“That’s it,” nodded Whistler. “One of the lieutenants was telling me about the affair. From his account, this Bright Star must be a capable young warrior. He’ll fill the bill nicely. Think you can line him up?” “I’m sure of it, sir,” Tom responded confidently. “I’ll go to the tepee of his father, the Chief Shaubena, as soon as I leave here.” “Do that, lad. But now I must acquaint you with the other development I mentioned,--namely, that Captain Van Alstyne will be in command of the detachment.” “That ain’t welcome news, sir,” said Bill Brown frankly. “Wow!” exclaimed Tom and Ben expressively. “It’s this way,” countered Whistler. “Van’s second in rank among the garrison. According to the army code, I had to offer him the charge of the party. He at once accepted. That wrote finis to the matter. I admit that you will find him bull-headed at times, and he has an immense contempt for all Indians; but no one ever questioned his courage. He has a stout heart.” “Well, Major,” concluded Brown, “we kin only try to make the best o’ what looks like an unpromisin’ sitchiation; but as someone said, ‘When you make a bad barg’in, hug it all the tighter.’” CHAPTER 9 Shadows in the Night At daybreak, the next morning, the trumpet sounded “Boots and Saddles” at Fort Dearborn; and a few moments later, the little band of sixty mounted troopers rode out from the village. Bill Brown, Tom and Ben Gordon, and the young chief, Bright Star, were in the forefront of the column, acting as guides and scouts. It was a perfect May day, sunny and cloudless, with the songbirds piping gayly, the trees and shrubs leafing out, and the measureless blue arc of the sky stretching ahead of them to the western horizon. The two red-heads, Ben and Tom, looked back along the column, both thinking that here, indeed, was a gallant little fighting force. Every man carried a musket, a heavy pistol, 100 rounds of ammunition for the musket, 30 for the pistol, and a large, strong hunter’s knife. Everyone had rations for ten days, already cooked, in his roomy haversack. At the tail of the column, six pack-horses bore picks, shovels, camp-kettles, extra rounds of ammunition, medical supplies, salt and tea. “This is something like it, isn’t it, Bill?” said Tom Gordon, drawing a deep breath of the fresh, bracing air. “Let’s hope so, lad,” replied the scout, with a dubious glance in the direction of Captain Van Alstyne, whose pompous figure awkwardly bestrode a big, dapple-gray horse. All morning the little detachment advanced steadily, always keeping the same formation, as they followed a well-defined Indian trail that trended due west. The three white scouts and Bright Star led, Captain Van Alstyne was just behind, with Lieutenant Clark at his side; and then came the blue-coated troopers in a close group. A little past noon, they halted for a short rest and to water the horses in a stream. The hungry men also partook of food from their pouches. Then they resumed their journey.