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Hartigan was standing near; gloomy, but not so gloomy as the rest; and when there came a chance to be heard, he said: "Colonel, once I see a horse close to, in fair daylight, I can always remember him afterward. I've been looking over their buckskin cayuse, and it's not the same one we raced in the Yellowbank." The Colonel turned quickly around. "Are you sure?"
The Secret of Yellowbank Canyon Lou Chamreau was of French and Indian blood, chiefly Crow Indian. For twenty years he had been trading out of Pierre, Dakota, among the western tribes. He spoke French and Crow perfectly, he knew a little Sioux, and he was quite proficient in the universal Sign Language. Lou had lost money on the July horse-race, and was quite ready to play the white man's game.
Yellowbank Island, our camp to-night, lies nearest the Indiana shore, with Owensboro, Ky. We have had no more beautiful home on our long pilgrimage than this sandy islet, heavily grown to stately willows.
There had always been war and hatred between the Crows and the Sioux. The war was over for the present; but the Crows were very ready to help any one against their former enemies. Enlisted by the ranchers the Crow spies reported that the Sioux were training their horse not ten miles away in a secluded secret canyon of the Yellowbank, a tributary of the Cheyenne River.
We had long been sitting thus, having silent communion with our thoughts, when the Boy, his little head resting on W 's shoulder, broke the spell by murmuring from the fullness of his heart, "Mother, why cannot we keep on doing this, always?" Yellowbank Island, Sunday, June 3d. Pilgrim still attracts more attention than her passengers.
It came in larger measure than she had looked for. "I felt as though I could do anything," she went on, "go anywhere or take any jump; and just as I was riding full tilt at the Yellowbank Canyon, you took me by the hand and held me back; then I awoke and you did have my hand. Isn't it queer the way dreams melt into reality?"
The sun was low in the west now; and across the glowing sky he noted a thread of smoke. Within a few minutes it had been his guide to an Indian tepee a solitary tepee in this lone and little-known canyon of the Yellowbank and entering, he recognized an old acquaintance. After sitting and smoking, he told of his troubles and asked the Red man to come and help get the wagon out of the gully.
It was just as he reached the boulder-strewn descent into Yellowbank Creek that the climax came. The wagon upset and, falling some twenty feet, was lodged between the cutbanks in very bad shape. The horses were saved though the giving way of the harness; and having hobbled and turned them out to graze, Lou mounted a butte to seek for sign of help.
And the trainer of Red Rover, as he noted the round barrel, clean limbs, and flaring nostrils of the buckskin, had for a moment just a guilty twinge as he recalled how lax he had been in the training after that run at Yellowbank Canyon. But all was ready. The white men won the toss for choice and got the inside track; not that it mattered very much, except at the turn.
The serious business happily done, they tenderly groomed the buckskin and returned him to the corral, gave him a good supply of hay and said good-bye to the drunken Indians, the two-faced Chamreau, and the glorious Yellowbank, with its lonely lodge, its strange corral and its growlsome Indian dog. Preparing For the Day
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