"Don't take me back to Frayne!"
CHAPTER XIV
A VANISHED HEROINE
Within forty-eight hours of the coming of Trooper Kennedy with his
"rush" despatches to Fort Frayne, the actors in our little drama had
become widely separated. Webb and his sturdy squadron, including Ray and
such of his troop as still had mounts and no serious wounds, were
marching straight on for the Dry Fork of the Powder. They were two
hundred fighting men; and, although the Sioux had now three times that
many, they had learned too much of the shooting powers of these seasoned
troopers, and deemed it wise to avoid close contact. The Indian fights
well, man for man, when fairly cornered, but at other times he is no
true sportsman. He asks for odds of ten to one, as when he wiped out
Custer on the "Greasy Grass," or Fetteman at Fort Phil Kearny,--as when
he tackled the Gray Fox,--General Crook--on the Rosebud, and Sibley's
little party among the pines of the Big Horn. Ray's plucky followers had
shot viciously and emptied far too many saddles for Indian equanimity.
It might be well in any event to let Webb's squadron through and wait
for further accessions from the agencies at the southeast, or the big,
turbulent bands of Uncapapas and Minneconjous at Standing Rock, or the
Cheyennes along the Yellowstone.
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