He had doubled forward, reflexing to the blow. He was dead, stone dead; his crafty spirit issued upon the red trail of ball through his brain. "Thank God," I rejoiced. She had sunk back wearily. "That is the last." "Won't they try again, you think?" "The last spare shot, I mean. We have only our two left. We must save those." She gravely surveyed me. "Yes, we must save those," I assented. The realization broke unbelievable across a momentary hiatus; brought me down from the false heights, to face it with her. A dizzy space had opened before me. I knew that she moved aside. She exclaimed. "Look!" It was the canteen, drained dry by a jagged gash from the sharpshooter's lead. "No matter, dear," she said. "No matter," said I. The subject was not worth pursuing. "We have discouraged their game, again. And in case they rush us----" This from her. "In case they rush us----" I repeated. "We can wait a little, and see." CHAPTER XXI WE WAIT THE SUMMONS The Sioux had quieted. They let the hollow alone, tenanted as it was with death; there was for us a satisfaction in that tribute to our defense. Quite methodically, and with cruel show of leisure they distributed themselves by knots, in a half-encircling string around our asylum; they posted a sentry, ahorse, as a lookout; and lolling upon the bare ground in the sun glare they chatted, laughed, rested, but never for an instant were we dismissed from their eyes and thoughts. "They will wait, too. They can afford it," she murmured. "It is cheaper for them than losing lives." "If they knew we had only the two cartridges----?" "They don't, yet." "And they will find out too late," I hazarded. "Yes, too late. We shall have time." Her voice did not waver; it heartened with its vengeful, determined mien. Occasionally a warrior invoked us by brandishing arm or weapon in surety of hate and in promise of fancied reprisal. What fools they were! Now and again a warrior galloped upon the back trail; returned gleefully, perhaps to flourish an army canteen at us. "There probably is water where we heard the frogs last night," she remarked. "I'm glad we didn't try to reach it, for camp," said I. "So am I," said she. "We might have run right into them. We are better here. At least, I am." "And I," I confirmed. Strangely enough we seemed to have little to say, now in this precious doldrums where we were becalmed, between the distant past and the unlogged future. We had not a particle of shade, not a trace of coolness: the sun was high, all our rocky recess was a furnace, fairly reverberant with the heat; the flies (and I vaguely pondered upon how they had existed, previously, and whence they had gathered) buzzed briskly, attracted by the dead mule, unseen, and captiously diverted to us also. We lay tolerably bolstered, without much movement; and as the Sioux were not firing upon us, we might wax careless of their espionage.