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´╗┐Title: Wolf Ear the Indian - A story of the great uprising of 1890-91
Author: Ellis, Edward Sylvester
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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[Illustration: Cover art]



  WOLF EAR THE INDIAN

  A STORY OF THE GREAT
  UPRISING OF 1890-91

  BY

  EDWARD S. ELLIS

  Author of "Captured by Indians," "A Hunt on Snow Shoes,"
  "The Mountain Star," etc. etc.



  WITH FOUR FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY
  ALFRED PEARSE



  SEVENTEENTH THOUSAND



  CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED
  London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED



  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I.
  "The bullet had passed startlingly near him"

  CHAPTER II.
  "He's up to some mischief, I'll warrant"

  CHAPTER III.
  "There are fifty hostiles"

  CHAPTER IV.
  "We are enemies"

  CHAPTER V.
  "What will be their next step?"

  CHAPTER VI.
  "Ay, where were they?"

  CHAPTER VII.
  "It came like one of them Kansan cyclones"

  CHAPTER VIII.
  "The bucks were coming up alarmingly fast"

  CHAPTER IX.
  "He has made his last scout"

  CHAPTER X.
  "Oh, there is Wolf Ear?"

  CHAPTER XI.
  "I'm off!  Good-bye!"

  CHAPTER XII.
  What happened to Wolf Ear



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"I'm off!  Good-bye!" . . . _Frontispiece_

"The figure of a Sioux Buck"

"Hurrah!"

"Oh, there is Wolf Ear!"

[Transcriber's note: the first three illustrations were missing from
the source book.]



WOLF EAR THE INDIAN


CHAPTER I.

"THE BULLET HAD PASSED STARTLINGLY NEAR HIM."

Before relating to my young friends the incidents which follow, I
think a few words of explanation will help them.

Perhaps some of you share the general mistake that the American
Indians are dying out.  This is not the fact.  There are to-day more
red men in the United States than ever before.  In number, they
exceed a quarter of a million, and though they do not increase as
fast as the whites, still they are increasing.

It is true that a great many tribes have disappeared, while others
that were once numerous and powerful have dwindled to a few hundreds;
but on the other hand, tribes that were hardly known a century ago
now include thousands.

The many wars between the United States and the Indians have been
caused, almost without exception, by gross injustice towards the red
men.  They have been wronged in every way, until in their rage they
turned against their oppressors.  The sad fact at such times is that
the ones who have used them so ill generally escape harm, while the
innocent suffer.  The Indian reasons that it is the white race that
has wronged him, so he does them all the injury he can, without
caring whether the one whom he slays has had a hand in his own
persecution.

The Indian, like all savages, is very superstitious.  He loves to
think over the time, hundreds of years ago, when the red men roamed
over the whole continent from ocean to ocean.  He dreams of those
days, and believes they will again return--that the pale faces will
be driven into the sea, and the vast land become the hunting ground
of the Indians.

Some years ago this strange faith took a wonderfully strong hold upon
those people.  The belief spread that a Messiah was coming in the
spring of 1891, who would destroy the pale faces and give all the
country back to the red men.  They began holding wild dances, at
which the dancers took hold of hands and leaped and shouted and
circled round and round until they dropped to the ground, senseless
and almost dead.  These "ghost dances," as they were called, were
carried on to please the new Messiah.  When the dancers recovered,
they told strange stories of having visited the other world.  All who
listened believed them.

The craze spread like wildfire, and before the Government understood
what was going on, the Indians were making ready for war.  They were
well armed, eager to attack the whites.  The principal tribe was the
Dakota or Sioux, the most powerful on the American continent.

The leading chief or medicine man was Sitting Bull.  He was a bad man
who had made trouble for more than twenty years.  He could not endure
the white men, and, when not actively engaged against them, was
thinking out some scheme of evil.

As soon as the new Messiah craze broke out, he turned it to account.
He sent his friends among the tribes and urged them to unite in a
general war against the whites.  The officers and soldiers were very
patient, and did their best to soothe the red men, but matters grew
worse and worse.  Trouble was sure to come if Sitting Bull were
allowed to keep up his mischievous work.

So it was decided to arrest him.  In the attempt several people were
killed, among them Sitting Bull himself.  Danger still threatened,
and many believed that it would require a great battle to subdue the
Indians.

Now, if you will look at your map of the United States, you will
notice that the Missouri River runs across the middle of the new
State of South Dakota.  On the southern boundary of the State, a
large tract of land, reaching one-third of the way westward to
Wyoming, and with the White River forming in a general way the
northern boundary, makes what is known as an Indian reservation.

There are many of these in the West.  They belong to the Indians, and
the Government has an agency at each, to see that no white people
intrude.  The Indians are forbidden to leave these reservations
without obtaining permission, and at the agencies they receive the
annuities or supplies paid to them by the United States Government
for the lands elsewhere which they have given up.

Half of the reservation directly west of the Missouri is the Rosebud
Agency, and the other half the Pine Ridge Agency.  It was at the
latter that the grave trouble threatened.

When the discontent was so general, the danger extended hundreds of
miles north and west.  That section is thinly settled, and the
pioneers were in great peril.  Most of them hurried to the nearest
forts for safety, while others waited, hoping the cloud would soon
pass by.

If your map of South Dakota is a complete one, it will show you a
small stream to the westward of Pine Ridge, named Raccoon Creek, a
tributary of Cherry Creek, itself a branch of the Big Cheyenne River.

At the time of the troubles, the Kingsland family, consisting of
Hugh, a man in middle life, his wife Molly, his daughter Edith, eight
years old, and his son Brinton, a little more than double her age,
were living on Raccoon Creek.

The family had emigrated thither three years before from Kansas, and
all would have gone well in their new home, but for the illness of
Mr. Kingsland.

Something in the climate disagreed with him, though the rest of the
family throve.  He was first brought low with chills and fever, which
after several months' obstinate fight finally left him weak and
dispirited.  Then, when he was fairly recovered, the slipping of an
axe in his hands so wounded his foot that he was laid up for fully
two months more.

It looked as if ill-fortune was to follow him so long at least as he
stayed in South Dakota, for sickness, accident, and misfortune
succeeded each other, until he would have despaired but for those
around him.

His wife was well fitted to be the helpmate of a pioneer, for she was
hopeful, industrious, strong, and brave.  She carefully nursed him,
making light of their afflictions, and declaring that all would soon
come right, and that prosperity would prove the sweeter from having
been deferred so long.

Edith, bright-eyed, pretty, affectionate and loving, was the comfort
of those hours which otherwise would have been intolerably dismal,
when confined in his small humble home.  He read to and taught her,
told her delightful fairy stories, listened to her innocent prattle
and exchanged the sweetest of confidences.

Sometimes Hugh Kingsland wondered after all whether he was not the
most fortunate individual in the world in being thus blessed in his
family relations.

And there was another from whom the meed of praise must not be
withheld.  That was Brinton, now close upon seventeen years of age.
The ill-fortune to which we have alluded made him in one sense the
virtual head of the family.  He was strong, cheerful, and resembled
his mother in his hopeful disposition.  The difficulties in which his
father was continually involved brought out the real manhood of his
nature.  He looked after the cattle and live stock, galloped across
the plains to Hermosa, Fairburn, Rapid City, and other points for
supplies or on other business, or, fording the Big Cheyenne, White,
and smaller streams, crossed the reservation to Pine Ridge.

The youth was indispensable, and did his work so well, that the
father, in his occasional moments of rallying, remarked that he
thought of continuing to play the sick man, since it was proved that
he was of no account.

"I hope you will soon become well," said the red-cheeked lad one
evening, as the group gathered around the fire; "but stay here in the
house as long as you wish, for mother and Edith and I can get along
without your help."

"Yes, husband; don't fret over that.  Only become well, and until you
do so, be assured that everything is going along as it should."

"I have never had a doubt of that; but, ah me," he added with a sigh,
"this is tiresome after all, especially when it begins to look as
though I shall never be well again."

"For my part," said Edith very earnestly, "I don't want you to get
well, and I am praying that you will not."

"Why, Edith!" exclaimed the mother reproachfully, while her brother
did not know whether to laugh or be shocked at the odd expression.
As for the father, he laughed more heartily than he had done for
weeks.

Edith looked wonderingly in their faces, and felt that some
explanation was due to them.

"I mean to say--that is I don't mean anything bad, but if papa gets
well enough to ride out to look after the cattle, and is working all
day, why, I won't have anyone to tell me stories and read to me and
do so many funny things."

"Your explanation is satisfactory," said her father, smiling.  "I
shall have to stay in the house for some weeks--that is certain, and
perhaps longer."

"Oh, I am _so_ glad!"

But with the first clapping of the chubby hands, Edith realised that
she was doing wrong again, and she added in a gentler voice--

"If papa feels bad when he is ill then I am sorry for him, and will
pray every night and morning that he may get well."

It was winter time, and the Kingslands in their humble home could not
be ignorant of the alarming state of affairs around them.  They had
been urged to come into the agency while it was safe to do so, for
the revolt among the Indians was spreading, and there was no saying
when escape would be cut off.  The family had considered the question
with the seriousness due to so important a matter.

Naturally, they were reluctant to abandon their home now, for it
would be virtually throwing away everything they owned in the world;
but when it became a question of life and death, there could be no
hesitation.

On the very night, however, that the decision to remove to the agency
was made, Sergeant Victor Parkhurst, who was out on a scout, with a
squad of men from Pine Ridge, called at their home and stated his
belief that no trouble would occur.  He said it would be better if
the family were at Pine Ridge, and he offered to escort them thither.
But, he added, that in Mr. Kingsland's feeble condition it would be
as well for him to stay where he was, since he must run great risk by
exposure in the depth of winter.

The next caller at the cabin was Nicholas Jackson, who had been a
scout under General Crook, and was now serving General Miles in the
same capacity at Pine Ridge.  He brought news of Sitting Bull's
death, and assured the pioneer that every day spent by him and his
family away from the agency increased their peril.

"You shouldn't delay your start a single hour," was his remark, as he
vaulted upon his pony and skurried away.

Before deciding the all-important question, it was agreed that
Brinton should gallop down to the reservation and learn the real
situation.  It was a long ride to Pine Ridge, and involved the
crossing of the Cheyenne, White, and several smaller streams, but the
youth was confident he could penetrate far enough to ascertain the
truth and get back by sunset.  If it were necessary to go all the way
to the agency, this was impossible, for the days were at their
shortest, but he must penetrate that far to find out what he wished
to know.

When Brinton flung himself into the saddle of Jack, his tough and
intelligent pony, just as it was beginning to grow light in the east,
after his hasty breakfast and "good-bye," he was sure he would be
caught in a snow-storm before his return.  The dull heavy sky, and
the peculiar penetrating chilliness, left no doubt on that point.

But with his usual pluck, he chirruped to his pony, lightly jerked
his bridle rein, and the gallant animal was off at a swinging pace,
which he was able to maintain for hours without fatigue.  He was
heading south-east, over the faintly marked trail, with which the
youth was familiar and which was so well known to the animal himself
that he needed no guidance.

Two hours later, the young horseman reached the border line of Custer
and Washington counties, that is between the county of his own home
and the reservation.  This was made by the Big Cheyenne River, which
had to be crossed before Pine Ridge was reached.  Brinton reined up
his horse and sat for some minutes, looking down on the stream, in
which huge pieces of ice were floating, though it was not frozen over.

"That isn't very inviting, Jack," he said, "but the ford is shallow
and it's no use waiting."

He was in the act of starting his pony down the bank, when on the
heavy chilly air sounded a dull explosive crack.  A nipping of his
coat sleeve showed that the bullet had passed startlingly near him.
He turned his head like a flash, and saw, not more than a hundred
feet distant, the figure of a Sioux buck or young warrior bareback on
his horse, which was standing motionless, while his rider made ready
to let fly with another shot from his Winchester rifle.



CHAPTER II.

"HE'S UP TO SOME MISCHIEF, I'LL WARRANT."

The instant Brinton Kingsland looked around and saw the Indian on his
pony, a short distance away, with his rifle at his shoulder and about
to fire a second time, he brought his own Winchester to a level and
aimed at the one who had attempted thus treacherously to shoot him in
the back.

The Indian was no older than himself, sitting firmly on the bare back
of his horse, with his blanket wrapped about his shoulders, and
several stained eagle feathers protruding from his hair, as black and
coarse as that of his pony's tail.  His dark eyes glittered as they
glanced along the barrel of his rifle, and he aimed straight at the
breast of the youth, who instead of flinging himself over the side of
his horse in the attempt to dodge the deadly missile, sat bolt
upright and aimed in turn at the miscreant, who, as if stirred by the
same scorn of personal danger, remained firmly in his seat.

It all depended on who should fire first, and that which we have
related took place, as may be said, in the twinkling of an eye.

But with the weapons poised, the eyes of the two glancing along the
barrels and the fingers on the triggers, neither gun was discharged.
Brinton was on the point of firing, when the Indian abruptly lowered
his Winchester, with the exclamation--

"Hoof!  Brinton!"

The white youth had recognised the other at the same instant when
another moment would have been too late.  He, too, dropped the stock
of his gun from his shoulder and called out with a surprised
expression--

"Wolf Ear!"

The Indian touched his pony with his heel, and the animal moved
forward briskly, until the riders faced each other within arm's
length.

"How do you do?" asked the Ogalalla, extending his hand, which
Brinton took with a smile, and the reproving remark--

"I did not expect such a welcome from you, Wolf Ear."

"I did not know it was you, good friend Brinton."

"And suppose you did not; are you the sort of warrior that shoots
another in the back?"

The broad face, with its high cheek bones, coppery skin, low forehead
and Roman nose, changed from the pleasant smile which gave a glimpse
of the even white teeth, to a scowl, that told the ugly feelings that
had been stirred by the questioning remark of the white youth.

"Your people have become my enemies: they have killed Sitting Bull,
Black Bird, Catch-the-Bear, Little Assiniboine, Spotted Horse Bull,
Brave Thunder, and my friend, Crow Foot, who was the favourite son of
Sitting Bull.  He was as a brother to me."

"And your people have killed Bull Head, Shave Head, Little Eagle,
Afraid-of-Soldiers, Hawk Man, and others of their own race, who were
wise enough to remain friends of our people.  I know of that fight
when they set out to arrest Sitting Bull."

"They had no right to arrest him," said Wolf Ear, with a flash of his
black eyes; "he was in his own tepee (or tent), and harming no one."

"He was doing more harm to his own people as well as ours, than all
the other malcontents together.  He was the plotter of mischief; he
encouraged this nonsense about the ghost dances and the coming
Messiah, and was doing all he could to bring about a great war
between my people and yours.  His death is the best fortune that
could come to the Indians."

"It was murder," said Wolf Ear sullenly, and then, before the other
could frame a reply, his swarthy face lightened up.

"But you and I, Brinton, are friends; I shot at you because I thought
you were someone else; it would have grieved my heart had I done you
harm; I am glad I did not; I offer you my hand."

Young Kingsland could not refuse the proffer, though he was far from
feeling comfortable, despite his narrow escape a moment before.

"I thought you were a civilised Indian, Wolf Ear," he added, as he
relinquished the grasp, and the two once more looked in each other's
countenances; "you told me so when I last saw you."

Wolf Ear, the Ogalalla, was sent to Carlisle, when only eight years
old.  Unusually bright, he had made good progress, and won the golden
opinions of his teachers by his gentle, studious deportment, and
affection for those that had been kind to him.

He spoke English as well as the whites, and was a fine scholar.  He
went back to his people, when sixteen years old, and did what he
could to win them from their savagery and barbarism.

He and Brinton Kingsland met while hunting at the base of the Black
Hills, and became great friends.  The young Ogalalla visited the
white youth at his home on Raccoon Creek, where he was kindly treated
by the Kingslands, and formed a deep affection for little Edith.

But nothing had been seen of Wolf Ear for several months.  The home
of his people was some distance away, but that should not have
prevented him from visiting his white friends, who often wondered why
he did not show himself among them.

Rather curiously, Brinton was thinking of his dusky comrade at the
moment he was roused by the shot which nipped his coat sleeve.  It
was natural that he should be disappointed, and impatient to find
that this bright Indian youth, who had lived for several years among
civilised people, was carried away by the wave of excitement that was
sweeping across the country.  He knew that his twin brother and his
father were still savages, and it was easy to find excuse for them,
but not for Wolf Ear.

"You believe in the coming of One to save your people--why should not
we place faith in the coming of our Messiah?" was the pertinent
question of Wolf Ear.

"What is this revelation?" asked Brinton, who had heard many
conflicting accounts of the strange craze, and felt a natural desire
for an authoritative statement.

"The Messiah once descended to save the white race, but they rejected
and put him to death.  In turn he rejects them, and will come in the
spring, when the grass is about two inches high, and save his red
children and destroy his white ones.  He has enjoined upon all of us
who believe in him to wear a certain dress and to practise the ghost
dance, as often and as long as we possibly can, as a proof of our
faith.  If any of us die from exhaustion, while performing this
ceremony, we will be taken direct to the Messiah, where we shall meet
those who have died, and whence we will come back to tell the living
what we have seen and heard.  When the Messiah comes in the spring, a
new earth will be created, covering the present world, burying all
the whites and those red men that have not joined in the dance.  The
Messiah will again bring with him the departed of our own people, and
the earth shall once more be as our forefathers knew it, except there
shall be no more death."

Brinton Kingsland listened, amazed as this expression fell from the
lips of one who had often lamented the superstition of his own race.
That he believed the words he uttered was proven by his earnestness
of manner and the glow of his countenance.  The white youth
restrained his impulse to ridicule the strange faith, for that
assuredly would have given offence to the fanatic, who had the right
to believe whatever he chose.

"Well, Wolf Ear, I can only say I am sorry that you should have been
carried away by this error----"

"By what right do you call it error?" interrupted the other with a
flash of his eyes.

"We will not discuss it.  It will do no good, and is likely to do
harm.  I need not be told that you belong to the hostiles, and, if
trouble comes, will fight against the whites."

"Yes, you are right," calmly replied the Ogalalla, compressing his
thin lips and nodding his head a single time.

"Your father and brother, whom I have never seen, would shoot me and
my folk if they had the chance."

"Yes, and so would my mother: she is a warrior too."

"But suppose you and I or my father meet, or you have the chance to
harm my mother and little sister, Edith?"

"Wolf Ear can never raise his hand against them, no matter what harm
they may seek to do him.  I do not have to tell you that you and I
will always be friends, whatever may come."

This assurance would have had more weight with young Kingsland could
he have felt certain that Wolf Ear was truthful in declaring that he
did not suspect his identity at the moment of firing at him.

"I believe he meant to take my life," was his thought, "and still
meant to do so, when he raised his Winchester a second time, but as
we looked into each other's face, he weakened.  His people are
treacherous, and this pretence of goodwill will not last, or, if it
be genuine for the present, it will soon change."

Brinton said--

"You know where we live, Wolf Ear; I have set out to ride to the
reservation to learn whether it is safe to stay where we are: what is
your judgment in the matter?"

An indefinable expression passed over the broad face before him.  The
Ogalalla sat gracefully on his horse, even though he had no saddle.
A bit was in the pony's mouth, the single rein looping around the
neck and resting at the base of the mane, just in front of the rider,
who allowed it to lie there, while the two hands idly held the rifle
across the back of the animal and his own thighs.

"You stayed too long," said he; "you should have left two weeks ago;
_it is too late now_."

"But you know my father is not well, Wolf Ear," replied Brinton, with
a sickening dread in his heart.

"What has that to do with this?"

"We did not wish to expose him to the severe weather, as we must in
the ride to the agency."

"Is he better and stronger now?"

"There is little improvement in his condition.  He has been ailing a
long time, as you know."

"Then you have gained nothing and will lose all by your delay."

Brinton had no further wish to discuss the ghost dance and the coming
of the new Messiah with the young Ogalalla.  All his thoughts were of
those dear ones, miles away, whose dreadful peril he now fully
comprehended for the first time.  He saw the mistake that had been
made by the delay, and a faintness came over him at the declaration
of Wolf Ear that this delay was fatal.

His horse was facing the north-west, the direction of his home.
There was no call for longer tarrying.

"Good-bye," he said, giving the Indian a military salute; "I hope we
shall meet ha more pleasant circumstances, when you shall see, Wolf
Ear, the mistake you are making."

Trained in the ways of the white people, the dusky youth raised his
hand to his forehead, and sat motionless on his horse, without
speaking, as his friend dashed across the plain, over the trail which
he had followed to the banks of the Big Cheyenne.

It was not yet noon, and Brinton was hopeful of reaching home long
before the day drew to a close.  The chilliness of the air continued,
and a few feathery flakes of snow drifted horizontally on the wind or
were whirled about the head of the young horseman.  He glanced up at
the leaden sky and noted that the temperature was falling.

"Like enough we shall have one of those blizzards, when the horses
and cattle freeze to death under shelter and we can only huddle and
shiver around the fire and wait for the tempest to pass.  It will be
the death of us all, if we start for the agency and are caught in one
of the blizzards, but death awaits us if we stay.  Ah me, what will
become of father, ill and weak as he is?"

The words of Wolf Ear made the youth more circumspect and alert than
when riding away from his home.  He continually glanced ahead, on his
right and left and to the rear.  The first look in the last direction
showed him the young Ogalalla sitting like a statue on his pony and
gazing after him.

Some minutes later, when Brinton turned his head again, he saw him
riding at a rapid pace towards the north, or rather a little west of
north, so that the course of the two slightly diverged.

"He's up to some mischief, I'll warrant," was Brinton's conclusion,
"and he already recalls his profession of friendship for me.  Halloa!
I don't like the look of _that_."

In the precise direction pursued by the Ogalalla, which was toward
Rapid Creek, a tributary of the Big Cheyenne, he discerned several
Indian horsemen.  They were riding close, and were so mingled
together that it was impossible to tell their number.  They seemed to
be about half a dozen, and were advancing as if to meet Wolf Ear, who
must have descried them before Brinton.

"They will soon unite, and when they do he will be the fiercest
warrior among them.  I wonder----"

He held his breath a moment, and then only whisper--

"I wonder if they have not already visited our home?"



CHAPTER III.

"THERE ARE FIFTY HOSTILES."

To the westward the Black Hills thrust their vast rugged summits
against the wintry sky; to the south, a spur of the same mountains
put out toward the frontier town of Buffalo Gap; to the north-east
wound the Big Cheyenne, on its way to the Missouri, and marking
through a part of its course the southern boundary of the Cheyenne
Reservation, while creek, stream, and river crossed the rolling plain
that intervened, and over all stretched the sunless sky, from which
the snow-flakes were eddying and whirling to the frozen earth below.

But Brinton Kingsland had no eye for any of these things, upon which
he had looked many a time and oft.  His thoughts were with those
loved ones in the humble cabin, still miles away, toward the towering
mountains, while his immediate anxiety was about the hostiles that
had appeared in his front and were now circling to the northward as
if to meet Wolf Ear, the young Ogalalla, who was galloping in the
face of the biting gale and rapidly drawing toward them.

Brinton's expectation that they would lose no time in coming together
was not precisely fulfilled, for while the horsemen were yet a long
way off, they swerved sharply, as though they identified the youth
for the first time.

"They intend to give me some attention," was his thought, "without
waiting for Wolf Ear to join them.  They know that I belong to the
white race, and that is enough."

The youth did not feel any special alarm for himself, for he was
confident that Jack was as fleet-footed as any of the animals
bestrode by the hostiles, and would leave them behind in a fair race.
He noticed that the Ogalalla was mounted on a superior beast, but he
did not believe he could outspeed Jack.

But it would never do to meet those half-dozen horsemen that had
faced toward him, and were approaching at the same swinging gallop.
Brinton diverged more to the left, thus leaving the trail, and they
also changed their course, as if to head him off.

"If it is to be a race, I am throwing away my chances by helping to
shorten the distance between us."

The fugitive now headed directly away from the horsemen, so that both
parties were pursuing the same line.  The youth looked back, at the
moment that several blue puffs of smoke showed over the backs of the
horses.  The thudding reports came through the chilly air, and a
peculiar whistling sound overhead left no doubt that the hostiles,
great as was the separating space, had fired at the fugitive, who
turned to take a look at Wolf Ear.

That individual discharged his gun the next moment.  Brinton heard
nothing of the bullet, but smiled grimly--

"He has changed his mind soon, but they have got to come closer
before they hurt me.  He is no great marksman anyway, or he would not
have missed me a little while ago."

It was singular that it did not occur to young Kingsland that it was
possible the Ogalalla had not fired at him at all.  Not even when the
horsemen checked their pursuit, and reining up their animals awaited
the coming of the buck, who was riding like a hurricane, could he
bring himself to think of Wolf Ear except as a bitter enemy, who for
some subtle purpose of his own had declared a temporary truce.

"I suppose they think I shall be along this way again pretty soon,
and they can afford to wait till I run into their trap," was the
conclusion of Brinton, who headed his pony once more toward his home,
and put him to his best paces.

"Come, Jack, there's no time to throw away; hard work is before you,
and you must struggle as never before."

The snowfall which seemed for ever impending did not come.  The few
scattering flakes still circled and eddied through the air, as if
reluctant to touch the earth, but no perceptible increase appeared in
their number.  The nipping air seemed to have become too cold to
permit a snow-storm.

Brinton had set out fully prepared for such change of temperature.
He wore a thick woollen cap, whose flaps were drawn down to his ears,
while they were more than met by the heavy coat collar that was
turned up, the garment itself being closely buttoned around his body.
His rifle rested across the pommel of his saddle in front, and his
gloved hands scarcely ever touched the rein which lay loose on his
pony's neck.  He was a capital horseman, and, with the understanding
between him and his intelligent beast, could have got along without
any bit at all.

Strapped behind him was a substantial lunch, and his keen appetite
would have made it enjoyable, but he did not disturb it.  It could
wait until he learned the truth about the folk at home, which he was
now rapidly drawing near.

Over a swell in the prairie, across a small creek, whose icy waters
hardly came above Jack's fetlocks, up a second rise, and then Brinton
Kingsland uttered an exclamation of amazement and sharply checked his
animal.

"My gracious! what is the meaning of that?"

Over another swell, and only a few hundred yards away, two other
horses rode to view, coming directly toward him.  Each sustained a
heavily muffled figure, and they were moving at a rapid walk.

Suspecting their identity, he waited a minute, and then started his
horse forward again.  A few paces, and despite the arctic
temperature, he raised his cap from his head and called out--

"Hurrah! thank Heaven, you are alive, and have started for the
agency."

His father sat on one horse, swathed in heavy clothing, and a blanket
which the faithful wife had fastened around his emaciated and weak
form, while she, with Edith in front, and both also protected against
the severe weather, were on the other animal.  He had a rifle across
his saddle front, like the son, and they had brought with them
nothing but a small amount of food, barely enough to last them until
they could reach the agency, provided there was no unexpected delay
on the road.

The discovery that they were alive and secure for the time, though
the shadow of a great peril was over all, so delighted the son that
he could not repress the shout of joy, as he rode forward and greeted
them, little more than their eyes and noses showing through the thick
coverings.

"What made you leave before I got back?" was the first inquiry of
Brinton, after a few congratulatory words.

"We concluded it was high time to do so," replied the father, showing
more vigour in his voice than the son expected.

"How did you find it out?"

"A half-dozen hostiles fired several times at the house, and then, as
if they feared they were not strong enough to capture us and burn the
cabin, rode off for help."

"They are hardly out of sight now; they gave me half a dozen shots,
and I had a short chase with them.  But you are off the trail."

"And so are you," said his father.

"Which is a mighty good thing for us both.  You had to abandon
everything?"

"Of course; I have no doubt though," added the father grimly, "that
the Indians will look after the live stock for us."

"Whom do you suppose I saw?" asked Brinton, turning to his mother and
sister.

"A big bear?" ventured Edith from the depths of her wrappings.

"No; he was an old friend of yours--Wolf Ear, who used to come to our
house and have such good times with you."

The excited child flung her arms about in the effort to free herself
of the encumbering wrappings.

"Oh, where is he?  Why didn't he come with you?  Didn't he want to
see me?  I am so sorry; isn't he with you?"

And she peered around, as if she suspected the young Ogalalla was
hiding behind the saddle of her brother.

Brinton smiled, and then gravely shook his head.  He said, addressing
his parents more than the little one--

"I was never more astonished than to find that Wolf Ear, despite the
training he has had at Carlisle, has joined the hostiles, and is now
an enemy of those who were such good friends of his."

The youth did not think it wise to tell, in the presence of his
sister, the particulars of their first meeting.

"You grieve me more than I can express," replied the father; "are you
sure you are not mistaken?"

"Not when he told me so himself."

"But you must have met as friends."

"He said he would not harm any one of us, if the fortunes of war
should give him the chance; but he declares himself the enemy of all
others of our race.  He has a twin brother, and he and his father and
mother, as Wolf Ear coolly told me, would be pleased to scalp us.  I
have no more faith in _him_ than in _them_.  We parted as friends,
but he has joined that very party which fired on you, and will go
back to the house with them."

"And finding us gone, what then?"

"He will lead them on our trail and be among the foremost to shoot us
down, every one of us."

"I don't believe it!" called Edith from her wraps, which her mother
had put around her again; "I like Wolf Ear and want to see him."

Brinton did not think it worth while to discuss the matter with his
sister, for a far more important matter pressed upon them.

"It won't do to follow the trail," remarked the father, "since they
will be on the look-out for us.  We will bear to the south, so as to
strike the Cheyenne further up stream."

"We may not be able to ford it."

"We can follow it down till we find a place.  It may be frozen over
nearer its source.  The agency is so far off that we shall have to go
into camp before we can get half-way there."

"How do you feel, father?" abruptly asked his son, glancing keenly at
him.  "Are you strong enough to stand this hard ride?"

"I am much stronger than you would suppose; you know a crisis like
this will rouse any man, even if he is a good deal more unwell than I
am."

"I am glad to hear you talk that way, but you will be tried hard
before we reach Pine Ridge."

"Give yourself no uneasiness about me; the only thing we are to think
about is how we shall get to the agency without meeting with the
hostiles, who seem to be roaming everywhere."

While they sat talking, at the base of the swell, on the summit of
which the parents had first appeared, all partook of lunch, for it
was not likely they would have a more favourable opportunity before
the coming of night.

It was decided to bear still more to the south, with a view of
avoiding the party that was at no great distance.  Indeed, less than
half an hour had passed since they vanished from the view of the
youth, who believed they were waiting in the vicinity of the trail
for his return, and would attack the whites the moment they
discovered them.

The halt lasted little more than a quarter of an hour, when they
resumed their journey toward the agency, which they hoped, rather
than expected, to reach by the morrow's set of sun.  The mother was
without any weapon, though she was quite skilful in the use of a
rifle.  Her husband said that if he found himself compelled to yield
to weakness, he would turn over his Winchester to her, believing as
he did that she was sure to give a good account of herself.

They were plentifully supplied with cartridges, but the reader does
not need to be reminded of their almost helpless situation.
Kingsland, despite his brave efforts to keep up, was unable to ride
his pony at full speed for any length of time, while the wife,
burdened with the care of Edith, could not expect to do much better.

If the company were attacked by any party of hostiles, however slight
in numbers, deplorable consequences were almost certain.  Their hope
would be in finding some sort of shelter which might be turned to
account as a screen or barricade.

But their only safety, it may be said, lay in avoiding the Indians
altogether, and it was to that task that Brinton, as the strongest
one of the party, addressed himself with all the energy and skill of
his nature.

The course was up and down continually, though none of the swells in
the prairie was of much height.  The youth rode slightly in advance
and never made his way to the top of one of the slight elevations
without a quicker throbbing of the heart and a misgiving which made
the situation of the most trying nature.

It was the dread of the hostiles, with whom Wolf Ear had joined
himself, that led him to make a longer bend to the south than even
his father had contemplated.  True, as he well knew, they were not
the sole Indians to be dreaded, but they were the only ones of whom
he had positive knowledge.  Others were likely to be encountered at
any time, and it may be said that as they drew nearer the agency, the
peril increased.

A half-dozen miles from where the family had been reunited, they
approached a higher elevation than any that had yet been crossed.
Brinton asked the rest to halt at the base, while he dismounted and
carefully went to the top on foot.

It was well he took this precaution, for his friends, who were
watching his crouching figure as he cautiously went up the incline,
saw him abruptly halt and peer over the ridge, in a way which showed
he had perceived something.  He remained but a minute, when he
hurried back, pale and excited.

"There are fifty hostiles!" he exclaimed in an undertone, "and they
are only a little way off!"



CHAPTER IV.

"WE ABE ENEMIES."

Brinton Kingsland, after peering over the crest of the elevation for
a few brief moments, turned and hastily descended to where his pony
awaited him.  Without touching his bridle, he spoke, and the obedient
animal followed him, while the parents and little sister anxiously
listened to the report of what he learned.

"It's the very party of Indians that we have been trying to get away
from," added the youth to his first explanation; "there are seven of
them, and Wolf Ear is among them."

"Is he?" eagerly asked Edith, from her wrappings on the saddle in
front of her mother "oh, let me see him!  Tell him I am here."

"Keep quiet!  Don't speak," said her father sternly.  "Wolf Ear is
with bad Indians, and is a bad Indian himself"

The child would have protested, but for the manner of her father.  He
could be firm when he chose, and she knew better than to disobey him
but she pouted just a little, as she nestled down by her mother, who
shared to some extent her faith in the Ogalalla who had spent so many
hours under their roof.

"What are they doing?" asked Mr. Kingsland of his son.

"They act queerly; the party are drawn up together, and looking off
in the direction of the trail to the agency, over which they expect
us to pass."

"They are on the watch for us, of course; how far away do you judge
the trail to be?"

"Several miles; it seems odd to me that they should ride so far
south, instead of staying nearer to it."

"It is plain enough to me; they fear that if we caught sight of them,
as we should be sure to do, we would hurry back to the house, where
they should have less chance against us.  By keeping hidden, so that
we could not discover our danger until too far away from home, they
could ride in behind us and cut off our escape in that direction.
But how are we to escape them?"

"We passed an arroya a little way back: let us take to that, and
there isn't a minute to lose."

The youth hastily climbed into the saddle, and turned the nose of
Jack about, so that he went back directly over his own hoof-prints.
A little distance, and they struck a narrow valley-like depression,
which wound further to the south than the course they were pursuing
at the moment of the startling interruption.  He entered this at
once, the others directly at his heels, the animals walking fast, but
with a silence that made one suspect they understood the danger that
threatened all.

The arroya, as it is termed in some parts of the country, was a
straight passage, resembling a gully, between banks a dozen feet in
height.  It looked as if it had been washed out years before, by some
violent rush of waters, which soon ran itself dry, leaving the abrupt
banks, facing each other, at varying distances of from ten to fifty
feet.

In some places these banks of clay were perpendicular, so that a
horse, once within the gorge, could not leave it at many points,
while in others, the dirt had tumbled in to an extent which made it
easy for him to climb out.

The course of the arroya was devious, and there was no saying when it
would terminate by rising to the level of the prairie.  At most, it
could be but a temporary refuge for the fugitives.

The thought occurred to both father and son that the Indians must
soon discover this refuge, which would be welcome to them and their
animals while the piercing blast was sweeping across the prairie.
The eddying snow had almost ceased, but the wind blew fitfully, and
whenever it touched the face or bare hand, it was like a needle of
ice.  The American Indian is one of the toughest of creatures, but he
does not disdain shelter for himself and beast from the merciless
blizzard, or driving tempest.  Many of those gathered about Pine
Ridge, during the critical days in '90-'91, found protection in the
pockets of earth in the gullies, where they peered out like wild
animals on the alert for a chance to spring at the blue-coated
sentinel, without risk to themselves.

If the arroya should hold its general course southward for several
miles, the little party might successfully escape the hostiles, who
intruded between them and the agency.  The afternoon was wearing
away, and the night would be moonless and starless.  Our friends
hoped, if they escaped until then, to lessen greatly the distance
between them and Pine Ridge.

A quarter or a third of a mile through the winding gully, and Brinton
drew rein, and waited until his parents rode up beside him.

"I wonder what has become of them?" was his inquiring remark.

"What does it matter," asked his mother in turn, "so long as we
cannot see them?  We must be a good way from them now."

"I wish I could think so, but I can't feel easy while riding in this
blind fashion.  There may be greater danger in front than we have
left behind."

"What do you propose to do?" asked the father.

"Take a look round and learn, if I can, how things are going."

Without explaining further, the youth swung himself down once more
from the saddle, and hurried to the edge of the arroya on his left.
There was a spot so sloping that after a little work, with the dirt
crumbling under his feet, he reached the level above, and was able to
peer over a great deal of the surrounding prairie without exposing
himself.

The result ought to have been gratifying, but it was hardly that.
North, south, east, and west the youth bent his keen vision, but not
a sign of the dreaded hostiles was to be seen.  They were as
invisible as though they had never been.

Had the distance travelled by the fugitives since their fright been
twice or thrice as great, this must have been the best of omens, but
the space was not far, and it was almost self-evident that the band
was still in the neighbourhood.

But where?

That was the question on the lips of father and son as they discussed
the situation, and in the minds of both trembled the same answer: the
hostiles were in the arroya itself, behind the fugitives.

"They have ridden down the bank," said the parent, "to shelter their
ponies from the icy blast, and are there now."

"Will they suspect that we have been this way?" inquired the mother.

"They cannot fail to notice the hoof-prints we have left," replied
her husband, "and that will tell the story as plainly as if they sat
on the bank as we rode by."

The alarming declaration caused the wife to cast a terrified glance
behind her, as if she expected to see the ferocious redskins burst
into view with crack of rifle and ear-splitting shriek.

In the circumstances, there was manifestly but one thing to do--push
on with no more delay than was inevitable.

The ground at the bottom of the arroya was comparatively level, and
the horses dropped into an easy swinging gallop, which lasted but a
few minutes, when Mr. Kingsland called in a faint voice, as he
brought his animal down to a walk--

"Hold on, Brinton!"

"What is the matter?" asked the son, looking at him in dismay.

"I can't stand it; I am not as strong as I thought."

He reeled in his saddle, and the startled son reached out to prevent
his falling.

"Forgive me, father; I forgot your illness."

"There--there--I am all right," he murmured, putting his hand to his
face, in the effort to master his weakness.

His wife was also at his side, anxious and alarmed.

"Hugh, I fear you have undertaken more than you can do," she said,
laying her hand affectionately on his arm, and peering into as much
of his face as was visible through the thick wrappings.

He made no reply, and it was plain that he was nearly fainting.
There was nothing his friends could do for him, except to help him
out of the saddle, and they were about to propose that, when a slight
but alarming accident took place.

The Winchester, resting across the saddle-bow and hitherto grasped in
the mittened hands of the man, slipped from his relaxed fingers and
fell to the earth.  The lock struck in such a way that a chamber was
discharged, the bullet burying itself in the bank which Brinton had
climbed only a few minutes before.

The sharp explosion roused Edith, who was sinking into a doze, and
imparted to the man himself such a shock that his growing faintness
gave instant place to renewed strength.  He straightened up and said--

"Gracious! that's too bad; _they_ must have heard it."

"We can't tell about that; are you stronger?"

"Yes; let's push on; we must lose no time."

Brinton longed to force the animals into a gallop, but dared not,
after what had just taken place.  But they were pushed to a rapid
walk, which was kept up some ten or fifteen minutes, when came
another sudden halt, for the good reason that they had reached the
end of the arroya.

That singular formation, after winding about for a long distance,
rose to the level of the prairie, and disappeared.

To proceed further must be done by exposure to any hostiles in the
neighbourhood.  Brinton stopped and looked inquiringly at his father.

"As near as I can judge," said the latter, "we are close to the Big
Cheyenne; we ought to cross that early this evening and keep on to
the White, which should be reached by daylight; then the ride is not
far to Pine Ridge."

"Night is near; we will wait awhile; the rest will do you good, and I
will take a look over our own trail."

Leaving his friends to themselves, Brinton headed back and struck
Jack into a moderate gallop through the arroya.

He was uneasy over that accident with his father's Winchester.  If
heard by the keen-eared hostiles they would start an investigation,
which could have but one result.

"They must have heard it," was his belief, "and if so, they knew
where it came from.  It won't take them long to learn its
meaning--halloa! what's the matter, Jack?"

More than once, the sagacity of his animal had warned the youth of
the approach of danger.  The pony dropped into a walk so quickly that
the rider was thrown slightly forward in the saddle.  Then the animal
pricked up his ears, took a few more stops and halted.

"That means something," thought Brinton, bringing his rifle round to
the front and making ready to use it on the instant if needed.  He
softly drew the mitten from his right hand.

The gully turned sharply to the left, just ahead, and he knew that
Jack had scented danger.  But, if so, minute after minute passed and
it did not appear.  The youth became perplexed, and was in sore doubt
whether to push on a little further or turn back.

He gently twitched the rein and touched his heels against the ribs of
his pony.  He advanced a couple of paces, and stopped as abruptly as
before, his head still up, his ears erect, while the snuffing
nostrils showed that he was wiser than his rider.

"I'll be hanged if I don't learn the meaning of this," muttered
Brinton Kingsland, who, with less discretion than he generally
showed, swung himself out of the saddle and moved stealthily forward,
with the resolution to learn the cause of Jack's alarm.

And he learned it soon enough.

He had barely time to pass part way round the curve in the arroya,
which was unusually winding at that portion, when he came face to
face with an Indian horseman.

The animal of the latter, quite as sagacious as Jack's, had detected
the presence of a stranger beyond the turn, and halted until the
latter revealed himself, or his master decided upon the line to
pursue.

Brinton's great blunder was in moving so impatiently through the
gully that he was revealed too soon to draw back.  Thus it was that
it may be said he almost precipitated himself upon the buck before he
saw him.

It would be hard to describe Brinton's emotions when on the first
startled glance at the solitary Indian he recognised him as Wolf Ear,
whom he had encountered but a little while before.  The Indian looked
fixedly at him, and something like a smile lit up his broad coppery
face.

"Thus we meet, Brinton," he said in his low voice; "will you come
forward and shake hands?"

"Why should I shake hands?" asked the youth, thoroughly distrustful
of the Ogalalla; "we are enemies."

"That is for you to decide," was the cool remark of the Indian youth.

He made as if to ride away, when Brinton interposed.

"Your actions do not agree with your words."

"And why not?"

"After parting from me, you rode away and joined my enemies."

To the amazement of the youth, the young Ogalalla without a word
wheeled about and galloped out of sight up the arroya.



CHAPTER V.

"WHAT WILL BE THEIR NEXT STEP?"

Brinton Kingsland was in the saddle again on the instant, and his
pony dashed down the arroya at full speed.

"Wolf Ear has hurried back to tell the rest that he has seen us, and
they will be here in a few minutes," was the belief that lent wings
to his speed.

It was a comparatively short ride to where his friends awaited him.
A minute sufficed for them to learn the alarming tidings.

"It won't do to delay another second; come on!"

The next moment the two horses followed the youth out of the gully
upon the plain.

"Can you stand it, father?" he asked, holding his pony back and
looking inquiringly at him.

"Yes, my son; don't think of me," was the brave response, as the
parent struck his animal into a gallop.

The mother was a capital horsewoman, and little Edith, who was now
fully awake, once more accommodated herself to her position, so as to
save all embarrassment so far as she was concerned.

Child-like, she wanted to ask innumerable questions, but she was
intelligent enough to understand that silence was expected of her,
and she held her peace, wondering, perplexed, and frightened.

The wintry afternoon was wearing to a close.  The sky maintained its
heavy leaden hue, the wind blew fitfully and was of piercing
keenness, and the occasional snow-flakes, whirling about the heads of
the fugitives, were more like hailstones than the soft downy
particles which had appeared earlier in the afternoon.  The view was
shortened in the gathering gloom, and the anxious eyes glancing
around the different points of the compass, and especially to the
rear, failed to reveal the dreaded horsemen from whom they were
fleeing.

The hope of the little party lay in keeping beyond sight of their
enemies until night.  With no moon and stars to guide them, the
hostiles could not keep their trail, which our friends were sure to
make as winding as possible.

As the night approached, their hopes increased.  Darkness was closing
in when they reached the bank of the Big Cheyenne, and, for the first
time since leaving the arroya, they drew rein.

"This is better than I dared expect," said the father in high
spirits, and seemingly strengthened by his sharp ride through the
cutting cold; "I can hardly understand it."

"I suspect that Wolf Ear made a blunder."

"In what way?"

"He did not think we should leave the gully before night; he went
back and told the rest.  They dared not attack us where we had some
show to defend ourselves; they will not discover our flight until it
is too late."

While there seemed reason in this belief, it did not fully satisfy
the father.  It was not in keeping with the subtlety of the American
Indian that they should allow a party of whites to ride directly away
from them, when they were at their mercy.  Any one of the hostiles,
by climbing the side of the arroya, was sure to see the little
company of fugitives emerge therefrom, and it was inconceivable that
they should not take that simple precaution.

"There is something beyond all this which has not yet appeared," he
said; "neither Wolf Ear nor his companions are fools."

The river swept by in the gathering darkness at their feet.  The
current was not swift, but pieces of ice lay against the shores, and
floated past in the middle of the stream.  The opposite bank could
hardly be seen in the gloom.

"Must we cross that?" asked Mrs. Kingsland, as the horses halted on
the margin of the icy waters.

"Yes," replied her husband, "and twenty miles further we must cross
the White, to say nothing of smaller streams, which may be as deep
and more difficult.  Pine Ridge lies fifty miles away, and there's no
going round any of the water."

"It will be the death of us to swim our horses," she said with a
shudder; "we shall freeze to death."

"That is not to be thought of," Brinton hastened to explain; "while
the Cheyenne has many deep places at this season, there are others
where a horse can wade across without wetting one's stirrups."

"But how are we to know such fords?"

"By trying, and there's no better place than this; wait till I make
the attempt."

With commendable promptness he urged Jack forward, and the animal,
understanding what was required of him, stepped among the pieces of
ice along the bank.  He slipped on one, and Edith uttered a cry of
alarm.

"Look out, Brint!  You will fall into the water."

"Don't fret about me," he called back.

A few reassuring words to his pony, who hesitated and sniffed, as if
about to draw back, and he continued his cautious advance into the
stream, the others anxiously watching his progress.

Should the water prove deep enough to force the steed to swim, it
would never do, for that would necessitate the saturation of the
garments of all, which meant freezing to death.

As long as the ponies maintained a sure footing, even though the
water crept well up their sides, the riders could guard themselves
against the dreaded wetting.  Brinton, therefore, ventured into the
stream with the utmost care, his animal feeling every step of the
way.  Ten steps from the bank, and the water touched Brinton's
stirrups.  He withdrew his feet and held them out of reach.  He was
so excellent a horseman that, by the pressure of his knees, he sat
almost as firmly in the saddle as if with the support for his feet.

"Be careful, Jack; slowly--slowly--slowly!"

Jack was sniffing, with his neck outstretched and his nose almost on
the surface of the water, The breath issued like steam through his
thin silken nostrils, and he paid no heed to a triangular piece of
jagged ice which struck his hind legs with a sharp thrust, and then
swung clear.  He knew his duty, and was doing his "level best."

The rider turned his head and looked back.  The forms of his parents
on their motionless horses were dim, and growing more indistinct in
the approaching night.

Seeing him turn his head, his father called something in a guarded
undertone, which the son did not catch, but, believing it was simply
a request for him to be careful, he replied, "All right," and went on
with the work in hand.

Several steps further and the water had not perceptibly deepened.
Brinton, indeed, was inclined to think it had slightly shallowed.

"We are pretty near the middle, and it begins to look as if I had
struck the right spot after all Halloa! what's up now?"

Jack had stopped, just as he did in the arroya, and with the same
appearance of alarm.

"Can it be that you have scented a deep place in front and want to
save me from a bath?"

Brinton Kingsland checked the light question on his lips, for at the
moment of uttering it his own vision answered the query in a manner
that fairly lifted his cap from his head.

A horseman was advancing through the water from the other side of the
Cheyenne.  He was several rods away, but near enough for the youth to
recognise him as an Indian warrior.  He had entered the icy stream,
as if to meet the other, who in the same glance that identified him
dimly discerned more horsemen on the bank beyond.

As in the former instance, Jack had discovered the peril before his
master and halted, not through fear of a chilling bath, but because
of a tenfold greater danger stealing upon them.

It looked as if the hostiles, from whom they were fleeing, had come
towards the river from beyond, and were again between them and safety.

If so, the question might well be asked what was meant by this
extraordinary behaviour of the red men?  Why did they not conceal
themselves until the fugitives rode directly into their arms?  Why
take this risk of sending one of their number to meet an enemy in
mid-stream, where, despite whatever advantage the savage possessed,
he could not help yielding a portion of it to his foe?

But it was a moment for action and not for conjecture and speculation.

In the same moment that Brinton recognised the horseman immediately
in his front as a foe, he observed that his pony had also halted and
the rider was in the act of bringing his weapon to his shoulder.

The mitten was snatched from the youth's right hand and thrust in the
pocket of his coat.  He had no time to slip the other off, nor was it
necessary, since that only supported the rifle.  He hastily brought
his Winchester to a level, and, knowing that everything depended upon
who was the quicker, he took instant aim at the centre of the dark
figure and let fly.

With a wild cry the Indian rolled from his pony, and disappeared in
the dark waters.  His animal, with a snort of alarm, whirled about
and dashed to shore, sending the spray flying in all directions.

"Quick, Jack! back with you!"

Brinton flung himself on the neck of his pony, who seemed to spin
about on his hind feet as he galloped furiously through the water for
the shore he had just left.  Nothing but this precaution and the
deepening gloom saved the daring youth from death.  It required a few
precious seconds for the hostiles on the other bank to comprehend
what had taken place, and when they began firing the form of the
horse and his rider were fast vanishing from sight.

But the bullets were whistling perilously near his friends, who did
not quite comprehend what had taken place.

"Move further down the bank!" called Brinton in a guarded undertone;
"quick! don't stop to ask why, but do as I say!"

The parents obeyed, and a minute or two was sufficient to take them
out of range.

"Follow them, Jack, and move lively!"

The pony obeyed, and he too passed beyond danger for the time.

The darkness was too deep for the persons on either bank to discern
the others across the stream.  The hostiles kept up their firing, in
a blind way, hoping that some of their shots might reach the
fugitives.  Brinton had lain down on the shore, so as to decrease the
danger of being struck by any of the stray bullets.  He could tell
where the others were by the flash of their guns, but deemed it best
not to fire for the present, through fear of betraying his own
position.

The dropping shots continued for a few minutes, and then suddenly
stopped.  It was impossible to tell in the gloom what his enemies
were doing, but he suspected the truth: they were preparing to ford
the river, with a view of bringing the combatants to close quarters.

Peering intently into the night, he made out the faint outline of a
horseman feeling his way across, and did not doubt that others were
close behind him.  This must be a particularly favourable ford, else
the hostiles would try some other, if they knew of any in the
immediate vicinity.

It was necessary to check this advance, if he expected to save the
dear ones with him.  The moment, therefore, he made sure of the
object approaching, he sighted as best he could and blazed away,
instantly shifting his own position, to escape the return shot which
he knew would be quick in coming.

It was well he did so, for the flash and report of several rifles and
the whistling of the bullets told of the peril escaped by a very
narrow chance.

There was no reason to believe that his own shot had been fatal, for
there was no outcry, nor did the listening ear detect any splash in
the water, such as marked his first essays when in mid-stream; but he
had accomplished that which he sought--he had checked the advance,
which otherwise must have been fatal to him and his companions.  The
form of the horseman disappeared in the gloom.  He had returned to
the shore whence he came, and it was safe to conclude that he would
not soon repeat the attempt.

"What will be their next step?" was the question that presented
itself to the young defender of the ford.

It was not to be expected that they would try to cross in the face of
the certain reception that awaited them.

"They know more of the Cheyenne than we do," Brinton Kingsland
thought, "and must be aware of some place where they can reach this
side without danger.  If they do succeed in coming over, there will
be trouble."

He dared not wait long, for nothing was to be gained, while he ran
the risk of losing everything.  Only the sound of the rushing water,
the crunching of the ice, reached his ear.  Rising to his feet and
peering into the gloom, he could discern nothing of his foes.

"There's no need of my staying here," he decided, starting along the
stream in quest of his parents.

When he had passed a hundred yards without seeing them, he was
astonished.  Another hundred, and still they were invisible, and the
cautious signals he made remained unanswered.



CHAPTER VI.

"AY, WHERE WERE THEY?"

By the unaccountable disappearance of his parents and the horses,
Brinton was left in a state rather of perplexity than alarm.  The
time was so brief since they left him, that he could not understand
how they had gone far, nor why they did not answer the guarded calls
he made.

He noticed that when in obedience to his urgent entreaties the couple
rode away, followed by his own pony, they went down stream, that is,
in the direction of the current.  Surely they could not have passed
any distance, and he believed they heard his voice when, making a
funnel with his mittened hands, he pronounced the words--

"Father!  Mother! where are you?"

If they did not reply, it was because of the danger involved in doing
so.  It was incautious on his part to shout, even in a suppressed
voice, at such a time.

The bank on his left was a little higher than his head, and so
sloping that the horses could climb out with little effort; but, as
will be recalled, the night was unusually dark, and he might pass
over the plainest trail without knowing it.

He ran some distance further, keeping close to the water, but still
failed to find them.

"They have climbed out of the bed of the stream; something unexpected
has occurred, or they would not leave me in this manner."

He felt his way to the bank, and easily placed himself upon the level
ground above.  There he strove to pierce the gloom, but nothing
rewarded the effort.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" he muttered, "if this isn't the greatest
surprise I ever knew.  It looks as if the ground had opened and
swallowed them."

In the northern sky the heavy gloom was relieved by a faint glow,
which at first he took for the aurora borealis, but a few minutes'
scrutiny convinced him that it was the light of some burning
building, the dwelling evidently of some ranchman, whose family had
probably paid with their lives the penalty of tarrying too long.

"A few hours more, and father, mother, and Edith would have shared
the same fate.  It may still be theirs to do so."

The sound of a whinny from behind caused him to turn his head.  He
could see nothing, but he was sure that it was one of his father's
ponies that thus made known his presence.

It would have been the height of imprudence, however, had he acted
upon such a belief, after what had so recently occurred, and when a
safe and certain test was at his command.

He emitted a low tremulous whistle of such a musical tone that it
reached a goodly distance in spite of the gale.

"That can be heard further than the neigh, and, if it finds the ear
of Jack, no one can restrain him from coming to me."

But though the call was repeated there was no response.  The alarming
conclusion was unavoidable: the sound had been made by an Indian pony
near at hand.

Aware that his own situation, despite the darkness, was perilous, the
youth sat down on the frosty earth, near the edge of the bank, until
he could gain some idea of his bearings.

Within the next ten seconds the whinny was repeated, and this time
seemingly within a dozen feet, but below the bank, and consequently
between him and the water.

He knew what it meant: the hostiles had crossed the stream lower
down, and were ascending it in the search for the fugitives.  But for
the fact that one of their ponies showed a strange lack of training,
the youth would have run right into them.

It might be that the reckless horse was a captured one!

They were so close, however, that Brinton did not dare to flee,
especially as he did not know in which direction safety lay.  He lay
flat on the earth, with his head just above the edge of the bank, so
that had there been any light he could have seen what was going on
below.

It is rare that a night is totally devoid of the least ray of
illumination.  Brinton, therefore, could never believe he was
mistaken when, peering down into the gloom, he fancied he discerned
the shadowy outlines of a horseman move slowly in front of him, like
the figure of the magic lantern.  It melted in the gloom, and then
came another and another, until he counted six.  The sounds of the
hoofs on the hard ground removed the doubt which otherwise he might
have felt.

"The same party," was his thought; "one is missing, and, if I am not
mistaken, I had something to do with his disappearance."

A different noise came to his ears.  One of the bucks was making his
pony climb the bank where the slope was abrupt.  The labour was hard,
but after a strenuous effort he stood on the earth above.  He was
followed by the others in Indian file, the ascent taking but a few
minutes.

The disturbing feature about this business was that the whole party
had climbed the bank within a dozen feet of where Brinton was lying,
and they halted when so near that he was half afraid some of the
horses might step on him.

Had there been any light in the sky he would have felt they were
trifling with him, as a cat plays with a mouse.

But, if the hostiles could not see or detect his presence, their
horses were sure to discover that a stranger was near.

"It's too bad!" thought Brinton, who, believing that his own people
were safe, was able to give more thought to himself; "it looks as if
there's no getting rid of them.  I think this is a good time for me
to leave."

For a single moment he was certain he was discovered.  One of the
warriors uttered an exclamation, and a slight sound showed that he
had dropped from his horse to the ground.  The youth was on the point
of rolling over the edge of the bank and taking to his heels, in the
hope that the darkness would allow him to escape, when, to his
dismay, a tiny point of light flashed out of the gloom.

One of the hostiles had dismounted to light a cigarette, placing
himself so that his horse's body kept off the wind.

Brinton's position gave him a good view of the operation.  The savage
drew the match along a portion of his blanket.  The youth saw the
slight streak of light and heard the tiny sharp explosion followed by
the bursting into flame.  The buck shielded it with his curving
hands, which were raised to meet the stooping head, as it bent
forward with the cigarette between the lips.

The glare of the diminutive flame gave a peculiar tint to the
fingers, which caused them to glow as if with heat.  Then the
reflection showed the arched nose, the broad face, the serpent-like
eyes, and a few straggling hairs on the upper lip, with a glimpse of
the dangling locks, thrown forward by the stoop of the head.

The glimpse was momentary, but it was clear enough for Brinton to
recognise the young Indian as Wolf Ear, who he knew was fond of
cigarette smoking, that being one of the habits he had acquired among
civilised folk.

"I am sorry it wasn't _you_ I shot from his horse in mid-stream," was
the resentful reflection of him who had once been a devoted friend of
the Ogalalla.

The cigarette being lighted, the buck vaulted upon the back of his
pony, where he could be seen by the fiery tip in the dense darkness.

Brinton wondered why the group of horsemen remained where they were,
instead of riding away.  That, like many other actions of theirs, was
incomprehensible to him.

But while he lay flat on the ground, debating what he should next do,
if indeed he could do anything, he was frightened by the discovery
that gradually but surely the figures of the Indians and their ponies
were coming into view.

The explanation was that the sky, which had been overcast all day and
a portion of the night, was slightly clearing--not to any extent, but
enough to increase the peril of his own situation to an alarming
extent.

"It won't do to stay here any longer; I wonder why they have not
discovered me before; they will do it in five minutes, if I remain."

His position was an awkward one for the movement necessary, but he
had no choice, and he began stealthily working himself to the edge of
the bank, with the purpose of letting himself noiselessly over to
where he would be concealed from sight.  All might have gone well had
he not forgotten a simple thing.  The edge of the bank gave under his
weight, and he slid downwards, as if taking a plunge into the river,
with the dirt rattling after him.

The noise, slight as it was, was certain to attract the notice of the
Indians, a few feet away.  Brinton knew this, and he did not wait to
see the results.  With the nimbleness of a cat, he turned at the
moment of striking the bottom of the low cliff, and bounding to his
feet, ran along below the bank at his utmost speed.

Had he continued his flight, quick disaster must have followed; but
with a thoughtfulness and self-possession hardly to be expected, he
abruptly stopped after running a hundred feet and again threw himself
on his face, at the bottom of the bank, and as close to its base as
it was possible for him to lie.

He knew that he could reach this point before the hostiles would
comprehend what had taken place, and consequently before they would
attempt to pursue him.  Since he had no chance against their fleet
ponies, he would have been speedily run down had he continued his
flight down the river bed, for he heard the sound of their hoofs as
they dashed after him.

The pursuers were cunning.  Their ears had told them the course he
had taken.  Several forced their animals down the bank, to prevent
his turning back over his own trail, while the others galloped close
to the edge above, all the party taking the same direction.  Thus it
would seem that but one desperate hope remained to him, which was to
dash into the river and struggle to the other side.  But the splash
would betray him.  The water was probably deep enough to force him to
swim.  With the thermometer below zero, and encumbered by his
clothing, he must perish with cold, if he did not drown.

Where then was the hope of eluding the hostiles, who were clinging so
persistently to his track?

There was none excepting in the trick to which he had resorted, and
Brinton knew it.

He was no more than fairly nestled in his hiding-place, when the
clatter of hoofs showed that one of the horsemen was almost upon him.
He could only hug the base of the bank, and pray for the danger to
pass.  It did pass, but it was sure speedily to return.  It was this
belief which led the youth to resort to another artifice, that would
have done credit to an experienced ranger of the plains.

Instead of turning about and running upstream under the bank, he
waited until the horsemen above had also passed, and were invisible
in the gloom.  Then he hastily clambered up the slight bluff,
rattling down the dirt again in a way that sent a shiver through him.
Had they been as near as before, they must have certainly discovered
him; but if the noise or the crumbling dirt reached the ears of any,
they supposed it was caused by some of their companions, for no
effort at investigation was made.

Upon solid ground once more, Brinton sped straight out over the
plain, and directly away from the river, until he dared to pause,
look around and listen.

He saw and heard nothing to renew his fear.

"Can it be that I have shaken them off at last?" he asked himself;
"it begins to look like it.  Where under heaven can the folk be?  I
hope they have pushed toward the Agency, and nothing will happen to
them."

Now it was that he detected something, so faint and indistinct that
at first he could not identify it; but, while he wondered and
listened, it resolved itself into the sounds of a horse's hoofs.
They were not such as are made by an animal galloping or trotting,
but by walking.  Furthermore, he heard but the one series of
footfalls.

A sudden impulse led Brinton to repeat the whistle which he had
vainly emitted some time before, when groping along the bank of the
Big Cheyenne.  Instantly a faint neigh answered, and a pony assumed
shape in the darkness as he approached on a joyous trot.

"My own Jack!" exclaimed the overjoyed youth, flinging his arms about
the neck of his favourite and kissing his silken nose; "Heaven be
thanked that you are restored to me at last.  But where are the folk?"

Ay, where were they?



CHAPTER VII.

"IT CAME LIKE ONE OF THEM KANSAN CYCLONES."

As he was on the point of giving up all hope of ever seeing him
again, Brinton Kingsland was naturally overjoyed at meeting his
favourite pony.  The situation of the young man would have proved a
sad one, had he been compelled to wander over the prairie on foot,
for he would have been liable to encounter hostiles at any moment.

With the coming of daylight, he could hardly expect to avoid
detection by some of the numerous bands galloping hither and thither,
ready to pounce upon any defenceless settlers, or to cut off the
squads of scouts and soldiers whenever there was a chance of doing so
with little peril to themselves.

And Jack showed as much delight as his master.  He thrust his nose
forward, and whinnied softly in response to the endearments of
Brinton.  Doubtless he had been searching for him for some time.

"I tell you, old boy, there are only three persons whom I would
rather see just now than you; I won't mention their names, for you
know them as well as I do.  Where are they?  Surely they can't be far
off."

An examination of the horse disclosed that his saddle and bridle were
intact, thus proving that he had not been in the hands of any
enemies, who indeed would not have allowed him to stray off in this
fashion.

Brinton placed his foot in the stirrup, and swung himself astride of
the intelligent beast, who capered with pleasure at feeling his
master once more in the saddle.

Now that such good fortune had come to the youth, he grew anxious
about the dear ones from whom he had been so strangely separated.

There was something in the way in which they had drifted apart that
perplexed him.  The interval in which it occurred was so brief that
he could not believe they were far asunder.  The arrival of Jack
strengthened this belief, and now that he was in the saddle again, he
peered around in the gloom, half expecting their forms to take shape
and come forward to greet him.

The partial clearing of the sky continued.  No snow-flakes drifted
against him, but the moaning wind was as biting and frigid as ever.
The straining gaze, however, could see nothing of horse or person,
though he clung to the belief that they were not far away.

But with that conviction came the other of the nearness of the
dreaded red men.  He had left them on the bank of the Big Cheyenne,
which was not distant; and, failing to find him there, it was natural
for them to suspect the trick by which he had escaped.

But nothing was to be done by sitting motionless on his horse.  He
ventured to pronounce the name of his father, and then his mother,
increasing the loudness of the tone to an imprudent degree.  This was
done repeatedly, but no answering call was borne back to him.

Sound could not travel far against the wind on such a blustery night,
and they might be within a hundred yards without his being able to
hear them or they to hear him.

He had absolutely no guide or clue, and despair began to creep into
his heart.  He asked himself what the result was to be if the aimless
wandering should continue through the night.

With the rise of the sun, Pine Ridge would be still a good day's ride
away, and it was too much to hope that they would be permitted to
gallop unchallenged through the reservation.

"Jack," said he, addressing his pony in the odd familiar way to which
he was accustomed, "I can do nothing; you will have to help us out.
So now show what you can do."

Whether the sagacious animal understood what was asked of him can
only be conjectured, but he acted as if he did.  He threw up his
head, sniffed the air, pricked his ears, and started off at an easy
swinging gallop.

Brinton's heart rose with hope.

"He must know where he came from; a horse can teach the best hunter
at such a time, and Jack understands what he is doing."

The pony cantered but a comparatively short way, when he dropped to a
rapid walk, which grew slower every moment.  It was interesting to
see him turn his head and look from side to side, for all the world
as if searching for something which he was surprised he did not find.

"You must be near the spot," said his master; "don't make any mistake
now, my boy."

He came to a standstill, still turning his head from side to side, as
if examining every point in sight.  There could be no doubt that he
was disappointed, as naturally was his rider also.

"I know this is the spot where you left them to join me, but they are
gone.  I can do nothing: everything depends on you, Jack, and you
must not fail me."

He resumed his deliberate walk, which was continued for only a short
distance.  When he halted finally, his actions said as plainly as
words--

"I give it up!  I've done my best, and, like you, am at my wits' end."

For a second time Brinton pronounced the names of the loved ones, and
while doing so, Jack took three or four additional steps, then
halted, threw up his head, snorted, and trembled.

These signs were unmistakable: he had discovered something.  His
master urged him forward.  He obeyed to the extent of a couple of
steps, and then refused to go further.  Not only that, but he shied
to the left, and trembled more than before.

Brinton soothed him, and then leaned over the saddle and looked into
the gloom; and, as he did so, he almost fell from his seat, because
of the shock and faintness from what he saw.

The first glance told him that _something_ was stretched on the
frozen earth but a short distance away.  Further scrutiny revealed
that it was a man, lying motionless at full length.

"It is father!" was the thought of the son, who was out of the saddle
in a twinkling, and running forward.

It was not the body of Hugh Kingsland, but of a stranger.  He had
been a powerful man, who had made a brave fight, and had only yielded
to superior numbers.

Brinton did not attempt any examination in the darkness, for there
was no need to do so.  He uttered a prayer for the unfortunate one,
and for those whom he must have left behind him, and added--

"Thank Heaven, it is not father!  But who can say how soon he, too,
shall not be thus cut down with mother and little Edith?"

He remembered that although this tragedy had taken place so near him,
and within the last hour or two, he had heard no reports of guns nor
any sounds of conflict.  That, however, was accounted for by the
direction of the wind, as already explained.

Really nothing seemed left for him to do.  He had done everything in
his power to find his friends and failed.  As long as night continued
the faculty of vision was useless to him.

"Well, Jack," he said despairingly, "do as you choose; I am helpless."

As if in sympathy with his young master, the pony moved off on a slow
walk, which he continued until, by some means, which Brinton hardly
understood, he clambered down into a gully, similar to the arroya in
which they had taken shelter that afternoon.  In doing this, it is
probable that the animal was guided by that instinct which prompts
his kind to seek shelter from the severity of the weather, for the
refuge was a welcome one to the rider as well as himself.

On the way thither and after arriving there, Brinton signalled and
called repeatedly to his parents.  The continued failure to bring a
reply led him to decide that nothing more could be done before
morning.

He flung himself off his pony, and made ready to remain where he was
until then.  The gully was narrow, and the banks at the point where
he drew rein were high enough to shut out the gale.  Food for himself
and horse was out of the question, and neither was suffering for want
of it.  The Big Cheyenne had given to them all the water they wanted;
and physically, therefore, nothing in their condition was specially
unpleasant.

It would have been a great comfort to have had a fire by which to
nestle down, but two causes rendered this impossible: no material was
within reach, and, if there had been, he would not have dared to
kindle it.

Jack's saddle was removed, and, in obedience to the command of his
master, he lay down on the flinty earth, while Brinton disposed
himself so as to receive a part of the warmth of his body.  Thus,
with the help of his own thick clothing, his situation was more
comfortable than would be supposed.

Despite his worry and anxiety, he soon fell asleep, and did not open
his eyes again until the grey light of the wintry morning was
stealing through the gully.  He was chilled and cramped by his
exposure, but leaping to his feet, he soon restored his benumbed
circulation.  Jack, seeing his master astir, sprang up, and looked at
him as if to announce that he was ready for any work that was before
them.

"Well, my boy, we shall have to go without our breakfast, but you and
I can stand that, I reckon, for this thing must end before we are
many hours older----"

"Well, I'll be shot!"

The exclamation was uttered by a horseman, who at that moment rode
into sight in the gully and checked his animal only a couple of rods
distant, adding--

"I didn't expect to meet you here, Brint; where are the rest of the
folk?"

"That's what I would like to know; I am worried to death, Nick; can't
you help us?"

"I'll do anything I can, my lad, but what is it?"

The newcomer was Nicholas Jackson, serving as a scout for General
Miles.  It will be remembered that it was he who stopped at the home
of the Kingslands a short time before and warned them of their
danger.  Had his advice been heeded, they would not have been in such
sore straits at this time.

Brinton quickly told of his strange experience of the night before
and his perplexity as to what he should do.

"I don't think anything has happened to them," was the reassuring
response of Jackson, "for the darkness was in their favour.  They are
hiding somewhere in these gullies, just as you did, and dare not show
themselves."

"But how are we to find them?"

"There's only one way I know of--look for them."

"What are you doing here, Nick?"

"We learned at Wounded Knee that a company with supplies was to come
from Rapid City, and I have been sent out on a scout; an escort is
coming to bring them into camp.  You have heard of the battle at
Wounded Knee Creek, I suppose?"

"Not a word."

The old scout compressed his lips and shook his head.

"I have been in a good many scrimmages under Generals Crook and
Miles, but that was the hottest half-hour I ever spent."

"How was it, Nick?"

"You know that the hostiles have been gathering in the Bad Lands ever
since this trouble began.  We have them pretty well surrounded, but
there must be a big fight before we wind up this serious business.
Two days before Christmas word reached us that three thousand
Indians, including six hundred bucks, were there.  You can understand
how much relief it was, therefore, to learn that Big Foot, with a lot
of Sitting Bull's fugitives on Cherry Creek Reservation, had
surrendered to Colonel Sumner.

"That was all well enough, but while conducting the band of two
hundred to the Missouri, the next day, the whole lot escaped and
hurried south to join Kicking Bear and the rest of the hostiles.
_Then_ the trouble began.

"Four days later Little Bat, one of our Indian scouts, discovered Big
Foot and his band eight miles north of Major Whiteside's camp on
Wounded Knee Creek, and four troops of the Seventh Cavalry started
for them, with me among 'em.

"As the hostiles spied us they formed a long battle line, all with
guns and knives, the knives being in their cartridge belts outside
their blankets.

"I tell you, Brint, things looked squally.  We could see the gleam of
their black eyes, and the way they scowled and glared at us showed
that nothing would suit 'em better than to drive their knives to the
hilts into every one of us.

"But Major Whiteside meant business.  He drew us up, too, in battle
line.  Just then Big Foot was seen coming forward on foot.  The major
dropped down from his saddle and went forward to meet him.

"'Me ill,' said Big Foot, 'me want peace--my people want peace----'

"The major was impatient.

"'I won't talk or parley with you,' he broke in; 'it is surrender or
fight; I await your answer.'

"'We surrender--we done so before, but could not find you,' said Big
Foot.

"I had my eye on the chief, who just then turned and motioned with
his arm to his own battle line.  They seemed to be looking for the
signal, 'cause the white flag was shown at once.  We rode forward
quick like and surrounded them, and a courier was sent off post haste
for four troops of the Seventh, and Leftenant Taylor's scouts to help
guard and disarm the party.  They arrived the same day.  Big Foot had
one hundred and fifty warriors fully armed, with two hundred and
fifty squaws and many children.  Despite the surrender, we all knowed
trouble was coming, and it was not long before it came, like one of
them Kansan cyclones."



CHAPTER VIII.

"THE BUCKS WERE COMING UP ALARMINGLY FAST."

"When General Forsyth arrived," continued the scout, in his
description of the battle of Wounded Knee Creek, "he ordered the male
Indians to come for a talk.  They come out, scowling and sullen, and
gathered in a half-circle in front of Big Foot's tent.  The chief was
inside, ill with pneumonia.

"The general told them they must surrender their arms in groups of
twenty.  By this time they were thoroughly enraged, but most of our
boys thought they were so cowed they would obey without much trouble.
I didn't like their looks, and told Jenkins at my side to hold
himself ready, for I believed them fellows meant mischief, and a
fight was sure.

"'I guess not,' he answered; 'they're obeying orders.'

"The first score slunk back without a word.  We waited a long while,
and by-and-by they came out agin, and how many guns do you 'spose
they brought with 'em.  Just two miserable pieces, worth so much old
iron.

"The major was impatient because of the delay, and, when he saw this,
he too was angry.  He turned and talked a few minutes with General
Forsyth, both speaking so low that I couldn't catch what they said,
though I seen the general was as angry as the major, but he kept
cool.  You see, the major was managing the business, but he made sure
that everything was done as General Forsyth wanted.

"The cavalry was now ordered to dismount, and they done so, forming a
square about fifty feet back and closed in, standing within a
half-dozen yards of the Indians that was in the centre.

"It was plain that the latter didn't mean to obey orders, though they
pretended to.  Accordingly a body of cavalry was sent to make the
search themselves.  When they came out, which they did in a few
minutes, they brought sixty good rifles with 'em.  That was doing the
business up in style; but the general and the major didn't intend
there should be any half-way work about it.  The soldiers were
directed to search the bucks themselves, for there was no doubt that
all of 'em had their guns hid under their blankets.

"The Sioux stood scowling, ugly and savage.  When about a dozen had
been searched and their rifles brought out, they couldn't stand it.
They were furious.  Like a flash, the rest of 'em whipped out their
guns from under their blankets and let fly at us.  It was so sudden
that before we knew what it meant, a hundred guns had been fired, and
the reports sounded like one volley.

"It was all done in a twinkling.  There we were, close enough almost
to touch the redskins, and the flash of their rifles was right in our
faces.  I remember that I was looking into the muzzle of one of 'em,
when the gun went off, and I felt the bullet nip my ear; but others
weren't so fortunate, and the poor boys dropped as though so many
thunderbolts had fallen among 'em.

"It didn't take us long, howsumever, to get in _our_ work.

"I can tell you," added Scout Jackson, "there were lively times for
twenty minutes or half an hour.  During the battle we stood off some
distance when firing at each other, but it was like you and me
standing near enough almost to shake hands, and blazing away.  Them
redskins fought hard.  It was bang, bang, with the soldiers dropping
all around, and no saying when your own turn was to come.

"But the hostiles got the worst of it.  Some of 'em, seeing how it
was going, broke through our lines and dashed for the hills to the
south-west.  We followed 'em, and the fighting kept up as bad as
ever, though the shots wasn't so rapid.  We lost about thirty, and
more than that wounded, and of them some are likely to die."

"Where were the squaws and children during the fight?" asked Brinton.

An expression of scorn passed over the face of the scout as he made
answer--

"Where was they?  Fighting like so many wild cats.  You'll be told
that we chased and shot down women and children.  There's no question
that a big lot of 'em was killed, and how was it to be helped?  Them
squaws was dressed so much like the bucks that you couldn't be
certain which was which.  From the way they fought, you might have
believed each one was ten bucks rolled into one.

"But of course we cleaned 'em out, for that's what the Seventh always
does, when it undertakes that sort of thing; from what I've told you,
you'll know there was hot work for a time.  A youngster about like
yourself had charge of a Hotchkiss gun.  and the way he handled that
all through the fight made us feel like cheering, even when we didn't
dare to stop shooting long enough to do so.

"When the Sioux fled, this youngster dragged his gun from the knoll
where he had been stationed.  Leftenant Hawthorne was at his side,
and the fighting had become skirmishing on the crests of the ravines,
where Big Foot's band had taken refuge.  The bullets were singing and
whistling through the air, but that boy wheeled his Hotchkiss to the
mouth of the gulch, where the firing was the heaviest.  The minute he
done that, he and the men attached to the gun become the targets of
the Indians, who was determined to shoot 'em down.  The bullets
splintered the wheels of the gun, and sent the dirt flying right and
left and in the air.  A ball struck Leftenant Hawthorne's watch,
glanced off, and wounded him; but the youngster pushed the gun
forward and shelled the pockets in the ravines.

"That boy kept it up, pushing steadily on and sending the shells
wherever they could do the most harm.  When the battle was over, he
was found wounded, leaning against the shattered wheel of his gun,
too weak to stand erect.  Big Foot was among the killed."

Brinton Kingsland was so interested in the story of his companion,
who was too modest to dwell upon his own exploits, that he forgot for
a few minutes his own situation and the absence of his friends.  With
only a brief comment on what had been told him, he said, starting up--

"But, Nick, of what have I been thinking?  Here the morning is fully
come, and I have not learned anything of father, mother, and Edith.
How could I forget them so long?"

"It was my fault more than yours," replied Jackson; "there's nothing
to be made by staying here; let's ride out of the gully and look
around; I've had a bite, and have something left over; will you have
it?"

"Not just now," replied Brinton, as he rode side by side with him out
of the depression where he had spent the night.

Reaching the higher ground, they looked over the surrounding country.
The youth gave his chief attention to the rear--that is, in the
direction of the Big Cheyenne, for he believed that Wolf Ear and the
other hostiles were not far off.  But, if so, they were not in sight.

The scout, however, had discovered something in front, and at a
considerable distance, which interested him.  Shading his eyes with
one hand, he gazed intently toward the north.

"By gracious!" he exclaimed, "I believe that's them."

"Where?" eagerly asked his companion.

"I don't mean your folk, but that waggon train with supplies from
Rapid City."

Brinton's heart sank, for his hopes had been high; but he found some
consolation, after all, in the declaration of the scout.

A mile away, across the prairie, a party seemed to be preparing to
leave camp.  At that distance it was impossible to identify them, but
Jackson was positive that they were the train in search of which he
had left the camp at Wounded Knee.

Brinton's hope was that his parents were with them.  It would have
been hard for him to explain just why his hope was so strong in this
respect, but it seemed reasonable to suspect that the light of the
camp had attracted their notice during the darkness, and that they
had gone thither, after finding it impossible to rejoin him.

The real, but slight, ground on which he based this fancy was that
his pony Jack had been found while he, his owner, was travelling in a
direct line from the Big Cheyenne toward the camp.  Since the animal
must have kept company for a time with the other two, the Kingslands
had continued the same course, and might have descried the twinkle of
the camp fire.

"I myself would have seen it, had I not ridden the other way and gone
into the gully, where I couldn't detect anything a dozen feet away."

"Yes, I'm almost sure it's them," added Jackson, after further
studying the camp; "let's find out."

The proposition suited Brinton, and the two headed their ponies
toward the camp.

Although at the moment of starting there was no danger in sight, and
the supply train did not seem to have been disturbed, Nicholas
Jackson was too experienced to forget every precaution, and while he
studied the scene in front, he kept glancing toward the other parts
of the compass.

And it was well he did so, for a few hundred yards only were passed
when he said in a low voice, in which no excitement could be noted--

"It looks as if them bucks would like to j'in our company."

Brinton glanced back, and saw the half-dozen hostiles with whom he
had had his stirring experiences the night before dashing towards
them from the direction of the Cheyenne.

There was no need to engage them in a fight: indeed, it would have
been the height of imprudence to do so.  Jackson and Brinton were
well mounted, and they instantly struck their horses into a run.  The
Indians shouted on perceiving that they were discovered, and they
also urged on their animals.  Several shots were fired, but the
distance was too great to do execution.

The race had continued but a little while when it became apparent
that the pursuers were gaining, Jackson's horse was doing his best,
but Brinton's was not.  He could draw away from the Indian ponies,
but his rider held him back to keep the scout company.

The chase could not last long, for the camp was comparatively near at
hand, but the bucks were coming up alarmingly fast.

"There's no use of both of us being overhauled," said Jackson; "ride
ahead and save yourself."

"But I can't desert you."

"Faugh! don't be foolish; you can't help me, and you're sure to be
shot if you stay; off with you!"

"But what will become of you?"

"That's nothing to you; it looks as if I must bid you good-bye;
Billberry has gone lame, but I'll make the best fight I can, and if I
go down, some of 'em have got to go with me."

Brinton was much perplexed what to do, but he knew that the question
of life and death must be decided within the next few seconds.



CHAPTER IX.

"HE HAS MADE HIS LAST SCOUT."

The perplexing question was settled by Brinton Kingsland's pony
taking his bit in his mouth and speeding towards the camp of the
supply train, as if driven by a hurricane.

The youth could not but feel conscience-smitten at this apparent
desertion of a comrade in dire extremity, but there was no help for
it.  Besides, Jackson was right when he urged Brinton to lose no time
in saving himself, since it was out of his power to help the
imperilled scout.

The pursuing hostiles had now approached near enough to make their
shots effective.  The whistling bullets warned Brinton of his danger,
so he threw himself forward on the neck of his pony, who rushed ahead
with arrowy swiftness.

The clatter of hoofs made young Kingsland glance to his left: there
was Billberry, the scout's steed, with neck outstretched, going madly
on.

He had been touched by one of the flying bullets, and in his panic
forgot the weak leg that already had delayed him to a fatal extent.
His desperate burst of speed brought him alongside of Jack, whose
rider, to his amazement, saw him shoot ahead at a pace which none of
his kind could surpass, and none there could equal.

But his bridle-reins and stirrup-straps were flying in the gale
caused by his own tremendous swiftness.  Brave Nick Jackson had been
shot from the back, and was fighting his last fight.

Brinton Kingsland tugged at the rein of Jack, and shouted a savage
command in the same breath, The pony would not stop, but, slackening
his speed, described a circle, which brought him round with his head
toward the pursuers.

Pierced by one of the balls of the bucks, the scout fell from his
saddle, but, recovering himself with wonderful dexterity, turned
about, and with levelled Winchester bravely faced his foes.

The shots were rapid on both sides, and those of Jackson did much
execution.  But his fate was sealed from the first, and none knew it
better than he.

"I can't stand that!" muttered young Kingsland, the moment he
succeeded in facing Jack the other way; "I have already played the
coward, though, heaven knows, I couldn't help it."

Something of his daring seemed to tingle in the veins of his pony;
for, now that he was urged to return, he headed straight for the
group of combatants, and shot forward at full speed.

Meanwhile the members of the supply train were not idle.  They had
descried the coming of two horsemen from afar, and were quick to
recognise them as friends.

Had there been any doubt, it vanished at sight of the pursuing
Indians behind them.  Three were in the saddle in an instant, and
scurrying away to the relief of the solitary man fighting for his
life.

Brinton was not aware they were at his heels.  He mistook the sound
of their horses' hoofs for that of Jackson's animal, who, he
supposed, had turned, and was rushing into the heart of the peril, as
his kind will do when forced out of a burning building.

The first warning the youth received of the true state of affairs was
when the approaching horsemen fired from behind him at the group
crowding around and pressing the scout so sorely.  But the hostiles
were quicker than he to see their peril.  They wheeled hastily, and,
flinging themselves over the necks of their ponies, skurried in the
direction of the Cheyenne.

It is the custom of the American Indians to carry off their dead and
wounded.  The latter probably looked after themselves in this
instance, but in their haste the two that had fallen by the hand of
Nick Jackson were left stretched on the ground.

An extraordinary incident now took place.  In the furious struggle
one of the hostiles had become dismounted.  Disregarding the fate of
his companions, or probably seeing that the brave scout had become so
weakened that the peril no longer existed, he leaped from the back of
his pony and dashed forward to give the white man his
finishing-stroke.  Before he could do this, the relief party were so
close that he did not dare to tarry.  He turned to remount his pony,
but the animal had become panic-stricken in the flurry--it may have
been that he was struck by a bullet--and was galloping off, as if for
his own life.  Furthermore, he made straight for the camp of the
supply train, so that his capture was impossible.

But there were two other animals that had lost their riders, and, if
he could secure one of these, he might yet save himself.

They, however, were galloping among the others riding for life toward
the Big Cheyenne.  The bucks, with less chivalry than the youth had
shown in similar circumstances, gave no heed to the peril of their
dismounted comrade, but sped across the prairie at the utmost speed
of which they were capable.

Among them was possibly one who, seeing that the whites, instead of
keeping up the pursuit, had halted around the fallen scout, gave a
little thought to their comrade.  This friend would not turn back
himself, nor did any of the others do so, but with the palm of his
hand the former smote one of the riderless ponies across the eyes and
shouted a command in his ear.  The horse checked himself with a cry
of pain, reared, shook his head, and then, dropping out of the group
running close together, wheeled and trotted toward the dismounted
Indian.

The latter gave a thrilling exhibition of running.  He saw that his
only hope lay in reaching one of the ponies of his comrades that had
basely deserted him, since to undertake to recapture his own animal
must take him into the camp of his enemies.  He therefore exerted
himself to the utmost to overtake the party before the whites could
overtake him.

Had there been none interested besides the three members of the
supply train, all would have gone well with the buck, for, as we have
said, they gathered around the fallen scout and gave their whole
attention to him.  But there was another, who resolved that this
miscreant should pay for his unpardonable barbarity to a brave and
fallen enemy.  That one was Brinton Kingsland.

Quick to grasp the situation, after finding himself too late to help
poor Jackson, he noted the solitary Indian, and believing him to be
the one who had laid the scout low (though if he had not struck the
actual blow, he was equally guilty), he compressed his lips and
muttered--

"I'll teach you a lesson, you assassin!"

The redskin, as he ran, grasped his Winchester in his right hand in a
trailing position.  The heavy blanket was secured at the throat by
some fastening that held it in place.  The lower portion streamed out
over his back, as did his long black hair, in the wind created by his
own fleetness, while his leggings doubled and twinkled so fast that
they resembled the spokes of a swiftly-revolving wheel He was,
indeed, running with astonishing speed.

"Now, Jack, do your best!  There isn't any time to lose, and you are
not going to let a miserable redskin outspeed you."

The pony flung up his head, snuffed the air, stretched out his neck,
and away he went with arrowy swiftness.  He knew what was wanted of
him, and was not the one to shirk his duty.

It was at this juncture that the fugitive, going like a whirlwind,
turned his head for an instant and glanced back Brinton was watching
him, and saw the scowling face glaring like a wild beast through the
thicket of flying hair.

"Great heavens! it's Wolf Ear!"

During these exciting minutes the youth had forgotten about the young
Ogalalla, until this glimpse of the well-remembered features told him
the startling truth.  The shock caused him involuntarily to tighten
the rein of Jack, and the animal, obedient as he generally was,
instantly slackened his pace.

But the hesitation was for a few seconds only.  Brinton felt that he
ought not to have been surprised after the events of the preceding
day and night.

"He deserves death more than any of the rest, for his knowledge has
been greater than theirs, and his excuse is less.  I'll run him down
and make him prisoner."

Again he spoke sharply to Jack and twitched the rein.  The noble
animal stretched away with the same graceful swiftness he had shown
from the first.

But the Ogalalla was cunning.  He had seen the Indian pony as it
withdrew from the rest and came trotting toward him in a bewildered
way, as though not quite understanding what it meant; but if the
animal was perplexed, Wolf Ear was not.  He read the meaning aright,
and saw that one desperate chance remained.  If he could hurl himself
upon the back of that same steed before the white youth overhauled
him, the prospect was good for his ultimate escape.

Brinton comprehended everything as vividly as he, and did not spare
Jack.  He aimed to interpose himself between Wolf Ear and his pony,
and thus prevent their meeting.  Every nerve and muscle was strained
to accomplish that end.

Young Kingsland was already close enough to shoot down the fugitive,
and he felt he deserved to be laid low, but, as we have shown, such
was not his purpose.  An indefinable dislike to slay a foe, even
though ferocious and guilty, prevented his firing the shot that would
speedily have ended it all.

The rest of the hostiles had disappeared over a swell of the plain
and were out of reach.

Why did not Wolf Ear, when he saw he could not reach his pony in
time, halt and bring his gun to bear on his fierce pursuer?

He did.  The cunning fellow, almost within reach of the pony, and at
the moment when his heart was beating high with hope, saw everything
frustrated by the action of the animal.  The sight of a person coming
toward him at such terrific speed, even though belonging to the race
to which he was accustomed, was too disturbing to be accepted with
serenity.  He raised his head as he came to a halt, surveyed the
bounding figure, and then, with a snort of affright, wheeled and
trotted toward the river.

His speed was much less than that of the Ogalalla, but of necessity
it compelled the latter to run farther than he would have done had
the beast remained stationary, and it was just that brief interval of
enforced stay on the ground that told the Ogalalla the white youth
must reach him before he could overtake the pony.

"Surrender, Wolf Ear!" called Brinton; "you can't help yourself."

Evidently Wolf Ear held a different opinion, for he wheeled like
lightning, and levelled his rifle with the reply--

"That's the way _I_ surrender!  Do you surrender!"

The action was so sudden that Brinton could not forestall him.  He
was fairly caught.

It was, however, far from Brinton's thoughts to yield to this
startling command.  He flung himself over the other side of the
saddle, so as to offer as little of his body as possible to the aim
of the miscreant.  He was certain he would fire and shoot down his
horse, if not himself.  He waited with an intensity of emotion which
cannot be described.

One minute, two minutes passed, but no report came.  Then Brinton
heard the suspicious clatter of a horse's hoofs, and peeped over the
spine of Jack.  He was in time to see Wolf Ear galloping off on the
hack of the pony.  With inimitable dexterity he had secured the
animal during the brief interval at his command, and was now going
like the wind over the prairie, after his departed comrades.

The Ogalalla, however, was not too far away to shout back a taunt and
the words--

"Wise young man, my gun was not loaded, but it served me as well."

Then he whisked over the elevation and vanished.

There was no help for it, and the chagrined Brinton wheeled and
galloped toward the group whom he had left some distance behind on
the prairie.  They were riding slowly to the camp, supporting a form
between them.  Dreading the truth, Brinton held back until the others
reached the camp.  Then he rode forward and asked--

"Was Nick badly hurt?"

"He is dead; he did not speak after we reached him.  He was a brave
fellow, but he has made his last scout."

Brinton sighed, for he respected and loved the man who had thus died
for his country.

But another question was on his lips.  He looked around the camp, and
his heart sank at his failure to see any of the loved ones whom he
was so hopeful of finding there.  In a trembling voice he put the
query.

The answer was what he dreaded: they had neither seen nor did they
know anything of them.



CHAPTER X

"OH, THERE IS WOLF EAR!"

It will be remembered that when Brinton Kingsland dropped to the
ground in the gathering darkness to check the crossing of the Big
Cheyenne by the Sioux, whose leader had met him in mid-stream, he
called in an undertone to his parents to hasten out of the range of
the flying bullets; he repeated the command to his pony Jack, who
obediently trotted after them.

The father and mother, at this time, had no more thought of
separating themselves for any distance from their brave son than he
had; but two causes brought about the singular accident already
referred to.

The excited words of Brinton and the reports of the guns led the
couple to think the danger more imminent than it was.  As a
consequence, they rode farther than was necessary, but still not to a
point that ought to have caused any difficulty in their coming
together when prudent to do so.

Mr. Kingsland's pony travelled faster than that of his wife, thus
placing him a few yards in advance.  The gloom had not yet become
deep enough to prevent their seeing each other; but at a moment when
the wife was about to ask her husband to stop, she was surprised to
see him turn to the left, his pony struggling up the bank to the
level ground above.

"Why do you do that, Hugh?" she called in a guarded voice, but at
once following him.

He did not answer, but narrowly missed falling out of the saddle.
His animal continued moving away from the river-bank, and presently
struck into an easy gallop, which rapidly increased the distance from
the stream.

Mrs. Kingsland now suspected the meaning of the strange action, and
urged her pony beside that of her husband, which was going so fast
that she was obliged to travel farther than she supposed before
coming up with him.  Then, laying hold of the bridle, she brought her
husband's pony to a halt.

"What is the matter, Hugh?" she asked; "are you ill?"

"Gracious! what have I been doing?" he exclaimed, in turn bewildered,
and looking about in the darkness.

"Why, you have been trying to run away from us," said Edith, with a
laugh, believing the whole thing to be a joke on her father's part.

"You have come a good way from the riverbank," replied the disturbed
wife; "I tried to check you, but could not."

"I understand it now," said he, passing his hand across his forehead,
in the effort to collect his thoughts.  "Just after we started a
faintness seized me, and I knew nothing until this minute.  I don't
understand why I did not fell out of the saddle."

"I saw you reel, and you must have come near doing so.  How do you
feel now?"

"Much better.  Strange that I should have been attacked in that
manner; but I am sure it will not occur again.  What will Brinton
think?"

"I have heard the report of guns, but all is quiet now."

"I feel little alarm, for they will not dare to cross while he is
guarding the ford."

"Is he not in danger?"

"No; he is lying on the ground, and they cannot see him; he will hold
them at bay as long as he wishes."

"But they may come over at some other point and get behind him."

"I did not think of that," said the husband more thoughtfully; "but I
am sure he will not stay any longer than he ought.  It won't do for
us to go back, for, if the Indians do cross the river, we shall be in
their path.  It may be well to go part of the way over our own track,
so as to make it easier for him to find us.  Come on, and make no
noise."

"But you are not taking the right course," protested his wife: "you
should turn more to the left."

"I feel almost sure you are wrong; but you have had your senses about
you all the time, which is more than I have had, and I bow to your
decision."

"But, mother, you are not right," interposed Edith, now fully awake;
"you should go that way"; and she indicated a route widely different
from that of either--so different, indeed, that her mother could not
accept it.

"No, dear, you are wrong," she calmly replied.  "I will lead."

And yet there is reason to believe the child was nearer right than
either, and had her suggestion been adopted, much of what followed
might have been averted.

While they were riding, as they believed, in the direction of the Big
Cheyenne, Mr. Kingsland noticed that the pony of his son was not with
them.  His wife said that he did not come up the river-bank, and was
probably waiting for Brinton to go to him.  It will thus be seen that
the youth was wrong in his supposition about the movements of Jack.

By-and-by the time came when Mrs. Kingsland saw she had committed a
sad blunder, and, instead of approaching the river, had gone still
farther from it; they could hear nothing of its flow, and were lost
on the prairie.  Husband and wife now debated what was best to do.

It was found that when each, including Edith, named the supposed
direction to the stream, they were as widely apart as before.

"The wisest course is to stop trying to find the river," remarked the
husband, "for every effort only takes us farther away; we might as
well go into camp right here."

"And freeze to death."

"No; we will ride round until we find some shelter from this cutting
wind, and then make ourselves as comfortable as we can until morning.
Do you see that light away to the south?"

That which the ranchman observed was the glow already referred to as
attracting the notice of Brinton.  The latter saw it in its true
direction--that is, in the northern horizon, from which the
bewilderment of his parents will be evident.

In the hope of finding their way to the river the couple acted upon
what might be considered a compromise.  It is not necessary to say
that every yard thus traversed increased the space between them and
the youth who, at that moment, was groping blindly in quest of them.

The wanderings of the stray ones, however, were fortunately not long
continued, when the ponies of their own accord descended a depression
in the prairie.  It was not deep or well protected, and was not
reached until after they had passed over several elevations, but they
accepted the shelter thankfully, and dismounted.

The three were cramped from their long constraint, and Edith ran
around and here and there for some minutes before she was willing to
be tucked away for the night.  Their abundant clothing enabled them
to get along much better than might be supposed; the little one lay
between father and mother, the ponies being allowed to stay by
themselves.  As in the case of Brinton, the long wintry night passed
without disturbance or incident.

With the coming of daylight Mr. Kingsland roused himself.  Seeing his
wife and child were still sleeping, he did not awake them, and took
the best survey he could of their surroundings.

The weather was still intensely cold and the sky overcast.  A look at
his watch showed it was near eight o'clock when he clambered out of
the depression and looked about him.

The first discovery to cause surprise was the shelter that they had
enjoyed during the night.  Instead of being a ravine, like that where
Brinton had slept, this was a rough irregular excavation, some forty
or fifty feet in diameter.  The sides sloped gently, the whole
appearance being that of an immense hole left by some great explosion
of gunpowder, to which a providential chance had guided their horses.

The husband saw no sign of any living being besides those with him,
nor could he form any surmise as to the course to be taken to effect
a meeting with his son.

"What will Brinton think?  After doing so bravely the work I ought to
have done, we left him in the lurch.  We are as much lost to each
other as if in the depths of an African jungle with miles
intervening.  I can't help feeling that the top of that ridge yonder
would give me a view that would disclose something important."

He debated with himself whether it was prudent to walk thither and
obtain the coveted survey.  It was little more than a hundred yards
distant, and it did not seem that any harm could come to the loved
ones whom he would leave but a few minutes.

"I must manage to get my bearings in some way before I can do
anything.  The sun seems to be off yonder behind the clouds, but
really it appears to me as if it were in the wrong place!"

He ended the doubt by striding to the elevation, rifle in hand.
Since his faintness of the night before, he felt better and stronger
than he had for weeks, and this fact doubtless had much to do with
the feeling of self-confidence which now nerved him.

Reaching the crest of the ridge or swell in the prairie, Kingsland
was disappointed.  The same kind of view confronted him on every
hand, and he experienced a repetition of that sensation which often
comes to one in his situation: if he could only pass to the top of
the next elevation, he would obtain the view he wanted.

But Hugh Kingsland was too wise to yield to the prompting.  One
precious member of his family was already gone he knew not where, and
he would incur no risk of its being further broken up.

He was roused from his meditations in the most startling manner
conceivable, the cause being a rifle-shot, undoubtedly aimed at
himself.  On the summit of the ridge at which he was gazing, and
almost at the very point, two Indian bucks suddenly walked up from
the other side in plain sight.  While they were still ascending, and
when only their heads and waists showed, one of them brought his
rifle to his shoulder and tried his skill on the white man across the
valley-like depression.

Mr. Kingsland did not tarry long enough to reply, but hurried back to
the hollow where he had left his wife and child.  They had awakened,
but were not alarmed at his absence, the wife suspecting the cause.
She had brought out what was left of the lunch, and she and Edith
were calmly eating when he reappeared, his looks and manner showing
that he had made some terrifying discovery.

He quickly explained what had taken place, adding--

"I am in doubt whether to mount the ponies and start to flee, or to
stay where we are and try to fight them off."

"You saw only two, and they were on foot."

"But they are sure to have ponies near, and more than likely more of
the hostiles are within call."

"Let us stay here until something is learned," said the wife, showing
admirable coolness and courage.

Whether or not this was the wiser course remains to be seen, but it
was followed.  Mr. Kingsland crept to near the top of the hollow, and
lying extended at full length against the sloping bank, peered over,
with his rifle ready to fire at the first appearance of danger.  His
position was such that he could detect the approach of anyone from
that side, while his wife guarded the other in a similar manner.

The ponies having been quieted, Edith was cautioned to remain near
them, and to avoid exposing herself to any stray shots that might be
fired.  As long as she kept at the bottom of the hollow with the
animals, she and they were safe.

A full hour passed without the least sign of the hostiles.  A less
experienced person might have accepted this evidence that the danger
had passed them by; but when a second hour had worn away with the
same quietness everywhere, the husband and wife still maintained
their watchfulness.

The forenoon was half gone before this vigilance was rewarded.  Mrs.
Kingsland called to her husband that there was something suspicious
in front of her; and pausing only long enough to make sure that
nothing of the kind was immediately before him, he slipped down the
hollow and up the opposite slope to her side.

"Where is it?" he asked in an undertone.

"Just over that first swell, and a little to the left."

"I see him; keep down out of sight!"

He placed the muzzle of his repeating Winchester over the side of the
hollow, took careful aim at the rough head that had risen a few
inches above the slight swell in the prairie, and let fly.  The aim
was a perfect one, as was shown by the instant disappearance of the
crown and the cry, which from behind the elevation sounded as if much
farther off.

Instantly three or four replies came from other points along the
swell, and the bullets chipped the dirt about the face of Kingsland,
who ducked his head out of range.  Knowing, however, how much
depended on his concealing his weakness from the hostiles, he fired
four shots quickly, without special aim, and with no expectation of
accomplishing anything except that named.

"If I can make them think there are half a dozen rifles here on the
watch, they will be careful about attacking.  But they mustn't know
how weak we are."

"I don't admit that we are so weak in this hollow and with that
repeating gun, and you feeling so strong and well."

At this juncture a cry was heard from Edith.  She had forgotten the
command of her father, and crept up the opposite slope.

"Oh, there is Wolf Ear!"

And before anyone could interpose she sprang up the bank and ran
toward the ridge where her father had first seen the two hostiles.
The horrified parents at the same moment saw three other Indians dash
toward the innocent child, who never dreamed of her awful peril.

[Illustration: "'Oh, there is Wolf-Ear!'"]



CHAPTER XI.

"I'M OFF; GOOD-BYE!"

Though his brave companion had fallen almost at his side, Brinton
Kingsland had reached the camp of the supply train without receiving
so much as a scratch.  He mourned him, for he was a worthy man; but
he was heart-broken at his failure to gain tidings of his loved
parents and little sister.  He did not know what to do, and could
only fear the worst.

When he had told his story to his new friends, none of them were able
to offer any encouragement or hope.

The supply train consisted of a dozen waggons, in charge of sixteen
teamsters.  As a matter of course, all were armed, and had come thus
far without trouble.

They were making ready to resume their journey to Wounded Knee when
the affray already described took place.  This caused an hour's
delay, and now, when about to start again, the signs of danger became
so threatening, they held back for consultation.

The Indians whom they had driven from the prostrate form of Scout
Jackson reappeared on the crest of the hill over which they had
skurried, and it was noticed that their number was increased to fully
a dozen.

While the teamsters were watching them another band came into sight,
in the opposite direction.

To the dismay of the spectators, this party was more numerous than
the first.  Not only that, but both bands advanced at a slow trot,
and met at a point a couple of hundred yards distant, and in a place
over which the train would have to pass if it pushed on toward the
camp at Wounded Knee.

"Boys," said Captain Wadsworth, who was in charge of the train,
"there's going to be a fight."

"We ought to be able to keep them off," replied one of his men.

"So we shall if no more appear; but the Sioux are as thick as
berries, and by-and-by we shall have a hundred or more of them
popping away at us.  We may as well get ready for what's certain to
come."

"Jackson said something to me," observed Brinton, "about an escort
having been sent out from Wounded Knee to bring you in."

"They can't come any too soon," responded the captain, who fully
comprehended the peril; "but I'm afraid they will be too late.  Those
Indians don't let the grass grow under their feet."

The leader did not content himself with talking, but began to prepare
for the attack, which might come at any moment.  The waggons were
drawn up in a circle, in the middle of which were placed the horses.
Bags of grain, boxes and bundles, were piled on the ground underneath
the waggons.  These served as an additional protection for the
animals, and screened the men, when kneeling behind and firing at
their assailants.

The hostiles were quick to detect what was going on, and did not
allow the work to be completed without interference.  They began
circling back and forth, riding entirely around the camp and
discharging their guns at it.  The exhibition of horsemanship was a
fine one; but they kept at such a distance that their shots did
little damage.  In some way, one got through the entrenchments, as
they might be called, and slightly wounded a horse in the shoulder.
He made more fuss than if it had gone through his head, rearing,
snorting, and plunging, and throwing the rest into a panic, which
would have ended in a stampede, had they not been guarded with
unusual care.

The teamsters did not accept these unwelcome attentions meekly, but
fired at their circling assailants; the cause named, however,
prevented much success.  It looked as if one or two of the shots
inflicted damage, but not to the extent of disabling any pony or his
rider.

Standing at the rear of one of the waggons, where he could see
everything that was going on, Captain Wadsworth watched the exciting
incidents.  At his elbow was Brinton Kingsland, who did not think it
worth while to try his hand with his Winchester, though the others
were continually cracking around him.

"What is to be feared," said the captain, "is that the hostiles will
soon increase to such an extent that they will overwhelm us."

"How many do you think are out there now?" inquired Brinton.

"I should say between twenty and thirty--that is, there were a few
minutes ago, but there are five or six less now."

"What is the meaning of that?"

The leader turned his bronzed face toward the youth and smiled
significantly.

"Don't you catch on?  They have sent after reinforcements: a slight
number now means a big number pretty soon."

"Have you noticed those bucks on the top of the ridge yonder?"

Captain Wadsworth looked in the direction named.  Three Indians had
dismounted, and were standing close together, or rather two of them
were, while the third seemed to be stooping and busy with something
on the ground.

"How long have they been there?" asked the leader.

"They rode up the slope within the last five minutes.  They were off
their ponies before they stopped.  I can't guess what they are doing."

"I don't know; but we shall soon learn."

Although the cracking of rifles continued, and the teamsters,
kneeling behind the fortifications, were doing their utmost to pick
off some of the dusky riders, who in turn sent in their dropping
shots, Captain Wadsworth gave them little heed.  The position of
himself and Brinton was exposed, and, had their assailants come
closer, they would not have dared to maintain it; but with the
combatants so widely separated, it cannot be said they were in much
real danger.

The three Indians in whom our friends were so much interested just
then were beyond and apart from the others.  Their horses were
cropping the few blades of withered grass that had survived the
winter's tempests; but not one was a dozen yards from his master, all
of whom were so grouped together that their movements could not be
identified.

Rather curiously there was not a spy-glass among the teamsters.  Such
an article would have been valuable just then; but they had to depend
upon their unaided vision.

The captain and Brinton, however, agreed that two of the bucks were
bent over and busy with something on the ground, while the third,
standing on the crest of the ridge, appeared to be awaiting the
action of his companions before carrying out some plan he had in mind.

"Look!" whispered the youth; "isn't that smoke?"

The captain was silent a moment before answering--

"Yes; the Indian is like the Chinaman: he can start a fire where you
and I couldn't kindle a spark.  I believe they will make a bundle of
water-soaked leaves crackle and burn like tinder wood.  Those fellows
have got some of the dried grass together and have managed to touch
it off.  You understand what _that_ means, of course?"

"I cannot say that I do."

"It is a signal fire."

"Kindled for what purpose?"

"To call all the other hostiles in sight here, to take a hand in the
fun of massacring us and plundering our train.  Such a signal can be
seen a long way and will do all that is intended.  Look at it now!"

From between the two, who now rose from their stooping posture, a
thin finger of vapour arose, going straight upward as if it were a
shadowy arrow aimed at the clouds.

"One of the bucks is waving his blanket," observed Brinton; "he must
mean something by that.  I suppose he is fanning the blaze to keep it
from going out."

"No; look at that thin line of smoke; don't you see something
peculiar?"

"Ah!  I notice it now."

The vapour showed a striking change of appearance; instead of
climbing in a straight line, it now waved gracefully from side to
side.  It was something which never can occur unless with the help of
some person.

"That is the signal," said Captain Wadsworth; "it can be seen for
miles in all directions, and every Indian eye that catches sight of
it will read its meaning as plainly as our soldiers do the
looking-glass signals.  It's a bad thing for us."

The captain was an old campaigner, and knew what he was talking
about; his impressive manner was not lost upon Brinton Kingsland.

"How far are we from Wounded Knee?" he asked.

"Anywhere from a dozen to twenty miles; it depends on the course we
take--that is," he added, with a shake of his head, "whether we ever
take any course at all."

"I cannot recall just what Jackson said about an escort from that
camp, but I think he told me such an escort had been sent."

The captain shook his head.

"You must be mistaken; for, if that were the case, why did he ride
out here alone?  Was it not more likely that he came to learn whether
we needed protection? and if that is so, they will wait for his
return and report before sending out the escort which is the only
thing that can save us."

This view was so reasonable that Brinton could not combat it.

"I see one chance," ventured the youth, after a moment's silence,
during which he watched the actions of the signal corps on the ridge.

The officer turned wonderingly toward him.

"I shall be glad to hear what it is."

"If a messenger can get through to Wounded Knee with word of your
extremity, they will send you help without delay."

"True; but how can such a thing succeed?  If it were night it might
be done; but in what possible way can a horseman dash through the
lines when the bucks would see him start, and they have us
surrounded?"

"It will be taking big risks, but I would like to try it."

Captain Wadsworth, who had been leaning against the hind wheel of one
of the waggons, with his arms folded, abruptly straightened up and
stared at the youth, as if uncertain whether he had heard him aright;
then he repeated--

"_You_ would like to try it, did you say?"

"Yes, sir; and I believe I can get through."

The officer looked off toward the ridge and shook his head.

"Don't think of such a thing; we must stay here and fight it out, and
trust to Providence to open the way, if any is to be opened."

But Brinton was in earnest, and his eagerness was increased by the
discouraging manner of the captain.

"I understand your feelings, and I am not blind to what is in the
path of the one who attempts to do what I have proposed; but,
captain, bear two things in mind: there isn't a fleeter horse in the
whole West than my Jack.  When I gave him rein he pulled away from
those Indians as though their animals were walking.  So all I have to
secure is a fair start."

"Exactly," replied the leader with a grim smile, "and therein you sum
up the whole business.  All that you need to succeed is to succeed.
But what is the other point you wish me to hold in mind?"

"The fair start can be secured."

"How?"

"Pretend to ride out against the hostiles.  They will gather in front
of the threatened point; I will be on the watch, and, when the way
opens, will scoot for Wounded Knee."

Brinton saw that Captain Wadsworth was interested.  Once more he came
to the erect position, and looking kindly in his face, said--

"Your plan has something in it."

The heart of the youth leaped with hope.

"I am sure of it; but there's not a minute to lose."

This was self-evident, and the captain, having made up his mind,
passed among his men and hurriedly explained what he had decided to
do.  It was for eight or ten of them to mount their horses and move
cautiously toward the ridge, as if with the intention of attacking
the little signal party there and stamping out their tiny fire.  This
would cause a concentration (or, more properly, it was hoped that it
would) of the hostiles on that side of the camp, of which Brinton
Kingsland would take advantage by dashing out on the other side and
riding at full speed to Wounded Knee.

It was the only thing that offered hope, and, therefore, was eagerly
accepted by all.  The firing was so scattered that no fear was felt
in moving about within the circle of waggons, for, as we have shown,
Captain Wadsworth and Brinton had been exposed all the time without
harm.  The Sioux kept so far away that it was evident they were
waiting for the arrival of reinforcements before making a real attack.

The preparations on the part of the teamsters had hardly begun when
Brinton, who had led his pony forth and stood ready to leap into the
saddle, called out--

"You needn't do it!  Here's my chance!"

The majority of the Indians were near the ridge at that moment, but
some of them were quite a distance off, and, in fact, alarmingly
close to the opposite side of the camp.  The impatient youth was
confident that he could dash through the opening before they could
stop him.

"It won't do!" protested Captain Wadsworth; "don't try it! wait till
we get them nearer the ridge they will cut you off----"

"I'm off!  Good-bye!"

Brinton Kingsland was in the saddle, and shot out from among the
waggons like a thunderbolt.



CHAPTER XII.

WHAT HAPPENED TO WOLF EAR.

Good fortune attended the daring attempt of Brinton Kingsland.  By a
providential occurrence, most of the hostiles were on the side of the
supply camp, in the direction of the ridge from whose crest the
signal smoke was ascending, when the youth, dexterously guiding his
pony through the waggons that surrounded him, quickly cleared himself
of all obstacles.

"Now, Jack, old boy, do your best!  Never was there greater need of
it."

The intelligent creature thrust his nose forward, and was off like a
shot.  He knew what was wanted, and nobly responded to the call upon
his fleetness.  The teamsters forgot all about the Indians, and fixed
their gaze upon the youth.

He was fully a hundred yards from camp before the Sioux comprehended
what was done.  Then, when they saw the messenger dashing over the
plain, fully a dozen of the best mounted were after him in a flash,
discharging several of their guns at the moment of starting.

Brinton was seen to thunder up the incline of the first swell,
sitting firmly in his saddle, and instantly disappeared over the
crest.  A minute later, the foremost two of the pursuers skimmed up
the same incline, just as the lad shot into sight on the summit of
the next elevation, instantly whisking out of view over that, while
his superb horse continued his arrowy flight toward Wounded Knee.
Then the excited and hopeful teamsters could see no more, and all but
the foremost two of the pursuers gave up the chase and came
straggling back to join their comrades in the attack on the camp.
They knew that the result of that flight of the messenger would be to
bring help, and, if anything was to be accomplished, it must be
before it could arrive.

And so the attack on the camp was begun at once, and with a
fierceness that speedily brought a crisis.

Meanwhile, Brinton Kingsland was going with undiminished speed over
the prairie, skimming up the inclines and down the slopes at a
break-neck pace, with every nerve of his splendid steed strained to
the highest.  The rider heard the dull report of the rifles that were
fired at him, but the distance was too great to cause alarm, and he
did not even hear the singing of the bullets, so wide went they of
the mark; but the glance cast over his shoulder showed that he had
only two pursuers to fear.

It was easy to compare their speed with his, and less than a
half-mile was passed, when all doubt vanished.  They had been thrown
a hundred paces to the rear and were losing ground every minute.

At the instant of shooting up one of the slopes and disappearing over
the crest, Brinton snatched off his cap and swung it over his head,
with a joyous shout.

"Hurrah, Jack! they're not in it with you; you can take it more
easily now."

Nevertheless, the speed of the pony was maintained for a brief while,
until it became certain that his two pursuers had given up the
attempt to overtake him, and had gone to wreak their fury on the
imperilled teamsters before help could reach them.  Then Brinton made
Jack drop to a pace which he could continue for hours without
fatigue.  The youth knew the course to follow to reach the camp at
Wounded Knee Creek, and he calculated that he could readily cover the
ground in the course of an hour or so.

He was too sensible, however, to imagine that an open and
uninterrupted course lay before him.  At that time, as the reader
well knows, the country in the neighbourhood of the Bad Lands, the
reservations and the space between, was overrun with hostiles, as
eager as so many jungle tigers to slay settlers, small squads of
soldiers, and all white people whom it was safe to attack.  He was
liable to encounter some of these bands at any moment, and only by
continual vigilance could he avoid running into the cunningly laid
traps which proved fatal to scores of others.

Now that the burst of excitement was over, and he was riding at a
less killing pace, his thoughts went back to the loved ones from whom
he had been so strangely separated.  His heart became as lead as he
reflected that they could hardly have escaped, considering the
condition of his father, from the environing perils which covered
miles of territory in every direction.

"If I only knew where they were, if alive, I would guide this escort
from Wounded Knee to their help----"

What was that?  Surely he heard the report of guns from some point in
advance.  Jack pricked his ears and increased his pace.

"It can have but one meaning," muttered Brinton, with a throbbing
heart; "someone is in peril: can it be _they_?"

He reined up his pony and stood still on the crest of the first
elevation he reached, after the ominous sounds fell on his ears.

At that moment he descried coming over another ridge, a furlong away,
a troop of thirty or forty cavalry, riding at a gallop toward him.

"That's the escort from Wounded Knee," was his instant conclusion; "I
was right when I told Captain Wadsworth that Nick Jackson said the
escort was on the way, though I wasn't certain of it."

But evidently the firing had not come from the cavalry.  It was from
some point between, and, instead of being directly in front, as it
first seemed, was off to the right, where he observed a depression,
with several dismounted Indians crouching around it.

"Great heavens! it's father fighting them off," he gasped; "he is in
that hollow and they have attacked him!"

He struck his heels against the ribs of Jack, fiercely jerked the
bridle-rein, and shouted to him to run at his best straight for the
spot.

But the approaching cavalry had descried the same thing, and were
nearer the hollow than was the youth.  They turned the heads of the
horses and struck off at full speed.

The assailing Indians, too, had discovered their danger and were seen
skurrying for their ponies, waiting near.  The obedient animals
turned until their masters sprang upon their backs, when they dashed
off at full speed, with a single exception.  One of them, forgetful
of his danger or determined upon revenge, even at the cost of his
life, was observed to have something in his arms as he held his
ground.

"It is Edith that he is about to slay; maybe he has already killed
her!  O heaven!" the brother groaned, "is it too late to save her?"

Jack was tearing over the ground at a killing pace, but he could not
reach them in time.  He could carry his rider there in time to shoot
down the Indian, but not soon enough to prevent his burying his knife
in the innocent heart.

But there was a wonderful sharpshooter among the cavalry.  He saw the
awful peril, and throwing his horse on his haunches, brought his gun
to his shoulder.

During the instant it was at a level, Hugh Kingsland dashed out of
the hollow, bare-headed, and, with hair streaming, ran toward the
Indian and his little girl.  One pace behind him sped his wife; she
was seen to make quick, earnest gestures to the approaching horsemen,
and they thought it an appeal to them not to lose a second if they
would save her child.

At that instant the sharpshooter pressed the trigger of his weapon;
the Indian dropped the little one, threw up his arms in an aimless
way, staggered back and sank to the ground.

The next minute the troop thundered up, Brinton almost among them.

"Are you hurt, my darling Edith?" he called, leaping out of the
saddle, catching her in his arms, pressing her to his heart and
kissing her; "speak! did he hurt you?"

The child was bewildered by the great confusion, and, without
answering her brother, looked him affrightedly in the face.

"Why, Brint, is that you?"

"Yes, yes; heaven be praised, you are not harmed!  Oh, how can I be
thankful enough?  And you, father and mother! what a blessed sight!"

The mother gave him one grateful glance and then knelt by the fallen
Indian, just as Edith, slipping from the grasp of her brother, ran to
the prostrate figure and bent over it, asking in a voice of
inexpressible tenderness--

"What is the matter, Wolf Ear?"

The young Ogalalla lay on his back, but at the moment the child spoke
he managed, by a great effort, to raise his head and rest it on his
hand.  He had not spoken, but now, fixing his dark eyes on Edith,
said in a faint voice--

"Wolf Ear is hurt!"

The troopers sat silent on their horses, looking down on the strange
scene.  Hugh Kingsland, with no trace of his illness, stood back a
few paces with folded arms, gazing at the moving sight and trying in
vain to restrain his emotions.  His wife placed her arm under the
head of the Ogalalla, and, resting it on her knee, smoothed the black
hair from his forehead, murmuring words of sympathy; Edith covered
her face with her hands, and sobbed with a breaking heart.

Brinton was affected at the sight of his former friend, but he could
not help saying--

"Mother, we can all pity him, but he was our enemy; and had he not
been shot at that moment Edith would not be living now."

"You are wrong, my son," she replied gently.  "Wolf Ear came forward
to save Edith."

"What are you saying?"

"He was with the party that attacked us; he did what he could to
restrain them; he could not do so, and he ran forward to join and
help us defend ourselves against them.  Edith saw him first and
hurried out to meet him; he caught her up, and, when his companions
would have harmed her, he would not let them touch her.  He shouted
to us to have no fear, that he was our friend.  At that moment the
soldiers came in sight and the other Indians made off.  Wolf Ear knew
we were saved, and so he stood still, with Edith's arms around his
neck.  I saw one of the soldiers aiming at them with his gun; husband
and I ran out to shield him.  I shouted and motioned to the soldier
not to shoot, but he did not understand me, and--this is the sad
result of the dreadful mistake."

Wolf Ear fixed his eyes upon the wondering Brinton, who, walking
forward and stooping down, asked in a choking voice--

"Is all this true, Wolf Ear?"

"The words of your mother are true."

"But what meant your course toward me yesterday?  I cannot reconcile
that with what I have just heard."

"We parted friends, though I told you I was the enemy of the rest of
your race.  From the time we separated I have done all I could to
find your people and save them before it was too late.  Until now, I
have not met you."

"You forget; we met in the gorge last night, and only this morning,
when you sought the life of Nick Jackson, I chased you over the ridge
in the effort to make you prisoner."

A smile overspread the dark face, and the head swayed a single time
to one side.

"Brinton, you are mistaken; the Ogalalla whom you met, as you say, in
the gully, and whom you sought to make prisoner, was not I--he was my
twin brother, Young Bear; our mother can hardly tell us apart, and I
taught him to speak English as well as I."

"Oh, what have I done!" wailed Brinton, breaking down utterly, and
covering his face with his hands.  "I never dreamed of this; can you
forgive this dreadful mistake?"

"Yes," said Wolf Ear faintly, "I forgive you; I forgive the soldier
who shot me, for he did it to save _her_ life."

He wearily closed his eyes, but opened them again when he felt the
chubby arms of Edith clasped round his neck, and her lips pressed
against his.

"Oh, Wolf Ear!" she sobbed, in tones that brought tears to more than
one eye among the bronzed troopers, "do not die!  I love you, next to
Brint and papa and mamma----"

Among the silent troopers touched by the scene was the sharpshooter
who had brought Wolf Ear low.  He was a brave, rugged soldier, but,
like most men, had a tender heart.  He had not spoken for some
minutes, and his eyes were moist as he swung his foot from his
stirrup and over the haunch of his horse to the ground.

"Jim Budworth don't often make a miss," he said in a broken voice,
"and I didn't miss this fellow; but then I didn't aim to kill him,
and I don't believe I did.  I know a little about surgery myself--so
let me take a look at Wolf Ear, as you call him."

Wondering at the words of the sharpshooter, and hardly daring to hope
he was right, all watched him as he made what may be called a medical
examination of the sufferer.  The bullet had struck him in the side,
and evidently had inflicted the wound intended.

"Injins are tough," remarked Budworth, "and this one is as tough as
the rest.  He isn't going to die.  Here, Wolf Ear, try this."

As he spoke, the trooper held a flask of spirits to the lips of the
young Indian and forced him to swallow some of it.  It produced an
immediate effect; and, to the astonishment of everyone, Wolf Ear
assumed a sitting position and looked round with a smile.

"I feel better--much better, thank you," he said, with a grateful
look at Budworth.

"Of course you do.  It was a narrow chance for you, no mistake; but
all you want is careful nursing, and I reckon Mrs. Kingsland here
will be glad to give it you."

"Indeed I will," said the delighted woman; "there is nothing that I
will not do for Wolf Ear.  Can it be possible that he is going to get
well after all?"

"Of course it is; I know all about Injins."

"Oh, I am so glad!" exclaimed the happy Edith, throwing her arms
again about his neck.

"Easy now, easy now," said Budworth; "don't go to rolling and
tumbling him about until he gets a little stronger.  After that you
can handle him as you choose."

Wolf Ear rallied with amazing quickness, and showed all the heroism
of his race, when he was helped upon his horse and the party moved
back to the supply camp, where the teamsters had succeeded in driving
off the hostiles.

The Indian was given an easy, comfortable couch in one of the
waggons, and some hours later the party arrived at Wounded Knee.
There the sufferer received the best of medical attention, and was
soon able to move about with scarcely any pain or trouble.  His
recovery was rapid; and to-day only a slight scar remains to tell how
nearly he met death in his efforts to save his friends from the
warriors of his own race.

And within the following few weeks the threatening cloud that had
overspread the Western sky, behind which the blood-red lightning
gleamed and played, dissolved, and gave place to the sweet sunshine
of peace, which, let us pray, may continue for ever.



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  CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE.
  LONDON, E.C.
  30,313





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