detach a band of his scouts to go flutterin' over
to Red Cloud an' take a look at the Cheyennes's hand.

"Stanton tells off four of his savages an' lines out with them for the
Red Cloud agency; Bloojacket bein' one. From the Rawhide Buttes to the
Red Cloud agency is one hundred even miles as a bullet travels. What
makes it more impressive, them one hundred miles is across a trailless
country, the same bein' as rocky as Red Dog whiskey an' rough as the life
story of a mule. Which Stanton, Bloojacket an' the others makes her in
twelve hours even, an' comes up, a crust of dust an' sweat, to the Red
Cloud agency at midnight sharp. The Cheyennes has already been gone
eight hours over the Great Northern trail.

"Stanton, who's a big body of a man an' nacherally tharfore some
road-weary, camps down the moment he's free of the stirrups an' writes a
letter on the agency steps by the light of a lantern. He tells Merritt
to push on to the War Bonnet an' he'll head the Cheyennes off. Then he
sends the Red Cloud interpreter an' four local Injuns with lead hosses to
pack this information back to Merritt who's waitin' the word at the
Rawhide Buttes. Bloojacket, for all he's done a hundred miles, declar's
himse'f in on this second excursion to show the interpreter the way.

"'But you-all won't last through,' says Stanton, where he sets on the
steps, quaffin' whiskey an' reinvig'ratin' himse'f.

"'Which if I don't, I'll turn squaw!' says Bloojacket, an' gettin' fresh
hosses with the others he goes squanderin' off into the midnight.

"Son, them savages, havin' lead hosses, rides in on Merritt by fifth
drink time or say, 'leven o'clock that mornin';--one hundred miles in
'leven hours! An' Bloojacket some wan an' weary for a savage is
a-leadin' up the dance. Mighty fair ridin' that boy Bloojacket does!
Two hundred miles in twenty-three hours over a clost country ain't bad!
Which it's me who says so: an' one time an' another I shore shoves plenty
of scenery onder the hoofs of a cayouse myse'f.

"About the foogitive Cheyennes? Merritt moves up to the War Bonnet like
Stanton su'gests, corrals 'em, kills their ponies an' drives 'em back to
the agency on foot. Thar's nothin' so lets the whey outen a hoss-back
Injun like puttin' him a-foot: an the Cheyennes settles down in sorrow
an' peace immediate.

"While Hardrobe an' his boy Bloojacket is with me, I'm impressed
partic'lar by the love they b'ars each other. I never does cut