e got more
coffee and sugar than we are apt to want, and at least we can keep them
interested until dark, then we can slip away. Of course, they've sent
word to their main body that we're over here, but I believe they can't
come in force before night."

"They knew you, sergeant, and they know it is probably our troop," said
he. "There must be only a small party near us. Make your trade, but
while you're doing it we'll saddle. I mean to get out of this and into
the thick of the timber before they can surround us. Stand 'em off, now,
while we get ready."

Promises must be kept when made to an Indian, even if they are otherwise
sometimes broken. In ten minutes, with coffee, sugar and hardtack in
their hands, the sergeant and his comrades were back at the front. One
brave was still there, the other had vanished. Five minutes, neither
party saying a word, the troopers waited; then Bruce turned to Conroy.
"I knew they had nothing to trade. Take this sack with you and fall
back. Tell our fellows to keep me well covered till I follow." The
instant the soldier started with the sack swung over his shoulder, the
Indian, who had been squatted on the turf, sprang up and began rapid
expostulation in fluent Ogallalla. "It's no use, young man," interposed
Bruce. "Your chum there has no buffalo tongues, and he knew it. Here's
some hardtack for you," and he spread one liberally with sugar and
handed it to the ever-receptive paw, outstretched to grasp it. A glance
over the shoulder showed that Conroy was nearly at the edge. Then,
quietly, Bruce, too, began to retire. He had not got ten paces, still
facing his unwelcome visitor, when the Indian gave a shrill, sudden cry
and tossed up his hands. Not a second too soon Bruce turned and darted
for cover. The Indian flung himself flat on the turf and rolled away
into a depression where he could find partial shelter from bullets from
the ravine, whence he evidently looked for them, and out from behind the
knoll, bridles held high, "quirts" lashing at their ponies' flanks,
darted half a dozen painted savages, tearing down upon the spot at the
top speed of their agile mounts. Only two men remained on watch at the
moment, Dean and one trooper. Most of the others, already in saddle,
were filing away up the game trail that threaded the windings of the
ravine, the two lead horses with them, while a few yards behind the
young officer and his comrade, halfway down the reverse slope, two
others, afoot,