oice and
stroke of hand. They pressed against him, pushed their noses into his
palm, and showed a confidence in him that did not fail to move the lad
despite the terrible nature of their situation.

"Good lads!" he whispered when he left them and crawled back within the
barricade.

"How're they behavin'?" asked the Little Giant.

"Fine," responded Will. "Human beings couldn't do better. They're
standing well under fire, when they're not able to fire back."

"Which gives more credit to them than to us, because we can and do fire
back."

"Will," said Boyd, "you resume your watch of that band in front while we
devote all our attention to the cottonwoods. It's a good thing we've got
this creek with the high banks back of us. Now, we're in for a long
wait. When warriors are besieging, they always try to wear out the
patience of those they besiege and tempt 'em into some rash act."

"Those in front are riding beyond the swell and out of sight," said
Will.

The Little Giant laughed with the most intense satisfaction.

"They're skeered o' our rifles," he said. "We've got lightnin' that
strikes at pretty long range, an' they ain't so shore that it ain't a
lot longer than it is."

Will had learned the philosophy of making himself comfortable whenever
he could, and lying with his hand on one arm he watched the cottonwoods,
trusting meanwhile more to ear than to eye. Since the Indians in front,
disappearing over the swell, had ceased to shout, the night became
quiet. The wind was light and the cottonwoods did not catch enough of it
to give back a song, while the creek was too sluggish to murmur as it
flowed. His comrades also were moveless, although he knew that they were
watching.

He looked up at the heavens, and the moon and the stars were so bright
that they seemed to be surcharged with silver. The whole world, in such
misty glow, was supremely beautiful, and it was hard to realize, as he
lay there in silence and peace, that they were surrounded by savage
foes, seeking their lives, men who, whatever their primitive virtues,
knew little of mercy. He understood and respected the wish of the Sioux
and the other tribes to preserve for themselves the great buffalo ranges
and the mountains, but he was not able to feel very friendly toward them
when they lay in the cottonwoods not far away, seeking his scalp and his
life, or, if taken alive, to subject him to all the hideous tortures
that primeval man has invented. The di