142 TEN DAYS IN MONTANA. 



in type. There is more than an hour difference between the 

 time at this point and Chicago. We must wait a whole hour 

 after you have daylight there to-morrow morning ere the sun 

 will deign to smile on us here. When we first see him here 

 the early riser in Chicago will have eaten his breakfast, and 

 will be on his way down town. 



Well, there's no use lying here I can't sleep so I turn 

 out and take a stroll about camp. The moon is at the full, 

 and in this clear, rarified western atmosphere, her light is so 

 strong that I can even see to read the smallest type in a news- 

 paper. The vigilant sentinel, pacing his beat in front of our 

 tent, challenges me as I approach him, in a friendly tone, 

 however, for he knows by my meek and lowly appearance 

 that I am only a tenderfoot and that I have no blood in my 

 eye. I recall some of my long-forgotten knowledge of mili- 

 tary matters, and answer him in a manner that proves satis- 

 factory, and then I proceed to buzz him awhile. Among 

 other questions, I ask him if there are any Indians in this 

 part of the country now. 



" No," said he, " there are none now. There was a band 

 of five Sioux through here a week ago. I was out on a scout 

 with an officer and thirty other men, going over toward 

 Powder river, and we struck their trail about forty miles from 

 here. The lieutenant detailed Sergeant Deavron and ten of 

 us boys to follow that trail while he continued on his course. 

 Two Cheyenne scouts were sent with us to trail them. They 

 laid down alongside of their ponies, their heads as near the 

 ground as they could get them, in order to be able to see the 

 trail, and struck out at a lively trot. This was in the morn- 

 ing. All day long they followed the trail without difficulty, 

 while for the greater portion of the time we could see nothing 

 of it. Whenever we came to the top of a ridge the scouts 

 would take the field glass with which they had been provided, 



