.

Thrusting the revolver back into its holster she offered up a silent
prayer to heaven. Then she leaned over her horse's neck to relieve him of
her weight, and, with the yelling horde hard upon her heels, gave herself
up to the race.

CHAPTER XXIX

HARD PRESSED

During those first terrible days of the Indian outbreak the horrors that
befell could only be guessed at. The government, the people living without
the danger zone, gradually learned the full details, but those most
concerned only knew what was happening in their immediate neighborhood.
Every one, even those who had made a life-study of their red-skinned
neighbors, were taken unawares. The methods of the untried chieftain had
proved themselves absolutely Napoleonic.

There could be no doubt that the whole campaign was the result of long and
secret preparation. But it had been put into execution at the
psychological moment, which was its warrant of success. That this moment
had been unpremeditated, and that something very like chance alone had
precipitated matters, afforded neither hope nor consolation.

And this chance. A frail white woman; Rosebud's return to the farm--her
visit in Nevil Steyne's company to the Reservation. For a few moments the
wild, haughty chieftain had stood observing her as she rode through the
encampment; and in those few moments the mischief was done.

The old trading fort offered little resistance to the Indian attack, and
the handful of troops within it very little more. Being soldiers they were
treated to the Indians' first attention. An overwhelming horde of picked
warriors was sent to deal with them, and, by the end of the second day,
the massacre and sacking of the post were accomplished.

In this way a large reinforcement was added to the party threatening
Beacon Crossing. Intoxicated with their first success the whole army
rushed upon the unfortunate township. And all the more fierce was the
onslaught for the reason that the attack was made up of rival tribes.

The Rosebuds had wiped out the troops, and, in consequence, the men of
Pine Ridge, fired by jealousy, advanced like a raging torrent mad with the
desire for slaughter. Utterly unprepared for such rapid movements, the men
at the Crossing, unorganized, hardly realizing what had happened, fell
easy victims.

The township, like the fort, was wiped from the fair face of the budding
prairie-land. The horrors of the massacre were too terrible to be dealt
wit