warriors, riding right and left, were now chasing crosswise over the
billowy slopes, keeping up a fire of taunt and chaff and shrill
war-cries, but never again venturing within three hundred yards--never
wasting a shot.

"I thought so," suddenly cried the sergeant. "They're signaling from the
knoll. They never would have attacked with so few, unless there were
dozens more within sight. Now's our time, lieutenant. We can mount and
ride like hell to the timber--I beg your pardon, sir," he broke off
suddenly. "I didn't mean to say what the lieutenant should do."

"No apologies," laughed Dean, his eyes snapping with the vim of the
fight. "Glad you see the truth of what I said. Come on. Mount quickly,
men."

Two minutes more and the entire party of blue-coats were spurring
swiftly northward up the winding gorge, the pack-horses lumbering
alongside. Eagerly Dean and Bruce in the lead looked right and left for
a game trail leading up the slope, for well they knew that the moment
their reinforcements came the warriors would dash into the ravine and,
finding their antagonists fled, would pursue along the banks. It would
never do to be caught in such a trap. A gallop of a quarter of a mile
and, off to the right, a branch ravine opened out to higher ground, and
into this the leaders dove and, checking speed, rode at the trot until
the ascent grew steep. Five minutes more and they were well up toward
the head of the gulch and presently found themselves nearly on a level
with the hillsides about them. Here, too, were scattered pine-trees and
a few scrub-oak. The timber, then, was close at hand. Signaling halt to
the climbing column, Dean and Bruce, springing from saddle, scrambled up
the bank to their right and peered cautiously back down over the
tumbling waves of the foothills, and what they saw was enough to blanch
the cheek of even veteran Indian fighters.

Far over to the east, beyond an intervening ridge and under the dun
cloud of dust, the earth was black for miles with herds of running
buffalo. Far down to the southeast, here, there and everywhere over the
land, the slopes were dotted with little knots of Indian braves--they
could be nothing else--all riding like mad, coming straight toward them.
Machpealota probably had launched his whole force on the trail of the
luckless troopers.

CHAPTER XIX.

That night there was rejoicing at the new stockade. For over a week not
a courier had managed to slip through i