the pet name of Dot. His father had two
assistants in the care of the ranch, Jared Plummer, a man in middle
life, and Tim Brophy, a lusty young Irishman, about the same age as
Warren. But the ranch was not fitted to withstand an attack from any of
the bands through the country. Those turbulent bucks were the very ones
to assail his home with the fury of a cyclone, and if they did, Heaven
help the loved ones there, even though the three men were well provided
with arms and ammunition.

The commandant of Fort Meade suggested to Warren that he urge his people
to come into the fort without delay. Such a suggestion, coming from the
officer, meant a good deal.

That which caused the youth to decide to wait until morning was the
fatigue of his animal, and the more important fact that it was best not
only to arrive at the ranch in the daytime, but to ride through several
miles of the surrounding country when the chance to use his eyes was at
the best. If hostiles were in the section, he might pass within a
hundred yards of them in the darkness without discovering it, but it was
impossible to do so when the sun was in the sky.

He was now riding across an open plain directly toward a small branch of
the Big Cheyenne, beyond which lay his home. He could already detect the
fringe of timber that lined both sides of the winding stream, while to
the right rose a rocky ridge several hundred feet in height, and a mile
or two distant appeared a similar range on the left.

The well-marked trail which the lad was following passed between these
elevations; that on the right first presenting itself and diverging so
far to the east, just before the other ridge was reached, that it may be
said it disappeared, leaving the other to succeed it.

Despite the long ride and the fatigue of himself as well as his animal,
young Starr was on the alert. He was in a dangerous country, and a
little negligence on his part was liable to prove fatal.

"If there is a lot of Sioux watching this trail for parties going either
way, this is the spot," he reflected, grasping his Winchester, lying
across his saddle, a little more firmly. "I have met them here more than
once, and, though they claimed to be friendly, I was always uneasy, for
it is hard for an Indian to resist the temptation to hurt a white man
when it looks safe to do so."

Nothing could have exceeded the caution of the youth. The trail showed
so plainly that his pony kept to it without any g