no obstacle to Ray's advance until the
little troop was beyond the Elk Tooth ridge, where, on utterly
shelterless ground, the Indian would have every advantage. He knew Ray
of old; knew well that, left to himself, the captain would push on in
the effort to rescue the stage people and he and his command might
practically be at the mercy of the Sioux, if only the Sioux would
listen and be patient. Stabber knew that to attack the troopers now
entrenching at the cottonwoods meant a desperate fight in which the
Indians, even if ultimately triumphant, must lose many a valued brave,
and that is not the thoroughbred Indian's view of good generalship.
Stabber was old, wily and wise. The new chief, whoever he might be,
seemed possessed of a mad lust for instant battle, coupled with a
possible fear that, unless the golden moment were seized, Ray might be
reinforced and could then defy them all. Indeed there were veteran
campaigners among the troopers who noted how often the tall red chief
pointed in sweeping gesture back to Moccasin Ridge--troopers who even at
the distance caught and interpreted a few of his words. "That's it,
sir," said Winsor, confidently to Ray. "He says 'more soldiers coming,'
and--I believe he knows."

At all events he had so convinced his fellows and, even before Stabber
reached the middle tooth--where sat a little knot of mounted Indians,
signalling apparently to others still some distance to the north,--with
a chorus of exultant yells, the long, gaudy, glittering line of braves
suddenly scattered and, lashing away to right and left, dozens of them
darted at top speed to join those already disposed about that big
circle, while others still, the main body, probably seventy strong,
after some barbaric show of circus evolutions about their leader, once
more reined up for some final injunctions from his lips. Then, with a
magnificent gesture of the hand, he waved them on and, accompanied by
only two young riders, rode swiftly away to a little swell of the
prairie just out of range of the carbines, and there took his station to
supervise the attack.

"Damn him!" growled old Winsor. "He's no charger like Crazy Horse. He's
a Sitting Bull breed of general--like some we had in Virginia," he
added, between his set teeth, but Ray heard and grinned in silent
appreciation. "Set your sights and give 'em their first volley as they
reach that scorched line," he called to the men along the northward
front, and pointed to