This land, this West, seemed to all
then unbelievably large and limitless.
We pushed up the main trail of the Platte but a short distance that
night, keeping out an eye for grazing ground for our horses. Auberry
knew the country perfectly. "About five or six miles above here," he
said, "there's a stage station, if the company's still running through
here now. Used to be two or three fellers and some horses stayed there."
We looked forward to meeting human faces with some pleasure; but an hour
or so later, as we rode on, I saw Auberry pull up his horse, with a
strange tightening of his lips. "Boys," said he, "there's where it
_was!_" His pointing finger showed nothing more than a low line of
ruins, bits of broken fencing, a heap of half-charred timbers.
"They've been here," said Auberry, grimly. "Who'd have thought the Sioux
would be this far east?"
He circled his horse out across the valley, riding with his head bent
down. "Four days ago at least," he said, "and a bunch of fifty or more
of them. Come on, men."
We rode up to the station, guessing what we would see. The buildings lay
waste and white in ashes. The front of the dugout was torn down, the
wood of its doors and windows burned.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154