fare, they were working past him, far to his right, intending
to head him off.

To his left front the country was clear, and he could see over it for a
considerable distance. The road, after winding through some intermediate
ravines ahead, swept around to the left. He had almost determined to
leave the trail and make a bee-line across country, and so to outrun the
foeman to his right, when, twice or thrice, he caught the gleam of steel
or silver or nickel-plate beyond the low ground in the very direction in
which he had thought to flee.

His heart sank low now, for the sight conveyed to his mind but one
idea,--that the gleams were the flashing of moonbeams on the barbaric
ornaments of Indians, as he had seen them flash an hour ago when the
warriors raced forth into the valley of the Chug. Were the Indians ahead
of him then, and on both sides of the road?

One thing he had to do, and to do instantly: ride into the first hollow
he could find, dismount, crawl to the ridge and peer around him,--study
which way to ride if he should have to make a race for his own life
now,--and give Buford time to gather himself for the effort.

The boy's brave spirit was wrought well-nigh to the limit. His eyes
clouded as he thought of his father and the faithful troop, miles and
miles away and all unconscious of his deadly peril; of his anxious and
loving mother, wakeful and watching at Laramie, doubtless informed of
the Indian raid by this time; powerless to help him, but praying God to
watch over her boy.

He looked aloft at the starry heavens and lifted his heart in one brief
prayer: "God guard and guide me. I've tried to do my duty as a soldier's
son." And somehow he felt nerved and strengthened.

He grasped the handle of his cavalry revolver as he guided Buford down
to the right where there seemed to be a hollow among the slopes. Just as
he came trotting briskly round a little shoulder of the nearest ridge
there was a rush and patter of hoofs on the other side of it, an
exclamation, half-terror, half-menace, a flash and a shot that whizzed
far over his head. A dark, shadowy horseman went scurrying off into
space as fast as a spurred and startled horse could carry him; a
broad-brimmed slouch hat was blown back to him as a parting _souvenir_,
and Ralph McCrea shouted with relief and merriment as he realized that
some man--a ranchman doubtless--had taken him for an Indian and had
"stampeded," scared out of his wits.

Ralph dismou