Part 9 (1/2)

As he gained the top of the rise, Al saw a confused and scattered array of hors.e.m.e.n just ahead of him, all going at a sharp gallop with no attempt at formation, the men leaning forward in their saddles as if riding to the finish of a hard race. He understood that it was a foolish pace for what would probably prove a long pursuit, but nothing could be done to slacken it until he could overtake Captain Miner, who was at the very head of the company. Al and every one else had been very much surprised at the impetuous manner in which Captain Miner had started out, for though brave as a lion, he was usually very deliberate in movement and gentle of speech and his voice had a plaintive, appealing tone which often contrasted oddly with the orders he was giving.

Altogether, his das.h.i.+ng and devoted followers often found much to amuse them in the ways of their mild commander. That he had been profoundly moved by the death of Captain Feilner was evident; otherwise he would never have urged his little roan mare to a gallop, for his habit was to ride her at an ambling trot, even in the most exciting and dangerous situations.

Al hurried his own wiry little horse to greater exertions and began forging to the front. Before long he left all except the leaders behind and as they went over the hill and down into the valley of the Cheyenne, he was almost up to Captain Miner. The latter's face was set steadily to the front, however, as he scanned the country ahead for sight of the fugitive Indians, and Al could not attract his attention until he had overtaken him, almost on the bank of the creek. Then he shouted,

”Captain Miner! Captain Miner!”

The Captain turned and drew in his horse.

”Well?” he inquired, lifting his eyebrows slightly, ”What is it?” It was plain he had recovered his composure, for his voice was placid.

”General Sully's compliments, sir, and he suggests that you take it a little slower, as the horses may be exhausted before you can catch the Indians,” answered Al.

Captain Miner pulled at his beard thoughtfully.

”Oh, pshaw!” he said, a disapproving note in his voice, ”I wonder how we are to catch them if we don't keep going?”

”I don't know, sir,” replied Al, as side by side they rode their horses into the creek, ”but that was what the General told me to say to you.”

The stream was shallow and narrow but its banks were composed of deep, swampy mud through which their horses floundered and plunged, knee deep.

Above and below them soldiers of the Coyotes were coming at the stream, some clearing it in a bound, where the banks were solid enough for a jump, while others became so deeply mired that they could not get out again until the rest of the command had pa.s.sed from sight beyond. Just as Al's and the Captain's horses waded out of the creek and came up, snorting, on the opposite bank, they heard some of the men already across, shouting,

”There are the Indians! Over there!”

At this moment a headquarters orderly galloped into sight and halted beside the Captain.

”The General is afraid you will ruin your horses,” he cried. ”He thinks you had better come back.”

Again Captain Miner tugged at his beard, a habit of his when annoyed or perplexed.

”Is that an order?” he inquired.

”No, sir, I think not,” the orderly replied, hesitatingly. ”It's a suggestion.”

”Well,” directed the Captain, gently, ”will you, then, please report to the General that we are in sight of the Indians and without I have a positive order to return, I propose to take them.”

He turned to the front again and put his little roan into her accustomed trot, calling out to the men nearest him, as he waved his hand at them,

”Take it a bit slower, boys; don't run your horses. We'll catch the Indians all right.”

Al's ambitious little sorrel, seeing other horses ahead of him, was tugging at the bit and Al gradually let him have his head, leaving the Captain a short distance behind while the rest of the company was strung out for a mile or more in the rear. Al soon found himself among the leaders, riding neck and neck with Sergeant English and Corporal Wright, while Troopers Tom Frick, George Pike, George McClellan, and others whose names he did not know were near to them. The country was almost level where they were riding and they could now see the three Indians plainly, though still a long way ahead. The fugitives were pus.h.i.+ng with all the speed they could make for a group of rough hills in advance, evidently hoping to escape pursuit in the ravines. To reach the hills, their course must be at a slight angle across that of the soldiers.

”Let's try to head them off,” suggested Sergeant English. ”Bear a little to the right.”

The change of direction was made and as they continued to creep up on the Indians, whose ponies were evidently wearing out, they could see the latter look around anxiously every minute or two. The savages were urging their animals with quirt and heel, and though they responded but feebly, their strength lasted long enough to take them to the base of the hills before the pursuers had come within carbine range. As they reached the first steep slope, the Indians suddenly threw themselves from their ponies' backs and, clinging to their guns, ran up to the top of the hill on foot and disappeared. As they came nearer to the hill, the soldiers were startled to see on its crest, just where the fugitives had disappeared, a very large body of warriors with war-bonnets and robes waving in the breeze.

”Well, say, what do you think of that?” exclaimed Corporal Wright.

”There must be two or three hundred of them.”

The advance party reluctantly slowed down until Captain Miner and some of the other men had come up to them. The Captain examined for a moment the ominous looking group ahead. Then he turned a wistful glance on the thirty or forty men behind him and said, plaintively,

”There seem to be a good many of them, but I think we'd better charge, boys.” He touched his mare and trotted forward, calling in a soothing tone, ”Yes, that's what we'll do. Charge, boys, charge.”