The afternoon passed. The Indians chewed dried buffalo meat, and squads of them rode to the river and watered the horses. While lounging about they amused themselves by yelling insults at the mule fort; and now and again little charges were made, by small parties, who swooped as close as they dared, and shot a few arrows. The two men and the boy rarely replied. They, also, waited. Their barricade was so high, that in the trench behind it they were completely sheltered. But over them and over the field of battle constantly circled two great black buzzards. Lame Buffalo had ceased to crawl, and lay still. The squaws begged the young warriors to go out and bring him in――him and the other stricken braves. The young men only laughed and shook their heads. One did dash forward; but a bullet from the gun of the boy grazed his scalp-lock, and ducking he scurried back faster than he had gone! That boy certainly was cool and brave and sharp-sighted. Dave was proud of him; for Dave, also, was white, and a boy. So the afternoon wore away. Evening neared. The sun, a large red ball, sank into the flat plains. A beautiful golden twilight spread abroad, tinging the sod and the sky. The world seemed all peaceful; but here in the midst of the twilight were waiting and watching the painted Cheyennes, as eager as ever to get at those three persons in the mule fort. This twilight, Dave imagined, must be a very serious moment for the fort. The twilight warned that night was at hand. Dusk settled, and deepened into darkness. The Sioux made no camp-fires. Davy wrapped himself in an old buffalo-robe, and guarded by the two squaws, one on either side of him, tried not to sleep. As he listened, while he gazed up at the million stars, and the plains breeze fanned across his face, he wondered what the boy in the mule fort was doing. No doubt he was listening, too, and wishing that the stars would come down and help, or else send a message to those freight wagons which were travelling on. Davy must have dropped off to sleep, in spite of himself; because suddenly he was aroused by the squaws sitting up and jabbering. Had morning come? The plains yonder were light. No; that was fire! The Cheyennes, just as they had planned, had set the grass afire, to windward of the mule fort. While Davy, too, sat up, his heart beating wildly, the fire seemed to be sweeping right toward the fort. Behind the line of flames and smoke he could see the dark figures of the Indians fanning with blankets and robes, to make the line move faster and fiercer. “Humph! A poor fire,” grunted one of the squaws. “Grass too short.” “Yes. But it makes a smoke, so the men can charge up close,” answered the other.