of the headstrong
man, and fear, hidden under an exterior of calm debate, on the part of
Wanaha. She knew her brother, and in her mind tried to account for her
husband's absence. After the warriors had departed she passed a night of
gloomy foreboding.

All unconscious of her narrow escape, Rosebud headed away to the
northeast. She had no elaborate scheme of route. With the instinct of her
prairie training she knew her direction. She would make her destination as
the crow flies, chancing everything, every danger, so that she could make
the best time; no personal considerations entered into her calculations.

She could see the reflections of the camp-fires in the sky in every
direction, but, with a reckless courage, she cared nothing for this. A
more calculating mind might well have shrunk from the dangers they
suggested. To her they meant no more than obstacles which must be
confronted and overcome. She knew nothing of strategy in warfare; of cover
there was none in the direction she was taking.

Like the line of great soldiers from whom she was descended she understood
riding straight only. Let the fences and pitfalls come, let them be what
they might, she would not swerve. Whatever the emergency, she was prepared
to confront it, and, like a thorough sportswoman but a bad general, to
take her chance, relying only on her good horse and the darkness, and the
proverbial luck of the reckless.

Though this was her general idea she did all she could to help. A
featherweight, she still strove to ride lighter. Then she had her
firearms, and she steeled her heart to their use. After all she came from
splendid fighting stock.

She allowed herself no thought of failure. She must not fail, she told
herself. They were waiting for help in the stockade behind her; patient,
strong, a man of lion heart, who knew defeat only when the last shot was
fired, the last blow struck, and he was left helpless to defend himself
and those others, he was waiting. Her thoughts inspired her with the
courage of a brave woman whose lover is in grave peril, than which there
is no greater courage in the world.

Now the moment of her peril drew near. Every raking stride of her willing
horse cut the brief seconds shorter and shorter. The lurid reflections of
the camp-fires in the sky had given place to the starlike glow of the
fires themselves, and every yard of the distance covered showed them
larger and plainer against the sky-line.

She was ridin