"I have an extra saddle-horse," said Barker as he was ready to mount.

"We must warn Bill and Tim."

"You are right, Mehunka; I have brought an extra horse. The white boys should come with us, if they are willing."

"They must come with us!" exclaimed Barker, "whether they will or not."

"Perhaps the lanky white man will not let them," Black Buffalo suggested. "He wishes to keep the boys here. I do not know why. He would not mourn if harm came to them. He does not love them."

"Lanky Hicks be cursed!" Barker exclaimed in Sioux. "I shall point my rifle at his head, if he refuses to let them go; he should have taken them home long ago."

Bill and Tim were just eating their simple breakfast of wild rice and maple syrup when they saw two hors.e.m.e.n coming at a gallop.

"Look, Bill," cried Tim, "here comes Mr. Barker and Tatanka! Hurrah!

We'll go and hunt ducks on the slough to-day. It's so long since they have visited us."

But when Barker hastily jumped off his horse and entered the cabin before the lads could cry, "Come in," to his knock, they knew that their two friends had not come to invite them to go hunting.

"Good morning, my lads," Barker greeted them. "Where is Cousin Hicks?"

"We don't know," answered Bill. "We haven't seen him since Friday."

"Put on your hoots, roll up your coats and blankets, and come along,"

the trapper continued. "The Sioux have gone to war and are killing the people all around. You must not lose a minute; a bunch of them may show up almost any moment."

When all were ready to mount, Tim asked, "What about Cousin Hicks? Will the warriors get him?"

Bill thought he saw a flash of anger in the dark eyes of Tatanka at the mention of Cousin Hicks, and the Indian said something in Sioux which the boys did not understand.

But the trapper laughed and remarked:

"I thought you were a Christian, Tatanka?"

"I am," replied Black Buffalo in Sioux, "but not when I see that man."

If the boys had not implicitly believed Barker and Tatanka, they would have thought their story some crude joke, for as they started their horses at an easy gait, they saw no sign of war or Sioux warriors. The dew still lay heavy on the tall gra.s.s in the swales, while many kinds of b.u.t.terflies, white, yellow, blue, and tawny red, were sipping their morning draught of honey from goldenrods and wild sunflowers, and from the fragrant milkweeds and purple lead-plants.

Now and then, a meadow-lark warbled its cheerful song from a knoll or rock, while the little striped gophers chased each other or sat like horse-pins in front of their holes and scolded vociferously at the pa.s.sing riders.

"What are they saying?" Tim asked of the trapper.

"They are talking bad talk at Meetcha, your racc.o.o.n," Barker replied, with a smile. "You let Meetcha catch one. Manetcha is a brave animal near his hole."

Tim let Meetcha try it, but every time he came within a few feet of a chattering, scolding gopher, the little striped creature turned a somersault and shot into his hole.

"Take him up, Tim," said the trapper after a few minutes; "we have not much time to hunt gophers."

They now started their horses at a run for the two nearest settlers and gave them the warning.

"Get away as quick as you can. Don't follow the road to Fort Ridgely or New Ulm, or you'll be ambushed there in the timber. Keep a sharp lookout and hide in the gra.s.s or brush or corn, if you see Indians. Don't trust any; they are all on the warpath now."

Without waiting for the settlers to move, the four hors.e.m.e.n started at a brisk gallop for a third settler at the head of a wooded ravine.

"Keep away from the timber," Tatanka cautioned them. "Indians like to hide when they fight."

The riders approached the cabin carefully over the prairie. The door was standing open.

The boys still felt as if the whole story was a bad hoax, but now the two men stopped their horses, examined the caps on their guns, and then Tatanka carefully crept up to the shanty through some scrub-oaks.

"What is Tatanka afraid of?" asked Tim.

"He is afraid," Barker explained, "that some Indians have seen us and are hiding in the house or behind it."

Now Tatanka appeared in front of the shanty and motioned the others to come. In the house everything was confusion. The table was turned over and the broken dishes were scattered and tumbled about on the floor.

Every pane in the one small window was smashed and in the hazel-brush just behind the little home, Jim Humphrey, the owner, lay dead, his hands still gripping the handle of an ax.

"The brutes have taken Jim's wife and daughter with them," murmured Barker. "Boys," he continued, "you stand watch while Tatanka and I cover poor Humphrey's body with green twigs and earth. We dare not wait to do more."

What had thus far seemed like a horrible dream to the boys, had now become a ghastly reality. They were face to face with the horrors of savage warfare.

The next cabin, two miles northeast, was on fire and six men, three on horseback and three on a farm-wagon, were coming toward them. The four fugitives halted. "What are they!" Barker asked.

"They are Indians," Tatanka decided at once. "We must make a run for the clump of poplars north of us."

In the center of the round clump of poplars and thick brush, they tied their horses.

"They can't see them here," Tatanka stated. "Now, we must lie down near the edge of the brush, but so that they cannot see us, and don't waste your powder. We may have to stay here for a long time."

The Indians had all turned off the road and were approaching the thicket.

"Give them a shot, Bill," said Barker. "They are only a quarter of a mile away. It's going to be a fight for our lives."

Two of the Indians returned Bill's fire, but their b.a.l.l.s or shot fell short.

"I think they have nothing but old trader guns. In that case, we may be able to beat them off," remarked Barker.

The Indians took the team out of range. Then, three of them on horseback, and three on foot, they surrounded the grove.

One of the Indians on foot waved his blanket and shouted:

"Come out, you white men, and fight. You are squaws, you are rabbits."

The hors.e.m.e.n slowly rode around the copse, while it became evident that the other three were trying to crawl up through the gra.s.s to a small clump of hazel-brush.

"Keep cool, boys," the trapper admonished. "Don't waste powder; hit your mark. Anybody can hit the prairie."

"What do they want of us?" asked Tim, who had tied his c.o.o.n to a tree.

"We have nothing."

"My lad," laughed the trapper, "we have good horses and guns and four extra-fine scalps, and they want to play great heroes in camp to-night."