to make pemmican in preparation
for their uprising, and if so they will make it somewhere on the Sun
Dance Trail. Now I am off. Let me go, Martin."

"Tell me your own movements now."

"First, the ranch," said Cameron. "Then straight for the Sun Dance."

"All right, old boy. By-by and good-luck!"

Cameron found Billy waiting with Ginger at the door of the hotel.

"Thank you, Billy," he said, fumbling in his pocket. "Hang it, I can't
find my purse."

"You go hang yourself!" said Billy. "Never mind your purse."

"All right, then," said Cameron, giving him his hand. "Good-by. You are
a trump, Billy." He caught Ginger by the mane and threw himself on the
saddle.

"Now, then, Ginger, you must not fail me this trip, if it is your last.
A hundred and twenty miles, old boy, and you are none too fresh either.
But, Ginger, we must beat them this time. A hundred and twenty miles
to the Big Horn and twenty miles farther to the Sun Dance, that makes
a hundred and forty, Ginger, and you are just in from a hard two days'
ride. Steady, boy! Not too hard at the first." For Ginger was showing
signs of eagerness beyond his wont. "At all costs this raid must be
stopped," continued Cameron, speaking, after his manner, to his horse,
"not for the sake of a few cattle--we could all stand that loss--but to
balk at its beginning this scheme of old Copperhead's, for I believe
in my soul he is at the bottom of it. Steady, old boy! We need every
minute, but we cannot afford to make any miscalculations. The last
quarter of an hour is likely to be the worst."

So on they went through the starry night. Steadily Ginger pounded the
trail, knocking off the miles hour after hour. There was no pause for
rest or for food. A few mouthfuls of water in the fording of a running
stream, a pause to recover breath before plunging into an icy river, or
on the taking of a steep coulee side, but no more. Hour after hour they
pressed forward toward the Big Horn Ranch. The night passed into morning
and the morning into the day, but still they pressed the trail.

Toward the close of the day Cameron found himself within an hour's ride
of his own ranch with Ginger showing every sign of leg weariness and
almost of collapse.

"Good old chap!" cried Cameron, leaning over him and patting his neck.
"We must make it. We cannot let up, you know. Stick to it, old boy, a
little longer."

A little snort and a little extra spurt of speed was the gallant
Ginger's reply,