FullReads

So the telegraph operator at Lodge Pole was permitted to go about his own devices, and once again Ralph and his new friend went out into the night to look over their surroundings and the situation.

The light still burned at Farron’s, and Phillips, coming out with a bundle of kindling-wood for the little beacon fire, chuckled when he saw it,–

“Wells must be there by this time, but I’ll just bet Farron is giving the boys a little supper, or something, to welcome Jessie home, and now he’s got obstinate and won’t let them douse the glim.”

“It’s a case that Wells will be apt to decide for himself,” answered Ralph. “He won’t stand fooling, and will declare martial law.–There! What did I tell you?”

The light went suddenly out in the midst of his words. They carried the kindling and made a little heap of dry sticks out near the bank of the stream; then stood a while and listened. In the valley, faintly lighted by the moon, all was silence and peace; not even the distant yelp of coyote disturbed the stillness of the night. Not a breath of air was stirring. A light film of cloud hung about the horizon and settled in a cumulus about the turrets of old Laramie Peak, but overhead the brilliant stars sparkled and the planets shone like little globes of molten gold.

Hearing voices, Buford, lonely now without his friend, the sergeant’s horse, set up a low whinny, and Ralph went in and spoke to him, patting his glossy neck and shoulder. When he came out he found that a third man had joined the party and was talking eagerly with Phillips.

Ralph recognized the man as an old trapper who spent most of his time in the hills or farther up in the neighborhood of Laramie Peak. He had often been at the fort to sell peltries or buy provisions, and was a mountaineer and plainsman who knew every nook and cranny in Wyoming.

Cropping the scant herbage on the flat behind the trapper was a lank, long-limbed horse from which he had just dismounted, and which looked travel-stained and weary like his master. The news the man brought was worthy of consideration, and Ralph listened with rapt attention and with a heart that beat hard and quick, though he said no word and gave no sign.

“Then you haven’t seen or heard a thing?” asked the new-comer. “It’s mighty strange. I’ve scoured these hills–man and boy–nigh onto thirty years and ought to know Indian smokes when I see ’em. I don’t think I can be mistaken about this. I was way up the range about four o’clock this afternoon and could see clear across towards Rawhide Butte, and three smokes went up over there, sure. What startled me,” the trapper continued, “was the answer. Not ten miles above where I was there went up a signal smoke from the foot-hills of the range,–just in here to the northwest of us, perhaps twenty miles west of Eagle’s Nest. It’s the first time I’ve seen Indian smokes in there since the month they killed Lieutenant Robinson up by the peak. You bet I came down. Sure they haven’t seen anything at Laramie?”

“Nothing. They sent Captain McCrea with his troop up towards Rawhide just after dark, but they declare nothing has been seen or heard of Indians this side of the Platte. I’ve been talking with Laramie most of the evening. The Black Hills stage coming down reported trail of a big war party out, going west just this side of the Butte, and some of them may have sent up the smokes you saw in that direction. I was saying to Ralph, here, that if that trail was forty-eight hours old, they would have had time to cross the Platte at Bull Bend, and be down here to-night.”

“They wouldn’t come here first. They know this ranch too well. They’d go in to Eagle’s Nest to try and get the stage horses and a scalp or two there. You’re too strong for ’em here.”