until the sun sank toward the sand dunes, and cast
a long path of light across the rippling shallows among the sand bars of
the Platte; but still we saw no signs of newcomers. Evening was
approaching when we heard the sound of a distant shot, and turning saw
our horse-guard, who had been stationed at the top of a bluff near by,
start down the slope, running toward the camp. As he approached he
pointed, and we looked down the valley toward the east.

Surely enough, we saw a faint cloud of dust coming toward us, whether of
vehicles or horsemen we could not tell. Auberry thought that it was
perhaps some west-bound emigrant or freight wagon, or perhaps a stage
with belated mails.

"Stay here, boys," he said, "and I'll ride down and see." He galloped
off, half a mile or so, and then we saw him pause, throw up his hand,
and ride forward at full speed. By that time the travelers were topping
a slight rise in the floor of the valley, and we could see that they
were horsemen, perhaps thirty or forty in all. Following them came the
dust-whitened top of an Army ambulance, and several camp wagons, to the
best of our figuring at that distance. We hesitated no longer and
quickly mounting our horses rode full speed toward them. Auberry met us,
coming back.

"Troop of dragoons, bound for Laramie," he said. "No Indians back of
them, but orders are out for all of the wagons and stages to hole up
till further orders. This party's going through. I told them to camp
down there," he said to me aside, "because they've got women with 'em,
and I didn't want them to see what's happened up here. We'll move our
camp down to theirs to-night, and like enough go on with them
to-morrow."

By the time I was ready to approach these new arrivals, they had their
plans for encampment under way with the celerity of old campaigners.
Their horses were hobbled, their cook-fires of buffalo "chips" were lit,
their wagons backed into a rude stockade. Guards were moving out with
the horses to the grazing ground. They were a seasoned lot of Harney's
frontier fighters, grimed and grizzled, their hats, boots and clothing
gray with dust, but their weapons bright. Their leader was a young
lieutenant, who approached me when I rode up. It seemed to me I
remembered his blue eyes and his light mustaches, curled upward at the
points.

"Lieutenant Belknap!" I exclaimed. "Do you remember meeting me down at
Jefferson?"

"Why, Mr. Cowles!" he exclaimed. "How on earth di