riors, all in war paint and finery,
dashed and darted to and fro, some of them brandishing at the tips of
their lances ragged, dangling objects limp and dripping. Black Wolf's
story might indeed be true. Far away westward from the fort, as was the
agency from the southwest, there had been no timely warning, no chance
to send for aid. Overwhelmed at dawn by hundreds against their dozens,
the guard had probably died fighting, and the wolves and lynxes by this
time were scenting their breakfast and scurrying to the scene of
butchery. The savage display had its effect on the little garrison,
but--not just what was expected. Black Wolf's young braves might well
have had a "walk-over" at the wood camp, pounced in a red torrent upon
the unsuspecting party, and, with little loss to themselves, massacred
all the hated palefaces. That sort of fighting the Indian most
loves--that in which he can do and not suffer. Now came a different
proposition. From chief down to little children the Indians well knew
that thirty soldiers behind barricades were not to be "rushed," though a
thousand essayed it, without many a warrior biting the dust; and that
sort of fighting, said the Indian, is fool-fighting--lacks sense or
science. Bravely and desperately as he will battle against odds when
once in a hole, he will not battle at all, no matter how great his
numbers, if by strategy he can "win out" another way. What Black Wolf
and his warriors had hoped was so to weaken the nerve of the defenders
that they would listen to his promise that their lives be spared, agree
to the Indian terms, leave the demanded victims, their arms and horses
and start out afoot for the fort; then, as was intimated, once fairly
out on the open prairie, they could be butchered at leisure, and if the
young chief could not be captured alive to furnish sport for the squaws
and children of the braves he had defrauded and abused, at least they
could have his scalp to hang in the lodge when once again peace was
declared. Meantime the warriors, women and children,--all,--they could
be off to the Big Horn before the troops at the fort would get word of
the battle. Who, indeed, was to tell, with the lightning wire severed,
and the whole party slain?

But the warriors wasted their time. Three hours spent in trying to scare
were three hours lost to the redman. It was just about eight by the
agency clock that in one magnificent dash, half a thousand strong, the
legion came sweepin