He tells Merritt to push on to the War Bonnet an' he'll head the Cheyennes off.

Then he sends the Red Cloud interpreter an' four local Injuns with lead hosses to pack this information back to Merritt who's waitin' the word at the Rawhide Buttes.

Bloojacket, for all he's done a hundred miles, declar's himse'f in on this second excursion to show the interpreter the way.
"'But you-all won't last through,' says Stanton, where he sets on the steps, quaffin' whiskey an' reinvig'ratin' himse'f.
"'Which if I don't, I'll turn squaw!' says Bloojacket, an' gettin' fresh hosses with the others he goes squanderin' off into the midnight.
"Son, them savages, havin' lead hosses, rides in on Merritt by fifth drink time or say, 'leven o'clock that mornin';--one hundred miles in 'leven hours! An' Bloojacket some wan an' weary for a savage is a-leadin' up the dance.

Mighty fair ridin' that boy Bloojacket does! Two hundred miles in twenty-three hours over a clost country ain't bad! Which it's me who says so: an' one time an' another I shore shoves plenty of scenery onder the hoofs of a cayouse myse'f.
"About the foogitive Cheyennes?
Merritt moves up to the War Bonnet like Stanton su'gests, corrals 'em, kills their ponies an' drives 'em back to the agency on foot.

Thar's nothin' so lets the whey outen a hoss-back Injun like puttin' him a-foot: an the Cheyennes settles down in sorrow an' peace immediate.
"While Hardrobe an' his boy Bloojacket is with me, I'm impressed partic'lar by the love they b'ars each other.