away across country. Truscott's
squadron had reached their late camp the previous evening to find them
gone. There was a stockade there, where, with underground defences and
stout palings, a little company of infantry stood guard over a lot of
ammunition and supplies. They found there the sick and two wounded of
the regiment, a doctor and some scouts who had backed out of going, and
they also found a letter to Truscott from the colonel commanding,
telling him that Wayne ought to be somewhere west of him up the next
valley, to push on and join him, and then together they would be strong
enough to ride through the Cheyenne trails and find the regiment.
Fearing that Wayne would get too far up the valley, Truscott decided to
make a night march due north and strike it some distance up-stream. From
four P.M. until eleven they had rested, then had coffee, fed the horses,
and started. Somewhere about one o'clock through the dim light of the
waning moon they caught sight of a mounted man rapidly nearing them from
the east, and heard the whinny of a horse. That was enough to prove
'twas no Indian. Who could it be? One or two flankers galloped to meet
him, and the next thing a sergeant came rushing to Truscott at the head
of column.

"My God! captain, it's Loot'nant Ray, an' he's most dead."

In an instant Truscott had halted the command and was at the side of his
old friend, whom the men had lowered, weak and faint, to the ground. The
surgeon came, administered stimulant, examined and rebound his wound; a
bullet had torn through the right thigh, and he had bled fearfully, but
all he seemed to think of was the errand on which he came. In few words
he told of Wayne's position, pointed out the shortest way, and bade them
be off at once. Three men were left with him, one galloped back to the
station for an ambulance and the hospital attendant there, and with his
faint blessing and "good luck to you, fellows!" Ray had sent them at
lively lope bound for the valley and the rescue. There were men that
July morning who hid their heads to hide their tears as Truscott quietly
told of Ray's heroism and suffering, his narrow escape, his imminent
dangers, all met and borne that they might live. There were others who
cared not if their tears were seen. There was no one there who did not
vow that it would go hard with him if ever man ventured to malign Billy
Ray in his presence; but there was no one there who dreamed that even
while daring dea