was overlaid by a dull, heavy, dun-colored cloud,
and traversed by black streaks or blotches that were recognized at once
as running buffalo. Red Cloud and his braves then were drawn away in
search of other game, and, light of heart and foot, the troopers trotted
back to the waiting stockade, to meet there late that evening, as the
weird tattoo of the drums and fifes was echoing back from the rocky
heights, the first messenger through in nearly fifteen days-a half-breed
Sioux from the distant posts along the Platte, bearing a written message
from the commanding officer at Frayne, which the veteran commandant at
Warrior Gap read with infinite comfort:

"Seven companies of infantry and three more troops of cavalry are on the
way and should reach you by Saturday week. The General seems thoroughly
alive to the situation, and we, too, are hoping for orders to move out
and help you give that infernal old scoundrel the thrashing he deserves.
All has been quiet hereabouts since that one party made its dash on Hal
Folsom's ranch. Of course you know the story of Lizette, and of course
Red Cloud must have known that Burning Star was head devil in that
enterprise, though Chaska was the victim. I take much comfort in the
fact that it was I who sent young Dean and his troop round by way of the
Laramie. Folsom and his people would have been murdered to a man if I
hadn't, and yet I hear that absurd old ass at Emory put Dean in arrest
for not coming directly home. Pecksniff should have been retired ten
years ago--for imbecility.

"We had a tremendous storm in the mountains to the south two days ago,
and a courier has just galloped out from Emory, inquiring for news of
Dean. It seems he was sent with a big sum in currency for your
quartermaster, and ordered to slip through by way of the Sweetwater, as
Red Cloud was known to be covering the direct road. Somehow it leaked
out before he started, and a gang of desperadoes gathered to jump him at
Canon Springs. The storm jumped them, for two of their dead and a dozen
horses were rolled out on the flats. Dean must have got through all
right, for Bat saw their trail fifteen miles above us. Of course, he'll
have to make night marches; but, unless Red Cloud gets wind of his
coming and corrals him, he should reach you almost as soon as this.
Michel, the bearer, has your dispatches and orders. Retained copies are
here. Good luck, old man, and may we meet within the fortnight and wind
up Red Cloud