"STEADY, THERE!" HE SHOUTED. "RIGHT FRONT INTO LINE!
REVOLVERS! GIVE THEM THE BEST YOU'VE GOT!"

Winged Arrow's
Medicine

OR

THE MASSACRE AT FORT PHIL KEARNEY

BY

HARRY CASTLEMON

Author of "The First Capture" "Gun Boat Series," etc., etc.

ILLUSTRATED

BY

W. H. FRY

Akron, Ohio
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
NEW YORK CHICAGO

Copyright, 1901
BY
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. The Second Lieutenant

Guy Preston was a young and beardless boy fresh from "The Point." He was now attached to the —th cavalry and was one of three hundred men who had been ordered to that faraway country to assist in building the fort, which was named after the lamented hero, Phil Kearney. He had left the fort a short time before, and was out after prairie chickens, being armed with a double-barreled shotgun. The brace of birds which was tied to the pommel of his saddle proved that he was something of an adept at shooting on the wing. He was dressed in the uniform of the cavalry service, with a pair of straps on his shoulders that were decidedly the worse for wear, and his horse, a Kentucky thoroughbred, which, although seemingly impatient to exhibit the mettle that was in him, was obedient to the rein and stopped or went ahead when his owner commanded him.

"There do not seem to be many chickens here, Tom, and so I think we will go back to the Fort," said Guy, raising himself in his stirrups and casting impatient glances on all sides of him. "We were told to stay within sight of the fortifications, but that last prairie chicken was too much for me. It made me disobey orders. There does not seem to be any Sioux here either, and I don't see why they cannot let us alone. We could see plenty of fun in hunting if that miserable Red Cloud was out of the way."

Guy Preston was not the only one who wished that same thing of Red Cloud. His regiment had been stationed, in the first place, at Fort Robinson in Nebraska, which was the central point from which operations against the hostiles were organized. And what had caused this Red Cloud to go on the warpath? It was simply because the United States government had determined to open a road to Montana by way of Powder River. The way the road was laid out made it necessary that it should pass through the favorite hunting ground of the Sioux Indians, and some of them were fiercely opposed to it. The authorities made treaties with the hereditary chiefs by whom the right of way was granted, but the dissatisfaction that arose on account of it was so great that it led to an open rupture.

Red Cloud was not an hereditary chief; that is, he was not a chief of any sort. He belonged to "the rank and file" of the band, but he was ambitious to become something better. The uneasiness among the Indians gave him a glorious chance. He denounced the treaties and their makers, and declared war to the knife against every white man who came over that road or ventured into that country.

There are always some discontented ones among the Indians, men who cannot rest easy unless they are on the warpath, and crowds of these warriors flocked to his standard. The Sioux nation was the most powerful of any tribe on this continent. They were rich in everything that goes to make up an Indian's idea of wealth,—ponies, furs, and weapons; and, more than all, the countless numbers of buffalo that roamed through the Powder River country made them independent of the whites. They numbered 20,000 in all, and could put 3,000 warriors in the field. The hereditary chiefs very soon found themselves deserted and powerless when Red Cloud raised his standard, and in some instances were only too glad to preserve their control over their bands by acknowledging the new chief as their master. Finding himself at the head of so strong a force, Red Cloud took to the warpath at once, and a long, tedious war ensued, during which he made a great reputation. Avoiding any serious engagement, he so harassed all trains and expeditions sent against him that the few troops then in his country could scarcely be said to hold even the ground they actually stood upon. Several forts were established, but they protected only what was inside their palisades. A load of wood for fuel could not be cut outside without a conflict, and it finally culminated in the terrible tragedy which it is the purpose of this story to reveal,—for this is a true tale, and we tell it just as it happened.

At last the commanding officer at Fort Robinson became out of all patience and determined to bring the Sioux to close quarters; so he sent Colonel Carrington on a long campaign with a force strong enough to follow the Sioux wherever they went, destroying their villages and reducing them to submission. The Colonel was also instructed to build a strong post upon the Powder or Tongue rivers and operate against them from there. The Fort was built at last and named after one of the bravest generals who gave up his life during our Civil War; but it was only after long months of toil and hardship. Red Cloud's warriors followed him all the way, stealing such stock as strayed away from the camp and cutting off small bodies of men that were sent out any distance from the main body. Guy Preston was there and saw how the hostiles operated, and we will venture the assertion that more than once he thought of home, and, if the truth must be told, he did not blame the Indians for fighting. The lands which they were forced to give up were their home, and they were about to surrender their only means of subsistence. The buffalo comprised all they had. It furnished them with food and raiment, coverings for their beds and the tepees in which they lived. The whites did not kill what they wanted for use, but wantonly slaughtered thousands simply to make a "record." All the scum of civilization fled to the frontier, and Bills and Dicks whose reputations were not of the best swaggered about the streets of canvas cities during the winter and roamed the plains during the summer to shoot buffalo. These people did not know or did not care what the buffalo meant to the Indian. It meant that when they were gone, the Indian would starve to death. No matter what treaties our government made with the Indians, it had no effect upon the reckless whites. They encouraged the slaughter of the game. Future historians will have to record that all our Western Indian wars were brought about by the acts of irresponsible and disreputable characters who usurped all the best hunting lands and attacked every band of Indians they saw, whether friendly or hostile, Sioux or Pawnees.

Red Cloud was a man of great foresight, although born in a humble position. He saw that the government could not or would not keep their treaties and forbid these adventurers from trespassing on their hunting grounds, and forthwith, relying upon his assumed popularity, which came to him the moment he declared war on the whites, he called a convention of all the Sioux and allied tribes. When that convention met he rehearsed their wrongs and it was decided that they would do what any brave people would do under the same circumstances—fight the whites as long as possible. As I said, a long war was the result; so when Colonel Carrington entrenched himself behind the stockade of Fort Phil Kearney, he shut himself off from the civilized world. He was there, and the Indians resolved that he should stay there. Even his most experienced and bravest scouts could not get through to take dispatches to his superiors. They found Indians all around them, and they were seen and driven back. The wily chief located his village at no great distance away, and established a code of signals by which he could be informed at any time just what the soldiers were doing in the Fort. Every wood train that went out was attacked, and a strong force was necessary for their protection. In spite of all the precautions they could use, between fifteen and twenty soldiers were killed during the months of November and December.

But Red Cloud was by no means satisfied with what he had done. He wanted to get rid of the whites entirely, but he had not taken measures to do it; so he called another convention to meet in his village some time in December. Then he broached his program. After repeating that the buffalo would all be killed, which was the worst thing that could happen to a plain Indian, he said: "We must take this Fort. If we once whip these soldiers and burn their palisade, the government will not send out any more." All the other chiefs believed that, and they decided upon a stratagem which will appear as our story progresses.

Guy Preston, as well as all the younger officers in the Fort, was not very well pleased to be shut up inside those log walls with no chance to make themselves famous by fighting the Indians, and, worse than all, he could look over the stockade at almost any time of the day and see the prairie chickens flitting about as if there were not a hostile Sioux within a hundred miles of them.

"What is the reason the Colonel will not let one of us go out and knock over a few of them for dinner?" he said to a sentry one day while he stood by his side watching them. "I don't see a single Sioux in sight."

"No, sir," replied the sentry. "But they are there, sure enough. Every little tuft of grass hides one."

"But why don't they show themselves?"

"They do when they can make anything by it. Have you forgotten Mike and Tony?"

The sentry called the names of two plainsmen,—experienced scouts they were too,—who had attempted to leave the Fort only a few nights before with some papers that the Colonel wished particularly to send to his superior officer. They had been gone about three hours, but when they returned they looked as though they had been through three or four wars. They barely escaped and that was all; and Tony carried with him the mark of an arrow which came near ending his career then and there.

"But this is daytime," said Guy. "I don't see what harm there can be in riding around over the prairie in plain sight of the post. I believe I will ask the Colonel to let me try it on."

"Very good, sir," replied the sentry. "But he won't let you go."

The Lieutenant did not catch all this reply, but hurried away to find the commanding officer. He sent in his name by the Orderly and presently entered the room to which young officers of his rank seldom went unless to receive orders or listen to a reprimand. The Colonel was in his shirt sleeves and pacing back and forth, and now and then he took one of his hands out of his pockets to run it impatiently through his hair. He seemed to have forgotten that he was a soldier and commander of the Fort besides, for he was so impatient at being shut up without remedy that he could scarcely control himself. He stopped and turned toward Mr. Preston with something like a frown upon his face.

"Well, what is it now?" he inquired. "Do you know where the Indians are?"

"No, sir, and I don't believe there is one within two miles of the Fort," answered the Lieutenant.

The Colonel walked to his table, picked up his eyeglasses and put them on. He wanted to look at the officer who could give such an opinion as this.

"I should like permission to ride out on the prairie a little way and shoot some of those prairie chickens which are so thick out there," said Mr. Preston. "I saw some within twenty yards of the post."

The Colonel stared hard at Mr. Preston and then drew up the nearest chair and sat down. At first he opened his mouth as if to give a very emphatic reply to this strange request, but on second thought he shouted:—

"Orderly, tell the Adjutant I want to see him."

CHAPTER II. An Invitation

Guy Preston was sorely perplexed by this order. He was not aware that he had done anything to be reported to the Adjutant, and besides that officer was not a member of his company. He had not been invited to sit down as was generally the case with officers who came there to see the Colonel on business, but stood twirling his cap in his hand; and every time he raised his eyes to the Colonel's face he saw that the officer was still regarding him behind his eyeglasses as if he meant to look him through.

"Are you aware that the Sioux are very hostile, and have you any idea what they will do if they capture you?" said the Colonel, breaking the silence at last.

"But they will not capture me, sir," answered Guy. "I shall go on horseback, and the Indian pony does not live which can beat Tom."

"I don't suppose that a bullet or an arrow could stretch your Tom out dead while you were running away from them?" said the Colonel.

"Yes, sir, I suppose they can do that, but they would not take me alive, all the same."

Guy finished the sentence by putting his hand into his hip pocket and drawing forth a Derringer which he showed to the Colonel.

"Humph!" said the officer. "You would shoot yourself before you would be taken prisoner? Well, I don't know but that is the right thing to do."

At this moment the First Lieutenant who acted as Adjutant came into the room. He listened with surprise when his officer made him acquainted with the request that Guy Preston had brought in to him, adding:—

"You have your report for this quarter all made out?"

The Adjutant replied that he had.

"Well, I shall want you to make out an entry in your 'Remarks' in regard to Lieutenant Preston," said the Colonel. "You will simply say: 'Requested permission to go out in the face of the Sioux for the purpose of shooting some sage hens. Granted. He was shot down and killed by the Sioux in plain view of the Fort.' You may go," he continued, walking up and taking Preston by the hand. "I never expect to see you again."

"Th—thank you, sir," replied the Lieutenant, who was confounded by the way his request was granted. "I will surely be back in the course of an hour or two."

When Guy had left the room, the Colonel's face relaxed, and filling up his pipe he settled himself for a smoke.

"I do not think he will go," said the Adjutant with a laugh. "I know I would not stir a peg after I had received such a permission as that."

"Keep an eye on him," said the Colonel, "and if you see him mount his horse, just step up and tell him not to go out of sight of the Fort. I do not blame these boys for getting impatient, I want to do something myself, but I don't know what it is."

"Halloo, Preston, where are you going now?" exclaimed one of his roommates, as he entered his apartment and began to overhaul his hunting rig. "A shotgun! You are not going outside!"

"The Colonel told me to go," answered Preston. "He called them sage hens, but I believe they are prairie chickens."

"And you are going outside to shoot them, and the Sioux all around you?" cried the young officer, throwing down his book and raising himself to a sitting posture on his bunk. "Guy, you are crazy."

"I guess that is what the Colonel seemed to think; but he told me to go, and said he never expected to meet me again. He is going to bluff me, but he will find that I am not that sort."

Guy then went on to tell Perkins how the request was received and the way it was granted, to all of which he listened in amazement. As soon as he began to get it through his head, he implored his roommate to let the permission go by default; the Colonel did not expect him to go; he knew how perilous the undertaking was, and he hoped, by drawing it in its true colors, to make Preston see it also; but Preston did not see it in that way.

"He did not go at it right," said he. "He took the very course to make me go out there. If he is going to find out how brave I am, he will certainly find it out."

"You are a fool," declared Perkins hotly. "I never expect to see you again either. When I shake you by the hand at the gate it will be the last time until I see you brought in for good."

Guy Preston began to see at last that he was about to do something at which many a better man and braver than he ever dared be would hesitate. It might be that "every little tuft of grass concealed a Sioux warrior," and an arrow or a bullet sped when he was not looking for it would put an end to his redoubtable thoroughbred and leave him at the mercy of the Indians who had beleaguered the Fort; but he had his loaded Derringer in his pocket, and he was sure that with it he could escape the barbarities they would inflict upon him. He took his double barrel out of its case, and bade Perkins good-by; but that worthy did not notice him at all. He got up and accompanied Preston to the stables, saw him saddle his horse and lead him to the gate. He found the Adjutant there waiting to pass the orders the Colonel had last given him, and he seemed more surprised than ever to learn that the young officer was still bent on going outside; but he said, as if he were giving ordinary instructions to one who had a simple duty to perform:—

"Do you see those hills about a mile and a half off? Well, keep inside of them. If you go over them, we shall give you up. Look out for an ambuscade."

"Now will you bid me good-by, Perkins?" said Guy, extending his hand. "Oh, you need not be so particular about giving it a brotherly clasp. I will see you again in two or three hours, and I shall have a lot of prairie chickens to show you. Good-by everybody."

"I am really surprised at the Colonel," said Perkins, as he stood by the Adjutant's side and watched his comrade as he galloped away. "He should have refused him point-blank."

"The Colonel is sorry enough for it now when it is too late," said the officer. "He supposed, of course, when the boy found out how much danger there was in his undertaking that he would give it up; but I knew he was taking the wrong course. Good-by Preston. By gracious, he has one prairie chicken already!"

Yes; the very first chicken that his horse frightened up was filled full of No. 8 shot, and Preston had something for his dinner. The Adjutant could not wait to see any more. He had business to attend to somewhere inside, so he went off and Perkins sat there on the ground for an hour and kept watch of his companion as he wandered to and fro on the prairie in search of another chicken. At last one got up before him, but the shooter seemed to have lost his skill. The double barrel spoke twice in quick succession, but the chicken kept on and in a moment more flew over the ridge out of sight. At least that was what Perkins thought he had done, the distance being so great that he could not see the chicken at all; but he judged from Guy's actions that that was the way he had gone. After waiting long enough to reload his gun, he put spurs to his horse and presently he too was out of sight.

"Good-by Guy Preston," said Perkins, with a sigh; "you are the best fellow that ever lived, and now the Sioux have got you sure. You should have had better sense than to disobey the Adjutant's orders."

Perkins was in a very gloomy frame of mind as he took his way through the gate and finally brought up before the Adjutant's door. A voice from the inside bade him enter, and the Lieutenant knew as soon as he looked at him that he had some news to communicate.

"Guy Preston has gone, sir," said he.

"Over the ridge?" replied the officer, starting up in his chair.

"Yes, sir. The second chicken he shot at went that way, or at least I thought so, and Guy followed after him."

The Adjutant said no more. Guy was a favorite with all the officers and men, and the idea of him losing his life through a disobedience of orders was distressing. He shoved a sheet of paper which he had been examining to one side, got up and walked to a window and looked out at the sentry who stood in front of the gate; and Perkins, taking this as a gentle hint that conversation was no longer desirable, put on his hat and retreated through the door.

Guy Preston was a persevering hunter, and when he reached the top of the swell he saw the chicken just settling in the grass about one hundred yards away. This time there was no mistake about it. The game "lay well to cover," and when the horse was almost ready to step upon him he arose and sought safety in flight; but he laid too long. When the shotgun spoke again he came down, and Guy had another chicken. For half an hour longer he rode about behind the swell, and finally he aroused himself and began to look around him. He was surprised to see that he had broken orders by at least a mile or more.

"Come on, Tom, and we will go back in a hurry," said he, pulling the horse's head around. "There were more chickens out here when I looked over the palisade at them, and where are they now? Get up, Tom, and we'll—"

Something happened just then to call Guy back to earth, and made him think a little more of the Sioux than he did a few moments previous. It was the sight of a solitary warrior sitting on his horse about half a mile away, and what struck Guy as something strange was, he did not seem at all afraid of being observed by anybody. Guy drew up his horse and looked at him. He could see that the Indian brave was dressed in war costume, but the distance was so great, not having a glass with him, that he could not make out whether he was a chieftain or not. The warrior seemed to be equally interested in him, for after looking at Guy for a minute or two, he put his horse in motion and came down the swell toward him.

"I don't believe I care for a closer acquaintance," said the young officer, gathering up the reins and leaning forward in the saddle, still keeping his eyes fixed upon the approaching savage. "If you want a race, come on. It is lucky for you that I haven't my Winchester in my hands. I would take that war bonnet of yours into the Fort with me as a trophy."

But somehow Guy did not put his horse into rapid motion as he had expected to do. The Indian, when he saw that Guy was getting ready to flee, stopped his own horse, and, as if to assure him that his intentions were pacific, held his rifle above his head at arm's length. This done he swung himself to the ground and laid the weapon at full length in the grass. Then he unbuckled his belt, which he also showed to Guy, and laid it beside the rifle. The next belt he took off was the one containing his knife, which he also placed with the others, and having completely disarmed himself, he placed one hand upon his horse's withers, gracefully leaped into the saddle, and once more rode toward Guy.

"I believe he wants to communicate," thought Guy, not knowing whether or not to accept his invitation. "Sioux, thy name is treachery; and that fellow's motions show me that he is as active as a cat. There," he added, seeing that the savage stopped his horse and sat regarding Guy intently, "he is waiting to see what I am going to do. I believe I will try him on."

Guy Preston's actions must by this time have satisfied the reader that he was a boy who could not easily be frightened. His coming out on the prairie to shoot chickens must have convinced one of that fact. Without hesitating a moment he proceeded to disarm himself the same as the savage had done, but all he had to do was to lay down his shotgun and take off the belt containing his cartridges. His loaded Derringer he kept in his hip pocket.

"Now come on," said he, as he again mounted his horse. "He may have some weapons about him, but if he has I have my Derringer."

CHAPTER III. Winged Arrow

Guy often said that he did not see why it was that he and the savage should advance to meet each other in that cool and collected manner. If the Indian had friends who were concealed behind the swells and he was simply trying to get him further away from the Fort so that they could surround and capture him, he saw no signs to indicate it. He never looked behind him at all. He came on as though he had no suspicion, and Guy, not to be outdone by his savage confederate, came on in the same way. He had a great curiosity to see a real live Indian in his war paint, but as he drew nearer he discovered that there were no signs of paint about this Indian. It was a whiter face than people of his tribe usually boast of, and Guy thought that he was smiling in a good-natured sort of way. A few steps more and he was aware of it; and furthermore he discovered that his savage friend, if that was the name to be applied to him, was a boy but little older than himself. As soon as he approached within speaking distance he raised his hand to his bonnet with a military flourish and said, in perfect English:—

"How do you do, sir?"

Guy raised his hand to his cap, but he could not say anything in reply. The idea of being spoken to in such a manner was enough to upset him completely. He had been wondering how he would communicate with the savage and running over in his mind the various signs he had learned from the guides, signs which he could use whenever he met an Indian who did not understand his language; but to be addressed in finished English was rather more than he had bargained for. The Indian evidently enjoyed his perplexity, for after looking at him a moment or two he inquired:—

"Do you not think you are running a great risk in coming out here to shoot those little birds, while there are Sioux all around you ready to take your scalp?"

"Who are you?" said Guy, getting the better of his astonishment at last.

"I am Winged Arrow, at your service," replied the Indian.

"Yes; but I don't know any more about you than I did before," returned Guy. "You are not an Indian?"

"A full-blooded one," was the response; and the savage proved that he had been among the soldiers just long enough to learn their ways, for he lifted his right leg and placed it across the horn of his saddle. "Perhaps my English bothers you."

"Well, yes; I confess that that has something to do with it," said Guy, growing more at his ease. "Where have you been to learn so much?"

"I have been at Carlisle. I was a student there for eight years."

"Oh," said Guy, his astonishment being immensely relieved. "But you did not stay there long enough to wash the red out of you."

"It would take more than eight years to do that. I learned the white man's ways, but I could not forget that I was an Indian. What do you fellows want out here anyway? The prairie is broad, and why could you not build a road somewhere else?"

Having got over his astonishment, Guy turned to make a note of the savage and his accoutrements. This was the first Indian he had ever seen close at hand, but as far as he had read or seen at a distance his trappings were all of the savage order. His moccasins, leggings, and hunting shirt, as well as the gaudily ornamented bonnet which he wore upon his head, were all of some squaw's handiwork. There was only one thing about him that looked any way civilized,—his hair was cut short in regular school-boy fashion. His face would have been a study if Guy had had the opportunity to give it a good looking-over. It was a noble face, and one that could hardly be expected to be found among men or boys of his tribe. How such a face as that should become distorted by passion was something Guy could not understand. The Indian certainly had no weapons about him. If he had, they kept company with Guy's Derringer—safely out of sight.

From the Indian,—or Winged Arrow, he called himself,—Guy turned his attention to his horse; for a horse was something he greatly admired. It was a small horse of sorrel color, but there was a look about him which drew his attention and which he greatly delighted in. The animal stood peaceable enough, but his head was erect, his eyes flashed continually as he glanced around the horizon, and he snuffed as often as he turned toward the Fort, as if he felt the presence of an enemy there. Guy was satisfied at last to turn his attention to Winged Arrow and hear what else he had to say.

"This land belongs to Congress," began Guy.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but Congress never had a right or never will have a right to own one foot of this ground," said the Indian, speaking with some animation. "It belongs to us, and we are bound to defend it."

"Did we not make a treaty with some of your big men to have the right of way through this country?" said Guy.

"But why did you not take the sense of the nation on it? Red Cloud is a 'big man,' and he is decidedly opposed to it. You have taken one reservation after another from us and the Indian has nothing left. We propose to do as any brave people would do—fight for this country as long as there is a man left. This home is all we have, and we will not give it up until we are whipped. This is the sixth time you have made us promises, and not one of them has been fulfilled."

Guy Preston could not say anything in reply, for he knew that Winged Arrow told him the truth. The Indian then went on to tell of some of those treaties and the way the white man had broken faith with them; and he repeated them as though he were reading from a book. He had the words of Spotted Tail, a chief of the Brule Indians, almost by heart. He said that word came from the Great Father that the white men wanted to "borrow" the right of way from the Indians, and that the promises so made would last fifty years; but it was not true. The next treaty they made was with General Sherman, and they were told that the promises would last for twenty-five years; but it also was not true. The General said that the Indian should have all the land from the White River to the Missouri, cattle, oxen, and wagons to haul logs with, and that they should have $15 as an annuity; but it was false. The white man never came with the goods in his hand to let the Indian see how much he was going to get for the land he was told to give up, for then their hearts would be glad; but they got the land and forgot all their promises. Winged Arrow's heart was in the matter and for an hour he kept talking, while Guy could only sit still and listen.

"But it seems to me that you are making a big mistake," said he at last, when he saw a chance to crowd a word in edgewise. "What do you want to kill the soldiers for? They are not to blame because somebody has broken faith with you."

"I know that very well," said the Indian, straightening himself up on his horse and raising his hand above his head. "But don't you know that the soldiers are the bulwarks of civilization? The settlers would not come here if it were not for the soldiers. The most of us know that we are going to be whipped in the long run."

"You do know it? Then what have you those clothes on for?"

"Because I am bound to go down with the rest. I would not give a cent to live here on this prairie unless we could live as we were before."

Guy did not know what reply to make to this. He thought it would be a long time before Winged Arrow and others like him could live as they used to do before the whites came in. There was the buffalo. There was a time when the land all around them was fairly black with the countless throngs, but they had all been slaughtered by the hands of the buffalo hunters, either for their hides or just to make a "record," and no power on earth could bring those throngs back again. Winged Arrow should have seen that, so Guy reasoned with himself, and he did not hesitate to tell him so.

"The buffalo are gone, or rather are going as fast as they can, and you have to give up hunting them and follow the white man's road hereafter," said he earnestly.

"That will never be," said Winged Arrow; and his voice fell almost to a whisper. "There was a time when we thought we could kill all the white men and then the buffalo would increase; but those of us who have been to the nation's capital know that the thing is just impossible. When the buffalo goes the Indian will go. We are doomed."

Guy Preston had been pretty well aware of that fact for a long time, but this was the first intimation he had ever had of it from an Indian. Winged Arrow seemed to realize it, and his voice grew husky and faint whenever he spoke of it.

"Ah! Those were happy days," said he, looking out over the prairie, as if in the distance he could see the vision he was conjuring up. "Of course I don't remember it, for I was not born then; but I have heard my father tell of it, and I can almost see the things as they happened then. The people obeyed the chief, hunted the buffalo, and were happy."

"Yes"; said Guy. "You were happy when you were on the warpath. You Indians were always fighting."

"Of course. That was fate. The weaker had to give way to the stronger, and that is just what we are doing now. The Indian believes that there are two spirits that rule mortal man, the Good spirit and the Bad. The Good spirit is all the time working for us. He brings us everything that makes man happy. He brings us good weather, plenty of game, and success over our enemies. The Bad spirit is just the reverse. He brings sickness, drives away the game, and makes us miserable in every way he knows how. He has for a time taken advantage of the Good spirit, and that is just what he is doing for us now. Some day the Good spirit will turn around and get the advantage of HIM, but that will be long after my day."

"What do you think will happen then?" asked Guy, who was much interested in what the Indian said to him.

"When that happens you will see a glorious day for the Sioux Indians," said Winged Arrow, growing animated. "The whites will be driven away from this country forever, I don't know just how it will be done, but it will surely happen; the buffalo will come back, and the Sioux will be monarch of all he surveys."

"I will not live to see that day," said Guy.

"Neither will I; but it is going to take place as sure as the world stands. But I didn't come out here to teach you my religion. You are Methodist or Episcopalian, and probably you will die that way. I came out to warn you."

"To warn me?" echoed Guy. "What about?"

"That there is going to be a massacre here in a few days, and I want you to keep out of it."

"You just bet that I will keep out of it, if I can; but if I should be ordered to be in it—then what?"

"Why, then, there is no help for you. I shall do the same; but you may rest assured that I shall not shoot close to any palefaces. I saw a good many whites while I was gone, and I can't bear to think of seeing them come to their death."

"Come to their death? Is it going to happen out here on the plains?"

For the first time Winged Arrow straightened around on his horse and looked behind him. There was something so stealthy in his movements that Guy almost involuntarily slipped his right hand to his hip pocket and laid hold of his Derringer.

CHAPTER IV. The Medicine

Guy Preston turned and looked in the same direction in which the Indian was gazing, but could not see anything to confirm his suspicions. The prairie, as far as he could see it, did not appear as though there was a person on it, but Guy knew better than that. He knew that there was a Sioux warrior within easy reach of him, perhaps at that very minute a rifle was aimed at him or his horse, and that nothing saved him but the presence of Winged Arrow. His face grew a shade paler and his hand trembled as he clutched his Derringer, but his determination was there all the same.

"If I go you will have to go first," said he to himself. "On that I am resolved."

"I see you are armed," said the Indian, turning quickly about and seeing Guy with his right hand behind him. "That shows that I have more faith in you than you have in me. Well, I don't know that I blame you. You fellows with your books and your speakers have somehow got hold of the idea that an Indian has no gratitude, but I have proved the contrary by coming out here to warn you."

"You are a queer sort of an Indian anyhow," said Guy, taking his hand from his hip pocket. "You ought to be a white man."

"I am white in some respects; but with all the lessons I learned at Carlisle, they did not make me forget that I was to the manner born. This country is mine, and those who think as I do will, when we lose it, see the last of Winged Arrow."

"Did you know that this massacre was coming before you came here?" said Guy, who wanted to learn as much as he could about the savages on the plains and in the school. "If you did, I don't see why your teachers did not warn the authorities."

For a reply Winged Arrow took hold of a little bag which he carried in front of him, lifted the cover and thrust his hand into it. Presently he brought out a folded paper, and after he was certain that he had what he wanted, he passed it over to Guy.

"That was the letter I received inviting me to come home," said he. "What do you make out of it?"

Guy took the letter, but he could not see any writing on it. On the extreme left was an arrow furnished with wings, and a little further to the right was a hand with the forefinger extended as if beckoning to the arrow to hasten his coming. On the right, and a little below this beckoning hand, was an Indian tepee with a buffalo grazing beside it. Although the drawing was evidently done by an unpracticed hand, it was so plain that anybody could tell what it was. With the aid of a few colored pencils, which the drawer had begged or borrowed from the officers of the Fort, he had made the characters of different tints, so that they resembled nature in a wonderful degree. Some distance lower down and plainly a different picture was a bow and a quiver of arrows which another hand was extending toward Winged Arrow, and further back of it was a riderless horse with his mane and tail flying in the wind.

"My father drew all that, and it is just as plain to me as daylight," said the Indian, who was closely watching the young officer's face.

"There is something red descending from that hand," said Guy. "What is it intended to represent?"

"That tells about the massacre that is coming, and he wants me here to take part in it," replied Winged Arrow.

"And are you going to do it?"

"I shall probably be in it, but the bullet from my rifle will not kill any paleface," said the savage. "That much Indian has been washed out of me. I can't do it."

"Bully for you," said Guy, riding his horse up closer to Winged Arrow and thrusting out his hand to him. "I bet you—"

"You must not shake hands with me," exclaimed the Indian, drawing back. "There are too many on the watch."

"Do you pretend to say that there are some Indians watching me now?" exclaimed Guy.

"Certainly there are. You have been within reach of two ever since you came over that ridge."

"Then I must go back," said the young officer, who cast anxious glances on all sides of him. "What is the reason they didn't shoot me down or make a prisoner of me? Say! What's your name? You must have had some cognomen besides your Indian name to designate you by when at school."

"My name is John Turner, and the boys called me Winged Arrow because I was so fleet in running foot races. I called myself after the janitor of the school. He was always good to Indians, believed that we have been abused, and said if he were President he would not have permitted things to go on in this way. If he were here now we would do our best to capture him, and after we got him we would send him out of the country."

"But what was your object in selecting ME to warn ME of the massacre? There are plenty of others who, just like myself, do not believe in this business."

"And any one of them would have done just as well. From the day on which you left Fort Robinson in Nebraska—"

"Have you followed us all the way from there?" asked Guy, in surprise.

The Indian nodded his head.

"Why, I should have thought you would have attacked us before this time."

"There were too many of you. An Indian does not like to be killed any better than a white man. Ever since you left that fort I have been watching you—you see I could always tell you by the horse you rode—and I decided that if I could catch you out alone I would tell you of the massacre that is surely coming."

"When is it coming off?"

"It will be when we get some of you where you cannot defend yourselves. We will kill fifty or a hundred of you soldiers, and then we will do what we please with the Fort."

"Well, by George! When you attempt that, I hope you will get whipped for your pains."

Guy was angry now, and he said just what he thought.

"American soldiers are not the men to give way before a handful of savages," he continued.

"A handful of savages! How many do you suppose there are watching you night and day?" asked Winged Arrow; and his eyes flashed and he clenched his hands nervously together.

"Well, I suppose you have a great many; but it will take more men than you can raise to whip us out. I presume you have a thousand."

"Say three thousand and you will hit it. And there are more coming in every day. Now I will tell you what is a fact: You have never seen an Indian war yet."

"I know that. I have never seen any."

"After you have seen one you will never want to see another. A battlefield is something awful to look at."

"I have seen the soldiers that you Indians killed and mutilated since we have been here, and I guess I know something about them. When you have killed a man, why don't you let him alone?"

"If I tell you, you would not believe it,—because it is a part of our religious ceremony. The little scrimmages you saw are nothing to the scene presented by a regular battlefield. Are you going now? Well, I will trouble you for that letter."

Guy had unconsciously held fast to the letter which Winged Arrow had given him, intending to keep it as a souvenir of his meeting with the young savage; but he was so angry at some things that had been said that he had forgotten all about it. He accordingly returned the letter saying as he did so:—

"I wish you would let me keep that document to remind me of you. If I tell what I have seen and heard out here the officers will all laugh at me and say I dreamed it all. I want it too to bear in mind that the first Indian I ever talked with warned me to look out for that massacre which you say is surely coming."

"Well, take it along," said the Indian, after thinking a moment. "It is of no use to me, and it may be the means of saving your life."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You will excuse me if I do not say any more. Perhaps you will see that an Indian has some gratitude after all."

Guy Preston wanted very much to hear more about that letter saving his life, but Winged Arrow put his horse in motion and rode toward the top of the swell behind which the Fort lay. Guy wanted to tell him that he had better go back, but the savage rode on with his eyes fastened upon the horn of his saddle, apparently very much occupied with his own thoughts. Finally he stopped and looked inquiringly at Guy.

"Are you not going to pick up your shotgun?" he asked.

"Yes; when I come to it," said Guy.

"You would not make a good hand to live on the plains," replied Winged Arrow, with a grin; "here it is."

The young officer looked, and there were his gun and birds just as he left them. He did not forget to thank Winged Arrow for calling his attention to them, and said, as he jumped off and secured his gun:—

"I am afraid to have you go any further toward the Fort. We have some guns trained on this ridge. I know they are accurate, for I helped to train them myself."

"I will stop when I have gone far enough," said Winged Arrow. "Do you see that little tuft of grass up there on the hill? There is an Indian in there."

"By George! And I rode within twenty feet of that tuft of grass when I came down," stammered Guy, "What had I better do?"

"Keep right ahead and say nothing about it. He will not disturb you. Now I guess I have gone far enough, and I will say good-by. Remember what I have told you about that massacre. Keep that letter about your uniform wherever you go. I must not shake hands with you."

Guy Preston was just as eager now to get over on the other side of the ridge as his horse was to carry him there. Tom snorted loudly as the tainted air fell upon his nostrils, and even showed a desire to go toward the Fort at the top of his speed, but the strong curb held him. Guy had heard one of the guides say that his horse could smell an Indian further than he could see him, and that when camping alone he always felt perfectly easy until his steed began to show signs of alarm, and at that moment he thought it best to seek safety in flight; and Guy did not dispute the story. He said good-by with some uneasiness, gathered his reins firmly in his hands and cast anxious glances toward the tuft of grass, but nothing in the shape of a savage could he see. Finally the flag came in sight and a few seconds afterward the log palisades, and then Guy felt safe. He loosened up on the curb, and in an instant the horse responded to it. The young officer told himself that he had never traveled so swiftly on horseback before. He approached the gate at a rapid run, returned the sentry's salute of welcome, and presently dismounted in front of the Colonel's quarters. He drew a long breath of relief, for he was safe for the time being.

CHAPTER V. The Reprimand

"What luck have you had?" said Perkins, who had stood by the sentry when Guy dashed by and now came up to see how much game he had secured during his wild ride. "Say! the officer of the guard is just waiting to give you fits. You know the orders are that you must not gallop into the Fort unless there is something after you. Why, where have you been?" he added, now for the first time noticing how white the young officer's face was. "Did you see any Sioux?"

"Perk, I never was so glad to get inside of a stockade before," replied Guy, handing his gun to his friend, removing his cap and wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "Yes, sir; I have seen a Sioux Indian and I was closer to him than I cared to be."

"Did he shoot at you?"

"No, but he said something to me."

"What did he say?"

"He told me to look out for the massacre that is coming in a few days."

"Aw! Get out!" exclaimed Perkins. "It is very likely that a Sioux would tell you that, isn't it now? Go and dream something else."

At this moment an Orderly stepped up and, after saluting, informed Guy that the officer of the day wanted to see him right away. Guy handed his reins to Perkins and started to obey.

"Wait until I receive my reprimand and then I will tell you all about it," said he. "I am telling you the truth. I met him just on the other side of that hill."

Guy followed the Orderly to the quarters of the officer of the day and found that gentleman there alone. His face wore a fierce frown as he turned about in his chair and confronted the young officer.

"I have got back, sir," said Guy, raising his hand to his cap.

"So I perceive," responded Captain Kendall. "You have disobeyed orders twice since you have been gone."

"I know it, sir, and I am willing to take the scolding which I deserve for the first one, but if you knew all the circumstances you would not reprimand me for the second. I couldn't help it, sir. My horse got away from me."

The young officer's air, taken in connection with his pale face, made his superior think there was something back of it, so he crossed his legs, settled down in his chair and requested him to go on, and state what the horse had seen to frighten him. Guy hardly knew how to begin, for he was satisfied that he could not make the officer believe it.

"I followed two of those birds, but the second one got away from me and flew over the ridge, sir," said Guy.

"We are well aware of that fact," said the officer of the day. "That was the time when you should have faced about and returned to the Fort."

"I know it, sir, and I confess to my weakness there; but what kept me so long was an interview I had with a Sioux warrior on the other side of the ridge."

The officer of the day began to prick up his ears when he heard this. He straightened up a little in his chair and simply nodded his head as if to tell Guy that he could go on. And Guy went on. He related the whole of his interview with Winged Arrow without interruption from the officer, and when he got through he showed him the letter which the young savage had given him. He explained the crimson drops which were represented as falling from the hand that was beckoning to Winged Arrow to come home.

"That tells of the massacre that is to come, sir," said he. "They have shot twenty of our men since we have been here at the Fort, but Winged Arrow says this represents more than that."

"Why, they must be going to kill us all off," said the officer.

"It certainly looks that way, sir, and he says if I see one battlefield I will never want to see another."

"And he gave it to you to save your life?" continued the Captain.

"That is what he told me, sir. He told me to keep it about my uniform wherever I went."

"Perhaps the Colonel had better see this," said the Captain, after a moment's pause. "But I shall have to come down on you hard to pay you for going over the other side of the ridge."

"I know it, sir. I ought to have come back then."

"Well, the next time the Colonel trusts you, be sure and obey all orders to the very letter. Now we will go and see what he has to say about it."

Guy felt better than he did when he came into that room a little while ago. Captain Kendall was noted for "coming down hard" on both officers and men who did not obey the law, and so far Guy was all right; but how was he going to fare when he saw the Colonel? He followed the officer as he walked toward the office, and looked all around to see if he could find Perkins or some of his roommates who would see him on the way there. He saw Perkins, still holding fast to his horse, and when the officer of the day was not looking toward him, he pulled off his hat and took hold of his hair as if to show Guy that he was now about to get a reprimand for going over the ridge. The officer sent in his name by the Orderly and found the Colonel pacing back and forth as he had seen him on a previous occasion. He faced about, took one hand from behind him, and pointed it at Guy.

"What do you mean, sir, by coming into the Fort as if all the Sioux were close at your heels?" said he.

"Colonel, if you will permit me, I should be glad to explain that thing," said Captain Kendall; "here is a letter that tells all about it."

"Sit down, Captain, and that boy can stand there until I get ready to talk to him," said the Colonel. "Where did you find this letter, sir?"

Captain Kendall made answer for him, and it was not long before the frown on his face vanished and a troubled expression came to take its place.

"The next time we send out a party for wood is when the massacre is going to take place," said he, when the Captain had explained everything. "We must be on the lookout for that. Have you told this boy what you think of him for going over the other side of the ridge?"

"Yes, sir. I have told him all about it."

"Then you may go."

Guy Preston was in no hurry to go just then, for there was Winged Arrow's letter which the Colonel did not show any signs of returning to him. He sat with his eyes fastened upon it, and then Guy looked at the officer of the day. The latter gave him a wink as if to say that it was all right, the Orderly opened the door for him, and Guy went out. Perkins still kept charge of the horse, and Guy went toward him. It was against the law for an officer to hire or appoint an enlisted man to act as his groom, and so every officer had to take charge of his horse himself. But the thing was done in spite of orders and is done yet. Most men are not backward in regard to earning a quarter for rubbing down a horse in time for dress parade, and many a coin which the officers earn slips into their pockets. They do this when there is no officer about. The minute the officer of the day or guard appears upon the scene, they grab the brush and the officer finds them at work grooming their horses. Perkins would have stayed there until he was gray headed, for Guy had told him just enough of his adventures to want to make him hear more, and he knew that he would have to come there after his horse. He had gathered the rest of his roommates about him, and they were all impatient for Guy's appearance.

"Here he comes now," exclaimed Arthur Brigham, one of the four who were fresh from "The Point." "Now we will make him confess that he is making that story all up out of his own head."

"You will not make me go back on a single word that I have said," said Guy, taking his reins and gun from Perkins's hand. "Come in with me until I rub down my horse and I will tell you all about it."

"But, Guy, did you really see an Indian and converse with him?" asked another.

"I did, as sure as you're a foot high. He was a splendid-looking fellow, and talked English better than I did."

"Oh, get out," said Arthur. "What chance had he to learn English?"

"He says he has been to school for eight years. He knows all the treaties by heart."

"Oh, well, that accounts for it. How was he dressed?"

While Guy was leading his horse toward the stable, he was plied with such questions as these, and he hardly knew it when the soldier who now and then acted as his groom, took the reins from his hand, led the horse to his place, and removed the saddle and bridle from him. Guy leaned upon his gun while all the rest of the boys, except Perkins, crowded about him to hear some more of his story. Perkins remained near the door to keep an eye on the parade ground. He did not intend to let the officer of the day catch a soldier grooming Guy's horse.

"Begin at the beginning and tell us all about it," said Arthur. "You say he was a smart chap?"

"The smartest I ever saw wrapped up in the hide of an Indian," said Guy; "he saluted me as if he had been in the army all his life, and the language with which he addressed me fairly took my breath away. I didn't know what to say to him in reply."

"Look out, boys," said Perkins in a whisper; "here comes Kendall."

The boys vanished as if by magic. Guy peeled off his coat, took the brush from the hands of the soldier, and, striking up a whistle, proceeded to rub down his horse; the others went, some to examine their bridles and some to give their nags a good looking-over, and not another word was said. Captain Kendall came in and walked the whole length of the stable without any remark and then went out; but the moment he disappeared the soldier took the brush, and the young officers gathered about Guy again. Not a word was said about the joke they had played upon Captain Kendall. Such scenes were an every-day occurrence.

"What was in that letter he gave you?" asked Perkins.

"That letter won't do me much good," replied Guy, with a discontented look; "the Colonel's got it and I guess he means to keep it."

"Not if it is going to save your life," said one of his roommates.

"But how is it going to do that? I must first fall into the hands of the Sioux, and I don't want to do that, I bet you. I have not forgotten those men that they killed."

"I will tell you what let's do," said Perkins. "Let's go and see Cyrus. He will know whether or not there is anything to it."

This the boys decided to do; and when the soldier had finished grooming the horse, they came out and turned their steps toward the guide's headquarters.

CHAPTER VI. The Bundle of Sage Brush

"By the way," said Lieutenant Perkins, before they had gone many steps on their road, "who is this young fellow, Winged Arrow, or whatever you call him, anyway? Was he richly dressed?"

"I don't see what his clothes had to do with that," said Arthur. "Of course he was richly dressed, if it took the last cent he had. An Indian will put all he has on his back, even if his stomach goes empty."

"This fellow didn't, I tell you," said Guy. "The most I could see of his uniform was buckskin; and it was fixed up in a way that must have taken some squaw a year or more to turn it out so neatly. I saw his pants, or a portion of them that was not covered up by his leggings, and they were the costliest kind of broadcloth; much better than those we wear,—we mounted Lieutenants who draw $1500 a year."

"I wonder if his father is rich," said Perkins.

"There!" exclaimed Guy. "I knew there was something I had forgotten. I never thought to ask him who his father was."

"You made a mistake there," said Arthur. "He must be a man of some note in the tribe, or his son would not be allowed to meet an enemy on the lines. You say that there were Sioux watching you all the time?"

"Yes, and he showed me the hiding place of one of them; but you might as well look for a needle in a haystack as to try to make him out. My horse smelled him, however, and that was the reason he ran away with me."

The boys had by this time reached the guide's headquarters, and there they found the man of whom they were in search sitting on an empty cracker box, smoking his pipe. We ought rather to have said "the boy," for Cyrus was about their own age. No one knew what his other name was, whether Cyrus was his given or surname, and, as he did not volunteer the information, no one cared to ask him. He had been born on the plains, for no one could have learned so much unless he had been; and the boys had told one another confidentially that there was a story back of it. He was talkative enough whenever he was approached on any other subject, but the moment they tried to pry into his parentage Cyrus closed his mouth and would say nothing more. He was very friendly with all the young officers, accepted the cigars and tobacco which they offered him, and gave them "points" when they went out on a scout after Indians; but who his father was was a question he would not answer. He was taller than any boy in the party, and the muscles on his arms were something to wonder at.

"Halloo!" said he, knocking the ashes from his pipe and filling up for a fresh smoke, "Guy got a reprimand. I can see it plainly enough. Why didn't you obey the Adjutant's orders, and come in when your game flew off over the ridge?"

"Well, there is once that you are mistaken," said Guy. "I told the officer of the day just why I did not come back, and he said that the next time the Colonel trusted me I was to do just as I was told."

"Kendall is the officer of the day, is he not?" replied Cyrus. "That is the first time I ever knew of him letting a young officer off so easily. You must have seen something over there."

"Yes, I did; and I want to know if you ever heard of, or have seen something, I don't care what it was, which was given to a white man that would save his life if he were to fall into the hands of the Sioux?"

"I certainly have," replied Cyrus.

"What was it?" asked all the boys at once.

"Have you found such a thing?"

"No; but I had something given to me. It was a letter which Winged Arrow's father had written to him to come home."

"Where is the letter?"

"The Colonel's got it and I don't know whether he means to give it up or not. I tell you it put him on nettles too. It tells of a massacre that is to come off very shortly. The Colonel says that the next time we go out after a load of wood we have got to look out."

"I know pretty nearly all the Sioux that there are in that camp, but I never heard of Winged Arrow before," said Cyrus. "What sort of a looking chap was he? Tell me all about the history of that letter, and then I will tell you some more."

Once more Guy began and told his story, and Cyrus seemed to take it all as a matter of course, for he never expressed surprise at anything the young officer told him. When Guy had finished his tale, Cyrus lighted his pipe and sat with his elbows on his knees, looking thoughtfully at the floor.

"So it seems that we young officers have got some friends in the camp of the Sioux all unbeknown to us," said Guy, after waiting for Cyrus to say something. "They don't want us all killed off."

"Well, that stands to reason," said Cyrus. "This Winged Arrow has been under instruction of white people all the time for eight years, as you say, and he doesn't want to see any of your kind hurt. That letter will save the life of anybody who falls into the hands of the Sioux."

"Do you know that to be a fact?" asked Arthur, who, like all the rest of the party, was greatly astonished.

"Yes, sir; I know it is so," said Cyrus, emphatically. "Mine was saved once by a simple bunch of sage brush which I had in one of my pockets."

"Oh, go on and tell us all about it," chorused the boys, looking around for some place to sit down. "I don't see what there could have been in a lot of sage brush to save your life."

"It is not a long story, so you need not get ready for an all night's entertainment," returned Cyrus. "You know I have always been kind of friendly toward the Indians; whether Sioux or Pawnee, it made no sort of difference to me, for I live a good deal like them myself. About two years ago we had some war on with the Sioux, about some land, of course, and I was off scouting by myself to see what I could find. I was not attached to any post then. One day I was within hearing of a tremendous fight that came off between our fellows and the Sioux, but I did not go near the battlefield until it was all over. The next day I went up and found that our men had been victorious. The dead and wounded Indians were buried where they had fallen, and our own people had disappeared. They had been carried away by our fellows so that the reds could not dig them up and mutilate them.

"I was just about mounting my horse to go on again, when I heard a groan coming from a thicket close at my side, mingled with the cries in the Sioux tongue of 'Water! Water!' I tell you I did not feel safe in going up to find out what the matter was, for the Indians, even though they are wounded unto death, have a way of keeping a weapon in their hands ready to be the death of any one who comes near them; but finally I made out to see the man, and there was not anything in the shape of a revolver or knife near him. He was shot through both hips, but had managed to drag himself out of sight there in the thicket where he had lain undisturbed by our forces when they were burying the dead. When I came up to him he held out his hands piteously and begged for water. He saw that I was supplied, for he had his eyes on my canteen, and although somebody might call me a fool for doing it, I took it off and gave it to him. He was a human being and somehow I could not bear to knock him in the head. He seemed greatly surprised at that, and grateful too; and after a little while I began a conversation with him. He told me that he had been shot out there on the plains, but had dragged himself to those bushes without a weapon of any kind, and that nothing remained for him but to lie there and die. Of course I could not do anything for him, for he was shot in such a way that he could not sit upright on a horse. I left him the little grub I had and promised that if I could find any one to send after him, I would do it; but that was all in my one eye. I supposed when I left him it would be the last of him.