Gazing back, they might see the Sioux a mile behind, and below, bunched in council, and looking and gesturing. They appeared uncertain whether to pursue.
Soon Frank turned into an old, narrow pony trail, pointing still westward as if to cross the first range.
"This is an old Sioux hunting trail," he called, over his shoulder, to the lieutenant and Reporter Finerty. "It leads clear to the snowy range. If we can get there our chances are pretty fair."
The trail was good. 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. The column had climbed almost to the top of the first range.
"Do you want to rest the horses, lieutenant?"
"Bat and I've about decided that those fellows have quit. We've given them the slip. They're not likely to risk attacking us in the high country. So you can take a breathing spell. We've a hard trip ahead."
The word was welcome. The horses were badly winded, and the men were hungry and thirsty, for they had had an early breakfast and the sun beat down hotly.
Noon camp was made here in a little park, where amidst the surrounding trees the grass grew long and the flowers nodded. The sweaty horses were unsaddled and picketed short, to graze; coffee was set upon small fires, to boil; sentries had been posted, and the other men were permitted to stretch out, in the shade.
At any rate, they all might talk and laugh and sip their coffee and doze, and believe that they had outwitted the Sioux. In about an hour and a half they saddled up and rode on, still heading from the Sioux and into the mountains.
Where they were going, nobody knew save Scouts Gruard and Big Bat. Frank led, with Big Bat close behind him. Then came the lieutenant, and Reporter Finerty, and in long single file the troopers, with Packer John Becker closing the rear.
It was a splendid country, of clustered pines, scattered rocks and huge ledges, sunny, flowery parks, cold streams in the valleys, and tremendous, long slopes rising, before, to the white crest of the snowy main range of the Big Horn Mountains.