Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1897-10-13
CHAPTER XI.
IEMMED IN BY SAVAGE FOES

Back at the cavalry camp there was
no little subdued chat and wonderment
among the troopers Lounging in the
shade of the trees along the stream and
putting away at their pipes, playing
cards, as soldiers will, and poking fun
at one another in rough, good natured
ways, the men were yet full Of the one
absorbing theme-Fred Waller's most
unaccountable disappearance and the
loss Of 30 much Of their hard earned
money.
"Iwould have bet any amount" said
Corporal Wright, "that when the old
man"-the captain is always the "old
man" to his troops-"got back he would
ride over Sergeant Dawson roughshod
for letting Waller slip away on bis
guard, but listened to him this morn
ing, and he talked to him just like a
Dutch uncle. I tell you, Dawson felt a
heap better after it was over. he said
the captain never blamed him at ALL"
Noon came. So did an orderly telling
Mr.. Blunt that the captain wished to
see him over at the telegraph Office and
to order the horses fed at once. Forty
eight big portions Of oats were poured
from the sacks forthwith. Dawson and
Donovan were not yet back.
leave theirs out" said Sergeant
Graham. "They'll be back presently.
This means business again and no mis-.
take. Where's the trouble now, won
der2'
Shall We look and seei Far to the
south, far beyond the bold bluffs Of the
White river, far beyond the swift
waters of the Niobrara-'L'Eau Qui
Court" Of the old French trapper-far
across the swirling food Of the North
Platte, and dotting the northward
slopes, swarms of naked, brilliantly
painted red warriors in their long, trail
Ing war bonnets Of eagles feathers are
darting about on nimble ponies or,
orouching prone along the ridges, are
eagerly watching dust cloud coming
northward on the Sidney road. Behind
them, between them and the Platte,
are the weltering mutilated bodies OF
half dozen herders and teamsters and
the smoking ruins of their big freight
wagons. Like the tigers taste Of blood,
the savage triumph in the death Of
their hapless foes has tempted them
far beyond their accustomed limits
Knowing the cavalry to be scouting
only north of the Platte, they have
made wide detour and swooped around
to this danger haunted road, eagerly
watching for the coming Of other white
men, who, like the last, should be ig-
norant Of their presence and too few In
number to cope with such foe.
Here along the ridge north Of the
little branch Of the Platte half hun
dred young warriors crouch and wait.
Farther back. equally vigilant, other
bands are hiding among the brakes and
ravines near the river, while their
scouts keep vigilant watch for the COM
ing of cavalry. Forests grays and
Wallace's sorrels cannot be more than a
days ride away, and will be hurrying
for the road the moment they know that
the Indians have slipped around them.
Wallace, up the Platte, has already
heard.
1t is 8 O'Clock this hot. still Sunday
afternoon, and they have been six hours
out from Sidney, driving swiftly and
steadily northward, when, as they reach
the summit of high ridge and stop to
breathe their painting team, Colonel
Gaines takes a long look through his
aeldglass. Just in front is the shallow
valley of the little stream now called
the Pumpkinseed, though pumpkins
we're unheard of features in the land
scape of 10 years ago.
Off to their right front, several miles
hway, lie the low, broad bottom lands
Of the Platte; across the Pumpkinseed,
q mile distant, another ridge like the
Dne on which they halted, only not 80
high; to the westward tumbling sea
of prairie upland, all buttes, ridges,
ravines, coulees, but not living soul
is anywhere in sight. Far ss his prao-
ticed eye can sweep the horizon and the
broad lowlands Of the Platte not sign
of living, moving object can Colonel
Gaines detect. Turning around, he