firing as he went into the dark and roaring flood. Presently the noise began to die down, and the agent, standing in a cloud of dust, knew that the end had come and that the dark cloud was vanishing down the desert. When the dust had fallen McGuire found a fine calf that had driven its poor head against the tank and broken its neck. There was not a scratch upon its hide, so all his bullets had gone wide of the mark or had been carried away under the shaggy coats of the wild cattle. Here was fresh meat for the agent, but before he could remove the animal’s robe the hungry wolves were pressing about in the twilight. They grew so bold that McGuire was obliged to take what he could carry and fly for the house. Before he could reach the door the wolves were snapping and fighting over the feast. Their howls and cries brought a great band, and when they had finished with what was left outside they came clawing at the shed door, demanding the agent’s share. It was many hours before he could find relief from the din in unquiet dreams. CHAPTER XV THE COMING OF THE SIOUX MCGUIRE had been at Plainfield just a month, and had begun to believe that the place was not so dangerous after all. He was watching the sunset, and the darkness deepening upon the desert waste one evening, when he saw a speck upon the plain just where the earth met the sky. It was a shapeless bunch, too big for a wolf and too small, he thought, for a horse. As he looked it moved along the plain to the north-west and soon disappeared in the gathering gloom. The agent was still seated upon the box at the door of the depot when a big black bunch showed up just where the other smaller object had disappeared. Nearer and nearer it came, and finally stopped a few hundred yards from the station shanty. Two horsemen rode out of the black spot and approached the station. They had feathers in their hair and rifles on their arms, seeing which, the agent brought out his rifle and let it rest upon his lap. A hundred yards from the station the two men stopped and called to the agent in a strange tongue, and when he made no reply they rode slowly up to the little station. They made sign for drink, but the man stood at the door and shook his head. They would eat, but the agent refused to understand, and one of the Indians started to enter the station. The agent sprang inside, slammed the door and shoved his rifle out through the small square hole in the centre of the shutter. The Indians climbed upon their cayuses, wiggled their heels, and rode slowly back to where the band was waiting. McGuire listened at the shed door, and in a little while heard the unshod feet of the Indian ponies beating the dusty plain. They seemed to have separated, and were now galloping to surround the station. Peeping through the small port-holes the agent could see the dark line of horses closing in upon the little wooden shanty. Turning to the key he called Kearney and