all who knew his record.
Now he had come to the front on special duty, and Colonel Forsythe had no doubt but that he had already done good service.
"I will make my report, Colonel Forsythe, and then slip out of this rig, and try and appear as a pale-face," said Kit Carey, amused at the manner in which the colonel regarded him.
"You have been called a very handsome man, Carey, but, my word for it, your best girl would deny the impeachment if she saw you now," Captain Wallace said, with a laugh.
"If we could keep him in that make-up there would be more chance for us homely fellows with the girls," muttered a handsome young lieutenant.
"I'll hear your report, Lieutenant Carey," Colonel Forsythe said, and thus commanded the officer-spy responded:
"I disguised myself, sir, to enter the camp of Big Foot, feeling sure that he was playing a double game. My orders, sir, were to take a squad of Indian cavalry and scout thoroughly about the Bad Lands, and to report to the different commanders the actions of the hostiles."