the topmost crags,
towered Eagle Butte, a plume of smoke-puffs, even at the moment
beginning to soar slowly aloft. There, not a mile away straight ahead
was the steep ridge that, hiding Folsom's from view, stretched down from
the northward foothills to the very bank of the lapping Laramie. There
south of the stream, the gradual slope of the black range, studded here
and there with bowlders that seemed to have rolled down from the
precipitous cliffs under which they were now moving, two seasoned old
dragoons three hundred yards out to the front, covering the cautious
advance. All the broad sweep of rolling landscape far to the west just
lighting up in the slant of the summer sunshine. Not a living thing in
sight save their own little band, yet beyond that ridge, only two miles
away, lay the ranch. All seemingly peaceful and secure, yet, over that
jagged watch tower to the north the war signals of the Sioux were
flaunting, and every hand seemed to seek the small of the gun stock.
Even two of the prisoners plead for "a show in the fight," if there was
to be one, and not five minutes later it came. Borne on the still,
breathless air there rose throbbing from the west the spiteful crack,
crack of rifles, the distant clamor of taunting jeer and yell. Back from
the front came one of the troopers at mad gallop, his eyes popping
almost from his head. "My God! lieutenant, Folsom's ranch is afire and
the valley's thick with Sioux!"

Even then, when every carbine seemed to leap from its socket, men
remembered the groan of despair that rose from Burleigh's lips.

"Look after the prisoners, corporal. Sergeant Carey, you and the first
six come with me!" cried Loring. A gallop of less than a minute brought
them almost abreast of the ridge. Black and billowing a cloud of smoke
was rising, lashed from beneath by angry tongues of red flame.

"It isn't the house, thank God!" cried the sergeant. "It's the
haystacks. But--look at the Indians!"

Look, well they might! All about the corrals they were darting. All of a
sudden there blazed from the ridge line across the stream the fire of a
dozen rifles. All around them the spiteful bullets bit the turf. One
horse madly reared and plunged, his rider cursing heartily. Wildly the
more excitable troopers returned an aimless shot from the saddle, while
others gazed eagerly to the officer for orders. It was his first meeting
with the Sioux. It had been his hope to gain that threatened ranch by
da