ture in throwing every atom
of soul and body into physical intensity; it was as if he himself were
a bright blade, dashing, cutting, killing, a living sword rejoicing to
destroy. With the coolness that may go with such a frenzy he felt that
his pistols were loose; saw with satisfaction that he and his new ally
were placed on the slope to the best advantage, then turned swiftly,
eager now for the fight to come, toward the Indian band. As he looked,
suddenly in mid-career, pulling in their plunging ponies with a jerk
that threw them, snorting, on their haunches, the warriors halted. Miles
watched in amazement. The bunch of Indians, not more than a hundred
yards away, were staring, arrested, startled, back of him to his right,
where the lower ridge of Massacre Mountain stretched far and level over
the valley that wound westward beneath it on the road to Fort
Rain-and-Thunder. As he gazed, the ponies had swept about and were
galloping back as they had come, across the plain.

Before he knew if it might be true, if he were not dreaming this curious
thing, the clear voice of his companion spoke in one word again, like
the single note of a deep bell. "Look!" he said, and Miles swung about
toward the ridge behind, following the pointing finger.

In the gray dawn the hill-top was clad with the still strength of an
army. Regiment after regiment, silent, motionless, it stretched back
into silver mist, and the mist rolled beyond, above, about it; and
through it he saw, as through rifts in broken gauze, lines interminable
of soldiers, glitter of steel. Miles, looking, knew.

He never remembered how long he stood gazing, earth and time and self
forgotten, at a sight not meant for mortal eyes; but suddenly, with a
stab it came to him, that if the hosts of heaven fought his battle it
was that he might do his duty, might save Captain Thornton and his men;
he turned to speak to the young man who had been with him. There was no
one there. Over the bushes the mountain breeze blew damp and cold; they
rustled softly under its touch; his horse stared at him mildly; away off
at the foot-hills he could see the diminishing dots of the fleeing
Indian ponies; as he wheeled again and looked, the hills that had been
covered with the glory of heavenly armies, lay hushed and empty. And
his friend was gone.

[Illustration: "Look!" he said, and Miles swung about toward the ridge
behind.]

Clatter of steel, jingle of harness, an order ringing out fa