ons, purses and bags of
gold, were the Indian disguises in which the highwaymen from No-Man's
Land had descended on the prairie-schooners on their tedious journey
from Abilene, Kansas, toward the Southwest.

In the midst of this confusion of disguises, booty and playing-cards,
surrounded by cruel and sensual faces, the child slept soundly, her
lips slightly parted, her cheeks delicately flushed, her face eloquent
in its appeal of helplessness, innocence and beauty. One of the band,
a tall broad-shouldered man of middle-age, with an immense quantity of
whiskers perhaps worn as a visible sign of inward wildness, was,
despite his hardened nature, moved to remonstrance. Under cover of
lurid oaths and outrageous obscenity, he advanced his opinion that "the
kid" needn't be shot just because her father was a sneak-jug spy.

"Shut up!" roared a tremendous voice, not directly to the intercessor,
or to the prisoner, but to all present. Evidently it was a voice of
authority, for comparative silence followed the command. The speaker
stepped forward, thrust his fingers through his intensely red shock of
hair, and continued, with one leg thrust forward:

"You know I am something of an orator, or I guess you wouldn't of made
me your leader. Now, as long as I'm your leader, I'm going to lead;
but, I ain't never unreasonable, and when talk is needed, I'm copious
enough. I am called 'Red Kimball,' and my brother yonder, he is knowed
as 'Kansas Kimball.' What else is knowed of us is this: that we
wasn't never wont to turn loose a spy when once ketched. Here is a man
who says he is Henry Gledware--though God knows if that's so; he comes
galloping up to the door just as we are in the midst of a game. I
stakes all my share of the spoils on the game, and Brick Willock is in
a fair way to win it, that I admit, but in comes this here spy--"

The prisoner in a frenzied voice disclaimed any purpose of spying. That
morning, he had driven the last wagon of the train, containing his
invalid wife and his stepdaughter--for the child lying on the table was
his wife's daughter. At the alarm that the first wagon had been
attacked by Indians, he had turned about his horses and driven
furiously over the prairie, he knew not whither. All that day he had
fled, seeing no one, hearing no pursuing horse-beat. At night his
wife, unable, in her weak condition, to sustain the terrible jolting,
had expired. Taking nothing from the wagon but his sad