Across the valley of the Smoky Hill they soberly jogged, their wagons lumbering in their rear, for the stage route, and the frightened stations. Presently they might turn east, upon the well-worn wagon-trail, to follow it to Fort Hays. The first two stage stations were silent and abandoned. Along the route was not a sign of life. The advance of the fleeing Cheyennes and Sioux seemed to have swept the country clean. About the deserted appearance of the valley was something ominously quiet. But the third station was occupied. A little cheer arose from it as the column rode in; and a group of stablemen and drivers stood out, to welcome. They were heavily armed, and log stables and station house, under their sod roofs, were tightly closed as if for a siege. At this point four stations had gathered in mutual protection. “What’s the matter here?” demanded the general. “Matter enough!” spoke one in the group. “Hello, Bill. The Injuns are out. They’ve crossed the line, goin’ north. Several parties of ’em, both Sioux an’ Cheyennes. Yes, sir. The lid’s off an’ the pot’s bubblin’. One party had women an’ children, but the bucks are in their war paint, an’ they’re raidin’ right an’ left. The stages have quit, till things simmer down agin, an’ the settlers ought to be warned.” With parting word, and with grave face, issuing his crisp “For-r-r’d—march!” repeated by the bugles, the general pressed on. On the second day they approached a station which, alas, presented a different aspect. From afar it showed, beside the trail, blackened and smoking and partially razed to the ground. “Lookout Station,” informed Wild Bill. “Bad work there,” quoth the general, abruptly, spurring Custis Lee. The Delawares arrived first, to nose about, and to stand surveying. “They’ve found something,” declared Wild Bill. He, and the general, and Adjutant Moylan galloped forward; Ned plugged after; the column followed at a trot. Bad work, indeed. Much of the buildings was in ashes, still smouldering. A portion of the heavy chinked log walls jutted up charred and ugly. The Delawares were clustered, at one side, on the plain, examining a mass difficult to determine, at a little distance. But a nearer view told. The litter once had been human beings. “Scalped and burned,” said Wild Bill. Nobody else spoke a word. He and the general and the lieutenant sombrely gazed. The doctor joined, horrified. The Delawares looked from face to face, and waited. Ned stared, and choked. “The station gang, three of ’em,” announced Wild Bill. “Delawares say they were staked down, alive. You can guess the rest.” “Are there any signs who did it—what Indians?” demanded General Custer, sternly. Fall Leaf, who spoke English, shook his head. “No arrow, no moccasin, nothin’,” he grunted. “Come quick; capture men; scalp, burn, go. Mebbe Cheyenne, mebbe Sioux. Make trail,” and he pointed northward.