The scouts held brief conversations with the two Generals in Gillem’s head-quarters, and about seven o’clock took their departure.
“I’m not coming back this time without ’Reesa,” said Kit, while he held Davis’ hand.
“Nor I without a canceled account with Rafe Todd,” chimed in the young ranger.
“You can’t kill him!” said Kit, turning to the young speaker. “I told you about my dream. I b’lieve it now as firmly as I b’lieve I live. I’m going to kill that devil myself.”
“Bring him alive into camp, Kit, and we’ll hang him for killing the sergeant, at Fort Crook.”
“Never mind, Gen’ral; I’ll settle the army’s bill against him when I settle mine.”
A few minutes later the scouts left the officers, and, well disguised, hurried toward the outskirts of the camp.
“Why the Indian intends staying about to-night after all,” suddenly whispered Kit to his companion. “I thought Luke Davis, Dave Webb, and Sam Thatcher, war goin’ to the beds with him.”
“The Indian—where is he?” asked young Harris. “I want to see him.”
“There he goes, now look, quick—he’s turning—coming this way—going right toward the boys’ tent.”