oment he was relieved. He was wakened by a dream that Turk
was barking to him, and vaguely alarmed, he sat up to find Simpson
sleeping across his rifle.

The midnight hush was unbroken, and the darkness lay thick upon the
plain, but shapes blacker than night hovered near, and Will laid his
hand on Simpson's shoulder.

The latter was instantly alive, and Woods was wakened. A faint click
went away on the night breeze, and a moment later three jets of flame
carried warning to the up-creeping foe that the whites were both alive
and on the alert.

There was no more sleep within the barricade. The dawn grew into day,
and anxious eyes scanned the trail for reinforcements--coming surely,
but on what heavy and slow-turning wheels!

Noon came and passed. The anxious eyes questioned one another. Had the
rear train been overcome by a larger band of savages? But suddenly
half a dozen of the Indians were seen to spring up with gestures of
excitement, and spread the alarm around the circle.

"They hear the cracking of the bull-whips," said Simpson.

The Indians who had seen the first team pass, and had assumed that
Simpson and his companions were straggling members of it, did not
expect another train so soon. There was "mounting in hot haste," and the
Indians rode away in one bunch for the distant foothills, just as the
first ox-team broke into view.

And never was there fairer picture to more appreciative eyes than those
same lumbering, clumsy animals, and never sweeter music than the harsh
staccato of the bullwhips.

When hunger was appeased, and Woods's wound properly dressed, Will, for
the second time, found himself a hero among the plainsmen. His nerve and
coolness were dwelt upon by Simpson, and to the dream that waked him in
season was ascribed the continued life on earth of the little company.
Will, however, was disposed to allow Turk the full credit for the
service.

The remainder of the trip was devoid of special incident, and as Will
neared home he hurried on in advance of the train. His heart beat high
as he thought of the dear faces awaiting him, unconscious that he was so
near.

But the home toward which he was hastening with beating heart and winged
heels was shadowed by a great grief. Sister Martha's married life,
though brief, had amply justified her brother's estimate of the man into
whose hands she had given her life. She was taken suddenly ill, and it
was not until several months later that Will learne