Sioux had found him, they had divided, and it was only a few
of their number that he would have to face. He hugged his
repeating rifle. It was a fine weapon, and just then he was in
love with it. There was no ferocity in Dick's nature, but the
Sioux were seeking the life that he wished to keep.

He rose from the earth and walked slowly on in his original
course. He had no doubt that the Sioux, guided by some demon
instinct, would overtake him. He looked around for a good place
of defense, but saw none. Just the same low swells, just the
same bare earth, and not even a gully like that in which he had
lain while the hunt of the buffalo wheeled about him.

He heard the hoof beats distinctly now, and he became quite sure
that they were made by only a single horseman. His own senses
had become preternaturally acute, and, with the conviction that
he was followed by but one, came a rush of shame. Why should he,
strong and armed, seek to evade a lone pursuer? He stopped,
holding his rifle ready, and waited, a vague, shadowy figure,
black on the black prairie.

Dick saw the phantom horseman rise on a swell, the faint figure
of an Indian and his pony, and there was no other. He was glad
now that he had waited. The horse, trained for such work as
this, gave the Sioux warrior a great advantage, but he would
fight it out with him.

Dick sank down on one knee in order to offer a smaller target,
and thrust his rifle forward for an instant shot. But the Sioux
had stopped and was looking intently at the boy. For fully two
minutes neither he nor his horse moved, and Dick almost began to
believe that he was the victim of an illusion, the creation of
the desolate plains, the night, the floating black vapors, his
tense nerves, and heated imagination. He was tempted to try a
shot to see if it were real, but the distance and the darkness
were too great. He strengthened his will and remained crouched
and still, his finger ready for the trigger of his rifle.

The Sioux and his horse moved at last, but they did not come
forward; they rode slowly toward the right, curving in a circle
about the kneeling boy, but coming no nearer. They were still
vague and indistinct, but they seemed blended into one, and the
supernatural aspect of the misty form of horse and rider
increased. The horse trod lightly now, and Dick no longer heard
the sound of footsteps, only the bitter moaning of the wind over
the vast dark spaces.

The ri