Half the troopers were travelling the farther brink, half the near. The two caught up with the latter detachment. Progress was slow. The men were tired from the fire-fighting. The horses were all but blown. Nevertheless, not a moment's halt was taken until, after six wearisome miles, the troopers came opposite the cottonwoods where the Indian dead were lashed. By now the darkness had lifted considerably, and a scout, who was riding the southern side, advised a hunt for tracks. No tracks were found on the near brink. The horses moved forward again, Oliver and Fraser waiting behind to hear from the opposite side. "Anything over there?" called the captain, and they fell silent for the reply. All at once, as they waited, Fraser began peering down into the coulee. "What's that?" he whispered. "What's that? Hark!" "What?" Just then came a shout: "No tracks, Captain." Oliver kicked his boots into his horse's side. "Come on, come on," he said, and went hurrying after his men. "But, Captain----" Fraser was holding back. "There was a cry. I heard----" "Come on, Fraser." Oliver's horse broke into a trot. "Captain!" A third time Oliver called sharply. Behind he heard the cayuse following. Farther along, however, he turned to address his lieutenant--and saw that "Buckskin" carried no rider. CHAPTER XXXIX STANDING AT BAY And now through the dusk of the coulee the Indians advanced toward the Throat. Single file, they came, their leader a stalwart brave who ran unsteadily. But, of a sudden, they brought up and retreated, tripping back upon one another over rubble and bowlder, and giving out startled oaths. Then they halted, a score of dim, crowding figures. Beyond the Throat showed a patch of sky, swiftly brightening with the dawn. Against that patch, thrust up by a ragged arm, was a twirling gun. There was a parley, while the oaths became a jumble of protests, haranguing, and threats. Presently Standing Buffalo could be heard above the rest. "They are only women. Let us take them and be on!" At this, all started forward, but warily. As sudden as before, they stopped. Against the light, for a second time, a ragged arm had shot up. Now at its top was a sinew-backed bow. The Indians were amazed. One of their kind defending the women? They snorted in rage. As they jostled, stretching this way and that, the arm began slowly to brandish the bow, and in a manner to announce that the holder desired single combat. Standing Buffalo went forward in a bound. "I clear the way," he cried vauntingly to his brothers; to the one before, "Who fears? Come out." He loosened the arrows in his quiver. The challenger came--a stooping figure in squaw's dress. The sight of him fairly rooted the young chief. "The Squaw!" His voice was furious. Behind, a great laugh went up. And, as though there was no longer a need either to respect or fear the signals of the one who barred their path, the whole band charged.