hooners up in the hills. I warned the
boss--told him to break camp an' run. Then I come fer the troops. But
the troops had changed camp an' I jest found them. Reckon we'll be too
late."

"Was it a caravan?" inquired Neale, intensely interested.

"Six wagons. Only a few men. Two wimmen. An' one girl."

"Girl!" exclaimed Neale.

"Yes. I reckon she was about sixteen. A pretty girl with big, soft eyes.
I offered to take her up behind me on my hoss. An' they all wanted her
to come. But she wouldn't.... I hate to think--"

Slingerland did not finish his thought aloud. Just then Larry rode up,
leading Neale's horse. Slingerland eyed the lithe cowboy.

"Howdy!" drawled Larry. He did not seem curious or eager, and his cool,
easy, reckless air was in sharp contrast to Neale's fiery daring.

"Red, you got the rifles, I see," said Neale.

"Sure, an' I rustled some biscuits."

In a few moments the troops were mounted and ready. Slingerland led them
up the valley at a rapid trot and soon started to climb. When he reached
the top he worked up for a mile, and then, crossing over, went down
into another valley. Up and down he led, over ridge after ridge, until a
point was reached where the St. Vrain and Laramie Trail could be seen in
the valley below. From there he led them along the top of the ridge, and
just as the sun rose over the hills he pointed down to a spot where the
caravan had been encamped. They descended into this valley. There in the
trail were fresh tracks of unshod horses.

"We ain't fur behind, but I reckon fur enough to be too late," said
Slingerland. And he clenched a big fist.

On this level trail he led at a gallop, with the troops behind in the
clattering roar. They made short work of that valley. Then rougher
ground hindered speedy advance.

Presently Slingerland sighted something that made him start. It proved
to be the charred skeleton of a prairie-schooner. The oxen were nowhere
to be seen.

Then they saw that a little beyond blankets and camp utensils littered
the trail. Still farther on the broad wheel-tracks sheered off the road,
where the hurried drivers had missed the way in the dark. This was open,
undulating ground, rock-strewn and overgrown with brush. A ledge of
rock, a few scraggy trees, and more black, charred remains of wagons
marked the final scene of the massacre.

Neale was the first man who dismounted, and Larry King was the second.
They had outstripped the more cautious tro