The lieutenant had by no means given up his intention of entering the Bad Lands himself. But it must be done by night, and in his disguise as a Sioux chief. He would not dare be seen by day in the Bad Lands, no matter how thorough his disguise might be, for well he knew that some keen eyes would recognize him among the Indians. So he would go to the camps of his Cheyennes, let all know of the battle of Wounded Knee Creek, and dispatch his couriers to put each command on the alert, against other Indians making for the Bad Lands, or a force of warriors riding out to make a sudden dash. So, through the night, he held on his way, circling around the hostiles' retreat, and visiting one after the other of his posts. The sun was well up when he reached the last position, the camp nearest to the Bernard ranch. He had there now fourteen men, and the very pick of his Cheyenne scouts. They were encamped in a ravine, which a whole tribe on the march might pass near and never suspect the existence of. It was a basin among the rocks, with a ravine for an exit and entrance. Water and grass were there, and from the rocks above a commanding view could be obtained of the country in the direction of the hostiles' camp, and here were kept two sentinels, hidden from view themselves, yet able to see any one approaching from the Bad Lands. The Indian sentinels saw the approach of their commander, and signaled it to their comrades in the basin. At last he arrived, utterly worn out, and determined that as soon as he had had some breakfast he would throw himself upon his blankets to get what rest he could. His scouts had seen nothing of the hostiles, and no party of Sioux making for the Bad Lands had passed within sight. His courier had returned from the Bernard ranch, and brought him a note, which read as follows: "LIEUTENANT CAREY: "DEAR SIR.--Thanking you for your second warning by letter, I beg to say that I shall not leave my ranch, as I can see no reason for so doing, as I regard the Sioux as my friends, in spite of the war of the army upon them. "Respectfully, "VANCE BERNARD." "Stubborn fool!" ejaculated the officer, while the courier drew from some secret receptacle about his clothing another note and handed it to his commander. CHAPTER XXI. A STARTLING DISCOVERY. The Cheyenne Indians under the command of Lieutenant Carey had come to almost idolize their captain. They knew his record as a border boy, when he had roamed the country fearlessly in company with the old hermit of the Black Hills, his adopted father, and afterward alone, as a young guide and hunter. They knew him as a soldier later on, and now that he had them under his command they felt that his word was law, and they could follow him unflinchingly wherever he would lead them. His manner toward them was gentle, yet firm. He treated them as human beings, not as machines, and gave them the best of food and clothing.