the late autumn morning tiny smokes from the
cook-fires sailed straight aloft, melting speedily into the blue. For
nearly half a mile along the stream horses and pack-mules were
scattered upon the "bench," browsing eagerly on the dew-laden bunch
grass. Farther out beyond them on every side, with their campaign hats
pulled down over their grim eyebrows and their heads deep in the
collars of their cavalry overcoats, the men of the guard still kept
vigilant watch. Long years of experience on the Indian frontier had
taught their leaders the need of precaution, and the sentries took
their cue from the "old hands." By a little camp-fire, booted,
spurred, slouch-hatted, like his troopers, and muffled in a light-blue
overcoat that could not be told from theirs, the major commanding was
giving brief directions to three troopers who stood silently before
him, their carbines dangling from their broad shoulder-belts, with the
reins of their chargers in hand. Wiry and gaunt were these chargers,
wiry and gaunt were the men, for those were days when neither horse nor
rider went over-weight on campaign, or came back with a superfluous
ounce. But horses and men had stripped for the day's work. Blanket,
poncho, and overcoat, saddle-bags, side lines, lariat, and
picket-pin--everything, in fact, but themselves, their arms,
cartridges, canteens, saddles, saddle-blankets, and bridles--had been
left to the pack-train. A good breakfast to start with, a few hardtack
and slices of bacon in the breast-pocket of the hunting-shirt, settled
the question of subsistence. They were to start at once, deliver those
despatches at Niobrara, unless headed off by Indians, long before set
of sun, and be back with reply before its rise on the morrow.

Then came the question as to the fate of the poor fellows of Gamble's
and the hunters' camp.

"Mr. Willard," said the major to his adjutant, as the couriers mounted
and rode away, "send one platoon over to Gamble's camp--it'll take 'em
all day--and another back on the trail of the teamsters, and see what
they can find of the outfit. They'll have to hunt for it themselves.
The hunters say they wouldn't go back for a million apiece."

The adjutant was figuring in his note-book. He closed it, arose at
once, and looked about him. Officers and men, the six troops, or
companies, of the detachment seemed busy at breakfast. The aroma of
soldier coffee floated on the keen morning air, and under the gentle,
genial influ