a stretch of prairie where the dry grass had
lately been burned away. "Five hundred yards will do it. Then aim low
when they rush closer in."

"Look at the middle tooth, captain," came the sudden hail from his left.
"Mirror flashes! See!" It was Field who spoke, and life and vim had
returned to his voice and color to his face. He was pointing eagerly
toward the highest of the knobs, where, all on a sudden, dazzling little
beams of light shot forth toward the Indians in the lowlands, tipping
the war bonnet and lance of many a brave with dancing fire. Whatever
their purport, the signals seemed ignored by the Sioux, for presently
two riders came sweeping down the long slope, straight for the point
where sat Red Fox, as, for want of other name, we must for the present
call him--who, for his part, shading his eyes with his hand, sat gazing
toward the westward side of his warrior circle, evidently awaiting some
demonstration there before giving signal for action elsewhere. Obedient
to his first instructions, the main body had spread out in long,
irregular skirmish rank, their mettlesome ponies capering and dancing in
their eagerness. Chanting in chorus some shrill, weird song, the line
was now slowly, steadily advancing, still too far away to warrant the
wasting of a shot, yet unmistakably seeking to close as much as possible
before bursting in with the final charge.

[Illustration: "SOME FEW OF THEIR NUMBER BORNE AWAY BY THEIR COMRADES."]

And still the red leader sat at gaze, oblivious for the moment of
everything around him, ignoring the coming of orders possibly from Lame
Wolf himself. Suddenly the silver armlets once more gleamed on high.
Then, clapping the palm of his right hand to his mouth, Red Fox gave
voice to a ringing war whoop, fierce, savage and exultant, and, almost
at the instant, like the boom and rumble that follows some vivid
lightning flash, the prairie woke and trembled to the thunder of near a
thousand hoofs. From every point of the compass--from every side,
yelling like fiends of some orthodox hell, down they came--the wild
warriors of the frontier in furious rush upon the silent and almost
peaceful covert of this little band of brothers in the dusty garb of
blue. One, two, three hundred yards they came, centering on the leafy
clump of cottonwoods, riding at tearing gallop, erect, defiant, daring
at the start, and giving full voice to their wild war cry. Then bending
forward, then crouching low, then