y ugly face of the dog, he noted the
determination marked in every feature of it. He could not imagine any
one's stopping Bull from going into a fight if he wanted to go into it.
And perhaps unconsciously Whitey's under lip and jaw shot out, and his
face took on much the expression of Bull's. Whitey would like to see any
one stop _him_ from going.

That new, elderly cook not only approved of Whitey's purpose of
disobedience or rebellion, he aided him in it; yes, if it cost him his
job! There was the iron-gray colt, still restless and as ready for the
fourteen-mile ride back as he was for his breakfast. While Whitey limped
into the ranch house for some clothing and footwear, the cook had his
own troubles getting his own saddle and bridle on that pony.

When Whitey reappeared and was helped into the saddle, he let out a yell
of agony and helped himself out again. This would never do. The leather
felt like hot iron. A consultation. The cook's blankets were brought
out, folded and cinched on the saddle, the stirrups shortened. Again
Whitey mounted. The torture was somewhat less. Painfully he galloped
away. A last look back showed the lantern on the ground, the cook
kneeling beside it, with both arms around Sitting Bull, restraining that
warrior from following.

When the Bar O men and Lampson and Cooley were joined by the contingent
from the Junction, about forty determined vigilantes dashed over the
prairie. Their horses were fresh and they made good speed. The cloudy
darkness had given way to starlight that dimly illumined the still
night. Mr. Sherwood had aimed at a sufficient force to overawe the
threshers, if possible. There was little talk.

They had made perhaps ten miles when there was a distraction. A horse
came galloping toward them. A dozen rifles were drawn from their
gunboats. When the horse drew near, it made a detour, avoiding them, and
eyes accustomed to the darkness could see that it was riderless. With no
pause, but commenting on this, they rode on.

About two miles farther on, from the surface of the plain came a flash
of flame and the short bark of a forty-five, followed by another and
another. The men reined in, but the shots were directed the other way.
The marksman was evidently too occupied with his invisible target to
notice them. But on their nearer approach he rose to his feet and
started to run. A shot over his head, a sharp command, and he halted and
was surrounded by the vigilantes, but not