nd I couldn't see him. It's not
the mirage, and I'm not locoed. Did you ever feel as if you were near
somebody you couldn't see?"

The boy turned his fair, smooth face toward mine and looked steadily at
me.

"You mustn't get to seein' things," he murmured. "This country turns
itself upside down for the fellow who does that. And in Heaven's name we
need every man in his right senses now. What do I think? Good God,
Baronet! I think we are marching straight into Hell's jaws. Sandy knows
it"--"Sandy" was Forsyth's military pet name--"but he's too set to back
out now. Besides, who wants to back out? or what's to be gained by it?
We've come out here to fight the Cheyennes. We're gettin' to 'em, that's
all. Only there's too damned many of 'em. This trail's like the old
Santa Fe Trail, wide enough for a Mormon church to move along. And as to
feelin' like somebody's near you, it's more 'n feelin'; it's fact.
There's Injuns on track of this squad every minute. I'm only eighteen,
but I've been in the saddle six years, and I know a few things without
seein' 'em. Sharp Grover knows, too. He's the doggondest scout that ever
rode over these Plains. He knows the trap we've got into. But he's like
Sandy, come out to fight, and he'll do it. All we've got to do is to
keep our opinions to ourselves. They don't want to be told nothin'; they
know."

The remainder of the company was almost out of sight as we rounded the
shoulder of the gorge. The afternoon sunlight dazzled me. Lifting my
eyes just then I saw a strange vision. What I had thought to be only a
piece of brown rock, above and beyond me, slowly rose to almost a
sitting posture before my blinking eyes, and a man, no, two men, seemed
to gaze a moment after our retreating line of blue-coats. It was but an
instant, yet I caught sight of two faces. Stillwell was glancing
backward at that moment and did not see anything. At the sound of our
horses' feet on the gravel the two figures changed to brown rock again.
In the moment my eye had caught the merest glint of sunlight on an
artillery bugle, a gleam, and nothing more.

"What's the matter, Baronet? You're white as a ghost. Are you scared or
sick?" Stillwell spoke in a low voice. We didn't do any shouting in
those trying days.

"Neither one," I answered, but I had cause to wonder whether I was
insane or not. As I live, and hope to keep my record clear, the two
figures I had seen were not strangers to me. The smaller of the two had