Great drops began to plash around them; there was a steely gleam, followed by a long, muttering roll of distant thunder. As they made their way towards the log-house, the Indians were breaking up into groups of twos and threes, and hurrying away in the direction of a cluster of _teepes_ erected hard by. Failing any necessity for it, they were no more inclined for a ducking than most people. The cavalrymen, beyond taking precautions for keeping their arms and ammunition dry, seemed indifferent to the weather. "Hello, Smokestack Bill!" cried a hearty voice, as they entered. "So that's how Nat Hardroper custodies his State prisoners, eh?" They recognised in the speaker the officer who had arrested them in the Black Hills. With him was Joe Ballin, the scout above referred to. Vipan, especially, further noticed a sergeant and a dozen men posted, apparently by accident, within the room. "Lord, Colonel," replied the scout, "you don't want us to foot the Henniker trail again?" "Not I," said the other, with a laugh. "Other game afoot this journey." Then at Vipan's suggestion, drinks were dispensed, the storekeeper--a long, lank Eastern man--participating in the round. Suddenly the latter exclaimed: "Snakes! here come three reds. Your man in 'em, Colonel?" Through the open door three Indians could be descried approaching rapidly. It was raining hard, and their blankets were drawn over their heads and shoulders, leaving only a part of their faces visible. The swarthy features of Ballin the scout lit up with a momentary excitement. "The centre one, Colonel," he whispered, hardly moving his lips. "The centre one. He's the skunk we want, and no mistake." The Indians continued to advance with their light, springy step. When about a hundred yards from the store they were suddenly joined by a large band of fully-armed and mounted warriors, clearly a band which had just arrived upon the ground, but which had hitherto been unseen by those inside the store, owing to the limited range of vision afforded by the latter's doorway.