ic as that of the favorite daughter of old Sintogaliska,
chief of the Brule Sioux, who pined and died at Laramie when she heard
that the soldier she loved had come back from the far East with a
pale-faced bride. There were red men of the Ogallallas to whom the name
of Hal Folsom was a taunt and insult to this day, men whom his father
had vainly sought to appease, and they were Burning Star, the lover, and
two younger braves, the brothers of the girl they swore that Hal had
lured away.

South of the Platte, as it rolled past Frayne and Laramie, those Indians
were bound by treaty not to go. North of the Platte Hal Folsom was
warned never again to venture. These were stories which were well known
to the parents of the girl he wooed and won, but which probably were not
fully explained to her. Now, even behind the curtain of that sheltering
river, with its flanking forts, even behind the barrier of the mountains
of the Medicine Bow, she often woke at night and clutched her baby to
her breast when the yelping of the coyotes came rising on the wind.
There was no woman in Wyoming to whom war with Red Cloud's people bore
such dread possibility as to Hal Folsom's wife.

And so when Marshall Dean came riding in one glad June morning, bronzed,
and tanned, and buoyant, and tossed his reins to the orderly who trotted
at his heels, while the troop dismounted and watered at the stream, Mrs.
Folsom's heart was gladdened by his confident and joyous bearing. Twice,
thrice he had seen Red Cloud and all his braves, and there was nothing,
said he, to worry about. "Ugly, of course they are; got some imaginary
grievances and talk big about the warpath. Why, what show would those
fellows have with their old squirrel rifles and gas-pipe Springfields
against our new breech-loaders? They know it as well as we do. It's all
a bluff, Mrs. Folsom. You mark my words," said he, and really the boy
believed it. Frequent contact in the field with the red warriors
inspires one with little respect for their skill or prowess until that
contact becomes hostile, then it's time to keep every sense on guard and
leave no point uncovered.

"But what if the Indian Bureau should let them have breech-loaders?" she
anxiously asked. "You know that is Red Cloud's demand."

"Oh," said Dean, with confidence born of inexperience in the Bureau
ways, "they couldn't be such fools. Besides, if they do," he added
hopefully, "you'll see my troop come trotting back full tilt. N