As though shot out of the ground by some hidden force, Wolf-Voice bounded up. "G---- d----! Mit-wit![9] Coo-ley!"[10] he yelled, and as responsive as a swallow which follows the swift flight of another in play, Ermine bounded on to his horse. One look behind told the story. The Sioux were coming. He saw the lightning play of the ponies' legs, heard the whips crack on their quarters, and was away like a flash, bearing hard on the soldier camp. Before many bounds he recovered from his surprise; it was not far, and his horse was answering the medicine. He had never run like this before. The Sioux had found and followed their trail and had nearly caught them napping. After their long journey they had almost been cut off during the last mile of it. Seeing that their prey had escaped, the Sioux swerved like hawks, pulling up on the hill. [9] Get up! [10] Run! Turning, Wolf-Voice and Ermine shouted back taunts at them, fired their guns at the group, and then leisurely loped toward the camps. While yet quite a way out, three white soldiers rose suddenly from a dry wash with their rifles: "Halt! Who goes there?" [Illustration: "'HALT! WHO GOES THERE?'"] The riders drew down to a walk, Wolf-Voice raising his hand in the peace sign, and saying, "We are your frens, we aire two Crow Enjun; don' shoot!" and continued to advance. The soldiers stood with their guns in readiness, while one answered: "Get off them ponies; lay your guns on the ground. I guess you are all right." And then, looking at Ermine with a laugh: "Is that blonde there a Crow? Guess them Sioux scared him white. I've often heard tell of a man's hair turning white in a single night." "Ach sure, Bill, and it don't tourn a mon's face red to be schared sthiff," observed another picket. The faintest suggestion of a smile stole over John Ermine as he comprehended. "No, soldiers, we are not afraid. Why can't you let two men go into the big camp; are all those soldiers afraid of two men?" And the pickets laughed at the quaint conjecture. Shortly an officer rode up on a horse and questioned Ermine. "Who are you?" "We are friends of the white people. Did you see that we are not friends of the Sioux?" "Yes; I saw those Indians chase you. Were they Sioux?" "We took that for granted." And again the corner of John Ermine's mouth relaxed. "Yes, of course, I admire your judgment; come with me," replied the officer, as he turned to ride back. The three ambled along together. "Who are you?" "I am a white man, and my comrade is an Indian." "What is your name?" "My name is John Ermine, and I want to be a scout. Will you take me?" "That is not my business; but I have no doubt the proper authority will be glad to put you on the pay-roll. You don't seem any more popular with the Sioux than we are." CHAPTER IX [Illustration] IN CAMP