[* Oddly enough, that method of spelling the river's name became
official.]
But, while the discussion seemed endless among the Indians on the
northward side, never for a moment was the vigilance of the circle
relaxed. South, east and west the slopes and lowlands were dotted with
restless horsemen, and from young Clayton came the word that through his
glass he could make out three or four warriors far away toward the
Moccasin Ridge. "That's good," said Ray. "It means they, too, are
looking for a column coming out from Frayne. But where on earth did all
these rascals come from? There must be four hundred now in sight."
Well might he ask and marvel! Stabber's little village had never more
than fifty warriors. Lame Wolf's band was counted at less than two
hundred and forty fighting men, and these, so said the agents of the
omniscient Bureau, were all the Ogalallas away from the shelter of the
reservation when the trouble started. No more should be allowed to go,
was the confident promise, yet a fortnight nearly had elapsed since the
frontier fun began. News of battle sweeps with marvellous speed through
Indian haunted lands, and here were warriors by the score, come to
strengthen the hands of kindred in the field, and, more were coming.
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