“Black Coyote and his little daughter have been abandoned to starve by their tribe. I will tell you more when I have time; just now I wish to get my men and horses where they will be protected from Sioux bullets.” “By ther great horn spoon an’ granny’s ole tin ladle! I c’u’d lick twenty Sioux all alone ef she’d luk on an’ cheer fer ole Nick,” announced Nomad, as he galloped along behind the scout. The party was barely well below the jagged walls of the fissure when along the base of the cone thundered the war party of Sioux. The Indians had seen the white riders enter the cleft some distance below the mountain where the walls were not so high or precipitous. They saw, too, the strategical advantages of the position, and were careful to turn aside when they saw five rifles protruding over the top of the wall and pointing in their direction. The Indians halted, and one rode on in front a short distance and then began riding in a circle. “He wants to hold a parley,” said the scout. “I noticed et?” answered the trapper. “I think I’ll meet him,” said the scout, setting down his rifle and looking to his revolvers and knife. He led Bear Paw to the place where they had entered, clambered out on top, and mounted. “Ef they ’tempt any funny bus’ness we’re goin’ ter make um think et’s rainin’ red-hot bullets,” shouted Nomad. The chief who came forward was well mounted, and advanced with a genial: “How?” “How?” answered the scout, riding up to the Indian and extending his hand. Like a flash the Indian’s knife came out, and he struck at the heart of the scout. But as other treacherous Indians had done before him, this one had miscalculated. He built too much upon his own prowess, and underestimated that of his antagonist. Bear Paw was away like a flash, and then back again with a lunge that knocked the Indian pony almost off its feet. At the same instant the scout struck the chief’s arm a blow that sent his knife flying through the air, and, lifting the savage bodily from the saddle, hurled him backward to the sun-hardened mesa, stunned. But at sight of this the entire party charged upon the daring white man, and the battle was on. The scout put spurs to Bear Paw and dashed back toward the cleft where his companions were hidden, at the same time, turning in the saddle, he poured several shots from his revolvers into the scattering, yelling, shooting savages. Old Nomad, Skibo, Cayuse, and Tootsie let loose a galling fire from their rifles, and the charge was of brief duration. As the Indians wheeled and dashed away beyond the range of the rifles, Tootsie sounded the “advance” on his bugle. The Indians immediately huddled together, gesticulating and talking excitedly. “Give um ernother sample o’ yer tootin’, Tootsie,” said Nomad.