A wordless cry broke from the lips of The Squaw. He sped across the
coulee-bottom to the side of the dead chief. There he struck the fallen
man a blow upon the bare knee, snatched from his head an eagle feather,
daubed it across the flowing wound, and thrust it dripping red into his
own hair.

Then, as he had not done in years, he straightened. Then he cast from
him the foul rags of his squaw's dress. And in clout and the colours of
death, he stood forth--a warrior!

"I count a coup--Red Moon!" he cried.

Howls--from a watching band that had been struck dumb.

"A coup, I--Red Moon. Come on, you dogs--you that called me dog. Come
on, you squaws that called me squaw. Come on, and a warrior will fight
you, one by one!"

Before him, more howls, and a bluster of Uncapapa. Behind the voice
again: "Charley! Charley!"

And now Red Moon leaped back to resume his stand. With his turning, the
band drew after, sending a shower of arrows.

At the Throat he faced them again.

"Braves!" he laughed mockingly. "_Dogs_--that fight like dogs, a pack
against one!"

Now he shot, swift and unerringly. Here one flattened; there, another; a
third broke his jaw upon a stone. Till from their midst flew the missile
of Big Ox, hard-driven, straight. Quivering, it buried its deadly point
in Red Moon's breast.

Deafening whoops echoed in the narrow canyon, drowning the hoof-beats of
a nearing horse.

Red Moon answered them. He was swaying to and fro, like a cypress limb
in a great wind. He lifted his face to the sky until his crimson
scalp-feather drooped; flung back his hair, and clapped palm to mouth in
a war-cry.

Then his bow flew from his hand as his arms spread out--spread out as if
seeking something upon which to lean. He sank to his knees, chanting the
death-song of the Sioux.

"Charley! Charley!" It was a wail.

Not his voice, but another's, answered: "Dallas! Where are you?"

The Indians heard the call. Catching up wounded and dead, they fell
back.

Dallas, shielded no longer, yet forgetful of danger and self, ran
forward to where Red Moon knelt. Even as she reached him, he could kneel
no longer. He toppled sideways, then straightened upon his back.

But now the band was coming back toward Dallas, on their way to the
Throat. Their purpose was thwarted. Before Dallas was reached, a man
blocked the narrow passage, and two revolvers, barking a staccato,
spread panic among them. They turned to the walls, looking for