“In my judgment Corbin is right, gentlemen,” he said impetuously.  “I had intended crossing here, but instead we will go further up stream.  There is doubtless a ford near Buffalo Creek, and if we can strike an Indian trail leading to the Washita, we can follow easily by night, or day, and it is bound to terminate at Black Kettle’s camp.  Return to your troops, and be ready to march at daybreak.  Major Elliott, you will take the advance again, at least three hours ahead of the main column.  Move with caution, your flankers well out; both Hamlin and Corbin will go with you.  Are there any questions?”

“Full field equipment?” asked a voice.

“Certainly, although in case of going into action the overcoats will be discarded.  Look over your ammunition carefully to-night.”

They filed out of the tent one by one, some of the older officers pausing a moment to speak with Hamlin, his own captain extending his hand cordially, with a warm word of commendation.  The Sergeant and Major Elliott alone remained.

“If I strike a fresh trail, General,” asked the latter, “am I to press forward or wait for the main body?”

“Send back a courier at once, but advance cautiously, careful not to expose yourselves.  There is to be no attack except in surprise, and with full force.  This is important, Major, as we are doubtless outnumbered, ten to one.  Was there something else, Sergeant?”

“I was going to ask about Miss McDonald, sir.”

“Oh, yes; she is safely on her way to Camp Supply, under ample guard.  The convoy was to stop on the Cimarron, and pick up the frozen soldier you left there, and if possible, find the bodies of the two dead men.”

Long before daylight Elliott’s advance camp was under arms, the chilled and sleepy troopers moving forward through the drifted snow of the north bank; the wintry wind, sweeping down the valley, stung their faces and benumbed their bodies.  The night had been cold and blustery, productive of little comfort to either man or beast, but hope of early action animated the troopers and made them oblivious to hardship.  There was little grumbling in the ranks, and by daybreak the head of the long column came opposite the opening into the valley wherein Hamlin had overtaken the fugitives.  With Corbin beside him, the Sergeant spurred his pony aside, but there was little to see; the bodies of the dead lay as they had fallen, black blotches on the snow, but there were no fresh trails to show that either Dupont, or any Indian ally, had returned to the spot.

“That’s evidence enough, ‘Brick,’” commented the scout, staring about warily, “that thar wus no permanent camp over thar,” waving his hand toward the crest of the ridge.  “Them redskins was on the march, an’ that geezer had ter follow ’em, er else starve ter death.  He ’d a bin back afore this, an’ on yer trail with a bunch o’ young bucks.”

From the top of the ridge they could look down on the toiling column of cavalrymen below in the bluff shadow, and gaze off over the wide expanse of valley, through which ran the half-frozen Canadian.  Everywhere stretched the white, wintry desolation.