"_We saw the Indians coming, We heard them give a yell, My feelings at that moment No mortal tongue could tell._ _We heard the bugle sounding, The Captain gave command-- 'To arms! to arms! my comrades, And by your ponies stand!'_ _We fought there full nine hours Before the strife was o'er. Such sight of dead and wounded I ne'er had seen before--_ _Five hundred noble Rangers As ever saw the West Were buried by their comrades, May peaceful be their rest!_" Dallas shivered. The song suggested a cruel end for the gay troopers who had just gone forth. "Marylyn!" she called. The younger paused to look back. "Be careful, honey. Keep in sight." Marylyn nodded, threw a kiss, and strolled on. All day, Dallas tried to work away her troublesome thoughts. When she had known that an Indian was signalling from Medicine Mountain, she had felt no fear. Why was she growing fearful now? For it was fear--not any mere nervousness, or sadness over the marching of the troops. It was even more: There was a haunting feeling that something was going to happen! There was a terrible certainty weighing upon her--a certainty of coming harm! Toward night, she began to watch about her--southward, to the shanty of the Norwegian; eastward, to where the tent of the Sioux Falls man had been; west, where the setting sun touched the sentinel guns on the bluffs; along the coulee, where the darkness always crept first. She found herself examining the tops of distant rises. Medicine Mountain showed a dark speck at its summit,--had she ever noticed that before? Other peaks looked unfamiliar--were they the lookouts of savage spies? And north, far beyond the "little bend" was the smoke of a camp-fire. In fancy, she saw the one who had lighted it--a warrior with vindictive, painted face, who peered at the squat shack on the bend as he fanned and smothered the flame. Night was at hand. The plover were wailing; the sad-voiced pewits called; one by one, the frogs began a lonesome chant. A light had sprung up in the shack. She glanced that way. And the window eyes of the log-house seemed to leer at her. A warm supper, Marylyn's bright face, her father's placid retorts--all these did not suffice to drive away her forebodings. What was there in the coming night? All her instinct spoke for caution. The lantern was shaken out before the table was cleared. Her father and sister early sought their beds. She only lay down in her clothes. The hours passed in a strange suspense. She listened to her father's deep breathing, to the mules, when they wandered into their stalls, to the snap of Simon's long brush as he whipped at the mosquitoes. Her eyes kept searching the black corners of the room, and the pale squares of the windows. Her ears were alert for every sound. She fell to thinking of Squaw Charley. He had not come for his supper, or brought them the daily basket. Was he growing indifferent--to them?