too, and our lay is to side in with the sheepmen. They are mainly
Mexicans, but their fight is our feast."

As day advanced men came riding in from the Cannon Ball and from far
below on the Big Sandy, and under Jennison's leadership the wires of the
Williams fence were cut and Daniel Pratt moved to the creek flat just
above his brother's ranch. Axes rang in the cottonwoods, and when
darkness came, the building of a rude, farmlike cabin went on by the
light of big fires. Mose, in the thick of it, was a-quiver with
excitement. The secrecy, the haste, the glory of flaring fires, the
almost silent swarming of black figures filled his heart to the brim
with exultation. He was satisfied, rapt with it as one in the presence
of heroic music.

But the stars paled before the dawn. The coyotes changed their barking
to a solemn wail as though day came to rob them of some irredeemable
joy. A belated prairie cock began to boom, and then tired, sleepy, and
grimy, the men sat down to breakfast at Jacob Pratt's house. The deed
had been done. Daniel had entered the lion's den.

"Now," said Jennison grimly, "we'll just camp down here in Jake's barn
to sleep, and if you need any help, let us know."

The Pratts continued their work, and by noon a habitable shack was ready
for Mrs. Pratt and the children. In the afternoon Mose and Daniel slept
for a few hours while Jake kept watch. The day ended peacefully, but
Jennison and one or two others remained to see the newcomer through a
second night.

They sat around a fire not far from the cabin and talked quietly of the
most exciting things. The question of Indian outbreaks came up and
Jennison said: "We won't have any more trouble with the Indians. The
Regulars has broken their backs. They can't do anything now but die."

"They hated to give up this land here," said a small, dark man. "I used
to hear 'em talk it a whole lot. They made out a case."

"Hank lived with 'em four years," Jennison explained to Daniel Pratt.

"The Indians are a good deal better than we give 'em credit for bein',"
said another man. "I lived next 'em in Minnesota and I never had no
trouble."

Jennison said decisively: "Oh, I guess if you treat 'em right they treat
you right. Ain't that their way, Hank?"

"Well, you see it's like this," said the hairy little man; "they're kind
o' suspicious nacherly of the white man--they can't understand what he
says, and they don't get his drift always. They make mistakes tha