"Oh, what are they? Tell me what they are," he cried, relapsing into his former tone. "They can be removed--there is nothing I will not do, or give up, for you. What are they? You don't like my people, I know; but you have always been kind and friendly with me. Surely my relations need not stand in the way?"

"You must not ask me for reasons, Geoffry. Let us talk over this rationally. If I cared for you as you wish, nothing should stand in the way. But as I do not, even you would not thank me for coming between yourself and those who do. Only think what a firebrand I should be."

"No, you would not. I tell you there is nothing I would not do for you--or would not give up for you. Only just try me."

What complication-loving fiend should have brought to her recollection then the vision of that pictured face which had made such an impression upon her--the face of the disinherited heir of Lant Hall? The leaven of her father's cynical philosophy almost moved her to experiment on this _corpus vili_ ready to her hand, and ascertain whether his protestations would go the length of espousing her ideas of right and wrong as regarded that particular subject. But she restrained herself in time.

Very dejectedly and in silence he walked beside her as far as their ways lay together. He would fain have reopened his pleadings, but with a hurried farewell she left him before he could detain her.

"Well, Chickie? Been having it out with Geoffry Plantagenet?" said her father, who, from his library window, had witnessed their parting at the divergence of the roads.

"Yes; that's just what I have been doing. And--I think, dear, we oughtn't to laugh at poor Geoffry quite so much."

"Oh, that's how the land lies, is it?" answered Mr Santorex, struck by the unwonted gravity which she had brought to bear upon the subject.

"All right, we won't. Not that _we_ shall have much longer to laugh at anyone," he added somewhat ruefully.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

WAR WOLF IS "WANTED."

"Say, Vipan. Guess we'd better draw off out o' this for a bit. There's no call for us to help do police work just now, and we can't stand looking on. There'll be hair-lifting here in a minute, I reckon."

Thus Smokestack Bill to his friend and boon companion as the two lounged on the turf, a hundred yards or so from the trading store attached to the Blue Pipestone Agency. The place was alive with Indians, gathered there for the purpose of drawing the rations with which a paternal Government supplied them, contingent on their good behaviour and in consideration of their peaceably abiding on their reservation and eschewing the fiery delights of the war-path. So Uncle Sam's red nephews occupied the ground in crowds, indulging in much jollification on the strength of newly-acquired beef and flour and other commodities which should refresh and comfort both the inner and the outer man, and while the squaws were busily packing these upon their much-enduring ponies, their lords were lounging about, chatting, smoking, merry-making, and having a good time generally. Meanwhile, the trading post had been doing a brisk business.

"Police work, eh?" returned Vipan, with a glance at the detachment of U.S. Cavalry, which, encamped in the neighbourhood of the store, showed no sign that any serious undertaking was in contemplation. "Who are they after n.o.bbling?"

"See here, old pard--if I didn't know you well enough to stake my life you'd never go back on a pardner, you and I wouldn't be here together to-day. If they can't claw hold of their man, it mustn't be through any meddlin' of ours."

"Who is it they want?"

"War Wolf."

"The devil they do! They gave out a different story."

"That's so. Joe Ballin, who's with them, 's an old pard of mine. We've done many a scout together in '67 and '68. Well, he told me all about it. This command is out after no less a chap than War Wolf. You see the pizen young skunk has been braggin' all over the section how he scalped Rufus Charley and Pesky Bob, them two fellers we buried down by Burntwood Creek. It's got to the General's ears, and now they've come to take him over to Fort Price. They've given out a lie that they're bound down the river on the trail of a Minneconjou who ran off a lot of Government beef last month, but that's just a red herring. As sure as War Wolf comes along, they'll grab him--mind me."

Vipan meditatively blew out circles of smoke into the air, without replying. This was a most untoward _contretemps_. He remembered the scalp-dance which he had witnessed; the two scalps--including the red-haired one--which War Wolf had so boastfully brandished during that barbarian orgie, and it flashed across him vividly now that, were the Indian arrested for the deed, the bulk of his clansmen and the Sioux at large would look upon himself as having betrayed their compatriot into the enemy's hand, or would for their own purposes affect to. Here were the troops, and he, Vipan, on good terms and hob-n.o.bbing with their leaders. The capture--if it took place--would be to himself most disastrous. It was characteristic of the man that he lost sight of the grave peril in which he himself would be placed, alone here in the midst of hundreds of exasperated savages. His plans of future enrichment would be utterly broken up, and it was of this he was thinking.

Unscrupulous, self-seeking as he was, Vipan had his own code of honour, and he would no more have dreamed of betraying his friend's confidence than of cutting his friend's throat. But had the information reached him through any other channel, it is more than doubtful whether Uncle Sam's cavalry would have effected their capture that day.

"You're right, Bill," he said, at length. "There'll be an almighty rumpus if that game's tried on. Why, there are enough reds here to chaw up this command twice over, and they'll do it, too, I'll bet a hat. Why the devil did they send out so few men?"

"Well, what d'you say? Hadn't we better git?"

"Not this child. You see, if we make tracks, and War Wolf gets grabbed, the reds'll certainly think I gave him away. He's an infernal young skunk, and I'd gladly see him hung; still, it nohow suits my book that he should be just now. So I'll see it out, but if you'd rather be outside it, don't stay. We can rendezvous anywhere you like afterwards."

"Oh, well; it's no great matter. I don't care if I stay," answered the scout, with his usual imperturbability. "Here's a big burst of rain coming. We'd better get inside the store, anyhow."

Great drops began to plash around them; there was a steely gleam, followed by a long, muttering roll of distant thunder. As they made their way towards the log-house, the Indians were breaking up into groups of twos and threes, and hurrying away in the direction of a cl.u.s.ter of _teepes_ erected hard by. Failing any necessity for it, they were no more inclined for a ducking than most people. The cavalrymen, beyond taking precautions for keeping their arms and ammunition dry, seemed indifferent to the weather.

"h.e.l.lo, Smokestack Bill!" cried a hearty voice, as they entered. "So that's how Nat Hardroper custodies his State prisoners, eh?"

They recognised in the speaker the officer who had arrested them in the Black Hills. With him was Joe Ballin, the scout above referred to.

Vipan, especially, further noticed a sergeant and a dozen men posted, apparently by accident, within the room.

"Lord, Colonel," replied the scout, "you don't want us to foot the Henniker trail again?"

"Not I," said the other, with a laugh. "Other game afoot this journey."

Then at Vipan's suggestion, drinks were dispensed, the storekeeper--a long, lank Eastern man--partic.i.p.ating in the round.

Suddenly the latter exclaimed:

"Snakes! here come three reds. Your man in 'em, Colonel?"

Through the open door three Indians could be descried approaching rapidly. It was raining hard, and their blankets were drawn over their heads and shoulders, leaving only a part of their faces visible. The swarthy features of Ballin the scout lit up with a momentary excitement.

"The centre one, Colonel," he whispered, hardly moving his lips. "The centre one. He's the skunk we want, and no mistake."

The Indians continued to advance with their light, springy step. When about a hundred yards from the store they were suddenly joined by a large band of fully-armed and mounted warriors, clearly a band which had just arrived upon the ground, but which had hitherto been unseen by those inside the store, owing to the limited range of vision afforded by the latter's doorway.

This untoward arrival placed a critical aspect on the state of affairs.

But Captain Fisher's orders--the higher rank by which that officer was commonly addressed, was mere popular brevet--were concise. They were to the effect that he should apprehend upon sight, and convey to Fort Price an Ogallalla Sioux, known as War Wolf. This was sufficient. If that Indian were not apprehended it would only be because he had made himself remarkably scarce. As it was, however, here he stood before them, advancing confidently into the trap. But then, he had at his back a formidable force of his compatriots, outnumbering the cavalrymen three to one, not reckoning the number of warriors already on the ground, and whom the first whoop would bring upon the representatives of authority in crowds. Clearly here was a critical situation. So thought Vipan, who stood prepared to watch its _denouement_ with intense interest. So thought Smokestack Bill and the storekeeper, who, however, with characteristic phlegm, stood prepared to act as events should decide.

So, especially, thought the Captain and the dozen men disposed inside the store to effect the capture.

The whole band, in delightful disorder, was now straggling around the door; the three pedestrians, who had been joined by a couple of the new arrivals, leading. All unconscious of danger, War Wolf was chattering and laughing with his companions. Then a shadow darkened the doorway, and the first Indian entered. Before his eyes became sufficiently accustomed to the sudden darkness--for the windows had been purposely shaded--the second was in the room. A rapid movement, a sudden exclamation, and two struggling bodies--all quick as lightning. Captain Fisher had seized the second Indian from behind, effectually pinioning him.

It was done in a moment. The desperate struggles of the lithe and active savage taxed all the efforts of the half-dozen men who had been told off for the purpose, while the remainder held the entrance. In a trice he was subdued, disarmed, and securely bound. His comrade, to whom Ballin the scout had hurriedly explained that no harm was intended, stood by sullen and immovable.

Then arose an indescribable hubbub. The warriors outside, who had dismounted, rushed helter-skelter for their ponies, and the loud, vibrating shout of the war-whoop rose above the clamour of angry and inquiring voices. At its sound the temporary village became as a disturbed ants' nest, Indians pouring from the _teepes_ in swarms: and in less than a minute a crowd of excited savages--mounted and afoot-- came surging down upon the log-store, brandishing their weapons, and fiercely clamouring for the instant release of their compatriot.

But a line of disciplined men barred their way. Drawn up in front of the store, the troopers, some fifty strong, stood with carbines levelled, awaiting the word of command; while Ballin, duly instructed, went outside and informed the Indians that, should they approach twenty paces nearer, the troops would fire.

The effect was magical. The entire ma.s.s halted dead. Then, yelling the war-whoop, a number of young bucks darted out from the main body and, putting their ponies at full speed, began circling round the tenement and its defenders. But a peremptory mandate from one of the chiefs present recalled these young-bloods, and for a moment the two rival forces stood contemplating each other--the savages with a fierce scowl of hatred, the troops, cool, determined, and not altogether anxious for a peaceful solution to the difficulty.

Then the chief who had recalled the more ardent of his followers, advanced making the peace-sign--extending his right hand above his head with the palm outwards.

What had War Wolf done, he asked, that he should be seized like a common thief in the white men's towns? Had he not come peaceably with the rest to obtain his rations, and had obtained them--a clear proof that the Government was not angry with him? He had been living on the reservation with them all, as everybody knew; why then should the Great Father send soldiers to take him?

Briefly Captain Fisher explained the charge against the young warrior.

The killing of two citizens in time of peace was murder--not an act of war. The prisoner would have to answer for it before the Civil Courts of the Territory.

The chief's face was a study in admirably feigned surprise, as the above was interpreted to him. He was a warrior of tall, commanding aspect, just past middle age, and looked almost gigantic beneath his nodding eagle plumes. He was the head war-chief of the Minneconjou clan, and had the reputation of being well-disposed towards the whites. He rejoiced in the name of Mahto-sapa, or The Black Bear.

"What the white Captain had just told them contained sound sense," he replied. "But would it not do as well if War Wolf were released now, and called upon to answer to the charge against him later on, when the Great Father should want to try him. Such a course would be most gratifying to his countrymen, who were highly incensed that a warrior of his standing and repute should be seized in the way he had been. It would be best, perhaps, for all parties," the Indian explained, with just a shadow of meaning in his uniformly courteous tone--"for his young men were so hot-blooded and impatient, he feared they might not act with the prudence and moderation to be looked for in men of riper years, a contingency which would be in every way lamentable to himself and the other chiefs of the Dahcotah nation."

If the speaker expected his veiled threat to produce any effect on Captain Fisher, he must have been sadly disappointed. Concisely that officer informed him that, in the matter of a grave charge of this kind, War Wolf could not expect more lenient treatment than would be accorded to a citizen under similar circ.u.mstances. No white man would be held to bail if arrested for murder, and an Indian must look for precisely the same treatment--no better and no worse. At the same time he guaranteed that the prisoner should receive every consideration compatible with his safe keeping until such time as the authorities should decide upon his guilt or innocence. As for the anger of the warriors he saw before him, greatly as he should regret any breach of the peace, that consideration could not in any way be suffered to interfere with him in the discharge of his duty. Were he, the speaker, the very last man left of the command they saw before them, he should still do his best to convey his prisoner whither he had been ordered, and would die rather than release him.