“Look there,” directed Joseph.
On the crest of a hill nearly a mile away appeared three horsemen. That they were Indians was easily seen by their headdresses. One of them carried a flag.
“Who are they, do you suppose?” exclaimed Robert excitedly. He and Joseph and Deerfoot all ran for their horses, but they did not mount. They were waiting for orders, but the other men were apparently mad with excitement, or at least many of them. Shouting and cursing, a large body of them dashed off across the prairie in the direction of the three Indians. Major Stillman and the other officers did their utmost to restrain their followers, but their efforts were useless. The rangers were not accustomed to discipline and obeying orders, and now they paid slight attention to the commands.
“We’ll stay here,” said Joseph. “We’ll show Major Stillman that a few of us know enough to do as we’re told, anyway.”
“Who are those Indians, I want to know?” cried Robert.
“Black Hawk men,” said Deerfoot.
“But what is that flag?” Robert persisted.
“White flag,” explained the Indian, whose eyesight was far better than that of either of his young friends.
“Sure enough,” exclaimed Joseph. “They’re probably messengers from Black Hawk. They’ve got a flag of truce anyway.”
“It doesn’t look as if it was going to be respected though,” said Robert. “Just see the way those men are rushing at the messengers.”