epeating pistol and sprang after his Indian ally, not feeling the
weight of his precious burden.

Lurid, stabbing rapiers of fire still sprang from the wagon barricade,
making death certain to any man who opened the barracks' door. Between
their heavy roars the woodwork of the wagon smacked sharply in time to
bursts of fire from the barracks' few windows. The Delaware darted from
the _palacio_ door and held close to the wall, hidden by the portico and
the darkness. As he reached the end of the column-supported roof the
Blackfoot bulked out of the night on his horse, and leading four others.
The lost-soul call of a loon sounded and changed the deadly wagon into a
vehicle of peace and quiet as its Arapahoe defenders slipped away from
it. The sudden creaking of saddle leather was followed by the rolling
thunder of flying hoofs as the first three horses left the square. A
moment's pause and then two more horses galloped through the darkness
after the others, the Arapahoe rear guard sitting almost sidewise in
their saddles, their long, hot rifles pointing backward to send hotter
greetings to whoever might follow.

They raced like gambling fools through the dark night, the Blackfoot
leading the way with the instinct of a homing bird. Mile after mile
strung out behind them, pastures, gullies, knolls rolling past. While
they climbed and dipped and circled they gradually sensed a steady
rising of the ground. Suddenly the Blackfoot shouted for them to halt,
and the laboring horses welcomed the moment's breathing space. The guide
threw himself on the ground and pressed his ear against it. In a moment
he was back in the saddle and gave the word to go on again. He had heard
no sounds of pursuit and he chuckled as he leaned over close to the
Delaware who rode at his flank.

"Nothin' stirrin' behind us, fur's I could make out," he said. "They can
only track us by sound in th' dark, at any speed, an' I'm gamblin' they
wait fer daylight. Thar scared ter stick thar noses out o' doors _this_
night. How's yore gal?"

Tom's rumbling reply could mean anything and they kept on through the
night without further words. The trail had been growing steadily rougher
and steeper and the horses were permitted to fall into a swinging lope.
Another hour passed and then Hank signalled for a stop. From his lips
whistled the crowded, hurried, repeated call of a whip-poor-will. Three
times the insistent demand rang out, clear and piercing. At the count