eads, as their riders plied the stinging quirt or jabbed with cruel
lance; only in painful jog trot could they zig zag through the trees.
Then came two warriors, leading the pony of a crippled comrade. "Don't
fire--Don't harm them! Fall back from the trail there and let them in.
They'll halt the moment they see our tracks! Get 'em alive, if
possible!" were Blake's rapid orders, for his eyes were eagerly fixed on
other objects beyond these dejected leaders--upon stumbling mules,
lashed fore and aft between long, spliced saplings and bearing thus a
rude litter--Hay's pet wheelers turned to hospital use. An Indian boy,
mounted, led the foremost mule; another watched the second; while, on
each side of the occupant of this Sioux palanquin, jogged a blanketed
rider on jaded pony. Here was a personage of consequence--luckier much
than these others following, dragged along on _travois_ whose trailing
poles came jolting over stone or hummock along the rugged path. It was
on these that Blake's glittering eyes were fastened. "Pounce on the
leaders, you that are nearest!" he ordered, in low, telling tones, the
men at his left; then turned to Schreiber, crouching close beside him,
the fringe of his buckskin hunting shirt quivering over his bounding
heart. "There's the prize I want," he muttered low. "Whatever you do,
let no shot reach that litter. Charge with me the moment the leaders
yell. You men to the right," he added, slightly raising his voice, "be
ready to jump with me. Don't shoot anybody that doesn't show fight. Nab
everything in sight."

[Illustration: "CHARGE WITH ME THE MOMENT THE LEADERS YELL."]

"Whoo-oop!" All in a second the mountain woke, the welkin rang, to a
yell of warning from the lips of the leading Sioux. All in a second
they whirled their ponies about and darted back. All in that second
Blake and his nearmost sprang to their feet and flung themselves forward
straight for the startled convoy. In vain the few warriors bravely
rallied about their foremost wounded; the unwieldy litter could not turn
about; the frantic mules, crazed by the instant pandemonium of shouts
and shots,--the onward rush of charging men,--the awful screams of a
brace of squaws, broke from their leading reins; crashed with their
litter against the trees, hurling the luckless occupant to earth. Back
drove the unhit warriors before the dash of the cheering line. Down went
first one pony, then a second, in his bloody tracks. One after another