gallop and bore down straight for their imperilled
brother, crouching behind the stricken "pinto." Never swerving, never
halting, hardly checking speed, but bending low over and behind their
chargers' necks, the two young braves swept onward and with wild whoop
of triumph, challenge and hatred, gathered up and slung behind the rider
of the heavier pony the agile and bedizened form on the turf; then
circled away, defiant, taunting, gleeful, yes and even more:--With
raging eyes, Kennedy sprang from saddle and, kneeling, drove shot after
shot at the scurrying pair. Two of the three troopers at the hollow
followed suit. Even the big, blubbering lad so lately crazed with fear
unslung his weapon and fired thrice into empty space, and a shout of
wrath and renewed challenge to "come back and fight it out" rang out
after the Sioux, for to the amaze of the lately besieged, to the
impotent fury of the Irishman, in unmistakable, yet mostly unquotable,
English, the crippled warrior was yelling mingled threat and
imprecation.

"Who was it, Kennedy?--and where did you ever see him before?" a moment
later, demanded Captain Blake, almost before he could grasp the
Irishman's hands and shower his thanks, and even while stanching the
flow of blood from a furrow along his sun-burnt cheek. "What's that he
said about eating your heart?"

And Kennedy, his head cleared now through the rapture of battle, minded
him of his promise to Field, and lied like a hero. "Sure, how should I
know him, sorr? They're all of the same spit."

"But, he called you by name. I heard him plainly. So did Meisner, here,"
protested Blake. "Hello, what have you there, corporal?" he added, as
young Feeney, the "surely killed," came running back, bearing in his
hand a gaily ornamented pouch of buckskin, with long fringes and heavy
crusting of brilliant beads.

"Picked it up by that pony yonder, sir," answered the corporal, with a
salute. "Beg pardon, sir, but will the captain take my horse? His is hit
too bad to carry him."

Two, indeed, of Blake's horses were crippled, and it was high time to be
going. Mechanically he took the pouch and tied it to his waist belt.
"Thank God no _man_ is hurt!" he said. "But--now back to Frayne! Watch
those ridges and be ready if a feather shows, and spread out a
little--Don't ride in a bunch."

But there was bigger game miles to the west, demanding all the attention
of the gathered Sioux. There were none to spare to send so far, a