LASSOING A SIOUX.

No one knew better than did Lieutenant Carey just what was expected of him by the general, and he was fully aware of all the dangers attending the performance of his duties.

The Indian police were as yet untried in war against their own race, and with the medicine men of the tribes urging them to madness almost in regard to the coming of a redskin messiah to aid them in wiping the pale faces off the earth, and again becoming the masters of their country.

Might not some, if not all, of those under his command prove treacherous?

It was a question that could not be readily answered; but he was launched upon his special work and must abide the consequences.

It was true that the Indian guards had proven heroes, and true as steel in the capture of Sitting Bull, but then the redskins were as fickle as the wind, here to-day and gone to-morrow, friends by day and foes by night.

Still Kit Carey hoped for the best, and at the head of his redskin cavalry boldly plunged into the dangers before him.

The Indians, having broken away from the reservations, and corrals held about them by the wavering line of soldiers, the young officer knew that to hover about the Bad Lands was his duty, and only chance of discovering the information he sought.

Knowing the country well he divided his force into squads, sending them to various points, from whence they could watch the trails in and out of the Bad Lands, and the bands that were assembling there.

In this way he hoped to get at the real force of the redskins, and by a round of the posts himself learn just what he wished from his Indian police, as to all movements made under their observation.

"I will learn the exact situation, if I have to go into the Bad Lands myself," he muttered, in his determined way.

When morning came he had placed several observation squads of his men, and by noon had only a dozen left with him.

These went into hiding in a ravine, with a sentinel in a tree to watch a trail running a mile away.

Then Kit Carey started off on a reconnaissance alone, intending to make a wide circuit of the trails leading into the Bad Lands.

It was nearly sunset when he neared the top of a ridge, and wisely dismounted to look cautiously over into the valley beyond before venturing.

He took off his hat, gained the shelter of a bush, and peered over.

What he saw seemed to surprise him.

Not three hundred yards away were two persons on horseback.

One was an Indian chief, in war-paint and eagle feathers.

The other was a woman, and a pale face.

As do many army officers, Kit Carey carried a repeating rifle when on a scout.

It hung at his saddle horn, and he quickly sprang to the side of his horse and secured it.

He could believe only that the woman was the captive of the redskin.

His rifle was of large caliber and long range, and he was noted as the best shot in the army of the frontier.

"There must be others near, though I could not discover them; but I can drop him, mount, and dash to her aid, and then run for it with her," he mused to himself, while examining his rifle to see that it was in perfect trim.

Then he crept cautiously toward the bush again, peered through, with rifle ready.

But Kit Carey did not fire as he had intended, for to his surprise, he beheld the Indian chief riding slowly up the trail toward him, while the one whom he had supposed was his captive was cantering off in the other direction.

But the Indian was a chief, and in full war-paint, and that meant trouble, if the two met.

He was in a locality where his life was at stake, within the danger line for miles, and a shot might bring hundreds upon him.

"This will be better than my rifle, though I would have fired to save her," he muttered, and he took his lasso coil from his saddle.

One end he left attached to the saddle horn, and leading his horse close to the steep bank near the bush, stood there behind its shelter with the noose in his hand ready to throw.

lariat

"Lieut. Carey's lariat whizzed through the air, and settled over the shoulders of the chief."
(See page 47)

On came the Sioux chief all unconscious of danger, and, peering fixedly at him, the officer said, with some surprise:

"Ah! it is that desperate young chief who tried so hard to rescue Sitting Bull some days ago, for twice he fired full at me, yet my star of luck hovered over me. Now I will have a chance to get even," and he grasped the lariat more firmly.

On came the Sioux chief, his black and white spotted pony, all unconscious of danger even. Nearer and nearer approached the Sioux chief, until suddenly Lieutenant Carey arose, and his lariat went whizzing through the air with surest aim, settling over the shoulders of the chief, pinning his arms to his side, and, as his pony bounded away, dragging him from his saddle to the ground.

Hardly had the Indian fallen ere Kit Carey was standing over him, his revolver muzzle in his face, while he said sternly in the Sioux tongue:

"You are my prisoner, chief! Make no resistance, and I will not harm you."

But the chief had uttered one loud cry as he felt the noose tighten about him, and Kit Carey felt that it was a call for help to braves who were near, and so was anxious to secure his prisoner, determined to use him as a hostage and foil, if caught in a tight place.

In response to his words the Sioux looked into the face of the officer, and replied:

"The Red Hatchet is the friend of the pale faces, not their foe. He is here to keep his warriors back from the war-trail."

"Does the Red Hatchet think that I am blind, for did I not see him lead the redskins to rescue Tatanka Yotanke?"

And as he spoke Kit Carey turned quickly, for up the steep trail came a horse at full speed, and the rider he bore was Jennie Bernard.