where they made a camp among
the cottonwoods.

Will, weary from the long ride, went to sleep as soon as dusk came, but
he was awakened somewhere near the middle of the night by the hand of
Boyd on his shoulder.

"What is it?" he asked, sitting up and not yet wholly awake.

"Quiet!" whispered Boyd. "Reach for your rifle, and then don't stir. The
Sioux are out on the plain to the west, in front of us. Tom, who was on
watch, heard 'em, and then he saw 'em. There's a band of at least fifty
on their ponies. We think they know we're here. Likely they heard our
animals moving about."

The lad's heart contracted. It seemed a hideous irony of fate that,
after having escaped so many dangers by their skill and courage, blind
chance should bring such a great menace against them here upon the
plains. He drew himself from his blankets, and propping himself upon his
elbows pushed forward his repeating rifle. Then he changed his mind, put
down his rifle again, and brought to his eyes the precious glasses, with
which he seldom parted.

He was able to see through the cottonwoods and in the moonlight the
Sioux band, about a third of a mile away, gathered in a group on the
crest of a swell, strong warriors, heavily painted, nearly all of them
wearing splendid war bonnets. They were sitting on their ponies and two,
whom Will took to be chiefs, were talking together.

"What do you make out, young William?" asked the Little Giant.

"A conference, I suppose."

"Then they know beyond a doubt that we're here," said Boyd. "They must
have heard the stamp of a horse or a mule. It's bad luck, but we've had
so much of the good that we've got to look for a little of the bad. What
more do you see through those glasses of yours, Will?"

"Ten men from the band have gone to the right, and ten have gone to the
left. All are bent low on their ponies, and they are moving slowly.
Some carry lances and some rifles."

"That settles it. They're sure we're here and they mean to take us. What
about those who are left in the center?"

"They've come a little nearer, but not much."

"Waiting for the two wings to close in before they attack. That's your
crafty Indian. They never waste their own lives if they can help it, nor
does an Indian consider it any disgrace to run when the running is of
profit. I don't know but what they're right. Can you still see the two
wings, Will?"

"The one on the left is hid by a swell, but the other on the right is
bear