toward the Laramie valley once
more, searching for a secure place to bivouac. Far to the north the
grand old peak loomed against the blue gray of the Wyoming skies. Off to
their left front, uplifting a shaggy crest from its surrounding hills, a
bold butte towered full twenty miles away, and toward that jagged
landmark Loring saw his sergeant peering time and again, with
hand-shaded eyes.

"What do you see?" he presently asked.

"Smoke, sir, I think. Will the lieutenant look with his glass?"

Silently Loring unslung his binocular and gazed. His eyes were keen, but
untrained. "Take it yourself, sergeant," he said; and the veteran
trooper reined out to one side and peered long and steadily, then came
trotting up to the head of the column, doubt and suppressed excitement
mingling on his weather-beaten face.

"I couldn't be sure, sir, but it looked for a minute like smoke."

"And that means----"

"Indian signals, sir. That's Eagle Butte, only a couple of miles from
Hal Folsom's ranch."

Loring pondered. It was long since, in any force, the Sioux had ventured
south of the Platte; but now, after their victory at Warrior Gap and the
tremendous reinforcement they had received from all the turbulent
tribes, what was to prevent? John Folsom himself had told him it might
be expected any moment. John Folsom himself had gone to that very spot,
consumed with anxiety about the safety of his son, but confident of the
safety of himself and those he loved when once he could reach the ranch.
"No Sioux," said he, "would raise hand to harm me."

But Loring's men and horses both were sorely wearied now, and at sundown
the little command reached a sheltered nook where grass, wood, and water
were abundant. Here restfully, yet anxiously they bivouacked until three
in the morning, and then once more, refreshed but alert and cautious,
watchful of their prisoners and watchful of the signs ahead, on they
sped for Folsom's ranch. The dawn broke beautifully clear. The trail led
down into the romantic valley of the Laramie at the bend where it begins
its rush through the range. Then, turning westward as they reached the
foot of a steep and commanding height, Loring signaled to his sergeant
and the troopers spurred up alongside. There before them lay the broad
and beautiful valley just lighting up with the rosy hues of the glad
young day. There to the northward, black-bearded with its growth of
pine, the rays of the rising sun just glinting on