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Scout Gruard motioned to Lieutenant Sibley to halt the column; he himself rode up a rocky outcrop, left his horse, and climbed afoot to the top; he lay flat, and crawled, and just peeking over he leveled his field-glasses upon the country beyond. The little column watched him keenly. What would he see!
They pushed on at a trot, never sparing the horses. They began to feel more hopeful. The Sioux were out of sight; there were no sounds of pursuit; was it possible that they had been let off? As everybody knew, the Plains Indians rarely ventured far into the mountains, except on quick forays against enemies who did not expect them. After five miles more, Scouts Gruard and Big Bat stopped.
Frank found a sort of a trail by way of a valley, to a crossing of the river at the canyon's bottom; and they needs must hustle madly, to cross and get out before any Indians discovered them in the pocket. The main camp was now twenty-five miles south-east, Gruard thought. The plains were in sight through the gaps; but there would likely be Indians down on those plains.
He certainly saw something of great interest, for with his hand behind him he beckoned to Baptiste, below. Baptiste hastened, and crawled to Frank's side. They both gazed, through their glasses, between the boulders. They turned; ran, crouching, for their horses; mounted, and back they came at a tearing gallop. "Be quick!" Scout Gruard rapped. "Follow me for your lives." Everybody heard.
The two scouts were Frank Gruard and Baptiste Fourier. Scout Gruard had been born in the Sandwich Islands. He had ridden pony express in Montana. Chief Crazy Horse's Sioux had captured him, and had thought, by reason of his dark skin and straight black hair, that he was a Sioux, himself. So instead of abusing him, they rejoiced, and kept him, in order that he might learn the Sioux language again.
We formed four relays, and all worked in turn all night through, arriving at Chipewyan. 4 A.M., blistered, sore, and completely tired out. Meanwhile I called at the Roman Catholic Mission, under Bishop Gruard, and the rival establishment, under Reverend Roberts, good men all, and devoted to the cause, but loving not each other.
At sunset the little detachment started on. In the dusk Big Bat imagined that he caught sight of a mounted Indian spy surveying them from a shallow ravine. Frank Gruard dashed for the place; but the object disappeared and he discovered nothing. "Might have been an Indian, but we think maybe only an elk," he said. Anyway, the mystery was not very comforting.
At first daylight they stumbled on. Gruard and Big Bat saw no rest until within touch of General Crook. The course turned southward, along the crests of the mighty range. They arrived at a canyon so steep that the tired troopers could not clamber down into it.
The troopers quickened, to close their intervals for the column had strung out. Every hand dropped to its carbine butt. "Keep well to the left, against that timber," shouted Scout Gruard. "Bang-g-g!" He had been answered by a volley. There were Indians among the rocks and trees, on the right, within two hundred yards.
The line had crossed the head of the park and the foot, and was closing in on three sides. The detachment were being out-flanked. More than half the horses were down. The rifle fire never slackened. Matters looked very serious. An Indian called to Gruard. "Hello, Standing Bear! You are all dead. Do you think there are no men but yours in this country!"
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