and waving their hats and
shouting congratulation and encouragement, and ducking suddenly as more
bullets came whistling in, and from a low rumble the sound rose to
distant thunder, and from that to nearer uproar, and Truman and Cranston
made a rush for their own herds, ordering the men to side line and
hopple instantly, for the surviving horses were excitedly sniffing the
air, pawing and snorting, and then there hove in sight up the valley the
wiry leaders of the herd, galloping wearily, behind them a dull,
dust-hidden, laboring mass, the main body of the Indian prizes swept
away at sunrise. But who and what were these darting along the flanks of
the coming host, lashing furiously in and out, ever guiding,
controlling, commanding even while hurrying on? No blue-shirted,
slouch-hatted, broad-belted troopers these! No cheering comrades of the
stalwart --th, but in their stead few, but far more skilful, the most
accomplished herdsmen in all creation,--Indians by the dozen. And then
at last, amid the yell and clamor and shot and shout and furious rush of
riderless steeds, came explanation of the mysterious foray up the Spirit
valley. Circling far to the west and south, riding like the wind when
once well out of sight of watching foes, the Ogallallas had swung around
between the Ska and Winthrop's distant column, threaded ravines and
depressions well known to them from boyish days, and finally creeping
behind the curtaining bluffs into full view of the great herd drowsily
nibbling in the broad, sunny valley, had burst with maddening yell and
waving blankets and banging rifles, with sudden fury from their covert,
tearing by the weary pickets, stampeding their horses, and so had gone
thundering down upon the startled herd and, skilfully encircling it from
the south, reckless of rallying cry and rapid shot from Canker's men,
had sent the whole pack, with many a cavalry charger too, whirling
before them in wild triumph down the echoing valley, back to the waiting
village whence they came. "Red Dog versus Chrome Yaller," wailed little
Sanders from his bed of leaves. "Who wouldn't have bet on the bay?"

Vain the major's valiant effort to mount and follow. Forty at least of
his horses were swept away in the rush, his own among them; vain
long-range shots and Canker's vivid blasphemy. Black in the face with
rage, he mounted such men as had managed to restrain their horses and
went charging after, leaving Chrome to the care of his f