Just now Little Cayuse was executing an important commission for Pa-e-has-ka, and the boy’s native pride in positions of trust bade him carry it out with celerity.
As he rode the Indian youth’s eyes constantly swept the plain, not from fear or nervousness, but from force of habit. Indeed, with Navi under him the boy felt that he had no cause to fear anything that stalked the plain, for Navi was tireless and as fleet as the wind.
But Cayuse had not foreseen all the events of the afternoon. As he gazed at a single white spot on the skyline he became convinced that it was a prairie schooner. It seemed to be moving west across his line of travel.
As it came nearer the young Indian could see that the wagon was drawn by four mules which were, apparently, driven by a woman. An Indian on a pony was riding in the wake of the wagon and seemed to be directing the course of this ship of the plains.
The wagon halted where the travelers’ line intersected that of Little Cayuse and waited for him to come up. Cayuse believed it to be a party of white emigrants who were looking for the fort and had missed the trail while attempting to travel at night.
The woman who was driving hailed the Piute as he drew near and asked:
“Where is Fort Phil Kearney?”
Cayuse pointed down the route he was pursuing.
“Will you show us the way?” the woman asked.
“Wuh,” answered the Piute, although he did not care to delay his own trip by bothering with the outfit.