A few settlers' homes had been burned, several wagon-trains attacked, cattle run off and horses stolen, with here and there a fatal shot fired, yet there had been no open warfare yet.
Still Kit Carey knew that a chance to strike their pale-face foes was all that the Sioux needed, and he was well aware that they would do so now, if they supposed it to their interest to prevent a communication that might tell against them from reaching the military commander then pressing troops to the field with all dispatch to put them down.
With her army jacket and her hat, at a distance Emma Foshay would be taken for an officer, Kit Carey well understood; but he determined to push on, as he dared not trust to the Indians, not knowing their humor.
If he attempted to fly then they would soon show their intentions by opening fire, and in such case to run for it was all that could be done.
"We will not make their closer acquaintance, Miss Foshay, but do what the Confederates used to call skedaddle. If they fire on us, then our horses must show their speed."
"I am ready, Lieutenant Carey," was the calm rejoinder of the young girl, and the two horses bounded away together.
Thus far the Indians had only come at a run over the hill, though some of them had given utterance to a wild yell.
The keen eyes of Kit Carey saw that they were in full war-paint, and he felt that to fly was their only safety.
Had he been alone he might have been tempted to test their friendship by a parley, but with Emma Foshay along, he dared not.
He was not willing to fire the first shot, the Sioux must do that.