cross.

During these preparations, the post joined in an effort to damp the aged
preacher's hopes and to check his going. He was needed at Brannon, they
said, so that the regiment could be rid of Matthews. His belief that he
could talk peace terms to the hostiles was ludicrous. As for the
Jamieson women, they were dead, or they would have been returned long
since to save the four condemned from hanging. And his own life was to
be uselessly endangered. Already, out upon the prairie, Indian scouts
were keeping watch. He might be able, though alone and unarmed, to pass
them and reach the coulees beyond. But he would only fall into the
murderous clutches of the savages swarming there.

David Bond smiled when they argued. His faith was as firm as the bluffs
that ramparted the fort, and his old heart was unafraid. With him,
against the rest, ranged two men--Robert Fraser and young Jamieson. They
believed, as he did, that, knowing the tongue, and having friends among
the Sioux, he would be in no peril; that, by now, the captive mother and
daughter were on American ground again, and would be given over to his
care more readily than to another's; that the arrival of troops before
the enemy's camp would be fraught with risk for the defenceless two; and
that an attempt to take them by force would be their death-signal.

Colonel Cummings was harrowed by Jamieson's months of anguish and
illness, and angered by the indifference and dawdling of the captors in
the face of his demand and threat. His heart was set upon punishment,
now, not treaty. He felt that he was being played with. And he longed to
find the red Sioux and thrash them soundly. A word about the
evangelist's trip put him out of patience. He regarded it as futile and
rash. Yet he did not forbid it--he dared not. For there was Jamieson's
old-young face and whitening head; and a hidden spark of hope that would
not die.

He owed it to his conscience and position, however, to discourage David
Bond. "There will be sharp fighting this summer," he told him. "A
hundred good men like you couldn't stop it. The cause lies too deep,
and it is too well founded. In the matter of the women, you will also
fail. They did not come as the price of four chiefs. Will they come
because you ask for them politely? They won't. And you will be
slaughtered."

"Then I shall die in a noble cause," answered the preacher, simply. "The
Indians know me. I am their friend. I have spent my life with