nt to find you and give you
warning hasn't got back at all. We've had double sentries for three days
and nights. The only souls to get in from the northwest since our
fellows were run back last night are old Folsom and Baptiste. Folsom had
a talk with Red Cloud, and tried to induce him to turn back. He's beset
with the idea that the old villain is plotting a general massacre along
the Big Horn. He looks like a ghost. He says if we had five thousand
soldiers up there there'd hardly be enough. You know the Sioux have
sworn by him for years, and he thought he could coax Red Cloud to keep
away, but all the old villain would promise was to hold his young men
back ten days or so until Folsom could get the general to order the
Warrior Gap plan abandoned. If the troops are there Folsom says it's all
up with them. Red Cloud can rally all the Northern tribes, and it's only
because of Folsom's influence, at least I fancy so--that--that they
didn't attack you."

"Where is Folsom?" growled Burleigh, as he shook the powdery cloud from
his linen duster and followed the major within his darkened door, while
other officers hospitably led the aid and engineer into the adjoining
hut.

"Gone right on to Frayne. The old fellow will wear himself out, I'm
afraid. He says he must get in telegraphic communication with Omaha
before he's four days older. My heaven, man, it was a narrow squeak you
had! It's God's mercy Folsom saw Red Cloud before he saw you."

"Oh, pshaw!" said the quartermaster, turning over a little packet of
letters awaiting him in the commanding officer's sanctum. "We could have
given a good account of ourselves, I reckon. Brooks is down with fever,
and young Dean got rattled, or something like it. He's new at the
business and easily scared, you know; so I practically had to take
command. They'll be along in an hour or so, and--a word in your ear. If
Brooks has to remain on sick report you'd better put somebody in command
of that troop that's had--er--er--experience."

The post commander looked genuinely troubled. "Why, Burleigh, we've all
taken quite a shine to Dean. I know the officers in his regiment think a
heap of him; the seniors do, at least."

But Burleigh, with big eyes, was glaring at a letter he had selected,
opened, and was hurriedly reading. His face was yellowing again, under
the blister of sun and alkali.

"What's amiss?" queried his friend. "Nothing wrong, I hope. Why,
Burleigh, man! Here, let me help yo