ieve, now she's got over the first shock of it, she rather
enjoys it. What do you think she said to me half an hour ago? She said,
with such a smile, 'When I get home I shall have something to tell them.
I'm keeping a diary.' Like a fool I said, 'You aren't home yet, auntie.' I
said it without thinking. What do you suppose she replied?"

"Can't guess."

"Oh, I'll get home all right. Mr. Seth 'll see to that."

But Seth was impervious to the compliment. The girl smilingly watched his
sombre face out of the corners of her eyes. There was no responsive
smile.

"It's jest them things make it hard," he said, with something very like a
sigh.

Rosebud's face had become serious. Her thoughts were hard at work.

"Is it as bad as that?" she asked presently.

"'Tain't no use lookin' at it easy. We're facin' the music--hard--this
time. But we ain't done yet. Not by a sight. It's kind o' lucky we've laid
in a big store of ammunition an' things."

It was dark by now, except for the glow of Indian fires, which gave a
weird light on all sides.

Rosebud drew closer to the man's side. Her action passed unnoticed. His
eyes were intent upon the dark horizon. He was watching, watching, with
every faculty alert. He was listening, his ears ready to catch the
faintest sound.

"It would be all right if only they could have sent word to the
headquarters of the troops, I s'pose," the girl said thoughtfully. "Just
fancy the Indians cutting the telegraph wires and destroying the
railway."

"Yup. Guess they've had all winter to get things settled," Seth responded
indifferently, while he turned a keen ear to windward.

"What are you listening for?" asked Rosebud, quickly.

"General's out scoutin'."

"Good old General!"

"Yes, he'll locate the Injuns when they git around."

But just then Rosebud was thinking of other things.

"Why can't you find some one who will try to get through to the troops? I
mean the headquarters?"

Seth shook his head.

"Can't spare a single man," he said conclusively. "I 'lows no white folk
'ud get through anyways. An' we ain't got an Injun, an' if we had I
wouldn't trust him no more'n I'd trust a 'rattler.' No, Rosie, gal, we've
got to fight this out on our own. An' make no sort o' mistake we're goin'
to fight good an' hard. I've figgered to hold this place fer two weeks an'
more. That's how I've figgered."

It was the final repetition which filled Rosebud with misgivings. She
realized the man's do