The pale woman sighed and glanced across the plain. The roll of blowing dust was larger, and more regular, and nearer. The woman shuddered as she watched it creep slowly along behind the sand mounds. "It always blows," she said to herself, "but not like that, so steadily, so even." She strained her eyes, but there was only dust to be seen. Then she thought of a telescope that belonged to the minister's wife, who came from a seaport town, and ran to fetch it. The two women came out with it together, the minister's wife laughing at her friend, she was such a timid thing! But the pale woman was paler than ever, and trembled so she could not steady it. The laughing one looked through it, and laughed no more. "I see a head over the mound there," she said. The pale woman shrieked. "They are miles away. We may have time." "For what?" "To get away." "They may be friends--" "They are Indians! White men would not live through that sand. We must go to the woods. Help me. Warn the women. Gather the children. Come." She rushed into her house. The other still stood and looked. The dust cloud was a little nearer. In a moment all was wild confusion, names were called, but not loudly, girls sobbed, some carried their little treasures, mothers held their children. All gathered together, hidden from the plain by a house. The pale woman led out her father, then ran to her neighbor's door. She opened it, and called clearly, but softly, "Mary, Mary." There was no answer. The woman in black, on her bed, slept on. Her neighbor hesitated, then hurried after the others, as they ran up the low hills toward the mountains, where their men had gone. The dust cloud grew nearer. Now and then a head could be seen. But all was as still as the grave. The woman in black slept heavily and dreamed that revenge had come at last--that in her hand she held an Indian's head. The window-shade flapped loudly, and she woke with an apprehension crushing her. She went to the window and looked out. There was no blowing dust upon the plains, and the street was empty. The doors of the houses stood open; a shawl lay in the middle of the road. The woman leaned out and looked toward the woods. She saw on the crest of a hill the white skirts of the flying women, and then, below, down the road, her ears sharpened, her heart tightening, she heard the soft, regular thumping of horses' feet. Then she _knew_. She sat on the edge of the bed. This was what she had waited for! Was it her turn now?--or theirs again? She could kill _one_. Where was her gun? She had loaned it to the men. But her axe--that was below. As she started for it, there was a burst of war cries. She ran down the narrow stairs, and took the axe from its place on the wall. They were passing her door. The room grew lighter. She turned. One stood in the open doorway, black against the sunshine. She set her teeth hard, hid the axe behind her skirts, watched him motionless.