CHAPTER X. The Squawman’s Proposition.

Carl, the Trailer, was sadly depressed when he saw Lieutenant Parker ride his horse into Grand River—not so much on his own account, but he was thinking of the dispatches which the latter carried in his pocket. Although he spoke encouragingly to him, he did not expect that the young officer would find his way through to the fort alone. The chances were that the horse would fail to follow his own trail, and perhaps take his rider a hundred miles out of his way. But these thoughts had barely passed through his mind when he was recalled to himself by the actions of the squawman. The latter took possession of the revolver which Carl carried in his hip pocket, and then seized him by the arm and pulled him to the ground.

“Don’t be so rough, if you please,” said Page 117 Carl indignantly. “I could have got down without any of your help.”

“I suppose you could, but you see I wanted to help you down,” replied the squawman with a grin. “You have stayed in this country just to see how this fight was coming out between your people and the Sioux, and you have stayed a little too long.”

“Do you think there is going to be a fight?” said Carl. He listened for the squawman’s reply, and he believed every word he said. Of course he was going to seek a chance to escape before long, and he wanted to take back with him some news for the colonel.

“A fight? Well, I should say so,” said the squawman angrily. “Before it is over you and all the rest of the white people will be food for the wolves.”

“You believe in the Ghost Dance, then? Don’t pull me so hard; I can keep up with you.”

“Of course I believe in it, and so does every man who has seen it. If I didn’t believe in it, here’s something that would set me all right.”

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He bared his brawny arm up to the shoulder when he said this, and showed Carl the scar made by a bullet which had come very near ending his life.

“You see that, don’t you?” said the squawman, fairly hissing the words through his teeth.

“Of course I see it. But you had no business to be caught robbing my father. I did not do it.”

“I know you didn’t; but I have got you now, and I intend to make use of you, too. Go in here.”

The squawman paused in front of a tepee whose flap was wide open. Carl entered and found himself on the inside of an Indian house, and, although he had been in similar situations before, he did not see how any Indian tepee could be as dirty as this one was. The beds were scattered all over, for the Indian women had not yet found the time to gather them up, and on one of them lay half a dozen children fast asleep. Without an invitation he sat down on one of the beds and waited to see what the squawman was going to do next. That worthy seemed to be in excellent spirits, and it was not long before the secret came out.
Carl and the squawman

Carl captured by the squawman.

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“Those women you saw outside don’t all belong to me,” said he, as he took his pipe from his pocket. “One of them is my wife, and the others belong to my partners, Ainsworth and Tuttle, whom your worthy general has got in limbo. You heard about our holding up that stage, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I heard all about it. Some of you fellows shot the driver because he would not stop for you, and you stand a pretty good chance of having your necks stretched.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” said the squawman. “But you must not allow that to be done.”

“I?” exclaimed Carl. “I can’t help you any.”

“Yes, you can. When the war was here—and I know about it, for I was on the Confederate side—they used to exchange prisoners, didn’t they?”

“I believe they did.”

“Well, now, ever since those two fellows Page 120 were caught I laid out to capture you the first time you crossed the reservation, and get you to write a letter to General Miles, telling him that if he would let those men go I would let you go. But first there has got to be some little business between us.”

Carl leaned his head upon his hands, looked reflectively at the ground, and thought about it. What he had heard went a great way to convince him that his circumstances were not as bad as he thought they were. The squawmen had sent these threatening messages to his father during his lifetime, and he supposed that when he was captured there was nothing but death awaited him; but, somehow, General Miles had managed to capture two of the men who were given to holding up stagecoaches, and that had put a different view on the matter. This squawman—Harding, his name was—came to the conclusion that he had better go easy with Carl. He would offer to exchange him—one scout for two prisoners—and then he would be all right. He could afterward capture Carl, and do what he pleased with him. The scout saw through Page 121 his scheme as easily as the squawman did; and, furthermore, he was anxious to help it along. Very cautiously he let his hands drop until they rested on his breast. There was one thing upon which Carl congratulated himself at the time of his capture, and that was that the squawman did not attempt to search his clothes in the hope of finding more weapons. He thought that the rifle and single revolver were all he had; but stowed away in the inside pockets of his moleskin jacket were two revolvers which he thought might come handy in time. He could feel them now, as he allowed his hands to drop.

“Well, what are you thinking of?” asked Harding, as he lighted his pipe and sat down on a bed opposite to the one Carl occupied. “You can write, can’t you?”

“Oh, yes, I can write, but I don’t know that it will do any good,” said Carl.

“I will bet you can put it down to him so that it will do some good,” said the squawman with a hideous smile. “Suppose you tell him that the only scout he has got at Fort Scott stands a fair chance of being tied up to the Page 122 stake if he don’t release my partners. What then?”

“Of course I can tell him all that, but you can make up your mind to be hanged if you are ever captured,” said Carl. “Is there anybody here who can read writing?”

“Yes; there are three fellows here who used to go to school at Carlisle,” said the squawman. “You see, after you have written the letter I will take it to them to see if you have read it to me right, and if you have I will send it off.”

“It is lucky I spoke to you about that,” said Carl to himself. “I’ll write such a letter as I am willing those Carlisle fellows should read. Do they, too, believe in the Ghost Dance?” he added aloud.

“I tell you that everybody believes in it who has seen it,” returned the squawman. “Everything goes to prove that it is a part of the religion that the white folks have got up for themselves.”

“In what way does it prove it?” asked the scout. He had a chance now to learn something about the Ghost Dance. He was more Page 123 interested in it than he was in effecting his escape.

“Why, this earth is going to be destroyed,” said Harding. “It is all worn out now, the buffalo and all the other game is gone up, and we are going to have it new, as it was before the white folks came here and spoiled it all for us. Those who don’t believe in the Ghost Dance will all be killed by a fire or an earthquake or something, and those who believe enough in it to wear their ghost shirts will be saved.”

“What is that about the ghost shirts?” said Carl; for you must remember that what this squawman said was all news to him.

“Hold on and I will show you one,” said Harding. “You must say nothing to nobody about it, for if you do, the shirt will not be of any use to me.”

“Oh, I will say nothing about it,” said the scout with a laugh. “I shall not get a chance. If the general will not exchange those two prisoners for me, I shall be in a bad fix.”

“Won’t you, though?” said the squawman with a grin. “You will be gone up, sure. Page 124 However, it will give you a little chance for your life.”

“You bet it will,” said Carl mentally. “While you are waiting for your letter from General Miles, I will be looking out for an opportunity to escape.”

The squawman went to one side of the tepee, and after removing the iron kettle which contained what was left of the breakfast and kicking aside a few old pots and pans, he finally drew out a buffalo bag that contained one thing that he prized above everything else upon earth. In a few minutes he drew out the ghost shirt, and held it up so that Carl could have a fair view of it. The garment was made of a light buckskin, sewed with deer sinew, and cut in the form of all the Indians’ hunting-shirts. The outside of it was ornamented with rude pictures representing buffalo, deer and ravens, who seemed to be in full flight.

“Now, when we get this on, the white man’s rifle won’t amount to a row of pins,” said the squawman. “The weapon will refuse to fire, or the bullet in it will be turned aside and drop to the ground.”

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“Who told you all this?” asked Carl.

“The medicine man; and he is the one that prayed to the Messiah while they were on their way home, and he set them miles ahead on their journey.”

Carl did not say anything, but his thoughts were busy. What a pity it was, he thought, that Ainsworth and Tuttle did not have on those ghost shirts when General Miles’ force came up with them.

“You see it is sewed with sinew,” said the squawman, “and that proves that we must not take anything into the dance that the white man has made. We can wear anything that we have made ourselves, but nothing else.”

“Do you think you are going to whip the white man?”

“Not unless we have to.”

“And when you do whip him,” continued Carl, “you will have to use the weapons he made for you, will you not?”

“Well, that is a different thing,” said the squawman, after thinking a moment. “Of course we will have to use the weapons he made for us, and why not? He brought all Page 126 this trouble upon us, and we would show ourselves lacking in sense if we didn’t use his own weapons upon him.”

“You say your shirt would not be of any use to you if you were known to have shown it to a white man,” said Carl. “How do you make that out?”

“All I know is what the medicine man told us,” said the squawman, packing his garment away again in its dried buffalo skin. “We are going to whip them easy when we put our shirts on, but we don’t want your folks to know anything about it.”

“Well, before I write that letter to General Miles you say you have some business to transact with me,” Carl reminded him. “What is it?”

“It is this,” said the squawman, seating himself once more on the bed. “You have got lots of cattle there, more than you need, and I want you to write me out a bill of sale for a thousand head.”

“What will be the use of that? You will not want the cattle until this fight is over.”

“I know that; but if anything should Page 127 happen, and our medicine man should be mistaken, we want to get the cattle without any trouble. You have left men on your ranch to protect them.”

“Of course I have, and they will shoot down anybody who comes around there fooling with the stock. But your medicine man won’t be mistaken. The grass is not green yet.”

“No, but our medicine man sees that our people are getting impatient, and he has agreed to shorten the time of the Messiah’s coming until this winter. That is why we are keeping up the dance so long—just to show him that we are ready for him as soon as he wants to come.”

Carl was astonished, for he had never heard that there were people who could bring the world to an end whenever they pleased. While he was thinking about it a shrill voice on the outside of the tepee set up a shout, and the squawman jumped to his feet and went to the flap of the door to listen. In a short time he came back again, after speaking a few words to the women who stood close about the tepee, and said:

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“It has come at last.”

“What do you mean? The fight?”

“Oh, no. We have got orders to pack up our houses and move up to the dance-ground.”