“Hold on, Jack!” cried Mr. Bunter a second time, “the lieutenant ain’t through yet.” And Jack unwillingly ceased his labors for awhile.
“I have finished,” said the lieutenant. “I am but a poor hand at public praying; but if I spoke for an hour it would amount to no more than what I have said.”
“We don’t know whose turn it may be next,” said a young driver, feeling it proper to indulge in the hackneyed morality of such occasions—words given forth, perhaps, as mere conversational small change; but their truth was made terribly manifest shortly after. It was the young driver’s turn next. A month had not elapsed before he was killed and scalped within a mile of the station. When I passed there at a later period, they recalled what he had said, and showed me his grave by the side of MacSorley’s.
ROUTE IV.
The Big Sandy Station soon became terribly dull. I felt I would rather risk being scalped than stay there any longer. Learning that some emigrants with their families, two wagons, etc., were about to push westward, and that the lieutenant had determined to go to the next station with them, though they set out against his advice, I concluded to go on with him.
We made an early start next morning. We had two government wagons and some half a dozen men besides the emigrant contingent. When we had reached a point about a mile and a half from Big Sandy Station, the sergeant said to the lieutenant in a low tone:
“Lieutenant, there are Indians on that hill in front of us.”
The hill was about fifteen hundred yards distant. The lieutenant called a halt, and examined the redskins through a field-glass.
“They are Indians,” he said, “and in pretty strong force,” at the same time handing me the glass.
The hillside literally swarmed with mounted Indians, moving incessantly, like ants crawling up and down an ant-hill. The dust of two parties—each about fifty strong, judging by that indication—could be seen rising from a ravine which ran along the base of the hill and across the road over which lay our route. It was also noticed that the dust aforesaid ceased at the road.