She glanced at him inquiringly.

"You going to be out on duty all night, then?" she questioned.

"Why, cert'nly," he answered, "or until I have located those Indians."

"I'll come," she decided promptly. "My pony is some tired; but he'll put on a hustle. Say, what are you looking like that for?"

His eyes were roving searchingly to and fro across the prairie. He was gripping his reins tightly with one hand, while with the other he was fingering the stock of his carbine poised in front of him.

"Listen!" he said, sitting very still in his saddle.

Then suddenly he swung over, leapt from his horse, and threw the reins over the mare's head, so that she would stand. Swiftly he went round to Maple Leaf's side.

"Here, jump down!" he commanded. "Quick!"

The girl looked at him amazed, but obediently slipped to the ground.

Sergeant Silk caught at her broncho's bridle, drew the bit down to within a span of the animal's hoofs, and secured both fetlocks together with the double loop. In the same way he shackled the feet of his own mare. Leaving the two horses hobbled, he strode a dozen quick paces away, with his carbine across the crook of his left arm. Maple Leaf followed him. He looked round at her.

"Sit down!" he commanded. "Lie low!"

Again she obeyed him unquestioningly, sharing his alarm. She had heard what he had heard and knew its meaning.

She watched him go forward and saw him stand upright with his hand raised above his head, palm outward, as a peace sign. Then she followed the direction in which he was looking and gave a little start as she saw a figure on horseback--an Indian wearing the large feathered war-bonnet of a chief--outlined against a gra.s.sy slope hardly more than half-a-mile away.

Silk slowly lowered his hand and strode back to where Maple Leaf was sitting.

"He doesn't answer my sign," he said, drawing down the lever of his carbine. "He's a Sioux. There's a crowd of his braves behind the rise there. It's the lot we're looking for, and they know it. They won't want me to go back. They'll rush us. We've got to fight for it. Keep cool!"

"It's all my fault," Maple Leaf regretted. "What can I do? I've no gun!"

"You can do nothing but lie low," Silk told her. "We can't escape through this dog town, all full of holes. See! They're coming!"

From all around, silent as shadows, warriors on horseback appeared, each with a rifle across his naked arm. The sunlight shone upon their greasy bodies and painted faces, and the white eagle feathers of their head-dresses. They collected in a group. Some of them seemed to be speaking, to be planning how they should kill or capture the red-coated scout who had found their trail. Then one by one in turn they moved away, forming in single file, and making a wide circle round the centre occupied by Sergeant Silk and his girl companion.

Silk glanced back at the two hobbled horses. No, it was too late to think of escape.

At first the Indians rode at a quick walking pace, far apart from each other; but before the wide ring was complete they had increased their speed to a wild, racing gallop. Each warrior threw himself along the off side of his steed, and as they wheeled round and round, keeping always the same distance away, they yelled their shrill war cry, firing no shot as yet.

Sergeant Silk's eyes were steadily watching them. He was lying at full length, supported on an elbow. His face had taken on a look of grim determination.

"They're not risking to come closer--not yet," he said calmly. "The dog holes are as bad for them as for us. We're safe for a bit. You see, Indians are never good marksmen with firearms. They never clean their rifles, never get hold of decent ammunition; and it isn't just easy, anyhow, to take aim from a galloping horse. You've no need to be afraid," he added rea.s.suringly.

"I'm not anyways afraid while you're here, Sergeant," Maple Leaf responded. "Why don't they get doing something? Why don't they shoot?"

Suddenly, as if he had heard her and understood, one of the warriors flung himself forward under his pony's neck and fired into the ring. The bullet kicked up a spurt of dust many yards away, but it was the signal for the beginning of the fight.

Yelling shrilly, the savages opened fire, never pausing to take aim.

Their shots, indeed, were more dangerous to themselves than to their intended victims. One of their own horses stumbled and rolled over on its rider, struck by a stray bullet.

"They're having a nice picnic, so far," said Silk, talking for the mere sake of encouraging his companion. "If they keep this up long enough, the racket'll be heard in Emerald Canon. Wind's from the right quarter.

But they're only bluffing now--playing with us. Soon, they'll rush us.

It's their way. There!"

The Indian chief had suddenly wheeled within the galloping circle, throwing his pony back with a jerk on its haunches. The warriors came up to him one by one, halting all together in a compact company, with their ponies' heads towards the two figures crouching in the hollow of the dog town.

Sergeant Silk had turned to confront them, raising himself to command a fuller view of them. He understood their manoeuvre. Instead of closing in around him from all sides in broken order, they were going to make a combined frontal charge.

"Fools!" he muttered contemptuously. "They never learn how to fight.

They're going to rush us in a bunch!"

Keeping his eyes fixed upon the lingering Indians, he moved backward a foot or two nearer to Maple Leaf, and slowly drew from his holster a heavy revolver, which he placed on the gra.s.s between them.

"Listen!" he said in a sharp whisper, glancing for an instant into her dark, fearless eyes. "They're going to rush us in a bunch. We've only a few minutes. Maybe I can break them. I don't know. I shall try. It's a bare chance. But in this pistol"--he touched the weapon--"I shall always save two shots--for the last. One for you. One for me. Understand?"

Maple Leaf nodded.

"Yes," she answered. "You will shoot me first; then yourself. It is best. I understand."

"And if they kill me first," he added impressively, yet quite calmly.

"If they kill me first, you must seize that pistol and shoot yourself.

Else, they will slow torture you to death. Shoot yourself--in the head--just here."

He pushed back his hat and pressed the white part of his forehead with a finger that was as steady as if he had been merely telling of a moment of past peril instead of acting in one that was terribly immediate.

Maple Leaf's hand was hardly less steady than his own as she moved the shining weapon to a position more exactly between them.

"Good-bye, then, Sergeant--Sergeant Silk," she murmured. "It will be good--I shall be proud--to die in company with a brave man."

"Good-bye!" he responded lightly, turning from her and seating himself on a dog mound with his carbine across his knees.

The band of Indians still held off at a distance of fully a thousand yards. Silk could see them slowly and very deliberately forming behind their chief, only waiting for the signal to dash off in their headlong race.

Then suddenly there was a wild barbaric shriek as they broke away with a confused turmoil of whoops and yells and the quick patter of horses'

hoofs that made the ground throb and sent up a swirl of dust.

On and on they came in their swooping charge, their shrill cries rending the air, their feathers fluttering, their trappings flying, their weapons held aloft as their ponies plunged forward at full racing stretch.

It seemed as if nothing could stop or divert their onward rush. It was like a resistless hurricane sweeping down straight for the dog town where the quiet man in the red coat was waiting with the girl crouched beside him.

Sergeant Silk cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and went down on one knee. He did not yet raise his gun, although many of the warriors had opened a random fire and little spurts of dust and gra.s.s were beginning to show where the bullets were falling. He waited very calmly, knowing the habits of the Indians--knowing that although they fight hard and fiercely for their lives when cornered they shrink from riding full tilt into the fire of a well-aimed rifle.

In the long, forward race there were many moments of suspense--moments in which each galloping savage had time to reflect that when that waiting rifle should be raised to spit forth its deadly succession of bullets, he himself might be one of the first to fall.

As they dashed on, one of the foremost of their ponies stumbled and went down with its leg in a dog hole. Then two others fell kicking, while more coming behind stumbled over them in confusion. The Redskins yelled more wildly than ever, firing over their ponies' ears, always too high.

When they were within fifty yards of him, Silk c.o.c.ked his rifle.

Instantly, at sight of the levelled weapon, every Indian flung himself over the side of his pony, showing no more than an arm and a leg.