Before they left their hiding-place, Tatanka tied some small poplar twigs to his head and climbed the highest tree in the grove.

“I can see not a man nor horse,” he reported. “Our enemies have left. Even if the men were hiding in the grass, I would be able to see their wagon and horses.”

“The nearest places of safety are Fort Ridgely and New Ulm,” declared the trapper. “Should we not try to reach one or the other?”

“They are not safe now,” objected Tatanka, after a brief silence. “I have heard the young warriors brag that a thousand of them could easily rush both of these places. We could surely not get into either place on horseback. We might crawl into them at night. If you try to go there on horseback, I shall not go with you.”

“Perhaps you are right,” granted the trapper. “I do not wish to lose my two fine horses. Let us try to reach the small lake and timber north of here. We can water our horses there and the patch of timber is large enough so that a small party can not surround us. And if the worst should happen, we can abandon our horses and slip away on foot after dark.”

When they were ready to move, Bill found little Tim hunting about anxiously through the brush.

“I can’t find the coon,” he cried. “He was there before we sat down to eat our cornbread, but now he has chewed off the string I tied him with and he is gone.”

The men laughed, but together with Bill they began to beat the brush and the weeds for the lost raccoon.

“Little gray Meetcha will be hard to find,” commented Tatanka. “He may have gone back to the woods near the river. His kind does not love the prairie like Hoka, the badger, who digs the striped gophers out of their holes.”

After some more searching Bill called out:

“Oh, come here, Tim. Here’s your fool coon. He’s washing a frog in my well.”

By the time Tim arrived, Meetcha had not only washed but also eaten his frog.

“You little fool,” Tim cried, as he gently boxed Meetcha’s ears, “the Sioux will cut off your tail and boil you in the pot if you run away from us. Haven’t you heard that war has begun?”

Meetcha snarled and struck at Tim with his short fore-paws, but Tim placed his pet in front of him on the saddle and men and boys started slowly for the small lake.

However, before they entered the woods, they halted the horses in an isolated thicket and Tatanka alone crept slowly through the grass and tall weeds into the woods.

“Where is he?” asked Bill, when Tatanka had gone a few rods. “I can’t even see the grass move, except by the little puffs of wind.”

“Of course you can’t.” Barker laughed. “Tatanka would not be a good scout if he could not vanish in the tall grass.”

Black Buffalo was gone a long time and Bill and Tim began to think that he would not come back or that he had been killed. But the trapper only smiled and said: “You boys don’t know what patience is. A good scout or a good hunter must be able to wait a long time, sometimes a whole day.”

When Tatanka did return he came into the thicket from the other side and was standing before them without either of the boys having seen him approach.

“Where did he come from?” Tim asked, his big blue eyes showing his surprise, but the trapper only smiled and said, “He’s our scout, lads.”

The scout reported that he had gone carefully through the whole patch of timber, and that neither in the timber nor on the lake shore had he seen any fresh sign of Indians or horses. “But I did see fresh deer sign,” he concluded. “A buck lives in those woods, but I did not see him.”

Feeling sure now that they would not fall into an ambush, the four friends rode into the woods to find a suitable spot, where they might conceal themselves till nightfall.

They first watered their horses, taking care to conceal them behind some overhanging linden branches, so that they might not be seen from the other side of the lake. Both the trapper and Tatanka agreed that it was not at all likely that any Indians would be in hiding on the shore of this small lake.

“They are scattered in all directions, killing people and making booty,” Barker gave as his opinion. “But it would not surprise me if toward evening some of those marauding parties would come along to stop here for the night.”

The afternoon furnished again a great trial of patience for the boys. For a while, the care of their horses and catching frogs for Meetcha occupied them. Then they picked a few choke-cherries, but these did not allay their growing hunger, and the trapper would not let them pick the laden bushes on the outside of the timber.

“It would be gross carelessness,” he said, “to betray our presence in that way. The man who wishes to carry his scalp out of an Indian war must not take chances. I’m also afraid that you boys would get sick if you filled up on choke-cherries; you had better starve awhile.”

As the heat of the day decreased, the mosquitoes became very annoying. Both lads were tired and sleepy from the excitement of the day, but there could be no thought of sleeping. They had to keep off the hungry insects with pieces of green brush.

The Indian and Barker had each gone to one end of the timber to watch for unbidden guests, while the boys were on guard in the middle of the margin of the timber.

When at last the sun was approaching the horizon, it seemed to the lads that it was several days since Mr. Barker had told them to roll up their blankets and come away.

When the sun was turning red, Tatanka came back from his watch and gave the call of Bob-White. The boys at once forgot all fatigue and ran to their horses.

“Indians, from the east,” Tatanka whispered. “We must get away. I will take Mehunka’s horse to him.”

The trapper, although nearly sixty years old, sprang into the saddle like a young man, when his three friends met him at the western point of the timber.

Before they doubled a low hill, which would hide the lake from their view, Tatanka stopped behind some box-elder bushes.

“Look,” he said as he pointed eastward, “there they are.”

A dozen Indians, some on horseback and others on a stolen farm-wagon, were just stopping to make camp at the eastern end of the timber, a quarter of a mile away.

“Won’t they follow us!” asked Bill. “They might easily find our trail.”

“No,” grunted Tatanka, with plain contempt. “See what they are doing.”

One of the men was pouring something out of a jug and each took a drink out of a tin cup.

“See,” continued the scout—“they have found a jug of whiskey. They won’t see any trail. If they were in the Chippewa country, they would be scalped.”

“Have they any white captives?” asked Barker.

“No, let the dogs alone,” and with those words, he led the way around a low hill.

The four travelers rode slowly and silently over the prairie. The sounds of the summer night began to fill the air. Overhead a pair of night-hawks, swooping with a loud whirr close by the heads of the horses and uttering their harsh “Paint, paint,” followed the riders. In the scattered groves which they passed, some little tree-frogs piped their monotonous trill, while the undefinable songs of crickets and grasshoppers filled the air, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere.

An hour they had been riding almost in silence, when there was a thud and a sprawl on the grass. Little Tim’s eyes had closed in sleep and he had fallen off his horse.

“We must find a place to spend the night,” said the trapper. “The little fellow is all in.”

“No, I’m awake now,” piped up little Tim, as he picked up Meetcha and climbed back in the saddle. “I can ride all right now, Mr. Barker.”

The first house they reached had been burnt and the ruins were still smoldering.

Tatanka dismounted and examined the place for wounded or hidden fugitives, but there was only the silence of death and desolation.

A few miles farther, they came to a cabin in a small natural grove.

“That’s Dickman’s place,” the trapper told his companions. “He has a fine field of corn and his wife is a good housekeeper. Let us see what we can find.”

The door stood open and most of the windows in the two-room cabin were broken.

“Ugh,” grunted the Indian, “the thieves have been here. We shall find nothing to eat.”

“Wait a minute,” said Barker. “Let me look in the smoke-house in the hollow; perhaps the robbers didn’t find it. Here, boys,” he laughed, as he returned with a ham and a side of bacon, “this will help us out.

“Now, Tim, get some green corn and, Bill, you go and milk the two cows in the yard. They must have been in the woods when the Sioux raided the place. Tatanka may listen for bad sounds, but I think we are safe here and we shall soon have a real supper.”

In a few minutes Barker had closed the door, hung a blanket over the two windows, lit a candle and started a fire in the kitchen stove. Soon the corn was boiling and slices of bacon sizzled in the pan. Bill came in with a pail of milk and Tatanka came in and reported, “No Dakotahs here.”

No supper ever tasted so good to Bill and Tim, and the trapper-cook kept putting slices of bacon in the pan, while his hungry guests helped themselves as quick as the white slices curled and browned.

After supper the lads spread their blankets on the floor, tied Meetcha in the small woodshed and found a gunny-sack for him to sleep on.

After the two men had watered the horses at a near-by pond, tied them in the straw-shed, and provided them with plenty of hay, they sat down on the grass to smoke.

“The boys are asleep,” remarked Tatanka, as he filled his pipe a second time with a mixture of killikinnick and tobacco.

“They are my boys now,” replied Barker, “and I shall look after them. I can’t understand that man Hicks. I declare if I don’t almost believe he wanted the lads to get killed. I’d like to break his crooked old bones.”

“He is a bad man,” Tatanka assented. “He hides some evil plan in his heart, but I cannot tell what it is.”

“He does have some evil plan,” exclaimed the trapper as he struck the ground with his fist. “I reckon he will try to take the boys away from me, if he can find us.”

“He is a coward,” continued the Indian; “he will not come alone, he will bring other bad men to help him. We must be on our guard.”

“Tatanka,” said Barker, “I don’t know yet what I shall do, but Hicks will not get these lads unless he can take them from me. Will you stand by me?”

“Tatanka never deserted a friend,” the Indian replied.

“We must sleep now,” said the trapper after a long silence. “We may have another fight to-morrow.”

“I sleep in the shed with the horses,” remarked the Indian, as he bade his friend good-night. “The Dakotahs might come and steal them, if we do not watch.”

The trapper went into the house, set a strong pole against the door and spread his blanket near the boys.