"It is said that he asked Colonel Forsythe to let him pursue Red Hatchet, who was the one who began the massacre," Lieutenant Ray said. "Yes, and he'll catch him yet, for he now commands the scouting line nearest the hostiles, and an Indian does not know himself any better than does Kit Carey know him." "I believe you are right," said another officer. "He is as gentle as a woman in peace, and as courteous as a Chesterfield to all; but rouse him to action and he is a man for an enemy to steer clear of." And among the camps of the men the stories also went around about Kit Carey's raid after Sitting Bull, his conduct in the fight at Wounded Knee Creek, and his then holding the perilous position of scouting close to the Bad Lands, and with Cheyenne soldiers, too, whom many feared would be won over to join the hostiles, in which case their white captain would have, indeed, to face the deadliest of perils, which even his courage and skill could hardly rescue him from. But still the white captain and his red men held their position close to the Bad Lands, and reports regularly came in of every movement of the hostiles. Then there came into the various army camps, of the different commands, the startling news that Red Hatchet, having escaped from Wounded Knee battleground, had gone on a raid with a number of his braves, and had captured and carried back to the Bad Lands the beautiful Daughter of Settler Vance Bernard. This news came too straight to be doubted, for it was brought by one of Kit Carey's own Indian couriers, and, more, it was said that the scouting officer had pursued Red Hatchet with his captive, been beaten back from an ambush, and while his Cheyenne soldiers had returned to their posts their white captain had not put in an appearance. "Does this mean that Kit Carey has fallen?" was the question all asked, yet not one could answer. CHAPTER XXXI. OVER THE WIRES. Has my reader forgotten Emma Foshay, the daughter of a brother officer of Kit Carey, and for whom the dashing soldier made such a sacrifice, as to stand at bay while the fair girl fled on to the camp? I trust that she is not forgotten, for Emma Foshay is not to be wholly dropped from this story, as she, too, has a mission to fill. Escorted to the nearest station by her father, she took the train eastward to her home in New York, anxious to reach the side of her invalid mother before the stories of the Indian campaign should get to her ears with many an exaggeration and untruth. Day and night she sped along, her thoughts busy with her anxiety for her mother, and for the fate of the gallant soldier who had shown himself so willing to sacrifice himself to save her. At the fort, where it was said that she was heartless, that she was a coquette, the story she would never contradict, for well she knew that the handsome young aide, whose story she had heard and regarded as one of mystery and romance, had won her heart almost at their first meeting.