can
carry me on your backs. Or wait a day or two, and the soldiers will
grow tired."

"No," said old Dohasan. "That is impossible. We must move fast, and
to get you up the tree would make noise. If we wait, or if we stay, we
will all die, and it is better that one should die than that all should
die. Have a strong heart, my son. You are a warrior, and you must die
like a warrior."

Dagoi bowed his head.

"Those are good words," he answered. "I hear them and they make me
strong. I am a man, and I am not afraid. When you get home, tell my
friends to come and avenge me."

In the darkness Dagoi dragged himself to the pool, and sat beside it,
waiting for daylight and the bullets of the soldiers.

Old Dohasan sang the death-chant of the Real Dogs. Then he stepped
silently out, leading the file of warriors to the wall under the tree,
that he might be the first to climb and meet the soldiers in case they
were on watch.

Up he went, into the cedar, and on; up went all, one after another, as
fast as they could. The camp-fires of the Mexican soldiers were
glowing, right and left and behind and before, along the rim; but
without a sound the nineteen gaunt Kiowas, bending low, stole swiftly
forward, at the heels of Dohasan.

They succeeded. But in finding horses, somebody made a little noise,
and the Mexicans fired wildly into the darkness. However, answering
not, and leading the horses out a short way, step by step, they were
ready to vault on.

"Anybody hurt?"

"A bullet has gone through my body," said Konate. "But I will try to
ride."

"We must hurry," spoke Painted-red. The camp was all aroused.
"Someone help Konate."

Away they dashed, several riding double, and Konate supported in his
seat by a comrade. Behind, in the well, Dagoi sat beside the pool and
kept his heart strong for the end that would come by daylight.

All that night and all the next day they rode, making northeast toward
the desolate desert region of the Staked Plain, on the homeward way
across western Texas. No Mexican soldiers would follow into the Staked
Plain.

When after hard riding they arrived at Sun-mountain Spring, on the top
of a high, bare-rock hill near the Staked Plain, Konate's wound had
spoiled in him and he could not sit upright on his horse. He was very
ill.

"I am about to die, friends," he gasped. "Do not try to carry me
farther. But go, yourselves; and some day come back for my bones."

He spoke sen