ed to the task of holding out as long as they could.
By the volume of yells and the storms of bullets the force of the Sioux
and Cheyennes certainly had increased. One big charge from the three
sides, and the end would come.

Reporter Finerty felt a hand upon his shoulder. It was that of Private
Rufus, who had been his skirmish-line neighbor, and who had stolen to
him.

"The rest are retiring, sir. Lieutenant Sibley says for us to do the
same."

That was so. The line, except for half a dozen troopers, was
cautiously creeping back through the trees and logs. Lieutenant
Sibley, his lips set firmly, was still in position, to be the last.

"Take all your ammunition from your saddle-bags," he said quickly.
"We're going to abandon what horses we have left. The Indians are
getting all around us; our only chance, Gruard thinks, is to make back
through the timber while we can, on foot."

Scout Gruard and his partner, Big Bat, were waiting impatiently.

"If the grass wasn't wet from that last thunder storm the Indians would
have smoked us out long ago. It's drying fast. We can't hold our
position; even if we got a man through to Crook, he couldn't bring help
in time. There's nothing to gain by staying. Sibley hates to retreat,
but if he doesn't go now not a man can escape. As for horses, those
fellows have seized every pass on three sides, and they'll soon have
the fourth side. That's where they're working to. So, knowing Indians
and knowing the country, we put it up to him, for yes or no. He's
agreed."

It was planned to have the rear guard keep firing, until the horses had
been stripped of ammunition. One by one the men dodged back, among the
trees and rocks. The last man, and the lieutenant, came breathless;
the single file followed Gruard and Big Bat at a trot, afoot, and only
the few horses were left, as a blind. The horses were doomed, but
there was no other way.

The file had hastened for a mile, through the fallen timber, through an
icy cold stream, up a steep slope slippery with boulders and pine
needles, and had paused, to catch breath, when they heard, below and
behind, a series of brisk volleys and a chorus of wild yells; then,
spattering shots, and silence.

The Indians had charged. Escape had been made by not more than fifteen
minutes of grace! That had been a close call; Gruard and Big Bat had
known what they were talking about. No one could help but shiver at
the thought of having s