As it was not necessary to waste any precious time in giving verbal orders, a complete code of signals having been decided upon before they left their horses, George at once threw himself upon his hands and knees, and worked his way along the edge of the bluff until he reached a position directly above the camp, the location of which was pointed out by a little blaze, scarcely larger, apparently, than the flame of a candle.  He looked in vain for the sentry, and would have given something handsome if there had been some one at hand to tell him just where he was.

“If he still holds his position on the top of that sandhill, we are all right,” said George to himself, “but if he has taken the alarm, we are all wrong.  In that case the Indians have done one of two things:  they have either made ready to ambush us, or else they have fled, taking their prisoners with them.  Well, we shall soon know, for here goes for the fight that none of us may ever come out of alive.”

As these thoughts passed through George’s mind he seized Bob’s waist-belt and gave it two jerks, which meant “Follow me.”  Then he crept back along the line, and as he passed each trooper he took him by the arm and pulled him around, so that his head pointed toward the camp-fire.  This meant a movement by the right flank.  After this he and Bob placed themselves in the centre of the line, the men giving way right and left to make room for them, and at a given signal Bob stuck his elbow into the ribs of the trooper to the left of him, while George in a similar manner admonished the one on the right of himself; and the advance began, the guide being centre.  We mean by this that the men on Bob’s left kept themselves in their proper place in line by touching the shoulder of the man next on their right, while those on George’s right hand kept within easy reach of the men next on their left, each member of the line moving no whit slower or faster than the guides in the centre, Bob and George.  If they stopped and listened and tried to peer through the bushes in front of them to obtain a view of the camp, the whole line stopped and listened and peered.  When the guides advanced the troopers did the same, their movements being conducted without a whisper, and with such extreme caution that scarcely a leaf was heard to rustle.  It took them almost an hour to descend the bluff, which was probably not more than a hundred feet in height, but the sight that greeted them when the final halt was made more than repaid them for all their toil.  They had crept up within less than a dozen yards of the fire, and the camp and all its inmates were in plain view of them.

Their first care was to find the boys, and the next to ascertain the number and position of their adversaries.  The boys were there, lying side by side on a bed of leaves, with their arms thrown around each other, and wrapped in slumber as peaceful, apparently, as ever came to their eyes while they were safe under their father’s roof.  Every one of the troopers shut his lips tightly at the sight of them, and half a dozen cocked carbines were pointed over their unconscious heads, ready to send to kingdom-come the first thing in the shape of a Kiowa that dared approach them.  They were not protected in any way from the night air save by the branches of the trees which waved gently above them, while every one of the four Indians who were lying around them was wrapped up head and ears in a quilt or blanket which he had stolen during the raid.

One sweeping glance was enough to enable Bob and George to take in all these little details, and it is scarcely necessary to say that they were highly elated over the promise of success which the situation seemed to hold out to them.  Bob would have been a little better satisfied if he could have seen any way of taking the Indians alive, and so making a “finished job of it,” as he afterward told his friend George; but, knowing that this was entirely beyond his power, he was about to give the signal to advance when a most unexpected interruption occurred.  They heard the snapping of twigs behind them, accompanied by a slight rustling among the leaves, such as might be made by some heavy body working its way cautiously through the thick undergrowth.  The astonished troopers hugged the ground closely, holding their breath in suspense; and in a second more, without a single footstep being audible, the bushes parted and the form of an Indian warrior could be dimly seen through the darkness.

“Beyond a doubt it is the sentry coming in to call his relief,” thought Bob. “Now, how am I going to act?  Shall I let him go into the camp, or not?”

Without pausing an instant, the Indian, all unconscious of danger, approached the line, and might have passed through it between Bob and Carey without discovering anything to excite his suspicions, had not the former, acting upon the impulse of the moment, made up his mind that he would not go back to his comrades without at least one prisoner to reward him for his long and tiresome scout.  Throwing out his arm, he caught the warrior around the legs and lifting him from the ground threw him upon his back.  He fell across Carey and Loring, both of whom turned like lightning and seized him, one trying to secure his arms, so that he could not draw a weapon, and the other taking him by the throat.  Everything was done quickly, but not quickly enough to shut off the wild yell with which the captive Indian awoke the echoes of the gully.  Seeing that all further attempts at concealment were useless, Bob and George jumped to their feet.

“Forward with a cheer!” yelled the former.  “Cover the boys, everybody.”

This last order was hardly necessary, for each individual member of the squad had secretly resolved to do that very thing, leaving his companions to act as they pleased.

The Indians were wide awake and moving before their unlucky comrade’s yell had fairly left his lips.  So quickly did they spring to their feet that the troopers might have thought, if they had been allowed time to think at all, that the savages had been merely keeping up an appearance of sleep, so as to be ready to jump from their blankets at the very first note of alarm.  So well schooled were they, and so ready to act, and to act quickly and intelligently in any emergency, that they did not hesitate an instant.  They did not even look to see from which way the danger that threatened them was coming, but made a simultaneous rush for their captives, intending, no doubt, to carry them away if they could, or to kill them if they found themselves surrounded so that they could not escape.  But no Indian’s hand touched those boys again that night.  Three of them fell dead before they had fairly left their tracks, and the other, taking warning by their fate, dived into the bushes in much the same way that a boy takes a “header” from a log, and got safely off, in spite of the bullets which whistled about his ears and scattered the leaves all over him.  The troopers knew that he had got off unhurt, because there was no blood on the trail which George took up the next morning and followed to the place where the Indians had left their horses-a little glade about a quarter of a mile from the camp in which grass was abundant and water easy of access.

George at once made his way to the side of the captives, who were sitting up on their bed of leaves, rubbing their eyes and looking about in a bewildered sort of way, and throwing his arm around them spoke soothing and encouraging words in their ears; while Bob, after ordering one of his men to mend the fire, seized a brand from it and ran back to see what had become of Carey and Loring.  The fight was over, and Carey was growling lustily over a wound in his arm which the slippery savage had inflicted upon him, having managed in some mysterious way to gain momentary possession of his knife; but Loring was unharmed and the Indian was insensible.  He had been knocked out of time by a vicious whack from the butt of a carbine held in the hands of the enraged Carey.  The blow was not, however, as effective as the trooper intended it should be, for it had expended a good deal of its power upon the bushes which happened to be in the way, and instead of sending the Indian out of the world altogether, it had only stunned him.  He was powerless now.  His hands were securely confined by Loring’s carbine-sling, and the latter, having passed the Indian’s blanket under his arms and brought the ends together behind his back, was ready to drag his captive into camp.

“I am no slouch-there isn’t a boy in the troop, young or old, who can take my measure on the ground-but if this fellow gave us a fair specimen of an Indian’s way of rough-and-tumble fighting, I don’t want to get hold of any more Indians.-He was a hard one, wasn’t he?” said Loring, appealing to his wounded comrade, who grunted out an emphatic assent.  “He didn’t seem to be so very strong, but he was just a trifle quicker than chain-lightning, and as slippery and wiry as-as-Why, an eel isn’t nowhere alongside of him.”

“I wish I had whacked him over the head before he gave me this prod,” said Carey, shaking his fist at the unconscious object of his wrath.  “It’s my sword-arm too, and I’ll just bet that the doctor won’t let me go on another scout for a month.”

With Bob’s aid the Indian was dragged into camp, and thrown down there as if he had been a sack of corn.  The fire was burning brightly (an Indian builds a small fire and gets close to it, while a white man builds a big one and backs away from it), the bodies of the slain warriors had been dragged into the bushes out of sight, and their weapons, saddles and bridles, which the troopers intended to carry back to the fort with them as trophies of their prowess, had been collected and deposited in a safe place.

George had been devoting himself to the boys, who did not seem to be at all afraid, and were by no means so excited as he was.  Their astonishing courage called forth the unbounded admiration of the troopers, and the pert answers they gave to the questions that were asked them made them smile.

“Say, Bob, if you want to see what Texas boys are made of, come here,” said George.  “The older one answers to the name of Sheldon, and the little fellow is Tommy.  Sheldon says that if his brother had been a little older and stronger the Indians never would have taken them to their village, for they would have killed them and made their escape.”

“Humph!” grunted Carey, whose wound seemed to put him in very bad humor.

“What makes you say that?” demanded Bob, turning upon him somewhat sharply.  “Don’t you know that such things have been done before now?”

“By boys?” asked Carey.

“Yes, by boys,” replied Bob.

“No, I don’t know it,” said the wounded trooper.

“It’s a matter of history, any way,” said George.  “Two brothers, John and Henry Johnson, aged respectively thirteen and eleven years of age, were captured by two Delaware Indians on Short Creek, West Virginia, in October, 1788.  That very night they killed their captors by shooting one and tomahawking the other.”

“Did they get away?” asked Sheldon eagerly.

“Yes, sir, they got away.  Now, I want to ask you a few questions-and, Bob, I want you to pay attention to his replies.-Where have you been to get so much mud on your boots?”

“Why, back there in the plains we came to a little bayou, and the banks of it was all muddy; and the Injins they pulled us off the ponies and made us walk into all that there mud, and then they laughed at us because we didn’t like it,” answered the boy; and his ludicrous display of rage over the indignity that had been put upon himself and his brother made the troopers smile again.

“Go on,” said George.  “What did you do next?”

“Well, they took us out of the mud after a while, the Injins did, and then one of ’em he took us on a pony and rode off by himself until he found this party; and we’ve been with them ever since.”

“What did I tell you?” exclaimed George, hitting Bob a back-handed slap on the chest.  “What do you think of my guessing now?”

“I think you are pretty good at it,” answered Bob.  “And seeing you are, I wish you would try your hand in a new line.  Suppose you take a couple of men with you, and all our canteens and coffee-pots, and guess your way down the bluff to the stream, and bring us back a supply of water?  We’ll have a good fire going by the time you return, and then we’ll boil a cup of coffee.”

“I’ll do it,” said George readily.

“And while you are guessing, guess at the probable movements of that Indian who got away,” continued Bob.  “Will he be likely to trouble us to-night?”

“He will not,” was the confident reply.  “Our party is too large.  He will make the best of his way home, you may depend upon it.”

While George and the two troopers whom Bob detailed to accompany him were gone after the water, those who remained in camp were not idle.  One bound up Carey’s wounded arm, another brought in a bountiful supply of fire-wood, others stood guard, and one assisted the corporal in collecting a quantity of leaves and light branches, and went out with him to signal to the four men who had been left behind with the horses.  They readily found the hill which had served as a lookout-station for the warrior who was now a captive in their hands; and they knew it when they found it, for there was the pile of bushes through which he had looked while watching the trail, and the print of his body in the sand.  A fire was speedily lighted on the summit, and kept burning brightly to guide the absent troopers to the captured camp.  That little beacon shining through the darkness must have been a welcome sight to their eyes, for it told of the complete success of their companions and of the rest and water that were to be found where they were.

When George returned to the camp after nearly half an hour’s absence he found the fire blazing cheerily, and the two rescued boys, who seemed almost exhausted by their long journey, sleeping soundly beside it, covered by a quilt which some kind-hearted trooper had thrown over their shoulders.  The troopers were laughing heartily but silently at Carey and Loring, who seemed to bear their merriment with very bad grace.

“What’s the matter now?” inquired George as he distributed the canteens among them and placed the coffee-pots beside the fire.

“Come here and see for yourself,” replied Loring, taking George by the arm and leading him to the place where the captive Indian lay, all the troopers following at his heels.

“Me good Injun,” grunted the prisoner, who seemed to have recovered his senses.

“So I perceive,” replied George.  “Good Indians steal stock and carry off white boys, don’t they?-But I don’t see anything about him to laugh at.”

“Why, he’s nothing but a kid,” exclaimed Phillips, “and yet Carey and Loring are both willing to confess that it was all they could do to handle him.  They told us a wonderful story about the terrible fight they had before they could tie him, and so we took a look at him, expecting to find him a giant; but instead of that-Well, you can see that he’s only a papoose.”

George looked down at the boyish face and slender figure of the young warrior, then at the two grizzly old veterans who had fought so hard to capture him, and felt more than half inclined to laugh himself.  Either one of them could have strangled him with a finger and a thumb if he could have got hold of him; but getting a good hold was the trouble.  An Indian makes up in suppleness and activity what he lacks in strength, and it takes a good man to handle one.  Of course the troopers were sorry for their wounded comrade, but they had “got a joke” on him, and it was a long time before he heard the last of it.

The men who had been left to take care of the horses arrived in about an hour, and then George had another disagreeable task to perform, which was to pilot the animals down to the water and find a feeding-ground for them.  Being entirely unacquainted with the gully and surrounding country, it took him a long time to do this; but he accomplished it at last, in spite of the darkness, and about one o’clock in the morning he was at liberty to go to his blanket.

The troopers slept later than usual the next morning, for they were all tired out; but Bob’s loud call of “Catch up!” brought them to their feet before the sun had risen high enough to send any of his rays into the camp.  As there was a good deal to be done and but little time to do it in, four details were made, and certain duties assigned to each.  The first, which consisted solely of Loring, was ordered to dish up a cup of coffee in a little less than no time; George and Phillips were instructed to follow up the trail of the missing Indian and see where it led to; Bob and a companion bent their steps toward the sandhill to ascertain the whereabouts of the main body of the expedition; and the others brought in the horses and gave them the grain that was left in the saddle-pockets.

Before ascending the hill Bob and his companion gathered each an armful of dry grass and weeds.  These were deposited upon the highest part of the hill and lighted by a match which Bob struck on his coat-sleeve.  As soon as the blaze was fairly started, but before the whole pile was ignited, Bob smothered it by throwing on more grass and weeds; and when this was done a column of smoke that could be seen at the distance of fifty miles began to rise in the air.

“Now let me see,” said Bob, pulling out the paper which Captain Clinton had copied from his note-book when he started him on the trail.  “I want to say, ‘Where are you, captain?’ and how shall I say it?”

He ran his eye down the page and finally found these instructions: 

“A detached party desiring to ascertain the position of the main body will signal as follows:  A long smoke of a minute’s duration; three short smokes, followed by half a minute’s interval; two short smokes, with half a minute’s interval; one short smoke, followed immediately by a long one.  If the signal is observed, the reply will be the same.  If no reply is received in five minutes, repeat from some other and, if possible, higher point, and so continue until an answering signal is seen.”

As the reader may not quite understand this, we will tell just how Bob made the signal.  He allowed the column of smoke to ascend just one minute by his watch, then took a blanket from his shoulder and with a quick movement threw it over the smoldering pile, holding two of the corners tight to the ground, while his companion held the opposite corners.  This, of course, confined the smoke so that no more arose.  At the end of half a minute he raised the blanket three times in quick succession, and three balloon-shaped clouds floated off over the sandhills.  Waiting half a minute, he lifted the blanket twice, and two more little clouds arose.  At the end of another half a minute he permitted a single cloud to escape, and then threw the blanket off altogether; whereupon a long, slender column, like the one that arose when the fire was first started, shot up into the air.  Then Bob seated himself on the ground and waited rather anxiously for a reply; but he was not obliged to wait long.  Before the five minutes had elapsed an answering smoke was seen; and though it was a long distance off, the atmosphere was so clear, and the white clouds showed so plainly against the blue sky, that the signal could be plainly read.  It was the same as the one Bob had just sent up, and so he knew that it was intended for him.

This mode of signalling, which is usually called “telegraphing by smokes,” is in general use among the Plains Indians, and it was from them that our army-officers serving on the border caught the idea.  Of course they have a system of their own, which is very different from that of the Indians.  The latter cannot read an army-signal, and neither can the officers, with all their striving and scheming, gain a key that will enable them to read the Indian code.  It is as much of a mystery as the manner in which a chief conducts a drill of his warriors or controls them in battle without appearing to hold any communication with them.  Both these secrets are closely guarded, the Indians considering that it would be “bad medicine” to reveal them to the white man.

“Did you see the exact spot from which that smoke arose?” Bob asked of his companion.

“Yes,” answered the trooper.

“Then fix it in your mind, so that you can point it out to George Ackerman.  Now that our work is done we will go back to camp.”

Breakfast was soon despatched, and in less than half an hour the squad was again on the move, three of the troopers, in order to accommodate the rescued boys and the Indian captive, being obliged to “carry double.”  Their route lay along the edge of the bluff, within easy reach of water, only three halts being made-one for dinner, and two for the purpose of sending up signals to Captain Clinton.  As his replies, which were promptly made, came from the same place, Bob became satisfied that the captain was waiting for him.  Of course this caused much speculation among the troopers.  Had the captain given up the pursuit, or had he overtaken and scattered the thieves and recovered Mr. Wentworth’s stock?  Bob was inclined to hold to the latter opinion.

“The captain is a hard man to get away from when he once makes up his mind for business,” said he; “and I just know that he’s got those cattle, or the most of them.  If he has, Mr. Wentworth is all right, for we have got his boys.  If your theory is correct-and I begin to believe it is, for everything else has turned out just as you said it would-Lieutenant Earle will come out at the little end of the horn, won’t he?”

“Some officer almost always has to do that,” answered George.  “But the lieutenant will have some honor reflected upon him, if he doesn’t win any for himself, for it was a portion of his own troop, commanded by one of his own non-commissioned officers, who rescued the boys.”

About two hours before sunset the troopers began to call one another’s attention to the fact that the sandhills, among which they had been marching all day long, were growing less in number and height, and to congratulate themselves on drawing near to their journey’s end.  An hour later they came to the last hill, and as they were riding by it a sentry who had been stationed there presented himself to their view.