opers.

"My Gawd!" breathed Larry.

Neale gripped his rifle with fierce hands and strode forward between two
of the burned wagons. Naked, mutilated bodies, bloody and ghastly, lay
in horrible positions. All had been scalped.

Slingerland rode up with the troops, and all dismounted, cursing and
muttering.

Colonel Dillon ordered a search for anything to identify the dead. There
was nothing. All had been burned or taken away. Of the camp implements,
mostly destroyed, there were two shovels left, one with a burnt handle.
These were used by the troopers to dig graves.

Neale had at first been sickened by the ghastly spectacle. He walked
aside a little way and sat down upon a rock. His face was wet with
clammy sweat. A gnawing rage seemed to affect him in the pit of the
stomach. This was his first experience with the fiendish work of the
savages. A whirl of thoughts filled his mind.

Suddenly he fancied he heard a low moan. He started violently. "Well,
I'm hearing things," he muttered, soberly.

It made him so nervous that he got up and walked back to where the
troopers were digging. He saw the body of a woman being lowered into a
grave and the sight reminded him of what Slingerland had said. He saw
the scout searching around and he went over to him.

"Have you found the girl?" he asked.

"Not yet. I reckon the devils made off with her. They'd take her, if she
happened to be alive."

"God! I hope she's dead."

"Wal, son, so does Al Slingerland."

More searching failed to find the body of the girl. She was given up as
lost.

"I'll find out if she was took captive," said Slingerland. "This Sioux
band has been friendly with me."

"Man, they're on the war-path," rejoined Dillon.

"Wal, I've traded with them same Sioux when they was on the war-path....
This massacre sure is awful, an' the Sioux will hev to be extarminated.
But they hev their wrongs. An' Injuns is Injuns."

Slabs of rock were laid upon the graves. Then the troopers rode away.

Neale and Slingerland and Larry King were the last to mount. And it was
at this moment that Neale either remembered the strange, low moan or
heard it again. He reined in his horse.

"I'm going back," he called.

"What fer?" Slingerland rejoined.

Larry King wheeled his mount and trotted back to Neale.

"Red, I'm not satisfied," said Neale, and told his friend what he
thought he had heard.

"Boy, you're oot of yur haid!" expostulated Red.

"Maybe I am. But I'm g