took a bit of rest with them."

"But don't hev a nightmare an' kick one o' my mules," said the Little
Giant, "'cause the best tempered mule in the world is likely to kick
back ag'in."

Will smiled. He knew their raillery was meant to cheer him up, because
of his inexperience, and their desperate situation. He recognized, too,
that it would be better for him to sleep if he could, as they were more
than sufficient to guard the pass.

"All right," he said. "I obey orders."

"Good night to you," said the hunter.

"Good night," said the Little Giant, "an' remember not to kick one o' my
mules in your sleep."

"I won't," replied Will, cheerfully, as he went around the curve of the
wall.

He found the horses and mules at rest, and everything very quiet and
peaceful in the alcove. The rill murmured a little in its stony bed,
and, far overhead, he heard the wind sighing among the trees on the
mountain. He chose a place close to the wall, spread two blankets there,
on which he expected to lie, and prepared to cover himself with two
more. He realized now that he was tired to the bone, but it was not a
nervous weariness and sleep would cure it almost at once.

He was arranging the two blankets that were to cover him, when he heard
a rumbling noise far over his head. At first he thought it was distant
thunder echoing along the ridges, but the wisps of cloud were too light
and thin to indicate any storm. He saw the horses and mules rise in
alarm, and then not one but several of them gave out shrill and terrible
neighs of terror, a volume of frightened sound that made young Clarke's
heart stand still for a moment.

The sound which was not that of thunder, but of something rolling and
crashing, increased with terrific rapidity, stopped abruptly for a
moment or two and then a huge dark object shooting down in front of his
eyes, struck the ground with mighty impact. It seemed to him that the
earth trembled. He sprang back several feet and all the horses and
mules, rearing in alarm, crouched against the cliff.

A great bowlder lay partly buried. It had rolled from the edge of the
cliff high above, and he divined at once that the Sioux had made it
roll. They had climbed the stony mountains enclosing the defile, and
were opening a bombardment, necessarily at random, but nevertheless
terrible in its nature. While he hesitated, not knowing what to do, a
second bowlder thundered, bounded and crashed into the chasm. But it
struck m