, so another attempt was made. Sergeant Lutz said he'd
take it this time, and he rode through to Braska on a single
horse,--seventy-three miles in thirty hours. The Interior Department
asked immediate assistance of the War Department to make arrests, and
the general commanding at Omaha was instructed by wire to place a
sufficient force with the agent to enable him to overpower two or three
turbulent Indians. This sent Davies and twenty troopers to reinforce
Boynton, and the very day they started ushered in the coldest wave of
the winter and further tragedy at Ogallalla.

Drunk and defiant, the exulting murderer with two or three reckless
friends had ridden up to the agency, renewed their boasts and jeers and
yells, while Boynton and his men, as instructed by the agent, were over
at the village of Two Lance, a long mile away, rounding up their pony
herd to prevent the warriors making an assault on Red Dog's more distant
township. A shot rang out from somewhere among the agency buildings, and
the days of the boaster were numbered. Back, bearing the body, scurried
the trio of friends, and in less than an hour, in fury and transport and
grief and rage, the women were tearing their hair and prodding
themselves with knives, while the warriors, singing the death-song, were
painting themselves for battle. In vain the agent despatched messengers
to say he and his men were innocent of blood and would bring the
murderer of the murderer, some prowling Brule, to vengeance. Swift
return couriers bade him beware,--Red Dog and all his band were coming
to avenge the deed. Boynton was summoned in hot haste. He and his party
came sweeping in on the foremost wave of the wind, and between the two a
vengeful band of two hundred seasoned warriors, veterans of many a
foray, were held at bay from Wednesday night. It was too cold even for
fighting.

And Friday morning, after hardship and suffering there was no time to
tell, Lieutenant Davies with his party reached the threatened agency,
and was greeted with ringing cheers. That evening the grasp of the Ice
King was loosened by the soft touch of the south wind, and Red Dog rode
in state to the adjoining camp to claim the alliance of his brother
chiefs in his attempt to wrest from the agent the perpetrator of the
murder of his tribesman. That the dead Indian was himself a murderer
had no bearing on the matter, said Red Dog. He had simply knifed in
self-defence a beggarly Brule who quarrelled with