through his glasses, could easily see
Stabber himself raging among them in violent altercation with a tall,
superbly built and bedizened young brave, a sub-chief, apparently, who
for his part, seemed giving Stabber as good as he got. Lame Wolf was not
in sight at all. He might still be far from the scene, and this tall
warrior be acting as his representative. But whoever or whatever he was
he had hearty following. More than three-fourths of the wrangling
warriors in the group seemed backing him. Ray, after a few words to
Sergeant Winsor, crawled over beside his silent and absorbed young
second in command, and, bringing his glasses to bear, gazed across a low
parapet of sand long and fixedly at the turbulent throng a thousand
yards away.

"It's easy to make out Stabber," he presently spoke. "One can almost
hear that foghorn voice of his. But who the mischief is that red villain
opposing him? I've seen every one of their chiefs in the last five
years. All are men of forty or more. This fellow can't be a big chief.
He looks long years younger than most of 'em, old Lame Wolf, for
instance, yet he's cheeking Stabber as if he owned the whole outfit."
Another long stare, then again--"Who the mischief can he be?"

No answer at his side, and Ray, with the lenses still at his eyes, took
no note for the moment that Field remained so silent. Out at the front
the excitement increased. Out through the veil of surging warriors, the
loud-voiced, impetuous brave twice burst his way, and seemed at one and
the same time, in his superb poise and gesturings, to be urging the
entire body to join him in instant assault on the troops, and hurling
taunt and anathema on the besieged. Whoever he was, he was in a
veritable fury. As many as half of the Indians seemed utterly carried
away by his fiery words, and with much shouting and gesticulation and
brandishing of gun and lance, were yelling approbation of his views and
urging Stabber's people to join them. More furious language followed and
much dashing about of excited ponies.

"Have you ever seen that fellow before?" demanded Ray, of brown-eyed
Sergeant Winsor, who had spent a lifetime on the plains, but Winsor was
plainly puzzled.

"I can't say for the life of me, sir," was the answer. "I don't know him
at all--and yet--"

"Whoever he is, by Jove," said Ray, "he's a bigger man this day than
Stabber, for he's winning the fight. Now, if he only leads the dash as
he does the debate, we ca