e end of his vigil, when he
could smile grimly at the terror that had obsessed him. He was a born
coward, but he did not need to let anybody know it. It would always be
within his power to act game whether he was or not.

At one o'clock he woke Dud. That young man rolled out of his blanket
grumbling amiably. "Fine business! Why don't a fellow ever know when he's
well off? Me, I might be hittin' the hay at Bear Cat or Meeker instead of
rollin' out to watch for Utes that ain't within thirty or forty miles of
here likely. Fellow, next war I stay at home."

Bob slipped into his friend's warm blanket. He had no expectation of
sleeping, but inside of five minutes his eyes had closed and he was off.

The sound of voices wakened him. Dud was talking to the jingler who had
just come off duty. The sunlight was pouring upon him. He jumped up in
consternation.

"I musta overslept," Bob said.

Dud grinned. "Some. Fact is, I hadn't the heart to waken you when you was
poundin' yore ear so peaceful an' tuneful."

"You stood my turn, too."

"Oh, well. It was only three hours. That's no way to divide the night
anyhow."

They were eating breakfast when a messenger rode into camp. He was from
Major Sheahan of the militia. That officer sent word that the Indians
were in Box Canyon. He had closed one end and suggested that the rangers
move into the other and bottle the Utes.

Harshaw broke camp at once and started for the canyon. A storm blew up, a
fierce and pelting hail. The company took refuge in a cottonwood grove.
The stones were as large as good-sized plums, and in three minutes the
ground was covered. Under the stinging ice bullets the horses grew very
restless. More than one went plunging out into the open and had to be
forced back to shelter by the rider. Fortunately the storm passed as
quickly as it had come up. The sun broke through the clouds and shone
warmly upon rivulets of melted ice pouring down to the Blanco.

Scouts were thrown forward once more and the rangers swung into the hills
toward Box Canyon.

"How far?" Bob asked Tom Reeves.

"'Bout half an hour now, I reckon. Hope we get there before the Injuns
have lit out."

Privately Bob hoped they would not. He had never been under fire and his
throat dried at the anticipation.

"Sure," he answered. "We're humpin' along right lively. Be there in time,
I expect. Too bad if we have to chase 'em again all over the map."

Box Canyon is a sword slash cut through