CHAPTER XXIX.

THE SCOUT VISITS SITTING BULL.

The Indian band--what was left of it--was gone, not to return. The braves had good cause to believe that the settler had a small army of men hidden behind every hillock and every clump of sage brush.

The settler came out to thank the scout and his pards and to express his wonder at their presence. It seemed to him almost as if they had dropped from the sky to his assistance. He said it was the largest band of Indians he had ever seen in the valley and he had lived there six years, and had twice before been attacked by red marauders.

That he was watchful and prepared for them, the scout had seen, but he cautioned the settler to be doubly careful in future, for the Sioux were on the warpath and were centring in the Big Horn country. This valley was out of the natural course, but some tribes might send delegations this way.

The settler had made a trip to Fort Phil Kearney the previous year and was well supplied with the latest in arms and ammunition. He was prospering, he said; his herd was increasing, and he easily provided vegetables for his family by cultivating along the bank of the creek. Buffalo and antelope were plentiful and fish and fowl an everyday dish. He would not be driven out; he had come here to live and rear his family, and only death would drive him out. He and his wife and children loved the wild, free life.

Of such were the builders of the West--hardy and brave, and determined. They blocked out the frame of the vast and rich country that can feed nations.

Buffalo Bill made himself known and introduced his pards and the boy. He also told the settler of the miners in the mountains to the east--his neighbors. An invitation was sent to them to call at the settler’s cabin and partake of an old-fashioned Eastern dinner.

The scout assured the settler and his wife that he would gladly bear the message and could promise an early visit from the miners, who appeared like honest and respectable men.

Letters were hastily prepared to send to friends in the East, and then the pards were persuaded to remain at the cabin till daylight, when they could make much easier progress across the mountains.

At the first streak of day a bounteous repast was spread by the settler’s wife, and all did honor to it.

Good-bys were said, and the pards left the settler guarding his herd with rifle across his knees, and keen eyes constantly scanning the plain.

The scout determined to return directly to the mountain retreat of the miners and hear the reports of the other parties before continuing the hunt.

He was anxious to capture Price and Ike, and he was just as desirous of getting in touch with White-man-runs-him, who had promised to guide him to the headquarters of Sitting Bull himself, somewhere along the Big Horn Cañon.

The scout had little fear of the red trailer disappointing him, for he knew Indian traits so well. He also knew that it would be useless to hunt for White-man-runs-him, and felt quite confident the trailer would show up by the allotted day on the next moon, but he wondered where the Indian could be spending the time, meanwhile.

Several days passed and the search for Price and Ike was still unrewarded. The scout and his pards had scoured the mountains for miles in every direction unavailingly. If the outlaws were there they had a safe hiding place and food supply.

But the search had brought its reward in one way, for the miners had discovered gold and a lead that promised fortune. They were happy, in consequence, and already were talking of the joys of returning East with money to pay off mortgages, buy homes, educate children, etc.

It was such as these who blazed the trail--men driven to face with grim determination the hardships of such a life, by the necessities of loved ones--wives or aged parents, who needed homes; children who deserved opportunities in the future.

One morning very early an Indian stalked into camp, much to the surprise and alarm of the miners, at first.

“How?” he said, and sat by the fire without another word.

Buffalo Bill had not arisen from his blanket, but came out, extended his hand, said “how,” and sat beside the Indian.

Neither spoke until breakfast had been prepared and eaten and the pipes had been lighted, then the Indian asked:

“Is Pa-e-has-ka ready?”

“He is, White-man-runs-him,” the scout answered.

“It is good,” said the Indian, pulling steadily at his pipe.

At last the Indian arose and said:

“Come.”

“How far?” asked the scout.

“Two suns.”

“With ponies?”

“One sun.”

“We will go with ponies,” said the scout.

“Good.”

Cayuse saddled Bear Paw and brought out the pony that had followed from the plain, for the Indian.

White-man-runs-him examined the pony carefully and expressed himself with:

“Heap good pony.”

“Yes,” answered the scout; “he is a very good pony; he is yours.”

“Ugh!” grunted the Indian, once more going over the handsome little animal, and then swinging upon his back with evident satisfaction.

Buffalo Bill’s pards were left in the hills and continued to prosecute the search for Price and Ike, while the scout rode off to visit Sitting Bull, near Big Horn Cañon.

That Buffalo Bill’s interview with the powerful chief of the Dakota nation was fruitless is a matter of history. The Napoleon of the Sioux would hear to no terms. He was defiant. He said his people had been robbed, and now the Great Father at Washington had demanded the land on which they lived. The white man with the pick and shovel, and with traps and gun were killing off and driving the game and fur from the red man’s hunting grounds. They would move no more. If the red man was to be driven from the face of the earth it must be done with bullet and steel.

The Indian chief would listen to no argument or appeal. Crazy Horse, who had combined forces with Sitting Bull, held the same views and determination. Both recognized and proclaimed the friendship of Pa-e-has-ka, the Long Hair, to their followers, but they were obdurate. Pa-e-has-ka’s tongue was straight, and he did not know of all the crooked tongues of his people. If the Sioux were to be moved let the white soldiers come and move them.

Such were the replies to the scout’s entreaties for the red man and the white brothers. He would have averted war, but they would fight, and such must be the report of Buffalo Bill to the Great Father at Washington.

The scout shook hands with Sitting Bull sadly, and the immobile countenance of the chief expressed less of his emotions than did the warm pressure of Pa-e-has-ka’s hand.

The return to the heavy hills along what is now known as Pryor Creek, or rather to the range lying between that river and Beauvais Creek, was without incident, and nothing but the most friendly feeling was expressed by the Indians met. These parties frequently asked for information concerning the whereabouts of the headquarters of Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, Spotted Tail, Red Cloud, and others. They were little bands of braves contributed by tribes far and near going to the aid of the uprising organized by Sitting Bull.

The bloody war which followed in the next few months is well within the memory of the present generation, and it behooves all well-regulated boyish minds to familiarize themselves with that important part of our nation’s history, but which it is not my province to relate.