rength, and had gone on this sudden
raid, stepping practically from a sick-bed to the saddle. Twice that
morning, as the captain looked with ill-concealed anxiety into the face
of his friend and subaltern, he noted its pallor, despite the expression
of stern determination. Had there been time he would covertly have
warned three or four "stalwarts" of the first platoon not to lose sight
of their lieutenant, and to hold themselves close in support, but there
was no time. Indeed, as the sequel proved, there was no need. Soldier
stories fly fast among the rank and file, and the men of "C" Troop had
heard from many a source how the young officer on his first campaign had
denied himself, stinted himself, starved himself, nearly, in order to
share his scant supply of food with the weak and suffering in his own
troop, and so they welcomed his presence with them now when the column
marched from the cantonment, and spoke among themselves their admiration
of the pluck of the young officer in being so soon again on duty.

[Illustration: "LOOK OUT! DON'T HARM THE WOMEN."

Page 431.]

And so it happened that as the pace quickened that stirring June morning
and the long line swept down upon the rousing, shrieking village, and
the first shot came singing over their heads and the wild cheer leaped
to their lips as the trumpet sounded charge, while many troopers sought
their own course through and among the fire-spitting lodges, Sergeant
Grant with Donovan and two others drove their horses close at the heels
of the lieutenant's. Only squaws or children appeared among the tepees
as they dashed furiously in. "Look out! Don't harm the women!" they
heard him cry, as he held his own pistol hand well aloft, but in another
second a scowling, painted faced flashed one brief instant into view as
their leader went lunging by, a shot rang on the air, and flame and
smoke jetted from the lodge opening. Three pistols barked in answer and
Davies galloped on unhurt, but poor Donovan, with an Irish howl, dropped
his revolver, clapped his hands to his stomach as he toppled out of
saddle. "My God, fellers, I've got it," was his moan, as Davies, a
superb rider, quickly turned his horse about, and in the twinkling of an
eye leaped to the ground to the trooper's side.

"Quick, sergeant. Quick, men, help me lift him on my saddle, I'm too
weak," was his almost breathless order, and gallantly did they answer
him.

"Are ye badly hit, Jimmy?" gasped an honest