camp. It was well chosen for outlook near, and security
from afar. There was a growing light in the sky that follows the
darkness of moonset and runs before the break of dawn. Everything in
the camp was dead still. I saw evidences of war-paint and a recent
war-dance that forerun an Indian attack. I estimated the strength of the
enemy--possibly four hundred warriors, and noted the symbols of the
Kiowa tribe. Then, thrilled with pride at my skill and success, I turned
to retrace my way to my pony--and looked full into the face of an Indian
brave standing motionless in my path. A breath--and two more braves
evolved out of gray air, and the three stood stock-still before me. Out
of the tail of my eye, I caught sight of a drawn bow on either side of
me. I had learned quickness with firearms years ago, but I knew that two
swift arrows would cut my life-line before the sound of my ready
revolver could break the stillness of the camp. Three pairs of snaky
black eyes looked steadily at me, and I stared back as directly into
them. Two arrow-points gently touched my ears. Behind me, a tomahawk
softly marked a ring around my scalp outside of my hat. I was standing
in a circle of death. At last the brave directly before me slowly drew
up his bow and pointed it at me; then dropping it, he snapped the arrow
shaft and threw away the pieces. Pointing to my cocked revolver, he
motioned to me to drop it. At the same time the bows and tomahawks, of
the other warriors were thrown down. It was a silent game, and in spite
of the danger I smiled as I put down my firearms.

"Can't any of you talk?" I asked. "If you are friendly, why don't you
say so?"

The men did not speak, but by a gesture toward the tallest tepee--the
chief's, I supposed--I understood that he alone would talk to me.

"Well, bring him out." I surprised myself at my boldness. Yet no man
knows in just what spirit he will face a peril.

One of the braves ran to the chief's tent, but the remaining five left
me no chance for escape. It was slowly growing lighter. I thought of
Jondo and his search at sunrise, and the moments seemed like hours. Yet
with marvelous swiftness and stillness a score of Indians with their
chief were mounted, and I, with my pony in the center of a solid ring,
was being hurried away, alive, with friendly captors daubed with
war-paint.

There was a growing light in the east, while the west was still dark. I
thought of the earth as throwing back the gray