a few hours, and, without hesitation, he waded out
into the stream.

The gray of dawn was in the sky as the three troopers, soaked to the
waist, crept up the south bank and studied the trail. Behind them the
yellow lanterns still bobbed about between the river and town, but
there was already sufficient light to make visible the signs underfoot.
Horsemen had climbed the bank, the hoof marks yet damp where water had
drained from dripping fetlocks, and had instantly broken into a lope.
A moment's glance proved this to Hamlin as he crept back and forth,
scrutinizing each hoof mark intently.

"Five in the party," he said soberly. "Three mustangs and two American
horses, cavalry shod. About three hours ahead of us." He straightened
up, his glance peering into the gray mists. "I reckon it's likely our
outfit, but we 'll never catch them on foot. They 'll be behind the
sand-dunes before this. Before we go back, boys, we 'll see if they
left the trail where it turns west."

The three ran forward, paying little heed until they reached the edge
of the ravine. Here the beaten trail swerved sharply to the right.
Fifty feet beyond, the marks of horses' hoofs appeared on the sloping
bank, and Hamlin sprang down to where the marks disappeared around the
edge of a large bowlder. His hand on the stone, he stopped suddenly
with quick indrawing of breath, staring down at a motionless figure
lying almost at his feet. The man, roughly dressed, lay on his face, a
bullet wound showing above one ear, the back of his neck caked with
blood. The Sergeant, mastering his first sense of horror, turned him
over and gazed upon the ghastly face of Major McDonald.

"My God, they've murdered him here!" he exclaimed. "Shot him down from
behind. Look, men. No; stand back, and don't muss up the tracks.
There are foot-prints here--Indians, by heaven! Three of them Indians!"

"Some plainsmen wear moccasins."

"They don't walk that way--toes in; and see this hair in McDonald's
fingers--that's Indian, sure. Here is where a horse fell, and slid
down the bank. Is n't that a bit of broken feather caught in the bush,
Carroll? Bring it over here."

The three bent over the object.

"Well, what do you say? You men are both plainsmen."

"Cheyenne," returned Carroll promptly. "But what the hell are they
doing here?"

Hamlin shook his head.

"It will require more than guessing to determine that," he said
sternly. "And there is only one w