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Updated: June 29, 2025
"I couldn't be sure, sir, but it looked for a minute like smoke." "And that means " "Indian signals, sir. That's Eagle Butte, only a couple of miles from Hal Folsom's ranch." Loring pondered.
"Get your men down from the Big Horn," was John Folsom's urgent advice to the department commander. "Get your men up there," was the order from Washington, and no wonder the General was troubled.
There, not a mile away straight ahead was the steep ridge that, hiding Folsom's from view, stretched down from the northward foothills to the very bank of the lapping Laramie.
He utterly refused at first to accord one to his wife, as Naomi Fletcher, Folsom's housekeeper was now understood to be. That woman was in league with his enemies, he swore. That woman wrote and bade him come and then had Folsom and Loring and other armed men there to pounce upon him.
Neither of Folsom's lieutenants yielded to the fierce exhortation of their leader or to their own evilly expressed passions. It was Wade who dominated them. Then ensued a silence fraught with suspense, growing more charged every long instant. The balance here seemed about to be struck.
I have just walked out to Kern's Castle and back." "H'm. Five miles if it's a step." "And a half. I do it twice a week in an hour and seven minutes." The Colonel thought of his own over-rubicund cheek and sighed. "Well, whom or what do you wish to crucify to-morrow?" "I am at your orders there." "Have you examined Deputy Clerk Folsom's reply to Councilman Hannigan's charge?
"Is it true," he asked, "that the government means to establish a post at Warrior Gap? Is it true that Major Burleigh has gone thither?" And when told that it was and that only Captain Brooks's troop had gone as escort, Folsom's agitation was extreme. "Colonel," said he, to the post commander, "solemnly I have tried to warn the general of the danger of that move.
On every side arose the stirring war-cry of the Sioux, the swift beat of pony hoofs, the ring of rifle, and brave John Folsom's heart sank within him as he realized that here was no mere marauding party, but a powerful band organized for deliberate vengeance.
Folsom's visit was early the morning after the capture, and by noon he was bowling along on a seventy-mile ride to the ranch in the Laramie valley, hurried thither by the news that Birdsall's gang had run off many of his son's best horses and that Hal Folsom himself was missing.
Only by fits and starts did any man sleep. Hour after hour Folsom's little garrison was on the alert. The women had all been moved to the deep, dry cellar, Mrs.
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