Part 28 (2/2)

”But how did you know to stop in St. Louis?” asked Al.

”Why, I hunted up Uncle Will, of course, to have him help me get to Minnesota, and then I was so glad to find that mama and Annie were here,” Tommy replied. ”What a hunt you have had for me, dear old brother!”

”Yes, but now we are together again, so everything has come out for the best, even though I didn't find you myself. Mother, where is Annie?”

”She is in school,” answered Mrs. Briscoe. ”But she will be home at three o 'clock. Tommy should be there, too, but he will not start until next Monday. He is far back in studies for his age.”

”But he must have learned many things in the last two years which he never could have learned in school,” said Wallace, who had been warmly and affectionately greeted by Mrs. Briscoe.

”Yes, I did,” admitted Tommy. ”It was a great life up there among the Indians, and Te-o-kun-ko was always very good to me, and so were his squaw and the children. I think a lot of them all.”

”We were a little afraid you might grow to think so much of them and of their life that you would not want to come back to us,” said Al.

Tommy glanced at him reproachfully.

”Why, Al,” he exclaimed, ”how could you think I would ever care as much for any one as for mama and you and Annie and--” a shadow crossed his face, ”papa,” he added.

Al, judging that his young brother did not yet realize any connection of Te-o-kun-ko with Mr. Briscoe's death, and deciding not to explain it until some later time, answered,

”We couldn't be sure, Tommy, for you know such things have happened.”

”I was always sure,” remarked Mrs. Briscoe, calmly, and, indeed, there was no question that her mother's instinct had been correct, as it almost always is.

”Well,” said Wallace, ”with all the knowledge of the Indians and their ways you have gained, you ought to make a capital scout.”

Tommy looked at him thoughtfully. ”Perhaps I will--some day,” he replied. ”But first I want to learn the things that other fellows know, because I don't believe that without them, it is much use just to be able to ride and shoot and track game and so on.”

”Now, Al,” Mrs. Briscoe interrupted, turning toward the door, ”we all, your aunt and uncle, too, will be eager to know what has happened to you in the last six months, especially since you started west from Fort Rice. The last letter I had from you was the one you sent from there, on the eighteenth of July.”

”There has been no chance to send you any since,” replied Al. ”And I got your last letter, dated June 20, at Fort Rice on my way down from the Yellowstone. So we shall all have much to tell each other. Although I didn't succeed in rescuing Tommy in the way I hoped to do,” he put his arm affectionately over his small brother's shoulders, ”I believe this trip of mine has been good for me, and will be in the future for all of us.”

And so, indeed, it proved, for the following year Al readily secured an appointment to West Point through the hearty endors.e.m.e.nts of General Sully and other army officers whom he had come to know in the Northwest; and the father of Wallace Smith, after the close of the war had brought prosperity and new floods of settlers to the Minnesota frontier, was able to help Mrs. Briscoe to such a profitable sale of her desirable claim near Fort Ridgely that she had enough to live upon comfortably at her sister's hospitable home in St. Louis, while Tommy and Annie were completing their education in the excellent schools of that city, and sometimes spending a vacation in cruising up and down the Mississippi on Captain Lamont's fine steamer. Thus Al's unselfish enterprise on behalf of his brother, begun under such discouraging circ.u.mstances, resulted, directly or indirectly, in advancing the interests and happiness of himself and all those dearest to him; and he never had cause for anything but grat.i.tude and rejoicing over the friends made and the experiences gained during his adventurous Summer with Sully in the Sioux land.

THE END

<script>