omething to favor, something to aid; but in this almost cruel stillness
nothing under God can help him,--nothing but darkness and his own brave
spirit.

"If I get through this scrape in safety," mutters Wayne between his set
teeth, "the --th shall never hear the last of this work of Ray's."

"If I get through this night," mutters Ray to himself, far out on the
prairie now, where he can hear tramping hoofs and guttural voices, "it
will be the best run ever made for the Sanford blue, though I do make
it."

Nearly five minutes have passed, and the silence has been unbroken by
shot or shout. The suspense is becoming unbearable in the bivouac, where
every man is listening, hardly daring to draw breath. At last Hunter,
rising to his knees, which are all a tremble with excitement, mutters to
Sergeant Roach, who is still crouching beside him,--

"By Heaven! I believe he'll slip through without being seen."

Hardly has he spoken when far, far out to the southwest two bright
flashes leap through the darkness. Before the report can reach them
there comes another, not so brilliant. Then, the ringing bang, bang of
two rifles, the answering crack of a revolver.

"Quick, men. _Go!_" yells Hunter, and darts headlong through the timber
back to the stream. There is a sudden burst of shots and yells and
soldier cheers; a mighty crash and sputter and thunder of hoofs up the
stream-bed; a foot dash, yelling like demons, of the men at the west end
in support of the mounted charge in the bed of the stream. For a minute
or two the welkin rings with shouts, shots (mainly those of the startled
Indians), then there is as sudden a rush back to cover, without a man or
horse hurt or missing. In the excitement and darkness the Cheyennes
could only fire wild, but now the night air resounds with taunts and
yells and triumphant war-whoops. For full five minutes there is a
jubilee over the belief that they have penned in the white soldiers
after their dash for liberty. Then, little by little, the yells and
taunts subside. Something has happened to create discussion in the
Cheyenne camps, for the crouching soldiers can hear the liveliest kind
of a pow-wow far up-stream. What does it mean? Has Ray slipped through,
or--have they caught him?

Despite pain and weakness, Wayne hobbles out to where Sergeant Roach is
still watching and asks for tidings.

"I can't be sure, captain; one thing's certain, the lieutenant rode like
a gale. I could follow the