text: Grit found French Creek to be much like the other creeks he'd crossed in the Black Hills, varying from 10 to 20 feet across in most spots with verdant banks filled with high grass perfect for the horses.
  
  "Where are all the men?" Grit asked.
  
  "Up creek," Little Elk said. "Hokay, we go now."
  
  As he followed Little Elk up the creek, Grit felt like he'd been traveling forever, but he thought this was only his sixth day. He tried not to think about Colleen and her situation because he couldn't do anything for her, but he grew more sullen and angry about what Atlock had done.
  
  They soon found two old-timers panning in French Creek about a mile up. When they saw Little Elk, a man grabbed a rifle and Grit rode ahead and said, "Hold up there. This man's an army scout helping me. He means no harm."
  
  "Wal, you never can tell," the old man said. "Best to shoot first and ask questions later. Our motto... only good Indian..."
  
  "Yeah, yeah, I've already heard it," Grit said. "I only have one question. Have you seen three men, could be in Army uniforms or reg'lar clothes, with a woman about 21 years old."
  
  "No, ain't seen nobody like that lately," the man said.
  
  "Alright, we'll be movin' on," Grit said as Little Elk once again led out.
  
  Grit asked the same questions of every man they met riding up French Creek, and he was surprised at how few men there were. Some—the smarter ones—were busy building cabins against the coming winter. Most were solitary souls, or had only one sidekick they trusted. Either they were already there in the Black Hills in violation of the treaty giving the lands to the Sioux, or they'd been close by when news of Custer's men finding gold had hit the newspapers. If the Sioux took it into their heads, they could drive out every man of the Black Hills.
  
  That night around the fire, Grit got out the map and showed it to Little Elk. "Where do you think the Army deserters would go?" Grit asked.
  
  "I think they come French Creek, but you here first," Little Elk said.
  
  Grit nodded. "So you think we've beaten them here, but they'll still come here?" Little Elk nodded as he drank from the coffee cup the men shared. Grit stared at the map awhile before handing the map to Little Elk. "Which way do you think they'll come?"
  
  "Oh, down big river, what you call Cheyenne."
  
  "Okay, in the morning, we're gonna set up down there along the river and maintain a vigil in a place where we cannot be seen. We'll have to kill some meat because I'm about out of supplies. I do have plenty of coffee and salt and a little sugar, so we'll have to eat what we can find."
  
  "Let me use rifle for shoot deer," he said.
  
  Grit trusted him enough that he reached over and uncovered the two Winchesters he'd taken from the Sioux warriors. "Okay, use this rifle. I took it from a Sioux warrior."
  
  Little Elk gave him a sharp look of unease. "He dead!"
  
  "They attacked me, and I shot 'em down," Grit said.
  
  "Where?"
  
  "Probably 150 miles up the Cheyenne."
  
  Little Elk looked over the rifle. "Good, no sign for owner. Tomorrow, I'll kill deer."