cious. The ground was open, the herded ponies less
than half a mile forward, and already alarmed. "Let 'em go!" he
shouted, with a wave of the revolver over his head. "Straight through
the herd, men. _Ch-a-a-a-rge!_"

[Illustration: "'STRAIGHT THROUGH THE HERD, MEN.
_CH-A-A-A-RGE!_'"]

Then up went a cheer that rang over the valley, shrill above the
thunder of hoofs, the shriek and scream of terrified squaws, the shouts
of astonished braves. Away like the wind went the streaming swarm of
ponies, in mad flight for the north! Away like scatter-brained rabbits,
darting hither and thither in the firelight, rushing madly to shelter,
leaping from the "bench" to the sandy bottom below, scurrying in wild
panic anywhere, everywhere, went warriors, women, and children; for,
close on the heels of the vanishing herd came unknown numbers of
blue-coated, brave--hearted, tumultuous riders, tearing through camp
like a human tornado, turning the scene of the late revel into a
turmoil of woe. Vain the few shots aimed in haste and excitement. Vain
the rallying cry of a fighting chief. A blow from the butt of Ned
Connell's revolver sprawled him headlong over a prostrate form--a white
man "staked out" in front of the fire, swooning from mingled misery,
weakness, and joy.

It was Pearson, the missing "partner," captured alive by the Sioux,
doomed to die by slow torture, in revenge for a young warrior shot down
by the gun-traders in a senseless squabble two nights before.

And the troop had saved him and his fellow-captive, the cook, without
so much as firing a shot.

CHAPTER XVIII

BATTLE AND VICTORY

And this was the story that went on the heels of the escort convoying
the gun-traders in to the fort, and much did Major Berry relish the
composition of that report. It had long been the claim of himself and
his comrades that white men were encouraged to enter the reservation
with arms and cartridges, and that it was easy for the Sioux to lure
their police, or to mislead the sheriff, away from the point where
these unprincipled smugglers crossed the line.

Now, infuriated at the cowardice and treachery of two of their number,
Pearson, the leader, and Bent, the wagoner, had made a clean breast of
the business. They had driven hard bargains, had laid in good stores of
beaver, wolf, and deer skins, and no little cash. Then Little Crow
came, quarrelled over an obvious cheat, called one partner a liar, was
struck, abused,