for a few minutes there was great commotion among some of the women in camp, a few making preparations to strike tents, and the rest hurrying off to saddle their husbands’ horses. the braves did not do anything except bring their weapons out of the tepees and stand by until their nags were brought up. carl, seeing that no attention was paid to himself, went out of the tepee and took his stand by the squawman’s side.

“do you see those men who are sitting in front of their wigwams smoking their pipes?” said harding. “well they are those who don’t believe in the ghost dance. the soldiers say they don’t want them to engage in it, and that is enough for them.”

“they will be saved when the world comes to an end as well as those who do believe in it, will they not?” said carl.

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“not much, they won’t,” answered the squawman indignantly. “this world is going to be destroyed and a new one made in the place of it; and those men, who are perfectly willing that the whites should come here and steal all their land and drive away the buffalo, will go somewhere, and no one will ever see them again.”

“where’s my horse?” asked carl suddenly. “or are you going to leave me here?”

“not as anybody knows of,” said the squawman with a laugh. “you must go on with me up to the other camp. i have been trying for a long time to get hold of you, and now that i have got you i am going to hold fast to you.”

“how far is that camp from here?”

“about thirty-five miles.”

“did you tell one of the women to saddle my horse?”

“no, because the horse don’t belong to me. the one who took your horse by the bridle and stopped you is the one who laid claim to the horse.”

“and who has my rifle and revolver?”

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“they went to some others of the party. oh, you will never see them again.”

carl was not much disappointed to hear this. he knew that his valuables were all gone, having become the property of those who helped capture him, but there were certain other things he had that he intended to hold fast to—the revolvers in the breast of his jacket. so long as they were not discovered and taken away from him he would not give up all hope of some day making a dash for his freedom.

“have you not an extra horse, so that i can ride?” asked carl.

“no; the women have got all the rest—and they need them, too. you will have to walk; i don’t see any way for you to get around it.”

the horse of the squawman had by this time been brought up, and he swung himself into the saddle, first making a motion to carl to keep close by his side. as they got a little way out of the camp carl saw that the crier’s voice had been obeyed, for they fell in behind a long row of indians who were already taking page 132 their way toward the new camping-ground. they were mostly braves, the women having been left behind to strike the tepees. the squawman did not exchange a word with any of them, and neither did harding converse with him as freely as he had done heretofore. he did not want to let the bucks see how familiar he was with a prisoner.

the boy was not accustomed to travelling so far on foot, and before their journey was ended he was about as tired as he could well be. at length, to his immense relief, he discovered the camp within plain sight of him. it was situated on a plain which seemed to have no end, with high rolling hills on three sides of it, and on the outskirts were several “sweat-houses” in which the braves purified themselves while making ready for the dance, and in the centre was perhaps a quarter of an acre of ground on which the grass was completely worn off. this had been done by the braves while learning the ghost dance from kicking bull. there were a large number of tepees scattered around the edge of the plain, but carl had witnessed the sight page 133 so often that he barely took a second look at them. what he wanted was to get somewhere and sit down.

“i’ll bet that the men who dance here will get dust enough in their mouths to keep them from telling the truth for months,” said carl. “five days! that’s a long time to keep it up.”

“it is sometimes called the ‘dragging dance,’” said the squawman. “the men get so tired after a while that they can’t lift their feet. now we will pick out a good place for my tepee, and then we will sit down. you act as though you were tired.”

harding kept on for half a mile farther, picked out a spot that would do him, dismounted, and pulled his never-failing pipe from his pocket. carl thought he could enjoy a smoke and passed his tobacco-bag to the squawman. the latter ran the weed through his fingers and praised its purity.

“we don’t get any such tobacco out here,” said he. “we have to eke it out by smoking bark with it. say, carl, how much do you get for scouting for that fort?”

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“i don’t get anything,” said carl.

“do you get up at all hours of the night and run around for that man for nothing?” asked the squawman in astonishment.

“oh, that’s no trouble. when i want money i can easily get it.”

“that is what comes of your having more money than you want,” said harding; and it was plain that he was getting angry over it. “if i had one quarter of what you have got, i would leave this country altogether.”

it was useless for carl to tell the squawman that the only way for him to get money was to go to work and earn it, for he had tried that plan on him while he was herding cattle for his father; so he said nothing. he leaned his elbows on his knees and watched the women as they came up and selected places for their tepees. when the squawman’s was put up, carl found that he was in a position to see the ghost dance without going away from it. he would learn something more about it, then.

“have your women got your tepee all fixed?” asked carl. “well, i am hungry.”

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the squawman was hungry himself, and he had ordered the fire to be built and the iron pot to be placed over it. by the time that harding had smoked his pipe he arose to his feet with the remark that he guessed grub was about ready, and went into the tepee. carl kept close at his heels, and found that the iron pot had been removed from the fire and set in the middle of the tepee, with two wooden spoons beside it. the squawman took one, while carl took the other and began to fish what he liked best from out the pot. that was all they had. the meat had been fresh the day before, but it had been cooked so many times that there was scarcely anything left of it. but he made a pretty good meal after all, and when he had satisfied his appetite he filled his pipe, lighted it with a brand from the fire, and went outside to enjoy it.

“i wouldn’t be at all uneasy if i knew where lieutenant parker is at this moment,” thought he, seating himself on a grassy mound beside the tepee. “i wonder if that horse has sense enough to follow his own trail back to page 136 the fort? and why didn’t they capture him, too, when they took me? i guess the squawman let him go.”

while he was busy thinking in this way harding came out, followed by his wife.

“i am going up to sweat myself, to make myself ready for the ghost dance which will come off to-morrow,” said he. “don’t attempt any nonsense now. these women will keep their eyes on you.”

“why can’t you let me go with you?” asked carl. “i want to see what you do in that sweat-box.”

“well, i think on the whole that you had better stay here,” said harding. “the bucks don’t like your kind any too well——”

“why, that ought not to make any difference with them,” said carl, who was evidently astonished at the squawman’s words. “i can see some of them here that have eaten more than one meal at my father’s house. they ought to think well of our family for that.”

“that does not make any difference. you belong to a class that has humbugged them page 137 all the way through, and there are men here in the party who have sworn to kill every paleface they meet. so i guess you had better stay here.”

carl had no idea of attempting to escape while the squawman was in the sweat-box. there were too many bucks all around him; and, besides, he had some preparations to make. he wanted to get rid of his boots and borrow a blanket to conceal his moleskin suit. thus equipped, he believed that when the ghost dance was at its height he could slip away, and those who met him on the road, seeing nothing but the moccasins he wore and the blanket wrapped around his head, would surely take him for one of their own number and say nothing to him. he believed that he would try it, anyway.

“the only question is in regard to these women,” soliloquized carl. “if they get excited and go down there to see the dance, i can make it. if i once get over these hills they will never see me again. but suppose i am overtaken? well,” he added, clutching his hands about his revolvers, “i won’t be page 138 tied to the stake without some of them going with me.”

carl glanced at the women and saw that they had seated themselves opposite to him, and, wrapped up in their blankets, appeared to take no notice of anything; but he knew better than to attempt anything while they were on watch. they sat side by side, but never exchanged words with each other. the day and night wore on until it was twelve o’clock, but still no sounds came from the camp. finally carl grew tired of doing nothing and went into the tepee. he picked out a bed, the most comfortable one in the lot and as far away from the others as he could get it, and stretched himself out upon it. he thought of lieutenant parker, wondered what the ghost dance was going to be, and then passed off into the land of dreams.

morning came at length, and carl raised himself on his elbow to find the squawman fast asleep on a bed by his side. he got up and went to the door to examine things. he saw that some changes had been made in the dancing-ground since he slept. a tree, denuded page 139 of all its branches except near the top, had been erected near the centre, and there was a staff, with a polished buffalo-horn on one end and a plumed horse-tail on the other; a bow with its bone arrows and a gaming wheel with its accompanying sticks were made fast below it. but prominent among all was something that attracted carl’s attention and drew from him a sneer of disgust. it was the star-spangled banner.

“i don’t see what the government has done to be insulted in this way,” said he. “i think they had better leave that thing out.”

for want of something better to do carl filled his pipe, and sat there and smoked it. there were a few braves stirring about with nothing on hand to do, and now and then one came out of his tepee and started toward the sweat-boxes. he was going to prepare himself for the dance. for an hour carl sat there waiting for something to happen, and during that time the camp became thoroughly awake. one of the women came to the door and motioned him to enter—a sign that his breakfast was ready. the squawman still lay page 140 asleep on the bed, but the kettle had been taken off the fire and occupied its usual place in the centre of the tepee.

“this meat is not half done,” said carl, trying to scoop up a piece from the middle of the pot. “you ought to be at our camp for a little while. they would show you how to cook a breakfast.”

while carl was engaged in lighting his pipe at the fire, a commotion suddenly arose in the camp. it did not take the form of yells, as it usually did, but there were subdued growls and the scurrying of feet hurrying toward the dancing-ground. carl wanted to see what was the matter, and so he hastened out. the dancing-ground was alive with indians, all thoroughly armed, who stood watching the approach of three horsemen coming toward them. carl felt for his binoculars, but they were away, keeping company with his horse and rifle.

“those are indian policemen, if i ever saw them,” said he. “what do they want here? if i could only make them see me. eh? what do you want?” he added, turning fiercely page 141 upon one of the indian women who seized him by the arm and tried to draw him inside the tepee. “get away.”

carl abruptly thrust out his foot and tumbled the woman over backwards. she fell all in a heap, but at the same time she uttered a yell so loud and piercing that it straightway aroused the squawman, who came out with a rush.