The gray spring twilight had settled over the plains. Still the last family, Joe Smith and his belongings, had not come in. Seth intended to give them their chance up to the very last, before he finally closed the gates. As the sun dropped he dispatched four mounted men to act as vedettes. They took up their positions a mile out from the farm, with orders to fire two shots in quick succession on sight of any Indians, and then to ride in with all speed.

After delivering his instructions he took up his position upon the stockade and watched them go. He was very anxious for the safety of Joe Smith; his place was nearly ten miles out, and away to the northeast. He knew that if the northern Indians were out it was quite possible that the old man had been cut off.

Now, as the day drew to a close, something of the gloomy prospect before them all seemed to have entered his soul. He was no alarmist, but he knew only too well the meaning of a big general Indian rising. The horrors he had witnessed in his early days were strong upon him, and the presence of all these white women under his charge weighed sorely. Nor did he glean much satisfaction from the thought that, at least, should disaster fall upon them he still had power to punish the man whom he knew to be the author of all this trouble. It would be poor consolation.

The darkness was growing. Now the reflection of Indian fires could be seen in almost every direction. There seemed to be a perfect ring of them, in the distance, around the farm.

He was disturbed in his gloomy reverie by the sound of some one scrambling up the newly-made earthworks to his side. It was Rosebud.

She took her seat at his side in silence. She was clad in her old prairie riding-habit of canvas, strong and rough, and eminently suited to the present condition of things. They had hardly met since the first alarm, so busy had everybody been. But now that all was ready the final lull before the breaking of the storm had provided even the busiest with leisure. The girl's first words came abruptly, and displayed her wonderful faith in the man to whom they all looked for help and protection.

"Shall we pull through, Seth?" she asked.

"Can't say, Rosie."

The man's reply was spoken slowly.

"Poor auntie!" Rosebud went on. "I can't help thinking of her. I wish I'd never said anything about 'scalping' to her. But she's very good and brave. She hasn't complained, and she's worked as hard as anybody. Do you know, I believe, now she's got over the first shock of it, she rather enjoys it. What do you think she said to me half an hour ago? She said, with such a smile, 'When I get home I shall have something to tell them.

I'm keeping a diary.' Like a fool I said, 'You aren't home yet, auntie.' I said it without thinking. What do you suppose she replied?"

"Can't guess."

"Oh, I'll get home all right. Mr. Seth 'll see to that."

But Seth was impervious to the compliment. The girl smilingly watched his sombre face out of the corners of her eyes. There was no responsive smile.

"It's jest them things make it hard," he said, with something very like a sigh.

Rosebud's face had become serious. Her thoughts were hard at work.

"Is it as bad as that?" she asked presently.

"'Tain't no use lookin' at it easy. We're facin' the music--hard--this time. But we ain't done yet. Not by a sight. It's kind o' lucky we've laid in a big store of ammunition an' things."

It was dark by now, except for the glow of Indian fires, which gave a weird light on all sides.

Rosebud drew closer to the man's side. Her action pa.s.sed unnoticed. His eyes were intent upon the dark horizon. He was watching, watching, with every faculty alert. He was listening, his ears ready to catch the faintest sound.

"It would be all right if only they could have sent word to the headquarters of the troops, I s'pose," the girl said thoughtfully. "Just fancy the Indians cutting the telegraph wires and destroying the railway."

"Yup. Guess they've had all winter to get things settled," Seth responded indifferently, while he turned a keen ear to windward.

"What are you listening for?" asked Rosebud, quickly.

"General's out scoutin'."

"Good old General!"

"Yes, he'll locate the Injuns when they git around."

But just then Rosebud was thinking of other things.

"Why can't you find some one who will try to get through to the troops? I mean the headquarters?"

Seth shook his head.

"Can't spare a single man," he said conclusively. "I 'lows no white folk 'ud get through anyways. An' we ain't got an Injun, an' if we had I wouldn't trust him no more'n I'd trust a 'rattler.' No, Rosie, gal, we've got to fight this out on our own. An' make no sort o' mistake we're goin'

to fight good an' hard. I've figgered to hold this place fer two weeks an'

more. That's how I've figgered."

It was the final repet.i.tion which filled Rosebud with misgivings. She realized the man's doubt. Suddenly she slipped a hand through his arm, and it gently closed over one of his. Her soft eyes were raised to his face as she put another question in a low tone.

"And if we go under, Seth?"

The man moved uneasily, but the little hand retained its hold of his.

"What then?"

Seth cleared his throat, but remained silent.

"What then?" the girl persisted.

"Don't ask me."

"I've thought once or twice of my poor father and mother," Rosebud said presently. "I was wondering what happened to them at--at the end."

Seth eyed the girl for a second. His face was troubled.

"I've a notion he was killed by the Injuns," he said.

"And mother?"

"Can't jest say. I don't fancy, though, he let the brutes worrit her any."

There was another pause. With an involuntary movement Rosebud's hand tightened trustfully upon his.

"I think father was right--to do that," she said simply.

The man nodded.

The next moment he was kneeling, his body bending forward, and his eyes straining in the direction of the horizon.

"What is it?" the girl asked.

"Ther's something movin'."

But Rosebud could hear nothing. Still she was content to accept his a.s.surance.