BROKEN PLEDGES.

There was an air of triumph among the soldiers that night in the camp.

A feeling of satisfaction that the famous Chief Big Foot, with his band had been surrounded, and the morning would find them submissive captives.

Still there were those wearing the shoulder-straps of an officer who were not so wholly satisfied that all would go well on the morrow.

Old Indian fighters had their doubts about the pledges, and an officer, whose hair was turning gray, and who was a bachelor by reason of a fair one's broken pledge to him in the long ago, said in a cynical tone:

"I would no sooner trust an Indian's pledge than I would a woman's. They may mean what they say at the time, but let the opportunity offer and the promise is cast to the winds."

Among those who held the same views as the old bachelor officer, as to the Indians, but not to women, was Kit Carey.

He seemed to dread trouble, and he kept a watch upon every movement of the savages.

He wished to discover who was in the tent with the medicine man of Big Foot's band, for he felt sure that it was Red Hatchet.

But this fact he could not discover, and he went to the tent, where he was quartered during his stay with the command, determined to be up bright and early in the morning, and see if Red Hatchet could be found in the camps.

The day dawned and found the soldiers in camp, and position as well.

Colonel Forsythe had arrived, and noting the able placing of the troops by Major Whiteside, made little changes in the plans of that officer.

There was a silence resting upon the Indian camp that seemed ominous.

None of the soldiers knew just what their colonel intended to do, but all felt certain that the Indians were to be disarmed.

Major Whiteside had distributed rations among them the day before, and received full assurance from the chiefs that no further resistance was intended, that they were, in truth, glad to be captured.

But, then, to take an Indian's weapons is like making a demand upon his heart's blood.

Would they yield up their weapons peacefully was the question all asked, and no one answered satisfactorily.

Yes, there was one who felt that they would not, that there would be trouble; but this trouble the troops were able to subdue, for the redskins were surrounded, and, it seemed, almost at the mercy of the Boys in Blue.

When the sun rose a cordon of cavalry began to form in three parts of a square before the Indian camp, while the Hotchkiss guns, Light Battery, under Captain Allyn Capson, were ordered to an advantageous position by Colonel Forsythe.

In the open space before the tepees of the redskins and the camps of the soldiers, and near their line, the Indians were moving about in a sullen and uneasy manner, watching their foes with angry glances.

Nearest to them stood an officer calmly surveying the situation, and he was accompanied by two of the Indian police, mounted, one of whom held the horse of the lieutenant, who was Kit Carey.

He was watching the face of each Indian as he appeared, for he was on the watch for Red Hatchet, whom he still feared meant mischief of some kind.

Soon Colonel Forsythe left his quarters and moved down toward the open space, where he was joined by Major Whiteside, and with both officers were their adjutants.

Then the Indians were called upon to approach the soldiers' tent, in which was Big Foot, their chief, lying ill.

As they came up they were counted by Lieutenant Nicholason, and then came the demand that sunk deep into their hearts:

"Chiefs, you and your warriors must give up your weapons!"

It was Colonel Forsythe who made the demand, and the warriors started, gazed at each other and huddled more closely together, their faces becoming black with fury and hatred.

Then a chief spoke for all, and said:

"We have no weapons. The Great Father has broken faith with us, for we are poor, sick, and hungry, with no arms to kill game for our squaws and children."

"It is not so, chief, for you are all thoroughly armed, and you have surrendered to us, and you must give up your weapons at once," was the stern response of Colonel Forsythe.

"We have no arms to give up. Let the pale-face warriors take us as we are."

"No! you are thoroughly armed, as I well know. If you refuse to surrender your weapons then search shall be made for them. I shall say no more, chief."

And then out of the medicine lodge came a crouching form.

It was a medicine chief, covered with robes, with body bent and lance in hand.

As he came he chanted a wild war-song of his people.

Instantly Kit Carey's eyes fell upon him, heard his words, and he walked rapidly toward him.

But the medicine chief, apparently an old man, did not appear to notice him, even when sternly came the words in the Sioux tongue:

"Let the medicine chief beware! I understand his words to his braves!"

But the medicine chief sang on, and, walking rapidly toward the colonel, Kit Carey told him what the medicine chief was saying, and that he was urging the warriors to refuse to yield their weapons, if they died with them in their hands.

Quickly Colonel Forsythe gave an order to Captain Wallace to dismount his men and form about the braves.

The soldiers were quickly dismounted, and formed in open file between the warriors and their tepees.

Then details of soldiers were ordered to search the tepees, and as they moved forward to obey, under command of Captain Wallace and Lieutenant Carey, the bent form of the medicine chief straightened up partially, and he began to make incantations to the sun, and chant aloud a war-song to the Indian messiah.

The effect upon the Indians was electrical, for they stood like wild beasts at bay; their squaws and children caught up the weird chant of the medicine man, who suddenly stooped, grasped up two handfuls of dirt, and threw them upon the soldiers.

Then he threw off his robes, and, appearing in his full costume as a chief, revealed that he was the ghost spirit, marked with red Indian characters.

At the same instant he drew from beneath his blanket a rifle, and fired full at Kit Carey, while from his lips came the war-cry that ushered in the terrible tragedy that followed.