"I wish I knew where I could get two or three more well-mounted orderlies, with courage and common sense," said General Sully the next day, as the army was wending its way through the rough, picturesque hill country along the Cannonball. "I haven't enough, and it's hard to tell whether a man can be depended upon until he has been tried."

The remark caused Al to prick up his ears.

"I know a man I think would suit you, General," said he.

"Who?" asked Sully.

"He is a private named Wallace Smith, in the Eighth Minnesota. I knew him at Fort Ridgely. I'm sure he has plenty of courage and common sense, and his horse is a good one."

Al knew that Wallace was riding Frank, the horse that had so nearly lost their scalps for them on the afternoon of the first attack on Fort Ridgely.

"He is a friend of yours, is he?" asked the General.

"Yes, sir, he is," answered Al.

"He ought to be all right, then," the General said. He scribbled something on the paper pad he always carried in his pocket, folded the sheet and handed it to Al.

"Take that to Colonel Thomas," said he.

Al obeyed joyfully, for he suspected, as proved to be the case, that the paper was an order to Colonel Thomas to detach Wallace from his regiment for orderly service with the commanding general. Wallace was promptly instructed to fall out from the ranks of his company, where he was marching, and he and Al were soon riding forward to join General Sully, who, as usual, was near the head of the column.

"It was certainly very kind of you to think of me, Al," said Wallace, "and I appreciate it."

"Perhaps you won't feel so grateful after a while," returned Al, with a laugh. "It may be that when we strike the Indians you will have to get into some dangerous places in carrying orders."

"That's all right; so much the better chance for promotion," declared Wallace, lightly. "Besides, I'm sure that service at headquarters must be much more interesting and pleasant than it is in the ranks, where one has to march all day in one place, and sleep and eat and wash and brush his teeth and almost breathe, by word of command."

"Yes, I think you will find it more pleasant in that way," agreed Al. "All you need do is to keep up a neat and soldierly appearance, always be on hand in case you should be wanted, and always obey orders promptly and thoroughly."

The army was now entering regions where it might expect to encounter Indians in heavy force at any time, and General Sully was taking all necessary measures to guard his forces against surprise and also to reconnoitre the country thoroughly for signs of the red foe. The company of Winnebago Indian scouts from Nebraska, and the friendly Sioux employed by General Sully, were constantly spread out far in front and on the flanks of the column, scouring the ravines and hills and clumps of timber, while a heavy advance guard preceded the main body on the march. Every night the wagon train was corralled, with its mules herded in the centre. An escort of four hundred men was detailed to remain always with the Montana emigrant train; for the latter, though it usually marched close behind the army, sometimes met with delays because its wagons were very heavily loaded. Major Brown's company of Indian scouts from Minnesota had remained at Fort Rice, under orders to return as speedily as possible to Fort Wadsworth; so that General Sully had none too many scouts with him to properly cover his advance.

One afternoon, camp was made for the night on a level plateau covered with fine grass not far from the bank of the Cannonball and overlooking the lower valley of that stream. Several small buttes, with steep sides and round tops, rose abruptly from the valley close to the river, and between them glimpses could be caught from the camp of the narrow stream beyond, its waters sparkling in the late afternoon sunshine. After a hot day's march the river looked very inviting, and Lieutenant Dale proposed to Al that they go down and take a swim, which would also give them a chance to examine more closely the river and the curious rock formations along its banks. Al readily agreed and also obtained permission from the General for Wallace to accompany them.

Mounting their horses, they picked their way down the steep face of the plateau and rode out across the bottom heading somewhat up stream until they came out on the river bank, where a little rocky beach shelving down into the water seemed to offer a pleasant spot for swimming. A few yards downstream rose the abrupt walls of one of the buttes, which looked as if it had been built up of many thin horizontal layers of sandstone. Its base was fringed with small brush and willow saplings and here and there a choke-cherry tree, well loaded with ripe fruit, of which the party decided to eat their fill when their swim was over. After their horses had drunk greedily of the fresh, sparkling water, their riders tied them among the saplings, threw off their clothes, and in a moment were laughing and splashing in the cold, clear stream, which, though too shallow to afford much swimming, was delightfully refreshing. They amused themselves for some minutes in picking up and throwing about the curious pebbles and larger stones, worn perfectly smooth and round by the water, which, owing to their resemblance to cannonballs, had given the stream its name. Presently Wallace waded out nearly to mid-channel,—not an easy feat, for the current was quite strong,—and there he found a hole six or seven feet deep.

"Hello!" he shouted to his companions. "Watch me duck under and see how long I stay down."

Lieutenant Dale and Al stopped motionless to watch him. Wallace crouched down in the water, then sprang erect as high as possible and, jumping forward, disappeared head first into the deeper pool. At the very instant when he turned over in the air his companions were electrified to hear the report of a musket from the base of the butte just below them, and as Wallace went out of sight they saw the bullet kick up a jet of spray apparently not two inches above his back. Wheeling round they saw a feather of smoke rise from the bushes at the further end of the butte, and without a word both of them dashed out of the river to the spot where their clothes lay. Each one of the three had his revolver with him, as always, and in less time than it takes to tell it Al and the Lieutenant, stark naked, had their weapons in their hands. Al heard a splash in the river below them. He sprang down to the water's edge and peered through the bushes. Not thirty yards away an Indian was riding his pony into the stream and Al raised his revolver and fired. The pony sunk to its knees and toppled over, flinging its rider into the water, but the warrior was up again in an instant and waded quickly back to the shore, where he disappeared behind the butte. At this moment Wallace rushed up and caught his revolver from its holster.

"He's back of the butte," cried Lieutenant Dale. "We can head him off. You stay here and watch the river, Smith. Come on, Briscoe."

He and Al hastened off around the landward side of the butte, while Wallace crouched down by the river bank to shoot at the Indian if he should attempt to cross. As Al and his companion cautiously made their way to a point where they could look down the valley they saw that the wide interval extending from their position to the next detached butte down river was quite open and covered only with short grass, which afforded little or no cover. Nevertheless, even as they looked they saw the Indian run out from the bushes upon the open space and start on a run across it. The Lieutenant and Al both fired at him and the bullets must have come very close, for he immediately veered and ran again into the river. But the hunted warrior had no sooner reached it than they heard the crack of Wallace's revolver, around on the other side of the butte, and a moment later the Indian, evidently despairing of being able to escape alive, walked up on the bank once more with his rifle held aloft in sign of surrender.

Al and the Lieutenant emerged from the bushes and advanced toward him, taking the precaution, however, to keep him covered with their revolvers. Neither of them was struck at the moment by the ridiculous appearance they presented, "clad only with revolvers," as Lieutenant Dale expressed it, but they often laughed about it afterward. The Indian, an ugly, low-browed, flat-nosed specimen of his race, came up to them and Lieutenant Dale disarmed him, taking his musket and a knife concealed in his blanket. Then, keeping him ahead of them, they marched him back to the place where Wallace had remained, by the horses. Here they bound his hands with a saddle strap and, after dressing, started back to camp, making the prisoner walk in front of them.

Their appearance created an uproar of excitement, and questions and congratulations poured upon them from every side, but they pushed their way steadily through the crowd until they reached headquarters and presented their prisoner to General Sully. The latter immediately sent for an interpreter, and then began a severe cross-examination of the captive. He proved surly, and his answers were short and most of them plainly false, until the General sharply informed him that he would be hanged immediately if he did not answer fully, and that he would be hanged later if his answers proved to be untruthful. He then suddenly found his tongue and became a model witness.

According to his statement, he was an Upper Yanktonais, and was simply watching the army as a scout when he saw Lieutenant Dale and his companions go in swimming; and, thinking that he could escape across the river, had decided to try and pick one or more of them off. He admitted that there were many scouts of the hostiles in the vicinity, but said that most of them were held far back from the army by the presence of General Sully's scouts. Asked as to the hostile army and its location, he hesitated, but finally replied that the camps were very great and were in a very strong position on the headwaters of the Knife River, a considerable distance north of the Cannonball. He declared the camps contained so many warriors that the Indians were sure of easily defeating the white army, and proposed to stand and fight before their encampment.

Having extracted all the information from the prisoner which seemed possible, General Sully was about to dismiss him with instructions that he be kept under close guard until further orders, when Al stepped up and said in a low tone,

"General, he says he is an Upper Yanktonais. Would you mind asking him whether he knows anything about my brother or about the Indian who holds him?"

"Why, certainly I will," replied the General. "I ought to have thought of that myself."

He held up his hand to the interpreter, who was retiring, and then, fixing his eyes on the captive, asked,

"Do you know a member of your tribe named Te-o-kun-ko?"

The interpreter translated the question into Sioux. The prisoner remained stolidly silent a moment, then answered in the low, guttural tone he had used all through the interview,

"Tush."

"He says, 'yes,'" said the interpreter.

Al started. Was some real news coming at last?

"Is he in your camps now?" pursued the General.

"Tush," replied the savage.

"Has Te-o-kun-ko a white boy prisoner with him?" the General went on.

As soon as the question was interpreted, the Indian shot one swift glance at the faces of the General and those around him, then his eyes half closed again to their former expression of passive indifference.

"Nea," he replied.

"He says, 'no,'" interjected the interpreter.

"No?" exclaimed Sully. "You know that he has had such a prisoner, don't you?"

"Tush."

"Well, where is he now?"

"I don't know," the Indian answered.

The General thought a moment. Then he inquired,

"How long has Te-o-kun-ko been in the camp?"

The prisoner made quite a lengthy reply and the interpreter struggled a moment arranging it into English speech.

"He says, 'He has been in camp only a few days. I saw him just before I came out to scout.'"

"Where did he come from?"

"He came from the south."

"But where in the south?"

Again the reply was long and was translated,

"I don't know. I didn't talk with him, but some one told me he came from the south."

"When did you see Te-o-kun-ko last,—that is, previous to his coming into the big camp?" the General inquired.

"I saw him two moons ago on the Assouri River, in the country of the Hudson's Bay Company."

"Did he have the white child with him then?"

"Tush."

"But you are sure he has not the white child with him now?"

"No, he has not."

"Well, that will do," said General Sully, rising from his camp-stool. "We can't get any more out of him. He's probably lying, anyway," he added, turning to Al. "He doesn't want us to think they have any white prisoners. My belief is that your brother is undoubtedly there."

Al tried to believe so too, but the interview, nevertheless, made him feel uneasy and depressed. He had known little about his brother's whereabouts and condition before, but now, if the Indian's statements were true, he knew less than ever. The search seemed to become more vague and hopeless the further he pursued it and he began almost to despair of ever seeing Tommy again. Had it not been for the many duties he had to perform and the increasing interest in events before them as they approached nearer to the hostile army, he would have lost heart altogether. But matters crowding fast upon each other forced him largely to forget himself and his private problems.

The second day out from Fort Rice the column passed a deserted Indian camp which had evidently been abandoned only recently, and on succeeding days several similar ones were found. It was clear that they could not be far from the enemy's stronghold; and on July 23, General Sully, owing to the statements made by the Indian whom the boys had captured and other information received from his scouts, left the Cannonball and turned north toward Heart River, which the army reached next day. The scouts went out in every direction and on the twenty-sixth unexpectedly encountered a hostile war party of half a hundred braves, who fled north toward the Knife River.

General Sully, being now convinced that the enemy's camp must be within a comparatively short distance, decided to make a forced march on the trail of the war party, and preparations were quickly begun. The main wagon train, as well as the Montana emigrant train, was securely corralled in a good camping place by the Heart River and a sufficient guard to protect them was detailed to remain behind, under Captain William Tripp, Company B, Dakota Cavalry. Sufficient rations were cooked to last the troops in the field for six days, the General intending to carry all supplies on pack mules taken from the train. Nothing but absolutely necessary food and ammunition was to be carried, all articles such as tents and company mess kits being left behind. But when the boxes containing the pack saddles were opened it was found, to every one's dismay, that the cincha straps of the saddles, by which they were to be secured to the mules' backs, were made of leather, about three inches wide, instead of canvas or webbing six or eight inches wide, as they should have been. When the men tried to tighten up these leather straps, they cut so cruelly into the flesh of the mules that the latter began kicking and bucking frantically and could not be quieted until they had rid themselves of their loads. General Sully, very much disgusted, was obliged to give up the plan of using a pack train, though it would have been much the easiest and quickest way to carry supplies in the rough country. Instead, he impressed into service about thirty-five of the lightest private wagons in the train, belonging to sutlers and to different companies among the troops, which had them for carrying their tents and private belongings. Each of these wagons was loaded with about one thousand pounds of food or small arms ammunition. Each soldier was supplied with all the cartridges he could carry on his person, and the limber chests of the batteries were filled with artillery ammunition.

Thus equipped, the fighting forces were ready to start at three o'clock in the afternoon. The bugles blew "mount," the soldiers, teamsters, and emigrants who were being left behind cheered and waved their hats, and in a little while the long column had wound out of sight among the hills and ravines, headed north toward the Knife River.