ought of the freedom that he wanted
so much. They were his people coming so gallantly down the
valley, and he should be there. He pulled at the rawhide, but it
would not break; he tried to slip his wrists loose, but they
would not come; and, although unnoticed now, he was compelled
to stand there, still a prisoner, and merely see.

The horsemen came on swiftly, a splendid force riding
well--trained soldiers, compact of body and ready of hand. The
slope thundered with their hoofbeats as they came straight toward
the river. Dick drew one long, deep breath of admiration, and
then a terrible fear assailed him. Did these men who rode so well
know unto what they were riding?

The stillness prevailed yet a little longer in the Indian
village. The women and children were again running up the river,
but they were too far away for Dick to hear them, and he was
watching his own army. Straight on toward the river rode the
horsemen, with the yellow-haired general at their head, still
waving his hat. Strong and mellow, the song of the trumpet again
sang over the valley, but the terrible fear at Dick's heard grew.

It was obvious to the boy that the army of Custer intended to
cross the river, here not more than two feet deep, but on their
flank was the deadly quicksand and on the opposite shore facing
them the hidden warriors lay in the hundreds. Dick pulled again
at his bonds and began to shout: "Not there! Not there! Turn
away!" But his voice was lost in the pealing of the trumpets and
the hoof beats of many horses.

They were nearing the river and the warriors were swarming on
their flank, still held in leash by Bright Sun, while the great
medicine man, Sitting Bull, the sweat pouring from his face, was
making the most powerful medicine of his life. Nearer and nearer
they rode, the undergrowth still waving gently and harmlessly in
the light wind.

Dick stopped shouting. All at once he was conscious of its
futility. Nobody heard him. Nobody heeded him. He was only an
unnoticed spectator of a great event. He stood still now, back
to the tree, gazing toward the river and the advancing force.
Something wet dropped into his eye and he winked it away. It was
the sweat from his own brow.

The mellow notes of the trumpet sang once more, echoing far over
the valley, and the hoofs beat with rhythmic tread. The splendid
array of blue-clad men was still unbroken. They still rode heel
to heel and toe to toe, and