With the blast of the reveille bugle faint to their rear the two men moved out early next morning. They crossed the Missouri and followed a rough track towards Highwood Peak and the Judith River. With the approach of winter there was constant sign of game moving southward: deer, elk, moose. It was sure good country in which to trap and hunt but not the best of terrains for travel, the trail itself being a zigzag curving this and that way round low divides. Running into ups and downs it could cause a whole heap of problems for the wagon train for which they were searching, it occurred to Shatterhand.
Within sight and sound of a tributary cascading down from the Little Belt Mountains the two riders came to a fork in the trail. Shatterhand set the landmark as their rendezvous point and indicated for Lone Eagle to take the southerly route while he would concentrate on the northeasterly.
The trail the frontiersman took passed many gullies which could have provided good shelter for a wagon train in trouble, and thus there was delay in his progress as he had to examine each. But despite his proclivity to leave no stone unturned he saw no sign of wagons or settlers.
Eventually he came across a wide coulee in the midst of broken country. Beginning to tire, he dropped from his horse and spread out his map. Once a surveyor, maps had been his bread and butter, and by his reading he was not far from a settlement. He pondered on the possibilities. If the train had had trouble it might have pulled into the settlement. How big was the place? With regard to size the marking of a settlement on a western map was meaningless in the west, used to cover anything from a couple of shacks to a teeming metropolis. There might not even be any telegraph at the habitation and, if not, the travelers could not have been able to wire ahead of their location and circumstances.
Shatterhand was contemplating whether or not to make a detour and head for the place to check out that theory when he heard gunfire. It lasted for several seconds, crackling around the landscape rendering it impossible to locate. He got to his feet and took a pair of binoculars from his saddlebag. On a high elevation he was able to scan the horizon to all points of the compass but saw nothing. He decided to press on down into the coulee and it was at the bottom that he saw the wagon train.
The wagons were drawn out well away from the trail. There were fifteen in all, including a small Concord stage and a handful of prairie schooners, completely unsuited to the irregular terrain. They were only half a mile distant, but it was a rough descent for the frontiersman and Shatterhand dismounted for part of the way. Thus it took some time before he got into proximity and, as he closed, he saw a figure in blue mount up and ride towards him.
‘Howdy,’ the soldier said, reining in. He wore a regular issue fur-lined winter overcoat. His striped pants and knee-boots were spattered with mud. His mess-gear and other possessions were stowed behind his cavalry McClellan saddle.
‘Greetings,’ Shatterhand replied, coming to a standstill. There was a formality and stiffness about the word. It was the same with all the speech of the man some European immigrants called Der Jager. Not only had his mother tongue been German but it was High German and the formality of the form had carried over to his use of English. Not for him the casualness of a ‘Howdy, pardner.’ He pointed beyond the mounted trooper. ‘Is that the train, heading for Great Falls?’
‘Sure is.’
‘Have any of the search-parties located you?’
‘No, sir. There are search-parties out for us?’
‘Yes. Army details out of Fort Shaw are scattered to all points of the compass in search for you.’
The trooper rubbed his bristly chin. ‘Is that so?’
‘Yes. What has been the delay?’
‘Every mishap possible: broken wheels, you name it, we’ve had it. The big wagons mainly. Ain’t suited to this kinda country.’
‘Well, broken wheels may not be the end of the story. There seems to be some trouble brewing. Indians and white renegades. You seen anybody?’
‘Ain’t seen nobody at all. In fact I reckon this sure as heck must be the durndest, loneliest place in the world.’
‘Well, the sooner you get those people to a settlement the better, soldier. How are things now with the mobility of the train?’
‘They’re okay. We’ve made repairs.’ The soldier looked back. ‘As you can probably see from here, we’re getting ready to roll again.’
‘Anything I can do?’
‘No, sir. We got everything in hand.’
‘Fine — but I must give you a warning: the trail does not improve. Let us hope your repairs are solid. Well, as I have said, there are quite a few search parties out. If you are okay I will return and notify the army that you are now on your way.
‘You do that, mister. Much obliged.’ The soldier saluted. Shatterhand touched his own hat instinctively and pulled away.
Half an hour later Der Jager was approaching the rendezvous point that he’d agreed with the Indian when he ran into five riders. Clad in buffalo skins, the broad-brimmed hats and blue pants visible above their knee-boots were about the only things that marked them out as soldiers. Preliminary introductions were effected from the saddle and the leader of the troop, who initially kept his hand near the black leather holster containing his butt-forward revolver at sight of the roughly-garbed foreigner, transpired to be Captain Stanton leading the main search party from Fort Shaw. Shatterhand explained his task to the officer. ‘I had words with your Sergeant McGinty back at the army detachment at Great Falls.’
‘McGinty, yes,’ the captain said. ‘I left a token number of troopers at the settlement.’ The officer had square, even features with the straight-backed, stately figure that seemed to belong in a uniform. He was clearly relieved when Shatterhand told him he’d located the wagon train. The captain dismounted to rest his horse and indicated for the unit to do the same. The way he stretched his limbs it was obvious the unit had been some time in the saddle. His erect carriage made him seem taller than he actually was. ‘So they’re okay?’ he said, his tone indicating his search for hard confirmation.
Shatterhand leaned heavily on his hands, clenching his saddle horn. ‘How long have soldiers been saluting with their left hand?’
The captain looked quizzical. ‘Never.’
‘Then things are not okay with the wagon-train,’ Shatterhand said grimly.