As he gained the top of the rise, Al saw a confused and scattered array of horsemen just ahead of him, all going at a sharp gallop with no attempt at formation, the men leaning forward in their saddles as if riding to the finish of a hard race. He understood that it was a foolish pace for what would probably prove a long pursuit, but nothing could be done to slacken it until he could overtake Captain Miner, who was at the very head of the company. Al and every one else had been very much surprised at the impetuous manner in which Captain Miner had started out, for though brave as a lion, he was usually very deliberate in movement and gentle of speech and his voice had a plaintive, appealing tone which often contrasted oddly with the orders he was giving. Altogether, his dashing and devoted followers often found much to amuse them in the ways of their mild commander. That he had been profoundly moved by the death of Captain Feilner was evident; otherwise he would never have urged his little roan mare to a gallop, for his habit was to ride her at an ambling trot, even in the most exciting and dangerous situations. Al hurried his own wiry little horse to greater exertions and began forging to the front. Before long he left all except the leaders behind and as they went over the hill and down into the valley of the Cheyenne, he was almost up to Captain Miner. The latter's face was set steadily to the front, however, as he scanned the country ahead for sight of the fugitive Indians, and Al could not attract his attention until he had overtaken him, almost on the bank of the creek. Then he shouted, "Captain Miner! Captain Miner!" The Captain turned and drew in his horse. "Well?" he inquired, lifting his eyebrows slightly, "What is it?" It was plain he had recovered his composure, for his voice was placid. "General Sully's compliments, sir, and he suggests that you take it a little slower, as the horses may be exhausted before you can catch the Indians," answered Al. Captain Miner pulled at his beard thoughtfully. "Oh, pshaw!" he said, a disapproving note in his voice, "I wonder how we are to catch them if we don't keep going?" "I don't know, sir," replied Al, as side by side they rode their horses into the creek, "but that was what the General told me to say to you." The stream was shallow and narrow but its banks were composed of deep, swampy mud through which their horses floundered and plunged, knee deep. Above and below them soldiers of the Coyotes were coming at the stream, some clearing it in a bound, where the banks were solid enough for a jump, while others became so deeply mired that they could not get out again until the rest of the command had passed from sight beyond. Just as Al's and the Captain's horses waded out of the creek and came up, snorting, on the opposite bank, they heard some of the men already across, shouting, "There are the Indians! Over there!"