24 



RECREATION. 



beat, tired and hungry, 2 shots, in rapid 

 succession, away to the right, rang out on 

 the crisp air. Then all was still. As one 

 man the little party sprang up, carbines in 

 hand. Nothing was seen, nothing was heard, 

 save the voice of the sentry saying to me, 

 " I heerd 2 shots, loot'nunt, over for'ninst 

 them buttes to our right." 



Strange! What did it mean? At day- 

 break we set forth again and by noon the 

 buried property was reached. This was 

 hastily packed upon the mules and the little 

 party started on the homeward trail. Not 

 an Indian was visible, nor was one seen 

 during the return trip that was accomplished 

 safely. 



Some months later, while visiting a 

 brother officer who chanced to be stationed 

 at an Indian reservation in the Northwest, 

 I was strolling among the lodges, when a 

 squaw bounded out of one and, seizing me 

 by the hand, drew me into her lodge, at the 

 same time muttering an unintelligible jar- 

 gon. A handsome young warrior lay 

 stretched on a deerskin within the tepee, and 

 to him the squaw chattered unceasingly, fre- 

 quently pointing to me, whose hand she 

 continued to hold. At length the warrior 

 arose, approached me and taking my hand, 

 said, 



"* Xearthone ethity! " 



I remembered enough of my Arapahoe to 

 comprehend. He said, " The American is 

 good " ; but I was unable to conceive what 

 it meant, nor could I understand the action 

 of the squaw, who had suddenly dashed out 

 and was now appearing with the interpreter. 



Again the squaw took the floor and re- 

 peated to the interpreter the same rigama- 

 role she had recited to the warrior. But at 

 last the mystery was explained. The squaw 

 was Basjonnie (Wild Turkey), the same 

 young woman I had rescued from a watery 

 grave in the Indian Territory nearly 2 years 

 before. 



As I was leaving the village, the inter- 

 preter overtook me and said Basjonnie 

 wished to see me at a point on the river's 

 bank which he indicated. Arrived there, the 

 following conversation took place through 

 the medium of the interpreter: 



She: " You were sent back from the Belle 

 Fourche over the old trail." 



I (as much astonished as if she had quoted 

 a passage from Shakespeare) : " Yes." 



She: " When you unsaddled, about mid- 

 night, we held a council. Some wanted to 

 attack at once; others wanted to wait until 

 dawn. Finally it was decided to attack at 

 daylight. I don't know why, but I got 

 thinking of you. After all our people were 

 asleep, I started out toward your camp. As 

 I neared it, I crawled along, thinking if 

 seen I should be taken for a coyote. I 

 reached the horses that were hobbled. On 

 the hoof of the first horse I examined I 

 saw the same queer mark that was on youi' 

 soldiers' horses when with us on the hunt.* 

 I looked farther and came to your own 

 horse, the chestnut sorrel you rode the day 

 you took me to Little Raven's lodge. This 

 convinced me you were near. I felt sorry, 

 very sorry, for you. It was useless to warn 

 you. Your horses were too far gone. Es- 

 cape by flight was impossible. But you had 

 saved me, and I was determined to save 

 you. I crept away, and reached my own 

 camp without being discovered. All were 

 quietly sleeping. I slipped out again, tak- 

 ing 2 pistols with me. When I got some 

 distance away, I fired twice in rapid suc- 

 cession; then ran screaming into camp. All 

 was confusion: everyone was wild with ex- 

 citement. I told them the whole big body 

 of soldiers was coming, and that I had been 

 fired on. We fled in a bunch. We marched 

 all night, crossing the range of bluffs before 

 dawn. From the ridge, we made a signal 

 to those on your left to follow us. That is 

 all. I am glad I saved you. Never tell this, 

 or they would kill me. This man is good; 

 he will not tell." 



She ceased speaking. The interpreter had 

 translated her last word. I stood before her 

 in silent wonderment, in speechless thank- 

 fulness. After expressing as well as I was 

 able my heartfelt gratitude, I took them to 

 the neighboring establishment of the trader, 

 where for a trifle the debt of a life — aye! of 

 many lives — was, in their opinion, canceled. 



*The Troop brand, used in the U. S. cavalry. 



A GRATE MONARCH. 



" Old King Coal is a merry old soul." 

 And he gives us warmth and dryness, 



But at " six-and-a-quarter " a ton he 

 orter 

 Be called " his royal highness." 



