HE SMOKING MOUNTAIN

Medicine Mountain was a volcano. Out of its rocky summit and into the
quiet air of the May morning was rising a straight, blue column of
smoke.

A flag wigwagged from the southern lookout station to herald the
phenomenon, and in a moment the post was agog. Keen-sighted scouts
hurried to points of vantage, where they studied the mounting plume.
Far-reaching glasses were trained amid lively surmise from the galleries
fronting the parade. While at barracks, blocking the windows and
thronging the porch, the eager troopers gossiped and craned.

But in the stockade interest reached its highest pitch. Braves, squaws,
and children were strung along the upper end of the enclosure,
breathlessly watching the vapour-thread. Each swarthy face had dropped
the mask of listlessness; each figure was rooted. Not an eye forsook a
straight line to the belching mountain-top.

For full three minutes, the distant fire sent up a steady pillar. Then,
fort and stockade saw that pillar suddenly wobble, as if caught in the
vagaries of a fitful breeze--saw it wobble, thicken, break, and
disappear; when the butte again stood, a jagged tooth, against the sky.
Above it, innocently white, floated a hand's breadth of cloud.

And now the trumpet rang. Obeying it, two detachments mounted. One
spurred away down-river, keeping close in the lee of the bluffs. The
other boarded the ferry and was landed at the cut north of Shanty Town,
from where it made toward the Norwegian's. Behind, an envious, but
feverishly happy, garrison set about putting an extra polish on its
arms. The grass was too short for a war-pony. Active duty had not been
expected within the month. Yet the time of dreary waiting was up at
last. For here, within striking distance, were the hostile reds!

The warriors in the stockade knew better. Like so many whipped dogs,
they were scattered to cover, there to hide their bitter chagrin. No
war-party was come to harry Brannon, to lure the troopers into battle,
to free the captive village. A lone Indian--the looked-for
messenger--had fanned that signal-fire on the mountain. And, by a wave
of his blanket, he had told them evil news!

To Colonel Cummings, the seeming early boldness of the enemy gave an
inkling of what might be expected later on--in the summer--when there
would be good grazing, and a smaller force at the post. Already he
feared for the safety of the settlers living within sight of the
garrison flag. The