rike them."

Already Cranston seemed to divine what the old Indian meant to
counsel,--"The longest way round is the shortest way home," in fact, as
Hawk calmly explained. They knew the white soldiers were coming from
Ogallalla. They expected them from the southeast,--had seen them coming
from that direction and, falling back to the stream before them, were
watching for their coming on the following morn. Their scouts could not
be more than a few miles in front of them now. They would be up and away
the moment they heard of the near approach of the column. Then it would
be a stern chase into the heart of the hills, and there, reinforced by
renegades from all sides, they might be able to turn upon and overwhelm
their pursuers. There was only one likely way of striking them where
they were, and that was by making wide circuit to the north, fording the
Ska far behind their camp, and then, turning up-stream, attack them from
the north or northeast. Chrome saw the point and yielded. When at 1.30
the little command mounted and moved away it was at brisk, steady walk,
"column half right," with the pole star high aloft but straight ahead.
Ten minutes out and they struck the trot. "Bedad!" said Trooper Riley,
at the rear of column, "Old Chrome Teller's had his nap out at last."

Many's the time a cavalry column, after an all-night march, finds
itself jaded and drowsy just as a blithe young world is waking up to
hail the coming day. Far different is the feeling when, refreshed by a
few hours' sound and dreamless sleep, warmed with that soldier comfort,
coffee, and thrilled by the whispered news of "fight ahead," the troop
pricks eagerly on. Then the faint blush of the eastern sky, the cool
breath of the morning breeze, the dim gray light that steals across the
view, all are hailed with bounding pulse and kindling eyes. It was just
at the peep of day, after a glorious burst over the bounding turf, that
Chrome's little battalion, some two hundred and forty strong, riding in
broad column of fours, and guided by old Thunder Hawk himself, turned
squarely to the left at the head of a long, dark, winding ravine, and,
diminishing front to two abreast, and steadying down to the walk again,
dove out of sight among the tortuous depths. Thirty minutes more and the
Ska was foaming about the horses' bellies as they boldly forded the
stream, every man whipping out and raising carbine as his steed plunged
in. Then, turning southwestward, close un