Percy la Clyde stepped forward and addressed Ernest Belden, a soldierly looking man of forty, with a handsome, but dark, sinister face.
“Who were your foes, La Clyde?” asked the officer.
“We have had two sets, major; first the Dog Soldier Sioux, under that desperado, Red Dick, and then none other than Ricardo and his desperate band.”
“A hard lot, indeed, and you have been most fortunate to escape them, and I am glad to see that the scout told me no more than the truth; but where has he gone?” The major turned to look for Buffalo Bill.
“Gone like mad after the outlaw chief; but will we not give pursuit, major?”
“No, Captain la Clyde, it would be useless. Besides, I am now destined upon a raid upon the Sioux village to the northward; so will leave you as soon as day breaks, which will be soon.”
When Captain la Clyde presented his superior to Major Conrad, and also to the ladies, who approached at that moment, he could but mark the start of surprised admiration that the major gave when he beheld the beauty of Sibyl Conrad.
The melancholy duty of caring for the wounded and burying the dead was begun. When the sun arose it lighted up a sad scene, rendered more mournful by the sound of the living wailing for those dear to them, who had fallen.
After a hasty breakfast, Major Belden and his troopers departed, leaving Captain la Clyde, as before, to be the escort of the train. Hardly had the forms of the squadron disappeared over a roll in the prairie, when up dashed Buffalo Bill, his horse covered with foam and showing every indication of a hard ride, as did also his rider, for his face was pale and wore a look of fatigue.
Yet his voice was calm and pleasant, as he replied, in acknowledgment to the cheers given him: