llows of the Minneconjou, a black column of
smoke was sighted far away to the southwest, sailing aloft for the
heavens, and now every southward window, the roofs of many a building,
the tower over the post Exchange, the cross-trees of the flagstaff, the
crests of neighboring bluffs,--all had their occupants, staring through
field-glasses or the unaided eye for any sign of the far-distant
detachment under Ray--for any symptom of any check or signal from the
swift advance of the squadron under the gaunt, semi-invalided major.

Barely three miles out, trotting in parallel columns of fours, the right
troop was seen to swerve to the west, and presently in a far-away clump
of willows in a deep ravine, found something, apparently, that gave them
just a moment's pause. "A human being," said the lookouts with the best
glasses, "and they're sending him in." True. Someone dismounted and
helped something into a saddle. A sergeant and trooper came presently
ambling homeward, leading between them a limp and drooping form. Many
people could not wait. They ran out to the bluffs, and were not amazed,
nor were they too well pleased, to find the lone watcher at the willows
to be none other than that strange creature Blenke--Blenke in a state
bordering on exhaustion. Straight to the colonel they led him, where
that officer sat in saddle in front of his battalions and ready for a
move. He was just about ordering the senior major to follow on the trail
of the cavalry, when, followed by curious eyes innumerable, the sergeant
with his prize came riding through the west gate.

"Private Blenke, sir," said he, saluting. "He can best tell his own
story," and with trembling lips and mournful eyes Blenke began. Things
looked so ominous the night before that it was evident the Indians meant
mischief. Sergeant French, commanding the guard, decided that the
colonel ought to be warned. Somebody would have to try to sneak through
the prowling, truculent warriors, make his way to the post, and tell of
their plight. The sergeant would order no man to risk his life in the
attempt. He called for volunteers, and, modestly Blenke said, at last he
felt it a duty to dare it. He found every rod of the valley beset by
foes. He found it impossible eastward or northward to pass them even in
the dark. He finally made his way out to the southward and, in wide
circuit, dodging and skulking when night riders came hurrying to and
fro, he at last managed by daybreak to ge