into the gloom without firing a shot. There was a general
rejoicing. Neale, however, complained that he would rather have fought
them.

"Wal, I shore was achin' fer trouble," drawled his faithful ally, King.

The flagman, Casey, removed his black pipe to remark, "All thet cloimb
without a foight."

General Lodge's first word to Colonel Dillon was evidently inspired by
Casey's remark.

"Colonel, did you have steep work getting up to us?"

"Yes, indeed, straight up out of the valley," was the rejoinder.

But General Lodge did not go back to camp by this short cut down the
valley. He kept along the ridge, and it led for miles slowly down to the
plain. There in the starlight he faced his assistants with singular fire
and earnestness.

"Men, we've had a bad scare and a hard jaunt, but we've found our pass
over the Wyoming hills. To-morrow we'll run a line up that long ridge.
We'll name it Sherman Pass.... Thanks to those red devils!"

On the following morning Neale was awakened from a heavy, dreamless
sleep by a hard dig in the ribs.

"Neale--air you daid?" Larry was saying. "Wake up! An' listen to thet."

Neale heard the clear, ringing notes of a bugle-call. He rolled out of
his blankets. "What's up, Red?" he cried, reaching for his boots.

"Wal, I reckon them Injuns," drawled Red.

It was just daylight. They found the camp astir--troopers running for
horses, saddles, guns.

"Red, you get our horses and I'll see what's up," cried Neale.

The cowboy strode off, hitching at his belt. Neale ran forward into
camp. He encountered Lieutenant Leslie, whom he knew well, and who told
him a scout had come in with news of a threatened raid; Colonel Dillon
had ordered out a detachment of troopers.

"I'm going," shouted Neale. "Where's that scout?"

Neale soon descried a buckskin-clad figure, and he made toward it. The
man, evidently a trapper or hunter, carried a long, brown rifle, and he
had a powder-horn and bullet-pouch slung over his shoulder. There was a
knife in his belt. Neale went directly up to the man.

"My name's Neale," he said. "Can I be of any help?"

He encountered a pair of penetrating gray eyes.

"My name's Slingerland," replied the other, as he offered his hand. "Are
you an officer?"

"No. I'm a surveyor. But I can ride and shoot. I've a cowboy with me--a
Texan. He'll go. What's happened?"

"Wal, I ain't sure yet. But I fear the wust. I got wind of some Sioux
thet was trailin' some prairie-sc