r and
led away to the trader's store, south of the post. Tradition had it that
the track was worn by night raiders, bearing contraband fluids from
store to barracks in the days before such traffic was killed by that
common sense promoter of temperance, soberness and chastity--the post
exchange. Along that bluff line, from the storehouse toward the
hospital, invisible, doubtless, from either building or from the bluff
itself, but thrown in sharp relief against that rectangular inlet of
starry sky, two black figures, crouching and bearing some long, flat
object between them, swift and noiseless were speeding toward the
hospital. The next instant they were lost in the black background of
that building. Then, as suddenly and a moment later, one of them
reappeared, just for a moment, against the brightly lighted
window,--the southernmost window on the easterward side--the window of
the room that had been Beverly Field's--the window of the room now given
over to Eagle Wing, the Sioux,--the captive for whose safe keeping a
special sentry within the building, and this strangely silent Number Six
without, were jointly responsible. Then that silhouetted figure was
blotted from her sight in general darkness, for the lights within as
suddenly went out.

And at that very moment a sound smote upon her ear, unaccountable at
that hour and that side of the garrison--hoofbeats swiftly coming down
into the hollow from the eastward bluff,--hoofbeats and low, excited
voices. Foster's little house was southernmost of the settlement. The
ground was open between it and the heights, and despite the low,
cautious tones, Esther heard the foremost rider's muttered, angering
words. "Dam fool! Crazy! Heap crazy! Too much hurry. Ought t' let him
call off first!" Then an answer in guttural Sioux.

And then in an instant it dawned upon the girl that here was new crime,
new bloodshed, perhaps, and a plot to free a villianous captive. Her
first thought was to scream for aid, but what aid could she summon? Not
a man was within hail except these, the merciless haters of her race and
name. To scream would be to invite their ready knives to her heart--to
the heart of any woman who might rush to her succor. The cry died in her
throat, and, trembling with dread and excitement, she clung to the door
post and crouched and listened, for stifled mutterings could be heard,
a curse or two in vigorous English, a stamping of impatient ponies, a
warning in a woman's