This sad duty performed, a council was held, and after due consideration it was decided that Frank Armond and Walter Lyman, with the Irishman, should pursue a southward direction through the Black Hills, while Willis Armond and Ralph Rodman, accompanied by Ebony Jim, should take a south-westerly course, and in case they did not overtake the savages before they reached their village, they were all to meet at a certain point near the stronghold known to the hunters, when they would make other arrangements.
Scarcely an hour after their departure, a score of savages emerged from the forest into the little glade, and, as their eyes fell upon the lifeless forms of their friends lying around, they uttered a wild, revengeful cry, and turning, they glided away into the woods like so many blood-hounds, directly upon the trail of the white men.
The course of Flick O’Flynn and party lay through the heart of the Black Hills, and over a rough, mountainous region, but they pushed rapidly ahead, hoping to overtake the savages before reaching the village.
The first day’s travel found them but fifteen miles from where they had started in the morning. At the end of the second day’s journey, they went into camp about two miles from the Medicine Bow river.
Almost wearied out, Walter and Frank stretched themselves upon the ground to talk over their serious predicament, while the Irishman struck a fire by which to prepare supper. But unfortunately, when the fire was struck there was nothing to prepare for supper, so O’Flynn proposed to go in search of game, leaving the young men at camp.
In a few moments after his departure, the young unskilled sportsmen seemed to forget the caution enjoined upon them by the hunter, and producing a pack of cards, concluded to indulge in the pleasant pastime of “seven-up,” until the loquacious friend and guide returned. However, the beginning of the game seemed to have been ominous of evil, for at that moment, four dark figures glided from the deepening shadows of the woods with a hideous yell, and, ere the young men had time to realize “the run of the game,” they were stretched upon the ground and bound hand and foot, prisoners in the hands of the Cheyennes.
Having secured their prisoners they set off toward the river, compelling the whites, with their hands tied behind their backs, to walk in advance.
In the mean time Flick was continuing his hunt.
He had pursued his course across the bottom to the river without finding any game, and turning, he proceeded down the stream. He had gone but a short distance in this direction when he spied a large canoe with a solitary Indian in it, moored near the bank. The savage evidently was waiting for some one, judging from the impatient look he would now and then flash into the woods at his side. Simultaneous with the discovery of the Indian, the Irishman heard a loud yell in the direction of the camp, and well he knew its import. But, to be certain, he turned and hastened back toward his friends, and as he neared the camp he saw that his fears were confirmed. Frank and Walter were prisoners and were being conducted through the forest toward the river.
The savages were going directly toward that point on the river where he had seen the Indian in the canoe, and he knew full well that he was one of the same party. So, turning, he ran with all possible speed back to the river. He reached the bank several rods above where the Indian still sat in the canoe, and, dropping upon his hands and knees, he began crawling down toward the red-skin.