CHAPTER XIV. An Interview in the Woods.

The squawman stood as if thunderstruck, but he understood the story as well as if it had been explained to him. The women had got tired of staying back there in suspense while their comrades were learning the full history of Sitting Bull’s death, and, impelled by their curiosity, had gone to hear about it too, and Carl, the Trailer, had taken the only chance there had been given him to escape. That was all there was of it. But there were other questions that came to Harding while he reflected on these things. What would the Sioux do to him? There was one question which divided the Dacotas into two parties, and the thing must be settled then and there without a moment’s delay. Some of them were going to start for the Bad Lands before the troops came to hem them in, and the others were equally determined to go to the Page 171 agent and surrender. He knew that the fighting members of the tribe would soon be up there to demand the prisoner at his hands, and that the rest would come along to protect him; and both parties were so strong, and so bent on having things turn out in their favor, that it was possible there might be bloodshed before the matter was settled.

“I am in a fix,” thought the squawman, as these thoughts came flooding upon him, “and I don’t know what to do. The prisoner is gone, and that is all there is of it. I wish I had let him go in the first place.”

At this moment wild whoops and yells came from the dancing-ground, and as they seemed to approach nearer and grow louder as they came closer to his lodge, the squawman was aroused into action. He was not simple enough to join in with the fighting members of the tribe. He knew that they would be whipped sooner or later, and what was there to hinder him from going under the sod? He was not quite ready to do that; and after listening a moment to the howls of rage that came to his ears he dashed through his tepee, Page 172 passed out of the slit that Carl had made with his knife, and ascended to the top of the hill. On the way up he came to a decision.

“That boy ain’t gone toward the fort,” said the squawman to himself. “He is much too smart to be captured in that way. He went off in this direction, and when the Sioux get weary of looking for him he will come about and strike for the fort.”

Acting upon the thoughts that passed through his mind, the squawman turned away from the fort and followed a course that led him squarely on to the Trailer’s hiding-place. His ears told him pretty nearly what was going on in the camp. He knew, by the yells which broke out with redoubled force, when the Indians discovered the hole through the side of the tepee by which Carl had made his escape; and three or four of the young braves, who were anxious to get somebody’s scalp to wear to the Bad Lands, came along the base of the hill looking for Carl, but they turned toward the fort. The rest of the Indians stopped in his tepee, and after a chorus of loud yells from both parties they finally Page 173 ceased. Somebody was making them a speech.

“I hope they won’t come any farther,” said the squawman anxiously. “If they will only just listen to that friend’s advice and go away, Carl is all right.”

It takes an Indian forever to make up his mind whether to do a thing or not, and for a long time it was uncertain who would gain the mastery—the fighting members, who were anxious to kill Carl, or those who wanted to go to the agent and surrender. But at length the yells died away, those who were going to the Bad Lands having wasted time enough, and the others, who wanted to go to the agent, drawing away to their tepees, leaving the rest to do as they pleased in the matter. When the fighting members of the tribe saw their companions leaving them they became alarmed and left the squawman’s tepee in a body, and thus the dispute was brought to an end. Carl was given a fair opportunity for his escape, but he did not know it until afterward. The young braves who had gone along toward the fort had not yet returned.

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The hill along which the young scout had taken his hurried flight was covered with a dense mass of willows, and the squawman had stopped in them as soon as he heard the commotion at his tepee. A short distance in front of him, but not in plain sight, was another figure, who stood with his gun at a ready and his finger on the trigger. It was Carl, the Trailer, who was determined that two or three of his pursuers should not get off scot-free in case he was discovered. He saw the squawman when he came up, and, if Harding had only known it, his life hung by a thread. When the yells of the Indians had ceased, and all became quiet again, the squawman proceeded to carry out the resolution he had formed while making his way to the top of the hill.

“Carl!” said he, in a low and cautious whisper.

There was no answer returned. The figure of the scout was drawn a little higher, and the muzzle of his rifle covered the man’s breast.

“Carl!” repeated the squawman in louder and more anxious tones.

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“Well, what do you want?” came the answer this time. “Throw your hands up. I can see very plainly, and if you make a loud noise you are booked for the other world.”

The hands of the squawman were at once raised above his head, and he tried in vain to make out the dim and shadowy form of the young scout among the bushes; but Carl was secure in his concealment.

“Have you got any cartridges about you?” was the next question.

“Nary one. Every one I had is in that weapon.”

“You see I took your rifle to help me along,” returned Carl. “How did you know where to find me so easily?”

“I knew you did not go toward the fort, and I knew, too, that you could not have gone far in these bushes,” replied the squawman. “I want to tell you that your way of escape is open to you.”

“You did not follow me on purpose to tell me that, did you? I knew it when the Indians quit yelling. Now, how does it come?”

“Some of the tribe are bound to get into Page 176 the Bad Lands to fight it out, and the others are going to the agent to surrender,” said Harding. “One wanted to kill you and the rest did not want to; so, between them, you got off without much pursuit. You can go straight to the fort if you want to; but be careful of those men who are going to the Bad Lands. They are on the warpath now.”

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” asked Carl.

“No, it ain’t,” said the squawman. “Are you going to leave me without any weapons?”

“I don’t see that I can do anything else. I would be mighty foolish to turn this gun into your own hands. I will take it to the fort, and you can come there and get it.”

“Don’t you know that it is impossible for me to do that?” said the squawman in alarm. “If you take the rifle with you to the fort I am done for. The commanding officer will begin to ask me about those stages that were held up some time ago.”

“That is so,” said Carl thoughtfully. “You see you got yourself into a bad scrape by going with those fellows. Well, I will see what I Page 177 can do for you. You are sure you don’t want any cattle from me, are you?”

“Nary one. I would not have asked you for them, but I was hard up. I wanted money, and didn’t care how I got it.”

“And there is another thing I want to tell you, Harding,” said Carl. He saw the squawman’s hands come down, but by that time he had lowered his rifle to the ground and drawn one of his revolvers, with which he covered the man’s head. “Do you know that your partners have been sent to the Leavenworth jail by this time?”

“No!” exclaimed the squawman.

“Well, they have, and so you can see that it would be of no use for me to write that letter to General Miles.”

“When did that happen?” asked Harding, who was astonished by this revelation.

“About two weeks ago. You see, the soldiers around here don’t wait to see how things are coming out. The general was convinced of those fellows’ guilt, and he sent them to jail without the least delay; so you are alone in being a squawman.”

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Harding was unstrung by this information.

“Dog-gone you, what made you agree to write that letter for?” said he; and the words came hissing out between his clenched teeth in a way that would have made Carl afraid of him had their circumstances been reversed.

“I don’t know that I agreed to write it,” said Carl. “If I did so, I did it simply to gain time toward effecting my escape. You would have agreed to it yourself if you had been in my place.”

“If the general gets his grip on me——”

“Oh, he is bound to get you some time, be that sooner or later; and when he gets hold of you, you will have to go to Leavenworth jail too.”

The squawman plainly saw how this thing could be brought about. If he went with those of the tribe who surrendered he would be hemmed in by soldiers, somebody would be sure to see and recognize him, and he would be put under arrest immediately. If he went with those who were already escaping to the Bad Lands he would, like them, be whipped in a few days, and there, too, the soldiers Page 179 would bother him. He was not such a bold man as some might suppose. He was ready enough to slip up on a man behind his back and bushwhack him, but when it came to meeting one in a fair fight—that was a little bit too much for the squawman. While he was thinking about it the young scout spoke again.

“I will do the best I can for you,” said he. “I will take the cartridges out of this gun and put it here in the bushes, where you can find it in five minutes after I go away. You can get some more cartridges of the Indians.”

“Say, Carl, you couldn’t say anything to get me out of this scrape, could you?”

“No, I could not,” said the scout, somewhat astonished at the proposition. “You held up the stage, and that is contrary to law, and some of you shot the driver. You will have to suffer for that.”

“I used to herd cattle for your father,” said the squawman at a venture.

“Suppose you did? What do you suppose the general cares for that? You were caught in the act of robbing him, too.”

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“Well, I have had a lesson, and I will never do it again. I will lead an honest life from this time on.”

“If you are talking that way simply to get me to say a word to General Miles you are making a big mistake,” said Carl. “Nothing that I could say would benefit you. You have violated the law, and consequently you have got to suffer for it, I tell you. Now here is your gun, blanket and butcher-knife. I will put them at the roots of this tree, and in five minutes after I am gone you can come and get them. The cartridges I shall keep.”

“But you will leave yourself without any weapon at all,” said the squawman.

“Don’t fool yourself. I have a revolver in each hand.”

“Why, how did you get them?”

“I have had them all the time. Now good-by, Harding, and let me tell you one thing: you might as well come up and stand your punishment. You have every law-abiding citizen in the United States down on you, and wherever you go, you are not safe from arrest.”

Silence reigned in the little thicket after Page 181 that. Harding listened with all his ears, but could not hear a leaf rustle or a twig snap as Carl moved away from the spot. He waited all of five minutes, and then moved up to take possession of his property. After a little search he found them all there, and with something that sounded like an oath he took them under his arm and made the best of his way back to his lodge.

“I’ve either got to go with them fellows to the Bad Lands, and get whipped when they do, or I must go and surrender myself,” he said to himself. “I know that little snipe could have said something for me if he had chosen to do it; but here I am, with everybody down on me. Blessed if I know what to do.”

“I think he has more cheek than any man I ever saw,” muttered Carl, as he moved cautiously away from his place of concealment. “He makes an attempt to rob father and gets a bullet in him for his pains, and then comes to me with the request that I will say something for him! Mighty clear of it. I would say something that would get him stretched up by the neck, if I could.”