firebrands. The besiegers gained in force with every moment. Poor old
Folsom, slowly regaining senses as he lay bound and helpless down by the
stream, whither his captors had borne him, heard the jeers and shouts of
triumph with which the Indians within the corral were rapidly making
their fire darts, when suddenly there rose on the morning air a sound
that stilled all others, a sound to which the Indians listened in
superstitious awe, a sound that stopped the hands that sought to burn
out the besieged and paralyzed just long enough all inspiration of
attack. Some of the Indians, indeed, dropped their arms, others sprang
to the ponies as though to take to flight. It was the voice of Lizette,
chanting the death song of the Sioux.

An hour later, once more in force, the band was gathered for its rush
upon the ranch. Jake, gallant fellow, lay bleeding at his post. Hope of
every kind was well-nigh dead. The silence without was only portent of
the storm so soon to burst. Pappoose, grasping her brother's rifle,
crouched facing the narrow entrance to the cellar. Jessie clung to the
baby, for Mrs. Hal, only dimly conscious, was moaning by her husband's
side, while Lizette in silence was kneeling, watching them with strange
glitter in her eyes. Suddenly she started, and with hand to ear,
listened intently. Then she sprang to an air port and crouched there,
quivering. Then again the ground began to tremble under the distant
thunder of pony feet, louder and louder every second. Again came the
rush of the Indian braves, but with it no exultant yell, only cries of
warning, and as this sound swept over and beyond their walls, there
followed another, the distant, deep-throated trooper cheer, the crack of
carbine, the rising thunder of the cavalry gallop, and then the voice of
Ned Lannion rang jubilantly over the dull clamor.

"Up! Up, everybody! Thank God, it's Dean and the boys!"

* * * * *

Long years after, in the camps and stockades and the growing towns of
the far West that almost marvelous rescue was the theme of many an
hour's talk. The number of men who took part in it, the number of hardy
fellows who personally guided the troops or else stood shoulder to
shoulder with Ned Lannion at the last triumphant moment, increased so
rapidly with the growing moons that in time the only wonder was that
anything was left of the Sioux. Official records, however, limited the
number of officers and men eng