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.”

Page 118

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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Page 119

“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 fello............