is eyes the silence became painful, it was so
heavy and oppressive. He felt lonely and afraid, more afraid
than he had even been for himself while the battle was in
progress. It seemed to him that he was pursued by the ghosts of
the fallen, and he longed for the company of his own race.

Dick was not conscious of hunger or fatigue. His nerves were
still keyed too high to remember such things, and now he turned
down to the Little Big Horn. Remembering the terrible quicksand,
he tried the bank very gingerly before he stepped into the
water. It was sandy, but it held him, and then he waded in
boldly, holding his rifle and belt of cartridges above his head.
He knew that the river was not deep, but it came to his waist
here, and once he stepped into a hole to his armpits, but he kept
the rifle and cartridges dry. The waters were extremely cold,
but Dick did not know it, and when he reached the desired shore
he shook himself like a dog until the drops flew and then began
the perilous task of returning to the village on the side
farthest from Custer's battle.

He went carefully along the low, wooded shores, keeping well in
the undergrowth, which was dense, and for an hour he heard and
saw nothing of the Sioux. He knew why. They were still
rejoicing over their great victory, and although he knew little
of Indian customs he believed that the scalp dance must be in
progress.

The moon and stars came out. A dark-blue sky, troubled by
occasional light clouds, bent over him. He began at last to feel
the effects of the long strain, mental and physical. His clothes
were nearly dry on him, but for the first time he felt cold and
weak. He went on, nevertheless; he had no idea of stopping even
if he were forced to crawl.

He reached the crest of a low hill and looked down again on the
Indian village, but from a point far from the hill on which he
had stood during the battle. He saw many lights, torches and
camp fires, and now and then dusky figures moving against the
background of the flames, and then a great despair overtook him.
To rescue Albert would be in itself difficult enough, but how was
he ever to find him in that huge village, five miles long?

He did not permit his despair to last long. He would make the
trial in some manner, how he did not yet know, but he must make
it. He descended the low hill and entered a clump of bushes
about fifty yards from the banks of the Little Big Horn. Here he
stopped and