“Now don’t git in a lather. Here’s what the White Beaver has in mind. He’s sendin’ us into the Wisconsin country to hunt up Colonel Dodge.” “Colonel Dodge!” blurted Ben. “Never heard of him.” “Well, you will, an’ plenty! I met him more’n once up in those parts. He’s a big, tall handsome gent, strong of body an’ brain. Biggest operator in the Wisconsin lead diggin’s.” “Well, just what are we supposed to do?” snorted Tom. “Fetch down a horse-back load of lead bullets?” “Wait!” broke in Bright Star reprovingly. “The anxious fox catches no rabbits.” “It’s this-a-way,” continued Brown, with an approving nod in the direction of the young Pottawattomee. “’Bout ten days ago, Dodge sent a runner to see the White Beaver. Told the Beaver that he was collectin’ a force o’ mounted rangers. Now do you begin to savvy?” “Oh, we’re to join the rangers?” Ben exclaimed. “Right; but mainly we’re to deliver a dispatch to Dodge from the Beaver, directin’ the Colonel to head east immejutly, toward Koshkonong Swamp. Meantime, White Beaver ’ll work north from the ferry here. He aims to leave in jest three days, on June 27th.” “And the two forces will unite at Koshkonong,” conjectured Tom, a bright gleam in his eye, “and crush the Sacs between them.” “That’s the plan,” averred Bill, “also the big reason why we got to reach Colonel Dodge in a mighty hurry, an’ git him started east to jine with White Beaver. So roll into yer blankets early, lads, ’cause we’re off at the peep o’ dawn.” CHAPTER 16 Scouts of the Prairie The weather continued warm and dry, and by late afternoon of the second day the four, fast-traveling scouts had arrived at Kellogg’s Grove, a tiny hamlet forty-five miles to the northwest of Dixon’s Ferry. Here they talked with several settlers who had taken part some weeks earlier in the bloody skirmish with Black Hawk’s prowling braves. They also visited the graves of the ten unfortunate whites who had been shot down and scalped in the melee. “But we kilt more’n a score o’ the Hawk’s men,” declared a survivor grimly. “We tuk two lives fer one.” Camp was made for the night in a sheltered opening in the timber. The dry grass that littered the campsite made excellent tinder. It was lighted by sparks from the flint, and fed by broken branches and bits of light wood. Soon there shot up a cheerful flame. Bill Brown, who was a veteran axe-man, proceeded to fell a small dead tree, to serve in setting up the little tent, which they had brought along on their one pack-horse. Bright Star went to the nearby creek to get water.