LOST WITH
LIEUTENANT PIKE

SECOND IMPRESSION

The American Trail Blazers

“THE STORY GRIPS AND THE HISTORY STICKS”

These books present in the form of vivid and fascinating fiction, the early and adventurous phases of American history. Each volume deals with the life and adventures of one of the great men who made that history, or with some one great event in which, perhaps, several heroic characters were involved. The stories, though based upon accurate historical fact, are rich in color, full of dramatic action, and appeal to the imagination of the red-blooded man or boy.

Each volume illustrated in color and black and white

12mo. Cloth.

• LOST WITH LIEUTENANT PIKE
• GENERAL CROOK AND THE FIGHTING APACHES
• OPENING THE WEST WITH LEWIS AND CLARK
• WITH CARSON AND FREMONT
• DANIEL BOONE: BACKWOODSMAN
• BUFFALO BILL AND THE OVERLAND TRAIL
• CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH
• DAVID CROCKETT: SCOUT
• ON THE PLAINS WITH CUSTER
• GOLD SEEKERS OF ’49
• WITH SAM HOUSTON IN TEXAS

[“IT’S THE WRONG PEAK, MEN—YES, THE WRONG PEAK”]

LOST WITH
LIEUTENANT PIKE

HOW FROM THE PAWNEE VILLAGE THE BOY NAMED SCAR HEAD MARCHED WITH THE YOUNG AMERICAN CHIEF CLEAR INTO THE SNOWY MOUNTAINS; HOW IN THE DEAD OF WINTER THEY SEARCHED FOR THE LOST RIVER AND THOUGHT THAT THEY HAD FOUND IT; AND HOW THE SPANISH SOLDIERY CAME UPON THEM AND TOOK THEM DOWN TO SANTA FÉ OF NEW MEXICO, WHERE ANOTHER SURPRISE AWAITED THEM

BY
EDWIN L. SABIN

AUTHOR OF “GENERAL CROOK AND THE FIGHTING APACHES,”
“OPENING THE WEST WITH LEWIS AND CLARK,”
“BUFFALO BILL AND THE OVERLAND TRAIL,” ETC.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
CHARLES H. STEPHENS
PORTRAIT AND A MAP

PHILADELPHIA & LONDON

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1919, J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS
PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.

TO THOSE
COUNTLESS OTHER AMERICANS

WHO IN 1917 AND 1918 BRAVELY FOLLOWED, LIKE YOUNG
LIEUTENANT PIKE, THE TRAIL OF HONOR, FLAG AND DUTY

I. Always preserve your honor free from blemish.

II. Be ready at all times to die for your country.

General Pike’s rules for his little son.

FOREWORD

This story takes the adventure trail of that young soldier-explorer Zebulon Montgomery Pike, who was lost in the mountains of southern Colorado one hundred years ago. Another story in the Trail Blazers Series has told of Captains Lewis and Clark, who explored the northwestern part of the new Louisiana Territory. They, also, were young. Captain Lewis had just turned thirty. But Lieutenant and Captain Zebulon Pike was younger yet. He was only twenty-seven when, while Lewis and Clark were still out, he was sent to lead a handful of men into the unknown Southwest.

The vast Province of Louisiana, bought by the United States from France three years before, for $15,000,000, was thought by the United States to extend, in the north, from the Mississippi River to the Rocky Mountains; in the south it tapered off to the Gulf of Mexico at New Orleans.

The southwestern boundary was uncertain. The United States claimed clear to the lower Rio Grande River, across Texas; Spain, which had owned Louisiana Territory before the United States bought it from France, claimed north even to the Missouri River. Some said that the Arkansas River of southern Colorado should be the boundary, there; some said the Red River, further south—which was confused with the Canadian River. And when Lieutenant Pike was started out, the United States soldiers and the Spanish soldiers of Mexico faced each other across the Sabine River of the western border of Louisiana State.

So the trail of young Pike and his handful of men pointed into a debated land. If the Indians did not get them, the Spanish might. He had been instructed not to offend the Spanish, and to keep away from their settlements of New Mexico; but he was resolved to stand his ground when he deemed that he was in the right, and to defend the Flag. The Spanish had sent six hundred soldiers, with over two thousand horses and mules, to look for him. He would certainly have fought them all, with his twenty men, had they tried to stop him anywhere outside of New Mexico.

No braver soldiers ever marched than Lieutenant Pike and his little platoon. They lost their way; they struggled with cold below zero and snow to their waists, in the bleak high mountains. They had left home with only summer clothing; they were ragged and lean, and their feet froze until the bones came out. They went days at a time without food. And they were utterly lost, in a winter country; alone, one thousand miles from home.

But only once did a single man complain aloud. Their wonderful leader sternly silenced him, by reminding him that they all were sharing and suffering alike.

When their lieutenant had been gone from them two days, seeking meat to relieve a famine, at his return he writes in his journal: “On the countenances of the men was not a frown, nor was there a desponding eye; all seemed happy to hail their officer and companions; yet not a mouthful had they eaten for four days.” Indeed, they were planning to send out and rescue him.

It was this same spirit which made the American soldiers in France press forward, ever forward, and yield not an inch of ground.

Lieutenant Pike was an officer to love as well as to respect. He asked no favors; only obedience, and willingness to endure what he had to endure. He never spared himself. While others might stay in camp, he it was that went out into the cold and snow, hunting for meat. He made it plain that his honor, his country and his duty were more to him than his life. These were the three ideals that inspired him to go on when he might have been excused for camping in safety and giving up his search for the Red River.

The name of Pike lives in history. We have a famous mountain named for him, and we know that he died—“killed in action”—as a brigadier-general, aged thirty-four. The names of his brave men have vanished. What became of John Sparks, Pat Smith, Jacob Carter, and the rest, we do not know. We do not know that the Government even rescued from the Spaniards those whom their lieutenant had been obliged to leave. We do not know that any of them received gifts of land and extra pay, such as the Lewis and Clark men received. But heroes they were, every one, who did not fail their leader nor their flag.

So their company roll is printed in this book, that they also may live again.

The Author

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

LIEUTENANT [ZEBULON MONTGOMERY PIKE]

From the First Edition of His “Expeditions”
Philadelphia, 1810

BRIGADIER-GENERAL
[ZEBULON MONTGOMERY PIKE]

A noble young American soldier and explorer, whose guiding purpose was: Honor, Country, Duty.

Born January 5, 1779, at Lamberton, near Trenton, New Jersey.

His father was Captain Zebulon Pike, of the Fourth Continental Dragoons, in the War of the Revolution; later major in the Third and the First Regiments of Infantry, U. S. A., and brevet lieutenant-colonel.

The boy Zebulon was brought up as a soldier.

At fifteen he was a cadet in his father’s infantry regiment of the United States Third Sub-Legion.

At twenty, or in March, 1799, he was commissioned second lieutenant in the Second Regiment of Infantry, U. S. A.

Commissioned first lieutenant, November, the same year.

Transferred to the First Infantry, of which his father was major, in April, 1802. In this regiment Meriwether Lewis, of the famous Lewis and Clark expedition to the mouth of the Columbia River, was then a captain.

At the age of twenty-six, while Captains Lewis and Clark are exploring through the far northwest of the new Louisiana Territory purchase, he receives orders, July 30, 1805, from General James Wilkinson, Chief of the Army, to ascend the Mississippi River from St. Louis to its source. He is to report upon the country, the Indians and the fur trade of this, the eastern border of Upper Louisiana.

Starts from St. Louis, August 9, 1805, with twenty enlisted men of the regular army, in a keel-boat seventy feet long, provisioned for four months. Suffers many hardships by storm, cold and hunger, but returns successful on the last day of April, 1806, after an absence of almost nine months.

In less than two months, or on June 24, 1806, he is directed to ascend the Missouri and Osage Rivers, and restore forty-six Osage Indians, rescued by the Government from the Potawatomi Indians, to their people of the Osage towns in western Missouri. He is to make peace, by order of their American father, between the Osage and the Kansas nations. He is then to continue to the Pawnees of present northern Kansas, and ask them to help him on to make peace with the Comanches in the southwest on the borders of New Mexico. While with the Comanches he is to explore the head-waters of the Arkansas and Red (Canadian) Rivers, but he must avoid trespassing upon the Spanish territory of New Mexico. Spanish territory is supposed to extend south from the Red River, although the Spanish claim that it extends much farther north, even through Kansas.

Again he leaves his family, and embarks, July 15, 1806, with First Lieutenant James B. Wilkinson, First Infantry, the son of General Wilkinson; Civilian Surgeon John H. Robinson, an interpreter, and eighteen enlisted men, in two boats. The majority of the enlisted men had been with him up the Mississippi.

He visits the Osages, who welcome the return of their relatives, and agree to peace with the Kansas. The Pawnees try to stop him, by order of the Spanish, but he defies them. He fails to find the Comanches. His march by horse and foot takes him along the Arkansas River clear to the Rocky Mountains, where he sights the great Pike’s Peak (later named for him) of Colorado, and attempts to climb it. Searching for the head of the Red River, that he may follow down to the military posts of the United States frontier, he loses his way completely. In the bitter cold and deep snows of a terrible winter he crosses the front range of the Rockies, and builds a stockade upon a stream of the Upper Rio Grande River in the lower end of the San Luis Valley, southern Colorado.

Here in mid-winter Spanish soldiers from Santa Fé come upon him and inform him that he is in Spanish territory. They take him down to Santa Fé, the capital of the Province of New Mexico. He is sent on down to the military headquarters at Chihuahua, Mexico. From there he is sent to the United States, and arrives at the American post of Natchitoches, western Louisiana, on July 1, 1807, after travels of a year.

As the first Government explorer through far southwestern Louisiana Territory he brings back much valuable information upon the country and Indians, and upon the people, military forces and customs of Mexico. Captains Lewis and Clark have brought back also their information upon the far Northwest.

Meanwhile, as a reward for his services, he had been promoted to captain, August 12, 1806.

Commissioned major, in the Sixth U. S. Infantry, May, 1808.

Commissioned lieutenant-colonel, Fourth U. S. Infantry, December, 1809.

Commissioned colonel, Fifteenth U. S. Infantry, July, 1812.

Appointed brigadier-general, adjutant-general and inspector-general, U. S. A., March, 1813.

Killed in action, April 27, 1813, while commanding the assault by the American troops upon York, at Toronto, Canada. The retreating British garrison blew up a powder magazine, and a fragment of rock crushed his back. He died wrapped in the Flag, amidst victory, at the age of only thirty-four.

THE PIKE PARTIES

Up the Mississippi (1805–1806)

• First Lieutenant Zebulon M. Pike, Commanding
• Pierre Rousseau, Interpreter
• Sergeant Henry Kennerman (reduced to the ranks)
• Corporals
• Samuel Bradley
• William E. Meek
• Privates
• Jeremiah Jackson
• John Boley
• Thomas Dougherty
• Solomon Huddleston
• Theodore Miller
• Alexander Roy
• Patrick Smith
• John Brown
• Jacob Carter
• David Whelply
• William Gordon
• John Mountjoy
• Hugh Menaugh
• John Sparks
• Freegift Stout
• David Owings
• Peter Branden

Into the Southwest (1806–1807)

• First Lieutenant (and Captain) Zebulon M. Pike, Commanding
• First Lieutenant James B. Wilkinson (descended the Arkansas River)
• Civilian Volunteer, Doctor John H. Robinson (went through)
• Baroney Vasquez, Interpreter (went through)
• Sergeants
• Joseph Ballenger (accompanied Lieutenant Wilkinson)
• William E. Meek (went through)
• Corporal Jeremiah Jackson (went through)
• Private John Brown (went through)
• Private Jacob Carter (went through)
• Private Thomas Dougherty (went through)
• Private William Gordon (went through)
• Private Theodore Miller (went through)
• Private Hugh Menaugh (went through)
• Private John Mountjoy (went through)
• Private Alexander Roy (went through)
• Private John Sparks (went through)
• Private Patrick Smith (went through)
• Private Freegift Stout (went through)
• Private John Boley (accompanied Lieutenant Wilkinson)
• Private Samuel Bradley (accompanied Lieutenant Wilkinson)
• Private Solomon Huddleston (accompanied Lieutenant Wilkinson)
• Private John Wilson (accompanied Lieutenant Wilkinson)
• Private Henry Kennerman (deserted)

THE TRAIL OF LIEUTENANT PIKE

LOST WITH
LIEUTENANT PIKE

I
THE COMING OF THE SPANIARDS

“Ai-ee! I see them!” panted Iskatappe, over his shoulder, and pointing to the west. “The Spanish!”

“It may be running buffalo, or a big wind,” answered Skidi.

“Shall we halt and wait?” proposed Letalesha.

“No. It is they. It does not move fast enough for buffalo or wind. It is on this side of the river. We will cross the river and hide on the other side. Then we will be safe,” ordered Iskatappe.

Boy Scar Head, at the rear, peered hard and he, too, sighted a dust cloud far westward, tinging the horizon above the rolling, sandy landscape.

This was the Corn month, July, 1806. The four were travelling in single file at fast dog-trot down through the northern end of Texas where the Canadian River crosses. Iskatappe, or Rich Man, led. He was second chief of the nation. Skidi, or Wolf, came next. He was a warrior. Letalesha, or Old Knife, trotted third. He was a sub-chief. And at the rear there trotted Scar Head, who was not yet even a warrior, because he was just a boy; but some day he should be a warrior, and a chief, if he proved brave and smart.

They were odd-looking Indians, clad in only moccasins and buffalo-robes. The three men had their heads closely shaven except for a short pompadour ridge like a rooster comb, ending in the scalp-lock. With a paste of buffalo tallow and red clay this scalp-lock was made to stand up stiff and curved forward in shape of a horn. By that sign, and by the sign of their travelling afoot, and by their tall stature and high cheek-bones, friends and enemies would have known them at once as Pawnees from a nation of fierce fighters.

However, nobody would have taken Scar Head for a Pawnee. He did not wear the horn—he was not yet a warrior. He wore a red cloth band around his head, to keep his long brown hair out of his eyes. He was short and stocky, with a pug nose and with freckles showing through his darkly tanned skin. No, he did not appear to be a Pawnee, nor an Indian at all.

Still, he ranked as a son of Charakterik, head chief of the Pawnee Republic nation. Chief Charakterik had sent him out on the warrior trail to get experience. He was called Scar Head by reason of the patch of white hair that grew over a queer, hot spot on his head. He felt like an Indian and acted like an Indian; but all he knew was that he had been traded by the mountain Utahs to the plains Pawnees, several years ago, and that Chief Charakterik had adopted him.

The four had set out from the main Pawnee Republic village of round mud huts on the Republican River in present northern Kansas two weeks back. The Pawnees always started from home on foot, except when hunting game. They thought that they could take care of themselves better that way. A man on foot could hide in country where a man on horse might be seen. But they were expected to return on horseback, with other horses stolen or captured, for to win horses was the test of a Pawnee brave.

Scar Head hoped to learn a great deal about horse-stealing, although this was not really a horse-stealing scout. Nevertheless——

“If we are not given horses by the Spaniards, we will get them elsewhere,” had said Rich Man.

“Yes; we will get them from the Spaniards, anyway,” had replied Skidi. “They will have many horses, easy to steal. But in order to keep friendly with us, they will surely give us some, when they see we are poor and afoot.”

The dust cloud was welcome. It was time that the Spaniards should be sighted—those Spanish soldiers who, according to the report received by Chief Charakterik, were marching from New Mexico into the Indian country, no one knew why. To find out was the business of the Iskatappe squad.

The dust cloud hung in the air, moving slowly with the distant breeze. When finally the four reached the bank of the river, the cloud was much nearer.

“We will cross, and watch them; and to-night we will go into their camp,” said Iskatappe.

So they swam and waded the shallow river, and crawled out into a clump of willows, to wait until the strangers should pass.

Soon, to the west they might see a column of mounted figures coming on, following the course of the river but staying back from it on account of the deep washes, or maybe from fear that their thirsty horses might bolt into quicksands.

“They are many times ten,” murmured Skidi, counting by the fingers on his hands.

“It is only an advance guard,” Letalesha said. “A bigger dust cloud is behind them.”

And that was so. The advance guard of horsemen seemed to be scouting along the river, as if seeking a good trail to water for the others. Boy Scar Head strained his eyes to see as much as the warriors saw. Over the yellow desert shimmering with the hot air the riders steadily cantered, under several fluttering pennons borne on lances; and anybody might tell by the way they rode that they were warriors themselves.

They were going to strike the river only a short distance below. Suddenly Skidi drew quick breath.

“Apaches! Look! It will be a fight.”

“Hi!” Iskatappe uttered. “Let nobody move. We are safe here, if we don’t move.”

The scene had changed in a twinkling. A perfect swarm of Indians had burst from the very ground out there, and with shrill yells were racing to hem the Spanish between them and the river. How they had hidden themselves so well was remarkable, but it was an Indian trick and these were Apaches, who knew how to hide in the sand itself.

They outnumbered the Spanish three to one. The Spanish leader rapidly formed his column—he rode a white horse, the horses of his men were dark. On charged the Apaches, whooping and brandishing their bows and lances, as if they did not intend to stop until they had ridden right over the enemy; when on a sudden the guns of the Spanish puffed white smoke. Instantly every Apache fell to hang on the side of his horse; and back and forth they all scurried, shooting with their bows. The arrow stems glinted in the sun like streaks of hail.

“That is a good chief,” Iskatappe praised. “He knows how to fight.”

For the Apache chief had ordered half his men to dismount, and turn their horses loose. The other half stayed in the saddle. They charged, with the footmen running behind; the Spanish horsemen charged to meet them; then the Apache horsemen separated to right and left and the footmen volleyed with arrows.

This made the Spanish halt, to answer with guns. The Apache footmen darted back, behind their horsemen, and these charged again, to lure the Spanish on into bow-shot.

Boy Scar Head quivered with excitement. It was the first real battle that he remembered to have seen. The others were tense, too, and staring eagerly.

“With half that number of Pawnees I would eat those Spanish up,” Skidi boasted. “We all would take scalps and horses and be rich.”

“Those Spanish have guns and much powder and lead,” replied Old Knife. “It is hard to fight guns with bows. But one big charge, and all would be over.”

The battle slowly traveled. It was getting directly opposite, as the Apaches gradually gave ground and the Spanish took ground. Scarcely anybody appeared to have been hurt yet; there were no dead on the sand and all the wounded stayed in their saddles. The column in the distance was making a larger dust, as if hastening to the rescue.

The Apaches no doubt knew this. Now on a sudden the noise quieted. The Apache chief had cantered forward from among his men, shaking his lance. He was a very heavy man, with a very long lance; upon his arm was a red shield. He rode a fine spotted horse.

“The chiefs will fight, maybe,” quoth Letalesha. “That is the way to settle it.”

The Apache chief spoke in a loud voice, holding his lance high; but the Spanish chief on the white horse waved him back and evidently said no.

“The Spanish chief is a coward,” Skidi asserted. “He has a small heart.”

“Why should he risk losing his scalp, when he is winning and he has enough men coming to burn the Apaches like dry grass?” argued the wise Old Knife.

The Apache chief sat a moment, waiting; then he turned back for his own party. From the Spanish a great shout arose, that made him again turn, quickly.

“Ai-ee! It will be a fight, man to man, after all!” Iskatappe exclaimed.

A Spanish soldier had dashed past his chief, and was galloping into the clear, flourishing his sword. It was a challenge. The chief sped to meet him. They both crouched behind their round shields. A moment—and they came together. The Spanish horseman thrust his shield forward, to throw aside the chief’s lance point. But he did not catch it full. He only threw it higher, so that it glanced on and struck him in the throat—went straight through. He fell off, backward. Jerking the lance out, the Apache chief scoured by, in a half circle, with a whoop of victory.

“Hi, yi!” Old Knife grunted. “There is blood and a scalp.”

What a yell broke from the Apaches and the Spaniards both—a yell of triumph from the one, a yell of vengeance from the others! The Spanish charged, firing their guns, to save the scalp, and to kill. The Apaches scattered; their chief galloped hither-thither, urging them to stand, but they had no stomachs for more fighting at close quarters and the rest of the Spanish were spurring in.

Presently all the Apaches, the footmen on horse again, tore away, making down the river. Without trying to pursue them the whole Spanish army gathered on the battlefield. They were too heavily clothed to overtake Indians.

“They are as many as a herd of buffalo,” said Letalesha. “They are a large war party. Where are they going and what do they want?”

“We shall find out from them at sundown,” Rich Man answered. “We will let them camp, first. They are blood hungry now, and very mad.”

“It will be no trouble for us to get horses,” laughed Wolf. “Even a boy like Scar Head could steal some.”

“Will you let me try?” Scar Head asked, hopefully.

“You shall be a warrior and get horses,” Iskatappe promised, “unless they make us presents of them.”

“The Apache chief was Big Thunder,” Old Knife declared. “I know him. Red is his medicine, and as long as he carries that red shield nothing can kill him.”

“Perhaps the Spanish chief knew, too,” Wolf proposed. “Of course, nobody wishes to fight against medicine.”

“The Spanish soldier’s medicine was very weak,” remarked Iskatappe.

Thus they chatted, waiting and watching. Pretty soon the Spanish, also, moved on, down river. There were at least six hundred of them, all mounted, and twice that number of unsaddled horses and mules, some packed with supplies. To jingle of trappings and murmur of voices they proceeded, in a long column. Rich Man, Old Knife, Wolf and Boy Scar Head followed, by the other river bank, keeping out of sight in the brush and hollows.

At sunset the Spanish halted to form camp, beside the river.

“We had better go in before dark,” Rich Man directed. “Or they might shoot at us. We had better go in while their pots are full, for my belly is empty.”

So they rose boldly from their covert under the bank of the river, and crossed for the Spanish camp, their buffalo-robes tightly about them.

The camp was spread out in a circle over a wide area. Several chiefs’ lodges had been set up, countless fires were smoking, horses whinnied, mules brayed, medicine pipes (horns) tooted, and a myriad of figures moved busily, getting water, going on herd, arranging the packs, marching to and fro as if in a dance, or clustering around the fires.

These were the Spanish, were they, from the south? Scar Head had not supposed that so many could come so far, all together. The nation of the Spanish must be a great and powerful nation.

A guard saw the Iskatappe file approaching. He shouted warning of them, and leveled his gun.

Iskatappe lifted his hand in the peace sign.

“Amigos—friends,” he called. He knew a little Spanish. So did most of the Pawnees—a little Spanish picked up from the Comanches and southern Utahs, and a little French picked up from the St. Louis traders who visited the Pawnee country.

“Qué tiene—what do you want?” the guard demanded, stopping them with his gun. He was dressed in a blue cloth hunting-shirt with red trimmings, and leather wrappings upon his legs, and huge loose-topped leather moccasins reaching to his knees, and a broad-brimmed high-crowned hat with ribbons on it; and all his face was covered with bushy black hair. He was armed with a short-barreled gun, and a long knife in a scabbard. He certainly looked like a stout warrior.

“El capitan,” Iskatappe replied, meaning that he wished to see the chief.

Other Spanish soldiers came running. Their head warrior said: “Come,” and with the Iskatappe file stalking proudly after he led the way through the staring camp to the lodge of the chief.

He was a black-eyed, dark-skinned, slim young war chief, splendidly clad in those same high, loose-topped shiny leather moccasins, and a bright red cloak flowing to his knees, and a hat turned up at one side and sparkling with gilt.

Of course the first thing to do was to eat. Therefore, after shaking hands with the Spanish war chief, Rich Man, Old Knife and Wolf sat down; boy Scar Head sat down likewise. They were served with plenty of meat, from a pot.

Gazing curiously about, Scar Head might see indeed that these Spanish were rich and powerful. Such quantities of horses and mules, of saddles, arms, supplies, and soldiers warmly dressed, and fiercely whiskered not only with hair on cheeks and chin, but sticking out like horns on either side of the nose! What did the Spanish wish?

Having eaten, Iskatappe began to find out. The Spanish chief filled a pipe and passed it out; Rich Man, Old Knife and Wolf smoked each a few puffs, the Spanish chief smoked a few puffs, and Iskatappe spoke.

“The Pawnee wish to know why their Spanish father is sending so many of his soldiers into the buffalo country.”

“The great king who owns all this country is anxious to be friendly with his children,” responded the young war chief. “So he has sent me, his lieutenant, Don Facundo Melgares, with a guard, to march through, take his red children by the hand, give them presents, and make the chain of friendship stronger.”

“That is good,” said Iskatappe. “The Pawnee Republic is very poor. But if my father is sending presents to the Pawnee, why are his men marching east instead of north? And why does he send so many soldiers with guns?”

“We follow a long trail,” explained the war chief. “There are Indians of bad hearts toward everybody, like the Apaches; and the Apaches we will punish. The great king knows how to punish his enemies, as well as how to reward his friends. We are marching east because we go first to visit the Comanches. We bear gifts and friendship to the Comanches, to the Pawnees, and to the Kansas. And we march east to clean the country from the Americans who are stealing in. The great king will look after his own children. He wishes no foreigners to view the land. He will not permit the American traders to cheat the Indians. The American king pretends to have bought part of the country, but he has no rights here in the south, and the great king of Spain still owns all the lands beyond the Pawnees and the Kansas. Now word has come to the Spanish governor that the Americans are sending soldiers westward through Spanish country, to spy out the land. They are led by a chief named Pike. So we march ready for battle, to meet these Americans and either turn them back or take them prisoner.”

“The Americans of Chief Pike will fight?” asked Iskatappe.

The young war chief laughed, showing white teeth.

“They cannot fight the soldiers of the great king. We are many and brave; the Americans are small. We can punish or reward. The Americans are weak and poor. Should there be war, we will eat them up. If they do not keep out of the country, there will be war. We shall warn them. The Indians would do very foolishly to help the Americans who have nothing, and are only greedy, seeking to steal the Indians’ hunting grounds. First a few will come, as spies; then more will come by the same trail, and with their guns kill all the buffalo.”

“We know little about the Americans, but we see that the Spanish are many and strong,” Iskatappe replied. “I will take word back to the Pawnee, about this Pike.”

“Who is your head chief?”

“He is Charakterik—White Wolf.”

“Where does he live?”

“In his town of the Pawnee nation on the river of the Pawnee Republic.”

“Tell him that after we have marched east and talked with the Comanches and cleaned the foreign traders from the country, we will march north and visit him at his town on the River Republican. If the American chief Mungo-Meri Pike comes there, the Pawnees must stop him; for the great king will be angry if the Americans are allowed to pass through.”

“I will tell him,” Iskatappe promised. “It is best that we travel fast. We came down on foot, for we are very poor. If we have horses to ride back on, we shall travel faster.”

“Bueno—good,” answered the Spanish chief. “Your father the great king of us all is generous to his children. You shall have horses, so that you may carry the news quickly.”

This night the Iskatappe squad slept in the Spanish camp, and ate frequently. Rich Man explained to Old Knife and Wolf what had been said to him and not understood by them. Boy Scar Head listened. In the morning they were treated to a marching dance, in which the Spanish soldiers moved to the beat of drums. They were presented with a horse apiece; and after having shaken hands again they left, well satisfied.

Once away from the river they rode fast; for Skidi had stolen three mules during the night while the guard was sleepy instead of watchful, and hidden the animals in a convenient place. But the Spanish did not pursue.

“We will tell Charakterik that the Spanish are strong,” said Iskatappe. “They fought the Apaches; they have plenty of guns and horses. They will eat the Americans of that Pike.”

“I think, myself, that the Pawnee will grow fatter by helping the Spanish father than by helping the strange American father,” declared Old Knife.

“We have gained four horses and three mules,” Skidi chuckled. “All the whites are stupid. If the Americans come they will go back afoot; hey?”

“What kind of men are the Americans?” Boy Scar Head ventured to ask, from the rear.

“We are talking,” Letalesha rebuked. “When chiefs and warriors talk, boys keep silent.”

So Scar Head got no information. All he knew was, that the Americans were a white nation living in the far east, beyond St. Louis where the French traders lived. But three Pawnees had been taken by the great trader Pierre Chouteau, to visit the American father in Wash’ton. When they returned, the Pawnees would know more about the Americans. And of course that Chief Pike was likely to appear if the Spanish did not stop him.

II
THE COMING OF THE AMERICANS

The Spanish came in about three weeks—three hundred of them, led by their young war chief whose name was Melgares. A brave sight they made as they rode with flags and drums and jingle of bridles and formed camp outside the Chief Charakterik town.

Lieutenant Melgares held a council with the Republican Pawnees and the Grand Pawnees from the north. The Pawnee Loups, or Wolf Pawnees, did not send any chiefs, because they were at war with the other Pawnees.

The Spanish chief said that he had met the Ietans or Comanches in the south and signed a treaty of peace with them. They had promised to help their Spanish father. But on the way north the Omahas had stolen many of his horses and mules, after another council; and by reason of these bad hearts he had come on with only a few of his men, in order to smooth the road between the great king and the great king’s children.

He was too young to sit in grand council with the head chiefs of the Pawnees. In the spring a higher chief than he would come, to build a town near the Pawnee town, and live with the red people and teach them how to get rich, if they were good. Meanwhile they must watch out that the Americans (who were poor but greedy) did not sneak in, and cheat them of their lands and drive off the game. The American chief, Mungo-Meri Pike, was on the way, although he had not been found. If he arrived, he must be turned back. These were the orders of the king of the Spanish nation, who ruled all this country.

Lieutenant Melgares gave Chief Charakterik and the head chief of the Grand Pawnees each a large, fine medal of silver to wear; and a paper signed by the governor of New Mexico, which made them head men under the king; and a Spanish flag, and four mules. He laid on the prairie other gifts, of crimson cloth and of tobacco and smaller medals; and again warning them that the great king would be very angry if the crafty Americans were permitted to pass, he rode away south, with all his men.

Chief Charakterik hung the gay Spanish flag of red and yellow in front of the council lodge, as a sign for everybody to see. It was plain to him also that the Spanish nation was a powerful nation, to send so many soldiers so far, looking for the Americans.

The Spanish soldiers had not been gone long when from the Osage towns in the southeast toward the Missouri River there ran the news that the Americans of Mungo-Meri Pike were coming indeed. They were bringing to the Osages almost fifty men and women whom the Potawatomis had captured last year, and who had been rescued by the American father. Two of the Pawnees who had been to Wash’ton visiting the American father were with them on the way home.

“We will let them come this far, so as to get our brothers back,” said Chief Charakterik. “We will talk with them and see what kind of men they are, but they shall go no farther.”

He sent Pawnee scouts down to the Osage towns, to watch the Americans.

Now August, the squash month, had passed, and September, the month when the buffalo fatten, had opened. The Americans were reported to be at the Osage villages, where a welcome had greeted the Osages returned from the Potawatomis, and a great council had been held with the Pike men.

They had traveled in boats up the Osage River from the Missouri, but were coming on across country to the Pawnees by horses.

Only one American appeared, first, riding in with a Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton as his guide. This Pawnee young man had gone to visit the American father many moons ago, and here he was again, safe and sound and wearing good clothes. That spoke well for the Americans.

He said that the other Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton was coming with the rest of the Americans. They were bringing several Osages to smoke with the Pawnees. They had sent word for the Kansas to meet them and smoke peace. The Americans were a pleasant people; they numbered thousands. This American with him was a medicine-man who cured diseases. The American chief, Pike, had given the Osages all the rescued captives and had asked nothing except peace and a chance to buy horses; he had presents for the Pawnees, too, and was going to the Comanches. His men were few although well armed.

The next day, after having talked with the American medicine-man in the lodge, Chief Charakterik took sixty warriors and rode out to meet Chief Mungo-Meri Pike.

Charakterik was gone three days, and came in without having sighted the Americans. But a Pawnee hunter reported that the Americans were farther to the southward; so Chief Charakterik sent out Frank (which was the American name of the Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton) and three other warriors, to find them.

On the second morning two of the scouts galloped back into town.

“The Pike Americans are nearing. They will be here before noon.”

“Tell them to wait until I shall meet them and smoke with them,” Chief Charakterik ordered.

All the warriors were arrayed, dressed in their best robes and blankets, and painted with the Pawnee colors of white, yellow, blue and black. Chief Charakterik wore his large Spanish medal and finest white buffalo-robe. Second Chief Iskatappe wore a red coat given him by his Spanish father.

Three hundred warriors left the village, with the chiefs. Riding in their midst, as the son of a great chief Scar Head felt that the Pawnees need fear nobody.

The Americans had halted about three miles out, just at the other side of a ridge. The Osages were sitting in front of them. Chief Charakterik shouted and waved his hand—the Pawnee warriors divided right and left and swooped down at dead run, yelling and firing their guns. The Americans stood firm, not afraid, as if they knew that this was only play. They were few, as said; scarcely more than the fingers on two hands.

After the warriors had charged and had formed a circle, Chief Charakterik and Second Chief Iskatappe advanced on foot to shake hands with the American chief. This Mungo-Meri Pike was a young man, in a long hunting-shirt or coat of blue with brass buttons and high standing collar and lighter blue facings; on his head there was a three-cornered hat; a curved sword was at his side and leather moccasins reached to his knees. He was redder than the Spanish chief Melgares, and had no hair on his face.

His men were armed with guns that ended in sharp-pointed knives, but their clothing was thin and poor—nothing like the rich clothing of the Spanish soldiers. They had a flag of red and white stripes and a starry blue square in one corner, but they were small in number; and all in all they did not cut much of a figure when compared with the Spanish. Certainly they were either brave or foolish, thought Boy Scar Head as he roundly stared, to dare the Spanish and the Indians in such fashion.

The Osages knew how to act when in Pawnee country. Their chief stood up and offered Chief White Wolf a pipe. They smoked, as sign of peace. Then at a signal by White Wolf, he and Mungo-Meri Pike and the American second chief (also a young man) rode on for the village. An American head warrior on a white horse rode just behind, carrying the American flag. The Osages and the other Americans followed, while the Pawnee warriors raced back and forth alongside, whooping and showing off. It was great fun.

When they all had crossed the ridge and were near the town, another halt was ordered, in order to smoke horses with the Osages. The four Osages sat down together; Chief Charakterik sat down in front of them, and lighted his pipe. Any Pawnee who wished to give horses to an Osage took the pipe and passed it to the Osage. Every time it was passed it meant a horse, until eight horses had been given. This was the Horse Smoke.

The American second chief marched the soldiers on, to make camp up-river from the town. Chief Mungo-Meri Pike and his medicine-man stayed for a talk with White Wolf in his lodge. They were feasted to stewed corn and squash.

The Osages also were feasted in the village. They had come on with the Americans to meet the Kansas at the Pawnee village and sit in peace council. Pretty Bird was their head chief.

Everybody was curious to learn from the Osages and from the two Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton what kind of people these Americans were.

“They live in a country wider than a week’s travel by horse,” Frank asserted. “You are never out of sight of their lodges.”

“Their women have red cheeks, and their men are in number of the buffalo,” the other Pawnee asserted. “They have great guns that shoot a mile and speak twice.”

“If they are so powerful and many, why do they send such a little company into this country, when the Spanish father sent half a thousand soldiers at once?” inquired Skidi. “These are spies.”

“They brought us forty-six of our relatives, from the Potawatomi,” said an Osage. “They asked for horses to go on with, but we sold them few. Now by orders of the great father at Wash’ton we are to make peace with the Kansas. The great father wishes his red children to fight no more.”

“It is all because there is talk of war between the Spanish and the Americans,” Frank wisely declared. “That we heard. The Americans wish to keep the Indians from the war trail, so that they can march in here and take the land.”

“We do not want the Americans in here,” spoke Skidi. “Our Spanish father warned us against them. They are poor and stingy or they would have sent a large company and an old chief to treat with us. They will get no help from the Pawnee, and they must go back.”

The American chief and his medicine-man stayed a long time in the Charakterik lodge. After a while Scar Head’s older brother came looking for him.

“White Wolf says that you are to go on with the two Americans up to their camp and take a pony load of corn.”

“How soon?”

“Now. They are leaving. The pony is being packed.”

So Scar Head hastened to the lodge. The two Americans were bidding Chief Charakterik goodby, and were about to mount their horses. The chief beckoned to Scar Head and pointed to the pony. Scar Head obediently scrambled atop the corn.

“Do I come back to-night?” he asked.

“You may stay till morning, and see what you can see. Do not talk; and be sure and bring back the pony.”

This was quite an adventure—to ride to the American camp with the head chief and the medicine-man, and maybe spend the night there. Scar Head’s heart beat rapidly, but he did not show that he was either frightened or delighted, for he was Indian, and son of White Wolf.

He guided his loaded pony in the rear of the two trotting horsemen. Outside the town Chief Mungo-Meri Pike reined in and dropped back beside him, with a smile.

They eyed each other, although Scar Head did not smile. He was not ready to smile, and White Wolf had told him not to talk.

The American chief had a clear pink and brown skin and a bright blue eye, with rather large nose and mouth, and stubborn chin. His manner was quick and commanding; anybody might see that he was a chief.

“What is your name?” he asked, suddenly, in French.

“Scar Head,” answered Scar Head, in Pawnee.

Evidently the American chief did not understand Pawnee, for he looked a little puzzled.

“Do you speak French?” he demanded.

“Yes, little,” answered Scar Head.

“You are not an Indian?”

“Yes, Pawnee,” grunted Scar Head.

“You don’t look like a Pawnee.”

“Pawnee,” Scar Head insisted, as he had been ordered always to do, by Charakterik.

“Who is your father?”

“White Wolf.”

“Who was your mother?”

“Don’t know.”

“Were you born here?”

“Don’t know.”

“Do you speak English?”

“No.”

“How old are you?”

Scar Head held up the fingers of his two hands; that was as nearly as he could guess. It didn’t matter, anyway.

The American chief hailed the medicine-man in the American language. Scar Head did not understand, but the words were: “Doctor, I don’t believe this is an Indian boy at all.”

Now the medicine-man (he was a young man, with brown hair on his face) reined back to ride upon Scar Head’s other side. He spoke, in French.

“Are you an Indian?”

“Yes.”

“What nation?”

“Pawnee.”

“Where did the Pawnee get you?”

“From Utahs.”

“Chief Charakterik is not your father, then?”

“Yes. My father.”

“Your mother a Utah?”

“Don’t know.”

“How long has Charakterik been your father?” The medicine-man was smart.

“Two year.”

“I see. The Utahs probably traded him to the Pawnees, doctor,” spoke the chief Mungo-Meri Pike, across, in the language that Scar Head did not understand. “And Charakterik adopted him.”

“The Utahs must have got him somewhere. He’s no Indian,” replied the medicine-man, in those strange words. “He’s not Spanish, either.” And he asked, in French, of Scar Head:

“You speak Spanish?”

“A little.”

“You speak Utah?”

Scar Head nodded. He was growing tired of these questionings.

The medicine-man kept eyeing him.

“Where did you get this?” And he tapped his own head, in sign of the patch of white hair.

“My name,” answered Scar Head.

“What made it?”

“Don’t know.”

“Did the Utahs capture you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Where were you before the Utahs had you?”

“Don’t know.”

“He may not be all Indian, but he’s enough Indian so he won’t tell what he doesn’t want to tell,” laughed the American chief, in the strange words.

The medicine-man shrugged his shoulders.

“I’d like to take him along with us and find out more about him. By the shape of his head he’s white blood.”

The three jogged on in silence. Scar Head wondered what they had said, with those words, but he was glad to be let alone. White Wolf had forbidden him to talk with strangers. Nevertheless he glanced now and then at the two Americans. He felt more friendly toward them. They seemed kind.

The American camp was not far. It had guards stationed, who saluted the American chief when he passed. At his lodge fire he halted; a head warrior took Scar Head’s pony, with the corn; other warriors took the two horses, to lead them away. The American second chief was here. While he and Chief Mungo-Meri Pike talked, Scar Head sat by the fire and looked around, to see what was going on.

The camp had been placed upon a hill for protection. There were only four or five lodges, of canvas, besides the chief’s lodge. The American flag was flying from a pole. This American camp appeared poor—nothing. The soldiers, fifteen, wore shabby uniforms of sky blue; their coats were short and tight, their leggins thin, and several were mending their moccasins of heavy leather. They had only fifteen extra horses, to carry their baggage and the presents. There was a black dog. They talked and laughed much, as they busied themselves or waited around the two fires that they had built. The hair on their heads was of different colors—brown, and black, and red, and gray. So was the hair on their faces. They were quick, active warriors—good men, evidently. If the Pawnees fought them, it would be hot work before they all were wiped out.

Maybe, thought Scar Head, they depended upon the medicine of their “doctor,” to help them.

Another man, who could talk sign language and a little Pawnee, came and sat down beside him. He was the interpreter for Chief Pike.

“You’re no Indian; you’re white,” he accused, of Scar Head.

“Indian,” said Scar Head.

“Where did you come from?”

“Utahs.”

“Where did they get you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Did White Wolf buy you from the Utahs?”

“He is my father.”

“You speak with crooked tongue,” the interpreter accused. “You are white. You are American. Who was your father?”

“White Wolf is my father. I am Pawnee. I will talk no more,” said Scar Head. “Let me alone.”

After that nobody bothered him, although they all eyed him. Why did they tell him that he was white? Did he wish to be white? Why should he be white, or American, when the Pawnee were a great people who could fight even the Padoucah—the Comanches or Ietans as they were called. And if one were white instead of red, it would be better to be Spanish, for the Spanish were rich and powerful, and their king owned the country.

Yet—yet, Scar Head could not help but admit that these Americans bore themselves like warriors; this Pike must be a bold young chief, to come so far with so few men; and after all, perhaps the Americans might prove strong in medicine. The Osages and the two Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton spoke well of the nation.

The medicine-man approached him and suddenly laid fingers upon his white patch, and pressed.

“Does that hurt?”

Scar Head tried not to wince, for hurt it did. He squirmed free.

“No.”

The medicine-man might be putting an evil spell upon him, to change him to white; but the medicine-man only smiled, and left him.

Having eaten of meat and corn, Scar Head slept in the chief’s lodge, with the chief himself and the medicine-man whose title was “doctor.” When he awakened in the morning he was safe and sound still.

III
THE PAWNEES ARE OF TWO MINDS

“The Kansas are coming! They come in peace, but make ready for them.”

These were the words of the heralds shouting through the great town of the Pawnee Republic. Scar Head heard. He had returned this morning from the American camp with the interpreter (whose name was Baroney), and felt rather important as the other boys curiously questioned him. To Chief White Wolf he had only good to report of the Americans. They had treated him well, aside from bothering him with talk about himself; but he had told them little. The fact was, he did not know much that he could tell!

Baroney had wished to trade for provisions and horses. Now it was afternoon, and new excitement arose. The Kansas were coming! A peace party of them had halted, out on the prairie, and had sent in one man to announce them. They had come by order of the American father, to smoke peace with the Osages.

The Osages and the Kansas had long been bitter enemies; the Pawnees, too, had lost many scalps to the Kansas, although just at present there was no war between them.

So Chief Charakterik directed that the Kansas be well received and feasted. Baroney the American interpreter took word up to the Pike camp that the Kansas were waiting.

The two American chiefs exchanged visits with Chiefs White Wolf and Rich Man, and the Kansas chiefs. In a council held the next day the Kansas principal chief, Wah-on-son-gay, and his sub-chiefs, and the Osage principal chief, Shin-ga-wa-sa or Pretty Bird, and his sub-chiefs, agreed upon paper that the nations of the Kansas and the Osage should be friends, according to the wish of their American father.

Wolf, the Pawnee, laughed.

“It will last only until spring,” he said. “Nobody can trust the Kansas; and as for those Osage, they are getting to be a nation of squaws. One-half their face is red, the other half is white. We Pawnee are all red. We are not afraid of the Kansas, and we shall not help the Americans. They are a small people of small hearts, as the Spanish chief said.”

This might appear to be the truth. Chief Charakterik was of the same opinion. He and Second Chief Iskatappe and two sub-chiefs had been invited to a feast by the American chiefs. When they returned they were scornful, although White Wolf had been given a gun with two barrels, an arm band, and other things, and the other chiefs also had been rewarded.

Scar Head heard Rich Man tell about it.

“Charakterik wore his large medal given him by the young Spanish chief. They did not ask him to take it off. They offered me a little American medal. ‘What shall I do with that?’ I asked. ‘It is not a medal for a chief. Those two young warriors who have been to Wash’ton were given bigger medals than this. Let the American father send me a chief’s medal, for I can get Spanish medals. I am not a boy.’ Yes,” continued Iskatappe, “the American nation must be very mean and stingy. They send a young man and a few soldiers, with little medals and a few poor presents, to talk with the great Pawnee nation. But the Spanish asked us to wait until next spring, when they will send us a principal chief and many more soldiers, to live near us and treat with us in honorable fashion.”

The council with the Americans had been set for the next day. The two American chiefs, and Baroney the interpreter, and the “doctor,” and a guard of soldiers, rode down. Chief Charakterik assembled four hundred warriors. The council lodge was crowded, and a throng of women and boys and girls pressed around, outside, to peer and listen. Scar Head managed to squeeze inside, to a place where he might see and hear. The Osages and the Kansas were inside, too.

After the pipe had been passed around among the chiefs, Mungo-Meri Pike stood, to speak. He threw off his red-lined blue cloak, and stood slim and straight—a handsome young man.

Baroney translated for him, in Pawnee and sign language.

“The great American father of us all, at Wash’ton, has sent me,” he said. “He is now your father. You have no Spanish father. Not long ago the Spanish gave up all this country, from the big river to the mountains. The Americans have bought it. The Spanish have no rights here, any more. Now your American father has sent me to visit among his red children, to tell them that his heart is good toward them, and that he wishes peace. I am to take back word of them, and of the country, so that he may know. I am surprised to see that you are flying the Spanish flag at the lodge door. [I bring you the American flag], to take its place. You cannot have two fathers and two flags. I have also brought you gifts. They are here. I ask you to accept them, as a small token from your American father. I should like your answer.” And he sat down.

[“I BRING YOU THE AMERICAN FLAG”]

Chief Charakterik dropped his buffalo-robe from his shoulders, to stand and speak.

“We hear your words,” he said. “We thank you for the presents. We wish to ask where you are going from here?”

“We are going on, to explore the country and to smoke peace with the Ietans,” replied Chief Pike.

“We knew that you were coming,” spoke White Wolf. “The Spanish chief who was here said that you were coming. He said that the Americans were a small nation but greedy, and that soon they would stretch out even to the Pawnee, and claim the country. Now we see how truly the Spanish chief saw ahead, for here you are. We do not wish you to go on. We turned the Spanish back, until they should come again to live with us. We will turn you back. It is impossible for you to go on. You are few and you do not know the country. The Padoucah (Comanches) are many and powerful. They are our enemies and the friends of the Spanish and will kill you all. You must go back by the road that you came on.”

The young Chief Mungo-Meri Pike stood up straighter still, and answered with ringing voice.

“I have been sent out by our great father to travel through his country, to visit his red children, and talk peace. You have seen how I have brought the Osages and the Kansas together. I wish my road to be smooth, with a blue sky over my head. I have not seen any blood in the trail. But the warriors of the American father are not women, to be turned back by words. If the Pawnee wish to try to stop me, they may try. We are men, well armed, and will take many lives in exchange for our own. Then the great father will send other warriors, to gather our bones and to avenge our deaths, and our spirits will hear war-songs sung in praise of our deeds. We shall go on. I ask you for horses, and somebody who speaks Comanche, to help us; and I ask you to take down the Spanish flag and hoist the flag of your American father, instead.”

That was a defiant speech, and Scar Head thrilled. Surely, the American chief was a man.

Iskatappe arose.

“We do not want peace with the Padoucah,” he said. “They have killed six of our young men. We must have scalps in payment, so that the young men’s relatives can wash the mourning paint from their faces and be happy. It would be foolish for us to send anybody with you or to give you horses. We have been satisfied with our Spanish father. We do not wish so many fathers.”

He sat down.

“That is true,” Chief Pike retorted. “You do not wish many fathers. Now you have only the one great father. He is your American father. You have not answered me about the flag. I still see the Spanish flag flying at your door. I think you ought to lower that flag and put up this American flag, for I have told you that the Spanish do not rule this land any more. You cannot be children of two fathers, and speak with two tongues. I wish an answer.”

Nobody said anything for a long time. The American chiefs sat there, gazing straight in front of them, and waiting. The blue eyes of Mungo-Meri Pike seemed to search all hearts. Was it to be peace or war? Then old Sleeping Bear, the head councillor of the Pawnee Republic, got up, without a word, and went to the doorway, and took down the Spanish flag from its staff, and brought it to Chief Pike. Chief Pike handed him the American flag, of red and white stripes like the sunset and the starry sky in one corner. Old Sleeping Bear carried it and fastened it to the staff.

The Osages and the Kansas grunted “Good,” because they already had accepted the American father; but the Pawnees hung their heads and looked glum. When the Spanish came back and found their great king’s flag gone, what would they say?

Chief Pike saw the downcast faces, and read the thoughts behind them. His heart was big, after all, and he did not wish to shame the Pawnee nation, for he uttered, quickly:

“You have shown me that you are of good mind toward your father in Wash’ton. I do not seek to make trouble between you and the Spanish. We will attend to the Spanish. Should there be war between the white people, the wish of your American father is that his red children stay by their own fires and not take part. In case that the Spanish come and demand their flag, here it is. I give it to you. I ask that you do not put it up while I am with you, but that you keep the American flag flying.”

“We thank you. We will do as you say,” White Wolf responded; and every face had brightened. “In return, we beg you not to go on. You will lose your way. It will soon be winter, and you have no winter clothes, I see. The Spanish will capture you. If they do not capture you, the Padoucah will kill you. It will be pitiful.”

Soon after this the council broke up. Chief Mungo-Meri Pike was still determined; he had not been frightened by the words. His men tried to buy horses, but Chief White Wolf had the orders spread that no horses were to be supplied to the Americans. When some of the Pawnees went to the American camp, to trade, Skidi and two other “dog soldiers” or police followed them and drove them home with whips of buffalo-hide.

Iskatappe only waited for other orders, to muster the warriors and capture the camp.

“It can be done,” he said. “We doubtless shall lose many men, for I think the Americans are hard fighters. We might do better to attack them on the march.”

Some of the older men were against fighting.

“We should not pull hot fat out of the fire with our fingers, for the Spanish,” they said. “Let the Spanish stop the Americans, if they can. We will stay at home and put up the flag of the stronger nation.”

Meanwhile the young warriors liked to gallop near the American camp and shake their lances and guns at it. The American warriors laughed and shouted.

For the next few days Boy Scar Head was all eyes and ears. The Americans kept close in camp and were very watchful. Only Baroney the interpreter rode back and forth, looking for horses. Chief Charakterik seemed much troubled. He had not counted upon the Americans being so stubborn. He sent the Kansas home. They had promised to guide the Americans; but he gave Wah-on-son-ga a gun and two horses, and told him that the Padoucahs would certainly kill everybody; so Wah-on-son-ga took his men home.

Frank, the Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton, stole the wife of an Osage and ran away with her. This made the Osages angry; and now the Americans were getting angry, too.

They had found only three or four horses. Then—

“The Americans are going to march to-morrow!”

That was the word from the warriors who spied upon the camp. Chief Pike rode down, unafraid, with Baroney, to White Wolf’s lodge. Scar Head hid in a corner, to hear what was said. He liked the crisp voice and the handsome face of this young Mungo-Meri Pike. Maybe he would never see him again.

“Why have you told the Kansas to go home, and made them break their promise to me?” demanded Chief Pike, of White Wolf.

“The hearts of the Kansas failed them. They decided they would only be throwing their lives away, to go with such a small party into the country of the Padoucah,” answered White Wolf.

“You frightened them with your stories,” Chief Pike accused. “That was not right. I have come from your father, to make peace among his red children. Why do you forbid your men to trade us horses? You have plenty. Why do you not lend us a man who speaks the Ietan tongue, to help us?”

“If, as you say, we all are children of the American father, then we do not wish our brothers to give up their lives,” White Wolf said. “But we do not know. The Spanish claim this country, too. They are coming back next spring. We promised them not to let you march through. You can come next spring and talk with them.”

“No!” thundered Chief Pike. “We are going to march on. We are Americans and will go where we are ordered by the great father. The Osages have given us five of their horses. They have shown a good heart. I will speak well of them, to their father.”

“They gave you their poor horses, because they got better ones from us,” replied White Wolf.

“If the Pawnee try to stop us, it will cost them at least one hundred warriors,” Chief Pike asserted. “You will have to kill every one of us, and we will die fighting. Then the American nation will send such an army that the very name Pawnee will be forgotten.” He arose, and his flashing blue eyes marked Boy Scar Head huddled upon a roll of buffalo-robes. “Who is that boy?” he asked.

“He is my son,” Charakterik answered.

“He cannot be your son,” reproved Chief Pike. “He is white, you are red. I think he is an American. Where did you get him?”

“He is my son. I have adopted him,” White Wolf insisted. “I got him from the Utahs.”

“Where are his parents?”

“I am his parent. I do not know anything more.”

“You must give him up. He is not an Indian,” said Chief Pike.

“He is a Pawnee. Why should I give him up?” argued Charakterik.

“Because the great father wishes all captives to be given up. The Potawatomi had many captives from the Osage. They have been given up. There cannot be good feeling between people when they hold captives from each other. I ask you to send this boy down river. Two French traders are in your town now. You can send the boy with them.”

“I will think upon what you say,” White Wolf replied.

So Chief Pike left.

“Why did you come in here to listen?” scolded White Wolf, of Scar Head. “You are making me trouble. Do you want to be sent away with those traders?”

“No,” Scar Head admitted. For the two French traders were dark, dirty little men, not at all like the Americans. He preferred the Pawnees to those traders. But if he were an American, himself——? An American the same as the Pike Americans! That sounded good.

He could see that White Wolf was troubled; and the rest of the day he kept out of sight. Early in the morning the two French traders went away, but he had not been sent for. Chief Charakterik probably had matters of more importance to think about.

The Americans were breaking camp. The Pawnee young men, urged by Iskatappe and Skidi, were painting for battle, while the women filled the quivers and sharpened the lance points, and cleaned the guns afresh.

The sun mounted higher. A close watch was kept upon the American camp, plain in view up the Republican River. Shortly after noon the cry welled:

“They are coming! Shall we let them pass?”

“No! Kill them!”

“See where they are going, first.”

“Wait till they are in the village.”

Nobody knew exactly what to do. The Americans were marching down, their horses together, their ranks formed, their guns ready; and they looked small beside the four hundred and more warriors of the Pawnees. It was a brave act.

“They are not striking the village. They are going around,” Rich Man shouted. “We shall have to fight them in the open. That is bad.”

The young warriors like Skidi ran to and fro, handling their bows and lances and guns. They waited for orders from White Wolf; but White Wolf only stood at the door of his lodge, with his arms folded, and said nothing as he watched the American column.

Mungo-Meri Pike was smart. He acted like a war chief. He was marching around, far enough out so that if he were attacked the Pawnees could not hide behind their mud houses. Now to charge on those well-armed Americans, in the open, would cost many lives; and no Pawnee wished to be the first to fall.

The Americans had come opposite, and no gun had yet been fired, when on a sudden Chief Pike left them. With Baroney and one soldier he galloped across, for the village. That was a bold deed, but he did not seem to fear. He paid no attention to the warriors who scowled at him. He made way through them straight to Chief Charakterik. He spoke loudly, so that all about might hear.

“I have come to say good-by. I hope that when we come again we will find the great father’s flag still flying.”

“You had better go quickly,” White Wolf replied. “The Spanish will be angry with us, and my young men are hard to hold.”

“We are going,” Chief Pike assured. “We are going, as we said we would. If your young men mean to stop us, let them try. Two of our horses were stolen from us this morning. They were Pawnee horses. One was returned to us by your men. The other is missing. I am sure that the Pawnee do not sell us horses at a high price, so as to steal them. That is not honest. If you are a chief you will get the horse back for us, or the Pawnee will have a bad name for crooked tongues. So I will leave one of my men, who will receive the horse and bring it on. He will wait till the sun is overhead, to-morrow.”

“I will see what I can do,” White Wolf answered. “The horse may have only strayed. A present might find him again.”

“The horse is ours,” reproved Chief Pike. “I shall not buy it twice. If the Pawnees are honest and wish to be friends with their American brothers, they will return the horse to me. I shall expect it, to-morrow. Adios.”

“Adios,” grunted White Wolf, wrapping his robe about him.

Chief Pike and Baroney the interpreter galloped for the column. They left the soldier. Now he was one American among all the Pawnees, but he did not act afraid, either.

He sat his horse and gazed about him with a smile. He was a stout, chunky man, in stained blue clothes. His face was partly covered with red hair, and the hair on his head, under his slouched black hat, was red, too. He carried a long-barreled heavy gun in the hollow of one arm.

“Get down,” signed White Wolf. “Come into my lodge.” And he waved the crowding warriors back.

The red-haired soldier got down and entered the lodge. Here he was safe. Everything of his was safe as long as he was a guest of a lodge. Scar Head slipped in after him, but White Wolf stayed outside.

“The American chief has lost a horse,” he announced. “The horse must be brought back, or we shall have a bad name with our American father.”

“If the American chief has lost a horse, let him promise a present and maybe it will be found,” answered Skidi.

“That is no way to talk,” Charakterik rebuked. “I want the horse brought to me; then we will see about the present.”

“The present is here already,” laughed Skidi. “It is in your lodge. The American chief would have done better to lose all his horses and say nothing, for a red scalp is big medicine.”

And all the warriors laughed.

Inside the lodge the American soldier grinned at Scar Head. Scar Head grinned back.

“Hello,” said the soldier.

Scar Head had heard that word several times. Now he blurted it, himself.

“H’lo.”

This was the end of the conversation, but Scar Head did a lot of thinking. He well knew where the horse was. Skidi had stolen it and hidden it out, and boasted of his feat. Now Skidi was talking of keeping the red-hair. That did not seem right. The Americans were brave. If somebody—a boy—should go out and bring the horse in, then Skidi might not dare to claim it, and White Wolf would send it and the red-hair on to Pike, and there would be no more trouble. Yes, being an American, himself (as they had said), Scar Head decided that he ought to help the other Americans.

He would get the horse.

IV
ON THE TRAIL OF THE SPANIARDS

Early in the morning, before yet even the squaws were stirring, Scar Head slipped out to get the horse. He found it picketed near the river, just where Skidi had cleverly concealed it. He led it in and tied it short, before the lodge door. Then he crept back to bed again. It would be safe, for nobody would dare remove it from the limits of the chiefs lodge.

The squaws were up first, of course, to start the fires and prepare the breakfasts. Charakterik’s two wives, an old one and a young one, arose and went outside. Lying quiet Scar Head heard them talking.

“Someone has brought a horse,” said the young squaw. “It is a Pawnee horse.”

“That is queer,” said the old squaw. “Who is making White Wolf such a present? This must be the horse that was stolen from the Americans. The thief has changed his heart, and grown afraid.”

“Or else it is a marriage gift,” giggled the young squaw. “Someone is looking for a wife in our lodge.”

“Who is there, to be married?” the old squaw demanded.

“We are the only women, so it must be that someone is in love with me,” the young squaw giggled again.

“You!” scoffed the old squaw. “Who would look at you? You are not worth a horse. No; the horse offering is made for me.”

And they both laughed. They knew better than to rouse Charakterik and tell him. Their business was to get the breakfast, and let him discover the horse, himself.

White Wolf and the American soldier were still snoozing upon their buffalo-robe couches. Pretty soon Scar Head could wait no longer. He went outside, yawning and rubbing his eyes, and pretended to be surprised by the horse.

“Whose horse is that?” he queried.

“Ask it, and maybe you will know more than we do.”

“Who brought it?”

“That is none of our affair; nor of yours, either. It was here when we came out.”

“It had not been here very long,” added the young squaw, to the elder. “See? The ground is only little trampled.”

“If you want to know where it came from,” continued the old squaw, to Scar Head, “you should trail it back, instead of asking silly questions.”

“Yes, and get into trouble. A gift is a gift, and not to be doubted,” the young squaw added.

At this, Scar Head ran off, to the river, for his morning swim. When he returned, Chief Charakterik and the American soldier were up and out, too, and surveying the horse.

“Do you know where this horse came from?” White Wolf questioned, of his wives.

“No. It was here. That is all.”

“The man who stole the horse from the Americans has returned it,” declared White Wolf. “Good. Is this the horse you are waiting for?” he asked, of the soldier.

The soldier did not understand the words, but he understood the gesture. Now he smiled and replied in his own language—which nobody else understood. But he nodded and pointed to the horse and in the direction of the Americans; and they all understood that.

“After you have eaten, you may take the horse and go your way,” White Wolf bade, well satisfied.

So the matter seemed to be settled; but somehow, Scar Head did not feel quite happy. The matter was settled too easily. In a few minutes the soldier would go; then all the Americans would be gone, and he himself would have lost them. In fact, he didn’t seem to be getting much out of his scheme, except that he may have saved the soldier’s scalp. Skidi would be angry, too, when he found out that the horse and soldier both had gone. Somebody would suffer—and Scar Head rather foresaw who that somebody might be! Skidi could make things very uncomfortable.

But before they were done eating, here came Skidi and several others, of the men, all furious.

“There is the horse,” exclaimed Skidi. “And there is the red-haired white man. We are in time.”

“What is all this shouting about?” reproved White Wolf. “This is no way to come to a chief’s lodge.”

“We come for a horse that has been stolen by that white man,” Skidi boldly retorted. “There it is. We claim it.”

“No. The horse belongs to the American chief. His soldier is here to get it. We talked about that yesterday. I will talk no more.”

“I will talk, for I am a man,” answered Skidi. “You let the white man eat at your fire and sleep in your lodge, and during the night he steals a horse. Are you a chief, that you close your eyes to such things? We ask for our horse, or else a large present.”

“Whose horse is it?”

“It is a Pawnee horse, and that is enough.”

“The horse was not here last night, but it was here early this morning,” announced White Wolf. “The American did not go out and get it. I am sure of that. If he did, why should he have brought it here, if he had stolen it? He could have easily made off with it, and others. No; the thief who took the horse from the Americans has returned it, as is right. Let the man who claims to own the horse come forward. But I think there is nothing more to be said.”

The soldier was sitting, in his stained blue clothes, and gazing around with a good-natured smile on his hairy face; but Scar Head could see that he was thinking fast, and ready to spring for the lodge and his gun.

“Are you going to send him away with the horse?”

“Who owns the horse?” White Wolf replied. “Why was it left at my lodge door if not for the American to take with him? Somebody had bad dreams, and went and got the horse, so that he might sleep.”

“In that case, the man deserves a present,” Skidi declared. “Let a present be given in exchange for the horse and the American may go.”

“To whom shall the present be given?” White Wolf inquired.

“I will take the present, and give it to the man who owns the horse,” said Skidi. “But of course if he has done this good deed he may wish to be secret about it, and if he is accused of having done an evil deed in the first place, he does not wish to be pointed at as a thief.”

“The American chief sent no present. He only asked for a horse that had been taken from him. Here it is, left on the prairie at my door, and I give it back to him.”

With that, Chief Charakterik stood and folded his robe around him, as sign that he was done. The soldier rose, also.

But the squad led by Skidi murmured angrily. Somebody reached to grasp the horse’s neck rope—

“No. Let him take it. He will not go far.”

“There will be a red scalp, for a dance, to-night.”

“The Americans will think the Pawnee are cowards, if all they need do is ask for a horse and get it.”

“You talk like children,” White Wolf reproved. “Who among you claims the horse? Nobody. Why was it left at my door, if not for me? Or did it come of itself? It is mine and I can do with it as I please.”

“But the present! You will shame all the town if you, a great chief, yield this way to the Americans. There is no proof that they have lost a horse, and why should you give one up to them, for nothing? You have no right to give the horse away until you find out why it was left at your lodge. You should wait and find out. People do not leave horses at lodges without expecting something in return. I may have left the horse, myself; and I might look for a present. Where is the present?”

Thus Skidi cunningly argued.

“Yes, where is the present?” they all demanded. “You need not make it, yourself. You can ask it from the Americans. Or tell the soldier to go; and if he doesn’t like to go alone, we will help him on his way.”

Scar Head suddenly spoke up.

“The American can have the horse, White Wolf. I brought it, and I want no present.”

Everybody gaped. White Wolf turned on him severely.

“You? You are a boy. Why do you say the American can have the horse? If you brought it, where did you get it?”

“I found it.”

“Whose horse is it?”

“It belongs to the American chief. It is the one he lost.”

“How do you know?”

“I know,” said Scar Head. “It was hidden, but I went and got it.”

“You lie! You are a meddler!” Skidi stormed, furious. “Wait till I lay my hands on you.”

“I do not lie. I brought the horse, and I can show where I found it,” Scar Head answered.

“That is boy’s talk,” appealed Skidi. “Look at him! He is no Pawnee, as everybody knows. He is not even an Indian. Who can believe what he says? Are warriors to be ruled by a boy? I demand a council, on this horse—and I will attend to that piece of impudence when I catch him away from the lodge.”

Chief Charakterik hesitated. Attracted by the loud voice of Skidi the village was gathering; Iskatappe had come, and Old Knife, and other leading men who were unfriendly to the Americans; and Scar Head felt small. Now Skidi had called for a council; and between the council and Skidi the red-haired soldier and he himself were likely to fare rather badly. Charakterik, too, looked angry. Only the soldier stood smiling, backed against the lodge doorway, his gun in his hands.

But right in the midst of the crisis, somebody else arrived. It was Baroney, the interpreter for Chief Pike.

“Go into the lodge,” ordered White Wolf, to Scar Head. “You have made bad work. I will talk with you later.”

Scar Head went in, disgraced. Outside, the voices continued, with White Wolf, and Skidi, and Baroney doing most of the speaking, and Rich Man and Letalesha adding remarks.

After a short time they all quit. White Wolf entered, with Baroney and the soldier.

“You are going away,” he said. “You may get your yellow pony and make ready.”

“Where am I going?”

“With these two men, to the American camp. The horse matter is settled. The American chief has sent a present, for the horse. Everybody is satisfied. But you did a wrong thing, when you interfered in men’s affairs. Why did you do that?”

“I like the Americans,” Scar Head stammered.

“Yes,” replied White Wolf. “What Skidi said is true. You are not red, you are white, and they all know it. You can never be an Indian. Now you have lost friends. The Pawnee will always look at you sideways, and Skidi is likely to harm you. So I give you to the American chief, to be rid of you before you are hurt. He asked me to send you away. If I keep you it may mean trouble for me also. Get your horse. These two men are waiting.”

His brain in a whirl, Scar Head hastened out, for his yellow pony. As he passed through the village, there were scowls and jeers, because now nobody respected him as the chief’s son; but he did not care. He was an American, and these Pawnees were no longer his people. So he tried to walk fast, like an American, and pay no attention to the black looks and the slurs.

He rode back, on his pony. The two men were waiting, on their horses, with the other horse in tow. White Wolf’s lodge received him kindly. His brother, White Wolf’s real son, handed him a horn bow and otter-skin quiver of arrows.

“They are for you. Do not forget your brother.”

The old squaw put new beaded moccasins upon his feet.

“They are for you. Do not forget your mother.”

The young squaw clasped a silver bracelet upon his wrist.

“It is for you. Do not forget your sister.”

White Wolf threw a white-tanned robe, soft and warm, from a young buffalo-cow, over his shoulders.

“Do not forget your father. You did wrong, but your heart was good. Remember that you have been a chief’s son. Always bear yourself like a warrior. To a warrior, heat and cold and thirst and hunger are nothing. A brave man lives, while a coward dies. Now go.”

“Come,” said Baroney. The stocky soldier smiled brightly.

With never a backward glance they galloped out of the town, into the south and on.

Baroney began to lead. With the horse in tow, the soldier slackened, to ride alongside Scar Head. He grinned, and spoke.

“Hello,” he said, again.

“H’lo,” responded Scar Head.

The soldier rubbed his nose, as if figuring upon what to say next.

“American, you?” he queried.

Scar Head caught the word, and nodded. The soldier spoke farther, with another question.

“He asks your name,” called back Baroney. “I will tell him. His name is Sparks. He is a good man. They are all good men. You will be happy with the Americans.”

“Sparks!” That was a simple name and a good one, because it fitted. Fire might be his medicine; the stiff bright hairs of his face were the red sparks, shooting out.

The American chief had camped at only a short distance from the Pawnee town, waiting on peace or war. There were shouts of welcome, for Baroney and Sparks, and many curious gazes for Scar Head. He rode proudly, on his yellow pony, with his warrior’s bow and arrows, his chief-beaded moccasins, his bracelet and his white cow-robe. He was no longer afraid of the Americans. Baroney took him on to Chief Pike, who was standing beside his saddled horse.

The camp lodges had been struck, the Americans were ready to march.

Baroney explained to the young chief. Chief Pike listened—he nodded, and spoke, and with a smile reached to shake Scar Head’s hand. The medicine man also spoke, and smiled, and shook hands. The young second chief came and did the same. Then they got on their horses.

“It is well,” said Baroney to Scar Head. “You will ride in front, with the chiefs.”

“Where do we go?”

“We go to the mountains, and to find the Ietans.”

Scar Head said nothing, to that. It was a long way, and the danger way, but he was with braves who seemed to feel no fears. They appeared to know what they were about.

Chief Pike shouted a command and led out. The second chief repeated the command, and turned in his saddle to see that it was obeyed; then he galloped to the fore. The two chiefs rode first, side by side. Baroney signed, and Scar Head found himself between Baroney and the medicine-man. Four Osages, still—Chief Pretty Bird, two warriors and a woman—followed. The American warriors trudged after, two by two, in a column, with the extra horses bearing packs.

The warriors numbered eighteen. It was a small party, for a great nation, when one remembered that the Spanish had sent several hundred and that the Padoucahs or Ietans (the Comanches) numbered thousands. The Osages of course need not be counted. The Pawnees thought little of Osages—a poor and miserable people.

The Spanish had left a very broad, plain trail. The Americans were following it, although it was an old trail and the Spanish chief had been gone several weeks. It stretched straight southward, toward the Kansas country, and the Padoucah and the Spanish country, beyond. If the young chief Pike followed far enough, in that direction, he would have need of all his medicine to get out again. But perhaps he would turn west, in time, and aim for the unknown mountains, many days’ journey—although what he expected to find there, nobody might say.

It was the home of the Utahs, who warred upon plains people and were friendly to only the Spanish.

He was a bold man, this young Chief Pike.

The march southward continued all day, pursuing the trail, until when the sun was getting low and the shadows long a place was reached where the Spanish had camped.

Chief Pike examined the signs. The Spanish of Chief Melgares had camped in a circle. There were fifty-nine burnt spots, from campfires. Allowing six warriors to each fire, that counted up over three hundred and fifty. The grasses had been eaten off by the horses.

Chief Pike led his eighteen warriors on a little distance, and ordered camp for the night beside a fork of the river of the Kansas. Scar Head was well treated; the American medicine man or “doctor” eyed him a great deal, but did him no harm; the warrior Sparks grinned at him, and beckoned to him, but he did not go. It was a cheerful camp, with the men singing and joking in their strange language.

He ate at the fire of the two chiefs and the medicine-man. They and Baroney the interpreter talked together. Soon after dark everybody went to bed, except the guards, and except Chief Pike, who sat up, in his lodge, making black marks on white leaves, by the fire of a sputtering white stick!

Scar Head rolled in his buffalo robe, at one side of the lodge; the couch for the medicine-man (who was already on it) and for the chief, was at the other side. He stayed awake as long as he could, watching lest the medicine-man should try to feel of the spot on his head, again; but he was tired, and before the chief had finished making marks, he fell asleep.

V
THE CHASE OF THE BIG ELK

Bang!

One of the American guards, stationed on a little rise, had fired his gun, as an alarm signal.

It was noon, of the second day, and Chief Pike had halted his men to eat, and graze the horses. At the signal, everybody looked.

“Injuns!” cried the Americans, while the guard pointed and called.

Scar Head likewise looked.

“Pawnee,” he said. He knew them instantly, although they were still far off.

Chief Pike and the young sub-chief shouted orders. The soldiers seized their guns and formed to protect the horses; the guards came running in. Scar Head strung his bow and plucked a good arrow from his quiver. The “doctor” or medicine-man, standing with gun in hand, smiled and asked him a question, in French.

“What are you doing? Making ready to fight?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” praised the medicine-man. “You will fight for the Americans?”

“I am American,” asserted Scar Head. “American. No Pawnee.”

The medicine-man laughed, but he seemed pleased.

There were many of the Pawnees—fully three hundred. They approached swiftly, across the rolling prairie, from the north. They were horseback, but they acted like a war party—all were warriors, with guns and bows and lances. What did they want? Even Scar Head could not guess. Had Charakterik decided to let the Americans be attacked? That was foolish. The Americans were ready, and would fight hard.

Or, perhaps Iskatappe and Skidi and other hot-hearts had planned this without permission, and were determined to see what they might do.

The Americans stood in a half circle, facing the Pawnees, their horses tied short, behind them. Chief Pike stood in front of the center, his sword in his hand. His sub-chief was at one end and the medicine-man at the other end. Scar Head fitted his arrow upon his bow, twitched his quiver around so that he might reach it more easily, and ran closer to the medicine-man’s end, where he could shoot better. The soldier Sparks was here, too.

Iskatappe led the Pawnees. They were nearing fast. Yes, Skidi was among them. Scar Head decided to loose his arrows upon Skidi, who had called him a liar and who was the mischief-maker. Now Chief Pike uttered a sharp command, and the gun-locks of the few Americans all clicked; he uttered another command, and the guns of the few Americans all rose to a level line. Scar Head lifted his bow and bent it, pointing his arrow upward, his eyes measuring the distance to Skidi.

But on a sudden the Pawnees stopped short, so that their ponies’ forehoofs ploughed the sod, and Iskatappe and another chief rode forward more slowly, with the peace sign.

Chief Pike barked a command, so that the Americans’ guns were lowered. Baroney went out and joined him, and they two met Iskatappe and the other chief.

After all, Iskatappe only gave Chief Pike a piece of meat. They rode in together, and the Pawnees came on, and the Americans let them.

“No war,” smiled the medicine-man, over his shoulder, at Scar Head.

“Maybe,” grunted Scar Head, but he was suspicious. When the Pawnees acted this way, they were of two minds. The Americans would do well to watch out. They did watch, but it was hard to keep so many Pawnees at a distance. They edged about, smiling and alert for chances.

“Hello, little sneak,” greeted Skidi, of Scar Head.

“Hello, thief,” Scar Head boldly answered. “You are the sneak. You give with one hand and take back with the other.”

“You talk big,” sneered Skidi. “Once you were a chief’s son; now you are nothing. When I catch you, some day, you will be less than nothing.”

“Why don’t you catch me now?” Scar Head retorted. “I am with the Americans. I am not afraid of you.”

“You are not worth the trouble. We are hunting meat. The Padoucah can have you and those Osages. They and the Spanish will eat you all, for us, and save us the bother. If we did not believe that, we would never have let the Americans come even this far.”

It appeared to be true that the Pawnees were hunting, and not bent upon war. Iskatappe had brought Chief Pike a present of bear meat, to wipe out the memory of the horse-theft, he said. But the Americans stood ready, trying to see what the Pawnees really were up to—and Scar Head kept his eye upon the crafty Skidi.

Pretty soon Chief Pike and Iskatappe shook hands again. The Pawnees were to ride one way, the Americans another. Scar Head was just in time. As the Americans started, he brushed against the medicine-man, so as to warn, with his French words:

“Knife. No knife.”

The medicine-man instantly felt of the knife scabbard on his saddle. It was empty, as Scar Head well knew, for he had seen the clever Skidi steal the knife out. Now the “doctor” exclaimed, and spoke quickly to Chief Pike. They both reined aside, so did Baroney the interpreter—

“Come,” beckoned the medicine-man, to Scar Head; and while the column went on with the second chief, they turned back to the Pawnees.

“We have come for a knife that is lost,” announced Chief Pike, to Iskatappe, with Baroney talking for him in bad Pawnee.

“We know nothing about any knife,” asserted Rich Man, stiffly.

“A knife is missing from this man’s saddle,” Chief Pike insisted. “I ask you to get it for me.”

“You grow angry about a very small thing,” Iskatappe replied. “What is one knife to you? Besides, you say it is lost. Very well; then you should find it. We know nothing about it.”

Chief Pike flushed, angry indeed. His blue eyes looked hot.

“Whether or not it is a small thing, we Americans are not men who can be robbed. The knife may seem of little value, but it is ours. I am here to get it from you.”

“That is strong talk,” Iskatappe answered. “I have no knife of yours. Where is your knife?”

“Who has it?” the medicine-man asked, in quick low voice, of Scar Head.

“Skidi,” whispered Scar Head.

The medicine-man pushed forward to Baroney, and spoke with him.

“This man says your warrior named Skidi has his knife,” said Baroney, to Iskatappe.

“We will see,” replied Iskatappe. He called Skidi, and told him to throw back his robe; and sure enough, there was the knife.

“I did not know that it was that man’s knife,” Skidi defended. “I found it on the trail. Now it is mine. If I give it up, I must have another to take its place.”

“Your warrior lies,” Chief Pike flatly retorted, to Iskatappe. “He stole the knife. Otherwise, how did we know that he had it?”

Matters looked bad. The Pawnees were surrounding thicker and thicker, and the other Americans had gone on. But Chief Pike gave no sign that he was afraid; neither did the medicine-man. Only Baroney acted uneasy, and Scar Head’s heart beat rapidly.

“What the American chief says, sounds true,” remarked Iskatappe, while Skidi glared and his friends jostled and murmured. “But maybe Skidi is right, too. He should have another knife.”

“We are not here to trade knives. When an honest man finds what belongs to another, he returns it,” Chief Pike replied.

“Much time is being wasted over a matter of no account,” growled Iskatappe. “Here is your knife,” and he plucked it from Skidi’s waist. “I am not stingy, so I give him one to take its place.” And so he did.

Chief Pike passed the knife to the medicine-man. The medicine-man was wise. He immediately passed it back to Iskatappe.

“It is now yours. Keep it. By this you see that we did not come for the knife; we came for justice.”

“You show us that your hearts are good, after all,” Rich Man granted. “I think you have done well.”

The faces of the Pawnees cleared, even Skidi seemed satisfied, and after shaking hands once more Chief Pike led out for the column and left the Pawnees to go their way also.

The Americans under the second chief were a long way ahead. Chief Pike acted as if in no hurry. He and the medicine-man cantered easily and chatted and laughed like brothers; Scar Head and Baroney cantered together, behind them.

“Our scalps were loose, back there,” uttered Baroney.

“Yes,” said Scar Head. “I smelled blood.”

“You are no Pawnee. They would scalp you, too. Were you afraid?”

“No. No one is afraid, with Chief Pike.”

Baroney laughed. He was a small, dark, black-bearded man who spoke about as much Pawnee as Scar Head spoke French, but was good at the sign language; so by using all three means, with now and then a word of Spanish, he got along.

They had ridden about a mile, and were slowly overtaking the American column, when another band of figures came charging. The medicine-man sighted them, the first, for he pointed—and they indeed looked, at a distance, to be more Indians, issuing from ambush in a river bottom on the left and launching themselves to cut off the Chief Pike squad.

Scar Head himself read them with one keen stare.

“Elk,” he grunted, in Pawnee, and stiffened with the hunt feeling.

Baroney called, excitedly; but Chief Pike had read, too. He shouted, turned his horse and shook his reins and flourished his gun, and away he dashed, to meet the elk. In a flash Scar Head clapped his heels against his pony’s ribs, and tore after. The medicine-man and Baroney tore, too, on a course of their own.

The yellow pony was a fast pony, well trained. He had been stolen from the Comanches, whose horses were the best. Scar Head rode light—a boy in only a buffalo robe. The American horses all were poor horses, even those traded for with the Pawnees, and Chief Pike, in his clothes, weighed twice as much, on the saddle, as Scar Head.

The yellow pony over-hauled the Chief Pike horse—crept up, from tail to stirrup, from stirrup to neck, from neck to nose. Scar Head, his moccasined feet thrust into thong loops, clung close. Chief Pike glanced aside at him, with blue eyes glowing, and smiled.

“Good meat,” he said, in French. “We two hunt.”

“Kill,” answered Scar Head.

“Can you kill?”

“Yes.”

“What with?”

“This.” And Scar Head shook his strung bow.

Chief Pike laughed.

“They are large; you are small. With a gun—yes. With a bow—I think not.”

“You will see,” Scar Head promised. His heart was filled with the desire to prove himself to Chief Pike. But he had never killed an elk—nothing larger than a badger; he only knew that it might be done.

They raced. The elk were foolish things, and appeared to be thinking more of some danger behind than the danger before. No—now Baroney and the medicine-man had frightened them afresh, for they had swerved, they paralleled the trail, and were scouring on to gain the open.

Good riding might head them.

The yellow pony knew. He ran like a deer, himself. Chief Pike’s horse lengthened bravely.

“Hi! Hi!” Scar Head urged.

“Hurrah!” cheered the chief.

They were veering in. The band of elk were led by a splendid buck, whose horns branched like a tree. The elk chief ran with his nose out and his horns laid upon his neck, but now and again he shook his head, and his horns tossed.

Baroney and the medicine-man were trying to close in, on the rear flank—the medicine-man had shot. Scar Head belabored his pony harder. The wind whistled in his ears, his white robe had dropped about his thighs, he rode with his legs and notched an arrow upon his bow-string. His eyes were upon the elk chief, and he almost lost sight of Chief Pike, although he knew that Pike was thudding close beside him.

The reports of the medicine-man and Baroney guns sounded, driving the elk before them. The elk chief saw the two enemies cutting him off before. He recoiled sharply, to turn, but the herd forced him on; they all bunched, confused. This was the chance, and in charged Scar Head, on his yellow pony.

“Le grand cerf (The large stag)!” Chief Pike gasped.

“Oui (yes)!” answered Scar Head.

The herd broke. On bolted the stag, tossing his great horns. After him pelted Scar Head and Chief Pike. It was another chase. But, see! The Pawnees were coming, from before. The chase was leading straight for them, they had seen, and fifty or sixty of their best hunters had galloped in a long line, for a surround.

The stag saw, too. Or else he smelled. He turned at right angles, to escape the net. A minute or two more, and the yellow pony was at his straining haunches, and Scar Head was leaning forward with bow bent to the arrow’s head.

“Look out! Look out!” Chief Pike shouted.

With a mighty leap the stag sprang aside, whirled, and charged the yellow pony. His bristling horns were down, his eyes shone greenly. Around whirled the yellow pony, also, and scrambled for safety. Scar Head, clinging and urging, gazed backward and laughed to show that he was not afraid. Chief Pike, his pistol held high, pursued, to the rescue.

But the elk chief changed heart. The yellow pony nimbly dodged, and he went on. Scar Head closed in on him once more. Chief Pike was coming; the arrow should be sped now or never.

The elk chief was spattered with froth from shoulder to haunch; his great horns, polished at the tips but still ragged with their velvet, lay flat, reaching to his back. Scar Head forged on farther and farther, his bow arched from arrow notch to arrow point; he leaned, aimed quickly, and loosed. It was a warrior’s bow, and the recoil jarred his whole arm, but the arrow had sunk to its feathers in the right spot, just behind the elk’s fore shoulder.

“Hi!” cheered Scar Head. He whipped another arrow from his quiver; without slackening speed he fitted it to the bow.

The elk chief had given a tremendous bound; for a moment it seemed as though he would get away yet. On thudded the yellow pony, in the rear at the other side on thudded Chief Pike, ready to use his pistol.

Before, the Pawnees were yelling. Scar Head feared that he was going to lose his kill to them, or to Chief Pike. That would never do. He kicked his pony fiercely. Ha! The old chief was failing, as the arrow point worked. The pony drew up on him. Now another arrow. [Whang! It buried itself almost out of sight behind the elk chief’s ribs.]

[WHANG! IT BURIED ITSELF ALMOST OUT OF SIGHT BEHIND THE ELK CHIEF’S RIBS]

The elk chief bounded high, screamed, turned blindly, and with one more bound crashed headlong to the ground. The yellow pony leaped right across him as he struggled to rise. But he rose only half way, still screaming with rage. Then, just as Chief Pike arrived, and Scar Head, twisting the yellow pony, leveled a third arrow, he collapsed, gushing blood from his mouth, and quivered and died.

Scar Head yelled the scalp halloo. He had killed the elk chief, a mighty animal indeed.

Chief Pike, out of breath, swung his hat and cheered, too. He got off his horse, and walked around the elk, examining it. He examined the arrow wounds, with the reddened feather tips just showing.

“That was well done,” he said.

Scar Head sat happy, breathing fast. The scar under his white mark throbbed and burned, as it always did when he worked hard or played hard, but he was happy. His heart glowed at the praise by Chief Pike. He felt like a man.

“Yours,” he panted. “I kill. You keep.”

“It is much meat,” replied Chief Pike.

Baroney and the medicine-man were chasing hither-thither. The Pawnees were killing. Chief Pike galloped away to see. But he would see no arrows buried deeper than these.

After the hunt was over, the Pawnees cut up their animals, and the Pike party cut up the big elk. With Scar Head riding proudly, they four caught the column under the second chief. The camp feasted, this night, upon a spot where the Spanish also had camped. There was only one alarm call, from the guard, on account of two Pawnees who came in by mistake. They had not eaten for three days and thought that this was a camp of their own people.

Chief Pike sent them out again, with food for a sick comrade. He was kind as well as brave.

VI
LIEUTENANT WILKINSON SAYS GOOD-BY

“Chief Pike asks you to go back with one man and find John Sparks.”

These were the words of Baroney, to Scar Head, who was just finishing breakfast so as to be ready to march.

A number of days had passed since the elk hunt, and several things had happened. Although the Americans were brave, the Great Spirit seemed to be angry with them for marching through the country. He gave them hungry camps, without wood and water. He sent rain on them, and made them sick. Chief Pretty Bird and another Osage man had left. They said that they wanted better hunting—but it was plain that they were afraid. And on the same day the Spanish trail had been blotted out by buffalo hoofs, and the Americans had lost it.

By the talk, this was bad. According to what Scar Head understood, Chief Pike depended upon the Spanish trail to guide him by the best road into the south and to the Comanches. The Spanish knew this country better than the Americans did.

The rain kept falling, and the men straggled. Yesterday afternoon the warrior Sparks had dropped behind. He had pains in his joints, which the medicine-man had not been able to cure: “rheumatism.” He could not ride a horse and he could scarcely walk, using his gun as a crutch. Last night he had not come into camp. The Spanish trail was lost, again; and Sparks was lost, too.

Scar Head was glad to go back and look for him. He liked Sparks. He liked all the men and was getting to know them by their names: queer names. Each man had two—one for each other and one for the chiefs. There was “Jake” and “Carter”; the same man. And “Jerry” and “Jackson”; and “Tom” and “Dougherty”; and “John” and “Brown”; and “Hugh” and “Menaugh”; and “Bill” and “Meek”; and “Joe” and “Ballenger”; and the others. The last two were head warriors, called “sergeant.” The medicine-man’s names were “John” and “Doctor Robinson.” The second chief’s names were “the left’nant” and “Lieutenant Wilkinson.” Chief Pike was “the cap’n” and “Lieutenant Pike.”

The warriors spoke only American, but they knew Indian ways. The most of them, Baroney said, had been on a long journey before with Lieutenant Pike, far into the north up a great river, into the country of the Sioux.

The medicine-man, Doctor Robinson, was popular, but he was not a chief. The men did not seem to fear him. He rode well and shot well. Lieutenant Pike and he rode and hunted together, while the second chief, Lieutenant Wilkinson, stayed with the men. Scar Head also had grown not to fear the medicine-man, who frequently asked him about his white spot and where he had come from, to the Utahs and Pawnees, and tried to teach him American words.

Some of the American words were hard and some easy. On some days they were harder than on other days; and again Scar Head suddenly spoke words that he didn’t know at all—they arrived to him of themselves. That was odd. He was getting to be an American; he felt as though he had been an American in his heart all the time, but that his heart had been shut up. The times when his spot throbbed and burned were the times when he knew the fewest words.

The men had given him a new name. His Pawnee name was not good enough for them. The new name was “Stub.” John Sparks had told him of it, first, by saying it.

“Hello, Stub? How goes it, Stub?”

And the other men laughed and repeated:

“Here, Stub.”

“Hello, Stub!”

“You’re the boy, Stub.”

“What is ‘Stub’?” he asked, of the medicine-man, Doctor Robinson.

“It is ‘short,’ ‘cut off,’ coupé,” carefully explained the medicine-man. “They like you. It is a good name, because you are small.”

“American?”

“Yes.”

“Sure, an’ we mane no harm, doctor, sir,” called “Tom,” whose other name was Dougherty. “If sawed-off he is, a rale little man he is, too.”

And while Scar Head (whose other name was now “Stub,” in American language) did not understand all those words, he knew that they were kindly spoken. So his name pleased him.

John Brown was the man who rode with him to look for Sparks. They took the back trail and rode for a long time. Everything was wet from the rains. Sparks must have spent a miserable night, alone on the prairie, without food or fire. Finally they saw him, far ahead, hobbling slowly, trying to catch up with the march.

He grinned when they met him, and shouted cheerfully, although he made faces.

“Mornin’ to ye, boys. ’Rah for Stub!”

“H’lo, John. No walk; ride. My pony.” And Stub sprang off.

“Can you ride, John?” asked John Brown.

“Sure, I’ll try. At this rate I dunno whether I’m goin’ or comin’. You’ll all be to the mountains an’ back ag’in before I ever ketch up. Hey, Stub?”

But Stub might only smile.

With many grunts and awkward movements John Sparks climbed aboard the yellow pony. It was near noon when they brought him into the camp.

Lieutenant Pike and Doctor Robinson had been hunting for the Spanish trail, again, but had not found it. There was talk of a large river, the Arkansaw, somewhere southward yet. The Americans were anxious to reach the river, which would guide them; but they had lost the trail to it.

After eating, they made another march. When the sun was low, Lieutenant Pike pointed to some trees a long way ahead and told Lieutenant Wilkinson to march the men to that place. He beckoned to Stub.

“Come with me?” he asked.

Stub nodded. He and Lieutenant Pike and Doctor the medicine-man went off by themselves, scouting up a creek. Lieutenant Pike was still looking for the Spanish trail.

They all looked and looked, but did not cross it. The lieutenant sighted some buffalo; he and the medicine-man gave chase, and before Stub reached them they had killed two. That was good. They took the tongues, and left a coat on the carcasses, to keep the wolves away; but when the three rode hard, to get to camp before dark, there was no camp. The Lieutenant Wilkinson men had not gone to the trees. Now everybody was lost!

After searching about and speaking angrily, Lieutenant Pike ordered camp. It was lucky that they had taken the buffalo tongues, because now they might make a fire and cook the tongues.

What had become of the Lieutenant Wilkinson men seemed very queer. Early in the morning Lieutenant Pike led up the creek, from the trees, and did not find them. The three arrived at the spot where the two buffalo carcasses were lying. The wolves were eating the carcasses, in spite of the coat, but there were marrow bones left. Next, the lieutenant led down the creek. Not even the smoke of any campfires might be seen, and there were no pony tracks or footprints.

Stub used all his eyes, but discovered nothing. At night the lieutenant and the doctor were much worried.

“Injuns, mebbe?” Stub asked.

Lieutenant Pike nodded gravely.

“I fear so. We will hunt more to-morrow.”

That night it rained, and in the morning was still raining, cold. But they had had plenty to eat. This day they rode and rode, up the creek again, in the rain.

“It is bad,” said the doctor. “A long way from home. Only four shots left. No trail, no men, nada (nothing). Indian country. We look one more day; then we find the river Arkansaw.”

“Go to ’Nited States?” Stub queried.

“Cannot tell. The Great Father sent us out. We are men; we hate to go back.”

“Mebbe they there, on Arkansaw. Injuns chase ’em.”

“Maybe. But it is bad. Maybe Injuns chase us, next.”

“We fight,” declared Stub.

And the doctor laughed.

“You’re all right. We’ll do our best, eh?”

Stub had ten arrows; the lieutenant and the medicine-man each had four loads for their guns. That was not much, in a fight.

Early in the morning they again rode, searching up the creek, with their eyes scanning before and behind and right and left. When the sun was halfway to noon, they saw two horsemen, coming from the south. Indians? No! White men—soldiers!

Lieutenant Pike cried gladly, and fired his gun, in signal. His face had been dark and stern; now it lighted up, and they all galloped for the two men. Lieutenant Wilkinson was only three miles south, on the Arkansaw.

“What! The Arkansaw?” Lieutenant Pike repeated.

“Yes, sir. It is right close.”

“Have you found the Spanish trail?”

“No, sir. But we found the river.”

The two soldiers guided. When they drew near where the river was, Lieutenant Wilkinson galloped out. By the way in which he shook hands with his chief and with the doctor, he, too, had been worried.

“Sure, we thought you were lost or scalped,” said John Sparks, to Stub, in camp.

“No lost; you lost,” answered Stub.

“Well, depends on how you look at it,” agreed John Sparks, scratching his red hair.

The river was a wide river, flowing between cottonwood trees. The country was flat, and the trees had hidden the size of the river. The men began to look for trees to make boats of. Did this mean that Chief Pike was going to travel on by boat? Baroney explained.

“Lieutenant Wilkinson travels down river by boat. The captain takes men and marches to the Comanches.”

“Lieutenant Wilkinson, how far?” Stub asked.

“Very far, to the American forts at the mouth of the river, and to report to the American father.”

“Captain Pike, how far?”

Baroney shrugged his shoulders.

“Who knows?”

Stub made up his mind what he was going to do.

Lieutenant Pike moved the camp to the other side of the river, where the best boat-trees grew. The river was rising fast, from the rains, and everybody had to swim and arrived very wet. Rain fell almost all the time, but it was a good camp, with plenty of wood and meat.

While the men under Lieutenant Wilkinson cut down trees Chief Pike and the doctor medicine-man scouted up and down the river, hunting meat and the Spanish trail. There were buffalo and antelope, but there was no Spanish trail.

Lieutenant Pike grew curious about the wish-ton-wish, or prairie dogs. He found a large town of them, where the rattle-snakes and the tortoise lived, too. He and the doctor shot them, to eat, and they were good—as Stub well knew. It took true shooting, because unless a wish-ton-wish is killed dead, he crawls into his hole.

The wish-ton-wish is among the smartest of animals. He digs his hole cunningly. The lieutenant and the doctor tried to fill one hole with water, and get the wish-ton-wish that way. Stub said, “No use”—he and the Pawnee boys had tried it often. And the men found out that this was true, for they spent a long time and poured in one hundred and forty kettles of water, and it all disappeared but no wish-ton-wish came out.

Still, the towns were interesting places, where the dogs sat up straight with their hands across their stomachs, and held councils, like people, and whistled “Wish-ton-wish (Look out)!” whenever an enemy was sighted.

A great deal of buffalo-meat was dried, for Lieutenant Wilkinson to take. Making the boats required several days. The trees were too small and soft. When one boat had at last been hollowed the men started to build another out of buffalo and elk hides, stretched over a frame.

On the night before Lieutenant Wilkinson was to leave, Chief Pike the captain said to Stub:

“Come here. Listen.”

“What?”

“To-morrow you go with Lieutenant Wilkinson.”

“No,” answered Stub. He had been afraid of that.

“Yes. You go with him, to the United States. That is best.”

“No.” And Stub shook his head.

“Why not?”

“No go. Stay with you.”

“Don’t you want to be an American, and see the towns of the Great Father?”

“Be an American here,” answered Stub.

“We do not stay here. We go on, a long way, up the river, to the mountains.”

“Yes,” said Stub.

“You will be cold.”

“Don’t care.”

“You will be hungry.”

“Don’t care.”

“We may all die.”

“Don’t care.”

“The Osage were afraid. The Pawnee were afraid. You are not afraid?”

“No. No Osage, no Pawnee; American. March, hunt, fight, stay with you,” Stub appealed, eagerly.

The doctor medicine-man laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good. Let him come, lieutenant.”

“He may come,” replied the lieutenant. And Stub’s heart beat gladly.

Baroney and John Sparks and Tom Dougherty and John Brown and others of his friends were coming, too. Had he been sent away with Lieutenant Wilkinson, in the boat, for the United States, he would have run off at his first chance and followed the Pike trail.

Right after breakfast in the morning camp was broken. It had been a very cold night, with snow, and ice floated thickly down the swollen river. But by help of the Wilkinson boats Lieutenant Pike moved his men and baggage across the river again, to the north side which everybody said was the American side. The men worked hard, to load the boats and swim the horses, in the slush and ice. Then Lieutenant Wilkinson made ready to start.

He took with him, in his two boats, one of the head soldiers, Sergeant Joe Ballenger; the soldiers John Boley, Sam Bradley, Sol Huddleston, and John Wilson; the Osage man and woman who had come this far, and corn and meat for twenty-one days.

Head soldier Sergeant Bill Meek marched the Pike men up-river, but Stub stayed with Lieutenant Pike, the doctor, and Baroney, to see the Wilkinson men leave. He had no fear of being put aboard, now, for Chief Pike always spoke the truth.

Lieutenant Wilkinson shook hands all ’round, stepped into the boat, made of four buffalo hides and two elk hides, and with his crew pushed off, after the other boat. The floating ice did not matter.

Lieutenant Pike watched them out of sight, in a bend. Then he turned his horse toward the west.

“Come,” he said.

He and Doctor Robinson led; Baroney and Stub followed.

“Now to the mountains,” cheered Baroney. “Huzzah!”

“Huzzah!” Stub echoed.

The mountains were far, through Comanche country, maybe through Spanish country, perhaps into Utah country; and after that, what? Nobody had said. Winter was here, as if the Great Spirit were still angry. The men had shivered, this morning, in their thin clothes; but nobody had seemed to care. Young Chief Wilkinson, with a few men, was going one way, on an unknown trail; young Chief Pike, with the rest of the men, was going the other way, on another unknown trail. So, huzzah! To be an American one must be brave.

VII
“THE MOUNTAINS! THE MOUNTAINS!”

The Spanish trail again! They struck it toward evening of the day after Lieutenant Wilkinson had left—and they struck it just in time, too. Snow was falling once more, and dusk was at hand.

The trail came in from the north, and crossed the river. Lieutenant Pike ordered camp made. Then he and the doctor forded the river, through the floating ice, to see where the trail went on the other side.

They returned in the dark. They had lost the trail, among the buffalo tracks, but were going to try again in the morning.

“We’ll have to take Stub, and use his eyes, too,” said the doctor.

This was another cold night. The snow had quit, after falling two inches deep. The horses groaned, where they were picketed to graze; before rolling themselves in their blankets and buffalo robes, on the ground, the men huddled about their fires. There were now thirteen soldiers, and Chief Pike, the doctor, Baroney and Stub.

“Heap winter, b’gorry; eh?” spoke Pat Smith, to Stub, and holding his hands to the blaze.

Stub gravely nodded.

“Winter come soon,” he answered.

“An’ aren’t ye cold, boy?” queried John Sparks. “In only your skin an’ a buff’lo robe?”

“No cold,” Stub asserted. That was all the Pawnees wore. He was used to it.

The day dawned clear. After eating, Sergeant Meek marched the men up along the river. With Lieutenant Pike and the doctor, Stub crossed to help find the Spanish trail. They had to break a way through the ice. The ice cut the horses’ legs, the stinging water splashed high, soaking moccasins and drenching the lieutenant and the doctor above the knees. The lieutenant wore thin blue cotton leggins—a sort of trousers called overalls; now these clung to him tightly.

Stub rather preferred his own skin, for it shed water.

The Spanish had camped over here. There were lots of horse sign showing through the snow, in a space of more than a mile. The Spanish seemed to have grown in numbers. It was an old camp, and the trail out of it had been flattened by buffalo tracks, and by the snows and rains. So they three—Lieutenant Pike, the doctor, and Stub—made circles, as they rode up river, to cut the trail farther on.

They did not find it until noon. But they found something else: Indian signs which were not older than three days. A party of warriors were ahead. Stub picked up a worn moccasin: “Pawnee—Grand Pawnee,” he announced, when he handed it to the lieutenant “War party. All on foot. Mebbe so many.” And he opened and shut his fingers five times.

The lieutenant and the doctor examined the moccasin. After that they rode more rapidly, as if anxious to get to their soldiers.

The soldiers also had crossed the river, on account of bad travel, and were camped on this, the south side. In the morning they all marched by the Spanish trail, along the river, into the west, over a country covered with salt. There were more Indian signs. It looked as though twenty warriors had been marching in the same direction only a short time before; and fresh horse tracks pointed down river.

Whether the Indians were the same Pawnees or not, was hard to tell. But the horse tracks looked to be wild-horse tracks.

“Sure, wouldn’t it be fun to ketch a few o’ them wild hosses, Stub, lad?” proposed John Sparks, in camp. “We need ’em. Would ye know how?”

“Chase ’em; with rope. Chase ’em all day, make tired, mebbe no ketch ’em,” Stub answered.

“Or if ye shoot one jest right, through the nape o’ the neck an’ graze the nerve there, ye’ll down him like as if lightning struck him an’ he won’t be hurt,” asserted Hugh Menaugh.

“Yes, but it takes mighty fine shootin’,” said soldier Bill Gordon. “You’re like to kill him, or miss him complete.”

The wild horses were sighted the next evening, from camp on an island where there was wood and shelter. The lieutenant and the doctor and Baroney had come in with two antelope that they had killed among their own horses, while they themselves were lying on the ground and resting. They might have killed more, but they did not need the meat. Now while spying on the country around, through his long glass, the lieutenant saw a bunch of moving figures out there on the prairie, north of the river.

Indians? No—wild horses, more than one hundred! Good! Out he went, and the doctor, and Baroney, and Stub followed, to get a nearer view.

They were of many colors, those wild horses—blacks and browns and greys and spotted. They waited with heads high, as curious as if they had never seen men before. Then they came charging, in a broad front, and their hoofs drummed like thunder. Only a short way off they stopped, to start and snort.

“Ma foi, quelle beauté (My gracious, how beautiful)!” cried Baroney.

“Try to crease that black, lieutenant,” the doctor proposed.

The lieutenant rested his gun upon his empty saddle, took long aim, and fired. But he did not stun the black—he missed him entirely—he had not dared to draw fine enough.

At that, around the wild horses wheeled, as if by command, and pelted off, to halt and gaze again.

“To-morrow we’ll see if we can run some down,” said the lieutenant. “Shall we, Stub?”

“Pawnee sometimes run all day. Mebbe ketch one, mebbe not. Too swift, have too much wind.”

“Well, we can try,” laughed the doctor.

The camp was excited, to-night, with the thought of catching wild horses. The men busied themselves tying nooses in their picket ropes.

“But we haven’t a critter that could ketch a badger,” John Sparks complained; “unless it be the doctor’s black an’ that yaller pony o’ Stub’s.”

Stub doubted very much whether his yellow pony would amount to anything, in racing wild horses. The Pawnees always used two or three horses, each, so as to tire the wild horses out.

However, the lieutenant was bound to try. In the morning he picked out the six best horses, which included the yellow pony, and appointed the riders. They were himself, the doctor, Baroney, soldier John Sparks, soldier Freegift Stout, and Stub. Only Baroney and Stub had seen wild horses chased before.

All the camp, except the camp guards, followed. The wild horses were in about the same place, a mile distant. They waited, curious, pawing and snorting and speaking to the tame horses, until within short bow shot, or forty steps. On a sudden they wheeled.

“After ’em!” the lieutenant shouted.

“Hooray!”

Ah, but that was sport! Stub’s yellow pony sprang to the fore; he was nimble and he carried light. No—another horse and rider forged alongside him. They were the medicine-man and his black; a good rider and a good horse.

Stub hammered and yelled. “Hi! Hi! Hi!” The doctor lashed and yelled. Already they had gained the heels of the flying herd. The clods of earth thrown by the rapid hoofs bombarded them lustily. Baroney and soldier Sparks and soldier Stout, and even the lieutenant had been dropped behind.

But working hard, they two never got quite far enough in, to cast the ropes. The wild horses were playing with them. After about two miles the yellow pony and the doctor’s horse began to wheeze and to tire; the wild band were running as strongly as ever—only romping along, biting and kicking at each other. Then as if to show what they really could do, led by their black stallion, they lengthened their strides, opened the gap wider and wider, and were away.

The doctor hauled short.

“No use, Stub,” he called.

So Stub pulled down, and turned.

“No use,” he agreed. “But heap fun.”

“You bet!” pronounced the doctor, panting. “What do you say ‘heap’ fun for? That’s not American; that’s Injun. Americans say ‘much’ fun, or ‘great’ fun.”

“All right,” Stub admitted—for the doctor knew. “Heap chase wild horse, much fun.”

“Oh, pshaw!” the doctor laughed. “If I could only get into that head of yours I’d take the ‘heaps’ out of it. How’s your white spot, these days? Burn any?”

“Some days burn, some days no. Some days heavy, some days light.” And with that, Stub kept his distance. He wished that the doctor would quit talking about “getting into” his head. A medicine-man had dangerous power.

The lieutenant and Baroney and the two soldiers had come as fast as they could. There was a great deal of laughing and joking as the doctor and Stub joined them, and all rode back for the main party, and camp. The lieutenant joked the least. He never did joke much, anyway; he was stern and quiet.

“We’ll delay no more for wild horses, men,” he said. “Our Country expects something better of us than such child’s play at the impossible. Forward again, now. We will hunt only for food, in line of duty.”

This afternoon they marched thirteen miles.

The Spanish trail continued, up the river, and ever westward. It was a pity that some of the wild horses had not been caught, for the other horses were beginning to give out. The grass was short and thin, and eaten off by the buffalo, and at night the men cut cottonwood boughs for the horses to feed upon.

This was a rich meat country, though. Buffalo were constantly in sight, by the thousand, many of them fat cows, and the hunters brought in humps and tongues. The Spanish had left camp signs—at one camp almost one hundred fires might be counted, meaning six hundred or seven hundred warriors. A whole Spanish army had been through here, but the lieutenant and his little army of sixteen marched on.

There were several old camp-places of Indians. One showed Comanche signs; near by, the Spanish also had camped, as if making ready to meet the Comanches, and Baroney and the lieutenant thought that the Comanche range must be close at hand.

But where were the mountains? How far were the mountains, now? The river was getting narrower and deeper, the country higher and rougher. Two horses became so weak that they could not carry their packs. The horses had been traveling, starved and foot-sore, under heavy loads more than twenty miles a day.

John Sparks, who had been out hunting, returned with news.

“I sighted an Injun hossback,” he reported. “He made off up a little ravine south of us. Don’t know whether he saw me or not.”

Before night fresh moccasin tracks not over a few hours old were discovered. A large war party were somewhere just ahead. This night the camp guards were doubled, but nothing happened.

In the morning the lieutenant took the doctor, John Sparks, and Stub for interpreter, and circled south, to find the lone horseman. Only his tracks were found; so they rode back again and the column marched on.

Nothing special occurred today, but everybody kept sharp lookout. The country was lonely, broken by rocky spurs and uplifts, and the buffalo herds seemed to be less in number.

The next day the lieutenant and the doctor led, as usual, with Baroney and Stub behind them, and the column of toiling men and horses under Sergeant Meek, following. The two weak horses had fallen down, to die, and another was barely able to walk.

Lieutenant Pike frequently used his spy-glass, which made things ten miles off appear to be only a few steps. In the middle of the day he halted and leveled it long.

“Sees something,” said Baroney, in French.

In a moment the lieutenant galloped forward to the doctor, who had gone on, and they both looked. But they did not signal, and they did not come back; so what it was that they thought they saw, nobody knew. Stub and Baroney strained their eyes, seeking. Aha!

“Smoke sign,” uttered Baroney.

“Heap smoke. Big fire. Mebbe cloud,” Stub answered.

From the little rise they could just descry, far, far to the northwest, a tiny tip of bluish color, jutting into the horizon there. It did not move, it did not swell nor waver. No smoke, then; cloud—the upper edge of a cloud. The lieutenant and the doctor had read it, and were riding on. In another minute it had sunk, swallowed by the land before.

“N’importe (does not matter),” murmured Baroney. “Perhaps more snow, my gracious! But who cares?”

In about two miles more, the lieutenant and the doctor halted again, on the top of a low hill that cut the way. They gazed, through the spy-glass, examining ahead. They did not leave the hill. They stayed—and the lieutenant waved his hat. He had seen something, for sure. Baroney and Stub were a quarter of a mile from him. The soldiers were a quarter of a mile farther.

“Come! He signals,” rapped Baroney. Now he and Stub galloped, to find out. Behind, the soldiers’ column quickened pace, for the orders of Sergeant Meek might be heard, as he shouted them.

The lieutenant and the doctor were gazing once more, with eyes and spy-glass both.

“What is it? The savages?” cried Baroney, as he and Stub raced in, up to the top of the flat hill.

Or the Spanish? The Spanish trail had been lost, for the past day or two. Maybe the Spanish were encamped, and waiting. The lieutenant answered.

“No. The mountains, my man! The mountains, at last!”

“Hurrah!” cheered the doctor. “See them?”

Baroney stared. Stub stared. It was the same bluish cloud, only larger and plainer. It jutted sharply—no, it sort of floated, but it did not move. It was fastened to the earth. And north from it there extended a long line of other clouds, lower, as far as one might see; while southward from it were still lower clouds, tapering off.

“One big mountain! A giant! Ma foi, how big!” Baroney gasped.

“All mountains. The Mexican mountains, on the edge of the United States,” announced the lieutenant. “Take the glass. Look—you and Stub.”

Look they did. The spy-glass worked wonders. It brought the clouds much closer, and broke them. They were no longer clouds—they changed to mountains indeed. In the spy-glass they shimmered whitely. That was snow! Or white rocks! They were medicine mountains. And the big mountain, so high, so mysterious, so proud: a chief mountain.

“You have been there?” asked the doctor, eagerly, of Stub. “With the Utahs?”

“No.” And Stub shook his head. “Not there. No remember.”

“Pshaw!” the doctor answered.

The column came panting up. The doctor and the lieutenant again waved their hats.

“The mountains, men! You see the Mexican mountains—the Great Stony Mountains. Three cheers, now, for the Mexican mountains!”

Everybody cheered three times: “Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!” Only the horses stood with heads drooping; they did not care.

“How far, would you think, cap’n?” Sergeant Meek queried.

“We ought to reach their base day after to-morrow.”

“Hooray!”

But although they all marched ten more miles to-day, and more than eleven miles the next day, and more than twenty-three miles the next day, from camp on the third evening the big chief mountain and the lesser mountains seemed no nearer than before.

“Sure, they’re marchin’ faster’n we are,” said John Sparks.

“Spirit mountains,” Stub decided. “See ’em, no get ’em.”

Another horse was about to die. There were fresh Indian signs, again. The Spanish trail had been found—it led onward, toward the mountains. The country was growing more bare, the air thinner and chillier. Through the spy-glass the mountains looked bare.

When the next herd of buffalo were seen, the lieutenant ordered camp made, and sent hunters out to kill meat enough for several days. There might be no buffalo, farther on. It was a poor country. He himself did not hunt. He went up on a hill and drew pictures of the mountains, on a piece of paper.

Stub did not hunt, either; he was almost out of arrows. He followed Lieutenant Pike to the hill, and watched him. But the pictures were only crooked lines, like Indian pictures.

The lieutenant glanced aside at him, and smiled. His smile was sweet, when he did smile.

“Would you like to climb that big blue mountain?” he asked.

Stub had to think, a moment. The big blue mountain! Yes, big and blue it was—and white; and very far. The thunder spirit might live there. Winter lived there. Could anybody climb it? It never was out of sight, now, except at night (and it never was out of sight, for days and days afterward), but it seemed hard to reach.[A]

[A] This was the celebrated Pike’s Peak, of Colorado, later named for Lieutenant Pike, first white man to tell about it.

“Top?”

“Yes, clear to the top,” smiled the lieutenant.

Stub’s eyes widened; and he smiled also.

“Sure. No afraid, with you.”

“Good!” the lieutenant praised. “We’ll see.”

The hunters killed seventeen buffalo, and wounded many more. When the best of the meat had been smoked, there were nine hundred pounds of it, and one hundred and thirty-six marrow-bones. The camp finished off the marrow-bones in one meal, as a feast before marching on to storm the big blue mountain.

VIII
BAD HEARTS IN THE WAY

“Des sauvages (Indians)!”

Thus Baroney shouted, pointing, from where he had checked his horse on the edge of a little rise overlooking a dip in the trail.

They all had been marching two more days, and had covered about forty more miles. This made seven days’ travel, counting the two days of meat camp, and eighty-five miles, since the Big Blue Mountain had first been sighted. Now it and the lesser mountains were much plainer.

But here were the Indians, sure enough. The lieutenant had rather been expecting them. Yesterday the fresh tracks of the two men, again, had given warning. So the column were marching close together.

The Indians, on foot, were running toward the column, from some trees on the river bank, at the right.

“Close up, men,” the lieutenant ordered.

“Close up, close up! Look to your priming!” ordered Sergeant Meek.

And the lieutenant and the doctor, with Baroney and Stub ready to interpret for them, led for the Indians.

“Pawnee, hein (hey)?” said Baroney.

“No Republic Pawnee; Grand Pawnee. War party; no horses,” Stub explained. There was a difference between the Republic Pawnees and the Grand Pawnees.

“Others yonder, lieutenant!” exclaimed the doctor.

They looked. Another squad of the Indians were running down from a hill on the left. They carried flags on lances—the Grand Pawnee war colors.

“Make a surround!” guessed Baroney.

The lieutenant reined his horse, and drew his curved sword.

“Company, halt! Watch sharp, men!”

He glanced right and left, waiting to see if this was an attack. No—for, as the doctor suddenly said:

“Those first fellows act friendly, lieutenant. They have no arms; they’re holding out empty hands.”

“Forward!” ordered the lieutenant.

In a minute more they met the Indians from the timber. These Pawnees did indeed act friendly—and all too friendly! They crowded in among the soldiers, shaking hands, putting their arms around the soldiers’ necks, even trying to hug the lieutenant and the doctor and Baroney and the others who rode horseback.

The lieutenant got off, good-naturedly; instantly a Pawnee leaped into the saddle and rode the horse away. The doctor and Baroney lost their horses, also; Stub (who knew what the Pawnees were up to) was almost dragged down, but he stuck fast.

All was in confusion of laughter and jostling and pretended play.

“No, no!” the lieutenant objected, growing angry; and half drew a pistol. The men were getting together, wresting their guns from the Pawnees’ hands and holding them high, to keep them free.

More Pawnees, from the timber, had joined, with guns and bows and lances; and the Pawnees from the hillside had come in. They included two chiefs.

The two chiefs issued orders, and the play stopped. The horses were returned. Then all went on to the trees by the river, for a talk.

Here matters again looked bad. The warriors frolicked, in spite of the chiefs. They were Grand Pawnees—sixty: a war party out to plunder the Padoucahs. But they had not found any Padoucahs; so this seemed a good chance to plunder somebody else, instead of returning home empty-handed.

The lieutenant’s face was red, as he angrily warded off the hands that clutched at his pistols and gun and horse’s bridle.

“Stand firm, men!” he called. “Don’t let loose of a thing—don’t let them get behind us!”

“Kape your distance, you red rascals!” rasped Tom Dougherty, as they hustled him about.

“Steady! Steady!” Sergeant Meek cautioned.

“By thunder, they’d like to strip us,” the doctor exclaimed.

Even Stub objected vigorously, in Pawnee. The Grand Pawnees were indeed rascals.

Guns were being cocked—click, click; several of the Pawnees, angry themselves, leveled bended bows. It was likely to be a fight between the sixteen Americans and the sixty Pawnees; and Stub sat alert, ready to pluck an arrow as quick as lightning.

“Guard those packs, men!” the lieutenant kept shouting.

But the two chiefs were working hard, shoving the warriors back, clearing a space. The head chief spoke to the lieutenant, and signed.

“He says: ‘Let us talk,’” Baroney interpreted.

“Very well. Tell him we will talk or we will fight,” replied the lieutenant. “We won’t be robbed. If it is peace, we will give him presents.”

They all sat down in a ring, with the lieutenant and Baroney and the two chiefs in the center. The Americans sat under the American flag, the Pawnee warriors sat under the Grand Pawnee flags. The doctor, however, stood up, watching everything.

The Pawnee head chief took out a pipe and tobacco, for a peace smoke. That looked good. But before filling the pipe, the two chiefs made speeches.

“They ask what presents you will give them. They say they are poor,” Baroney translated. And that was what they had said.

“Bring half a bale of tobacco, a dozen knives, and flints and steels enough for all, sergeant,” the lieutenant ordered.

The head chief made another speech. He was refusing the presents. He asked for corn, powder and lead, blankets, kettles—all kinds of stuff.

“Tell him that there are our presents. We have nothing else for him,” the lieutenant answered. “We are ready to smoke with him.”

The chief did not lift the pipe. He and the other chief sat, with bad spirit showing in their eyes. The warriors commenced to hoot, and handle their guns and bows again.

“He will not smoke such poor presents,” Baroney reported. “I think they mean trouble. A little tobacco, lieutenant; maybe a little tobacco and powder.”

“You had best look out, lieutenant,” warned the doctor. “I don’t like their looks.”

“Tell the chief he will get nothing else. He can take those presents or leave them,” bade the lieutenant, to Baroney.

Baroney hated to do it, but he had to obey. The head chief scowled. Then he signed, and an old man lugged in a kettle of water, as a return present.

Stub heard the Pawnee warriors talking scornfully.

“See what manner of men these white men are, with their rags and their poor gifts,” they said. “They do not travel like the Spanish. They look like beggars.”

But Stub well knew that although their horses were thin and sore, and they themselves were lean and tattered and almost barefoot, these Americans could fight.

Now Chief Pike and the two Pawnee chiefs drank from the kettle of water, out of their hands, and smoked the pipe, and ate a little dried buffalo meat. Several Indians were called upon by the chief, to pass the knives and flints and steels around. Indians who were given the presents threw them upon the ground.

The lieutenant shook hands with the chiefs, and rose.

“All ready, doctor,” he called. “Pack your animals, sergeant, where necessary. We march.”

The Pawnees sprang up, too, and crowded forward again.

“They make a surround,” said Baroney.

“Look out, lieutenant! They’re stealing your pistols—mine, too!” cried the doctor.

The lieutenant leaped upon his horse just in time to rescue his pistols, hanging from the saddle. He was hemmed in. The soldiers were swearing and darting back and forth, grabbing at thieves and protecting the baggage also.

Now the lieutenant had lost his hatchet. He exclaimed furiously.

“Tell the chief my hatchet is gone.”

The chief only said:

“These are small matters for a great man.”

He drew his buffalo robe high and turned his back.

The lieutenant flushed, more angry still, and stiffened in his saddle. He meant business. Stub had seen him look this way before.

“Leave the baggage and get your men to one side, sergeant. Quick! Be ready with your guns. That’s it. Baroney, tell the chief that the next warrior who touches our baggage or animals shall die instantly. Sergeant, at the first attempt, let the men shoot to kill.”

The Pawnees understood. They saw the muskets half leveled, and the grim, determined faces behind. A warrior stretched out his hand, stealthily, to a pack—and John Spark’s muzzle covered him in a flash. He jumped back.

“Go!” suddenly ordered the head chief. The Pawnees sullenly gathered their presents, and without another word filed away, the whole sixty.

“See if we’ve lost anything, sergeant,” said the lieutenant.

“One sword, one tomahawk, one axe, five canteens and some smaller stuff missing, sir,” was the report.

The soldiers waited eagerly. They wished to follow and fight.

“No matter,” gruffly answered the lieutenant. “We must save our lives for our work, my men. We have work to do. Forward, march.” He shrugged his shoulders, and added, to the doctor: “I feel as badly as they do. This is the first time I ever swallowed an insult to the Government and the uniform. But our number is too small to risk failure of our plans. Now for the mountains.”

“By gar, once more my scalp was loose,” said Baroney, to Stub.

“Yes. They had black hearts, those Grand Pawnee,” Stub gravely agreed.

This day they marched seventeen miles, and the next day nineteen miles. In all they had come more than one hundred and twenty miles, their eyes upon the Big Blue Mountain, as the lieutenant called it. And at last they had just about overtaken it.

From camp, here where the river split into two large forks, one out of the west, the other out of the south, the Big Blue Mountain looked to be quite near, up a small north fork.

“Le Grand Mont,” Baroney called it. “The Grand Peak.” And the men called it that, too.

“Sure, it can’t be more’n one day’s march now,” John Sparks declared, as from camp they eyed it again. “We can be there to-morrow at this time, with ease, in case those be the orders.”

In the sunset the mountain loomed vast, its base blue, but its top pinkish white. After everything else was shrouded in dusk, its top still shone.

“How high, d’ye think?” queried soldier Freegift Stout.

“Thray miles higher’n we be; mebbe four,” guessed Pat Smith.

“He’s a grand wan all right,” sighed Tom Dougherty. “Even a bur-rd wud nade an ixtra pair o’ wings to get atop him, I’m thinkin’.”

“No mortal man, or nothing else on two legs could do it, I reckon,” said John Brown. “Unless that be the cap’n himself.”

“American can,” Stub reminded, proudly.

“You’re right, boy,” soldier Terry Miller approved. “Under orders an American would come pretty close to filling the job.”

The lieutenant and the doctor had been gazing at the peak; it fascinated them, like it fascinated the men, and Stub. That night they talked together until late, planning for to-morrow. The lieutenant had decided to climb the mountain.

He sent for Sergeant Meek. The sergeant stood before him and saluted.

“I intend to take Doctor Robinson and two of the men, and this boy, to-morrow, and set out for the big mountain,” the lieutenant said. “The camp will be left in your charge.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Sergeant Meek.

“These reports of the journey to date I also leave, with my personal baggage. The mountain is only a short day’s march, but I have to consider that we may be cut off or meet with other accident. To-morrow morning I will lay out a stockade, here, for the protection of your party. You are to wait here one week, with due caution against surprises by the savages and the Spanish. Admit nobody except your own command into the stockade. If we do not return or you do not hear from us within the seven days, you are to take my papers and such baggage as may be necessary, and march down river by the safest direct course for the nearest American settlement or military post, as may be. At the American frontier you will leave your men under instructions to report at St. Louis, and you will press ahead at best speed and deliver my papers to General Wilkinson, the head of the Army, wherever he may be. In event of your disability, you will entrust the papers to Corporal Jackson—acquainting him in advance with what is expected of him. In the meantime, here or on the march, keep your men alert and together, and do not forget that our Country depends upon our performing our duty without regard to our own interests.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the sergeant. He gulped—the ragged, weather-worn soldier. “Excuse me, sir—’tis only a day’s march yonder, you say? You’ll be coming back, sir?”

“If within human possibility, sergeant. But I must climb that mountain to its highest point, in order to make certain of our position and ascertain the trend of the various streams. We are near the sources of the Arkansaw, as is evident. Our instructions are to find the heads of the Arkansaw and the Red River, on our way to the Comanches.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the sergeant.

“That is all. Good-night.”

“Good-night, sir. I make bold to wish you good luck, sir. I wish I might be going with you, sir.”

“Thank you, sergeant.”

The lieutenant sat up late, writing. In his buffalo-robe, Stub dreamed of to-morrow, and the Grand Peak. He had understood only part of the lieutenant’s long speech; but it was enough to understand that he was to be taken.

IX
A TRY AT THE “GRAND PEAK”

Early in the morning the lieutenant set the men at work cutting down fourteen trees, for stockade logs. A stockade was a fort. This fort was to be only a pen, open on the river and five feet high on the three other sides.

Soldiers John Brown and Terry Miller were the men chosen. That made a party of five. They all took only a blanket or robe apiece, and a little dried meat, besides their guns and Stub’s bow and arrows. They started horseback at one o’clock, to cross the river and travel up the north fork, for the Grand Peak.

The men paused long enough to give three cheers, and wave their caps.

“Bon voyage (Good journey),” Baroney called.

“Good luck to yez.”

“We’ll be lookin’ for you back.”

“When ye get to the top, be lightin’ us a bonfire, Terry.”

The lieutenant raised his hat, in reply. The doctor waved, the two soldiers and Stub waved. And the five splashed through the ice-cold water and left the eleven men under Sergeant Meek to build the fort.[B]

[B] The fort was near present Pueblo, Colorado. Lieutenant Pike’s squad marched up the west side of Fountain Creek.

According to the doctor, this was the twenty-fourth day of the month named November. By the morning light the Grand Peak, glistening white, had looked to be nearer than ever. The lieutenant was certain that a half-day’s march would bring them to its base; to-morrow they would climb it, and would be back in camp on the third day.

Mile after mile they hastened, their eyes scanning the distance before. The route up along the small fork was gravelly and bare, except for clumps of sage brush, and the willows bordering the stream. In places they had to cross deep washes cut by the rains. Not a living thing was sighted, save rabbits and prairie-dogs and a few antelope. And the Grand Peak and the line of lesser peaks—some white, some steel-gray, waited.

The sun sank low and lower, over their southern end. The Grand Peak grew bluer and colder, and the other mountains darkened.

The lieutenant and the doctor led. They always rode together. Stub and soldiers Miller and Brown followed close behind. After a while they all quit the stream, to strike westward, on a trail more direct.

Soldier Miller scratched his head, on which the hair was long.

“It’s a queer thing, John,” he said. “There it is, that peak—and there it’s been for more’n a hundred miles, with us a-making for it and never reaching it.”

“We’ll not reach it this day, that’s sure, lad,” answered John. “We’ve covered ten miles, and you’d think we’d been standin’ still!”

In two miles more the sun had set. The shadows of the mountains seemed to extend out over the plain and turn it dark and cold. Stub pulled his robe closer around his neck. Now the Grand Peak had changed to deep purple—it had pulled its own robe up, for the night.

The lieutenant and the doctor suddenly veered aside, to a single low cedar, the only tree of the kind, around. There they halted and swung from their saddles.

“We’ll make camp, men,” the lieutenant ordered. “The base of the mountain evidently is farther than we had figured. But we’ll reach it to-morrow morning, easily, and doubtless the top also, before night.”

This was a cold camp—very cold with the breath from the mountains. They had dried buffalo-meat to chew on, but no water except that in the canteens, and the lieutenant wished to save on water, for the climb.

He started them out again early, before sunrise. They headed for the Grand Peak. The horses were stiff, from the night, and thirsty, and moved slowly at first. Presently the sun rose. The Grand Peak flashed white in its beams, and assuredly was near. The foothills at its base were dark green: trees.

And there they stayed, the peak and the foothills, all day! Stub’s eyes ached with gazing. Soldier Brown grumbled a little.

“It’s a wild-goose chase. I’ve said that no man will ever climb yon peak. We’ll wear out ourselves and our hosses for nothin’. Even if we ever reach the foot of it, look what’s ahead of us.”

“You may be sure the cap’n’ll climb it, whether or no,” retorted soldier Miller. “He’s set out to do it, and do it he will.”

“Oh, well; we’re gettin’ into a more likely country, anyhow,” John granted. “The sign is better—that’s one comfort.”

This was true. They were entering among low hills, covered with cedars and pines. Up and down, up and down, and winding over and through, they hopefully pushed on—and from each rise they might see the long dark-green slope of the Grand Peak more plainly. What a tremendous huge fellow he was, as he towered, shadow-flecked, into the floating clouds! The clouds veiled his top; he pierced them, and thus he sat gazing above the world.

“Gosh!” murmured John Brown. “He’s a neck-cracker.”

Toward evening the lieutenant and doctor, in advance and just crossing another of the many rolling hills, shouted back, and waved.

“Almost there, men!”

When the three others toiled up to the same place, they saw. A shallow valley lay before; at the farther edge the timbered slope of the Grand Peak commenced.

Hurrah!

Several buffalo were feeding, below. The lieutenant and the doctor made a dash for them—cleverly headed them off, shot rapidly, and downed two.

“Fresh hump for supper,” cheered Terry. “I could eat a whole one, myself.”

“Sure, I could drink a river dry, first,” wheezed John. “Do you mind that we’ve struck no water since mornin’?”

“Water there,” Stub hazarded, pointing at a line of lighter green near the foot of the mountain.

They arrived below in time to help butcher the buffalo while the lieutenant and the doctor rode on looking for a good camping place. It was too late to do anything more this day.