, and the great moon above reassured him. He moved on. The next moment
he stopped dead. He could proceed no further. A ring of metal was pressing
against his forehead, and Seth was behind it, and his smooth, even voice,
coldly compelling, held him.

"Say, I've been lookin' fer you," it said. "You're comin' right up to the
farm. The Injuns are out. Savee? Jest fer once you're goin' to work on our
side. Say, you're goin' to fight 'em--with us."

There was a deathly silence. Neither moved. The gun was pressing the man's
forehead still. Nevil stood like one paralyzed.

"Wal?" questioned the cold voice, proceeding from Seth's shadowy figure.

And Nevil was driven to speech.

"I'm not a fighting man. I----"

But his denial was cut short.

"You've jest got ten seconds to make up your mind. You're goin' to
fight--for us, or----"

Seth had in no way raised his tones from the cold level of his manner at
the beginning. His victim had only a shadowy impression of him. He saw
only a hazy outline in the blackness of the forest; and he needed no
further sight to convince him. There was sufficient in the tone, and in
the pressure of the gun at his head. He knew the rest. Here was a sudden
collapse of all his schemes. There could be no resistance. Seth had the
drop on him.

"I'll go," he said sullenly.

CHAPTER XXVII

IN DESPERATE PLIGHT

At daylight the truth was known. The greatest Indian rising of two decades
had begun.

The Bad-Lands had entered upon a period of slaughter, of wanton massacre,
which was to form one of the bloodiest pages in the history of Indian
warfare.

The first to realize the full terror of the situation were the troops in
the small trader's fort overlooking the Reservations. They awoke to find
themselves hemmed in by a vast army of red-skinned warriors, entirely cut
off from the outside world. The climax of their discovery was reached when
an attempt was made to dispatch a telegraphic message to headquarters. The
wire was cut.

The next to grasp the situation were the citizens of Beacon Crossing. The
railroad track was destroyed, and all telegraphic communication was cut
off. A horde of warriors from Pine Ridge Reservation, some thousands
strong, threatened the township from the east, thus cutting them off from
the settlers on the plains.

The full knowledge of these things came in driblets to the refugees
gathering at White River Farm, filtering through piece by piece as each
party