n drawn into a trap. Every man who had been carried over
the edge of the mesa by the impetus of the charge was already unhorsed.
Several were apparently dead. One was scudding for cover.

Dud drew back promptly. He did not care to stand silhouetted against the
sky-line for sharpshooters. Nobody had ever accused the Utes of being
good shots, but at that distance they could hardly miss him if he
stayed.

The soldiers and rangers gathered in a small clump of cottonwoods.
Harshaw read his boys the riot act.

"Fine business," he told them bitterly. "Every last one of you acted like
he was a tenderfoot. Ain't you ever seen a Ute before? Tryin' to collect
him so anxious, an' him only bait to lead you on. I reckon we better go
home an' let Major Sheahan's boys do this job. I'm plumb disgusted with
you."

The range-riders looked at each other out of the corners of meek eyes.
This rebuke was due them. They had been warned against letting themselves
be drawn on without orders.

"That fellow Houck he started it," Big Bill suggested humbly by way of
defense.

"Were you drug into it? Did he rope you off yore horse an' take you along
with him?" demanded Harshaw sarcastically. "Well, I hope you got yore
lesson. How many did we lose?"

A roll-call showed four missing. Hollister felt a catch at the throat
when his riding partner failed to report. Bob must be one of those who
had gone over the ledge.

One of Sheahan's troopers on scout duty reported. "Indians making for a
gulch at the end of the willows, sir. Others swarming up into the bushes
at the edge of the mesa."

A cowpuncher familiar with the country volunteered information. "Gulch
leads to that ridge over there. It's the highest point around here."

"Then we'd better take the ridge," Harshaw suggested to Sheahan. "Right
quick, too."

The major agreed.

They put the troop in motion. Another scout rode in. The Utes were
hurrying as fast as they could to the rock-rim. Major Sheahan quickened
the pace to a gallop. The Indians lying in the bushes fired at them as
they went.

Tom Reeves went down, his horse shot under him. Dud pulled up, a hundred
yards away. Out of the bushes braves poured like buzzing bees. The
dismounted man would be cut off.

Hollister wheeled his cowpony in its tracks and went back. He slipped a
foot from the stirrup and held it out as a foot-rest for Reeves. The Utes
whooped as they came on. The firing was very heavy. The pony, a young
one, da