put a ring around the town and left him inside of it."

Jondo paused and turned toward me.

"Yonder comes Banney to go on guard now. Gail, I'll tell you all about
it some day. I couldn't on a night like this."

The deep voice sent a shiver through me. There was a pathos in it, too
manly for tears, too courageous for pity.

The days that followed were hard ones. Word had gotten through the camp
that the Indians were very friendly, and that we need not be uneasy this
side of the Cimarron country. Smith and Davis agreed with the train
captain, Jondo, in taking no chances, but most of the one hundred sixty
bull-whackers stampeded like cattle against precaution, and rebelled at
his rigid ruling. He had begun to tighten down upon us as we went
farther and farther into the heart of a savage domain. The night guard
was doubled and every precaution for the stock was demanded, giving
added cause for grumbling and muttered threats which no man had the
courage to speak openly to Jondo's face. I knew why he had said that he
would need me. Bill Banney was always reliable, but growing more silent
and unapproachable every day. Rex Krane's mind was on the girl-wife he
had left in the stone house on the bluff above the Missouri. Beverly was
too cock-sure of himself and too light-hearted, too eager for an Indian
fight. Jondo could counsel with Smith and Davis of the St. Louis trains,
but only as a last resort would he dictate to them. So he turned to me.

We were nearing Pawnee Rock, but as yet no hint of an Indian trail could
we find anywhere. Advance-guards and rear-guards had no news to report
when night came, and the sense of security grew hourly. The day had been
very warm, but our nooning was shortened and we went into camp early.
Everything had gone wrong that day: harness had broken; mules had grown
fractious; a wagon had upset on a rough bit of the trail; half a dozen
men, including Smith and Davis of the St. Louis trains, had fallen
suddenly ill; drinking-water had been warm and muddy; and, most of all,
the consciousness of wide-spread opposition to Jondo's strict ruling
where there were no signs of danger made a very ugly-spirited group of
men who sat down together to eat our evening meal. Bets were openly
made that we wouldn't see a hostile redskin this side of Santa Fe.
Covert sneers pointed many comments, and grim silence threatened more
than everything else. Jondo's face was set, but there was a calmness
about his words