"IT CAME LIKE ONE OF THEM KANSAN CYCLONES."  
As he was on the point of giving up all hope of ever seeing him again, Brinton Kingsland was naturally overjoyed at meeting his favourite pony. The situation of the young man would have proved a sad one, had he been compelled to wander over the prairie on foot, for he would have been liable to encounter hostiles at any moment.
 
With the coming of daylight, he could hardly expect to avoid detection by some of the numerous bands galloping hither and thither, ready to pounce upon any defenceless settlers, or to cut off the squads of scouts and soldiers whenever there was a chance of doing so with little peril to themselves.
 
And Jack showed as much delight as his master. He thrust his nose forward, and whinnied softly in response to the endearments of Brinton. Doubtless he had been searching for him for some time.
 
"I tell you, old boy, there are only three persons whom I would rather see just now than you; I won't mention their names, for you know them as well as I do. Where are they? Surely they can't be far off."
 
An examination of the horse disclosed that his saddle and bridle were intact, thus proving that he had not been in the hands of any enemies, who indeed would not have allowed him to stray off in this fashion.
 
Brinton placed his foot in the stirrup, and swung himself astride of the intelligent beast, who capered with pleasure at feeling his master once more in the saddle.
 
Now that such good fortune had come to the youth, he grew anxious about the dear ones from whom he had been so strangely separated.
 
There was something in the way in which they had drifted apart that perplexed him. The interval in which it occurred was so brief that he could not believe they were far asunder. The arrival of Jack strengthened this belief, and now that he was in the saddle again, he peered around in the gloom, half expecting their forms to take shape and come forward to greet him.
 
The partial clearing of the sky continued. No snow-flakes drifted against him, but the moaning wind was as biting and frigid as ever. The straining gaze, however, could see nothing of horse or person, though he clung to the belief that they were not far away.
 
But with that conviction came the other of the nearness of the dreaded red men. He had left them on the bank of the Big Cheyenne, which was not distant; and, failing to find him there, it was natural for them to suspect the trick by which he had escaped.
 
But nothing was to be done by sitting motionless on his horse. He ventured to pronounce the name of his father, and then his mother, increasing the loudness of the tone to an imprudent degree. This was done repeatedly, but no answering call was borne back to him.
 
Sound could not travel far against the wind on such a blustery night, and they might be within a hundred yards without his being able to hear them or they to hear him.
 
He had absolutely no guide or clue, and despair began to creep into his heart. He asked himself what the result was to be if the aimless wandering should continue through the night.
 
With the rise of the sun, Pine Ridge would be still a good day's ride away, and it was too much to hope that they would be permitted to gallop unchallenged through the reservation.
 
"Jack," said he, addressing his pony in the odd familiar way to which he was accustomed, "I can do nothing; you will have to help us out. So now show what you can do."
 
Whether the sagacious animal understood what was asked of him can only be conjectured, but he acted as if he did. He threw up his head, sniffed the air, pricked his ears, and started off at an easy swinging gallop.
 
Brinton's heart rose with hope.
 
"He must know where he came from; a horse can teach the best hunter at such a time, and Jack understands what he is doing."
 
The pony cantered but a comparatively short way, when he dropped to a rapid walk, which grew slower every moment. It was interesting to see him turn his head and look from side to side, for all the world as if searching for something which he was surprised he did not find.
 
"You must be near the spot," said his master; "don't make any mistake now, my boy."
 
He came to a standstill, still turning his head from side to side, as if examining every point in sight. There could be no doubt that he was disappointed, as naturally was his rider also.
 
"I know this is the spot where you left them to join me, but they are gone. I can do nothing: everything depends on you, Jack, and you must not fail me."
 
He resumed his deliberate walk, which was continued for only a short distance. When he halted finally, his actions said as plainly as words—
 
"I give it up! I've done my best, and, like you, am at my wits' end."
 
For a second time Brinton pronounced the names of the loved ones, and while doing so, Jack took three or four additional steps, then halted, threw up his head, snorted, and trembled.
 
These signs were unmistakable: he had discovered something. His master urged him forward. He obeyed to the extent of a couple of steps, and then refused to go further. Not only that, but he shied to the left, and trembled more than before.
 
Brinton soothed him, and then leaned over the saddle and looked into the gloom; and, as he did so, he almost fell from his seat, because of the shock and faintness from what he saw.
 
The first glance told him that something was stretched on the frozen earth but a short distance away. Further scrutiny revealed that it was a man, lying motionless at full length.
 
"It is father!" was the thought of the son, who was out of the saddle in a twinkling, and running forward.
 
It was not the body of Hugh Kingsland, but of a stranger. He had been a powerful man, who had made a brave fight, and had only yielded to superior numbers.
 
Brinton did not attempt any examination in the darkness, for there was no need to do so. He uttered a prayer for the unfortunate one, and for those whom he must have left behind him, and added—
 
"Thank Heaven, it is not father! But who can say how soon he, too, shall not be thus cut down with mother and little Edith?"
 
He remembered that although this tragedy had taken place so near him, and within the last hour or two, he had heard no reports of guns nor any sounds of conflict. That, however, was accounted for by the direction of the wind, as already explained.
 
Really nothing seemed left for him to do. He had done everything in his power to find his friends and failed. As long as night continued the faculty of vision was useless to him.
 
"Well, Jack," he said despairingly, "do as you choose; I am helpless."
 
As if in sympathy with his young master, the pony moved off on a slow walk, which he continued until, by some means, which Brinton hardly understood, he clambered down into a gully, similar to the arroya in which they had taken shelter that afternoon. In doing this, it is probable that the animal was guided by that instinct which prompts his kind to seek shelter from the severity of the weather, for the refuge was a welcome one to the rider as well as himself.
 
On the way thither and after arriving there, Brinton signalled and called repeatedly to his parents. The continued failure to bring a reply led him to decide that nothing more could be done before morning.
 
He flung himself off his pony, and made ready to remain where he was until then. The gully was narrow, and the banks at the point where he drew rein were high enough to shut out the gale. Food for himself and horse was out of the question, and neither was suffering for want of it. The Big Cheyenne had given to them all the water they wanted; and physically, therefore, nothing in their condition was specially unpleasant.
 
It would have been a great comfort to have had a fire by which to nestle down, but two causes rendered this impossible: no material was within reach, and, if there had been, he would not have dared to kindle it.
 
Jack's saddle was removed, and, in obedience to the command of his master, he lay down on the flinty earth, while Brinton disposed himself so as to receive a part of the warmth of his body. Thus, with the help of his own thick clothing, his situation was more comfortable than would be supposed.
 
Despite his worry and anxiety, he soon fell asleep, and did not open his eyes again until the grey light of the wintry morning was stealing through the gully. He was chilled and cramped by his exposure, but leaping to his feet, he soon restored his benumbed circulation. Jack, seeing his master astir, sprang up, and looked at him as if to announce that he was ready for any work that was before them.
 
"Well, my boy, we shall have to go without our breakfast, but you and I can stand that, I reckon, for this thing must end before we are many hours older——"
 
"Well, I'll be shot!"
 
The exclamation was uttered by a horseman, who at that moment rode into sight in the gully and checked his animal only a couple of rods distant, adding—
 
"I didn't expect to meet you here, Brint; where are the rest of the folk?"
 
"That's what I would like to know; I am worried to death, Nick; can't you help us?"
 
"I'll do anything I can, my lad, but what is it?"
 
The newcomer was Nicholas Jackson, serving as a scout for General Miles. It will be remembered that it was he who stopped at the home of the Kingslands a short time before and warned them of their danger. Had his advice been heeded, they would not have been in such sore straits at this time.
 
Brinton quickly told of his strange experience of the night before and his perplexity as to what he should do.
 
"I don't think anything has happened to them," was the reassuring response of Jackson, "for the darkness was in their favour. They are hiding somewhere in these gullies, just as you did, and dare not show themselves."
 
"But how are we to find them?"
 
"There's only one way I know of—look for them."
 
"What are you doing here, Nick?"
 
"We learned at Wounded Knee that a company with supplies was to come from Rapid City, and I have been sent out on a scout; an escort is coming to bring them into camp. You have heard of the battle at Wounded Knee Creek, I suppose?"
 
"Not a word."
 
The old scout compressed his lips and shook his head.
 
"I have been in a good many scrimmages under Generals Crook and Miles, but that was the hottest half-hour I ever spent."
 
"How was it, Nick?"
 
"You know that the hostiles have been gathering in the Bad Lands ever since this trouble began. We have them pretty well surrounded, but there must be a big fight before we wind up this serious business. Two days before Christmas word reached us that three thousand Indians, including six hundred bucks, were there. You can understand how much relief it was, therefore, to learn that Big Foot, with a lot of Sitting Bull's fugitives on Cherry Creek Reservation, had surrendered to Colonel Sumner.
 
"That was all well enough, but while conducting the band of two hundred to the Missouri, the next day, the whole lot escaped and hurried south to join Kicking Bear and the rest of the hostiles. Then the trouble began.
 
"Four days later Little Bat, one of our Indian scouts, discovered Big Foot and his band eight miles north of Major Whiteside's camp on Wounded Knee Creek, and four troops of the Seventh Cavalry started for them, with me among 'em.
 
"As the hostiles spied us they formed a long battle line, all with guns and knives, the knives being in their cartridge belts outside their blankets.
 
"I tell you, Brint, things looked squally. We could see the gleam of their black eyes, and the way they scowled and glared at us showed that nothing would suit 'em better than to drive their knives to the hilts into every one of us.
 
"But Major Whiteside meant business. He drew us up, too, in battle line. Just then Big Foot was seen coming forward on foot. The major dropped down from his saddle and went forward to meet him.
 
"'Me ill,' said Big Foot, 'me want peace—my people want peace——'
 
"The major was impatient.
 
"'I won't talk or parley with you,' he broke in; 'it is surrender or fight; I await your answer.'
 
"'We surrender—we done so before, but could not find you,' said Big Foot.
 
"I had my eye on the chief, who just then turned and motioned with his arm to his own battle line. They seemed to be looking for the signal, 'cause the white flag was shown at once. We rode forward quick like and surrounded them, and a courier was sent off post haste for four troops of the Seventh, and Leftenant Taylor's scouts to help guard and disarm the party. They arrived the same day. Big Foot had one hundred and fifty warriors fully armed, with two hundred and fifty squaws and many children. Despite the surrender, we all knowed trouble was coming, and it was not long before it came, like one of them Kansan cyclones."