had sat still until they
could sit still no longer. They had fasted too long. They talked to each
other through the sagebrush, and this is what happened when they cast
the dice between Death and Dinner: A tall, long-haired man clad in
the fringed buckskin of a Rocky Mountain trapper of the period,
passed slowly around the circle of the siege, shouting loudly to those
concealed among the brush and grasses. What he said the Chis-chis-chash
did not know, but they could see him pointing at them continually.

The Fire Eater raised his voice: "Brothers, keep your guns full of
fire; lay all your arrows beside you; put your war-ax under you. The
Yellow-Eyes are going to kill us as we do the buffalo in a surround.
Brothers, if the Thunder Bird does not come our fires will go out now.
We will take many to the spirit-land."

Having completed the circle the tall white man waved a red blanket and
started on a run toward the place where the Indians lay. From all sides
sprang the besiegers converging with flying feet. When nearly in contact
the Indians fired their guns, killing and wounding. The whites in
turn excitedly emptied theirs and through the smoke with lowered heads
charged like the buffalo. The bowstrings twanged and the ravens could
only see the lightning sweep of axes and furious gun-butts going over
the pall of mingled dust and powder smoke. If the ravens were watching
they would have seen nothing more except a single naked Indian run out
of the turmoil, and after a quick glance backward speed away through the
sagebrush. He could not fight for victory now; he only sought to escape;
he was deserted by his Gods; he ran on the tightened muscles of a
desperate hope.

A bunch of horses had been left huddled by a squad of the enemy who had
gone in with the charge on post and for these the Fire Eater made. No
one seemed to notice the lone runner until a small herds-boy spied him,
and though he raised his childish treble it made no impression. The Fire
Eater picked up a dropped pony-whip and leading two ponies out of the
bunch, mounted and lashed away. He passed the screaming boy within
killing distance, but it was an evil day.

Before the small herder's voice asserted itself he was long out of
rifleshot though not out of pony-reach.

A dozen men dashed after him. The warrior plied his whip mercilessly
in alternate slaps on each pony-quarter and the bareback savage drew
steadily away to the hills. For many miles the white m