replied. "See, something has been
fired away to the right front. They may be working round that way and will
miss us here. What are our chances?"

"Nix," responded the scout decidedly. "Them critturs hev got to git around
this way. They're on a line that'll strike Fort Randall, wi' a heap more
military 'n they'll notion. They'll strike south an' sweep round sheer
through to Wyoming. We're dead in their line."

"Then we'd best get back and prepare. Mrs. Raynor and Marjorie will have
turned in; we can do it quietly."

"Yup."

They rose and returned to camp.

Colonel Raynor had intended to avoid his wife's tent. But Alice was
waiting for him on the outskirts of the camp. The scout saw her and
discreetly passed on, and husband and wife were left together.

"Well?"

The woman's tone was quite steady. She was used to a soldier's life.
Besides, she understood the man's responsibility and wished to help him.
And Landor Raynor, looking into the gray eyes that were to him the gates
of the heart of purest womanhood, could not resort to subterfuge.

"They will be on us before morning, dearest," he said, and it was only by
the greatest effort he could check a tide of self-accusation. But the
woman understood and quickly interposed.

"I feared so, Landor. Are you ready? I mean for the fight?"

"We are preparing. I thought of sending you and little Marjorie south with
Jim, on saddle horses, but----"

"No. I would not go. I am what you men call 'useful with a gun.'" She
laughed shortly.

There was a silence between them for some moments. And in that silence a
faint and distant sound came to them. It was like the sound of droning
machinery, only very faint.

The wife broke the silence. "Landor, we are old campaigners, you and I."

"Yes, Al."

The woman sighed ever so lightly.

"The excitement of the foreknowledge of victory is not in me to-night.
Everything seems--so ordinary."

"Yes."

"When the moment comes, Landor, I should not like to be taken prisoner."

"Nor shall you be, Al. There are four good fighting men with you. All old
campaigners like--you."

"Yes. I wasn't thinking of that." The gray eyes looked away. The man
shifted uneasily.

There was a prolonged silence. Each was thinking over old scenes in old
campaigns.

"I don't think I am afraid of much," the woman said slowly, at last.
"Certainly not of death."

"Don't talk like that, Al." The man's arm linked itself through his
wife's. The woman s