detachment landed at the cut was ordered to warn two
of them. The third was Evan Lancaster. To him the commanding officer
sent David Bond.

But it was Dallas whom the evangelist sought. He found her at work upon
the plowed strip, cross-dragging it in preparation for the planting of
the corn. As she drove up and down, she walked hatless in the sun. Her
hair was down, and hung forward in two braids. She wore the snug jersey
that had been her mother's. Her skirt was tucked up, back and front, to
be out of the way. It disclosed no red flannel petticoat, however.

Not far away was Simon, a starling riding him to gobble the greenheads
as they bit. The bull was revolving sulkily on his picket-rope, and
shedding his long winter coat upon the new grass. In deference to his
inborn dislike, Dallas was wearing an underskirt of blue.

Though the evangelist had never seen her trudging behind the mules, he
had often spoken of it pityingly. Yet, as he came toward her now, he
felt only an unbounded pride--in her unselfishness, and in her brave
efforts to wrest a living from the soil.

"A splendid Ruth," he murmured, advancing, "a splendid Ruth, toiling in
the fields!"

Seeing him, she gave a swift, troubled glance at the shack. Then,
avoiding his eyes, and without speaking, she pulled up Ben and Betty and
held out a hand.

When he took it, the pride of a moment before changed to compassion. He
remembered that he must tell her what would alarm. For in her face he
saw the traces of many a sleepless night, and of a sapping worry.

"Daughter, you are ill!" he declared, and kept a tight hold on her
fingers.

"No, there ain't anything the matter with me. Only"--still avoiding his
eyes, she turned to survey the harrowed land--"only, I'm some put out.
This sod----"

"Never mind the sod," he said gravely. "I want to ask--did you see the
mountain?" He loosed her fingers, and pointed an arm to the south.

She laughed, following his pointing. "Yes, I did. Looks as if claims
_are_ getting scarce, don't it? When a nester has to file up there!"

Midway between shack and butte was an ox-team that had been travelling
to and fro across a quarter-section since dawn. The team was now at a
stand, and their driver was slouching against his plow. Beyond him were
several galloping dots.

"And you saw the cavalry?" said David Bond.

She assented.

"One word will tell you what it means, Dallas. It's Indians!"

She showed no sign of disquiet.