Wind 
 
 Cyrus Tj^wnsena Brady 
 
Amy Benham saves her lover's life 
 
 [ Page 363 
 
The West Wind 
 
 A Story of Red Men and White in Old Wyoming 
 
 By CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY 
 
 Author of "As the Sparks Fly Upward," "The Better 
 
 Man/* "Hearts and the Highway," "The 
 
 Island of Regeneration," Etc. 
 
 WITH THREE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR 
 BY MAYNARD DIXON 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 
 
COPYRIGHT 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 1912 
 
 Published, September, 1912 
 Entered at Stationers* Hall, London, England 
 
TO 
 
 MY FRIEND AND KINSMAN 
 
 COLONEL ELI D. HOYLE, 
 
 COMMANDING THE SIXTH FIELD ARTILLERY 
 UNITED STATES ARMY 
 
 M18197 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE HALF BREED 
 
 A LMOST before the sharp report of the 
 -* ^ heavy rifle reached her ears, the girl saw 
 the old man, who had been sitting so quietly by 
 her side, lovingly holding her hand and talking 
 so sweetly to her, stop short in the middle of a 
 word and leap to his feet as if impelled upward 
 by some dynamic force. Appalled by the terrific 
 suddenness of his movement, she saw him waver 
 in the air a moment, as if the force had been as 
 instantaneously withdrawn as it had been ap- 
 plied, and then plunge helplessly downward on 
 his face in the grass at her feet And there he 
 laid very still and quiet indeed. 
 
 Being a Western woman, and having lived 
 most of her life among men to whom "On 
 Guard" was the necessary watchword, her first 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 instinctive motion as he fell was to snatch the 
 rifle that had lain convenient to the man's hand 
 on the bench on which they had been sitting. 
 Realizing instantly and instinctively perhaps 
 that the man at her feet was already dead, and 
 with equal instinct suspecting further danger to 
 herself, she turned around, weapon in hand, and 
 faced the canon upon the lip of which the ranch 
 house had been builded. She was alive to the 
 necessity of defense. Time to indulge her grief 
 would come later. 
 
 She saw nothing. She heard nothing. The 
 silence was profound. A light breeze stirred 
 the pines on the high uplands but there was not 
 a sign of human presence save in a faint, diapha- 
 nous and rapidly vanishing blur of grayish 
 smoke against the blue sky, overhanging the 
 depth of the canon. And none but a prac- 
 ticed eye would have noticed that. If the shot 
 had come from the incorporeal air and from a 
 phantom weapon it could scarcely have left 
 less evidence of its source. 
 
 Staring in fruitless unease and disquiet for a 
 momentj tenderer emotions supervened. The 
 woman leaned the rifle against the bench a per- 
 
 16 
 
THE HALF BREED 
 
 son unused to firearms would have dropped it 
 and turned to look at the inert figure on the 
 grass which had not moved since that convulsive 
 upward leap followed by that wild headlong 
 pitch forward and downward. 
 
 What she saw as she stooped over him was suf- 
 ficiently horrible. The bullet of a large caliber 
 weapon, evidently fired at close range, had torn 
 out the whole back of the old man's skull. His 
 white hair was dabbled and gory. Sick with 
 horror, shuddering with grief, shrinking away, 
 yet resolute, the young woman bent down to him 
 and turned him over. The front view was if 
 anything worse than the other. The bullet had 
 been nicked with diabolic malignity and had 
 mushroomed. What a moment before had been 
 a handsome, splendid old man, was now a thing 
 inexpressible. It cannot be described, much less 
 dwelt upon. 
 
 Then her iron self-control gave away. She 
 buried her face in her hands, long shudders 
 shaking her slender figure as a reed is shaken by 
 the wind. She sank to her knees by the side of 
 the body and could not rise for a space. She 
 thought she would have fainted. Indeed, most 
 
 17 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 certainly she would have done so if she had been 
 bred elsewhere than in the West, or had there 
 been any one near her to relieve her of respon- 
 sibility. She did not weep. The grief in her 
 overwrought heart was too deep for the relief of 
 tears. Perhaps she prayed. She could not tell 
 afterwards. Perhaps she only knelt there in a 
 voiceless agony of sorrow and despair. 
 
 At any rate, she presently realized, after how 
 long or short a time she could not tell, that the 
 situation called for immediate action. She cov- 
 ered the face of the man with her handkerchief, 
 although what it cost her to do so can scarcely 
 be imagined, and rose to her feet, unsteady, yet 
 determined. 
 
 She had scarcely attained the upright position 
 when she heard a soft swish through the air. 
 She was conscious of something long, sinuous, 
 tremulous flashing before her eyes. Another 
 second and a slender rope whirled over her head 
 and slipped down over her shoulders. There 
 was a sudden sharp constriction about her el- 
 bows. The loop was drawn close on the instant. 
 
 The situation was novel, but she realized at 
 once what had happened. Some one had thrown 
 
 18 
 
THE HALF BREED 
 
 a lariat and she was fast bound and helpless. 
 Making a futile motion toward the Winchester, 
 and realizing on the instant how impossible it 
 would be to seize it with the pressure already on 
 the taut rope, she turned about, to confront a 
 man. 
 
 He was a handsome, devil-may-care individual 
 of medium height, whose well-knit and muscu- 
 lar figure gave promise of a strength which 
 might almost have been deemed incompatible 
 with his lithe body and graceful alertness of 
 movement. For the rest and to particularize, 
 his complexion was reddish brown, his eyes were 
 brightly black, his hair was long and slightly 
 curly on his shoulders. He wore the ordinary 
 dress of the cow-puncher, but there was a touch 
 or two of added brightness in his apparel. A 
 ribbon here and a jewel there, overelaboration 
 of stitching and embroidery on boots and belt and 
 hat-band that was quite foreign to the pure 
 American breed. 
 
 Clasping the lariat firmly in his right hand, 
 and keeping tight strain upon it lest by some 
 frantic movement she might work herself free, 
 with his left he took off his big Stetson hat, and 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 bowe'd low before her. He smiled as he did so, 
 flashing his white teeth in the sunlight with all 
 the nonchalance in the world, apparently quite 
 oblivious of the fact that he had just been guilty 
 of the murder of her father, his aged friend and 
 benefactor, who had also been his employer, and 
 was now about to add to that heinous crime the 
 abduction of a woman. 
 
 She stared at him a moment, speechless be- 
 tween surprise and aversion. 
 
 "So it was you who killed him! You!" she 
 whispered at last, as if scarcely able to compre- 
 hend the obvious fact. 
 
 He nodded as gracefully as before. Evi- 
 dently he felt rather proud of his murderous 
 exploit. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because he stood in my way." 
 
 "Your way? Where?" 
 
 "To you, Mademoiselle," he replied concisely. 
 
 In his accent no less than by his manner he 
 betrayed the fact that the blood of some old 
 Coureur de Bois ran in his veins and accounted 
 for the curling wave in his black hair. 
 
 20 
 
THE HALF BREED 
 
 "To- me!" exclaimed the woman, revulsion 
 showing in her face and voice. 
 
 "To you," said the man harshly, dropping, 
 as a cloak is cast aside, his glamour of chivalry 
 and gallantry, and speaking now with the fierce 
 blood of his Indian forbears. "I want you for 
 my" he paused a second "squaw!" he added 
 with deliberate malice. 
 
 He would fain make her pay for something 
 he had suffered at her hand in days past. 
 
 "I would rather die a thousand deaths!" was 
 the hot return. The contempt and the admira- 
 tion in his tone and words alike infuriated her. 
 "I had rather be with him yonder!" she added 
 in bitter scorn. 
 
 "Pardon," broke in the Half Breed non- 
 chalantly, smiling again, "but the alternative is 
 not between death and life." 
 
 "What then?" cried the girl. 
 
 "Between being my wife, or " 
 
 "You! you!" she choked out, seemingly un- 
 able to find words to voice her aversion and con- 
 tempt, emotions which for the time being com- 
 pletely deprived her of any fear of him. 
 
 As she spoke she ran toward him, to what pur- 
 
 21 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 pose she could hardly have told in her passion- 
 ate resentment and indignation. This, indeed, 
 was just what he wanted, for with a sudden deft 
 movement of his hand, he flung the now loosened 
 rope around her feet, catching them together 
 and encircling them tighter with a quick jerk, 
 the swiftness of which, although he strove to 
 prevent it, to do him justice, nearly threw her off 
 her balance. She was now bound hand and foot 
 and more helpless than before. She even kept 
 her feet with difficulty. The consciousness of 
 that was bad enough, but to see the man laugh 
 was worse. He was actually enjoying her pre- 
 dicament and her rage filled him with pleasure. 
 He approached her now, caught her by the waist 
 and shoulders, her whole soul revolting from his 
 touch, and laid her gently enough down on the 
 grass. To struggle was impossible. She had to 
 submit. He stooped over her a moment to make 
 the knots secure. The indignity of her position 
 for a moment drove every other thought out of 
 her heart. 
 
 "If I ever get my hand loose," she said at last, 
 straightening convulsively at his touch, "God 
 help you!" 
 
 22 
 
THE HALF BREED 
 
 The threat did not appear to alarm him un- 
 duly. 
 
 "I '11 take care of that, Mademoiselle," he an- 
 swered composedly; "meanwhile you must go 
 with me." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Where I please." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I have told you. At least, my actions must 
 have told you," he went on, with certainly no 
 appropriate idea of what his real actions ex- 
 pressed, "that I love you; that I mean to have 
 you. I sought to pay court to you honorably 
 through him yonder, and he threatened to kick 
 me off the place. And when I told you well, 
 I shall not soon forget your look or your answer." 
 He laughed once more. "You may look but at 
 least you will not answer me like that again. As 
 for him, the man does not hold his life at a very 
 high rate who threatens me. He won't kick any- 
 body off the place now." 
 
 "There are others who will," said the woman 
 with spirit undaunted ; she would not permit him 
 the luxury of suspecting that he frightened her 
 by his sinister words. "And it would be better 
 
 23 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 for you had you never been born if you harm a 
 hair of my head." 
 
 "You mean Sullivan?" 
 
 The woman nodded. 
 
 "Perhaps Kennard?" 
 
 Again the sigh of affirmation. 
 
 "Burly Irish pig and tin pot soldier," he 
 sneered; "I can take care of them both." 
 
 "You will have a chance to try." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders as if the matter 
 were of absolute and entire indifference to him. 
 
 "Meanwhile," he said, "we must get away to 
 some spot where I can woo you and win your 
 love undisturbed." 
 
 Again she raged against that mixture of pas- 
 sion and mockery. 
 
 "And do you think that such a woman as I, 
 even if you were of my people, and possessed 
 all the qualities that you lack, could do any- 
 thing but loathe you when you come red-handed 
 into my presence?" 
 
 "We shall see. Meanwhile we must get 
 away." 
 
 He whistled softly as he spoke and a bronco 
 came trotting around the corner of the house, 
 
 24 
 
THE HALF BREED 
 
 nickering slightly, and stooped to his hand. 
 Throwing the reins over a peg in the log wall 
 of the ranch house near by and leaving the woman 
 alone upon the grass, the man, who seemed en- 
 tirely familiar with the place, turned and ran 
 swiftly toward the corral where were kept the 
 private saddle horses. Selecting her own mount 
 he caught it easily and haltered it. Disdaining 
 her own saddle, he took another from the store- 
 house, a man's saddle, and clapped it on her 
 pony's back. Then he led the horse back to the 
 pair he had left. 
 
 The girl had managed to writhe and struggle 
 along the grass until her head was laid on the 
 feet of the dead man she had so loved. 
 
 "Ah, very pretty," he sneered, staring into her 
 stony face. "Now I am about to mount you on 
 the horse, your own, you see. Will you go with- 
 out a struggle if I unbind your feet?" 
 
 "I promise nothing," she answered. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, smiled again. 
 
 "Oh, very well," he said; "I must get along 
 without your parole then. It does n't matter 
 much after all." 
 
 Seeing that her arms were still securely bound, 
 
 25 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 the man knelt and unloosened the rope about her 
 ankles. Then he lifted her lightly to her feet. 
 The instant she could do so, she kicked out at 
 him savagely. And he only avoided her by a 
 quick backward leap. She was young, vigorous 
 and strong, but the odds were too heavy against 
 her. The Half Breed clasped his arms about 
 her in spite of her efforts and held her with an 
 iron grip. The contact with him was so loath- 
 some to her that she almost instantly ceased to 
 struggle, wherefore he at once released her. 
 
 "That is better," he said, panting and flushed 
 with his exertions. "Now, will you get on that 
 horse like a human being, or shall I tie you 
 across the saddle like a slaughtered bear?" 
 
 "I shall do nothing," answered the woman. 
 
 She had looked lovely before, but in her dis- 
 hevelment and disarray she looked even more 
 beautiful, thought the man. He ran to her 
 swiftly and seized her in his arms. Her cheek 
 was very near his lips. He did not offer to kiss 
 her. A thought struck him. It would be diffi- 
 cult to get her in the saddle, if she struggled, 
 without hurting her, and he did not wish to harm 
 her yet. He would try strategy. 
 
 26 
 
THE HALF BREED 
 
 "You see," he said, holding her tight, "how 
 helpless you are. If you do not instantly mount 
 that horse, or allow me to place you in the sad- 
 dle, I will" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Kiss you into submission," he laughed, quite 
 delighted with his own invention. 
 
 Her blood turned cold at the mere thought. 
 
 "Put me up," she said faintly, instantly choos- 
 ing the least dreadful alternative. 
 
 "That masters you, does it?" he sneered. "You 
 see, of course, that I could take all the kisses I 
 want. You note my magnanimity and kindness 
 in leaving you free." 
 
 "Free!" exclaimed the girl, looking at her 
 bonds. 
 
 "In one sense, yes, in another, no. I want to 
 win your kisses. I want them to be given to me, 
 I will not steal them. There will be no need 
 when you know me better." 
 
 "Let us go," said the woman, to whom the con- 
 versation was becoming unendurable. 
 
 "Ah, I thought you would see it," he cried, 
 perversely misunderstanding her. 
 
 As he spoke he seized her once more, and by 
 
 27 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 a great effort lifted her into the saddle. With 
 a strange quality of delicacy, which was as un- 
 expected as it was amazing to her, he carefully 
 arranged her skirts about her as well as he could 
 before he slipped her little feet into the short- 
 ened stirrups. Then he coolly tied them to- 
 gether under the horse's belly with a loose rope. 
 
 "You see I am not quite sure of you yet," he 
 said. "Are you quite comfortable?" 
 
 "Comfortable!" was the bitter ejaculation, 
 which he again deliberately misunderstood. 
 
 "Ah, then we will move on." 
 
 He sprang lightly into his own saddle, and 
 taking the long rope attached to the hackamore 
 of the otherwise unbridled animal which she be- 
 strode, he started off. 
 
 The woman, bound, fettered, helpless, turned 
 and gave one long glance back at the figure lying 
 so still on the grass. Then and not till then did 
 the tears well to her eyes, but she bit her lip 
 resolutely and held them unshed. She would 
 not allow this man who had murdered her 
 father, and who was stealing her away, to see 
 any evidence whatever of so-called woman's 
 weakness in her. 
 
 28 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 IN THE RAPIDS 
 
 AS the girl and her captor turned the corner 
 of the house the whole landscape rose be- 
 fore them. The rancher had planted his stakes 
 on the edge of a deep and narrow canon, on the 
 shoulders of the Big Horn Range. Below, the 
 country fell far away. The trees disappeared. 
 The terrain developed into a rich and grassy 
 upland. Far down the valley her father's herds 
 were pastured. There, at work on some of the 
 multiple duties of the cattleman's hard, prosaic 
 life, were Sullivan, the big, splendid foreman, 
 and the other boys of the ranch. Even the 
 Chinese cook, who usually was about the house, 
 had gone away that morning, and she and her 
 father had been alone. The Half Breed had 
 chosen his time with diabolic cunning. 
 
 Beyond the valley rose another range, a lower 
 one, shutting it in on the farther side. A score 
 of miles away was Fort McCullough, where 
 
 29 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 were quartered Captain Kennard and his troop. 
 How those men would have rushed to her res- 
 cue had they known! How they would ride 
 after her when they got the news! They would 
 overtake her, no fear of that. The universe it- 
 self would not be big enough to hide the Half 
 Breed and herself from the pursuit of Sullivan 
 and Kennard. One or both of them, they would 
 find her; but it might be, she thought with a 
 shudder, too late. If it came to that they would 
 find her dead. 
 
 She thought, almost with a sort of awe, of the 
 unbounded temerity of the man who rode so 
 jauntily by her side with so careless and indif- 
 ferent an air. What could he be dreaming of? 
 How could he dare? What madness possessed 
 him to invoke upon himself the wrath of the 
 immortal gods when such instruments of ven- 
 geance as Kennard and Sullivan were at hand. 
 Throughout the wide world they would hunt 
 him down. Go where he would, do what he 
 might, his doom sentence was written, his end 
 was certain. 
 
 She had no idea of where she was to be taken, 
 of course, although she guessed that it would be 
 
 30 
 
IN THE RAPIDS 
 
 somewhere in the unexplored canons of the great 
 mountain range. She observed that their im- 
 mediate way led along the brink of their own 
 canon and she marked with some surprise that 
 they turned to the right, the northward, and pres- 
 ently descended to the level of the stream by one 
 of the transverse ravines which connected the 
 rest of the depression with the upper plateau. 
 
 Now for all his habitual insouciance, his con- 
 genital recklessness and disregard for conse- 
 quences, which was temperamental, the Half 
 Breed realized keenly enough that for such ac- 
 tions as the murder of the rancher and the ab- 
 duction of his daughter, he would be relentlessly 
 pursued by the keenest of trailers, their efforts 
 stimulated by love and hatred. Therefore, he 
 proposed to take every precaution possible to 
 him to baffle them, to throw them off the trail 
 and to make his escape with his lovely quarry 
 the more certain. His present movements, 
 therefore, like the murder, were by no means 
 the result of chance but had all been most cun- 
 ningly planned. 
 
 The stream flowing into the canon widened 
 where they had arrived, and for many miles it 
 
 3 1 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 was practicable for a canoe, provided its paddler 
 were sufficiently expert and sufficiently daring 
 to attempt the descent of the river. The cur- 
 rent flowed swiftly, however, and there were 
 some frightful rapids far below, through which 
 nobody had ever passed. 
 
 On the bank the two horses halted. The Half 
 Breed untied her feet, lifted the woman to the 
 ground, tied her again and laid her in a half- 
 recumbent position against some of the bowl- 
 ders adjacent. Then he unsaddled both the 
 horses, stepped around a projecting buttress, and 
 drew forth a bark canoe. Fastening it to the 
 shore, he deposited the saddles and other things 
 he had brought with him in it. Then taking the 
 halters of the horses in his hand, he led them 
 across the river, here quiet and shallow, and dis- 
 appeared with them up a smaller canon on the 
 other side. 
 
 The woman thought at once that he intended 
 to turn the horses loose and then trust himself 
 and her to the canoe, but she did not quite divine 
 the extent of his purpose. He had a better 
 scheme than that. He was gone a long time, it 
 seemed to her, during which she prayed that the 
 
 32 
 
IN THE RAPIDS 
 
 meanest and poorest of her father's men might 
 by some happy chance come upon the scene, but 
 nothing happened. The silence and solitude 
 were unbroken and undisturbed save by the 
 ripple of the waters of the river. 
 
 At last the Half Breed reappeared without 
 the horses, more quiet perhaps but as insouciant 
 in his bearing as ever. He picked her up gently 
 enough and deposited her in the canoe. 
 
 "I might untie you," he began tentatively. 
 
 "And I should tear the canoe to pieces with 
 my own hands/' she interposed swiftly. 
 
 "Exactly, therefore you must remain bound." 
 
 He cast off the lashing that had secured the 
 canoe to the shore, stepped in it, seized the pad- 
 dle and shot out where the force of the current 
 took the boat down the stream. There was little 
 more for him to do after that than was required 
 by deft steerage to keep the frail vessel from the 
 rocks in the river. He sought to enliven the 
 journey by making conversation, to which she 
 deigned no reply. She lay forward looking aft; 
 he knelt aft, looking forward, and wielded the 
 paddle. Finding her obdurate in her silence he 
 broke into little snatches of song. Becoming 
 
 33 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 bolder as the rapid current bore them further 
 from the ranch, he sang louder and more lightly. 
 
 For some hours they ran rapidly down the 
 canon, passing through several rather rough 
 rapids, with no further mishap than a wetting. 
 When the sun above indicated noon he beached 
 the canoe and opened his saddlebags, producing 
 food and drink. Leaving the woman still in the 
 boat, he knelt down on the sand by her side and 
 fed her like a baby. 
 
 Her first instinct had been to refuse to eat or 
 drink. She had locked her teeth together at the 
 first thought of such a thing, but wiser counsel 
 prevailed. She realized that if she allowed her- 
 self to grow weak and faint through lack of food, 
 she would be more completely in his power than 
 ever, and although it was poison to her, and from 
 a blood-stained hand, she forced herself to par- 
 take of what he gave her. She showed her 
 quality, her rare mettle, in that. 
 
 "So," said he at last, as she finished what he 
 gave her, "you eat out of my hand already like 
 a child or a dog. It's the proper attitude for 
 my wife that is to be." 
 
 To this she vouchsafed no answer. The Half 
 
 34 
 
IN THE RAPIDS 
 
 Breed didn't seem to expect any, for when he 
 thought she had enough, he rose and looked 
 down the river. The rapids before them were 
 the worst in the whole of the long wild course 
 of the mountain stream. They were filled with 
 rocks, the downward plunge was tremendous, 
 the channel, if any existed, was narrowed in by 
 the towering walls which here closely ap- 
 proached each other. There was no way 
 around these rapids, no ascent to the top of the 
 walls. One could only go back or go on. To 
 attempt the passage seemed almost certain death. 
 Even a man as skillful, as self-reliant, and as in- 
 different apparently to danger as the Half Breed, 
 could not face it without thoughtful apprehen- 
 sion. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he said at last, "I am about 
 to take you through those rapids." 
 
 "I am glad," was the answer. 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 "It is almost certain death. No one has ever 
 gone through them. Few have even attempted 
 it. That 7 s why I am glad you are going to try." 
 
 "Aye, we may die," he continued. 
 
 "I had rather die than live with you." 
 
 35 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "But at least," he went on sweetly, "we shall 
 'die together." 
 
 To this she made no reply. 
 
 "Now, I am not a cruel man," he said; "what 
 I have done has been for love of you and to 
 avenge my honor." 
 
 "Your honor!" sneered the girl. 
 
 "And I am willing to give you a chance for 
 your life," he went on, disregarding her biting 
 words. "It is a slim one, I grant you, but as I 
 know you can swim I will unbind your hands 
 and feet, and then if we go over or smash the 
 canoe on one of the rocks why, your chance 
 will be as good as mine. But before I do that 
 you must promise me that you will sit quiet in 
 the canoe and make no movement whatever, for 
 the slightest motion on your part will capsize it. 
 Will you give me your word to do that?" 
 
 "No," answered the woman, hotly. 
 
 "Why, you are a fool," retorted the nettled 
 man, his composure visibly disturbed. "If you 
 really want to capsize the canoe, why don't you 
 say that you would do nothing and then do what 
 you please?" 
 
 "When I give my word I keep it," answered 
 
 36 
 
IN THE RAPIDS 
 
 the girl, "and I give you my word now freely 
 that I will die before you shall harm me." 
 
 "Well, we can't discuss that now," said the 
 Half Breed grimly, "and if you won't promise 
 to do what I ask, you must lie as you are and 
 take your chance." 
 
 He looked at her thoughtfully a moment and 
 then with some of the saddle gear and other 
 things he wedged her tight where she lay, so she 
 could make no motion of any kind. He even 
 drew her further down in the bottom of the 
 canoe, closer to himself, to give the little vessel 
 greater stability by this human ballast, as it were. 
 Then he shoved the boat off the sand, climbed 
 into the stern, seized the paddle and in a moment 
 they were in the rapids. 
 
 The canoe, caught by the full force of the cur- 
 rent, shot forth like an arrow released from its 
 bow, but no arrow ever rocked or swayed so 
 fearfully as did that boat. It rose and fell with 
 the tremendous current that heaved up the water 
 in huge masses that might have been likened to 
 waves of the sea, except that no wave was ever 
 so confused in its motion as were those towering 
 on either side of the frail walls of birch, or toss- 
 
 37 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 ing it about like a leaf before some wanton wind. 
 Spray flew over the canoe like sheets of rain. 
 
 The woman lay on her back staring up at the 
 thin strip of blue beyond the canon walls, or at 
 the frightful precipices on either side, or glanc- 
 ing at the form of the Half Breed bending for- 
 ward, wielding his paddle with iron strength and 
 skill and with a nice adjustment of balance, his 
 hair blown back by the fierce wind of their wild 
 downward rush as they leaped through the mouth 
 of the canon. 
 
 Loathing him, hating him as she did, there 
 was a certain amount of thrilling admiration ex- 
 torted by his skill and courage. Such manage- 
 ment was magnificent. He was doing the im- 
 possible. A touch here, a movement there, all 
 that could be done; yet it kept them afloat and 
 alive. 
 
 They were in the thick of it now; yet, save for 
 the spray, the canoe had shipped little water. 
 Not a wave had yet broken upon them. They 
 were not to be so fortunate hereafter. One 
 mighty wave curled up before them. By bend- 
 ing her head backward the woman could see it. 
 They rose to meet it but not swiftly enough. 
 
 38 
 
IN THE RAPIDS 
 
 With a crash like thunder it broke and fell, a 
 vast liquid mountain, smiting her on the chest 
 like a trip-hammer. She had only time to real- 
 ize that they were now in the very vortex of 
 the flood, the gateway as it were of the monu- 
 tain pass, when consciousness left her. 
 
 The canoe, half filled with water, still floated. 
 The blow of the great wave had, however, 
 wrenched the paddle from the Half Breed's 
 hand. The boat was no longer under control. 
 It swerved wildly, crashing against a rock. 
 There was a ripping, tearing sound. The canoe 
 hung poised for a moment and then the force of 
 the current hurled it crossways toward the other 
 shore. The speed with which it was flung from 
 side to side alone kept it from sinking. It was 
 like a ball thrown by gigantic hands. 
 
 Half blinded and half drowned, the man real- 
 ized instantly what had happened. He had fol- 
 lowed the course of the river oftentimes on the 
 shore far above. He knew that they had passed 
 the danger point, and traveling at the pace they 
 did would shortly be in comparatively still 
 waters. So soon as the motion of the canoe was 
 checked, however, it would sink. 
 
 39 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 Dashing the water from his eyes, he stared 
 eagerly over to the nearer shore. If he had had 
 his paddle he could have made it. He could 
 easily make it alone as it was. Should he try 
 it? 
 
 He looked at the senseless form of the woman, 
 for whom he had dared so much, and resolved 
 that he would save her for himself ! He leaned 
 over, seized her by the lashing that bound her 
 feet, rolled out of the canoe, dragging her with 
 him, and started swimming for the shore. 
 
 The inert heavy mass of the woman was a 
 terrible handicap in that still tremendous cur- 
 rent. If she had been conscious, however, and 
 had struggled with him, or clasped him around 
 the neck it would have been worse. Again and 
 again in his fierce battle with the waves as he 
 was swung about hither and thither, he was on 
 the point of letting her go. Again and again he 
 resisted the temptation, until by and by, after a 
 struggle that left him speechless, gasping and 
 broken, his feet touched the sand. He stag- 
 gered onward a few paces, drew her up by his 
 side and fell prostrate. 
 
 By some freak of fortune the ripped and torn 
 40 
 
IN THE RAPIDS 
 
 canoe was cast ashore near them, its contents 
 water soaked but otherwise intact. To this,, 
 however, the Half Breed was oblivious. He lay 
 panting, striving to recover his breath, until ai 
 tall form stepping between him and the sun 
 caused a shadow to fall across his face. He 
 opened his eyes and stared up into the stern, 
 grim face of an Indian ; tall, stately, magnificent, 
 painted for battle, his black hair crowned with 
 the great war bonnet of the Sioux. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE RANCHMAN, THE GIRL AND 
 THE SOLDIER 
 
 BIG Patrick Sullivan had no premonition as 
 to what awaited him at the ranch house as 
 he leisurely rode upward to the top of the hill 
 about ten o'clock that bright summer morning. 
 His name stamped him as Irish, his disposi- 
 tion, bearing and temper, especially the last, 
 were undoubtedly Celtic. And his facial ap- 
 pearance, his dark hair, fair skin and brilliant 
 blue eyes could only have come from the Emer- 
 ald Isle. But his Irish heritage was one of the 
 distant past. It showed the persistency of his 
 racial stock, by the way. For well nigh two 
 hundred years his people had been denizens of 
 Pennsylvania and the further West. The family 
 had been a useful one to the United States. Its 
 sons had filled positions of prominence in their 
 day, in the army and navy in the several wars 
 of the country, being all of them natural fight- 
 
 42 
 
RANCHMAN, GIRL, SOLDIER 
 
 ers, of course, and one of them had even risen 
 to be a member of Congress from his native state, 
 when it meant much more to be a member of 
 that exalted body than it does now. 
 
 There had been a roving strain through them 
 all, however, which had broken the trammels 
 of convention at intervals, and had sent the par- 
 ticular scion of the house in whose veins the 
 strain ran most swiftly, careering all over the 
 world on all sorts of quests, aimless or other- 
 wise, but always out-of-the-way. This vagrom 
 disposition had brought Patrick, or "Big Pat," 
 as he was called by every cowboy under him, 
 to the ranch in the foothills of the Big Horn 
 Range. There a power stronger even than the 
 wanderlust had constrained him to plant his 
 stakes permanently on the spot in which he is 
 now to be found. 
 
 Sullivan was a man of herculean strength and 
 gigantic build. He could ride anything that 
 was big enough for him to ride and that could 
 carry him. He got along with the cows, who 
 have to be handled like children, just as he 
 would have got along with children themselves; 
 if Providence had brought him in contact with 
 
 43 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 any. Indeed, Amy Benham was not more than 
 a child when she first burst upon the astonished 
 vision of Mr. Sullivan; but that is a digression 
 of which more later. He could handle men, 
 too, and bad ones if necessary about as well as 
 good ones. Those rare qualities soon brought 
 him to the notice of his employer, old Colonel 
 Benham, who, with his young daughter, con- 
 stituted the family that owned the ranch nestling 
 under the shadow of snow-clad Cloud Peak 
 where the sun sank behind it to the westward. 
 
 From a common cow-puncher Sullivan gradu- 
 ally climbed to the position of the Colonel's 
 right-hand man. And as foreman and manager 
 he was simply invaluable. Contrary to the us- 
 ual habit of his race and family, he developed 
 a thrifty turn of mind and through the Colonel's 
 kindness and generosity at last found himself the 
 owner of a comparatively small though still con- 
 siderable share in the great and prosperous 
 ranch. 
 
 Sullivan would have given his share, and in- 
 deed the whole ranch with everything pertain- 
 ing thereto, had he owned it, for the least pos- 
 sible proprietary claim to Amy Benham herself. 
 
 44 
 
RANCHMAN, GIRL, SOLDIER 
 
 It was she who kept him there. She was the 
 force or power which had transformed him 
 Cymon and Iphigenia, again! They were 
 ardent lovers, these passionate Irishmen. From 
 the first he had been fascinated by her; he had 
 vowed and declared himself her bond slave. 
 For her he gave up his hours of play with the 
 men. He taught her to ride, to shoot, to hunt, 
 to fish, to swim, and throw the lariat. He even 
 imparted to her strange knowledge for a 
 woman what he knew about the habits of the 
 cattle upon the thousand hills which belonged 
 to him and her father jointly. Unusual upbring- 
 ing for a young girl! 
 
 The fate of the growing girl might have been 
 sad indeed had that been her only education. 
 Women there were none other on the ranch. 
 Because he had suddenly lost the wife he adored, 
 Colonel Benham had buried himself and his 
 daughter in that out-of-the-way country. Be- 
 cause he had New England thrift in his blood 
 he had turned that self-burial to good account 
 by engaging in cattle raising, when such a busi- 
 ness was as full of possibilities of success as any 
 undertaking in the West. 
 
 45 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 The Colonel had himself superintended the 
 early education of his daughter in arts and let- 
 ters, and the refinements the humanities of 
 life but he had been too well brought up him- 
 self not to understand the necessity for other 
 companionship for her. So at suitable age he 
 had sent the young hoyden to a famous school 
 on the banks of the Hudson River. The girls, 
 with whom she was thrown in contact, vastly im- 
 pressed by the variety and multiplicity of her 
 accomplishments in fields which they had not 
 dreamed the sex could enter, had christened her, 
 half in derision, half in affection, "The West 
 Wind," and "The West Wind" she had re- 
 mained; even on the ranch, when the news of 
 so apposite a title blew that way, as it soon did 
 in her own letters to her father. 
 
 The Colonel, Big Sullivan, Wing Loo, the 
 faithful Chinese cook, and in fact every cow- 
 puncher on the ranch, every horse which might 
 be considered gentle enough to submit to a wom- 
 an's touch, lived for the yearly return to her home 
 of the daughter of the house. Gala days indeed 
 were those of summer when she and all the men 
 on the ranch enjoyed her vacation together. 
 
RANCHMAN, GIRL, SOLDIER 
 
 Sullivan, whose affection at the beginning had 
 been half paternal, found himself at last as she 
 blossomed into young womanhood, wholly in 
 love with her. At the same time he realized 
 that the girl was growing farther from him with 
 every passing hour, with every added bit of ex- 
 perience, with every font of knowledge of which 
 she drank, with every new association in the 
 larger world. As a child she had looked up to 
 him. He had been the very ideal of her little 
 girlhood. Now it was different. 
 
 She liked him almost more than any one else 
 even now, in a way she even loved him, but not 
 in the way he would have desired. There was 
 no reason, so far as he was concerned, that he 
 could see why she should not love him in that 
 way. They were not lacking in assurance and 
 self-confidence, these Sullivans. He was good 
 to look at, at least women had told him so often 
 enough before for him to believe it, and scarcely 
 more than a dozen years older than she. Some 
 day he would be a very rich man if the cattle 
 business did not utterly go to pieces. On the 
 score of education, he was, of course, sadly 
 deficient. But education, book learning as they 
 
 47 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 phrased it, did not count for so very much in the 
 West in those days. 
 
 There were therefore plenty of reasons why 
 she might have loved him; only one why she 
 did not, if reason may be sought for so strange 
 .and ungovernable a thing as a woman's inclina- 
 tions and affections. That cause was not inani- 
 mate; it had gender and personality set off very 
 charmingly by the blue uniform of the United 
 States. In a word, it was another man. 
 
 Captain Joseph B. Kennard had not been a 
 cadet at West Point when Amy Benham had 
 been a student across the river. He had been 
 instructor in the department of Cavalry, hav- 
 ing been ordered East from his regiment to re- 
 cuperate from several years of hard campaign- 
 ing in which he had succeeded in getting three 
 things a soldier prized above all other things: 
 an early promotion, a wound in action and a 
 medal of honor for gallant conduct. He had 
 more quickly than usual risen to command his 
 troop, and was still young enough to be an ideal 
 lover dashing, gallant, scarred, distinguished 1 
 
 He had made her acquaintance at her father's 
 instance. He was the son of an old Civil War 
 
RANCHMAN, GIRL, SOLDIER 
 
 comrade of Colonel Benham's, and in compliance 
 with a letter from the father, he had made haste 
 to call upon the young girl, so soon as she had 
 been domiciled in the school over the river. 
 With her father's permission, and the sanction 
 of the school authorities of course, who were 
 impressed with his rank rather than his youth, 
 he had taken her across the river many times 
 to one brilliant function or another at the Point. 
 As he came to know her he had been charmed 
 with the girl's splendid beauty, her frankness, 
 her generally free and independent spirit, her 
 girlish, graceful carriage, her keen bright mind, 
 trained in the stimulating school of Nature he 
 thought she was well named "The West Wind!" 
 and almost from the first moment he saw her 
 he had loved her. 
 
 Ninety-nine girls out of a hundred would have 
 succumbed to the fascinations of the gray-coated 
 cadets who swarmed about her in scores so soon 
 as they had the opportunity. Amy Benham 
 was of the one in a hundred class of girls. She 
 had been at first immensely flattered by the at- 
 tentions of this distinguished soldier whose rec- 
 ord she very speedily learned, and then there 
 
 49 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 had been a congeniality between the two through 
 their common knowledge of, and their common 
 love for the great West, in which his regiment 
 had been stationed practically continuously since 
 his graduation. 
 
 On account of his age and rank, and the sanc- 
 tion of her father, great liberties and privileges 
 were allowed him. He brought horses across 
 the river, and when occasion served they took 
 long rides together. He became more and 
 more in love every minute, and she at last awak- 
 ened to the fact that her feelings matched his 
 own. 
 
 He had thought it proper at that time not to 
 make any formal avowal of his affections. It 
 seemed to him like taking undue advantage of 
 youth and inexperience. He had kept tight 
 rein over himself, therefore, and he fondly im- 
 agined that she was ignorant of his passion. The 
 two years which she had required for the com- 
 pletion of the studies she had elected to pursue 
 would soon be over. Upon her graduation he 
 would declare himself, and at once seek the per- 
 mission of her father to make her his wife. He 
 knew that the girl was a great heiress, but that 
 
 50 
 
RANCHMAN, GIRL, SOLDIER 
 
 did not especially trouble him, for in addition to 
 his pay, he was possessed of a small but suffi- 
 cient fortune of his own. And he was too sensi- 
 ble to let any foolish consideration of that kind 
 stand in the way of their mutual happiness if she 
 loved him. 
 
 Fate, however, took things in her own hand. 
 Fate has a habit of doing that else she would 
 not be Fate! Two months before Amy Ben- 
 ham's graduation, which was to take place early 
 in June, he was ordered to his regiment. The 
 Colonel with the Headquarters and four troops 
 were to be stationed at Fort McCullough. His 
 was one of the four in the Headquarter bat- 
 talion. 
 
 He would have welcomed the order if it had 
 come two months later, because of all the mili- 
 tary posts in the United States that was the near- 
 est to where she lived. Now it was a matter 
 of temporary regret at least, for that program 
 which had depended upon her graduation would 
 have to be abandoned and another decided upon 
 later. 
 
 He could have spoken before he bade her 
 good-by, but he was a man of fixed and stubborn 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 determination, and he declined to do so. He 
 would keep to his original resolution. The 
 farewells between them, therefore, were no more 
 than might have been expected between two very 
 good friends. Amy Benham experienced a feel- 
 ing of disappointment at this restraint, but there 
 was nothing she could do, and in a spirit of pride 
 she strove to put the matter out of her mind. 
 Yet, during the long journey across the conti- 
 nent after her graduation, the fact that she would 
 soon see him was more impressed upon her heart 
 and higher in her thoughts than that at the end 
 of the ride she would be clasped in the arms 
 of her father "Thus it is our daughters leave 
 us!" 
 
 Sullivan, as he invariably did, met her at the 
 station. Her father, he said, had been ailing 
 somewhat and he himself had come down with 
 but one faithful follower to fetch her. He had 
 brought with him a light spring wagon and a 
 couple of the best saddle horses beside, so that 
 she could ride or drive at her pleasure during the 
 long journey of something over one hundred and 
 fifty miles which separated her from the ranch 
 to the northward. 
 
 52 
 
RANCHMAN, GIRL, SOLDIER 
 
 She was always happy when she left the stuffy 
 Pullman and got out on the broad prairies, with 
 her favorite horse beneath her. She was hap- 
 pier this time than ever. For her school days 
 were over and she was coming back to enter 
 upon the serious business of life, so far as love, 
 or even life itself, could be considered serious 
 to nineteen years. And that serious business was 
 simply her coming to the man she adored and 
 who adored her as well. She was so gay and so 
 care-free that Sullivan, who knew little or noth- 
 ing about Kennard, was on the point of declar- 
 ing himself. They were a very hopeful, opti- 
 mistic, confident race, these Sullivans. Some 
 modesty, or timidity, however, not natural 
 surely, but recently acquired in her joyous, buoy- 
 ant, commanding presence restrained him, luck- 
 ily for him. 
 
 It was strange also that Sullivan had no sus- 
 picions of Kennard. The big ranchman had 
 often met the officers of the Post, who were fond 
 of riding over to the ranch, sometimes with their 
 wives and children. They were always wel- 
 come there, although it was understood that Col- 
 onel Benham, who had aged surprisingly in the 
 
 53 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 last few years, returned no visits. Sullivan did 
 not care much for women if they were married, 
 and he had some of the Irishman's contempt for 
 the government and a great deal of the free and 
 easy rancher's scorn of the disciplined soldier. 
 He generally made himself scarce when there 
 were guests at the ranch, which was foolish from 
 one point of view, for if he had wanted to know 
 the situation he should have put himself in the 
 way of obtaining the information. However, his 
 blissful ignorance saved him many a heart pang 
 which was just as well in the end. 
 
 After a long ride of several days and several 
 stops for the night at hospitable ranch houses, 
 they reached their own ranch late in the evening. 
 In the joy of seeing her beloved father, for the 
 moment the girl actually forgot the younger 
 man. The evening she spent with her father 
 alone she would look back upon gratefully in 
 after years as one of the happiest in her life. 
 For that night, at least, age not youth would be 
 served, and she put out of her head until she 
 was alone in her chamber everything but her 
 good old father. 
 
 The work of the ranch had to go on whatever 
 
 54 
 
RANCHMAN, GIRL, SOLDIER 
 
 happened, and Sullivan had taken his men and 
 ridden down into the valley before daybreak. 
 He had an all-day job for the outfit, and he left 
 instructions for Wing Loo, the cook, to prepare 
 something to eat for them and bring it down in 
 the chuck wagon about eight o'clock. It was 
 this unusual absence of both the Chinaman and 
 the other man who ordinarily remained about 
 the place to attend to whatever duties might 
 arise, that had given the Half Breed the oppor- 
 tunity of which he had made so terrible a use 
 that morning. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE TRAILERS 
 
 SULLIVAN came up the hill whistling like 
 a boy in the joy of his heart. The beautiful 
 late spring morning, the air still cool and fresh 
 at the high level at which the range was located, 
 the bright sunshine, the delightful odor of the 
 pines on the ridges, and the thought of the girl 
 he loved and whom he had begun to dream that 
 he might sometime marry, filled his soul with 
 satisfaction. Yet when through the avenue of 
 pines he turned into the gate that marked the 
 home enclosure, he felt that there was an un- 
 wonted silence about the huge, rambling log 
 cabin of many rooms which Colonel Benham had 
 built, and to which he had added as occasion 
 needed, which chilled his gayety and filled him 
 with vague alarm. 
 
 Usually the old Colonel could be found seated 
 on the low porch or perhaps on one of the 
 benches under the pines, smoking or reading, or 
 
 56 
 
THE TRAILERS 
 
 when his daughter was at home as to-day, chat- 
 ting with her. But no one was visible to the 
 uneasy newcomer. Certainly the day was too 
 fair and sweet to keep any one indoors and Amy 
 should have been outside as well as he. Sulli- 
 van swept the ranch house with eager glance, 
 but he saw and heard nothing. He dismounted 
 hurriedly and stepped toward the house, in spite 
 of himself the feeling of apprehension, not to 
 say alarm, growing in his breast as he quick- 
 ened his pace. 
 
 As he mounted the two or three steps to the 
 broad porch, he caught sight of something that 
 made him start with surprised alarm. It was 
 a broad red smear across the clean, well-scrubbed 
 floor. It formed a well-defined trail leading 
 from the end of the porch where beneath the 
 trees beyond the house was the bench which was 
 most affected by the old man, into the dark and 
 silent doorway. 
 
 Sullivan bent down and examined it. It was 
 blood, a trail of blood, not dropped from a 
 wound, but caused by dragging some bleeding 
 object. These things he comprehended in an in- 
 stant. He rose to his feet, crying: 
 
 57 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Miss Amy, for God's sake, where are you? 
 What has happened?" 
 
 He did n't stop with that, for as he spoke he 
 fairly leaped toward the door of the house. As 
 he entered the big living room, he almost fell 
 over a body. One glance told him who it was. 
 
 "Good God!" he exclaimed, bending over it. 
 
 He had feared at first that it was the woman 
 he loved; although his heart was riven at the 
 death of his old friend and employer, there was 
 relief in the knowledge that it was not she. 
 
 The Colonel's body was lying on its back. 
 Sullivan had seen gunshot wounds enough to 
 know from a single glance that he had been hit 
 in the back of the head with a bullet that had 
 mushroomed as it penetrated and had torn out 
 his face at its exit. The same glance showed 
 him that the Colonel was past all help or con- 
 sideration. The same second brought Amy 
 again into his head. The girl where was she? 
 Why had this murder been done? Who had 
 done it? 
 
 "Miss Amy," he called, "where are you?" 
 
 A door at the other end of the room was slowly 
 and cautiously opened and a yellow-faced in- 
 
 58 
 
THE TRAILERS 
 
 dividual dressed in Chinese garments stuck his 
 head timorously through the opening. In a 
 stride the American had him by the arm, shak- 
 ing him as the wind shakes a leaf. 
 
 "Who did this?" cried Sullivan. "Where's 
 Miss Amy?" 
 
 "Me no sabe, me come back flind Colonel allee 
 samee dead. Me dlagged him here. Me flaid." 
 
 "But the girl, where is she?" 
 
 "Colonel allee samee 'lonee," answered Wing 
 Loo, rolling his eyes frightfully. 
 
 Sullivan clapped his hands to his head to think 
 but could make nothing of the situation then. 
 
 "Here," he said at last, despairing of getting 
 anything out of the Chinaman, who was evi- 
 dently frightened to death. 
 
 He stooped over the dead man, took him by 
 the shoulders, and with the Chinaman's aid, to- 
 gether they lifted him and carried him across 
 the hall and laid him on his bed in an adjoin- 
 ing room, covering him with a sheet. 
 
 "Now," said Sullivan, whose head was throb- 
 bing almost to bursting, "show me where you 
 found him." 
 
 Without a word the Chinaman went out the 
 
 59 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 door, crossed the porch, and pointed to the spot 
 in front of the bench. 
 
 Sullivan was not without some ability in the 
 lore of the trail. He got down on his knees and 
 scrutinized the ground in front of the bench. 
 When the Colonel had been struck from behind, 
 he had risen and dug his heels into the loam of 
 the path. The grass at the distance of six feet 
 from the heel marks was crushed and bloody. 
 It was evident what had happened. 
 
 "He has been shot in the back of the head. 
 What an end for a brave man," he muttered. 
 
 Wing Loo nodded his head. 
 
 "Where did you leave Miss Amy? Where 
 was she when you drove off for the field?" 
 
 "Alice samee on blench by father," answered 
 Wing Loo, pointing. 
 
 "She has n't been shot, that is clear," con- 
 tinued Sullivan, scanning the ground. "Who 
 could have done it? And what has happened 
 to her?" 
 
 "Colonel he say last week to Half Bleed man 
 he kick him off place allee samee he died make 
 Missy he squaw. Me heard tlalk thlu windlow 
 there." 
 
 60 
 
THE TRAILERS 
 
 "Girot! That Half Breed hound!" cried 
 Sullivan. "Could he have done it?" 
 
 Followed by the Chinaman he ran around to 
 the right toward the back of the house which 
 was built, as to one side at least, on the very 
 verge of the canon. Sure enough, from a con- 
 venient branch there hung a long knotted rope 
 dangling down to the bottom of the stream. 
 
 "He roped that branch," exclaimed Sullivan 
 to the other, "climbed up, shot the Colonel and 
 then made off, but what has he done with the 
 girl? Taken her off with him, damn him!" 
 
 In a growing, burning fever of anxiety and 
 impatience he went back to the house for further 
 inspection. On the side opposite that where 
 the Colonel had been shot, he found traces of 
 horses. Also evidence on the grass where a 
 woman had fallen, which would scarcely have 
 been apparent to a less practiced eye. 
 
 "He roped her here, curse him," he cried pas- 
 sionately, "and then threw her down " 
 
 At this moment his eye fell upon another 
 form riding up the far-off slope of the foothill 
 toward the ranch house. He was a keen-sighted 
 man and he recognized him at once as old Bud 
 
 61 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 Meekins. Meekins, half hunter, half prospec- 
 tor, was a veteran frontiersman who made him- 
 self generally useful and agreeable to the sundry 
 scattered inhabitants of the territory, and was 
 heartily welcome everywhere. Chance or Prov- 
 idence had brought him there that day most op- 
 portunely. He was the best trailer in Wyom- 
 ing and Sullivan would have instant need of 
 him. 
 
 "Hi, Bud," he called, waving his hat, "come 
 here quick, for God's sake!" 
 
 There was that in the cattleman's voice that 
 appraised the wanderer that something serious 
 had happened. He put the spurs to his bronco 
 and in a few minutes was standing by the ranch- 
 man's side. 
 
 "What's up?" 
 
 "There 's hell to pay," was the terse answer. 
 "Colonel Benham has been murdered, I think, 
 by that damned Half Breed, Girot, and Miss 
 Amy is gone." 
 
 He choked a little over the name. 
 
 "Why I didn't know she was back from 
 school." 
 
 "She came last night." 
 62 
 
THE TRAILERS 
 
 "What makes you suspect the Half Breed?" 
 
 "Wing Loo heard the Colonel threaten to 
 kick him off the place if he made any attempt 
 to pay any attention to the girl. The Colonel 
 was sitting on the other side of the house, and 
 he came up the canon back of the house, threw 
 his lariat over a tree and climbed up and shot 
 the old man in the back, and then he took the 
 girl away. Look here, what do you make of 
 that?" 
 
 He pointed to the grass and to the marks of 
 the horses' hoofs. 
 
 "He 's made a trail that we can follow 'til 
 doomsday if it don't rain," answered the hunter, 
 looking down and inspecting it closely. "What 
 hosses is missin'?" 
 
 "I don't know; I just got here," answered 
 Sullivan. 
 
 "Well, the sooner we can git on his trail the 
 better," Meekins replied. 
 
 "I '11 run him down," cried the big cattleman 
 passionately, "if I have to follow him to the end 
 of the world!" 
 
 "I 'm with you," answered the old hunter 
 promptly, "but we 're wastin' time. Git some 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 of the boys up, or I '11 go down and summon 
 them for you." 
 
 "No, you stay here and make what you can 
 out of it. I know where the boys are and can 
 get 'em quicker 'n you could. You get some 
 fresh horses ready for us, too." 
 
 Sullivan turned as he spoke and leaped on the 
 back of his horse, still comparatively fresh, and 
 the moment after was thundering down the hill. 
 In an incredibly short time, it seemed to the old 
 trapper, he was back with a bunch of wildly 
 excited and infuriated cowboys at his heels. 
 Without orders, they rushed into the corral, each 
 man selecting the best available horse he could 
 come at for the long journey. They saddled up 
 and then swarmed into the bunk house and came 
 back with Winchesters in their hands and Colts 
 at their hips. Meanwhile Wing Loo had pre- 
 pared immense quantities of bread and meat, 
 which the boys ate voraciously as they worked, 
 or stuffed into their saddlebags for the journey. 
 
 "Now, boys," said Meekins, when they were 
 ready to start, "the trail leads straight along the 
 bluff. Where it goes to no one can tell yit." 
 
 "That's what we propose to find out and 
 
THE TRAILERS 
 
 pretty tolerable quick/ 7 said Johnson, one of the 
 older cowboys. 
 
 "We '11 make short work of him if we ketch 
 him," said another. 
 
 "God help him!" cried a third. 
 
 "God help him if he has harmed that girl. 
 The murder of the old man is bad enough, but 
 well I reckon we '11 know how to deal with 
 him when we get him," said Sullivan. "The 
 thing to do is to get him. Now, then, let 's get 
 away. First, two of you will have to stay here 
 at the house, and one of you will have to ride 
 over to the fort and notify Colonel Wainwright 
 of the murder." 
 
 He rapidly designated three men for this work. 
 They did not relish being left behind, but Sulli- 
 van was a man who was accustomed to be 
 obeyed, and they did not dare to question his 
 commands. The man whose business it was to 
 notify Colonel Wainwright, turned without an- 
 other word and galloped down the slope. 
 
 "Afore we start," said Meekins, "I think it 
 only right to tell you that there 's rumors that the 
 Sioux an' the Cheyennes are out. They Ve been 
 restless all spring an' I guess they 're goin' to 
 
 65 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 take advantage of the pleasant weather to go on 
 the warpath an' raise a little hell an 7 take a few 
 scalps on their own account. There's no 
 knowin' what we may run into. Although there 
 is only these two pony tracks right about here, 
 I don't reckon the Half Breed went into this 
 thing alone. I got a guess comin' that says he 
 has cast his lot in with his Injin blood kin." 
 
 "We don't care who 's on the warpath," said 
 Sullivan. "We want the Half Breed and we 're 
 going to get him if we Ve got to ride through 
 the whole Sioux nation. Now, ride on!" 
 
 Meekins nodded. With Sullivan at his right 
 and somewhat in his rear, he rode to the head 
 of the score of horsemen and trotted along 
 the bluff. The progress he made was slow be- 
 cause he had to follow a trail not visible to the 
 untrained eye. The advance, however, was 
 steady. By and by they struck the soft ground 
 at the head of the ravine which led to the bot- 
 tom of the canon. There was a little muddy 
 ground there caused by a spring, and the trail 
 was plain enough then, even to the greenest ten- 
 derfoot. 
 
 "They went down there," said Meekins, point- 
 
 66 
 
THE TRAILERS 
 
 ing, and as there was no way of getting out of 
 the gulch once in it except by crossing the stream 
 or descending it, he rode rapidly to the bottom. 
 
 The others, by his direction, kept back a lit- 
 tle, while the hunter examined the ground. His 
 experience made everything plain to him. 
 
 "He laid the girl down there still bound," he 
 said, pointing to the exact spot among the rocks 
 while the others stared in wonder and admira- 
 tion. "Then he took the bosses into the river. 
 I '11 see what he did on the other side." 
 
 Without another word he plunged in and soon 
 crossed the stream. 
 
 "Yep," he called out to those waiting on the 
 other side, "here are their tracks." 
 
 Indeed, footmarks of the two horses were 
 easily seen, but there was something else which 
 \vas not so apparent. The trailer stooped down 
 and scrutinized the shore at close range. He 
 waved his hand to them and then scrambled up 
 the corresponding ravine to the crest of the 
 canon, which was lower than the one on the side 
 on which the ranch stood. They saw him stoop 
 down and examine the ground again. Pres- 
 ently he came back and rejoined them. 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Two bosses," he said, "was rid down into 
 that stream, and was rid out on the other side. 
 Them tracks go up to the top of the bluff an' 
 straight away across the prairie." 
 
 "Did you see anything of them?" 
 
 "Not a sight. But that 's not all ; there 's foot- 
 marks of a man leadin' back to the river. He 
 tried to disguise 'em by steppin' on rocks, but I 
 seen 'em. He can't fool me." 
 
 "What do you make of it, Bud?" asked Sulli- 
 van. 
 
 "Why, he took them bosses over the river an' 
 started 'em south to fool us an' then he come 
 back here." 
 
 "And do you think that he 's hidden about 
 here?" 
 
 "I 'd just as soon think of his puttin' his head 
 into a lion's mouth," replied Meekins dryly. 
 "Like most half breeds, he ain't no fool ex- 
 actly," he went on. 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "He must have gone down the river." 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 "In a canoe, I make my guess. Lemme look 
 again. Yep," he said at last, "he done it there. 
 
 68 
 
THE TRAILERS 
 
 About how far do you think he could go in a 
 canoe, Sullivan?" he asked, looking up from the 
 place where he knelt by the water side. 
 
 "It is a dozen miles, I take it, down to the 
 White Horse Rapids. He 'd have to stop 
 there." 
 
 "I don't know about that, Pat," put in old 
 Johnson. "A man that '11 shoot the Colonel and 
 run off with the girl ain't likely to stop at no 
 rapids." 
 
 "Nobody's ever gone through 'em to my 
 knowledge," said Meekins, "an' lived to tell the 
 tale." 
 
 "You '11 find the Half Breed tried it." 
 
 "And Miss Amy," groaned Sullivan. 
 
 Johnson threw up his hands. 
 
 "They got through or they did n't," he said 
 concisely. 
 
 "Well, we 've got to roller 'em an' find out," 
 said Meekins. 
 
 "Good!" said Sullivan. "Now, Johnson, you 
 and two men cross the river and follow the trail. 
 Don't come back until you find out where it 
 leads. There's just a chance we 're mistaken 
 and they may really have gone that way." 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "I 'd better go along with 'em, I reckon," said 
 Meekins; "it's a hard trail to foller." 
 
 "Go," said Sullivan; "any fool can go down 
 the river. I '11 take that job myself." 
 
 "So long, then," said Johnson, as he sum- 
 moned two of the men and plunged into the 
 river. "Here 's hoping that some of us '11 git 
 her," he cried, turning in his saddle, half way 
 over. 
 
 "Some of us will," growled Sullivan. 
 "Come on, men." 
 
 He turned and rode back up to the lip of the 
 canon, and followed the downward course at 
 a rapid pace, recklessly galloping through the 
 pine forest, cutting off wide sweeps, bends and 
 curves on every hand. He rode in silence with 
 a grim, set face, and the men, as hard a set of 
 riders as ever bestrode horse flesh, were put to 
 it to keep up with him. They had work to do 
 and there was little time or occasion for conver- 
 sation. Twenty blood hounds on the trail of a 
 fleeing slave could not have followed with more 
 relentless, ferocious tenacity of purpose than 
 these men pursued their guarry. 
 
 70 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE ALARM 
 
 IT was yet early in the day when Captain Ken- 
 nard, having finished the hard two-hour reg- 
 ular morning drill of his troop, walked thought- 
 fully down the parade ground toward the 
 commanding officer's quarters. The work of 
 the morning being thus early disposed of satis- 
 factorily, it was his pleasant purpose to ask 
 leave to spend the remainder of the day at the 
 ranch by the canon, at which he knew his young 
 beloved had just arrived. 
 
 He expected the day to be a momentous one 
 in his career. Now that Amy Benham had re- 
 turned finally from school it was his purpose to 
 declare forthwith his affection for her and learn 
 if it were reciprocated and in that case formally 
 to ask her father's consent to their speedy mar- 
 riage. 
 
 Kennard was a modest man, as timid with 
 women as he was intrepid with men. He felt 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 no assurance whatever as to what would be the 
 answer to that question to be put to the woman 
 he loved; and yet as he dwelt upon the sweet 
 and tender memories of their past association, 
 he was not without hope, and as hope begets con- 
 fidence, he was a happy man that morning. At 
 least, whatever occurred, he would have the 
 glorious privilege of seeing her again and that 
 was much to this earnest young soldier. 
 
 The months that had intervened since his de- 
 parture from West Point for Fort McCullough 
 had been the longest he had ever passed. When 
 she went home from school the first time for the 
 summer vacation, while he stayed at West Point, 
 the parting had been hard enough for him, but 
 now that he loved her so deeply, it had been in- 
 finitely worse on this occasion. 
 
 The young Captain, therefore, walked with 
 rapid, buoyant steps toward the low rambling 
 wooden building, which was at once the home 
 and the office of Colonel Wainwright, the Com- 
 mandant of the regiment and the post. He 
 had no doubt but that he would get the desired 
 permission and a few hours would decide his 
 fate. 
 
 72 
 
THE ALARM 
 
 Fort McCullough was completely enclosed by 
 a high wooden palisade with log blockhouses at 
 each corner and a watch tower; at least the fort 
 proper was so surrounded. There were, o 
 course, outlying buildings and corrals, commis- 
 sary and quartermaster's departments, but the 
 quarters of the officers and men were all in the 
 stockade. Ground, standing timber, and labor 
 soldiers' labor, of course had all been abundant 
 when the frontier post was laid out and built, so 
 the enclosure was of considerable size. In 
 each of the log blockhouses were mounted small 
 cannon. Against Indians, its only possible 
 enemies, it was an impregnable position. The 
 main gate of the wooden wall opened directly 
 on the parade on the side directly opposite to 
 the Colonel's quarters. 
 
 Just as Captain Kennard reached the long, 
 broad porch in front of the Colonel's house, his 
 attention was attracted by the rapid galloping 
 of a horse back of him. He turned instantly. 
 Up the hard, dusty road that led around the 
 parade he saw a cowboy coming at the full speed 
 of bronco. Cowboys generally rode rapidly, he 
 knew, but there was something in the mad, reck- 
 
 73 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 less, desperate haste of the newcomer that at- 
 tracted his particular attention immediately. 
 
 The sentry at the gate stood uncertainly pois- 
 ing his gun. The cow-puncher had evidently 
 paid no attention to his challenge but had 
 brushed by him like a storm. For an instant, 
 the soldier was at a loss what to do, but as he re- 
 covered his wits a sharp cry rang through the 
 square: 
 
 "Halt there! Corporal of the Guard!" 
 
 The oncoming horseman paid no attention, 
 if he even heard the summons. He raced up the 
 driveway, drew rein before the Colonel's porch 
 with shocking abruptness, fairly threw himself 
 from the saddle, dropped the rein to the ground, 
 leaving the panting horse to its own devices 
 glad enough was the bronco, which had been 
 pushed nearly to death, for a few moments' res- 
 pite leaped across the porch and hammered 
 loudly and repeatedly with his gauntleted hand 
 upon the door. 
 
 "What's up?" asked Kennard quickly, 
 stepping to his side. 
 
 He recognized the man as having come from 
 the Benham ranch. 
 
 74 
 
THE ALARM 
 
 "There 's hell to pay over at the ranch," an- 
 swered the cowboy. "Old Colonel Benham " 
 
 At that instant the door of the house was 
 opened. Colonel Wainwright, Dalton the ad- 
 jutant, the orderly on duty, and the regimental 
 bugler came out on the porch. 
 
 "Colonel Wainwright!" burst out the cowboy. 
 
 "Just a minute," interrupted the veteran 
 officer. "Bugler, sound Officers' Call at once! 
 Orderly, have my horse saddled and my field kit 
 packed immediately; Mr. Dalton, make out and 
 publish an order for A, B and K troops to pre- 
 pare to take the field at once. You know the de- 
 tails, sir." 
 
 The two soldiers and the officer saluted, but 
 the bugler looked at the excited cowboy fidg- 
 eting nervously on the porch, and hesitated un- 
 certainly. 
 
 "Well," said the Colonel, sharply, noticing 
 the delay, "what are you waiting for?" 
 
 The trumpeter, thereby recalled to himself, 
 stepped to the edge of the porch, and instantly 
 the loud, clear notes of the bugle went echoing 
 through the post. 
 
 From every group of officers' quarters on the 
 
 75 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 instant the young captains and lieutenants of the 
 several troops came running; the men also 
 swarmed from their barracks, wondering what 
 was up. The adjutant disappeared within the 
 doorway; the orderly started on the double 
 quick for the stables; the quiet post awoke to 
 life with startling suddenness. 
 
 "Ah, Kennard, good morning," said the Colo- 
 nel at last, acknowledging the young man's pres- 
 ence. 
 
 "Good morning, Colonel Wainwright," re- 
 plied the other. 
 
 "Now, sir," the Colonel turned to the impa- 
 tient and excited cowboy, "what do you want?" 
 
 "Sullivan, the ranch boss on the Benham 
 ranch," returned the cowboy, "sent me over here 
 to tell you that Colonel Benham has been mur- 
 dered." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the Colonel in amaze- 
 ment and horror. 
 
 "And Miss Benham," burst out Kennard, anx- 
 iously, his first thought for the woman. 
 
 "Who did it?" asked the Colonel. 
 
 The cow-puncher, delighted at last to be the 
 center of attention, made prompt answer. 
 
THE ALARM 
 
 "Colonel Benham was shot this morning from 
 behind by some unknown party." 
 
 "Sioux?" exclaimed the Colonel. 
 
 "Don't believe so. Suspicion points to a 
 Half Breed with whom he had a few words night 
 afore." 
 
 "Girot?" questioned the Colonel. 
 
 "That 'shim." 
 
 "And Miss Benham? Good God, man! what 
 of her?" cried Kennard. 
 
 The Colonel looked at the young officer in 
 great surprise, but he said nothing. 
 
 "She's gone." 
 
 "Gone where?" asked the Colonel, noticing 
 that Kennard reeled back as if from a blow. 
 
 "We don't know. We think the Half Breed 
 took her away with him somewheres." 
 
 "Colonel Wainwright," choked out Kennard 
 again, his heart in his mouth, "let me have my 
 troop a platoon let me go alone, to seek for 
 her!" 
 
 "What was she to you, Kennard?" asked 
 Wainwright, gently, yet curiously. 
 
 "I intended to ask her to be my wife to-day; 
 and" 
 
 77 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Sullivan, the ranch boss, and half the outfit 
 is already on the trail," interposed the cowboy. 
 "Bud Meekins is leadin' 'em." 
 
 "Let me go!" 
 
 "Wait," said the Colonel. 
 
 Before this the first of the officers had ap- 
 peared on the porch. They assembled rapidly 
 and all became at once deeply interested in what 
 was going on, as they caught a part of the con- 
 versation, which, under the circumstances, they 
 did not dare to interrupt. The Colonel glanced 
 over the little group standing on the porch some- 
 what withdrawn to one side. 
 
 "Are you all here? Ahl every one, I see. 
 Gentlemen," he looked at the telegram in his 
 hand and spoke briefly, "the Sioux and the 
 Cheyennes are on the warpath. They have al- 
 ready cut to pieces a detachment of the Twelfth 
 Cavalry on the Montana Border. Crazy 
 Horse, Roman Nose, and their bands are the 
 leaders in the insurrection, and before nightfall 
 the whole nation will be out. I have a telegram 
 here from General Crook, the Department Com- 
 mander, directing me to join him with 
 every available man in the Dead Canon of the 
 
 78 
 
THE ALARM 
 
 Rosebud without delay. The other troops of 
 the regiment have been ordered to join us there. 
 Troops A, B and K will prepare to take the 
 field at once. Orders are being made ready 
 now. Troop E will remain in charge of the 
 post." 
 
 "Well, I call it damned hard, sir, saving your 
 presence," broke out Franklin, commander of 
 Troop E, "that I have to stay at home, and there 
 is n't a man in the troop that won't feel the 
 
 same." 
 
 "It is your turn, Franklin," said the Colonel, 
 approvingly. "I like your spirit, but some one 
 has to stay here and protect the women and chil- 
 dren, you know, and if the war lasts long enough, 
 you will get into the game, never fear." 
 
 Old Major Nash detached himself from the 
 little group and lifted his hand. 
 
 "Three cheers for the orders, gentlemen!" he 
 cried; "we will make short work of the Sioux 
 when we catch them!" 
 
 "I 'm not so sure about that," returned the Colo- 
 nel, smiling, as the hearty cheering died away; 
 "Crazy Horse is a general, and so is Roman 
 Nose. I have met them both. They will give 
 
 79 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 us plenty to do. Meanwhile we will march in 
 two hours. Hasten, gentlemen. Franklin, a 
 word with you as to what is to be done in our ab- 
 
 sence." 
 
 "And my request, Colonel?" said Kennard, as 
 the officers separated, hurrying to take up their 
 new duties. 
 
 "Your troop is ordered to the front, Kennard, 
 and your duty as a soldier is to go with it," 
 returned the veteran rather severely. 
 
 The Captain nodded. He was a soldier, 
 there was nothing else to do. 
 
 "God help her!" he exclaimed; "I must go 
 with my men." 
 
 "Yes," commented the old Colonel, kindly 
 but firmly, "you are too experienced an officer at 
 this kind of fighting to be spared." 
 
 "And what 's to be done about Colonel Ben- 
 ham's murder, sir?" asked the cow-puncher, who 
 had listened to it all. 
 
 "At present, nothing, I am sorry to say. We 
 are under orders and have no option but to 
 march at once. I think it probable, however," he 
 said, "that Girot has gone over to the Sioux, and 
 in that case our best way to find Miss Benham, 
 
 80 
 
THE ALARM 
 
 whom God help, as you say, Kennard, will be to 
 find them." 
 
 "If she is not found before night, sir," said 
 the cowboy meaningly, "it '11 be too late. You 
 know what them red devils are, sir, an 5 Girot's 
 not apt to be any better." 
 
 Kennard clapped his hands to his face and 
 groaned. He knew as well as did the others 
 what it meant for a white woman to fall into 
 such hands. 
 
 "True," said the Colonel to the cowboy, with a 
 compassionate glance at poor Kennard. "Wait, 
 let me think." He walked over to the young 
 soldier, and laid his hand on his shoulder. 
 "Kennard, how soon can you get your troop 
 ready to move?" 
 
 "In ten minutes, sir, in five, if some one will 
 look after our supplies," replied the other, his 
 cheeks flushing with hope. 
 
 "Very well," said the Colonel. "Which way 
 are the fugitives supposed to have gone?" 
 
 "The Half Breed has certainly taken the girl 
 down the canon, sir," answered the cowboy 
 promptly. 
 
 "I thought so. That will be northward and 
 
 81 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 westward and in the general direction of the 
 Rosebud, the way we want to go. Captain 
 Kennard, suppose you take your troop toward 
 the canon, scouting on either side for a score of 
 miles, and going into camp not more than forty 
 miles from here, just by the side of that little 
 lake on the shoulder of Cloud Peak. You 
 know where it is? The Montana Trail passes 
 it." 
 
 "Perfectly, sir; we will make our first camp 
 there." 
 
 "Then I will join you with the rest of the 
 men to-morrow." 
 
 "You will find us awaiting you there, sir." 
 
 "Perhaps you can overtake them on the way. 
 I give you full liberty of action so long as you 
 reach the rendezvous to-morrow morning." 
 
 "Pat Sullivan is on their trail an' he is fol- 
 lerin' 'em down the canon," said the cowboy. 
 
 "In that case," said Colonel Wainwright, "if 
 I were you I should strike straight across the 
 prairie and hit the canon about White Horse 
 Rapids. They must have landed there if they 
 went down in a boat or a canoe." 
 
 "Very good, sir, I understand," said the Cap- . 
 
 82 
 
THE ALARM 
 
 tain, saluting and turning away. "Thank you 
 and God bless you, sir," he added, as he stepped 
 off the porch. 
 
 "Wait a moment, Kennard," said the Colonel, 
 following after him for a final word of advice. 
 "Remember that you are in the service of the 
 United States and these men belong to the gov- 
 ernment. Your first duty is to your country and 
 to your flag. If I mistake not, our services will 
 be sorely needed presently, to prevent greater 
 and more widespread horrors than even the 
 murder of one man and the abduction of one 
 woman ; and while I leave you free, I am surp 
 you will not unduly jeopardize your men by any 
 rash, inconsiderate or headlong action." 
 
 The old man spoke earnestly and impres- 
 sively. In his stern code public duty always 
 took precedence of private affairs, however 
 pressing. 
 
 Kennard fully understood the Commander's 
 point of view and entered into it. 
 
 "I shall take good care of them, sir," he re- 
 plied, "and you will find me by the lake when 
 you come, or tidings of me. God grant I may 
 overtake them and rescue her." 
 
 83 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Amen," said the Colonel, "and now good-by 
 and good luck to you." 
 
 Saluting once more, Kennard broke into a run. 
 He called to his striker as he passed his own 
 quarters and then kept on to the barracks of the 
 men of his troop. 
 
 The quarters were already buzzing with eager 
 anticipation. The men were at work prepar- 
 ing their field kits, filling their haversacks and 
 canteens, getting their carbine and revolver am- 
 munition and making ready for the advance, 
 when Kennard pressed in among them, calling 
 out loudly for Schneider, his first sergeant, a 
 grizzled veteran of many wars in many lands 
 and devoted to his leader. 
 
 "Get the men together quick," he called. "We 
 are to lead the advance. Sixty rounds and two 
 days' rations. The other troops will look after 
 forwarding whatever supplies we need that we 
 cannot carry on our backs. I want the men out 
 here in five minutes, for the honor of the troop, 
 and" 
 
 The troopers had heard as well as the Ser- 
 geant. The old man did not need to repeat the 
 order. With wild and tumultuous cheers, the 
 
THE ALARM 
 
 men dashed for their arms, blankets and haver- 
 sacks, and then rushed for the stables. 
 
 To dive into his own quarters and get into his 
 campaign uniform was the work of a few mo- 
 ments. The well-trained striker had everything 
 ready for him. Within the five minutes which 
 he had mentioned, the troop was mounted, and 
 lined up on the parade. Kennard took his place 
 at the head. A few sharp words of command, 
 and the line broke into a column of fours. 
 Guided by the Captain, the troop trotted gently 
 down the road. 
 
 Kennard led them past the officer's quarters 
 and the Colonel's house. The women and chil- 
 dren were clustered on the porches, the women 
 white-faced and anxious, the children nervous 
 and excited. The bolt they dreaded was about 
 to fall. Kennard's command was visible evi- 
 dence that their own beloved would follow in a 
 short time. Cheeks were wet and eyes were 
 blinded with tears, yet the pale lips of all joined 
 in the hearty cheers of the soldiers left behind 
 or preparing to follow in turn. 
 
 The men themselves looked at the matter 
 lightly, with laughter and jest, and high antici- 
 
 85 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 pation of splendid opportunities for hard riding 
 and good fighting the cavalryman's ideal! 
 in their hearts. To paraphrase the old saying, 
 Men may laugh, but women may wait, when the 
 game of war is to be played. 
 
 As he drew abreast the veteran commander, 
 Kennard saluted the Colonel, who stood at the 
 steps to see them pass. The men of the troop, 
 who loved "Old Glory" as they called him, as 
 did every soldier in the regiment, broke into 
 cheers at the sight of the straight, soldierly fig- 
 ure, with its bronzed face and white mustache. 
 
 Although his heart was filled with anxiety and 
 dread unspeakable, the young Captain experi- 
 enced a thrill of pride as he looked back at 
 the lean, brown faces of the faithful men who 
 had followed him in many a hard ride, in many 
 a desperate Indian pursuit, over the hills and 
 plains of the great West. He prayed as he 
 never prayed before, that he might catch the 
 Half Breed, and above all that he might catch 
 him in time. With such as these men he could 
 ride through the whole Sioux nation, he thought, 
 so confident was he of his command. 
 
 As they trotted along, he explained the object 
 
 86 
 
THE ALARM 
 
 of their pursuit to the men. Many of them had 
 seen the girl and had spoken with her. Any 
 soldier was a welcome guest at the ranch, and as 
 the news spread through the troop, they were 
 soon as eager as their captain to catch the 
 dastard who had committed the murder and rav- 
 ished the girl away. Amy Benham had said 
 rightly when she told the Half Breed of the pur- 
 suit 
 
 Down the edge of the canon Sullivan and his 
 men were trailing him like hounds. 
 
 Across the prairie Kennard and his war dogs 
 were racing to intercept him. 
 
 The devil he served might help him : no other 
 power would or could. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE RETREAT TO THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 STARTLED by the savage apparition which 
 at first sight he failed to recognize, the 
 dazed Half Breed strove feebly to arise. As he 
 did so, full consciousness came to him and he 
 laughed faintly in the face of the stalwart brave. 
 
 "Water," he said in the guttural language 
 of the Sioux. 
 
 The Indian impassively pointed toward the 
 river. 
 
 "Not that kind," continued the other easily. 
 
 He fumbled in the pocket of his hunting shirt 
 as he spoke and presently brought forth a silver 
 mounted flask. Fortunately it was intact, al- 
 though how it had escaped breaking in the buf- 
 feting he had undergone in the rapids was sur- 
 prising. The Indian stared at him eagerly as 
 he unscrewed the top and covetously as he took 
 a long drink thereof. 
 
 It was characteristic of the man that he 
 
THE RETREAT 
 
 thought first of himself. When the potent 
 liquor had put new life and energy into his own 
 veins, he turned to the girl, the Indian watching 
 him with even more baleful intentness than be- 
 fore as he did so. 
 
 Without much difficulty the Half Breed 
 turned the poor girl over upon her back. She 
 had fainted apparently; at least she was uncon- 
 scious. Gently enough with the blade of his 
 hunting knife he separated her teeth and poured 
 a little of the whisky down her throat. 
 
 He did not think that she had been drowned but 
 that she had swooned, and that fact had pre- 
 vented her from swallowing quantities of water 
 during the mad battle in the rapids. If his 
 thoughts were justified, the fiery spirit would 
 soon restore her to life and consciousness. He 
 watched her anxiously. He did not want to lose 
 her now that he had dared so much for her. 
 Sure enough, presently she opened her eyes, star- 
 ing frightened and puzzled beyond his kneeling 
 figure to the stark form of the red warrior, who 
 bent over them both. 
 
 "She lives," triumphantly said the Half 
 Breed, looking over his shoulder. 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 The tall Indian grunted his approval of the 
 undoubted fact. Naturally he was glad so 
 promising a prey had not escaped him. 
 
 "How do you feel, Mademoiselle," he con- 
 tinued, looking down at her again. 
 
 "Sorry that I have been summoned back to 
 life where you are again," came the weak, faint, 
 but resolute answer. 
 
 "You are doubly mine now," he said eagerly; 
 "by two rights, that of conquest and of salvation. 
 Had it not been for me you would have gone 
 down in the rapids yonder." 
 
 "I wish your arm had been paralyzed before 
 you had succeeded," said the girl, striving to sit 
 up, and yet shrinking from his assistance when 
 he himself raised her into a sitting position. 
 
 The Indian now broke into the conversation 
 in the language of the Sioux, which she did not 
 understand very well. The Half Breed made 
 quick reply, and then repeated the substance of 
 the remark in English as if for the girl's bene- 
 fit. 
 
 "Yes, he may well be surprised," he said 
 boastfully. "He says we are the first persons 
 that ever came through that rapid alive. 
 
 90 
 
THE RETREAT 
 
 Thanks to me," he tapped his breast proudly, 
 "JulesGirot;Ididit." 
 
 "God," said the woman softly, "has preserved 
 my life for some purpose." 
 
 "For my purpose," was the rejoinder. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "We '11 see about that presently," he continued 
 gaily. 
 
 Then he arose to his feet and had further 
 conversation with the newcomer. There was a 
 word here and there which enabled her to get 
 an inkling of the purport of the discussion if 
 not of its whole content. She realized in- 
 stantly that her captor had gone over body and 
 soul to the Sioux; that he had cast his lot in with 
 Crazy Horse, Chief of the Oglala band, and that 
 this Indian was Yellow Foot, a famous sub-chief, 
 who had command of a war party out scouting and 
 raiding with whom the Half Breed had made a 
 convenient rendezvous. She divined also that 
 they were discussing most earnestly what was to 
 be done with her; that the Indian was pressing 
 some sort of an argument, or making some sort 
 of an appeal, which the Half Breed was vig- 
 orously resenting. She knew, too, that her 
 
 91 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 present safety depended upon the Half Breed; 
 that if his protection were withdrawn her honor 
 would not be worth a moment's purchase. 
 
 She was hopeful that her captor's immediate 
 desires and intentions toward her were pacific 
 and propitiatory and she was reasonably con- 
 fident of his ability to get and maintain his own 
 way for a while at least, in spite of Yellow Foot 
 and his whole band. Yet she was not absolutely 
 certain as to either of these possibilities. Her 
 position filled her with a sickening horror, en- 
 hanced by the helplessness in which she found 
 herself, bound hand and foot, utterly unable 
 even in case of necessity to strike a blow at her 
 own heart rather than to submit to things worse 
 than death, and take her own life. God, in His 
 own inscrutable way, had preserved her life for 
 some purpose. She could not believe it was to 
 be given over to the brutality and ferocity of the 
 red fiends or the white one. She took some 
 comfort in that belief. 
 
 Presently the conversation was ended. In 
 what way she could not tell save that the Indian 
 seemed by no means satisfied, which she thought 
 a good sign. The lashing around her feet was 
 
 92 
 
THE RETREAT 
 
 untied and cast off. She was lifted up and made 
 to stand. The first steps she took were ex- 
 quisitely painful, she had been so long secured 
 so tightly in so cramped a position, but presently 
 strength came back to her and in obedience to 
 the command of the Half Breed, she accom- 
 panied him as he followed the Indian across the 
 beach and up a winding ravine that led from 
 the river bank to the uplands. 
 
 When she reached the level of the plateau she 
 was surprised to find waiting there a consider- 
 able band of Sioux and Cheyennes, all painted 
 for the warpath. With them, although it was 
 distinctly contrary to every Indian precedent of 
 which she had ever heard, there was a woman, a 
 full-blooded Indian squaw, apparently the wife 
 of Yellow Foot. What power she had employed 
 to be permitted to follow her husband, or 
 whether, as was more likely, having been afield 
 on errands of her own, she had stumbled upon 
 the party by chance and then stayed with it, did 
 not appear. Her appearance, however, af- 
 forded Amy Benham the one ray of comfort in 
 the situation. Not because of the fact that she 
 was a woman, for the Indian squaws were often 
 
 93 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 more cruel, vindictive and malevolent than the 
 braves themselves, but because this particular 
 squaw was known to the white woman, and be- 
 cause the white woman had befriended her in 
 days past. 
 
 As the little party approached the crowd re- 
 clining indolently under the trees, Mah-wissa, 
 the Blue Bird, for so the squaw was named, 
 looked stolidly into the face of the white woman, 
 and turned indifferently away without giving 
 the slightest sign of recognition. The girl's 
 senses were acutely sharpened by the dangers of 
 her position, and she divined instantly that for 
 some reason no sign of mutual recognition was 
 to be given. Indeed, it seemed at first as if the 
 squaw had made a mistake in her indifference, 
 for all the other Indians crowded eagerly 
 around the Half Breed, the Chief and prize 
 of all prizes 1 the white woman. 
 
 There was more excited conversation and 
 much pointing backward on the trail, each man 
 entitled to speak explaining by voice, sign lan- 
 guage and other methods his ideas. Finally the 
 Chief gave some sort of orders, and the men of 
 the party went back behind the low hill and 
 
 94 
 
THE RETREAT 
 
 brought out the ponies. From the spare mounts, 
 of which there were a number, one was provided 
 for the white woman and another for the Indian 
 squaw. The latter was apparently told off es- 
 pecially to watch the former, for to her was 
 given the halter of Amy Benham's pony. As 
 before, she was mounted astride, and her feet 
 tied beneath the belly of the horse. The Half 
 Breed and Yellow Foot took the lead. An old 
 warrior with three or four adventurous young 
 bucks was ordered to bring up the rear. The 
 others surrounded the two women and the whole 
 party trotted rapidly across the upland toward 
 the now not distant foothills of the range. 
 
 Miserable, indeed, were the reflections of the 
 white woman. She had heard terrible tales of the 
 frontier since she was a child. She knew no 
 white woman of her race had ever been in such 
 a position and had ever come forth from the ad- 
 venture unharmed. It seemed to her that the 
 wreck of her life had begun. Yet, even in her 
 awful desperation she did not quite give up 
 heart. Every hour which passed leaving her 
 still unharmed added to the chances of her 
 rescue, faint though they were at best. 
 
 95 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 In the first place she knew that long ere this 
 Sullivan and the men of the ranch would be on 
 her trail. She was equally confident that Ken- 
 nard would not be long after the big cattleman. 
 She had confidence in the skill and daring of the 
 one, and in the devotion and the persistence of 
 the other. With two such men in pursuit of 
 him, the Half Breed would eventually be over- 
 taken. They might be too late for anything but 
 vengeance, but at least there would be no delay. 
 Meanwhile, she could only pray and pray she 
 did as she had never prayed before in her short 
 young life. 
 
 God seems far away sometimes to people in 
 trouble. To her He was most imminent. She 
 had no one but Him, and to Him, as she rode 
 along with half-closed eyes, swaying uneasily as 
 the road grew rougher, winding through the 
 foothills and up toward the vast bulk of the 
 range itself, she poured out her soul in fervent, 
 if voiceless petition. She besought God to pre- 
 serve her and restore her to the arms of the man 
 she now realized she loved with all her soul. 
 
 Conventionality, maidenly hesitation disap- 
 peared from her heart like the night mist before 
 
THE RETREAT 
 
 the rising sun. In her dire extremity she saw 
 things nakedly, just as they were, and she was 
 not ashamed. She admitted to herself that she 
 loved him as she realized that he loved her, and 
 she prayed for him. 
 
 In the midst of her own sufferings she could 
 even feel a pang of pity as she thought how Ken- 
 nard must be undergoing all the tortures of the 
 damned; and Sullivan, too, although her appre- 
 ciation of his feelings was less thorough than in 
 the case of the former man, for the ranchman 
 had been big enough not to tell her of his hopes 
 and dreams, and she looked upon him almost as 
 a second father, or perhaps as she might have 
 looked upon a big brother ; yet she knew how his 
 heart would be wrung, too. Her own peril and 
 the terror of it did not make her forget her poor 
 murdered father either, but her grief for him 
 could not be as poignant as it would otherwise 
 have been because of her deadly and all-en- 
 grossing apprehension. Nor was it for her life 
 that she feared either. 
 
 She opened her eyes and stared at the Half 
 Breed. She found time to marvel again at the 
 temerity of the man inviting upon himself such 
 
 97 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 avengers of blood, such furies, as would be these 
 two men to whom her thoughts went back again 
 and again. 
 
 Sometimes she looked over at the squaw rid- 
 ing imperturbably by her side. If her eyes met 
 those of the Indian woman, as before, they 
 stared at her blankly, with no sign of recogni- 
 tion. Sometimes, indeed, the squaw with rude 
 voice and threatening mien seemed to be pouring 
 objurgations in her native language upon her 
 helpless companion, which greatly amused the 
 younger men, who proceeded eagerly to gather 
 about her, but after a word or two of warning 
 from Yellow Foot and fierce, threatening looks 
 from the Half Breed, they did not otherwise 
 molest her. She was the property of their ally 
 and friend and as such they would hold her 
 sacred, although how long they would have done 
 so had she not been under the protection of the 
 Chief, also, was a question not affording much 
 room for speculation. 
 
 Indians are ruthless riders. No brute beast 
 on earth has so sad a fortune in life as an Indian 
 pony. It is cheaper to kill them than to care 
 for them, the Indians think. They were in a 
 
THE RETREAT 
 
 fierce hurry. The Half Breed was not so obliv- 
 ious of the avengers of blood as he seemed. He 
 wanted to put a great distance between the 
 ranch and himself before night fell. And he 
 communicated his desires to the band, who 
 seemed no less anxious than he to get away. 
 They had already been doing some bloody raid- 
 ing on their own account and several new scalps 
 dangling from their belts told the awful story. 
 They rode the ponies on, reckless of any possible 
 consequences to them, indeed killing some of 
 them in their unsparing urgency and then mount- 
 ing others from the herd, until toward late in 
 the afternoon they had penetrated well into the 
 heart of the great mountain range. 
 
 The Half Breed, to whom the Big Horn 
 Mountains were as familiar as his cabin, led the 
 way, and presently about two hours before dark, 
 they entered upon a gloomy canon. A narrow 
 trail led along one of the sides, half way between 
 the bottom and the crest. They had to go in 
 single file and trust to the sure-footedness of 
 their ponies. Indeed, many of the Indians dis- 
 mounted and elected to go through on foot. 
 
 Amy Benham was one of those perforce left 
 
 99 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 on her horse. Her hands had not been untied. 
 The strain of the long hours had paralyzed 
 them. Even the fierce pains of earlier in the 
 day had been succeeded by a numb, dead feeling 
 horrible to think on. She was absolutely help- 
 less to guide her bronco. She could only trust 
 that it might get through safely. She found 
 herself staring over the side at the great depths 
 beneath them, wondering whether it would not 
 be better to throw her body violently in that 
 direction and thus cause the pony to lose his 
 footing, and send them both crashing to death 
 below, than to proceed to what ghastly fate 
 probably awaited her at the end of the journey. 
 Certainly any death would be welcome rather 
 than the awful end that must eventually be hers 
 if she were not rescued. But she was young and 
 she clung to life. She clung to the hope that she 
 might find some means of dying when the actual 
 moment came. Meanwhile she would live on 
 and wait. Yet again and again she swayed to- 
 ward the canon, and perhaps might have gone 
 over had it not been that for one moment Mah- 
 wissa, who had dismounted with the rest and 
 was leading the white woman's pony, flashed one 
 
 100 
 
THE RETREAT 
 
 glance of intelligent entreaty back at her in the 
 growing dusk. 
 
 Did the savage Indian woman divine what 
 was in her white sister's .heirt? ; rWis'iiife* offer- 
 ing encouragement to wait for possible help later 
 on? 
 
 These questions ran through the girl's mind, 
 and again upbuoyed by her hopes, she decided in 
 the affirmative. At any rate, she remained still 
 on her horse until the perilous passage had been 
 made. 
 
 1OI 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE CAMP IN THE CANON 
 
 ROUNDING a sharp and dangerous angle in 
 the walls of the canon, where the trail itself 
 diminished to a mere thread, the war party with 
 its prisoner found itself on a wide level shelf suit- 
 able for camping. The rocks overhung it, mak- 
 ing it almost a cave. The way on up the canon 
 from there appeared broad and easy. The trail 
 widened and ascended to the upper levels a short 
 distance beyond the shelf. A spring of water 
 gushed from the rocks hard by, and fell music- 
 ally over the edge into the depths. The place 
 was most convenient for a camp. It was shel- 
 tered and hidden as well. 
 
 The band had traveled with the greatest pos- 
 sible rapidity and had put many miles, the girl 
 thought with sinking heart, between them and 
 the distant ranch where her dead father lay 
 her father, her good old father, with whom she 
 had hoped to live through so many years of 
 
 102 
 
THE CAMP IN THE CANON 
 
 peace and happiness. She had scarcely had 
 time to think upon him. He had, as it were, 
 been blotted out of her mind by her own fright- 
 ful peril. Even now she could hardly realize 
 the whole situation. The action had been so 
 swift, so unexpected. She had been allowed no 
 leisure for grief. She had seen him foully mur- 
 dered before her eyes, and yet he seemed to be 
 still alive, waiting for her, watching over her 
 perhaps, in truth, he was. 
 
 She sat her weary horse listlessly, inertly, until 
 the Half Breed came, untied the lashing that 
 bound her feet, and lifted her down. Then for 
 the first time since the morning he cast off the 
 rope that bound her arms to her sides. She was 
 totally without any power of moving them. His 
 experience had taught him what would be her 
 situation and he vigorously chafed her arms, in 
 spite of her faint remonstrances, until the blood 
 again flowed freely in them but with an exqui- 
 site agony, which after a time abated somewhat; 
 until, although they were still stiff and very sore, 
 and motion was very painful, she could use them. 
 He had made no search of her and did not know 
 that she had a small knife hidden beneath the 
 
 103 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 loose white waist she wore, and she was most 
 careful in no way to betray to him that fact. 
 
 She was allowed a certain freedom because of 
 the absolute hopelessness of escape. One Indian 
 was sent back along the trail to the narrowest 
 part of the pass, where the turn in the canon 
 gave opening to the broad shelf. The rocks 
 overhanging it above prevented any one com- 
 manding it from the top of the canon, and a man 
 or two stationed at the upper end of the trail on 
 the far side from which no danger was to be 
 apprehended, could see a vast expanse of country 
 and give ample warning of the approach of a 
 possible enemy. In no direction was escape pos- 
 sible to her unaided efforts. 
 
 So secure were they in this mountain fastness 
 that the Indians even kindled a fire from some of 
 the store of wood which had been accumulated 
 within the recesses of a cave-like opening at 
 the back, evidently for just such purposes as 
 this, for the camp was apparently a favorite one 
 with the Half Breed or with the Indians. Meat 
 was soon cooking, and in a short time her por- 
 tion, which was supplemented by some hard 
 bread that the Half Breed had somehow pro- 
 
 104 
 
THE CAMP IN THE CANON 
 
 cured, and a canteen full of cold spring water, 
 was handed to her. She ate and drank raven- 
 ously. For one reason she was frightfully hun- 
 gry, and for another, just as before, she would eat 
 that she might live and battle for her honor and 
 her freedom. She needed all her strength. 
 
 The Half Breed left her to herself until the 
 meal was over and pipes had been produced. 
 Then he came toward her. 
 
 What was he about to do? She rose to her 
 feet to meet him. He realized he had made a 
 mistake when he saw her step swiftly to the very 
 brink of the canon and stand poised thereon. 
 
 "Girot," she said as he approached her, "if 
 you do not stop where you are, I shall leap into 
 the canon." 
 
 She said it quietly, without any unusual em- 
 phasis. There was a bright moon that night 
 and it shone down through the canon. She was 
 far enough from the overhanging wall to be in 
 its full light. He could see every feature of her 
 face distinctly. There was that in her bearing, 
 and in her voice, quiet though it was, which con- 
 vinced him that she spoke the truth. 
 
 "Is that the measure of your hatred, Made- 
 105 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 moiselle?" he answered in savage disappoint- 
 ment, for he could not conceive that any one 
 could be permanently indifferent to him. 
 
 "No," she said, "there is no measure to it." 
 
 "You mean" 
 
 Now, she had meant that her hatred was 
 boundless, deep and black as the yawning canon, 
 high and firm as the mountain summit. But, 
 on the instant, there flashed into her mind the 
 possibility that she might by her woman's wit 
 deceive him. The Indians were lazily smoking 
 around the fire save for the solitary man out of 
 sight, watching the narrow trail, and the two or 
 three far beyond on the uplands. The Indian 
 woman sat apart intently observing the two. No 
 one else was watching them. From where the 
 girl stood on the edge of the shelf she could see 
 the squaw, who was sitting quietly facing her 
 some distance from the fire. Her hands were 
 clasped as if in entreaty. What could she mean? 
 Was there a suggestion that the white woman 
 should temporize, a plea that she would not 
 throw herself over the shelf? 
 
 Amy Benham knew that the squaw spoke fair 
 English, and understood the language, for she 
 
 106 
 
THE CAMP IN THE CANON 
 
 herself had taught her in days gone by and she 
 knew that the Indian woman must have compre- 
 hended every word she said to Girot and he to 
 her. What could she desire? What did she 
 propose? At any rate her own idea and this 
 unconscious suggestion ran together. She would 
 act upon them. 
 
 "If I come nearer to you and leave this brink, 
 will you promise not to harm me?" she asked. 
 
 "I swear it." 
 
 "On what?" 
 
 "On what you will, by the blood of my father, 
 by the memory of my mother." 
 
 Now, if the Half Breed ever had any religion 
 at all, which was doubtful, it was a compound of 
 Indian superstition, with a smattering of Chris- 
 tian teaching. He wore a crucifix around his 
 neck, marvelously carved, a beautiful piece of 
 workmanship. 
 
 "Swear by that," she said, pointing. 
 
 "By your Christ, I swear," said the Half Breed 
 with his hands upon the holy emblem. 
 
 Instantly she stepped toward him, and he 
 started to advance to her, but she motioned him 
 back. 
 
 107 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "No," she said, "not yet. Give me time." 
 "Time!" he cried in exultant triumph, "you 
 
 mean " 
 
 She actually forced herself to smile on him, 
 red-handed -murderer though he was. As she 
 did so she noticed the Indian woman nodding, 
 after a furtive glance at the figures about the fire, 
 who, because they were so near the light, and 
 were dazzled by it, could see little that went on 
 in the darkness beyond. 
 
 "You must guess what I mean," said the girl, 
 forcing herself to speak pleasantly and striving 
 to give a certain emphasis to her words. "You 
 have paid for my father's life by saving my 
 own," she added, praying God to forgive her 
 the deceit. 
 
 "True, true," exclaimed the man, drawing 
 himself up proudly and throwing his head back 
 like a conqueror; "there is no one else in the 
 world who has ever come through White Horse 
 Rapids alone, to say nothing of bringing a 
 woman. But I have done so and I love you." 
 
 "It was splendid," said the girl, once again, 
 waving him off with another gesture as he would 
 fain come nearer her. "And I appreciate it. 
 
 108 
 
THE CAMP IN THE CANON 
 
 I was mad when I spoke of throwing myself off 
 the brink a moment since. I did it to try you> 
 to test your affection." 
 
 "Then you do not hate me?" 
 
 "Hate you!" she cried, striving with all her 
 soul not to give the real significance to the mon- 
 osyllables that she forced her lips to utter cheer- 
 fully. "But you see it is so sudden, and " she 
 hesitated, "give me time! You are so powerful, 
 so masterful, I realize you are the only protector 
 I have from these Indians, that without you I 
 should be" 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "You say truly, Mademoiselle." 
 
 "I appreciate all of that, but you said that you 
 wanted to win me. Won't you give me a chance 
 to learn to to care" she could not force her 
 lips to say "love" "for you?" she ran on desper- 
 ately. "I am so tired now and worn out. This 
 has been a hard, rough wooing. I have been 
 bound fast a long time and I am nearly dead for 
 want of sleep. In the morning, as you are a 
 gentleman " 
 
 Hideous perversion of the word, she thought, 
 hating herself at the same time for her duplicity 
 
 109 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 and yet thrilling to see that it was working. She 
 had struck the right trail to the stronghold of 
 his vanity. 
 
 "As I am a gentleman, Mademoiselle,' 7 he 
 said in eager joy, "you shall rest undisturbed 
 this night. My hand upon it- 
 He held out his hand theatrically, as he spoke. 
 The hand stained with her father's blood! She 
 forced herself by the exercise of as terrible a 
 constraint as was ever put upon a woman's soul 
 to touch it with her own. At the same time that 
 she did so, her left hand slid to the knife hid be- 
 neath the loose blouse she wore. If he meant 
 to break his word well, she was not sufficiently 
 removed from the brink to render it impossible 
 to throw herself over and perhaps drag him 
 along with her. But evidently she had suc- 
 ceeded in cozening him completely, for without 
 drawing her toward him, he pressed his lips upon 
 her hand with some gallant habit of gesture and 
 some grace of manner inherited from bygone 
 France of long centuries before. 
 
 "You shall sleep there," he pointed to the dark 
 recess, "and Mah-wissa, Yellow Foot's wife, 
 shall sleep with you. I, myself, will see that no 
 
 no 
 
THE CAMP IN THE CANON 
 
 harm comes to you. I am a great man among 
 the Sioux. There is war in the land. Crazy 
 Horse leads and all the other chiefs will follow. 
 There will be blood. He is a great chief and 
 I shall be hisfriend and counselor." 
 
 "But the United States will win in the end/' 
 said the girl. 
 
 "Oh, yes, perhaps so, but there is always Brit- 
 ish Columbia. We can be far away." 
 
 "Yes," she said, "far away." 
 
 "In the morning, then, Mademoiselle, I shall 
 find you." 
 
 "In the morning," said the girl, "you shall 
 find me all that I ought to be toward you." 
 
 It was a daring thing to say, but he was so 
 blinded by her apparent complaisance, by the 
 probable realization of his hopes, and further by 
 his egregious self-conceit, that he failed to com- 
 prehend the double meaning of her words. 
 
 Saluting her like a gentleman by doffing his 
 hat, he bowed low before her, turned and spoke 
 a few words to Mah-wissa and left her to her 
 own devices for the time being. 
 
 in 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MAH-WISSA, THE BLUE BIRD 
 
 SOMEHOW or other, when Amy Benham 
 laid herself down to rest if she could on the 
 hard, rough stones in the niche farthest away 
 from the dying camp fire and nearest the narrow 
 entrance to the trail, with the form of the Indian 
 woman quite near and interposing between her 
 and the rest of the party, she experienced a sense 
 of safety and security which she had not hitherto 
 enjoyed in that long and awful day. Even the 
 hard rocks upon which she reclined were not un- 
 comfortable to her. She could stretch her tired 
 limbs upon them and get some ease and rest. 
 She had passed through enough since that 
 blighted morning to have broken the nerve and 
 courage of gigantic Sullivan himself, she 
 thought. 
 
 Yet sleep was far away from her. She lay 
 with wide-open eyes staring past the Indian 
 woman, toward the group around the fire. They 
 
 112 
 
MAH-WISSA 
 
 had nothing to keep them awake, and, like 
 most primitive peoples, grew sleepy so soon as it 
 became dark. They, too, had gone through a 
 hard day, and they had neither compunctions of 
 conscience nor premonitions of trouble to keep 
 them awake and on the alert. One after another 
 they early wrapped themselves in their blankets 
 and disposed themselves for the night around the 
 dying embers of the fire. The night was warm 
 enough, they were well sheltered and protected 
 and there was no need to keep up the fire. Fuel 
 was not abundant and it was therefore permitted 
 to die out. 
 
 The Half Breed, who had been smoking and 
 talking with the rest, rose to his feet after a while 
 and took a step or two in her direction. Her 
 heart throbbed wildly and her hands sought the 
 knife which she had kept concealed. But the 
 man evidently thought better of whatever inten- 
 tion he had cherished, if indeed there had been 
 any motive in his movements, for he turned 
 back and presently laid down with the others, 
 and so far as she could judge, soon went to 
 sleep. 
 
 The Indian woman near her, who had watched 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 the course of events as closely as the white girl, 
 did not move for a long time thereafter. Yet 
 she did not sleep herself and took occasion to 
 signify to her companion by gesture that she was 
 wide awake. Amy Benham was more confident 
 than ever that in her she had most opportunely 
 found a friend. She trusted to the savage 
 woman's instinct to decide upon just the right 
 time for telling her whatever there was to be 
 told and for doing whatever there was to be done. 
 So with growing hope and excitement, she 
 waited, praying. 
 
 Finally, after perhaps a vigil of two hours or 
 more, during which the last ember of the fire had 
 seemingly died out, Mah-wissa turned and, 
 without making a sound, laid her hand upon her 
 white sister. The girl immediately sat up. 
 Mah-wissa, thereupon, noiselessly arose to her 
 feet, extended her hand and lifted her compan- 
 ion to her side. As she did so, a thought seemed 
 to strike her. She knelt down and examined by 
 touch the feet of the girl. She discovered, as 
 she had suspected, that Amy was wearing a pair 
 of low shoes, little more than morning slippers. 
 Had they not been secured by a strap which but- 
 
 114 
 
MAH-WISSA 
 
 toned about her ankles she would have lost them 
 long since in all probability. 
 
 Motioning the girl to sit again, the squaw 
 rapidly drew off the slippers. Taking off her 
 own moccasins, she tied them securely on the 
 white woman's feet. Then the two rose again 
 and in obedience to a gesture, Amy Benham fol- 
 lowed the Indian woman, who led the way, 
 slowly and cautiously along the deep, black, im- 
 penetrable shadow of the rock toward the trail 
 over which they had come. 
 
 Their progress was very deliberate. Mah- 
 wissa did not put her bare feet down until by 
 exploring she discovered no loose pebble which 
 by its rolling might cause them to slip and 
 awaken those lightest of sleepers, the Indians be- 
 hind them, to say nothing of the Half Breed. 
 Amy, herself, was not without some Western 
 skill of her own as a trailer, and she was nerved 
 to the occasion by the desperate hazard. She 
 was even more cautious in her going than the 
 squaw. 
 
 She did not know what was about to happen, 
 but she realized that some effort for her freedom 
 was being made, and that her safety lay in si- 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 lently following the motions of her guide without 
 question or hesitation. She was sufficiently in- 
 telligent, although she had never accompanied a 
 war party before, to see the necessity of station- 
 ing a watchman at the mouth of the trail up 
 which they had to come. How they were to 
 pass that watchman she did not divine. If she 
 thought at all about it, moving ghostlike and si- 
 lent along the cliff wall, she supposed the squaw 
 had made some arrangement with him to let 
 them pass. At any rate, she was helpless, and 
 could only follow blindly on. Slow as was their 
 progress, they traversed the ground at last. 
 
 Now the moon had so far sunk with reference 
 to the canon that its light fell on but one spot, 
 and that was the jutting point around which they 
 must pass, and beyond which the sentry watched 
 the trail. By no possibility could they yet have 
 been observed, even if any had been awake, from 
 the main body of sleepers, but if any one were 
 awake when they rounded that point, discovery 
 would be certain. 
 
 Amy resolved that rather than be retaken after 
 having thus ventured upon an attempt to escape, 
 especially since she had tried to deceive the Half 
 
 116 
 
MAH-WISSA 
 
 Breed with promises of a different state of mind, 
 in the morning, she would at once leap over the 
 cliff, for she knew that with such a demonstra- 
 tion of the falsity of her promises as her flight 
 presented, she might expect no mercy. 
 
 Just before it became necessary to step into 
 the moonlight, the Indian woman turned, and 
 with a gesture halted her companion. 
 
 "Wait," she whispered faintly, the first word 
 she had spoken. 
 
 Amy nodded. The next moment, flashing 
 white for a second in the moonlight, the squaw 
 with a few swift, noiseless steps disappeared 
 around the promontory. 
 
 Anxiously looking back from the shadow to- 
 ward the group about the fire, the woman dis- 
 covered no evidence that they had been observed. 
 All was still behind her as before. No one 
 moved. No one called out. Then her glance 
 turned forward in the direction her guide had 
 gone. She could hear no noise that way either, 
 except the wind softly swaying the pines far 
 above her head, or soughing gently down the 
 narrow mountain pass. The gentle night breeze 
 cooled her aching head and burning cheeks. 
 
 117 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 Her lips were parched with thirst; she strove 
 in vain to moisten them with her tongue and 
 would have given much for a drink of water. 
 So she waited, expectant, fearful, hopeful. 
 
 What was happening on the other side of that 
 promontory? She strained her ears for possible 
 whispers of conversation, but none came back 
 to her. She stared at the sharp edge of the rock 
 around which the trail bent so quickly as to 
 make the feat of leading horses there almost an 
 incredible one. 
 
 Suddenly something seemed to move on the 
 edge of the rock. Cautiously a head peered 
 around it. Moonlight disclosed a face, the 
 face of Mah-wissa. There was no mistake 
 about it. The squaw caught the white woman's 
 eye. There was a little backward jerk of her 
 head and she was gone. The meaning of the 
 signal was obvious. Amy Benham was to come 
 on. The way was open, safe. 
 
 Nerving herself for the fearful passage, and 
 realizing that she was not so sure-footed or so 
 clear-headed as the squaw and that it would 
 take longer for her to make the turn, and that 
 therefore the chances that she would be seen 
 
 118 
 
MAH-WISSA 
 
 would be greater, she started forward. She 
 would fain have closed her eyes in view of the 
 yawning gulf to her right, but she held them 
 bravely open, and stepped on. Now she was in 
 the full moonlight. She could hear her heart 
 beating so loud that it seemed to send echoes 
 rolling down the canon. She was sure that she 
 was observed. She expected every second to 
 hear the alarm cry behind her; to feel a bullet 
 in her back. She would have given worlds to 
 have looked back but could not do so. She must 
 press on. It took but a second or two but it 
 seemed hours before she rounded the rock. 
 
 Then she stopped, breathing hard, leaning 
 against the wall to the left of her and listened. 
 Again nothing broke the profound silence; no 
 voice, no call, no footsteps. She had not been 
 observed apparently. In the relief from the aw- 
 ful strain she swayed and would have fallen had 
 not the Indian woman caught her and given her 
 a little shake of impatience as she did so, which 
 recalled her to herself. 
 
 This side of the promontory was in full moon- 
 light. The first object that greeted her eyes 
 was the dead body of the Indian who had been 
 
 119 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 the sentry, sprawling on his face, on the narrow 
 trail. They had to step over him to go farther. 
 
 "You killed him!" whispered the awe-struck 
 girl. 
 
 The Indian woman nodded indifferently. 
 She was not inclined to speech, and apparently 
 considering the matter of no consequence and 
 not worth discussion, she pressed on down the 
 trail. She went carefully still, but more and 
 more swiftly, until by and by, as the path widened 
 and became more practicable, she broke into an 
 Indian dog trot, her companion pressing hard 
 upon her heels. 
 
 Now it is probable that more ground can be 
 covered in less time, if the distance be a long one, 
 at that gait than any other, but the pace is a tell- 
 ing one, especially on uneven ground, the ups 
 and downs of a rocky trail. Moreover, while 
 the moccasin is the best of running shoes for 
 those who are used to it, it does not take the 
 place on the civilized foot of a stout boot for 
 such going as that. 
 
 Amy Benham was a splendidly developed 
 girl. Every athletic exercise to which young 
 womanhood is addicted she had practiced and 
 
 120 
 
"You killed him?" whispered the awe-struck girl 
 
MAH-WISSA 
 
 become proficient in, and her young muscles 
 were in thorough training. She had all the 
 vigor and strength of that west wind for which 
 she was named. But, as the moments passed 
 by until perhaps two hours or more had elapsed, 
 in their silent plod, plod, plod, down the canon, 
 her strength began to give out. She lagged 
 farther and farther behind, until presently the 
 squaw herself turned and saw her condition. 
 The white girl was in fact utterly worn out. 
 
 Mah-wissa stopped instantly. By great good 
 fortune the break-down had occurred just at the 
 one practicable spot for a descent to the canon, 
 where if they could cross the river a lateral 
 canon seemed to open a way for further progress. 
 Although to where it led they were ignorant, 
 they could see a rift in the opposite wall, which 
 might probably afford them shelter, for in their 
 condition they could no longer proceed along 
 the present trail until they reached the broad 
 plateau at the mouth of the canon, with its woods 
 and hills, among which they might perhaps 
 have hidden. 
 
 The best thing for them to do under the cir- 
 cumstances, Mah-wissa decided, would be to de- 
 
 121 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 scend to the level of the stream, cross it, ascend 
 the lateral canon and conceal themselves in some 
 crevice in the walls of the mountain on the other 
 side. The ground was rocky and it was likely 
 that trailing would be more difficult, besides, the 
 Indians would not dare retrace their steps too 
 far. Otherwise they would be running into some 
 of the parties which Amy Benham and Mah- 
 wissa divined would be following after them. 
 The chances of escape therefore were ultimately 
 favorable to these two. 
 
 Mah-wissa did the thinking for the party. 
 Amy left the decision entirely to her. Indeed, 
 she was too worn out to determine anything. 
 Seeing how exhausted the girl was, the Indian 
 woman pointed to the declivity, sharp enough 
 in all conscience, and immediately turned and 
 slipped over the surface wall. For her to decide 
 was to attempt. The moon, now low on the hori- 
 zon, still gave them enough light to enable them 
 to reach the bottom safely. Otherwise they 
 would have been totally unable to make the de- 
 scent without falling. As it was, it was a fearful 
 adventure. With clothes torn, with bleeding 
 hands, with bruised body, with moccasins in 
 
 122 
 
MAH-WISSA 
 
 rags, Amy Benham finally reached the level of 
 the river. The squaw had also suffered in the 
 descent but not to the extent of the more deli- 
 cately nurtured white woman. 
 
 Tired, exhausted, bruised, broken, suffering 
 though they were, they did not dare to rest more 
 than five minutes to recover breath and resum- 
 mon strength. Fortunately they had struck the 
 stream at a point where it was possible to cross 
 the swift-flowing river by means of huge 
 bowlders which had been rolled down from 
 either side in the floods of centuries which had 
 swept through the canon. Leaping from rock 
 to rock, now landing upon some jagged pinnacle, 
 now sliding on some slippery knob, several times 
 the white girl would have fallen into the raging 
 torrent but for the ready assistance of the Indian 
 woman. At last they reached the other side. 
 
 123 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE HELP OF THE HELPLESS 
 
 AMY BENHAM fell panting on the little 
 patch of soft, wet sand which had ac- 
 cumulated behind a jutting bowlder which 
 deflected the current of the stream. As she 
 sank down, she pointed to her feet. Mah-wissa 
 stooped and examined them. The moccasins 
 had been badly torn but there was still some 
 service in them. The squaw wore the usual 
 Indian blanket. With the same knife with 
 which she had stabbed the watcher in the trail, 
 she cut long strips from it and bound them 
 deftly about the other's feet. Her own, in the 
 moccasins which she had taken from the Indian 
 she had killed, were also bruised and bleeding, 
 but that did not matter; she was used to that 
 sort of thing, and with the stoical endurance of 
 her race, she would go without complaint until 
 the very flesh was stripped from the bones. 
 Laving her face and hands in the cool water 
 124 
 
HELP OF THE HELPLESS 
 
 of the river, and drinking copious draughts of 
 it, restored Amy somewhat. Presently she rose, 
 weary but ready for the further progress 
 that was inevitable. With Mah-wissa once 
 more in the lead, the two tired but indomitable 
 women turned into the black opening in the 
 mountain wall to their right. 
 
 They soon found that they were in a steep 
 lateral canon, the trend of which was generally 
 upward. Fortunately the going was not too 
 hard at first, for the rift apparently led to a 
 grassy upland, and recent rains had washed the 
 soil down until the sharp rocks had been hid by 
 a covering of soft earth. A half hour's des- 
 perate climb, every moment growing more dif- 
 ficult and more dangerous, at last brought them 
 to the top. The ground fell away sharply in 
 front of them. The wall of the canon behind 
 them was evidently a sharp ridge barely scal- 
 able at that point, the only one for miles in its 
 long, twisting course, by the way. 
 
 Off to the right the mountains rose again in 
 the shape of gigantic cliffs. To the left, so 
 far as they could tell in the now almost vanished 
 moonlight, lay a deep valley. The sinking 
 
 125 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 moon indicated that several miles away rose an- 
 other lower wall of rocks. It seemed to them 
 that they had practically crossed the range in 
 their desperate flight. 
 
 They did not waste much time in speculating 
 upon the scenery, but with Mah-wissa once more 
 leading, they plodded rapidly down the steep 
 declivity, keeping carefully toward the rise of 
 the mountain wall on the right. They stayed 
 just far enough from it to avoid the great mass 
 of bowlders and broken rocks which lay at the 
 feet of the high precipice to the northward. 
 They staggered wearily, but desperately on, this 
 time side by side. 
 
 There being now no danger of their being 
 overheard, Amy Benham ventured to speak 
 openly with her companion. There was some- 
 thing which ought to be explained. She 
 wanted to know why the squaw had made such 
 a sacrifice for her, and put herself in such dan- 
 ger, for well Amy Benham knew that short 
 would be the shrift of the Indian woman if they 
 were caught by any of the tribe. 
 
 Some years before this tremendous adventure, 
 while on a hunting expedition with her father 
 
 126 
 
HELP OF THE HELPLESS 
 
 and other friends, she had met Mah-wissa. Rid- 
 ing a few miles from the hunting camp one 
 morning, up one of the valleys her father 
 claimed as his own, she had come across a 
 wretched Indian woman holding in her arms a 
 baby. The woman had a few belongings about 
 her, a little food, a sorry pony, and a tattered 
 tepee, but she seemed utterly oblivious to any- 
 thing except the child she held to her breast, 
 who was suffering from a case of malignant 
 smallpox. When the little pappoose, her first 
 and only child, had developed the disease, the 
 woman had been mercilessly turned out of the 
 camp and left with her offspring until both re- 
 covered or perished Hagar and Ishmael 
 again ! 
 
 Ninety-nine white men and women out of a 
 hundred would have fled from possible infection 
 in horror, but, as I have said, Amy Benham, this 
 daughter of the West, was always in the hun- 
 dredth woman class. Her woman's heart was 
 touched by the plight of her forlorn and desolate 
 red sister. She had some knowledge of medicine 
 and she actually stayed out on the heath, with- 
 drawing herself from the hunting party, for- 
 
 127 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 bidding any of them to come near her, and re- 
 mained with the poor squaw, doing what she 
 could for the abandoned woman and child until 
 the child died. Even then, she remained still 
 longer, until it was quite evident that there was 
 no danger of any further infection to either of 
 them. 
 
 Thereafter, one night, with brief, taciturn 
 words of acknowledgment in her broken Eng- 
 lish, the squaw had bade her farewell and had 
 turned away on her long tramp northwest to 
 join her own people. That she had not for- 
 got the kindness of the white woman was quite 
 evident from what she was doing now. Truly 
 the West Wind had scattered bread upon the 
 waters, and it had returned to her after these 
 many days. 
 
 "Mah-wissa," said Amy, "what did you do to 
 the man in the pass?" 
 
 "Kill him. He kick me away from camp 
 when pappoose sick. They all do same." 
 
 "But your husband?" 
 
 "He say 'go' then. He beat me." 
 
 "Are you not Yellow Foot's wife?" 
 
 "He plenty other squaw. Me only one," re- 
 128 
 
HELP OF THE HELPLESS 
 turned the woman darkly. "Me gone, he no 
 
 care." 
 
 "How did you come to be with that war 
 party?" 
 
 "Hear Girot make plan take you. I follow 
 long time. Find them last night. Yellow 
 Foot say, 'She here, she stay.' I come help save 
 you." 
 
 "God bless you!" cried the girl. 
 
 "I no forget," returned the other gravely. 
 
 In the dim light Amy reached out and caught 
 the small, brown hand of her companion and 
 pressed it ardently. 
 
 "You have saved me from more than death!" 
 she said. 
 
 The squaw nodded. She perfectly well knew 
 from what she had saved her white sister. 
 
 "I do not know how I can ever thank you as 
 long as I live," continued the girl in grateful 
 earnestness. 
 
 "You brave woman," was the answer. "You 
 no 'f raid. My little pappoose, he die hold your 
 hands. I no forget." 
 
 "But your own people?" 
 
 "They no care. They drive me away. I 
 129 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 stay with you now all time. I live with you. 
 I die with you." 
 
 The words of an old, old book, the book of 
 Holy Writ, came into Amy's mind. 
 
 Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following 
 after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where 
 thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people 
 and thy God my God; Where thou diest, will I die, and 
 there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more 
 also, if aught but death part thee and me. 
 
 In effect the untutored Indian woman was say- 
 ing what Ruth had said to Naomi so long ago 
 on the other side of the world. 
 
 This matter now settled to Amy's satisfaction, 
 they plodded on for a few moments more in 
 silence, saving all their breath for their work. 
 By this time the white woman was utterly ex- 
 hausted and even the indomitable Indian 
 woman began to show signs of distress. Just 
 as Amy was about to declare her inability to go 
 a step farther, the Indian woman started, 
 stopped, turned her head so that her ear could 
 catch any sound from the direction whence they 
 had come. Naturally Amy suited her action to 
 the other's, and both stood listening, the white 
 woman for she knew not what. 
 
 130 
 
HELP OF THE HELPLESS 
 
 Presently she started violently. Faint and 
 far, yet sufficiently distinct to identify it, they 
 heard cracking sounds as though of the firing 
 of rifles. They had come a great distance from 
 the camp of the night, but the peculiar forma- 
 tion of the canon in which it had been pitched 
 served to intensify the sound of rifle shots and 
 send their echoings rolling far into the vast space 
 about them. There was no doubt about it! 
 There was firing at the camp! Their escape 
 had been discovered. Pursuit would be begun. 
 
 Instantly the two women turned to each other. 
 Tightening their hand clasp, they broke into a 
 staggering run, their first thought being to 
 put further distance between them and those 
 whom they feared would be upon their track. 
 Terror lent them strength for a little space. 
 Desperation renewed their courage. With 
 racked muscles and tired feet and broken bodies, 
 they toiled on, listening as they ran for further 
 sounds, which, however, did not come. Why 
 should there be additional firing? Once the 
 alarm had been given they would be hunted 
 silently. 
 
 On and on they went until the first faint fore- 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 runner of dawn appeared in the east, when sud- 
 denly, without a word, Mah-wissa plunged head- 
 long. ,With a convulsive shudder, she lay still 
 where she had fallen. Utterly at loss to account 
 for it, the girl, overwhelmed and appalled by 
 the suddenness of the catastrophe, dropped on 
 her knees beside her friend and turned her over 
 on her face. Blood was flowing freely from a 
 jagged wound in her forehead, caused by her 
 head striking a rock when she fell. Fortu- 
 nately, they were near water. A spring, seen 
 faintly in the dim gray light of the coming 
 day, bubbled out of the rocks near by. Des- 
 perately rising to her feet, the girl dragged her- 
 self to the spring, a strip torn from her skirt was 
 soaked in the cool water, and she came back 
 and applied it to the prostrate Indian's head. 
 She was made of stout stuff, this savage, and was 
 soon revived. She sat up, and as she did so, in 
 spite of her Indian stoicism, groaned. 
 
 "What is it?" asked the girl in anxious ten- 
 derness. 
 
 "Foot," was the grim answer, as the brave 
 woman bit her lips to stifle any further expres- 
 sion of her suffering. 
 
 132 
 
HELP OF THE HELPLESS 
 
 An examination revealed the fact that won- 
 der of wonders for an Indian! Mah-wissa had 
 sprained her ankle severely in her hurry. This 
 had caused her to fall and be knocked senseless. 
 Her present agony would have made a less 
 stoical person scream with the anguish. 
 
 "I am afraid," Amy said at last, "it is badly 
 sprained. You cannot walk upon it. O God, 
 what shall we do?" 
 
 "You go on," said Mah-wissa. "Leave me. 
 They find me. I no tell where you go." 
 
 "No," was the reply; "I shall stay with you." 
 If Ruth would not leave Naomi, she thought to 
 herself, neither would Naomi leave Ruth. 
 "We must hide somewhere. Perhaps they can- 
 not find us here. Our trail ought to be hard to 
 follow. If it rains it will be completely ob- 
 literated. See! it looks threatening." 
 
 "Rain will come," said Mah-wissa, "but 
 maybe too late." 
 
 "We shall have to chance it," said the other 
 woman resolutely. "Meanwhile, we must stay 
 here anyway, for I can go no farther. I am 
 worn out." Here she pointed to her own feet; 
 the strips of blanket were stained with blood. 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Look," she said; "every step is torture to me. 
 I am ready to die and we will die together if 
 need be." 
 
 "You good woman! You brave woman!" 
 said the Indian gently, her eyes luminous. 
 
 "No," said the girl quietly, "I am only doing 
 as I would be done by. I am doing for you 
 what you have tried to do for me. First, I will 
 bathe and bind up your ankle, and then, we will 
 wait here quietly and rest until daybreak, then 
 we will see what is to be done. God has helped 
 us. He will not desert us now, I am sure." 
 
 134 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE TRAIL THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 THE day on which the soldiers left Fort 
 McCullough was not to pass without its 
 adventures. Proceeding as rapidly as his ex- 
 perience had taught him was consistent with the 
 most judicious use of his horses, Kennard's 
 troop had made great progress. The going was 
 fine, comparatively speaking. They were ham- 
 pered by no deep ravines or treacherous quick- 
 sands. These would come later when they 
 struck the river below the rapids. They took 
 every advantage of the situation, therefore, to 
 gain on the fugitives. 
 
 They unsaddled and rested for an hour at 
 noon, although if the Captain had consulted his 
 own inclinations he would have pressed on reso- 
 lutely without stopping for a moment. The 
 brief respite, however, was well devised, for they 
 were all much refreshed by it and were able to 
 
 135 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 make better time in the afternoon than other- 
 wise. 
 
 About two o'clock, Kennard, riding in ad- 
 vance, heard the sound of rifle shots from the 
 other side of the hill in front of them. A half 
 dozen reports caught his ear, and the sound 
 seemed to indicate that some one was making 
 a running fight and coming toward them. 
 Noiselessly, without sound of bugle, he de- 
 ployed his men. The troopers took wide dis- 
 tance and thus covered a considerable expanse of 
 country. Rifles were unslung, and every prep- 
 aration made for whatever emergency might de- 
 velop. All things being in readiness, the troop- 
 ers trotted toward the crest of the hill. 
 
 They had scarcely attained midway of the 
 slope when over its brow burst two Indians flee- 
 ing at the full speed of their ponies. Aston- 
 ished at the appearance of the soldiers, the two 
 Indians checked their ponies violently, swerved 
 to the right, and made a rush for life and free- 
 dom. 
 
 With shouts of triumph the troopers dashed 
 upon them. A well-directed volley from the 
 nearest soldiers killed the horses and one of the 
 
 136 
 
THE TRAIL 
 
 Indians. The other struggled to his feet as his 
 horse fell, discharged his rifle harmlessly at the 
 nearest soldier, and was in turn shot and riddem 
 down at the same time. 
 
 The dash of the troop carried it to the top of 
 the hill before it was spent. Some little dis- 
 tance away they saw four men galloping toward! 
 the crest. Evidently these had been pursuing 
 the Indians, who, in their endeavor to escape, 
 had run into the arms of Kennard's troop. A 
 few moments and the two parties had joined. 
 Under the orders of Hamilton and Bodley, the 
 two lieutenants, the company had rapidly re- 
 formed in line and halted. Kennard, attend- 
 ed by Hamilton, rode forward to meet the 
 newcomers. It was they who broke the sil- 
 ence. 
 
 "You got 'em, I see," said the grizzled little 
 old man who seemed to be leading the party. 
 
 "Yes," said Kennard, "we did. Who and 
 what are they?" 
 
 "They 're Oglala Sioux. We think they be- 
 longs to a party that was connected with the 
 killin' of old Colonel Benham an' the abductia* 
 of his gal this mornin'." 
 
 137 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Have you any tidings of Miss Benham?" 
 asked Kennard eagerly. 
 
 "None yit. We thought we mought git some 
 from them fellers," answered the old man, point- 
 ing to the dead Indians. "Who mought you 
 be?" he asked. 
 
 "I am Captain Kennard of the United States 
 Army, and you are " 
 
 "My name is Meekins, giner'ly called 'Bud' 
 round these parts. I 'm hunter, trapper, an' 
 prospector." 
 
 "Glad to meet you, Mr. Meekins; I Ve heard 
 of you often," answered the soldier, reaching 
 out his hand, which the other took and shook 
 vigorously. "I am on the same quest. The 
 Sioux are out and the Cheyennes will join 
 them." 
 
 Meekins nodded. 
 
 "I heerd it," he said. 
 
 "Colonel Wainwright got a telegram from 
 General Crook this morning. We are ordered 
 to move and join the General on the Rosebud 
 the Dead Canon. You know where it is." 
 
 "Sartin." 
 
 "I have been given the privilege of coming 
 
 138 
 
THE TRAIL 
 
 out a few hours in advance to search for Miss 
 Benham and her abductors." 
 
 "Well, I am on that same trail, Cap'n," 
 Meekins began, his eyes sparkling. "We traced 
 'em down to the river by the ranch, an' then 
 found the trail of their hosses crossin' the river 
 an' takin' to the uplands. There was signs also 
 that somebody had gone down the river in a 
 canoe. We divided our party, some for the 
 river and others for the hosses, an' as I'm the 
 best trailer in the bunch, I follered this lead. 
 Sullivan an' the others went down the river. 
 Where be you bound for?" 
 
 "I thought I would strike the river below 
 White Horse Rapids and see if I could pick up 
 the trail there." 
 
 "That '11 be the best plan. I '11 go 'long with 
 you, me an' these gents, if you Ve no objection. 
 What say ye, Johnson?" 
 
 "Sure," was the reply of the cattleman, 
 "That 's what we come for." 
 
 "Now then, Cap'n, if you want us to go with 
 you," continued Meekins. 
 
 "I should be delighted to have a man of your 
 experience and ability to take up the trail, and 
 
 139 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 these other gentlemen to augment my small 
 force." 
 
 "Right you are then," said the old trapper. 
 "Meanwhile, I better take a look at these dead 
 bucks here." 
 
 He dismounted as he spoke, stooped to the 
 side of the dead Indians, turned them over and 
 examined them carefully. 
 
 "They're Oglalas all right. Probably be- 
 long to some sub-chief of Crazy Horse's band. 
 Look, Cap'n, they 're painted for war, art' well 
 armed too. They 've got better guns than you 
 fellers have. If I was you, I 'd take their 
 weepin's." 
 
 "A good suggestion," said the Captain. 
 "Schneider, disarm these dead bodies. We may 
 need their guns." 
 
 "An' I suppose," said the old trapper, "you 
 wouldn't mind my takin' their scalps." 
 
 "I certainly should," said Kennard, decidedly; 
 "we are not savages." 
 
 "Very well, then, though p'r'aps you may feel 
 different after you 've had as much experience 
 with 'em as I have," returned the trapper non- 
 chalantly, leaving them and mounting his pony. 
 
 140 
 
THE TRAIL 
 
 "Now we '11 ride on. I take it that it 's more 'n 
 likely the Half Breed, who 's darin' enough to 
 stop at nothing will have tried to run the White 
 Hoss Rapids." 
 
 "But it has never been done by human being." 
 
 "Well, that 's no reason it can't be did, if he 's 
 got nerve an' skill enough to try it, which he 
 sure has." 
 
 "No, I suppose not," assented the Captain. 
 
 "If he tried it, he either got through or he 
 has n't. If he did n't git through we '11 find his 
 body an' the girl's " the old trapper noticed 
 how white the Captain turned at this thought, 
 and drew his own inferences ; "they '11 either be 
 floatin' in the shallows where the water broad- 
 ens out below the rapids, or lyin' on the shore 
 somewheres. If they did git through, the 
 ground thereabouts is low an' soft an' we 'd 
 ought to pick up the trail without much diffi- 
 culty." 
 
 "I hope to God that if they tried it they did 
 get through," said Kennard. 
 
 "Hold on, Cap'n," returned the old scout 
 earnestly; "I don't know as I kin echo that there 
 hope, or not. There 's wuss things than 
 
 141 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 'drowndin' in nice, clean water like the White 
 Hoss Rapids, and " 
 
 "Stop!" cried Kennard. "You think I don't 
 know it as well as you? I can't bear it! Let 
 us go ahead!" 
 
 Meekins nodded. 
 
 "You an' me better ride in advance an' let 
 your men come on a little in the rear, so 's I 
 can see any possible Injin sign hereabouts. 
 Them. dead bucks left a trail a baby could f oiler. 
 They done it a purpose. They might have got 
 away, for our bosses was nowheres near as fresh 
 as theirs, if it had n't been for you, comin' up 
 unexpected like. They must have been sur- 
 prised when they seen you." 
 
 "They had little time for surprise," answered 
 the soldier, "before we got them." 
 
 Thereafter with Kennard and the old scout 
 riding ahead, the troops moved rapidly on. It 
 was late in the afternoon when they struck the 
 river just below the rapids. The old man had 
 led them to the exact spot. 
 
 There, sure enough, was a trail. Meekins ex- 
 amined it cursorily from the back of his horse, 
 and uttered one explosive monosyllable. 
 
 142 
 
THE TRAIL 
 
 "Hell!" 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Kennard, who 
 had ridden down to the river's edge with him, 
 the troopers halting a little space behind. 
 
 "Why, Sullivan's men have been here an' 
 tromped all over the place." 
 
 "Well, can't we follow them?" 
 
 "Sure. You could do it in the dark with 
 your eyes shet, but who 's to know whether 
 they Ve got the right trail." 
 
 "What's to be done, then?" 
 
 "Well, we '11 see where they went," replied 
 the scout, crossing the stream and examining the 
 ground on the other side. 
 
 "They put for the mountains all right," he 
 said, returning in a little space. 
 
 "I have been looking through the shallows," 
 said Kennard, "and I see no signs of any bodies." 
 
 "Oh, they got through all right, I guess, some 
 way. There was probably some kind o' sign 
 here when Sullivan an' his men mussed it up." 
 
 "Where do you think we should go?" queried 
 the Captain ; "we are wasting time." 
 
 Naturally he was wild with excitement and 
 anxiety to get on the trail again. 
 
 H3 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Lemme think," said Meekins; "I don't guess 
 It's much use follerin' the trail of Sullivan's 
 outfit. God only knows where they '11 bring up. 
 They're a splendid set of cowboys, but there 
 ain't a trailer among 'em, an' any man tryin' to 
 ketch the Half Breed an' whoever he had with 
 him an' I jedge he 's picked up with a band 
 of Sioux would have to roller after him out 
 of the grass country an' among the rocks, where 
 I could hardly pick up the trail myself." 
 "Are you going to give it up then?" 
 "Give it up! Not if I have to foller the girl 
 into the heart of the hull Sioux nation, but I 'm 
 tryin' to argufy out in my mind what 's best for 
 us to do. It 's easy to see that they Ve struck 
 for the heart of the mountains. Now, them 
 mountains is a tangle of wild valleys, an' hills, 
 rivers, canons, and holes, that no man on earth 
 knows." 
 
 "Yes, yes, of course," said Kennard; "go on." 
 "I guess I know about as much about the 
 country as any white man, an' most Injins. 
 There 's some thousands of places where they 
 could hide an' we 'd never stumble on 'em. 
 Agin, there 's other places they 'd be likely to 
 
 144 
 
THE TRAIL 
 
 go to that we could' hit on. It's a big gamble, 
 Cap'n. We 're takin' big chances, but I Ve jot 
 an idea. I give it to you for what it is worth. 
 You can take it or leave it. I'm goin' to roller 
 it myself. I reckon Johnson and the other 
 boys '11 go with me." 
 
 "What is it? Where are you going?" 
 
 "Well, I figger it out this way. The Half 
 Breed won't be in command of the party, but 
 he '11 have powerful influences over it. One of 
 his favorite haunts is a certain shelf-like cave 
 in a tremendous canon that I know of. Access 
 to it is only up a horrible rough an' narrer trail 
 that one man could hold forever agin a regi- 
 ment. I Ve hunted with him an' once we went 
 there. Must have been ten years ago, but I 
 know the place. I Ve got a fine memory for 
 sich things, an' I got it fixed in my mind. If 
 it 's left to me, I says the chances are he '11 go 
 there." 
 
 "Is it a cul-de-sac?" 
 
 "A what?" exploded the trapper. 
 
 "I mean is there any exit from it; any way 
 out after you get in, except by the way you 
 come?" 
 
 HS 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Yes, there is. It 's more easy to git out of the 
 place than to git in, although I follered the trail 
 out. We stopped there one night, I remember. 
 We was prospectin' an' we seen a likely lookin' 
 outcropping ledge or two on the way up an' we 
 went back the way we come in, so I don't know 
 exactly what 's beyond. It would make a good 
 restin' place, about a good day's journey even 
 for an Injun, an' in fact about as much as they 
 could stand, though they did push their hosses 
 like they giner'ly does. It 'd be far from the 
 ranch. Pretty safe from any pursuit, for Girot 
 don't suspect I 'm within five hundred miles of 
 this territory, an' he probably thinks no one else 
 knows about it. 'Tain't much to build on, but 
 it 's all I got. We got to go somewheres, an' 
 that 's the most likely place I knows of. Now, 
 what do you think?" 
 
 "I will go with you," returned Kennard 
 promptly. 
 
 It was the best he could do. Chance of find- 
 ing the fugitives in the labyrinth of the range 
 was small at best, still, the old man's reasoning 
 was good. Besides, they had to go somewhere. 
 Inaction was unendurable. His men were 
 
 146 
 
THE TRAIL 
 
 fresh and could stand a night march. As for 
 himself, he could have gone on forever. 
 
 "All right," said Meekins; "we'll take the 
 hull troop as far as we can, an' then leave half 
 of 'em at the mouth of the canon with the 
 hosses, an' make a dash with the rest of 'em on 
 foot." 
 
 "How long is the trail after you reach the 
 mouth of the canon?" 
 
 "Well, three or four hours, I reckon. You 
 can't make it in much less in sich a place as 
 that at night. It 's about the wust trail I know 
 in the range." 
 
 "Is n't it practicable for horses?" 
 
 "In daylight, yes, an' if you don't care how 
 much noise you make, but goin' quiet like we 
 got to go, better leave 'em behind." 
 
 "Very well," said the Captain. 
 
 They crossed the river, and when they did so 
 caught sight of a broken birch bark canoe. 
 Bud Meekins, after inspecting it, opined that 
 the canoe had probably come through that day. 
 Then desirous of making as much time as pos- 
 sible, and of getting to the mouth of the canon 
 before dark, conscious that a good rest for the 
 
 H7 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 night awaited the horses, the command pro- 
 ceeded at a gallop until they struck the rough 
 rocks of the foothills. Sullivan's trail, which 
 was plain as daylight, they found branched off 
 suddenly to the northward after progressing 
 about a mile from the river bank. 
 
 "He 's seed somethin' or thinks he has," said 
 Meekins, galloping by Kennard's side. 
 
 "And you don't think it would be wise to 
 follow him?" 
 
 "Frankly, I don't, Cap'n. He 's got force 
 enough to deal with 'em any way if he ketches 
 'em an' it 's more 'n likely he 's gone off on a 
 fool's errand. It stands to reason that them In- 
 jins, or whoever they be, ain't goin' to linger 
 around these foothills when they've got a 
 chance to lose theirselves in the range, an' that 
 track don't lead nowhere. Leastwise, nowhere 
 that I knows of. You might git to that little 
 lake on Cloud Peak that way." 
 
 "That is my rendezvous with Colonel Wain- 
 wright to-morrow." 
 
 "Well, you can be sure them bucks did n 't go 
 that way. Nope, I 'm still of the opinion that 
 we 're doin' the best thing." 
 
 148 
 
THE TRAIL 
 
 "I am trusting to you, Meekins," said the 
 Captain wistfully. 
 
 "Well," returned Meekins, gravely, "you 'd 
 better trust in somebody higher 'n me, but so 
 fur as my intelleck goes, it is workin' in the 
 gal's sarvice an' yourn. I take it 'tain't merely 
 becus she 's a woman that you went white when 
 I mentioned her back on the trail yonder," he 
 ran on with the garrulous frankness of the old 
 frontiersman. 
 
 "No," answered the Captain, equally unre- 
 served. "That 's enough to make any man hunt 
 her abductors, but it is not only that. I was go- 
 ing over to her father's this morning to ask her 
 to be my wife." 
 
 "And what sez she about that?" 
 
 "I do not know," was the answer. "Some- 
 times I think I never shall know now." 
 
 "Well, Cap'n," returned the hunter, with 
 ready sympathy, "it 's not so bad as if she was 
 tuk by Injins alone. I know that hound of a 
 Half Breed mighty well. I Ve hunted with 
 him, trapped with him an' prospected with him. 
 He 's got some kind o' chivalry, some kind o' 
 decent instinks in his hide; I reckon it's from 
 
 149 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 his French people of long ago. He 's as vain 
 as a peacock, too. He thinks he 's irresistible, 
 a reg'lar lady killer, you know, an' no woman 
 kin help fallin' in love with him. He might 
 think he 'd win the gal an' not force her. I Ve 
 got an idee that pVaps that 's it." 
 
 "I hope so," said Kennard, encouraged some- 
 what by the old scout's words. "I pray to God 
 it may be so. It will make me kill him a little 
 more mercifully than otherwise, if I find out 
 that is true!" 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 A PAIR OF LITTLE SHOES 
 
 IT was night when the troop finally drew rein 
 and halted at the mouth of the trail which 
 led into the mouth of the canon. Before giving 
 the order to dismount, Kennard briefly ad- 
 dressed his soldiers. 
 
 "Men," he said, "Meekins thinks it is pos- 
 sible that Miss Benham may have been carried 
 up this pass to a certain secret camping spot fre- 
 quented by Girot, of which he has knowledge. 
 On the strength of his guess we have decided to 
 try the trail, which he tells me, is the worst in 
 the mountains, in the somewhat forlorn hope of 
 finding and surprising the camp. It is a wild 
 chance but I do not know where else to go or 
 what else to do. The trail is impossible for 
 horses at night. We will have to attempt it on 
 foot. It means three hours or more of steady 
 plodding, and either disappointment, or a hard 
 fight at the end. One half of the troop will 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 stay here with the horses. Mr. Hamilton, you 
 will remain in command. The other half will 
 go with Meekins and me. Mr. Bodley, you 
 will accompany us. Now I want all those who 
 will volunteer to go to move forward." 
 
 As a matter of course, every man moved for- 
 ward. They did not content themselves with 
 that, for every man broke into appeals : 
 
 "Take me, sir." 
 
 "Don't leave me behind, sir." 
 
 Even Hamilton, although he knew, of course, 
 what his duty was, joined in the clamor. 
 
 Kennard's face flushed with pride. 
 
 "I knew I could count on every one of you 
 men," he said quickly. "I shall have to select 
 you by lot. No, Hamilton, you are the senior 
 officer after myself. The responsibility of the 
 remainder of the troop must be yours." 
 
 He looked at the men crowding closely in line 
 about him. The moonlight gave him a clear 
 view of their intent, excited faces. 
 
 "I do not know how to make a choice among 
 you," he said, looking from one to the other in 
 some uncertainty. "Break ranks," he added 
 suddenly. 
 
 152 
 
A PAIR OF LITTLE SHOES 
 
 The men broke the line instantly, but they 
 crowded about him on their horses more closely 
 than before in their eagerness. 
 
 "Now," he cried, "fall in again and form line. 
 Any way, men; never mind your old order." 
 
 The men hastily crowded back in some sort 
 of a line with sufficient variation in their posi- 
 tion not to have duplicated their previous 
 formation. 
 
 "That 's well," continued the young Captain. 
 "Attention! Count fours." 
 
 The sharp, staccato notes of the men as they 
 called off the numbers in quick succession rang 
 through the still night. 
 
 "The odd numbers will fall back one step," 
 continued Kennard, when silence again super- 
 vened; "the even numbers will step forward one 
 pace." 
 
 In a trice, as the command was obeyed, the 
 little troop found itself divided into two 
 platoons. 
 
 "Now," said Kennard, "I will spin a coin. 
 If it's heads, the odd numbers go; if it's tails, 
 the even numbers go." 
 
 While the men waited in great excitement 
 '53 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 for the result of this frontier casting of lots, 
 Kennard flipped the half dollar high in the air 
 and caught it in his hand. 
 
 "Mr. Hamilton," he said, extending it, with- 
 out looking at it himself, "what is it?" 
 
 "Heads," said Mr. Hamilton; "the odd num- 
 bers win." 
 
 "The odd numbers go, then," declared Ken- 
 nard, but his voice was drowned by the cheers 
 of those who were selected to go and by groans 
 from those who were to be left behind. 
 
 "Make camp, Mr. Hamilton," said Kennard, 
 as the tumult subsided ; "choose a good position 
 hereabouts, and one capable of defense. We 
 don't know what other bands of Indians may be 
 adrift in the foothills, and one detachment of 
 the 1 2th Cavalry has already been cut to pieces. 
 Keep good watch. If you don't hear from us 
 by say, nine o'clock in the morning, make the 
 best of your way to Lake Tear-in-the-Clouds on 
 the slope of Cloud Peak. Do you understand?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "You know how to get there?" 
 
 "Well; not exactly, sir." 
 
 "If you foller our trail back to where Sulli- 
 
A PAIR OF LITTLE SHOES 
 
 van an' his crowd evidently branched off to the 
 north'ard," said Meekins, "an' keep the range 
 well on your left, keepin' out from the foothills, 
 you 'd ought to strike that lake without much 
 trouble. It 's the only sheet of water here- 
 abouts, an' should lie fifteen miles or so to the 
 north." 
 
 "Think you can find it now, Hamilton?" 
 
 "I am sure of it, sir." 
 
 "Very well. Now dismount the men. I will 
 take Schneider with me and you can retain the 
 other sergeants. The scouting party will turn 
 their horses over to those who remain here. 
 There will be a wait of ten minutes to get some- 
 thing to eat and to get ready. Every man will 
 take his revolver, rifle and cartridge belt full of 
 ammunition, leaving blanket rolls, and every- 
 thing else behind. Don't kindle any fires. 
 Lights can be seen a long distance. Get your 
 bread and meat out of your haversacks." 
 
 The ten minutes which had been put to good 
 advantage by every man was soon over. Under 
 the advice of the frontiersman the party was 
 arranged as follows: Meekins, and Kennard 
 in the lead. After that, old Johnson and one 
 
 155 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 cowboy; then the troopers and the other two 
 cowboys ; with Schneider and Bodley, last of all 
 bringing up the rear. The men were enjoined 
 to make no noise, to hug the side of the moun- 
 tain, and keep close together, taking every pre- 
 caution possible to make no misstep which 
 would throw them to certain death in the canon. 
 
 In this order the little band plodded up the 
 trail. It was weary work, after the long chase 
 of the day just ended. But led by the inde- 
 fatigable and tireless old trapper, and by the 
 ardent and anxious young officer, they kept 
 steadily at it for perhaps two hours and a half, 
 the trail growing narrower and more difficult 
 all the time as they approached its end. There 
 had been no halts, but now as the men in the 
 rear came crowding up, they found the head of 
 the line had stopped. 
 
 "As I recalls it," whispered the trapper to 
 the Captain, "the narrerest part of the trail 
 should be yonder an' it swerves around a kind 
 of a pint. When we pass that, we 're on a 
 broad shelf of the mountain with room enough 
 for a regiment. The watch'll be right there. 
 This crowd could n't possibly approach him 
 
A PAIR OF LITTLE SHOES 
 
 without bein' seed over an' over agin. I pro- 
 pose that you fellers halts here an' lemme creep 
 up on the lookout. Mebbe I kin git him, an' if 
 I do, the rest will be easy. If I can't surprise 
 him, I'll have to shoot him. There ain't no 
 other way, an' then you all come on the jump. 
 You 'd better move forrard to the precipice af- 
 ter I'm gone. That '11 be in easy reaching dis- 
 tance. An' for God 's sake, don't make no 
 sound, whatsomever." 
 
 "Let me go with you," whispered Kennard 
 eagerly. 
 
 "No," replied the frontiersman, promptly 
 and positively, "two of us could n't possibly 
 creep up on him ; one of us might by keepin' in 
 the shadder. I kin wait until he turns his back 
 or p'r'aps nods, but two of us never could. 
 Don't you be 'fraid; you'll have plenty to do in 
 a moment." 
 
 "Very well, then," acquiesced Kennard, ap- 
 preciating the full force of the other's cogent 
 reasoning. 
 
 He shook him vigorously by the hand as he 
 spoke. 
 
 "Good-by. I hope for good luck, for your 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 sake an' for the gal's," said the old trapper, steal- 
 ing forward on the trail. 
 
 Kennard hastily explained the situation to the 
 men, and the whole party moved cautiously 
 forward to the place indicated by the trapper, 
 and then awaited with beating hearts, every man 
 keyed up to the highest pitch, every rifle ready 
 for instant service. The shelf there was nar- 
 row, the walls receding backward a little. The 
 men stood in line leaning against it, breathless 
 with anxiety and anticipation. 
 
 As for Kennard, he felt that never in his life 
 had he experienced such ghastly suspense as 
 during that long wait. What could be keeping 
 the trapper! They strained their heads to hear 
 above the wind in the pine trees overhead and 
 its long sigh down the canon, the sound of a 
 shriek or fall, a rifle shot, but nothing came. 
 Finally, after a wait that seemed well nigh in- 
 terminable, the form of the trapper appeared in 
 the moonlight. 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed Kennard, in a low, tense 
 whisper. 
 
 The trapper lifted his hand. 
 
A PAIR OF LITTLE SHOES 
 
 "There 's somethin' strange about the situa- 
 tion," he whispered in return. "There was an 
 Injin lying at the promontory. I crep' up to 
 him thinkin' he was asleep an' stabbed him, but 
 he was dead, stone dead, sir, already! He'd 
 been stabbed afore! Then I crawled to the 
 promontory an' looked around. The place is 
 dark, but I could hear breathin'. They're 
 there all right. There 's jest a twinkle of 
 glowin' ashes that showed me there 'd bin a fire. 
 But how come that Injin dead, an' who killed 
 him, I don't know." 
 
 "We '11 soon find out," answered Kennard 
 promptly, his heart leaping at the chance for 
 action at last. "Now we will go on." 
 
 "All right," assented the trapper, "jest as soon 
 as you pass the promontory the shelf widens out. 
 You 'd better tell your men to extend to the right 
 until they reach the cliff wall as they come 
 around, an' then advance forrard. The place is 
 in deep shadder, but they kin go on in the gen- 
 eral direction of the canon, which they can see 
 by the wanin' moon an' stars. Then there '11 
 be no danger of the fellers that comes last firm' 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 into the fellers goin' first. An* caution 'em, for 
 God's sake, Cap'n Kennard, not to hit no female 
 women either. You understand?" 
 
 "Perfectly," said Kennard, passing the orders 
 back in whispers to his men. 
 
 "Now we are all ready," said Meekins. 
 
 "Yes," said the Captain decisively, "and this 
 time I will go ahead." 
 
 He was a seasoned and experienced soldier in 
 spite of his youth and had been in many cam- 
 paigns and participated in many fights, but 
 never had his heart beat as on this night when, 
 pistol in hand, he stepped out on the trail and 
 swiftly made for the promontory. 
 
 Now as luck would have it, between the in- 
 spection of the sleeping camp by the old trap- 
 per and his return to the troopers, the Half 
 Breed had awakened. Feeling chilly, he un- 
 covered the embers, piled some dry wood on the 
 fire and rekindled a feeble blaze. Then he had 
 risen to his feet, and following the shadow of 
 the rock, he had stepped back to assure himself 
 that his prisoner was still safe where she had 
 been left. To that action he owed his life. 
 
 His movement and the kindling of the fire 
 160 
 
A PAIR OF LITTLE SHOES 
 
 had awakened some of the Indians. When 
 Kennard rounded the promontory they were 
 sitting up, one or two had already got to their 
 feet. He could see them all vaguely in the 
 flickering light. He stared at them a moment, 
 seeking the figure of a woman and finding none. 
 Then his eyes sought for the Half Breed, and 
 missed him also. Inspection moments were in- 
 stantly over, for the men, rifle in hand, came 
 crowding around the promontory after him. 
 
 Old Yellow Foot quickest awoke to the situa- 
 tion. Firing from the hip with accuracy, his 
 ball struck the man who at the moment of the 
 discharge was turning the point. Whether he 
 was mortally wounded or not, could never be 
 told, however, for with a wild shriek he plunged 
 over into the abyss and to certain death below. 
 
 Simultaneously with Yellow Foot's shot, Ken- 
 nard opened fire with his heavy Colt, singling 
 out the Chief for the first fatal bullet, and in the 
 next instant the plateau was filled with flashes 
 of light and the canon with roaring sound. 
 The Indians were caught at a terrible disadvan- 
 tage. They were surprised in the first place; 
 they were in the illumination of whatever light 
 
 161 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 there was, in the second. After a wild and scat- 
 tering volley, they broke and fled. They were 
 pursued by the excited troopers, and many of 
 them were killed in the mad race up the broad 
 trail through the black night, but several of 
 them made good their escape, among them the 
 Half Breed. 
 
 Foremost in the rapid forward rush of the 
 men after them had been the Captain and the 
 trapper. They had had a good view of 
 the figures disappearing in the darkness and 
 they were certain that no woman had been 
 among them. 
 
 The bugler of the troop had been brought 
 with the party, and seeing the folly of further 
 pursuit in the darkness, at the suggestion of old 
 Meekins, Kennard had the recall sounded. 
 
 The men tame back in twos and threes, and 
 meanwhile Kennard made the place resound 
 with appeals. 
 
 "She may be hidin' in some crevice of the 
 rocks/' the trapper had said. 
 
 "Miss Benham! Amy! Where are you?" 
 cried Kennard, listening in vain for an answer. 
 
 "Lights!" he commanded at last. 
 162 
 
A PAIR OF LITTLE SHOES 
 
 "There 's some wood left here," said the 
 hunter, who had been peering about on his own 
 account. 
 
 As he spoke, he threw an armful on the fire, 
 which as the wood was dry, was soon blazing 
 and crackling brilliantly. It gave them suffi- 
 cient light to explore the whole shelf of the 
 mountain and the recesses back of it. The trap- 
 per and Kennard conducted the search. They 
 found nothing until they came to the spot where 
 Amy and Mah-wissa had rested. 
 
 "There 's somethin' here," said Meekins, get- 
 ting down on his knees to examine it. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Kennard, stooping o v ^r it 
 
 "It's a pair o' shoes, a white woman's slip- 
 pers." 
 
 He held them up. Kennard snatched them 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Do you know who they belong to?" asked 
 the scout. 
 
 "Miss Benham's, to a moral certainty," was 
 the answer. "I could swear to them." 
 
 "No Injin squaw ever wore them," said the 
 trapper, examining one of the dainty little shoes. 
 "They're almost new, too. No one has ever 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 walked much in 'em, certainly not in this rough 
 country." 
 
 "They are hers," said Kennard. "My God! 
 where can she be, and where is that damned 
 Half Breed?" 
 
 At this juncture Sergeant Schneider came up 
 to them. 
 
 "Sir, to the Captain," he said, saluting. 
 
 "What is it, Sergeant?" 
 
 "I seed the Half Breed running up the trail, 
 sir." 
 
 "Was he alone?" 
 
 "Alone, sir, and I fired at him." 
 
 "Did you get him?" 
 
 "I think not, sir." 
 
 "Did any of you see a woman, Miss Benham, 
 men?" cried Kennard, turning to the troopers 
 crowding between him and the fire. 
 
 "No, sir, we did n't see her." 
 
 "Have you examined the dead bodies?" 
 
 "Every one of them," was the answer. 
 
 "Yes," said the Sergeant, "they are all bucks 
 and in war paint, sir." 
 
 "What has become of her? She must have 
 been brought here!" 
 
 164 
 
A PAIR OF LITTLE SHOES 
 
 "Wait!" said the old trapper, "that dead Injin 
 at the promontory. Could she have killed him 
 an' gone back on the trail?" 
 
 "Impossible I" 
 
 "I guess you 're right, for, as I remembers it, 
 there 's no way of gittin' off it except the way we 
 come, an' if she 'd gone that away we 'd a met 
 up with her or seen her sure." 
 
 Meekins was ignorant of the fact that a land- 
 slide sometime since had made that practicable 
 descending place which Amy and Mah-wissa 
 had used the night before, or his cunning intui- 
 tion might have set him on the right trail of the 
 poor fugitives. 
 
 "Some one must have killed that man an' 
 started back on that trail," he mused. "If she 
 did it she must have realized that there was no 
 escape from it. She must have come back here 
 an' passing the sleepin' camp fled to the uplands. 
 We'll find her there. That will be our best 
 chance." 
 
 "But the shoes?" 
 
 "She took 'em off an' went in her stockin' feet 
 to make no noise, an' left 'em here while she 
 stole away from the ledge." 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "That must be it," assented Kennard for- 
 lornly. 
 
 He had a fierce pang at the thought of this 
 delicate woman barefooted in the rocky passes 
 of the mountains. He could see her feet 
 bruised, cut, bleeding 
 
 "Yep," said the scout, "that must be the way 
 of it, onless 
 
 He stopped and looked hard at Kennard. 
 
 "Unless, what?" 
 
 "I hate to say it," he said, "but there's another 
 possibility that comes to my mind. She may 
 have gone back there thinkin' to escape down 
 the trail by which she come. She might have 
 met that Injin so suddenly that he could n't give 
 no alarm, an' then she may have fallen over the 
 cliff, or" 
 
 "What else?" 
 
 "It is quite possible her bein' the gal we both 
 knows she is, she might have throw'd herself 
 over when they got here." 
 
 "Don't say that," groaned Kennard. 
 
 "Would n't you rather have her over there 
 than" 
 
 1 66 
 
A PAIR OF LITTLE SHOES 
 
 "Yes, yes," said the soldier, "but I can not 
 bear it. How shall we find out?" 
 
 "We can't do nothin' abut it but wait 'til 
 mornin'. Either she 's over the cliffs or escaped 
 to the uplands in some way, an' " 
 
 At that moment distant shots rang out, far 
 away on those uplands, beyond and over their 
 heads. 
 
 167 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE AVENGERS OF BLOOD 
 
 "TV/f R - BODLEY," said Captain Kennard, 
 
 1^-1- as the rattle of shots continued for a 
 few moments, and then died away, "take a 
 dozen men and find out what is happening up 
 on the bluffs. You had better mount some of the 
 captured ponies. Schneider, go along with 
 them. You, too, Meekins, if you will. Don't 
 get into any trap or ambuscade, and report back 
 here as soon as possible." 
 
 "Very good, sir," returned Bodley, saluting. 
 
 He selected his party at once, and in a few 
 moments, mounted on the captured Indian 
 ponies, of which there were a great number, and 
 led by the old trapper, they trotted rapidly up 
 the trail and disappeared in the darkness. 
 
 "Men," said Kennard, turning to the rest of 
 the troopers, "examine these Indians and their 
 traps and see if you can find some rope. John- 
 son," speaking to the cowboy, "will you and 
 
 168 
 
THE AVENGERS OF BLOOD 
 
 your men also lend a hand. I want to see if 
 I cannot find rope enough to go down the cliffs 
 as soon as it gets light. Let me know," he cried, 
 as the men disappeared, "if any of the Indians 
 are alive." 
 
 "I Ve already seen to that, Cap'n," said John- 
 son meaningly. 
 
 "Oh, you have!" 
 
 "Yep," answered Johnson, "they are all dead 
 now," he muttered. 
 
 Kennard turned away in disgust at the infer- 
 ence, and yet there was a certain relief, for a 
 wounded Indian would greatly hamper their 
 movements. 
 
 "Are any of the men hurt?" he called out. 
 
 "Neal went over the cliffs, sir," answered one 
 man. 
 
 "I got a scratch along my cheek," said an- 
 other. 
 
 "The rest of us are all right," answered the 
 third, after a moment's pause. 
 
 "Let me see your cheek, Watson," continued 
 Kennard, stepping toward the fire. 
 
 He examined it carefully and was greatly 
 relieved to find it was nothing but a graze, a 
 
 169 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 random bullet having just touched the trooper. 
 
 "Wash it off at the spring, and I think you 
 will be all right." 
 
 "Lord love you, Cap'n," returned Watson, 
 "it 's nothing at all." 
 
 "We Ve got plenty of rope here, Captain," 
 said Corporal Murphy, the ranking non-com- 
 missioned officer present, "and if you want to 
 go over the cliff, sir, I can rig you up a line. I 
 was in the Navy once." 
 
 "Then get to work at it" 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir," was the answer. 
 
 Kennard stepped to the edge and looked down 
 into the canon. It was still dark, but he knew 
 in a short time it would be light. He prayed 
 for daylight and yet he was fearful as to what 
 he might see when it would come. 
 
 As he stood staring and waiting, there was 
 a sudden commotion at the head of the trail. 
 The men on the shelf grasped their arms, but 
 there was light enough after a few seconds to 
 discover that it was Bodley's party returning. 
 It seemed, however, twice or three times as big 
 as when he went out, and as the ponies came 
 trotting down the slope, Kennard saw riding by 
 
 170 
 
THE AVENGERS OF BLOOD 
 
 the side of Bodley the gigantic form of Sulli- 
 van. He sprang forward to meet them. 
 
 "Sullivan, for God's sake! Miss Benham? 
 Have you got her?" 
 
 "No," answered the cattleman, his disap- 
 pointment as apparent as Kennard's at the an- 
 nouncement. 
 
 "That firing I heard?" 
 
 "We were in camp yonder when a bunch of 
 Indians came running out of the darkness and 
 almost fell over us. The man on watch fired 
 and then we all jumped to our feet and blazed 
 away in the darkness." 
 
 "Did you get any of them?" 
 
 "We got two of them, bucks, Sioux." 
 
 "Did you see any woman?" 
 
 "Not one of us. I saw the Half Breed and 
 fired at him." 
 
 "Did you hit him?" 
 
 "Missed him, damn the luck." 
 
 "Then you are sure she was not with them." 
 
 "I am sure of nothing except that the Half 
 Breed was alone, and none of us saw her. We 
 were all on the lookout when Mr. Bodley came 
 up with the soldiers. We mighty near fired 
 
 171 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 into him; sure would, had it not been for 
 Meekins, who recognized us somehow or 
 other." 
 
 "I can see in the dark," said Meekins, chuck- 
 ling as he spoke, "as well as most people can see 
 in the light" 
 
 "I believe it," said Sullivan. "And when we 
 did recognize the troopers we thought surely 
 you had got Miss Benham." 
 
 "She has been here," said Kennard. 
 
 "So, Mr. Bodley said, but where is she now?" 
 
 "God only knows! Perhaps over there." 
 
 He pointed down the cliff into the depths be- 
 low. 
 
 "That's to be found out then," returned 
 the cattleman, promptly; "I '11 go down and 
 see." 
 
 "Excuse me," answered the soldier, "that is 
 my task. I have already got ropes ready." 
 
 He peered intently down into the gulf. He 
 could see dark spots indicating perhaps bodies 
 lying among the shadows of the rocks below. 
 At least so he thought. Might she be one of 
 them? 
 
 "I am going down now. It is light enough. 
 172 
 
THE AVENGERS OF BLOOD 
 
 Your men are accustomed to handle ropes ; will 
 you take charge up here, Sullivan?" 
 
 "Sure," was the answer. 
 
 Murphy had rigged up a sort of a rude 
 boVn's chair out of the largest piece of wood 
 he could find. They rolled up some of the 
 Indian blankets on the edge of the canon to pre- 
 vent the sharp rocks from cutting the strands, 
 and under the leadership and direction of Sulli- 
 van, the rope in which the Captain was sus- 
 pended was carefully payed out until its slack- 
 ness indicated that he had reached the bottom. 
 
 To disentangle himself from the chair was the 
 work of a moment. It was difficult moving in 
 the deep shadow of the canon, but with re- 
 markable celerity considering all things, Ken- 
 nard made his way from one body to another. 
 There were five or six Indians, dead and 
 frightfully crushed; the trooper who had been 
 shot as he rounded the point, in like state, but 
 nothing else. He wandered up and down the 
 canon for some distance. He satisfied himself 
 that the stream was so far from the edge that 
 no one could have jumped into it and been swept 
 away. 
 
 173 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 With relief unspeakable, yet with a growing 
 sense of desperate mystification, he decided that 
 the body of the woman he loved was not there. 
 If she had leaped from the canon it must have 
 been below or above the place of the camp. He 
 fastened the body of the trooper on the rope, and 
 after it was lifted up to the shelf, he himself 
 mounted to his command. 
 
 "She is not there," he said. "There is no sign 
 of her having fallen there. There were only 
 six Indians and Trooper Neal." 
 
 "What's to be done now?" asked Sullivan. 
 
 "I do not know," was the answer. "I am 
 under orders. I have to meet Colonel Wain- 
 wright and the rest of the command at Tear 
 Lake hear Cloud Peak this morning." 
 
 "What 's become of the girl?" asked the cattle- 
 man. "Good God, I can't bear to think of it!" 
 
 Kennard could give no answer. 
 
 "Gents," said the old trapper, "she either 
 went back on that trail or went forrard. If she 
 went forrard, she was took by some one, and is 
 probably now on her way to the Indian camp, 
 wherever it be. If she went back, I think we 'd 
 have seen her. She may have fell off the cliffs, 
 
 174 
 
THE AVENGERS OF BLOOD 
 
 an' I 'm goin' back as soon as it 's light to examine 
 the trail. You are apt to stay at the lake for a 
 part of the day, ain't you?" 
 
 "I think very likely we shall be there until 
 late in the afternoon," returned Kennard. 
 
 "Very well, I '11 take a spare pony and I 'II 
 meet you there, or if not there, I '11 overtake 
 you." 
 
 "That is well thought of," said the Captain. 
 "Meanwhile," he turned to the cowboys, "you 
 know the Indians are out. I presume the whole 
 Sioux Nation, Brules, Minneconjous, Uncpapas, 
 Dog Soldiers and all, will join the Oglalas and 
 the Cheyennes. Crazy Horse and Roman Nose 
 are known to be in the lead. We have serious 
 work ahead of us. We shall need every man 
 we can get. Do any of you wish to go with 
 us?" 
 
 "They'll all wish to go," said Sullivan, as a 
 clamor of assent arose from the cowboys, "but 
 they are in no condition now. This thing ain't 
 going to be ended in a day. I suggest that they 
 go back to the ranch, arrange with Mitchell, 
 who '11 be in charge in my absence, to bury the 
 old Colonel, and keep just enough men to stay 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 there to keep things running. Then the rest will 
 outfit themselves for a campaign and join the 
 troops wherever they may be. Johnson, you 
 take them back." 
 
 "Ain't you goin', Sullivan?" asked Johnson. 
 
 "No; I am going on with Captain Kennard 
 here." 
 
 "I know the Government will be glad of your 
 services," said Kennard to the cowboys. "In 
 fact, I heard Colonel Wainwright talking last 
 night of orders he had received, in case of an 
 outbreak, to enlist a company of civilian scouts. 
 I should like to have you associated with me 
 in case you decide to join." 
 
 "We would like to serve with you first rate," 
 said Sullivan; "we know you." 
 
 "Thank you," said the Captain, "and as for 
 you, Sullivan, I am glad to have you with me 
 now." 
 
 "Better get yourselves ready, boys," said Sul- 
 livan, shaking the Captain's hand. "The 
 sooner you hit the trail, the sooner you will 
 catch up with us. I guess you can outfit me, 
 Captain?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 176 
 
THE AVENGERS OF BLOOD 
 
 "Well, then, Johnson, you take the command 
 of the party, and good-by." 
 
 He stepped forward as he spoke and shook 
 hands with his faithful men. 
 
 "I hope to God you find the girl, Sullivan," 
 said Johnson, who was the last one to approach. 
 "Come on, men/' he said, preparing to move 
 off. 
 
 "You 'd better not take the trail back, but go 
 home over the uplands, Johnson. We got di- 
 verted by a false sign, or else we would have 
 been climbing up this trail the same as you," 
 said Sullivan to the Captain. 
 
 "It is lucky in the end," answered Kennard, 
 "for between us we got most of them. It will 
 teach Crazy Horse a lesson." 
 
 "He '11 have to get a harder lesson than that," 
 said Meekins. "I 'm for down the trail," he 
 added as he turned away. 
 
 As he did so a peal of thunder followed by a 
 fiash of lightning rolled across the canon and 
 heavy drops of rain began to fall in the gray 
 dawn. 
 
 Meekins paused by the promontory. 
 
 "This '11 wash out any sign that 's left," he 
 177 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 said disconsolately. "It makes it harder 'n 
 
 ever." 
 
 "Shall you go back?" asked Kennard. 
 
 "Yes, on the chance that she might be" he 
 paused "dead in the canon." 
 
 The Captain almost prayed that the scout's 
 supposition was true. The old man shook 
 hands and said good-by. With the same 
 homely words of the cowboy a moment since he 
 prayed that everything might be all right with 
 the girl ere he turned and moved toward the 
 fateful promontory in the now heavy and per- 
 sistent downfall of rain. 
 
 "We might as well get the men ready to move 
 out, Mr. Bodley," said Kennard, after watching 
 the scout until he was lost to view behind the 
 jutting rocks. "I guess we Ve captured enough 
 ponies to mount us all. Let me know when 
 everything is in shape to start." 
 
 He turned away and walked back toward the 
 recess where the shoes had been found. Sulli- 
 van found him there. 
 
 "God ! Captain," he cried, "do you think we '11 
 find her?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 178 
 
THE AVENGERS OF BLOOD 
 
 "And if we do what then?" 
 
 "Sullivan," asked Kennard suddenly, now 
 that they were withdrawn from the immediate 
 vicinity of the others, and were somewhat shel- 
 tered from the downpour by the overhanging 
 rocks, "what is she to you?" 
 
 "Why, I have known her ever since she was 
 a child," answered the other, astonished and dis- 
 concerted by the suddenness of the Captain's 
 question. 
 
 "Is that all?" persisted the soldier. 
 
 "No, by God!" burst out the cattleman, "I 
 love her. I wanted to make her my wife." 
 
 "Did she accept you? Forgive the direct- 
 ness of the question. But I, too, love her, and 
 I wanted her to be my wife." 
 
 "You!" exclaimed the cattleman, aghast. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Did she ever promise you?" asked Sullivan 
 in his turn. 
 
 "I never said a word to her about it. Did 
 you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 The two men stared at each other in silence 
 for a little space. 
 
 179 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "You are a man, all right, Captain/' said the 
 ranchman at last. "If she chooses you there 
 won't be any kick coming from me." 
 
 "And I can say the same, Sullivan." 
 
 Two hands extended and two hands met. 
 
 "Meanwhile," continued the cattleman, "we 
 have got to find her." 
 
 "Yes," said the Captain, "but you are free; 
 you can search for her as you like. I am a 
 soldier. I have to do my duty and obey orders 
 and go where I am sent." 
 
 "I hope to God, Captain, that you are sent 
 after her!" 
 
 "So do I!" 
 
 "The platoon is ready to start, sir," said Bod- 
 ley, coming up and saluting. 
 
 "Very good. Come, Sullivan." 
 
 Followed by the big ranchman, Kennard rode 
 to the head. 
 
 "Forward! March!" he said grimly, putting 
 his horse to the trail. 
 
 The hardest thing for humanity to sustain 
 is the crushing sense of impotence, the con- 
 sciousness of helplessness when the fate of one 
 beloved is in the balance. There was hardly a 
 
 1 80 
 
THE AVENGERS OF BLOOD 
 
 chance in the world that they could save Amy 
 Benham. They knew her well enough to be 
 sure that she would probably die by her own 
 hand before they could reach her and that death 
 would be welcome to her. They had one duty, 
 however. If they could not find her, they could 
 find him, and with black, desperate anxiety in 
 their hearts, the two avengers of blood rode on. 
 
 181 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 PITCHED BATTLE IN THE HILLS 
 
 TTV3R two days the regiment, with the excep- 
 J- tion of the melancholy troop left behind at 
 Fort McCullough, had been rapidly marching 
 northward from that post. After the rendez- 
 vous at Lake Tear-in-the-Clouds, where a halt 
 of a day had enabled the remaining troops of 
 the regiment to join the headquarters, Colonel 
 Wainwright, for the first time since the Civil 
 War, found himself with a full command. The 
 nine troops, comprising with teamsters and 
 other auxiliaries nearly six hundred men, had 
 moved northward to join General Crook, who 
 was somewhere on the Wyoming- Montana 
 border with the main army. 
 
 Chief Washakie, a splendid specimen of 
 savage, the head of the war-like Shoshones, 
 with a number of his braves who were loyal to 
 the United States, had joined the marching 
 column. So, too, had old Meekins, who de- 
 
 182 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 
 
 clared that he had followed the trail down the 
 canon carefully back to the place of the first 
 camp without discovering a sign of the missing 
 girl, although, as he admitted, the hard rain 
 practically obliterated any indications that 
 might have been left had she passed over it. 
 
 Miss Benham had disappeared as completely 
 as if the earth had opened and swallowed her. 
 There were but two evidences of her presence 
 left, two little slippers, one of which Kennard 
 with an unusual magnanimity had given to the 
 cattleman, while he kept the other himself in the 
 pocket of his hunting shirt under his blouse. 
 That little shoe and a growing hope and an 
 ardent prayer for vengeance were all that were 
 left to her lovers. Both Sullivan and the young 
 soldier had resigned themselves to her death. 
 Indeed, in their hearts, they prayed that death 
 might have been the least thing meted out to 
 her. 
 
 The whole regiment, except veterans like the 
 Colonel, rather looked upon the present cam- 
 paign as something in the nature of a mere mili- 
 tary promenade, a summer excursion into the 
 unknown, with some interesting skirmishing at 
 
 183 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 the end of it. But some of the older officers, 
 including the commander of the regiment, had 
 met Crazy Horse and Roman Nose before. 
 They knew that at any moment they were likely 
 to find themselves confronted with the stiffest 
 kind of a proposition in the way of battle. In- 
 deed, General Crook himself was on the move 
 with the main army, and they were not quite 
 sure where he was. Good generalship would 
 indicate that the proper maneuver for the great 
 War Chief of the Sioux would be to fall on this 
 advancing cavalry column in heavy force, either 
 with the main body or with a formidable detach- 
 ment, and cut it to pieces before it could effect 
 a conjuncture with the main body. Crazy 
 Horse was sufficiently capable a general to un- 
 derstand this, and Colonel Wainwright, espe- 
 cially as he got nearer the enemy's country, fully 
 expected to be attacked in force. Consequently 
 the march became slower and was conducted 
 with more and more circumspection. 
 
 After leaving the lake, the command had pro- 
 ceeded along the east flank of the range, expect- 
 ing to dash through some convenient pass and 
 perhaps find the Indians on the other side. 
 
 184 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 
 
 There were known to be large villages on the 
 hither side and Crook was believed to be oper- 
 ating in the upland country on the western side 
 of the range. 
 
 On the third morning after departure, just 
 after reveille, and before the men were fully 
 dressed, some wide-awake Shoshones, who had 
 been scouting ahead, came galloping madly 
 back, giving the alarm. The camp of the night 
 before had been pitched in a valley near a river. 
 The ground rose to the front in successive ridges 
 until it reached a high plateau perhaps a mile 
 away. The river, beside which they had rested, 
 sprang sharply from a wide and deep ravine, or 
 canon, off to the right, which cut through the 
 ridges rising before them, and probably pene- 
 trated far into the mountains. 
 
 The alert Shoshones, fortunately, had given 
 sufficient warning of the approach of the Sioux 
 to enable the troopers to dress hastily and mount 
 and deploy. Kennard's troop was held in re- 
 serve. The others occupied the ridges, three in 
 number, in long successive lines ; and long, thin, 
 extended lines they were, too. The troopers of 
 the first line dismounted and took what cover 
 
 .85 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 they could find. The others remained in readi- 
 ness for orders to advance. 
 
 The Indians were led by a tall, magnificent- 
 looking Cheyenne, whom Meekins, who had 
 gone out with the first line, recognized as 
 Roman Nose, Crazy Horse's right-hand man 
 and the Chief of the warlike sept of Cheyennes 
 allied with the Sioux. Many of the officers also 
 knew the Chief, for he had been prominent in 
 various meetings which had been held in the 
 year previous, looking toward the securing of a 
 lasting peace. He was second only to Crazy 
 Horse himself in military ability and not at all 
 behind him in personal prowess, haughty cour- 
 age and in the power of enthusing his men. 
 
 Riding rapidly along the front of the line 
 on their ponies, and taking cover by hanging on 
 the side farthest away from the soldiers, upon 
 whom they poured a hurried and ineffectual 
 fire, the Indians by a series of circling maneuvers 
 and hideous yelling, sought to disconcert the 
 line. Several riderless horses and several, 
 dead Indians, however, after a time con- 
 vinced Roman Nose of the futility of these tac- 
 tics; and, wonderful to say, for the practice 
 
 1 86 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 
 
 had been almost unknown heretofore, at a given 
 signal, the whole circling mass suddenly turned^ 
 swung into line, poured a volley from their 
 Winchesters at close range into the faces of the 
 soldiers, and then galloped straight at the long, 
 thin line in blue. At the same moment another 
 body, taking advantage of the lateral ravine 
 which cut through the ridges, suddenly ap- 
 peared on the left flank of the white men. 
 
 The attack had been brilliantly planned. It 
 was dashingly carried out. The soldiers deliv- 
 ered a sharp volley, but their position was 
 plainly untenable. They fell back fighting. 
 In some instances, the fighting was actually 
 hand to hand. The troops were hard pressed 
 and lost many men. A counter charge, gal- 
 lantly delivered by Washakie and his Shoshones 
 on the Cheyenne left, alone enabled the soldiery 
 to make good their retreat. They halted after they 
 passed through the second line and re-formed in 
 its rear and the engagement at once became gen- 
 eral. There was good cover at the top of the 
 ridge. The Indians dismounted and occupied 
 this. The range was short, and even such poor 
 marksmen as the Sioux and Cheyennes proved 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 themselves to be, succeeded at times in hitting 
 a soldier. 
 
 Colonel Wainwright, with his staff, sat on his 
 horse back of the third line and easily within 
 range of Indian bullets which sung around him. 
 He anxiously surveyed the scene. 
 
 "How many of them are there, do you think?" 
 he asked Kennard, commanding the reserve 
 troop, who shared his chief's anxiety as he 
 watched the hotly contested battle. 
 
 "I should think there were at least three thou- 
 sand of them." 
 
 "Even with our two hundred and fifty Sho- 
 shones, who seem to be doing gallant work," ob- 
 served old Colonel Wainwright, thoughtfully, 
 "they outnumber us about four to one." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "I never saw them come on so recklessly 
 either." 
 
 "It is new to me, sir," replied Kennard. 
 
 "Mr. Geikie," said the Colonel to a young 
 second lieutenant, who urged his horse quickly 
 to the side of the Colonel and saluted, "tell 
 Major Nash, who has command of the third 
 line, to move his men up to the support of the 
 
 188 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 
 
 second line. Tell him to send B Troop off to 
 the left and re-fuse his line to prevent any more 
 flank attacks down that ravine." 
 
 The lieutenant saluted and galloped off like 
 the wind. 
 
 "Captain Kennard " the Colonel turned and 
 glanced at the commander of his little reserve, 
 "they don't give back an inch." 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Look at that!" cried the old officer; "Knowl- 
 ton is charging!" 
 
 At that moment, the Lieutenant Colonel, who 
 had command of the first line, having got his 
 men in shape and mounted them, galloped up 
 the hill straight at the Indians, the men and their 
 commander burning to wipe out the stigma of 
 their forced retreat. The charge was of some 
 force and effect, for the Indian line bent back 
 like a drawn bow, and the pressure upon the 
 second line of soldiers was immediately re- 
 lieved; but now, from all sides of the savage 
 crescent, a tremendous fire was poured upon 
 Knowlton's column. It was no -part of the 
 Lieutenant Colonel's plan to do more than effect 
 the relief, which he had done. Taking advan- 
 
 189 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 tage of the smoke of a heavy volley, therefore, 
 he wheeled about and rejoined the second and 
 third lines again. The ground was dotted with 
 Indian slain, and there were a number of troop- 
 ers lying here and there as well. And not one 
 of them could well be spared. 
 
 "Well done!" exclaimed the Colonel in min- 
 gled triumph and relief; "that will teach them a 
 lesson, but it was at some cost." 
 
 He looked anxiously off to the left. Another 
 attempt had been made to flank the line, but his 
 forethought in sending B Troop to that point 
 was now apparent, and the attack was repulsed 
 by the gallant advance of the troop. 
 
 The whole plateau was now ringing with 
 sound and covered with smoke. Above the rat- 
 tle of the firearms rose the wild and terrifying 
 yells of the Sioux and the Cheyennes, and at in- 
 tervals a cheer from the troopers, although in 
 the main they fought in silence. Although the 
 numbers engaged were small, the whole affair 
 exhibited all the characteristics of a great battle. 
 There were attacks and counter-attacks, threats, 
 feints, charges and so on. 
 
 "Captain Kennard, I am afraid I shall have to 
 190 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 
 
 send you in," at last said the Colonel anxiously. 
 "The Indians are holding their own ; this has got 
 to be ended." 
 
 The Colonel had with him, in addition to Ken- 
 nard's troop, the best troop in the regiment, a 
 hastily organized, ill sorted, variously armed 
 force of mule packers, teamsters, civilian at- 
 taches, and employees of the wagon train. 
 They were all brave men, experienced in fron- 
 tier fighting, but they were not regular soldiers. 
 When Kennard's troop went in, these would be 
 his last and only reserve. The fight rapidly as- 
 sumed more and more the proportions of a hotly 
 contested battle. The Indians were better 
 armed than the soldiers and they seemed to have 
 a limitless supply of ammunition. 
 
 "We are very anxious to go in, sir," said Ken- 
 nard, looking back at his men. "We should 
 like nothing better than a chance at them!" 
 
 "I know, I know," said the Colonel. "Here 
 comes Geikie. What is it, Mr. Geikie?" he 
 cried, as the young officer came at a gallop. 
 
 "Colonel Knowlton says he can hold them 
 now, sir! He thinks they have shot their bolt," 
 he cried breathlessly. 
 
 191 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Good!" said the Colonel with deep satisfac- 
 tion. "Now we can finish them up. Mr. Ken- 
 nard, do you see that canon off on the right 
 flank?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Take your men down that, and at the first 
 convenient place swing therr. off by the left to 
 the plateau and we will see if we cannot take 
 these fellows in rear and in reverse. I will 
 keep them busy here. Wait! You men go for- 
 ward to that little knoll yonder " the Colonel 
 turned to the men of the wagon train. "Occupy 
 it, open fire, and when Captain Kennard has 
 passed, you fall back here. That will create a 
 diversion, I think, Kennard, and perhaps you can 
 slip through in the smoke and get into the canon 
 without being noticed. At any rate, it is our 
 only chance. Don't go too far, and keep your 
 men well in handy Just as soon as I hear firing 
 on the right, I will order a general advance and 
 we will double them up between us. You un- 
 derstand?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Go ahead then." 
 
 192 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE MUTINY IN THE PASS 
 
 KENNARD saluted and turned to his men. 
 They heard all that had been said and they 
 knew exactly what was expected of them. 
 Chafing at their previous inaction, they were 
 ready and eager for the command to march. 
 
 The troop, which was already in line, at the 
 word broke into column and trotted off to the 
 right. Meanwhile the teamsters and others 
 with Meekins leading them had already ridden 
 tumultuously to the knoll, which covered the 
 mouth of the canon, and opened a tremendous 
 fire on the Indians opposite. Under cover of 
 the smoke Kennard's troop plunged into the 
 canon, whose mouth was very narrow, and was 
 immediately lost to view. 
 
 With the soldiers by the side of Kennard, rode 
 Sullivan. So soon as the troopers found them- 
 selves within the canon the roar of the battle 
 died away, the noise of it passed over their 
 
 193 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 heads, and as they rode along the rather easy 
 trail, they soon lost it altogether. 
 
 The canon was of the box variety. Its sides 
 almost perpendicular, afforded no exit to the 
 upper country on either hand. Its bottom had 
 been washed out by the torrent which was at 
 present existing only in the shape of a trickling 
 rill off to the left. The going was easy, and 
 the command moved forward at a sharp trot, 
 eagerly looking for a way out to the upland to 
 the left. 
 
 They had progressed for more than half a 
 mile without finding any practicable lateral 
 trail for the horses, and perhaps nofeven for an 
 unmounted man. Kennard, who rode in the ad- 
 vance, was beginning to get a little anxious. 
 The canon twisted and wound among the hills 
 as it plunged farther and farther into the range. 
 It grew narrower, too, and the trail became ob- 
 structed with gigantic bowlders. The way be- 
 came more difficult and the advance was made 
 with more and more circumspection. Finally 
 at a point where the canon took a sharp bend 
 to the right, the troop was halted. Schneider 
 
 194 
 
THE MUTINY IN THE PASS 
 
 and one of the veterans of the company were sent 
 forward to see what they could discover. 
 
 It was as still as death in the depths of the 
 great rift in the mountains save for the uneasy 
 movements of the tired horses, the jingle of bits 
 and accouterments, and a whispered word now 
 and then passed between some of the men. 
 
 Off to the left across the stream the wall, 
 which was everywhere else so monotonously 
 perpendicular, happened to be badly broken. 
 Kennard surveyed the place carefully while they 
 waited. 
 
 "Horses might get up there, I think," he said, 
 after a long, close inspection. 
 
 "Yes, it is possible," admitted Sullivan. 
 
 "It would be hard scrambling for them, sir," 
 remarked Lieutenant Hamilton, who had just 
 joined them. 
 
 "Still, it is the first place I have seen which 
 would enable us to carry out the Colonel's 
 orders," said the Captain. "I wonder how the 
 battle goes back yonder?" 
 
 "We can tell nothing about that," answered 
 Sullivan. "This canon has twisted and turned 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 so much since we got in it, that we can't even tell 
 where the fight was." 
 
 "We will soon see if we get on the uplands." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I wonder what is ahead of us?" queried the 
 Captain thoughtfully then with quick decision 
 -"Mr. Hamilton!" 
 
 The Lieutenant saluted. 
 
 "Ride to the bend of the canon and see if you 
 can get sight of Schneider." 
 
 The Lieutenant picked his way gingerly over 
 the rough stones until he too disappeared around 
 the bend after the other two. 
 
 "The villages of that crowd we 're fighting 
 ought to lie somewhere around these parts," said 
 Sullivan. 
 
 "Yes; I wonder if she is in one of them!" 
 
 "I wonder," answered the big cattleman, 
 gloomily and with sad foreboding. 
 
 And both were silent. Presently Hamilton 
 came back with Schneider and the trooper at his 
 heels. They came rapidly and in great excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "There is a village a half mile beyond the 
 point," began Hamilton so soon as he was near. 
 
THE MUTINY IN THE PASS 
 
 "Schneider went far enough to get a good sight 
 of it. He saw a bunch of 
 
 Here Schneider came up and saluted. 
 
 "What did you make of it, Sergeant?" asked 
 Kennard. 
 
 "It is a good-sized village, sir. I saw forty or 
 fifty tepees." 
 
 "Any men?" 
 
 "No, sir. Women and children only." 
 
 "Kennard!" cried the cattleman, seizing the 
 Captain by the arm, "she will be there! Let 
 us jump the village!" 
 
 "No," said Kennard, simply. 
 
 "Good God, man, you don't mean to hesitate 
 with such a chance as this!" 
 
 "My orders," began the Captain, saluting. 
 
 "To hell with your orders!" roared the cattle- 
 man furiously. "I tell you the girl is there. I 
 feel it. Those bucks are all at the front fighting 
 the rest of the regiment. We 've got the chance 
 of our lives here to smash up the whole business 
 and get back the girl." 
 
 "It may be as you say," returned the Captain, 
 who had grown as pale as death, "but I have 
 positive orders to " 
 
 197 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "But I tell you if the Colonel was here he 
 would say go on. Am I not right, men?" 
 
 The big cattleman turned and addressed the 
 troopers crowding close behind. It was easy to 
 see where their desires lay, for a deep-voiced 
 affirmative arose from the majority. 
 
 "Silence in the ranks!" cried Kennard imperi- 
 ously, his face flushing with indignation at this 
 monstrous breach of discipline. "By heavens! 
 the first man that raises his voice again " He 
 turned toward them, pistol in hand, with a 
 threatening gesture. "I understand the oppor- 
 tunity as well as you do, Sullivan, and I would 
 give my life to go on." 
 
 "Why don't you go on then?" 
 
 "Because I have orders to do a certain thing, 
 and this is the only place it can be done." 
 
 "And because of your damn fool orders, are 
 you going to leave that girl to the fate that 
 awaits her?" he sneered insultingly. "You call 
 yourself a man!" 
 
 He pushed his horse threateningly close to the 
 other as he spoke. 
 
 "I call myself a soldier," answered Kennard, 
 198 
 
THE MUTINY IN THE PASS 
 
 returning stare with stare and not giving back an 
 inch. "I have got orders to obey and I am going 
 to obey them." 
 
 "Well, I have got no orders and I am not going 
 to obey you or any man!" cried the rancher with 
 passionate vehemence. 
 
 "You are your own master, fortunately for 
 you," returned Kennard coldly enough, although 
 the fires were burning in his heart. 
 . "I am going to get that poor girl out of hell, 
 too; thank God, I am! And I am not going to 
 do it alone either. Men !" he cried to the excited 
 troopers, "are you going to leave that woman 
 to her fate? Who will volunteer to ride through 
 that village with me? If ten men will go, I 
 will." 
 
 "Sullivan!" cried Kennard, as the men in obe- 
 dience to a sudden, irresistible impulse surged 
 forward, "if you say another word to my men, 
 by the living God, I will shoot you where you 
 sit your horse! I would do it now if we did 
 not love the same woman. Get back, men!" he 
 cried, keeping Sullivan still covered with his re- 
 volver; "get back!" 
 
 199 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Fall in ranks," shouted Hamilton and Bod- 
 ley, whipping out their own revolvers, and con- 
 fronting the disorganized men. 
 
 "I am with you, Captain," said Schneider, the 
 old Sergeant, presenting his own rifle at the men 
 of the troop he was accustomed to call his chil- 
 dren. 
 
 "What the hell do we care for orders when the 
 girl's in question!" cried a young trooper, the 
 newest recruit of the lot, hardly yet broken to 
 the stern, self-sacrificing obedience of the sol- 
 dier. "I 'm going with the cowboy. Who 's 
 with me?" 
 
 He happened to be the left file of the first 
 four. As he spoke he fearlessly struck spurs to 
 his horse. The whole troop in mad excitement 
 seemed about to follow the leader. In an in- 
 stant, Kennard was by his side. Clutching his 
 revolver by the barrel, he struck the man heavily 
 on the side of the head. He reeled and would 
 have fallen senseless from his horse had not the 
 Sergeant caught him. The next instant Ken- 
 nard had reversed his weapon and confronted the 
 troop. 
 
 "You call yourselves soldiers!" he cried in bit- 
 zoo 
 
THE MUTINY IN THE PASS 
 
 ter scorn, in which shame for them was mingled, 
 "As there is a God above me, I will let daylight 
 through the whole troop if you don't instantly 
 come to a halt and attention." He stared hard 
 for a moment at the flushed, excited faces, con- 
 fronting them with iron resolution and determi- 
 nation. "Sergeant," he continued, as the men 
 slowly subsided, "fasten that damned mutineer 
 on his horse. He is n't dead yet, although he de- 
 serves to be. Men, I yield to no one in my re- 
 spect for and devotion to Miss Benham. I 
 would have made her my wife. I would like 
 nothing better than to lead you through that vil- 
 lage, but it can't be done. I have orders which 
 must be obeyed. Sullivan, you are not a soldier, 
 you can do as you please, but no more speeches 
 to my men, at your peril. Here I am in com- 
 mand." 
 
 By this time Sullivan's weapon covered the 
 Captain. 
 
 "Before you could open your mouth again," 
 he said, "you would be a dead man." 
 
 "And then the men of this troop would tear 
 you to pieces, by God!" burst out old Schneider 
 furiously. "I'm ashamed of them; they are 
 
 201 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 cowboys, not soldiers/' went on the veteran; 
 l "but they 'd do that much for the Captain." 
 
 "Right, Schneider," cried Hamilton. 
 
 "Count me in on that game," hotly seconded 
 Bodley. 
 
 A deep, hoarse, ominous murmur rose from the 
 ranks of the now thoroughly ashamed men, as the 
 Sergeant ceased speaking. 
 
 Sullivan laughed contemptuously. 
 
 "You 're a damned fine lot," he said scorn- 
 fully; "I '11 go alone." 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Sullivan," said Kennard, tak- 
 ing up the conversation. 
 
 "Rather a fool than a blue-coated, gold- 
 braided coward!" sneered the cattleman, turn- 
 ing away. 
 
 At this fearful insult, Kennard made a con- 
 vulsive movement toward Sullivan, while the 
 troopers groaned and surged forward as if to 
 get at the man who so foully aspersed them in 
 the person of their captain. It was the old 
 Sergeant who steadied them. 
 
 "Think of the men, Captain," said Hamilton 
 quickly, laying his hand on his superior's pistol. 
 * ( You can do nothing, now, sir." 
 
 202 
 
THE MUTINY IN THE PASS 
 
 "Yes, the men," said Kennard hoarsely, mas- 
 tering himself; "I will settle with him later." 
 
 Meanwhile, there was a clatter of hoofs far 
 down the canon. A horseman was approach- 
 ing at the best speed possible over such broken 
 ground. Kennard rode to one side and stared 
 at him. He was waving his hat. A short dis- 
 tance behind another followed him. 
 
 The first was Geikie, the Colonel's aide ; the 
 second was a trooper. 
 
 "Captain Kennard!" cried Geikie, as he drew 
 nearer. "Thank God! I have reached you in 
 time. The main force of hostiles has withdrawn 
 from our front. Colonel Wainwright fears 
 they have set a trap for you. You are to come 
 back down the canon as quick as possible. He 
 is advancing up the right side to cover your re- 
 treat. You understand?" 
 
 "Perfectly," said Kennard. 
 
 He turned with a sharp command. The 
 fours swung about on their horses where they 
 stood. There was no time for turning the 
 whole column, and instantly began the back- 
 ward march. They did not go without com- 
 ment. For Sullivan, furiously angry, his fight- 
 
 203 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 ing Irish blood up, called out to them, mingling 
 mockeries and jeers and heaping curses upon 
 them, as they trotted away down the canon. 
 There was not a man among them who would 
 not gladly have killed him, save the wretched, 
 half-conscious, helpless mutineer tied to his sad- 
 dle. 
 
 They were not to make the return journey un- 
 hindered, for about half way down, the bluff on 
 the opposite side suddenly blazed with fire. 
 The Indians were there in force. The fore- 
 thought of the Colonel, however, had despatched 
 a strong relieving force up on the right side of 
 the canon. They arrived most opportunely, 
 just as the Cheyennes opened fire, and an an- 
 swering volley swept across the canon, driving 
 the Indians from the brink of it. 
 
 Under cover of this fire Kennard managed to 
 get his men out of the death trap, although 
 not without serious loss. Lieutenant Colonel 
 Knowlton, who commanded the relief, fell back 
 with him, the Indians following; and by mid- 
 afternoon, after a long day of hard fighting, the 
 troops went into camp on the very spot they had 
 held in the morning. 
 
 204 
 
THE MUTINY IN THE PASS 
 
 It was at best but a drawn battle. The Indian 
 loss had really greatly exceeded that of the sol- 
 diers, although proportionately it was not seri- 
 ous on account of their overwhelming numbers. 
 Tactically the advantage remained with the In- 
 dians, for Wainwright's advance was stopped. 
 He did not dare with his small force to pro- 
 ceed further. In fact, toward nightfall he with- 
 drew to the southward, some miles from the 
 battle field, and there established himself in a 
 good defensive position. 
 
 So soon as his duties permitted, Kennard 
 sought an interview with his commander. In 
 bitterness of heart, he related all that had oc- 
 curred in the canon. He had been proud to be 
 a soldhr and now he hated the position. He 
 had been stopped right at the moment when a 
 bold dash might have enabled him to snatch the 
 woman he loved from her tortures. And to add 
 to his misery, his men whom he loved and trusted 
 had all but mutinied and overridden him! 
 
 The cattleman, who also loved her, had 
 branded him as a coward in the face of those 
 very men, and had gone on to attempt alone the 
 heroic undertaking of her rescue. His troop 
 
 205 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 had failed him in the crucial moment. He had 
 checked their mutiny at the peril of his life in 
 the nick of time. But that they had for a mo- 
 ment got out of his hands, cut him to the heart. 
 He had been so proud of them. 
 
 "I tell you, Colonel Wainwright," said Ken- 
 nard, passionately, as all these things were re- 
 lated to the commander, "I am on the verge of 
 resigning my commission!" 
 
 "Kennard," said the old officer, who had 
 known the other since he was a boy, "I under- 
 stand how you feel. You love the girl. I can 
 sympathize with you there. I can enter into 
 all your -shame about the troop, too they shall 
 suffer for it I but you had no assurance that she 
 was there in the first place, and in the second 
 place, if you had gone on, you can see now 
 that your command would have been cut to 
 pieces." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," muttered the young man 
 hoarsely. 
 
 "It was your obedience as a soldier that saved 
 you," the Colonel urged. "You have your men 
 to think of, and disgracefully as they behaved 
 they are still soldiers. You represent the 
 
 206 
 
THE MUTINY IN THE PASS 
 
 United States, whose claim upon you is higher 
 than that of any man or any woman. As it was, 
 you were lucky to get out with a single man al'ive. 
 It was a narrow escape. My fault to have sent 
 you there; I realized it almost as soon as you 
 had gone, and as the Indian firing in front 
 gradually slackened, I determined to recall you 
 and to send Knowlton. I am thankful to God, 
 I did." 
 
 "But, sir," said Kennard, "I can't get away 
 from the fact that she was there. She must have 
 been there. Where else on God's earth caa 
 she be! and he has gone to save her after brand- 
 ing me as a coward in the front of my own men. 
 Good God! Give me one chance!" 
 
 "You know you are not a coward, Kennard. 
 We know that it took more courage to obey your 
 orders than it did to follow Sullivan and I wiM 
 give you a chance. A courier came in saying 
 that those cowboys have been organized into a 
 company of scouts. Those that belong to the 
 Benham ranch that you sent back. They are 
 to report here to-night. They want a captaia. 
 I will give you charge of them, if they will take 
 you. Hamilton can handle your troop now, 
 
 207 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 and besides they need a rest after being so cut up 
 to-day." 
 
 "Good, good!" exclaimed Kennard as the 
 Colonel paused. 
 
 "We do not know where Roman Nose has 
 gone, probably off to the westward. He has to 
 be located," returned the old officer; "word 
 has to be got to Crook. A courier from the De- 
 partment Commander di-rects me to remain 
 where I am until reinforced by the Ninth 
 Cavalry, which is on the march. Then we are 
 to go forward. Meanwhile you can go out on 
 the scout. Find Roman Nose, find Crazy 
 Horse. Get word to Crook where we are, and 
 of the check we have sustained, and perhaps 
 you can get trace of the woman." 
 
 "I'll do it, sir; I '11 do it!" 
 
 "We shall be here for three days at least. It 
 will take that time for the Ninth Cavalry to join 
 us, and you can always find us if it is necessary," 
 continued the Colonel. "If we are not here it 
 will be because we have moved back to Tear 
 Lake. In fact, I think I shall move there to- 
 morrow or at least in that direction. It is as 
 easy to strike across the range from there as 
 
 208 
 
THE MUTINY IN THE PASS 
 
 here, and the Indians after this encounter will 
 certainly have gone to the other side. I suspect 
 that Crazy Horse detached Roman Nose to 
 check us and will now be massing on Crook. 
 Well, he has enough men to hold his own, and 
 anyway I have no option but to remain here- 
 abouts. You understand?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, and I thank God for the chance 
 you give me !" 
 
 "Go," saM the Colonel, "and get some rest. 
 These men will be tired out after their all day's 
 ride. When they come in I '11 have you called. 
 You can take them out about four o'clock in the 
 morning." 
 
 "And Sullivan?" 
 
 "He has made his own bed. He will have to 
 lie in it," said the Colonel; "at least we can 
 do nothing for him." 
 
 "He is a brave man," responded Kennard 
 magnanimously, "even if he did call me a 
 coward." 
 
 209 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN THE WIGWAM 
 
 SULLIVAN was hot tempered and impul- 
 sive, but at heart he was both generous and 
 just. He stared blankly after the retreating 
 soldiers until a turn in the canon hid them from 
 his sight. His resentment grew less with each 
 passing moment, and before they were com- 
 pletely out of view, if he had enjoyed the power, 
 he would have called back to them some sort of 
 an apology for his bitter stigmatism of their 
 courage and conduct. By the time he had 
 reached that frame of mind, however, it was too 
 late. Resolving in his heart that so soon as he 
 could do so he would make proper explanation 
 and amendment, he addressed himself to the 
 business in hand. 
 
 He did not propose to do anything rash or 
 impetuous. If the troop had been with him he 
 would have suggested a bold dash on the village, 
 now that its natural defenders were away; then, 
 
 210 
 
IN THE WIGWAM 
 
 a thorough search of it for the girl, whom he 
 had no doubt would be found in one of the 
 tepees, and then a ride back for freedom. 
 Alone he could do nothing that way. 
 
 It was now about mid-day. Whatever he 
 could accomplish single-handed, would have to 
 be done under cover of darkness. Meanwhile, 
 it was necessary for him to seek some place of 
 concealment. The seamed and rugged canon 
 afforded numerous spots where he could lie hid- 
 den, but they were not suitable for his further 
 purpose, which was a place whence unobserved 
 he could have the village in view. 
 
 Schneider and the others had said that it was 
 in sight a short distance beyond. He dis- 
 mounted, stripped his horse of saddle, bridle and 
 equipments, which he carefully concealed, and 
 turned the pony loose, driving him back down 
 the canon after the others. Examining most 
 carefully his weapons, he started cautiously for- 
 ward, keeping a bright lookout in every direc- 
 tion. 
 
 He had proceeded but a little distance when 
 he heard faint and far down the canon the sound 
 of firing. He realized, of course, what had 
 
 211 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 happened. He had sense enough to see that if 
 the troop had gone on as he had suggested they 
 would have all been caught in a trap, whence 
 they would have been unable to extricate them- 
 selves. They would all have been cut to pieces. 
 
 He had some anxiety, indeed, for the troop as 
 it was, but there was nothing he could do, and 
 summoning what philosophy he had, he walked 
 cautiously toward the village. He realized that 
 in one thing the encounter below in the canon 
 gave him an additional advantage, for every 
 brave capable of firing a gun would be with- 
 drawn from the village to take part in the am- 
 bush. If only he had been unobserved, all 
 would be well with him. There was no evi- 
 dence that any one had seen him either. 
 
 The canon was very crooked, and he was 
 greatly astonished, on turning a sharp bend, to 
 find himself suddenly confronted by a full-grown 
 Indian in his war gear. The left arm of the 
 savage hung helpless. There was a dirty ban- 
 dage tied around it, such as the rude fingers of 
 some unskilled squaw might have made. If he 
 had time to think, Sullivan might have guessed 
 that here was one of the war party that had been 
 
 212 
 
IN THE WIGWAM 
 
 cut to pieces on the ledge a few days before, who 
 had not got off scatheless, and who was now 
 coming down the canon to be in at what he 
 would naturally suppose would be the death of 
 the troop. In his right hand the warrior car- 
 ried a Winchester. 
 
 For a second the white man and the red man 
 stared fixedly at each other. Which was the 
 more surprised it would be difficult to say. The 
 white man, through keenly attuned nerves, 
 thought a trifle more quickly than the other and 
 first awoke to action. Just as the Indian raised 
 his right hand intending to fire his Winchester 
 as best he could with one arm, Sullivan sprang 
 upon him. The gun flew from the Indian's 
 hand and fell on the rocks some distance away. 
 Fortunately it did not explode. 
 
 With wonderful dexterity the Indian drew a 
 knife hanging at his belt and cut viciously at the 
 rancher, who had grabbed him with both hands 
 by the throat to prevent an outcry. The two 
 were stumbling about over the rocks else the 
 knife thrust might have got home in the white 
 man's body. As it was, it did inflict a wound, 
 which would after a while prove troublesome, 
 
 213 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 but which in the heat of the conflict only served 
 to madden the man. 
 
 The unfortunate Indian had no chance to re- 
 peat the blow, the pressure on his throttle was 
 so terrible, so much greater, indeed, than Sulli- 
 van realized, that the knife fell from his nerve- 
 less hand. The Indian turned black in the face, 
 Sullivan shaking him as a terrier a rat. As the 
 Indian's muscles relaxed, they both slipped and 
 fell. Still clutching him tenaciously, the two 
 plunged to the ground, the red man underneath. 
 When Sullivan finally released his grip he saw 
 that the Indian was dead, either by choking or 
 by breaking his back when he fell, or in what- 
 ever way it might be. At any rate his troubles 
 were over. 
 
 It was easy to conceal him in one of the cran- 
 nies of the rocks and roll a few bowlders down 
 upon him, so that unless the search for him was 
 careful he would not be observed. 
 
 Before thus disposing of the body, however, 
 the ranchman slipped off the clothing of the 
 dead man, which consisted of a beautifully em- 
 broidered buckskin shirt, fringed buckskin 
 leggings, a magnificent war bonnet, and the 
 
 214 
 
IN THE WIGWAM 
 
 other accouterments of a warrior of the first 
 rank. 
 
 A plan had already formed itself in his mind, 
 to the furtherance of which this savage panoply 
 would greatly conduce. Possessing himself 
 also of the Indian's weapons, including the knife 
 which had cut him in the side, and first taking 
 the precaution to bind up as well as he could his 
 wound ugly looking but not serious Sullivan 
 went forward again. This time with more cau- 
 tion than ever. 
 
 Finally he reached a place whence he could 
 observe the Indian camp. The canon widened 
 out into a wooded valley. The village was 
 pitched on one side of the stream, the same that 
 flowed through the canon. Fortune now fa- 
 vored the rancher again, for a short distance 
 away in the side of the cliff he observed a deep 
 depression over which the rock wall extended 
 in a huge overhang. This niche, or recess, was 
 sufficiently scored out of the wall, he found 
 when he climbed up to it, to afford a man lying 
 down concealment from observation either from 
 above or below. 
 
 Filling the canteen which Kennard had given 
 215 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 him at the brook, and making sure that he was 
 not observed, he cautiously climbed up to the 
 rock, and sank down in the hollow or recess 
 which perfectly concealed him. Through a 
 crevice he could see all that went on in the 
 Indian camp. 
 
 All through the long afternoon he lay there 
 watching. There was the usual bustle and 
 movement in the camp. Herds of ponies, of 
 which the Indians seemed to have uncountable 
 supply, grazed on the meadow beyond. Near a 
 clump of trees squaws were busy about fires pre- 
 paring an evening meal. Children ran to and 
 fro and played at mimic warfare. Dogs 
 snarling and barking wandered unmolested 
 among the tepees. The scene was all peaceful, 
 the encampment undisturbed. The Indian 
 women were evidently confident that their men 
 would keep off the soldiers and they went about 
 their ordinary occupations with great indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 The ranchman was keen sighted and he scru- 
 tinized with utmost care every moving figure. 
 His heart beat high with anticipation and hope 
 that one of them might be Amy Benham. He 
 
 216 
 
IN THE WIGWAM 
 
 was still a long distance from the camp, but as 
 the hours wore away, he became quite certain 
 that none of the women in view were white. 
 If she were there she must be a prisoner in one 
 of the tepees, a thing not in itself unlikely. The 
 possibility was so real that he resolved not to 
 abandon his design without making sure at any 
 cost. 
 
 Late in the afternoon the camp was aroused 
 to great excitement by the return of the band of 
 warriors to which it belonged. They crossed 
 the brook between the mouth of the canon and 
 the camp itself, and Sullivan had a near view of 
 them. 
 
 They were talking and gesticulating eagerly, 
 evidently about the battle which had just been 
 fought. The watcher caught words now and 
 then which indicated the subject of their conver- 
 sation and he listened intently, striving to make 
 out what the results of the encounter had been. 
 He saw no prisoners, and but few scalps were 
 waved triumphantly aloft. On the other hand, 
 there were many wounded Indians, and he in- 
 ferred from this that they had been hardly dealt 
 with. Yet they seemed to be in remarkably 
 
 217 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 good spirits notwithstanding their losses. The 
 troopers must have been driven back, but at 
 least they had not been massacred. Kennard's 
 troop had evidently not been cut to pieces. 
 Sullivan heaved a sign of relief when he came 
 to this conclusion. His conduct toward them 
 worried him the more he thought of it. 
 
 He studied the Indians the more intently in 
 the hope of getting some clue from their 
 remarks, when suddenly the Half Breed, the 
 center of another group, sprang into his line of 
 vision. Instantly the rancher clutched the rifle 
 that lay by his side. He could easily have 
 killed the Half Breed. The distance was not 
 great for so good a shot as he, and his whole 
 soul urged him to shoot down the villain with- 
 out mercy. Second thoughts, however, re- 
 strained him. The shot would have meant his 
 certain death, for he never could have got away 
 from that place without drawing attention to 
 himself. That would not have made him 
 pause; cheerfully would he have given up his 
 own life to finish the Half Breed. But suppose 
 Amy Benham was there, his own death would 
 materially diminish her chance of escape. He 
 
 218 
 
IN THE WIGWAM 
 
 had to bide his time and hold his hand, but he 
 had never attempted a harder thing. 
 
 He divined after a while that this was a small 
 band of Oglalas. It had been Yellow Foot's 
 band, but he had been slain back in the canon, 
 and the Half Breed had fallen heir to the lead- 
 ership of it. The other Indians, most Chey- 
 ennes, were on the march elsewhere under Roman 
 Nose. This band was practically detailed to re- 
 main in the vicinity and observe the troopers for 
 a day or two, apparently, and then follow after 
 the main body. The soldiers had evidently sus- 
 tained a severe check. 
 
 The sight of his arch enemy made him more 
 certain than ever that Amy Benham must be in 
 one of the tepees. It was very late in the afternoon 
 now; the day was almost done and evening was 
 approaching. The cattleman was tired, cramped 
 in his narrow quarters, worn out by his long 
 vigil, and he prayed that night might speedily 
 come to help him make his attempt. Mean- 
 while he did not take his eyes off the village, and 
 the Half Breed, especially. He observed him 
 go in and out one of the largest tepees several 
 times and concluded that this was his own. 
 
 219 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 Sullivan had a good eye for topography. He 
 marked the location of it well, and also the char- 
 acter of the surrounding country. It would be 
 moonlight shortly after the sun set, which was 
 bad for his plan, but he could not help that. 
 The camp itself was shaded by a growth of pine 
 trees. He saw where the herd of ponies was 
 kept. He laid his plans with the keenest calcu- 
 lations he was capable of. 
 
 He had some food in the pocket of his hunting 
 shirt, and the water in his canteen kept him from 
 suffering severely from thirst. Nevertheless, he 
 was very glad when the sun set at last after the 
 long June day, and darkness filled the canon. 
 Its direction was such that the moonlight shone 
 upon the farther side and the deep shadow about 
 him made his position the more secure. 
 
 He arose to his feet as soon as it was safe to 
 do so, and slipped off his own clothing. He even 
 divested himself of his heavy boots and dragged 
 on the moccasins of the Indian over his larger 
 feet. He put on everything, war bonnet and 
 all. His hair was black and his skin swarthy; 
 although his hair was curly he hoped no one 
 would observe that in the darkness or the moon- 
 
 220 
 
IN THE WIGWAM 
 
 light. His white arms would have betrayed 
 him had he bared them in accordance with 
 Indian custom, but he happened to have on a 
 dark brown undershirt, and that he did not re- 
 move. 
 
 He waited until the camp went to sleep. It 
 was perhaps half after nine or ten o'clock before 
 he thought it safe to venture. 
 
 Sullivan was not what you would call a 
 religious man, and perhaps if only his own life 
 had been concerned he would not have thought 
 of it, but he was going to make a desperate en- 
 deavor for her, and so before he stepped out of 
 the canon, he knelt down among the stones and 
 put up a voiceless prayer that he might succeed. 
 
 He had two objects in view. One was to get 
 the girl and the other was to kill the Half Breed. 
 Skirting the wall of the canon as long as he 
 could, and keeping well within the shadow of 
 the trees wherever they served, Sullivan at 
 last gained the outskirts of the camp. Once a 
 dog sprang at him out of the darkness, open- 
 mouthed, but the man struck it such a sudden, 
 terrific blow on the head before it had given 
 tongue that it fell back senseless. 
 
 221 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 The tepee he had marked stood on rising 
 ground about midway one flank of the camp. 
 There happened to be no others between it and 
 the trees. 
 
 The ranchman stopped by the side of it and 
 knelt down. He put his ear against the skins of 
 which it was composed and listened. He could 
 hear deep breathing within. What it be- 
 tokened he could not say. He drew his knife and 
 cut a slit and peered within. The entrance flap 
 in front of the other side happened to be thrown 
 back. The night was warm and the entering air 
 would be refreshing to the sleepers. The moon- 
 light shot a beam into the darkness of the tent 
 through the opening. By its faint refraction he 
 could make out three figures therein. Two of 
 them were sprawled out on the ground on one 
 side ; the third lay in a huddle on the other. All 
 three seemed to be sound asleep. 
 
 "Was one of them she? If so, which? 
 Which was the Half Breed? Who could be the 
 other?" 
 
 He would have given a year of his life for 
 more light. His was a frightful risk. Sup- 
 pose he effected an entrance and woke the wrong 
 
 222 
 
IN THE WIGWAM 
 
 person! Suppose he made a mistake and in- 
 jured her! 
 
 He found himself plunged into a cold sweat, 
 which no fear for himself would ever have 
 brought to the skin. He hesitated, by the side 
 of the tepee, but realizing that his safety and 
 probable success depended upon celerity, cau- 
 tiously still, but swiftly, he made a long enough 
 slip to admit him to creep through. Holding 
 the knife in one hand and having swung his 
 revolver belt forward so he could grasp it 
 readily, his Winchester being swung across his 
 back, he crept into the wigwam. So far having 
 made no sound he had not disturbed the heavy 
 sleep of the inmates. 
 
 Inside he could hear better and see better 
 still. The pale moonlight outlined more 
 clearly to his staring eyes the three figures. To 
 the right lay two men, to the left a smaller 
 figure, undoubtedly a woman's, covered by a 
 blanket. He crept slowly toward this smaller 
 figure, praying God that he might be right and 
 that it might be she. 
 
 Whoever she was, she was lying on her right 
 side with a light blanket drawn over her face. 
 
 223 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 The man, knife in hand, bent over the figure, 
 silently listening to its regular, slow breathing. 
 He must discover who she was. He must make 
 certain. 
 
 There were but two ways. He could call her 
 name softly, or else draw back the blanket and 
 strive to recognize her in the darkness. Which 
 should he try? 
 
 Thinking quickly, he decided upon both 
 methods. Reaching his hand out he softly drew 
 the blanket aside, at the same time saying in a 
 whisper close to the woman's ear, 
 
 "Amy!" 
 
 It was a woman. It was not she! He had 
 just time to draw back, when the woman, rising 
 on her elbow, saw his bulk in the moonlight and 
 cried out. There was alarm in her voice. It 
 awoke the two men in the tent to instant life. 
 They had slept heavily enough, but they were as 
 easily aroused. It seemed to Sullivan that they 
 were on their feet at the first outcry. 
 
 Recognizing that he had failed to find the 
 woman he loved, the ranchman had also sprung 
 to his feet. He happened to stand full in the 
 moonlight. The others stared at him a moment, 
 
 224 
 
IN THE WIGWAM 
 
 and then with the instinct of fight, closed in on 
 him. One of them was evidently the Half 
 Breed, for he called out an oath in English. 
 Which one was he? Sullivan could not tell in 
 the dim light and he had little time to ascertain. 
 At any rate, the rancher struck the first man full 
 and fair in the breast with his knife. Driven 
 with terrific force, it sank to the hilt, and the 
 unfortunate recipient of the blow was hurled to 
 the ground stone dead. As the other man 
 sprang at him out of the darkness, in default 
 of another weapon for the knife had been 
 wrenched from his hand by the falling body- 
 Sullivan clenched his fist and struck him a ter- 
 rible blow on the side of the head. The second 
 man also reeled and fell. The next instant the 
 ranchman burst out of the tepee. 
 
 He knew his way perfectly. The moonlight 
 now gave him sufficient illumination. He 
 dashed through the camp at top speed. 
 
 But the struggle in the w r igwam had been no- 
 ticed. The man he had stabbed was dead; the 
 man he had struck was senseless, but the woman 
 was very much alive. She filled the whole 
 camp with her outcries. Indians in a moment 
 
 225 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 were springing from every tepee. Sullivan car- 
 omed away from one of them. Another made 
 a snatch at him and tore off his headdress. 
 Glad to be freed from the encumbrance he sped 
 on. Some one seeing a fugitive rushing past 
 his tepee, fired a random shot at him. Instantly 
 the whole camp was in a terrific uproar. Shots 
 were fired in the darkness, all the dogs in the 
 camp ran wildly about barking. 
 
 The confusion helped him. By this time he 
 had reached the outskirts. To catch a pony was 
 not difficult. Selecting the biggest one he 
 found, he threw himself astride of it, turned and 
 dashed across the stream, and headed for the 
 uplands. 
 
 He had made a brave attempt and had failed. 
 Nor was he to get off scot free, for he could see 
 in the moonlight that there was mounting in hot 
 haste behind him and that a score of Indians 
 were preparing to hunt him down. If he had 
 had a decent horse he would have laughed their 
 endeavors to scorn, but he soon found that for- 
 tune had not been kind to him in that particular, 
 and that the pony he bestrode was in no way up 
 to his weight. 
 
 226 
 
IN THE WIGWAM 
 
 Well, the poor bronco would have to go on un- 
 til he dropped, and when he did, Sullivan would 
 fight until he, too, dropped. They should never 
 get him alive and they should be made to pay 
 dearly for catching him at all. 
 
 What difference did it make, anyway, since 
 Amy Benham was lost to him. The woman in 
 the tepee had not been she. Where in God's 
 world was she? What in God's name had hap- 
 pened to her? 
 
 With this thought burning in his brains he 
 raced up the hills, seeking safety in the uplands. 
 
 227 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 IN THE "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 
 
 C4 TTOW many days have we been here?" 
 
 *- - asked the white woman. 
 
 For answer, the silent Mah-wissa held up her 
 hand, the thumb bent inward. 
 
 Amy Benham nodded. 
 
 "Four," she said, mournfully, "and in all that 
 time we have not seen or heard a human being." 
 
 She stared in desperation over the bare rocks 
 and down the sparsely wooded valley as she 
 spoke. The solitude was unbroken. There was 
 no large game in the valley and even few bird 
 calls disturbed the primeval silence. 
 
 "I wonder if they will ever find us?" she 
 asked. 
 
 Mah-wissa nodded. 
 
 "By an' by. Sojer come. Cowboy come." 
 
 "I wish they might come soon, then," re- 
 turned the girl, "for if they don't they won't find 
 
 228 
 
IN THE "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 
 
 us alive. I'm so hungry, and we divided the 
 last piece of meat in your pouch last night." 
 
 "No," said Mah-wissa. She reached back 
 into a crevice of the rock and drew forth sev- 
 eral pieces of jerked-beef and one small section 
 of hard bread. "I got some." 
 
 She held it out toward the white woman. 
 
 "Mah-wissa!" exclaimed Amy sternly, 
 "where did you get it?" 
 
 Duplicity was useless. The source was too 
 patent. She had secreted her own daily por- 
 tion. 
 
 "I no hungry. Sioux no eat like white wo- 
 man," she nodded gravely, again proffering the 
 scanty, wretched remains of food. "This for 
 you." 
 
 "I will not take it," protested the girl passion- 
 ately. "You have deprived yourself of your 
 share for my sake! I will not eat it!" 
 
 "Yes," said the squaw, pressing it upon her. 
 
 "No, I tell you, I cannot. It would choke 
 me!" 
 
 "If no take, I throw Vay," answered Mah- 
 wissa, resolutely, rising to her feet and stepping 
 
 229 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 toward the mouth of the cave, limping badly as 
 she did so. 
 
 "Will you eat half of it then?" pleaded the 
 girl, clutching her arm. 
 
 "I no hungry," repeated the brave squaw 
 again. 
 
 "You are. You must eat," said the white 
 woman, equally bravely. 
 
 "No, no!" 
 
 "Some of it anyway, half of it!" pleaded the 
 girl. 
 
 But Mah-wissa made no motion to take any. 
 
 "If you don't," Amy ran on, as Mah-wissa 
 looked at her stubbornly, " I won't take any my- 
 self." 
 
 Will matched will and resolution looked at 
 resolution. The Indian at last nodded. She 
 apportioned the scraps fairly enough and the 
 two women fell upon them frantically. 
 
 All the food that Mah-wissa had brought 
 with her was thereby exhausted. They had no 
 weapons, no means of killing any game even if 
 they chanced upon it. They had tried 
 making a fish hook out of a hair pin, but with- 
 out success ; at least, they had not caught any 
 
 230 
 
IN THE "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 
 
 fish. There was plenty of water, fortunately, 
 and save for a ravenous hunger they had passed 
 through the adventure well enough. Their 
 clothes were torn and ragged; their hands and 
 feet sore and not yet healed, but these were 
 small matters. They were facing a graver 
 problem. 
 
 Again and again had the Indian woman 
 urged the white woman to leave her and each 
 time had Amy Benham refused. She had 
 nursed the squaw's ankle and cared for it as 
 tenderly as she had nursed the squaw's pappoose 
 the year before. Thanks to her skillful care, 
 the sprain was much better. Mah-wissa could 
 walk again, but as yet, no great distance. She 
 could scarcely have attempted to cross the 
 mountains or to go out of the valley. Nor could 
 Amy Benham have reached home alone for that 
 matter, although that had not occurred to her 
 or to her humble companion, with whom she 
 resolutely elected to stay. 
 
 They had found a sort of cave in the cliffs. 
 Bowlders had fallen, split from the precipitous 
 wall until the recess was almost completely hid- 
 den. There was a long, narrow, winding en- 
 
 231 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 trance to it, like a miniature pass in the moun- 
 tains. It was dry within, save where in one 
 corner a little spring bubbled out of the rock. 
 There Amy had brought quantities of pine 
 boughs, which, when covered with Mah-wissa's 
 tattered blanket, had made them at least a better 
 bed than the hard rocks. It grew quite cold at 
 night, but they lay close together and did the 
 best they could. They had husbanded their 
 poor amount of food carefully but now it was 
 all gone. 
 
 They were not at all sure where they were. 
 The general direction, points of the compass, 
 that is, they got from the north star at night and 
 the sun in the daytime, but just how far away 
 the ranch lay, or how they could get to it was 
 a problem. The rain that had commenced to 
 fall the morning of their arrival had been tor- 
 rential in its character. They imagined how 
 it might have filled the canon, and Mah-wissa 
 thought that probably the wild spread of the 
 vast volume of water, whose only outlet would 
 be the river over which they had crossed, had 
 probably made the return trail in that direction 
 impracticable. 
 
 232 
 
IN THE "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 
 
 The valley they were in was curious enough. 
 Hunters and prospectors called such places 
 "Holes," or sometimes, from their narrow slit- 
 like entrances, "Holes-in-the-Wall." The val- 
 ley was a long amphitheater surrounded com- 
 pletely by precipitous mountains. A river fell 
 over the cliffs to the northward, some ten miles 
 away, and flowed gently across the level bottom, 
 its current dividing wherever it met with an 
 obstacle, forming many islands, until it reached 
 a deep rift in the encircling cliffs, through 
 which it plunged noisily, and then rapidly 
 rushed its way down the mountain, probably 
 joining the stream they had crossed in the 
 canon whence they had come. They had 
 camped somewhere near .its mouth. 
 
 There were many such "Holes" in the moun- 
 tains, some of them quite famous. Access to or 
 egress from most of them was over one narrow 
 trail, easily defended and blockaded. That be- 
 ing held, the valley w r as as safe as a fortress. 
 Consequently, they were much resorted to by 
 outlaws and masterless men, and the frontier lore 
 is filled with tales of such devils' strongholds. 
 
 In this case, however, the two women oc- 
 
 233 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 cupied the thirty or forty square miles enclosed 
 apparently alone. The mountains had never 
 yet been fully explored. Perhaps this hiding 
 place had never been discovered. It may have 
 been thought unavailable had any one visited it, 
 because it was not so completely enclosed as to 
 enable possible inhabitants to hold it easily. At 
 'any rate, save for them, it was now empty. 
 
 Amy had been confident when they first 
 stopped there that in a day or two they would be 
 found and taken back in safety. She reasoned 
 that both Sullivan and Kennard would be after 
 her. Her chief anxiety had been lest they 
 should first be discovered by some wandering 
 Indian war party. She had learned from Mah- 
 wissa that the whole Sioux Nation and the al- 
 lied Cheyennes were on the warpath, but she 
 knew the soldiers would be ordered out im- 
 mediately, and she supposed they would sweep 
 the Indians before them. It never occurred to 
 her that perhaps the troops would sustain a 
 check and the Indians would be left in control 
 of the region. 
 
 The two women had passed the time drearily 
 enough. Mah-wissa's vocabulary was limited, 
 
 234 
 
IN THE "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 
 
 and although Amy strove earnestly to improve 
 her English, to impart to her ideas foreign to 
 the native of the land and to give her some con- 
 ception of religion, she could not do that all the 
 time, and there were periods when the two 
 women sat side by side in the mouth of their 
 cave, forlornly staring out at the quiet, utterly 
 desolate landscape before them. 
 
 They had been glad of the rest the first day 
 after the awful hardship and labor of their es- 
 cape, but thereafter the white woman's spirit, 
 unaccustomed to inaction, chafed and fretted 
 with growing resentment at each succeeding 
 period of enforced quiet. She had that Anglo- 
 Saxon temper which would fain face death, if it 
 must be faced, on the feet and in action. To 
 sit quietly down waiting to be stricken further 
 down was intolerable. 
 
 They had had abundant opportunity for self- 
 communion, for Mah-wissa was taciturn as most 
 Indians, and spoke not at all until she was ad- 
 dressed. The girl had time, therefore, to go 
 over all the terrible happenings of the last few 
 days. For the first time since his death, she 
 could grieve unrestrainedly for her father. 
 
 235 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 Her mourning was deep and sincere and would 
 be abiding. Yet her own concerns and the 
 probabilities and the possibilities of her own fu- 
 ture weighed so heavily on her that they served 
 somewhat to mitigate and assuage her grief. 
 
 She divided her reflections between the past 
 and the future, the future naturally encroach- 
 ing more and more upon the past; and to Cap- 
 tain Kennard she devoted most of her thoughts 
 to him and to Sullivan. She wished ardently 
 for them both. She would have been rejoiced 
 beyond measure to see either, but he whom her 
 soul craved was the soldier. 
 
 She sought to recall every moment of their 
 two years of pleasant and intimate relationship 
 together. Every look that Kennard had given 
 her, every word that he had said to her, every 
 action they had shared, every indication by 
 which she had noted that he loved her, she dwelt 
 upon lovingly. Why did he not come? 
 Surely, if she had been in his place, she would 
 have found her way to him over mountains 
 twice as high, and through valleys twice as long. 
 Had she been the soldier and he the woman, 
 nothing would have kept them apart so long. 
 
 236 
 
IN THE "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 
 
 And Sullivan and the men of the ranch! She 
 asked resentfully and unsatisfiedly where were 
 they? 
 
 In general, however, she did not rebel. Fol- 
 lowing the .common lot of women, she prayed 
 and waited. Waited with a growing faintness 
 of heart and an increasing despair of soul as 
 each day brought nothing. 
 
 That morning, save for Mah-wissa's fore- 
 thought and self-denial, they had been face to 
 face with absolute starvation. In their weak- 
 ened and wretched condition they might linger 
 two or three days before they died. If help did 
 not come within that time it would be too late. 
 Well, there were worse deaths than that which 
 confronted her, and she was glad that she had 
 escaped them at least she would die free. 
 
 It was yet early in the morning when they 
 divided the last morsel of food. As they were 
 expecting nothing, they were greatly surprised 
 and aroused into a state of sickening expecta- 
 tion by hearing rifle shots above their heads and 
 off to the northeast. Their first instinct was to 
 withdraw further into the burrow they had 
 found, but second thoughts told them that 
 
 237 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 they should, if possible, learn what was going 
 on seemingly so near. 
 
 Mah-wissa seized a stout stick Amy had found 
 for her under the trees and the two women 
 stepped to the mouth of the cave and started to 
 the northward and upward. The cliffs over- 
 hung the place where they stood. They could 
 see nothing. As they listened they heard more 
 rifle shots, and this time apparently nearer. 
 
 "We. must see what it is," said Amy. 
 
 The Indian nodded. Supporting her, the 
 white woman led the way to a portion of 
 the wall which jutted out into the valley. 
 Cautiously peering around this, they stared up- 
 ward again. As they did so, they heard another 
 series of rapid discharges , and the next mo- 
 ment a figure on horseback appeared on the edge 
 of the cliff, a man in full Indian dress, wearing 
 a war shirt but no bonnet. In his hands he 
 clasped a Winchester, which he had apparently 
 just discharged. He had halted his exhausted 
 pony on the very brink of the precipice. He 
 could go no farther. 
 
 Listening and looking, the two women heard 
 wild calls faintly, and more shots. These de- 
 
 238 
 
IN THE "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 
 
 cided the solitary horseman upon action. The 
 cliff bent away in a great half circle from the 
 point at which the women stood so that they 
 could see what he was doing. He got off his 
 horse quickly and stepped to the very edge of 
 the sheer descent. He looked down a moment. 
 Evidently he intended to make an effort to es- 
 cape that way. To the watching women it 
 seemed utterly beyond human possibility that he 
 could do it. Speculations as to who he was, and 
 why he was so desperately anxious to escape 
 were lost for the moment in the frightful pos- 
 sibilities of his endeavor. 
 
 Sheltering himself behind the body of the 
 horse, which evidently was so utterly exhausted 
 as scarcely to be able to move, the man loaded 
 his rifle, brought it to his shoulder and pumped 
 a half dozen shots in quick succession out of it. 
 His discharge was answered by a return volley 
 and by a wild outbreak of demoniac yells. He 
 did not wait any longer. He turned and let 
 himself down over the cliff, facing inward. He 
 hung at full length for a second and then let go. 
 The women held their breath as they watched 
 him fall. 
 
 239 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Great Heavens!" exclaimed Amy, "he will 
 be dashed to pieces." 
 
 But they were unable to see certain inequali- 
 ties in the surface which looked so sheer, for 
 sliding down the face of the cliff which here 
 sloped inward a little as it fell away, the fugi- 
 tive brought up against a narrow ledge which 
 had been his goal when he let go. He struck 
 the ledge with shocking force, the distance was 
 so great. For a moment his body bent and 
 swayed, and the watchers thought he would 
 pitch over, but his hands, which had been 
 clutching the rock, caught in some crevice. 
 Evidently he had saved himself. He shook and 
 trembled but steadied himself and finally stood 
 secure. He did not dare to pause for rest, it 
 seemed, for he took a few careful yet rapid steps, 
 creeping sidewise, until he found another ledge 
 to which he dropped again. 
 
 Again and again he repeated the process. 
 He seemed to bear a charmed life. That the 
 descent could be made by human being without 
 a dozen falls, if one body could stand so many, 
 was well nigh unthinkable. 
 
 Finally he reached the last ledge a broader 
 240 
 
IN THE "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 
 
 streak of rock than the others. There was 
 nothing below him but a sheer drop of perhaps 
 fifteen or twenty feet, and broken rock at the 
 base of the cliff to receive his fall. He had 
 lost his rifle in the descent, having been com- 
 pelled to use both of his hands to save his life, 
 and it had clattered to the rocks beneath after 
 the first slide down the cliff. 
 
 Moved by some impulse, Amy Benham, re- 
 gardless of consequences, in spite of the fact that 
 the rocks cut through the ragged remains of her 
 moccasins and the tattered bandages made from 
 the blanket, stepped swiftly out into the open 
 and secured the rifle just as the man got 
 cautiously down to his knees on the last ledge, 
 and then with one desperate resolution, thrust 
 himself backward and fell. 
 
 Before he struck the ground, the white wo- 
 man, who had regained her place of watchful- 
 ness, had covered him. The shot would be 
 an easy one; if he proved an enemy his life 
 would be forfeit. The man, however, lay 
 where he had fallen. The huge bulk of his 
 body was between the girl's and his face, which 
 pointed to the northward. He had been 
 
 241 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 stunned or perhaps killed by the last downward 
 plunge. 
 
 "Me go," whispered Mah-wissa, lifting the 
 knife she still carried. 
 
 Her meaning was obvious. She would kill 
 him as she had killed the Indian in the pass and 
 with as little compunction of conscience. 
 
 " Wait !" said the wiser white woman. "We 
 don't know who is the man or why he is here. 
 Perhaps he is a soldier." 
 
 "Look!" interposed the Indian woman, touch- 
 ing her elbow. 
 
 Following Mah-wissa's upturned glance, 
 Amy Benham stared at the top of the cliff, whose 
 edge was now peopled with figures. There 
 could be no possible mistake as to their char- 
 acter. They were Indians! The foremost 
 among them was a man whom the white woman 
 would have recognized anywhere, almost at any 
 distance, the Half Breed. Her blood ran cold 
 at the sight of him. She shrank back behind 
 the point, dragging Mah-wissa with her in her 
 intensity of fear. 
 
 The Indians dropped from their ponies and 
 peered over the cliff. They could see lying on 
 
 242 
 
IN THE "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 
 
 the broken rock beneath them the prostrate fig- 
 ure of him they had been pursuing. The fugi- 
 tive did not stir. He lay as one dead. Perhaps 
 he was dead. There was an animated discus- 
 sion at the top of the cliff, and suddenly some 
 of the Indians raised their guns. 
 
 "They are going to shoot him," whispered 
 Amy to Mah-wissa, both peering cautiously 
 from their place of concealment. "Who can 
 he be?" 
 
 There was something familiar about the huge 
 bulk of the man. She had not seen his face 
 clearly; the light had been behind him, but 
 
 Her speculations were shattered by a crashing 
 volley. They could see the rocks break and 
 splinter all about the body of the fugitive. He 
 must have been struck, for he rose unsteadily to 
 his feet, fumbling for his revolver, drew it, but 
 before he could press the trigger, a bullet struck 
 it and threw it far from his hand. Blood was 
 streaming from his face. He was a terrible 
 looking figure, but he had evidently recovered 
 his faculties, for as the smoke blew away and 
 he saw the Indians aiming at him again, he 
 plunged forward on his knees and crawled 
 
 243 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 against the face of the rock, where he was com- 
 pletely sheltered from above. As he did so he 
 faced the spot where the two women were hid- 
 ing. 
 
 244 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 DROPPED FROM THE SKY 
 
 "TVT ERCIFUL Godl " whis p ered Am y to 
 
 -LVA the Indian woman, "it's Sullivan." 
 
 She lifted the rifle as if about to step forward 
 and fire at the Indians in his defense. 
 
 "No," said the squaw earnestly, dragging her 
 back, "they go. We get him by and by. Me 
 look." 
 
 She got down on her knees and peered north- 
 ward. A thin crevice in the rock gave her sight 
 and yet hid her face as she stared and stared, 
 the white girl meanwhile standing back of her, 
 well out of view, desperately clutching the rifle. 
 
 How did Sullivan come there and in that 
 guise? What had happened? She had prayed 
 for his coming, or for Kennard's, as for a pre- 
 server, and lo! he appeared before her like a 
 hare that is hunted. And the Half Breed was 
 triumphantly leading the party that hounded 
 him on. 
 
 245 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "They gone," whispered Mah-wissa at last. 
 
 "Let us go and get him then," answered Amy. 
 
 "Wait. Maybe come back," objected the 
 squaw with all the caution of her race. 
 
 Indeed it was only by the- exercise of her 
 greater strength that the Indian woman kept the 
 white woman where she was until she thought 
 it safe. Presently, however, she released her 
 and Amy instantly darted out into the open and 
 around to the side of the prostrate man. More 
 slowly Mah-wissa followed her. 
 
 He was lying with his eyes closed. Over his 
 face spread a death-like pallor. The fingers of 
 his left hand were torn and bruised and one on 
 his right hand had been crushed by the bullet 
 that had torn his revolver from his grasp. His 
 clothing was torn to pieces by his slide down the 
 cliff. His broad chest was cut, torn and bleed- 
 ing. A bullet had apparently gone through 
 his shoulder, for his left arm was soaked with 
 blood. He was in a desperate condition. So 
 noiseless had been the girl's swift approach that 
 he was not aware of it until she spoke his name. 
 
 "Sullivan!" she cried. 
 246 
 
DROPPED FROM THE SKY 
 
 "Amy!" gasped out the man, opening his eyes 
 in astonishment, "you are here and safe?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "^hank God!" 
 
 "But you?" asked the girl, "what has hap- 
 pened to you?" 
 
 "I thought I was done for," he replied 
 thickly, "but you give me new lease of life. I 
 am worth a thousand dead men now. Is there 
 water?" 
 
 By this time Mah-wissa had joined them. 
 
 "Who is this?" exclaimed the ranchman sus- 
 piciously. 
 
 But Mah-wissa gave no time to answer. She 
 pointed upward. 
 
 "Look!" she cried in an alarmed voice. 
 
 Amy Benham glanced upward. Peering 
 over the brink a short distance away was the 
 feathered head of an Indian. He stared down 
 at the two women. His rifle was in his hand 
 but he made no effort to use it. The Half 
 Breed had indeed retired but he had left a 
 watcher to make sure that the man was dead, or 
 to get him in case he came from the shelter of 
 
 247 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 the rock. The squaw realized at once what a 
 misfortune this discovery was. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Sullivan, who could see 
 nothing. 
 
 "There is an Indian up there," answered the 
 girl. 
 
 "My God!" groaned the poor man, "have I 
 brought them all down upon you?" 
 
 He also knew exactly what discovery by the 
 Half Breed's party would mean to the poor girl, 
 so far having escaped him. 
 
 "We can't think of that now," said Amy, with 
 a certain amount of indifference. "They may 
 be there. They are not here. There are not 
 many men on this earth who could get down that 
 cliff as you did!" 
 
 "Did you see?" 
 
 "We watched you. We saw it all. It was 
 magnificent. We didn't know who it was until 
 you " 
 
 "What do now?" interposed the more prac- 
 tical minded squaw at this juncture. 
 
 "We must get away from here," said Sul- 
 livan ; "if we only had a pony." 
 
 248 
 
DROPPED FROM THE SKY 
 
 "We have found a sort of cave beyond the 
 point yonder. We will take you there." 
 
 "You will have to help me," was the reply, 
 "I am terribly bruised and cut, and one of those 
 fiend's bullets has gone through my shoulder. 
 If I only had some water." 
 
 "You watch by him, Mah-wissa," said Amy. 
 
 She stepped out into the open, reckless of a 
 possible shot from the Indian still watching 
 them curiously and eagerly, ran around the 
 promontory and back to the cave. Mah-wissa's 
 canteen full of water lay on a rock shelf; she 
 seized it, ran back quickly and put it to the 
 ranchman's lips. Sullivan almost drained it. 
 
 "That puts new life into me," he said with a 
 stronger voice. "This is the first drop of water 
 I have had since ten o'clock last night. God! 
 it was a fearful race. Now help me up." 
 
 In spite of the fact that he was weak, that 
 his right hand was bleeding, that he had a bullet 
 through his shoulder, that two of his ribs were 
 broken, and that his chest was half flayed, the 
 man by a magnificent exercise of nerve and 
 courage, lifted himself to his knees, and with 
 
 249 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 the woman he loved supporting him, he finally 
 arose to his feet. He swayed heavily for the 
 moment, and would have fallen but for her. 
 
 "He shoot now," cried Mah-wissa warningly. 
 
 She had observed the Indian above raising 
 his rifle. 
 
 "We'll have to chance it," said Sullivan 
 thickly. "You go in front of me, Miss Amy." 
 
 "No," was the reply, "side by side. You first, 
 Mah-wissa." 
 
 And so the three a brave little Indian squaw, 
 a ragged, tattered, worn-out but indomitable 
 American girl, and the big rancher, shot, cut 
 and torn to pieces started out into the open. 
 
 Sure enough, the Indian fired, not once but 
 twice before they could turn the promontory. 
 His bullets fortunately missed. One of them 
 plowed through the tattered sleeve of the 
 white woman's waist. The other was flattened 
 harmlessly against a rock behind them. 
 
 "It is a good thing for us that they are always 
 such poor shots," said the cattleman gratefully. 
 
 The next moment they rounded the 
 promontory and were out of sight of the 
 watcher. A few painful steps brought them to 
 
 250 
 
DROPPED FROM THE SKY 
 
 the mouth of the cave. Guided and supported 
 by Amy Benham, the cattleman followed Mah- 
 wissa into the recess. 
 
 When the Indian at last reached the 
 promontory he had a wide spread of country 
 to traverse owing to the configuration of the 
 valley wall they were nowhere to be seen. He 
 searched the place with his glances and then 
 suddenly withdrew. 
 
 "A fine place for defense," said the cattleman, 
 alert to the probable requirements of the situa- 
 tion. "What food have you?" 
 
 "None!" 
 
 "There is a piece of jerked-beef in my pouch," 
 he said, "or there was when I put it en. It 
 should be hanging at my belt." 
 
 "It is not there," said Amy after a brief in- 
 spection. 
 
 "It must have been torn off when I fell down 
 the cliff." 
 
 "Me get," said Mah-wissa, slipping out 
 through the entrance. 
 
 "Have you any water?" 
 
 "Plenty," was the answer. "There is a spring 
 on the other side." 
 
 251 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Help me over to it then, and I will try and 
 get myself in shape." 
 
 "No," said the girl, "I am going to do that." 
 
 "You Ve got nothing for bandages." 
 
 "Yes," was the answer. 
 
 She turned away for a little space and came 
 back with several long strips of soiled white 
 fabric. 
 
 "The remainder of my skirt," she said, smil- 
 ing faintly. 
 
 She had filled the canteen also. She knelt 
 down beside him and washed the poor shat- 
 tered fingers as well as she could and bound 
 them up tenderly. 
 
 "Now the shoulder," she said, when she had 
 finished the first task. 
 
 Fortunately the wound was not a serious one. 
 The bullet .had gone clear through the fleshy 
 part of the shoulder, which had probably saved 
 his life, for he had been in a dead faint and the 
 pain of the wound had recalled him to con- 
 sciousness in time for him to crawl under the 
 overhang where he was protected from their 
 dropping shots. As luck would have it, the 
 wound was also a clean one and there was little 
 
 252 
 
DROPPED FROM THE SKY 
 
 to be done but wash it and then make such 
 bandages for it as she could. Then, with the 
 last remaining piece of the skirt she washed his 
 face free from blood that had matted upon it, 
 and tied up his hand. She even washed the 
 blood and dirt from his mighty chest. There 
 was nothing she could do for his broken ribs, of 
 course. 
 
 He bore the pain of her manipulations with- 
 out a murmur and with the stoic resolution of 
 an Indian himself. His courage even evoked 
 a grunt of approval from the squaw, who had 
 come back unharmed with the precious pouch 
 in her hand and who lent such assistance as she 
 could. 
 
 When it was all over, and Amy had done what 
 she could for him, she sank down on the rocky 
 bottom of the recess by his side and fought 
 desperately against an overwhelming inclination 
 to faint away. 
 
 "When have you had anything to eat?" asked 
 Sullivan, assuming, as by right, command of the 
 situation as soon as everything had been done 
 for him. 
 
 "This morning." 
 
 253 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Well," he felt in the pouch with his left 
 hand, "the piece of jerked-beef is there all right. 
 We 'd better keep it until tomorrow if you can 
 stand it that long." 
 
 "I can stand anything now that you are here," 
 said Amy bravely. "I feel so much more con- 
 fident since : 
 
 Sullivan raised his hand. 
 
 "I 'm afraid that I have only brought them 
 down upon you. There must be some way into 
 this valley. You got into it. They must know 
 how to get here. I killed one man in the Half 
 Breed's wigwam, hunting for you, and he will 
 never leave my trail until he gets me or I get 
 him. They will be here before the day is out. 
 What weapons have you?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Me got knife," said Mah-wissa, showing her 
 formidable weapon. 
 
 "What else?" 
 
 "I forgot your Winchester," responded Amy, 
 handing the gun to him. "When I saw you slip 
 down the cliff I thought you might be an Indian 
 fleeing from the soldiers, and as it fell near us, I 
 ran out and seized it." 
 
 254 
 
DROPPED FROM THE SKY 
 
 "Let me have it." 
 
 Sullivan took, examined it carefully, and laid 
 it aside. 
 
 "The ejector is broken," he ?aid bitterly. 
 "It 's useless. The lock is smashed. It can't be 
 fired again." 
 
 "And your revolver?" 
 
 "Smashed, too, when these fingers got it," was 
 the reply. 
 
 "We are indeed helpless, then," said the girl, 
 despondently. 
 
 "Not so long as I can stand in that narrow 
 way," answered Sullivan, grimly. 
 
 "But you have no firearms!" 
 
 "I can use the gun as a club." 
 
 "But you can't beat them off forever with 
 that." 
 
 "No," said the man. "I can't, but I can give 
 you time enough to die, if the worst comes to the 
 worst." 
 
 "Yes," said the girl, looking him bravely in 
 the face. 
 
 "And with Mah-wissa's knife," continued the 
 cattleman. 
 
 "I understand" 
 
 255 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "I don't know how you escaped," Sullivan 
 ran on, "but you are unharmed?" 
 
 There was a fiercely anxious note of appre- 
 hension in the question. 
 
 "Entirely." 
 
 "Thank God!" was the fervent reply. 
 
 "It is all due to Him and to my good Mah- 
 wissa," said the girl, gratefully. 
 
 "Well, you can't tempt Providence again," 
 the rancher continued, his great relief plainly 
 apparent. "You must never give them another 
 chance. I will fight for you until I am down 
 and out and then you must do the rest." 
 
 "Trust me," said the girl. 
 
 "You understand what I mean?" he asked 
 anxiously. 
 
 "I understand," she answered softly, yet with 
 eyes shining with resolution. 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed Sullivan in deep satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 The girl smiled at him and laid her cool hand 
 upon his fevered head. 
 
 "Do try and get some rest," she urged. 
 
 "It is a strange meeting," said the cattleman, 
 who would evidently much rather talk to her, 
 
 256 
 
DROPPED FROM THE SKY 
 
 "and this is a strange time to tell you, but ever 
 since I knew you I have loved you! It was you 
 who kept me on the ranch. It was the thought 
 of seeing you in the summer time when you 
 came back, that made me stay there in the long 
 winter and wait. For you I gave up my roving 
 life and spendthrift ways and began to save 
 money. I was planning to tell you that I loved 
 you, and to ask you to give you a chance of say- 
 ing that you could not be my wife." 
 
 The girl's eyes were full of tears. 
 
 "My dear friend for whom I care so much," 
 she said tenderly, "don't ask me that I" 
 
 "I am not asking you," was the answer. 
 "I 'm just telling you. We are never going to 
 get out of this alive, and there is no need of your 
 making any reply. The soldier man he loves 
 you, too," he added, with great-hearted mag- 
 nanimity. 
 
 "Does he?" choked the girl through her tears, 
 and yet glad at heart for the assurance. 
 
 "Yes," said the cattleman; "he told me in the 
 canon yonder. We were both on your trail. 
 We found your slippers." 
 
 The woman nodded. 
 
 257 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "He gave me one and kept one himself. 
 Mine's gone. I must have lost mine coming 
 down the wall. I kept it in the pocket of my 
 hunting shirt, over my heart. He loves you, too. 
 I called him a coward but he is a good and a 
 brave man." 
 
 "Yes," said the girl, "and you are a brave man, 
 
 too." 
 
 "You could n't have loved both of us if you 
 had got away," continued the cattleman gravely. 
 "Tell me, honestly, is he the one you would give 
 yourself to if we both asked you?" 
 
 "Sullivan," she said faintly, hard put to it by 
 his searching questions but determining to be 
 true, "I cannot lie to you in the presence of 
 death. Love is a strange thing. I have known 
 you for many years. You have been so good to 
 me and I do love you, but not that way. He " 
 
 "Never mind," interposed Sullivan, gently, 
 as the woman buried her face in her hands and 
 burst into a fit of passionate weeping. He 
 patted her softly on her bowed head with his 
 left hand, although it gave him pain to raise his 
 arm. "Never mind," he murmured, "I make 
 no doubt he is the better man." 
 
 258 
 
DROPPED FROM THE SKY 
 "It is not that," said the girl; "I cannot help 
 
 it." 
 
 "No more you can't, Miss Amy. We can't 
 any of us help it," he assented. 
 
 "And I 'd rather die than hurt your feelings 
 now," said the girl, looking at him. 
 
 "It's all right," he said firmly. "I am here 
 to help you as much as I can; to give my last 
 breath for you; to die for you; to give you a 
 chance to die yourself, if need be. And this 
 makes it easier, too. I heard a preacher say 
 once that people like you ought to live and die 
 unspotted from the world. Those were his 
 words, I think." 
 
 Amy Benham crept near to the big man, who 
 was sitting up, leaning against the rocky wall 
 of the cave. She reached over and took his 
 poor wounded hand gently in her own, bent 
 down and pressed a -kiss upon it. 
 
 "Well," said Sullivan, staring straight ahead 
 of him down the narrow way to the cave, 
 "they '11 have a hard battle with me before they 
 get to where you are, Miss Amy." 
 
 259 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE ROUGH RIDERS OF THE WEST 
 
 THE night of the drawn battle between the 
 soldiers of Wainwright's command and 
 Roman Nose's detachment of Indians, the ex- 
 pected company of civilian scouts reported at 
 camp. There were some twenty cowboys from 
 the Benham ranch, led by old Johnson, and 
 thirty other good men, gathered from the near- 
 est of the frontier settlements. Every man 
 brought his own horse and arms. They were 
 splendidly mounted for they had the pick of the 
 horses of the country to choose from. Each man 
 carried a Winchester and a Colt's .45. A 
 blanket and a pair of saddlebags for provisions 
 and a cartridge belt jammed full of ammunition 
 completed their equipment. They rode light, 
 had no other baggage and carried no tents. 
 They were hardy men, accustomed to the fron- 
 tier, chosen for their ability to ride hard, shoot 
 
 260 
 
THE ROUGH RIDERS 
 
 straight, to fight anything, to disdain any odds, 
 and to endure to the end. 
 
 Among them were some men of prominence 
 who had agreed to serve for the fun of the thing. 
 A few were college men. Some were old soldiers, 
 but the main body was made up of experienced 
 frontiersmen. Such a body of rough riders 
 had probably never before assembled. Rightly 
 led and judiciously handled, there was no end 
 to what they could do. Sullivan would have 
 made an ideal commander for them, but he was 
 still absent and unaccounted for. Through 
 Johnson as spokesman, their demand of the 
 Colonel had been for him. Their disappoint- 
 ment that he was not with the command was un- 
 mistakable. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the Colonel, fully sym- 
 pathizing but rejoicing at the chance he had at 
 getting them under a regular soldier like Ken- 
 nard, "I regret it as much as you. He left Cap- 
 tain Kennard's troop in a canon yonder, de- 
 termined to try single-handed to effect the rescue 
 of Miss Benham, whom he believed to be in a 
 village which he had discovered." 
 
 261 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Was he left behind by the soldiers, de- 
 serted?" asked one of the men, threatening. 
 
 "By no means. He stayed voluntarily after 
 I had ordered the troop to return because I was 
 convinced of what afterwards developed, that an 
 ambuscade had been laid for them. Indeed, 
 had they gone farther they would have gone to 
 their utter extermination." 
 
 "Who commanded the troops?" 
 
 "I did," said Kennard, stepping into the fire- 
 light, "and it is just as Colonel Wainwright says. 
 I would have gone on gladly and risked my life to 
 rescue Miss Benham, although we had no cer- 
 tain knowledge that she was in the village, only 
 a probability, or perhaps better only a possibility, 
 but my orders were imperative. I had no op- 
 tion. And as the Colonel has said, we had 
 scarcely begun to retrace our steps before the 
 danger he feared developed. If he had not 
 brought the rest of the regiment to our rescue, 
 neither I nor any man in that canon would ever 
 have got out of it to tell the tale." 
 
 "And what became of Big Sullivan?" 
 
 "I do not know. He is a brave man and a 
 skillful one. And the Indians were busy with 
 
 262 
 
THE ROUGH RIDERS 
 
 us. They probably did not observe him. I 
 have an idea that he lay hidden in the canon un- 
 til nightfall and then did what he could. What 
 that might be, or where he is, or what he is do- 
 ing, I cannot tell." 
 
 "Could we ride after him?" 
 
 "Not if you entered the service of the United 
 States. And in any case it would be of no use. 
 You would ride to certain death and effect noth- 
 ing," said Colonel Wainwright firmly. "Gen- 
 tlemen, I shall not disguise from you," he went 
 on with growing emphasis, "that so soon as you 
 are regularly enlisted as civilian scouts in the 
 Government service, you will have to obey orders 
 explicitly. I do not expect from you the drill- 
 ing and the maneuvering of regularly trained 
 soldiers, but it will be impossible for you to co- 
 operate with us except on the ground of instant 
 and unquestioned obedience to every command 
 that may be given you by proper authority." 
 
 "Under whose command do you propose to 
 place us?" asked one of the old soldiers who 
 fortunately leavened the band. 
 
 "I wish to consult you about that, of course. 
 But if I am allowed to decide that question, I 
 
 263 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 shall put you under Captain Kennard here. He 
 is one of the most experienced Indian fighters in 
 my regiment. He was wounded in the Big 
 Horn Mountains several years ago and got a 
 medal of honor for his daring and courage. His 
 own troop has been badly cut up and " 
 
 "I should be glad," deftly interposed Ken- 
 nard, as the Colonel paused, unwilling to dilate 
 upon the mutinous spirit which had disgusted 
 Kennard with his men, "I should be honored to 
 have the command of such a body of men as you 
 are. The Colonel has promised, in case you ac- 
 cept me, that we shall be detached from the regi- 
 ment which is to remain here until heavily 
 reinforced and that we shall have a roving com- 
 mission, first starting to the westward across the 
 range, where we think Roman Nose has led his 
 men to join Crazy Horse to pile up on General 
 Crook. We are to observe them, cut off the de- 
 tached parties if we can, and cover the settle- 
 ments to the southward. I promise you hard 
 riding and plenty of fighting in the end." 
 
 "I see," said a new and youthful speaker from 
 among the men; "we are to be free lances as it 
 
 were." 
 
 264 
 
THE ROUGH RIDERS 
 
 "Exactly, but not too free, be it understood. 
 You heard," Kennard continued, resolved to be 
 absolutely frank, "what the Colonel said about 
 obedience to orders. We shall be, if I am hon- 
 ored by your choice, a body of friends, I am sure, 
 but the directing must be mine. Absolutely. 
 Now, then, gentlemen, what do you say?" 
 
 "I 'm for Captain Kennard," said old John- 
 son instantly; "I know him." 
 
 "I 'm agreeable," broke from one of the other 
 men. 
 
 "Wait!" said Captain Kennard, again inter- 
 posing and determined to play fair. "Some of 
 you come from Colonel Benham's ranch. You 
 know that Sullivan and I are both in love with 
 Miss Benham, and both would have sought to 
 marry her. It is rather unusual to say such 
 things to a body of men, but I am determined to 
 be entirely open with you. Sullivan and I had 
 words this morning because I insisted upon 
 obeying orders, and it ended by his stigmatizing 
 me and my command, when we turned back 
 from the village, as cowards!" 
 
 "And did you take that?" asked a frontiers- 
 man curiously. 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "I did," returned the other, although what it 
 cost him to make the admission could scarcely 
 be realized. "I was under orders. I could not 
 engage in private quarrels then. I had to obey. 
 I will settle with Sullivan later on, although I 
 will admit that looking at things from his point 
 of view there was some reason for his bitterness ; 
 but you understand now what obedience means 
 to me, and what it will have to mean to you." 
 
 "I know Joe Kennard," burst out Chambers, 
 a young frontier attorney from the county seat 
 who had joined the scouts for the fun of it, as 
 he phrased it. "I Ve known him for years. 
 There is n't a drop of coward's blood in his veins. 
 I am glad to go with a man who knows his duty 
 and will sacrifice his reputation even to it." 
 
 "Thank you, Chambers," said Kennard. 
 "Meanwhile, what do the rest of these gentle- 
 men say?" 
 
 "I 'm a friend of Sullivan's," spoke out old 
 Johnson ; "I know how hot-blooded he is, an' how 
 he feels about Miss Benham, which I hopes he 
 wins her instead of you, Cap'n, but the field is 
 open, an' the best man '11 git her, fair an' square, 
 I 'm certain. I 'm in hopes if we do come up 
 
 266 
 
THE ROUGH RIDERS 
 
 with the Boss, gents all, I can make it all right 
 twixt him an' the Cap'n, an' as far as I 'm con- 
 cerned, I 'm willing to serve under him. What 
 do you say, boys?" 
 
 He listened a moment to the various words of 
 approval and then suddenly called out, 
 
 "All those in favor, say aye!" 
 
 A roar of affirmation broke on the night air. 
 
 "Thank you, men," said the Colonel, now en- 
 tering the conversation again. "That is hardly 
 enough, however. There may be some man 
 who has not answered. All those willing to ac- 
 cept Captain Kennard for their commander, 
 and enter the service of the United States for this 
 campaign, or until discharged by proper au- 
 thority, will pass around to the right." 
 
 There was a tumultuous crowding of horses, 
 and in a short time the whole body of men had 
 arranged itself in some sort of order to the right 
 of the Colonel. 
 
 "I am glad to see such unanimity," said old 
 Wainwright, visibly pleased. "Chaplain," he 
 called, and as the old army chaplain came for- 
 ward; "will you let me have your Bible, 
 please?" 
 
 267 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 The clergyman handed to the Colonel the 
 small Bible which he took from the pocket of his 
 jacket. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the Colonel, "I have here a 
 Bible on which I will swear you into the service 
 of the United States. Raise your right hands." 
 
 Instantly every hand was raised and the deep 
 voices of the men signified assent to the solemn 
 oath of allegiance and service, which the Colo- 
 nel gravely administered. 
 
 "Captain Kennard," he said, as he handed the 
 Bible back to the Chaplain, "here is your troop. 
 Muster it. See that the men are regularly put 
 on a company roll. Take full charge and ap- 
 point your officers immediately. You will move 
 at four o'clock in the morning. I can furnish 
 you with four pack mules, a supply of ammuni- 
 tion, a medicine chest, and such rations as the 
 men can carry on their persons." 
 
 "Very good, sir," said Kennard. "Gentle- 
 men," he turned and faced the troop, "you have 
 honored me, indeed, in giving me the command. 
 Let us hope that the blessing of God will en- 
 able us to do good work for our country and the 
 helpless settlements below us." 
 
 268 
 
THE ROUGH RIDERS 
 
 "An' let 's hope we git Benham's gal," cried 
 one of the cow-punchers. 
 
 "Amen to that!" returned Kennard. "The 
 regimental quartermaster will see to the making 
 of the proper papeis. I shall appoint Colonel 
 Morris," he pointed to an old ex-Confederate 
 soldier, "as second in command. Johnson, you 
 will be next to him. Chambers, you next to 
 Johnson. In case anything happens to me, the 
 orders of these men in succession will be obeyed 
 and respected accordingly. I will have you 
 awakened at half after three. You can draw 
 three days' rations, about all you can carry with 
 your other stuff, from the Commissary at that 
 time. At four o'clock, men, I mean to be on the 
 way." 
 
 "You hain't forgot me, have you, Cap'n Ken- 
 nard?" said a familiar voice out of the darkness. 
 
 "What, Meekins ! No indeed," exclaimed the 
 young Captain gladly. "Do you wish to be 
 sworn in with the rest?" 
 
 "Not me," laughed the old trapper, "I gits 
 there an' fights on my own hook, but if you want 
 me to go 'long with you, why, I 'm willin'." 
 
 "I consider your presence worth that of any 
 269 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 dozen men, including myself, and meaning no 
 discredit to the rest of the men," said Kennard 
 warmly. 
 
 "I want to be in at the death," said the trapper 
 grimly; "I got a hunch thai we're goin' to git 
 the Half Breed, an' mebby find the gal." 
 
 "I hope so. I pray for another chance at 
 him. But you had better unsaddle and picket 
 your horses, gentlemen, and get what rest you 
 can. Morris, will you and Johnson and Cham- 
 bers attend to it. Now, good-night." 
 
 "Three cheers for Joe Kennard," cried old 
 Johnson, waving his hat in the air. 
 
 270 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 SHOTS IN THE HILLS 
 
 THE dawn was just graying in the east when 
 the rough riders filed out of the camp and 
 trotted gently around the shoulder of the range, 
 seeking a practicable pass to the westward. As 
 usual, Kennard and Meekins rode at the head. 
 The old frontiersman was talkative, as was his 
 wont. He was silent enough when going into 
 action, but he indulged his tongue freely on other 
 Jtcasions. 
 
 "You know," he said, "I can't help figgerin' 
 that somehow the gal escaped down the trail. 
 No, I did n't see no place where she could have 
 descended to the canon. The heavy rain which 
 poured down all day had washed away any sign 
 an' swept the slope bare 's the palm o' your hand. 
 I never seed no such rain afore. There might 
 have been ways to git down that mountain side, 
 an' I sort o' remembers a place where it might 
 have been possible for a desprit woman, espe- 
 
 271 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 cially afore the rain washed out any trees or rocks 
 that might have made natural steps an' enabled 
 her to git across the river, an' I got an idee that 
 if we strikes acrost the range an' searches the 
 valleys there, we might find her." 
 
 Kennard shook his head. 
 
 "She could never have escaped alone." 
 
 "Well, mebbe that's so, too," returned the 
 scout, "but who 's to say she was alone. There 
 might have been some friendly Injin in that 
 gang that stabbed the Injin in the pass. It 
 don't look to me like Miss Benham would have 
 killed him." 
 
 "You don't know what a woman can do when 
 she is at bay," suggested Kennard. 
 
 "No, that's true as Gospel," answered the 
 frontiersman, "an' I Ve seed 'em turned inter 
 tigers by trouble an' danger. At any rate, 
 there 's only two ways she could 'a gone, up the 
 trail or down it. If she went up it, she 's either 
 in that Injin village, or she ain't. If she went 
 down it, she must 'a crossed the river somehow, 
 somewhere. If she went up the trail an' is in 
 the village, an' is still alive, Sullivan will git 
 her, or git some word to her." 
 
 272 
 
SHOTS IN THE HILLS 
 
 "He is a man in ten thousand/' said the Cap- 
 tain; "even if he did put it into me, I can re- 
 spect and admire him, just the same." 
 
 "He '11 be ready enough to take that back, 
 Cap'n," said Meekins; "I knows him well." 
 
 "Well, I shall meet him half way," said Ken- 
 nard. 
 
 Meekins looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 "With my hand outstretched the way he 
 wants it," continued the Captain. 
 
 "An' how 's that?" asked the scout curiously. 
 
 "Empty or armed," the soldier answered 
 quickly enough, but with his eyes sparkling. 
 
 "That's the right spirit for a brave man. 
 Meanwhile, I believe we 're goin' in the right 
 direction to git the gal. I 've got a instinck that 
 somethin 's goin' to happen afore this day 's 
 
 over." 
 
 "What course do you think is the best for us 
 to take?' 
 
 "Well, we can't git acrost the canon nohow. 
 We 'd best put to the south'ard until we come to 
 the place where you divided the troop the other 
 day, an' there we '11 strike acrost the range an' 
 git into the uplands beyond. Then we '11 edge 
 
 273 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 away to the north'ard, doin' what we can to pros- 
 peck the country an' git in touch with the In- 
 jins in the way. Why, even if the gal was took 
 to that camp, they'll have undoubtedly broke 
 up by this time and moved off the squaws and 
 pappooses an' ponies an' plunder on the far 
 side of their bucks the war party, you know. 
 You see that Roman Nose, who 's a mighty good 
 soldier his trick up the canon showed that, 
 when he nearly got your troop will want to 
 have his women well off to the north'ard where 
 he can protect 'em. He '11 know that any pur- 
 suit has got to come from the south an' he '11 be 
 lookin' out for us." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 "After their battle of yesterday," returned 
 Meekins, "an' the fact that we 've retired from 
 the field, they won't be apt to move till this 
 mornin'. They'll be dancin' an' jubilatin' 
 around the camp fires an' they won't git much 
 the start of us." 
 
 The reasoning of the old man was apparently 
 accurate. His intuition was almost marvelous, 
 thought Kennard, as he listened to this sagacious 
 setting forth of the probabilities. The scout's 
 
 274 
 
SHOTS IN THE HILLS 
 
 suggestions completely coincided with his own 
 views and plans. 
 
 The going was good so long as they kept away 
 from the broken country; the horses were fresh, 
 the men were eager, so that by twelve o'clock, 
 when they stopped for a brief respite, they had 
 gone some forty miles. They had long since 
 passed the mouth of the canon and had crossed 
 the river, which was there easily fordable, and 
 had progressed some distance up the mountains. 
 There was a practicable pass across the range 
 before them, and this they were to essay after 
 dinner. 
 
 "What lies beyond the pass?" asked Kennard 
 of the scout, as he sat smoking with the men 
 around the camp fire where bacon was broil- 
 ing and coffee was cooking. 
 
 "Well, there 's three or four of them holes, 
 you know, off to the north'ard, which I ain't 
 never explored, an' then there 's a long stretch of 
 gentle rollin' country, a kind o' high tableland. 
 We can go for a hundred miles or so if we keep 
 to the south'rd of the ranges that springs off to 
 the westward. Them '11 be the mountains that '11 
 be coverin' Roman Nose's moves. I think our 
 
 275 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 best plan will be to cross the range to the north 
 side arter a while." 
 
 "How's the country there?" 
 
 "Rough. It 's most like the Bad Lands of the 
 Dakotas." 
 
 "It will be no worse for us than for the In- 
 dians, however, and we will be nearer to them, 
 with a better chance of observing them, and a 
 better chance of striking them." 
 
 "Yep, that J s so." 
 
 "And then the mountains will always be on 
 our left flank," put in old Colonel Morris, "af- 
 fording us a place of retreat, if we should need 
 it." 
 
 "There speaks the old soldier," said Kennard. 
 
 "Well," said Colonel Morris, "I didn't serve 
 four years in the Confederate Cavalry for 
 nothing. Why," he went on with the freedom 
 of a veteran, "this takes me back to old 
 times" 
 
 "I hope, though," interposed Chambers, 
 "there is n't going to be any retreating." 
 
 "That is as the Cap'n says," remarked John- 
 son philosophically, puffing at his pipe. "I be- 
 gins to see that to make a success of a jaunt like 
 
 276 
 
SHOTS IN THE HILLS 
 
 this we got to be under steady direction all the 
 while, an' as for myself, an' the bunch I brung, 
 we 're goin' to obey orders, every time." 
 
 "Thank you, Johnson," said Kennard, smil- 
 ing slightly; "I see that you are a born soldier, 
 if not an old one." 
 
 "I 'd be anything on earth," returned the 
 cattleman, gravely, "if I could only git that gal 
 back safe an' git my hands on that Half Breed, 
 damn him!" 
 
 "Amen!" answered one of the Benham ranch 
 crowd, to this singular prayer. 
 
 "Yep, that's what we all say!" burst out one 
 of the men from the group sitting near and 
 listening intently to the conversation. 
 
 Kennard, touched on the raw, arose and 
 walked away from the fire. He stood staring 
 at the range, wondering what lay behind and 
 whether it would be possible, in the Providence 
 of God, that in that vast country he might find 
 the woman he loved. 
 
 "He 's hard hit," said Chambers to the others. 
 
 "Aye," answered old Johnson, "an' from 
 what I Ve seen an' heerd, now that I recollects, 
 I believe the gal 's in love with him, too. She 
 
 277 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 talked a heap about him last year when she come 
 back from school on her vacation." He shook 
 his head. "Poor Sullivan, I wonder where he 
 is." 
 
 "He 's putting in good work for her some- 
 where, I '11 bet," said Colonel Morris, puffing 
 away at his pipe. "And, if she is to be rescued 
 single-handed, there is n't a man in Wyoming 
 I had rather trust the job to than that big 
 rancher." 
 
 "You are right," said Meekins, and the praise 
 was the more magnanimous, since he himself 
 might have fairly disputed with Sullivan, save 
 in brute strength, availability for such tremen- 
 dous services. 
 
 "It is hard on us all," remarked Chambers, 
 "but it must be hardest for him," and he pointed 
 back to Kennard, "and I for one am going to 
 do everything in my power to second him." 
 
 "We 're all with you," cried one of the men 
 from the group, amongst a chorus of warm ap- 
 provals, which made Kennard at last turn 
 around. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "we have been here 
 nearly an hour. In five minutes we must start." 
 
 278 
 
SHOTS IN THE HILLS 
 
 The signal was welcomed with alacrity. The 
 horses were saddled, and the men were soon on 
 their way. For two hours they struggled up- 
 ward through the pass. It was yet early in the 
 afternoon when they at last crossed the back- 
 bone of the divide and descended to the other 
 side. It was, as Meekins had predicted, a broad 
 open, rolling country ahead and to the south of 
 them. While to the north, the range shot a 
 huge, high, towering spur abruptly far west- 
 ward until it disappeared in the distance. Be- 
 low, four or five miles away, swept a broad and 
 shallow river, which seemed to issue from a rift 
 in the precipitous wall of the mountain on the 
 right of their advance. 
 
 The party drew rein on the summit of the 
 pass to rest their horses, and gazed upon the en- 
 chanting picture. The old scout, however, had 
 no especial eye for the beauty of the scene, and 
 he instantly pointed out the river flowing from 
 the cleft. 
 
 "That '11 be one of them holes I told you 
 about. There, where the river flows out. You 
 know Jackson's Hole, an' the other places them 
 outlaws kept?" 
 
 279 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Yes," said Kennard. 
 
 "Well, that '11 be one just like it, I doubt not. 
 She may be in a place like that." 
 
 "Would you advise that we cross the range 
 then?" 
 
 "The sooner the better," answered Meekins. 
 
 "Do you know this country?" 
 
 "Not to any extent on yonder side of the Big 
 Horn Range," answered Meekins. 
 
 "You think we could get across the range 
 through one of these pockets or holes?" 
 
 "Hardly, but we '11 find some way, I am sure 
 of it." 
 
 "Forward, gentlemen," said Kennard, start- 
 ing down the slope. 
 
 The descent was easier than the ascent, and 
 as the elevation of the western side of the moun- 
 tains was higher, it was not so long. In half an 
 hour they found themselves on the level upland. 
 Increasing the pace to a trot, the little command 
 moved rapidly forward. 
 
 It was now four o'clock in the afternoon when 
 they splashed into the shallow river. They had 
 edged toward the mountains and were but a few 
 
 280 
 
SHOTS IN THE HILLS 
 
 rods from the narrow gate-like pass, whence it 
 rushed torrentially, only to spread out in a 
 shallow, gentle stream after its escape from the 
 cliffs. 
 
 They stopped their horses in the river and let 
 them drink of the cool, sweet water, and took 
 occasion to bend down and fill their own can- 
 teens. Reluctant to draw them away from so 
 pleasant a scene, the young Captain sat motion- 
 less, a little apart, looking at the men. They 
 were a hard-bitten set, most of them, there was 
 no doubt about that, but they looked capable and 
 reckless to the last degree. He thought they 
 would go on forever and then some more, in 
 the language of the frontier. He would have 
 matched his own troop back in camp against any 
 troop in the army before their mutinous conduct 
 had shaken his confidence in them, but, saving 
 the fact that these men had not been trained, and 
 lacked the habit of subordination and long, hard 
 drilling, which he had thought had welded his 
 troop into a perfect machine, they were better 
 men individually than the soldiers. They were 
 a body of men he could lead anywhere, and do 
 
 281 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 anything with that human beings could be ex- 
 pected to do and perhaps then some more 
 again! 
 
 He turned at last from watching the laugh- 
 ing and chattering group, to stare hard at the 
 mountain wall, and as he did so, he heard faintly 
 through the opening made by the river, rifle 
 shots! 
 
 Every man in the troop heard them at the 
 same time. Every man straightened up on the 
 instant, and listened in strained attention. Even 
 the horses seemed to catch the infection of their 
 riders' emotions, for they drew up their heads, 
 and the place grew suddenly still except for the 
 splashing of the water against the knees of the 
 animals. 
 
 "Shots!" cried Meekins, "yonder in that hole! 
 What can it be?" 
 
 "We are here to find out," said Kennard. 
 "Come, gentlemen!" 
 
 He crossed the river to the firm bank and, 
 followed by all, galloped headlong toward the 
 narrow rift in the gigantic wall. 
 
 282 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE CAVE-WOMAN 
 
 THERE had been occupation in plenty for 
 the three castaways interred in that little 
 cave during the long morning. Amy's escape 
 and her doings since then had first of all to be 
 told. Then, in turn the cattleman took up the 
 history. He recounted all that had occurred 
 since her father's death. He described the bat- 
 tle in the pass, the finding of her slippers. 
 Alas ! the one which Kennard had so generously 
 given him had been torn from him as he slid 
 down the cliffs. It was probably lying in some 
 crevice of the rocks. He told her faithfully 
 everything that had occurred, all that he had 
 said and done, especially in that memorable 
 scene in the pass where he had left the troops 
 he had reviled. He neither accused nor excused 
 himself nor any one. He just told the plain 
 truth. 
 
 She listened with staring eyes and bated 1 
 283 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 breath, as he described the desperate hazard he 
 had gone through in the wild search for the 
 woman the Captain and he both loved. 
 
 She interrupted him infrequently until he 
 came to the description of the episode in the box 
 canon where Kennard had refused to charge 
 the village, and had chosen rather to obey 
 orders, and where Sullivan had called him a 
 coward. 
 
 The pallid countenance of the girl flushed 
 deeply at this. Sullivan, who never took his 
 eyes from her face, noticed the sudden glow in 
 her cheeks. 
 
 "You don't like that," he said, with a curious 
 sinking of the heart. 
 
 The girl shook her head. Her blue eyes 
 flashed. 
 
 "You called the man I " she checked her- 
 self in time. "You called him a coward and in 
 the face of his troop. That was hard to bear," 
 she went on. "What did he then?" 
 
 "He wanted to kill me," answered Sullivan 
 simply. "Perhaps he would have killed me, or 
 tried to, or I him, if he had n't been a soldier." 
 
 The suffering of the big ranchman was worse 
 284 
 
THE CAVE-WOMAN 
 
 than she knew. Her feelings were so patent 
 and open, and although he had resigned himself 
 to it and indeed, whether she loved him or an- 
 other, bade fair to be of little moment since life 
 held practically no prospects for either of them 
 yet, he could scarcely bear it. It was like the 
 turning of a knife in a raw and open wound just 
 when it was sorest. 
 
 As for Amy Benham, she was a soldier's 
 daughter, and had been brought up to a full 
 realization of the duty of a soldier. His honor 
 and allegiance and obligation were obvious to 
 her from her father's old tales of ancient wars, 
 in which he had borne a part. She compre- 
 hended the situation perfectly; and yet, she had 
 not been a woman had she not felt a pang of 
 fierce jealousy that she had to give place even 
 to the highest duty which natural feeling Sul- 
 livan intensified by pointing out the facts of the 
 case. 
 
 "You see, Miss Amy, he went back, but I 
 
 came on." 
 
 It was boasting, of course, and not worthy of 
 him, but the man was wrung with pain, physical 
 and mental, and was so wildly jealous himself. 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 in spite of his brave attempt at philosophy, that 
 he may be pardoned. 
 
 "He did his duty as a soldier." 
 
 "That 's what he said," returned Sullivan. 
 
 "And duty compelled him to return." 
 
 "Duty!" exclaimed the cattleman. "My 
 whole duty was to find you, to rescue you, to save 
 the girl I loved" she here put out her hand, but 
 he would not be checked "from horrors worse 
 than a thousand deaths, that involved tortures 
 unthinkable. Do you imagine for a moment 
 that I would let any duty interfere with that!" 
 
 "You are not a soldier," returned the girl, 
 stoutly. 
 
 "I am your soldier," said Sullivan, equally 
 resolute, "and if I had been the general in com- 
 mand I would have gone on just the same with 
 an army or alone for you." 
 
 "And left your men to be massacred, for that 
 would have happened had they followed you, 
 would n't it?" 
 
 "I suppose so. Yes," was the reluctant ad- 
 mission. "Well, I would have left them just 
 the same. What 's the world, or all the men in 
 it, soldiers, or not, compared to you!" 
 
 286 
 
THE CAVE-WOMAN 
 
 It was rough wooing and powerful. Amy 
 Benham would not have been human if she had 
 not thrilled to it. 
 
 "I would have gone on," continued Sullivan, 
 "though it had cost me my life and the lives of 
 my men. I would let everything go to smash 
 for you. Well, he went back!" 
 
 "What must it have cost him," said the girl 
 thoughtfully, and that she could think of Ken- 
 nard's suffering rather than Sullivan's devotion, 
 gave him another throb of jealousy. "Suppose 
 that he he he loves me as much as you 
 imagine, if he believed I was there, suffering as 
 you say, cannot you think of the awful agony of 
 the man who had to leave me behind. You 
 don't think him a coward, do you?" she added 
 appealingly; she had lived long enough in the 
 West to realize that no man could suffer that 
 charge and retain any one's respect. 
 
 "No," was the grudging answer, wrung from 
 the unwilling cattleman. "I '11 take that back 
 if I see him; that is, if he gives me a chance!" 
 
 "Gives you a chance?" 
 
 "Yes ; I have no doubt he '11 shoot me on sight, 
 or try to, and if we ever get out alive, since 
 
 287 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 you love him, I won't hinder him," he added 
 bitterly. 
 
 "I will prevent that," said the woman, quite 
 forgetting poor Sullivan for Kennard, "and my 
 heart is wrung for him. It is an awful thing to 
 brand as a coward a man of honor, a brave man, 
 because he has been brought up from his youth 
 to put duty before all the other things in the 
 world, even before a woman when he loves her. 
 I cannot understand how you could say that to 
 a man who has had instilled in every fiber of 
 his being the qualities that go to make a loyal 
 soldier." 
 
 "He chose between obeying his orders and 
 possibly sacrificing the woman he loved," was 
 the curt rejoinder. 
 
 "Yes, and I can see him now. I can feel for 
 him. You ought to understand that his heart 
 broke there in the box canon. I don't believe 
 he even thought about your calling him a cow- 
 ard. He must have been thinking about me. 
 Where is he now?" 
 
 The girl's words came brokenly. At last she 
 put her head down in her hands and began to 
 weep softly. 
 
 288 
 
THE CAVE-WOMAN 
 
 "Good Godl Miss Amy," burst out the 
 rancher at last. "Don't. I can't bear to see you 
 cry! I wish he were here. I 'd take it all back. 
 He did right according to his lights, I suppose. 
 Thank God! they ain't my lights, but that is 
 neither here nor there." 
 
 "It is all so hopeless," said the girl through 
 her tears. "Our food is gone. I am sick, 
 starved, broken. You are wounded, helpless. 
 What can we do? Who will protect us now?" 
 
 "It ain't for the likes of me to speak of such 
 things to the likes of you," answered the big 
 cattleman, slowly and gravely, "but I knew you 
 when you were a child. I remember once com- 
 ing into your room at night to see the Colonel 
 about an important matter that could n't wait, 
 and your father was sitting down on the bed, and 
 you were kneeling by him, a tiny girl, in your 
 little white gown, saying your prayers. Can't 
 you pray now? You do that and I will work." 
 The old, old combination, Sullivan; the ir- 
 resistible combination of faith and works! "If 
 they will let us alone until nightfall I will try to 
 get out of here. The soldiers, I take it, must 
 have fallen back. They will be in the vicinity 
 
 289 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 of Tear Lake. My legs are all right if my hands 
 are more or less useless. I will get word to them 
 somehow." 
 
 "I have prayed," sobbed the girl, "day after 
 day, hour by hour, and nobody seems to hear!" 
 
 "Perhaps God brought me to you, Miss 
 Amy," responded the other clumsily, as is the 
 habit of men in such discourse. "I can hold that 
 entrance yonder for a while at least, and per- 
 haps rescue is coming this way. It is not in my 
 Irish heart to despair. You have been pre- 
 served unharmed so far." 
 
 "Yes, thank God!" answered the girl, looking 
 at him through her tears. 
 
 "There, that ? s right; when you begin to thank 
 Him, it will be easy to pray to Him." 
 
 "You are right," said the woman. 
 
 She had been sitting by his side. She got to 
 her knees, and there in the rude shelter in the 
 rocks, alone, save for the savage woman and a 
 bruised, sorely stricken man, the girl poured out 
 her soul to God in humble petition for the ex- 
 tension of His love and His care over the 
 wounded and the helpless and the forsaken. 
 
 It was very still in the little cave in the cliff 
 290 
 
THE CAVE-WOMAN 
 
 after that. None cared to break the silence. 
 They were, it might almost be said, listening for 
 a response to the petition. It was the ever- 
 practical Mah-wissa who moved first. The 
 canteen was empty. She limped to the spring 
 which flowed in the cave near the entrance and 
 stooped to fill it. As she did so, she got a 
 straight lookout through the entrance far down 
 the valley. Across the range of her vision there 
 swept a plumed and painted figure and then 
 many more. Carefully filling the canteen, she 
 turned back to where the other two sat. 
 
 "They come," she said laconically, handing 
 the vessel of cool water to the thirsty, fevered 
 man. 
 
 "Is that the answer to our prayer?" asked the 
 girl with a burst of hysterical laughter. 
 
 "No," said Sullivan, sternly rebuking her, and 
 by the strangeness of his words giving her 
 strength and much encouragement. "You 
 prayed for protection and help. I am the 
 answer. Give God a chance! Give me a 
 chance!" 
 
 God and man together! the ancient associa- 
 tion to which all things are possible. What 
 
 291 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 could they two do for her. Well, the girl 
 should see. 
 
 Meanwhile, Sullivan got to his feet, the wo- 
 men helping him. With his left hand he 
 clutched the barrel of the Winchester. It 
 would be time enough to put the torn fingers 
 of his right hand about it when the compelling 
 need approached more imminently. So long as 
 he could he would spare the other hand. Then 
 he slowly staggered through the pass until he 
 stood well within the entrance, sheltered from at- 
 tack and concealed from observation save from 
 one, to the Indians, almost impossible point of 
 view. 
 
 "What are you going to do now?" asked Amy 
 who, with Mah-wissa, had followed him. 
 
 "By God's help I am going to keep them out 
 of here until " 
 
 He paused significantly. The girl nodded. 
 
 "I shall know what to do then," she answered 
 simply, quite understanding the meaning of his 
 silence. 
 
 "Very well. When they come on, you get 
 back in the cave with the squaw." 
 
 "Yes. Have they seen us yet?" 
 292 
 
THE CAVE-WOMAN 
 
 "Not yet, but it won't take them long to find 
 us. For one thing, we left a trail of blood from 
 the place where I fell over the cliffs, and then 
 that Indian saw us headed in this direction." 
 
 He pointed out into the light. From the ob- 
 scurity of the cave the maneuvers of the In- 
 dians were easily visible. There must have 
 been half a hundred of them, passing and re- 
 passing. The Half Breed was easily a leader 
 among them. 
 
 "He has brought the whole village down on 
 us," muttered Sullivan. "God, if I only had a 
 gun that would shoot!" He looked at the 
 damaged Winchester trailing by his side. "I 
 could make short work of him anyway and it 
 would be some satisfaction to send him to hell 
 ahead of me." 
 
 "You are not going there," said Amy Ben- 
 ham, quickly. 
 
 "I am going to die all right; we all of us are." 
 
 "Yes, but you will die for me," and the girl 
 whispered gently, " 'Greater love hath no man 
 than this, that a man lay down his life for his 
 friends."' 
 
 "Who said that?" 
 
 293 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Our Lord." 
 
 There was a long pause which was suddenly 
 broken by Mah-wissa. 
 
 "Me go out," she said. 
 
 "No," answered Sullivan, "you stay here. If 
 Miss Amy fails, you make sure they do not get 
 her alive." 
 
 The squaw nodded. She understood. At 
 that instant a chorus of yells burst from the In- 
 dians. They had discovered the trail. It was 
 easy to see where it pointed. They clustered 
 about it and stared. 
 
 Sullivan drew back, but not quickly enough. 
 They got a glimpse of him in the narrow pass, 
 framed on one side by the face of the cliff, and 
 on the other by the high rampart of bowlders, 
 steep and sharp enough to prevent any one of 
 the Indians from climbing over. Neither could 
 they get to the top of the cliff and thence shoot 
 down upon him on account of the overhanging 
 of the face. Indeed, the cliff and bowlders of 
 the outer wall almost met did meet in some 
 places over his head so as to make the little 
 narrow pass a penthouse. Given arms, it was 
 
 294 
 
THE CAVE-WOMAN 
 
 the sort of a place one man could have held 
 against a thousand. Alas, Sullivan had no 
 weapons, save those nature gave him. Well, he 
 would make a good fight with those. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE BERSERKER 
 
 44 >TpHE battle's on," said the cattleman; 
 -* "they have seen us." 
 
 As he spoke there was a crashing volley i 
 the open. They heard the bullets ring against 
 the wall. Splinters of stone flew in all direc- 
 tions, but the cave dwellers had drawn back 
 behind a turn in the pass and they remained un- 
 scathed. 
 
 "Safe so far!" cried Sullivan, almost cheer- 
 ily. 
 
 The old ineradicable leaven of the flesh, the 
 lust of fighting, was getting back into his veins, 
 renewing his strength, and giving him the vigor 
 of which his many wounds had drained him. 
 He turned and looked at the woman he loved. 
 
 "I would like to stay and fight by your side," 
 she said, her bosom heaving, her breath coming 
 short and quick, her eyes shining, the contagion 
 of his spirit upon her. 
 
 296 
 
THE BERSERKER 
 
 "It can't be. You would only hamper me. 
 I want all the room there is. You must go 
 back!" 
 
 "I obey," said the girl. 
 
 "But before she did so, she stepped toward 
 him, caught him by the shoulder, and it was 
 the wounded shoulder she grasped unwittingly, 
 but he did not feel the pain in the great rush of 
 feeling that swept over him as she lifted her 
 face and kissed him. 
 
 "Good-by; you are a brave man. God won't 
 forget!" 
 
 She clung to him an instant and was gone. 
 
 A new man indeed, as well as a brave one, 
 Sullivan stepped toward the entrance and 
 sought such concealment as was possible to him. 
 
 Through crevices and crannies in the rocks 
 he could see what was going on. Necessarily 
 he ran the risk of a stray bullet searching out 
 some crack and hitting him, but the hazard of 
 that was not great. 
 
 The Indians, directed by the Half Breed with 
 considerable skill, had scattered in various di- 
 rections, and from all sides a perfect storm of 
 bullets now poured into the mouth of the 
 
 297 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 miniature pass. It would have meant instant 
 death to any one who had stood in view. They 
 kept this up for some minutes until finally the 
 vain fusillade died away. 
 
 This attack, if such it might be called, was 
 met with utter and absolute silence. Not a 
 sound came from the cave in the hills save the 
 dying echoes of the quick volleys. This puz- 
 zled the Indians greatly. They consulted to- 
 gether and finally a little body detached itself 
 from the line, took cover behind bowlders lying 
 against the side of the cliffs, and cautiously 
 moved forward toward the entrance. 
 
 The attack was coming, thought the cattle- 
 man, nerving himself to meet the onset. But 
 none came ; with wild whoops and yells, the In- 
 dians suddenly darted from cover and dashed 
 wildly squarely across the opening. As they 
 passed outside of the line of fire, another volley 
 smote against the rocks and rang through the 
 twisted pass. 
 
 The ruse was so patent that Sullivan laughed 
 grimly, as he thought about it. They hoped to 
 draw his fire, and they were willing to risk 
 their lives in order to get him to step out into 
 
 298 
 
THE BERSERKER 
 
 the opening where they could shoot him down. 
 Two or three times this maneuver was re- 
 peated, and of course, without avail, since he 
 had neither rifle nor revolver. 
 
 More consultation followed. What it would 
 result in he could not tell ; yet, he did not relax 
 his vigilance for a moment. It was well that 
 he remained on the alert, for suddenly there 
 burst into full sight, around the rocks to the 
 left of the buttress wall, an Indian, Winchester 
 in hand. He appeared in the opening with 
 startling suddenness. He had been detached 
 from the right flank of the Indians and had 
 crept up to the buttress wall, and counted upon 
 killing the man, whom he supposed to be in the 
 entrance, by taking him by surprise when he 
 sprang into view. As he appeared, he fired 
 point blank into the entrance. 
 
 Into the smoke of the discharge Sullivan 
 leaped. He clasped the barrel of the gun with 
 both hands now. How he got his wounded, 
 shattered fingers around it he could not have 
 told, but fury made him ignore the pain, and 
 before the Indian could repeat his shot, he 
 brought his war club the weapon of the cave 
 
 299 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 man, his forbear crashing down on his 
 assailant's head. The stock, already broken, 
 splintered under the fierce blow, which tore 
 through the feathered headdress the Indian 
 wore, and beat out his brains. There was only 
 the barrel left in the rancher's hand, which 
 would be of advantage to him in a hand to hand 
 fight, which must certainly follow, on account 
 of the limited space in which to swing his 
 weapon. 
 
 The ground sloped sharply from the entrance, 
 and although the rancher made a quick grasp at 
 the Indian's Winchester, his blow had been so 
 terrific that the savage was fairly hurled down 
 the slope; he fell at its foot, clasping the rifle in 
 his dead hand, and quite out of reach. 
 
 For a moment, Sullivan was in plain view 
 through the smoke. The Indians saw the war- 
 rior fall and lie motionless. An instant dis- 
 charge rang out. A bullet grazed the man's 
 cheek. Another cut through the fleshy part of 
 his leg. Neither, however, shook him. Before 
 they could repeat the fire, he was back in 
 safety. 
 
 The detonation of the Indian's shot, fired into 
 300 
 
THE BERSERKER 
 
 the narrow pass, had roared in the women's ears 
 like Alpine thunder. 
 
 "Sullivan!" exclaimed Amy Benham in ter- 
 rible anxiety. 
 
 "I've killed the first one!" he answered in 
 notes of triumph. 
 
 "Are you hurt?" 
 
 "Scratches. What are you doing?" 
 
 "Praying!" 
 
 "Good! You pray and I '11 fight like hell." 
 
 His words were drowned by another volley. 
 The Indians, seeing that no return shots were 
 fired, had come boldly into the open. The Half 
 Breed surmised that the man was weaponless, 
 and they were approaching the mouth of the 
 cave, recklessly exposing themselves, and firing 
 as they came. Some of the less hardy among 
 them were still taking such cover as the rocks 
 afforded, but as no return shots came, they also 
 grew bolder. Finally they stepped indifferently 
 into the open, and under cover of the smoke, with 
 wild warwhoops the whole body rushed toward 
 the mouth of the pass. As the firing died out y 
 Sullivan cried out: 
 
 "They are coming! Good-by! Remember!" 
 301 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Let me go to him," cried Amy, but the 
 Indian woman threw herself upon her white 
 sister and wrestled with her. 
 
 "He say no ; you stay here I" she panted as they 
 struggled. 
 
 Outside the air was filled with noise. Inside 
 there was silence for a space. Presently, how- 
 ever, the cattleman gave tongue. 
 
 "Come on!" he cried. "And you, Girot! 
 You Half Breed hound! Give me a chance at 
 you, you murderer, you woman stealer!" 
 
 His voice suddenly stopped. The listeners 
 heard the thud of falling blows. Shrieks of pain 
 mingled with yells of agony and savage impreca- 
 tions. The cattleman's voice rang hoarsely 
 again after a few moments of awful suspense. 
 
 "They 're getting me! I can't hold out much 
 longer!" 
 
 What was happening at the mouth of the little 
 pass? This! The first Indian that stuck his 
 painted face into the entrance received a thrust 
 in the mouth from the pointed gun barrel that 
 nearly tore his head from his shoulders. He did 
 not have time to fall backward, for the surge of 
 the others behind compelled him to pitch for- 
 
 302 
 
THE BERSERKER 
 
 ward. Springing from cover with a leap like 
 that of the primitive cave bear, Big Sullivan, 
 with a roar of rage, flung himself on the hurling 
 mass. Knives were drawn, tomahawks were 
 raised, one revolver cracked in the melee, but the 
 gun barrel rose and fell like a flail beating down 
 the heads of grain. 
 
 The pass was narrow and not more than three 
 could stand abreast, and these were hampered 
 in their movements. Fortunate for the defense 
 was that sharp slope of the ground downward 
 and away from the entrance, so that the big 
 rancher stood a little above them, making it the 
 more difficult for them to come to him. He 
 thought he would surely be overwhelmed when 
 he called to Amy, but no, the pressure on him 
 suddenly relaxed. 
 
 It was not in human nature, and especially 
 Indian nature, which does not love such close 
 fighting, to withstand so terrible a beating as he 
 was giving them, and presently, leaving four 
 of their number senseless or dead, and dragging 
 two shattered and broken bodies after them, the 
 Indians broke and gave back from the pass where 
 Sullivan, swaying and staggering, bleeding from 
 
 303 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 a dozen wounds, his gun barrel covered with 
 blood and matted hair and bits of flesh, still kept 
 his feet, triumphant, unconquerable. As they 
 turned to fire on him, he sought his old place of 
 shelter once more. 
 
 "Miss Amy!" he cried, "are you there still?" 
 "Waiting," answered the girl, "knife in hand." 
 "Don't drive it home until you hear from me, 
 or until I am silent. Do you understand?" 
 "Yes, God bless you!" 
 "They're coming again!" 
 Moved by an uncontrollable impulse of dar- 
 ing and recklessness, the tide of fighting blood at 
 full flood, and knowing now that it was for the 
 last time, as the Indians, this time led by the 
 Half Breed, made another mad rush for the pass, 
 Sullivan sprang out of it. He set his back 
 against the cliff wall and confronted them, a gory 
 and frightful figure. His shirt had been torn 
 from his breast in the wild struggle. Down the 
 white surface of his massive chest blood streamed 
 and streaked it; sweat matted his hair; blood 
 scored his cheek. He dripped with life, and yet 
 he faced them in erect, undaunted silence, their 
 Master! It was the stone age, plus lingering 
 
 304 
 
THE BERSERKER 
 
 remnants of higher civilization not yet entirely 
 sloughed off, facing the stone age, naked and 
 unashamed. They could kill him, they could 
 not conquer him. 
 
 If he had only stood out in the open before he 
 would have been shot to pieces, but the red men 
 coming forward had left their guns behind and, 
 with one exception, had resorted to the primitive 
 weapons for the last great fight. And even as 
 he, the red lust of battle possessed them as they 
 came slowly crowding on, like the white man, 
 ominously and unusually silent for the few re- 
 maining seconds before the battle was joined. 
 
 "You, Girot!" growled Sullivan at last. 
 "You come first!" 
 
 He had time to say no more before the whole 
 body precipitated themselves upon him. He 
 did not wait their onslaught. Girot had so 
 maneuvered as to be behind two others. The 
 gun barrel fell crashing upon the neck of one, 
 and he was done for; and although the next 
 Indian stabbed the cattleman full in the side, he 
 was knocked down like a batted ball by a mighty 
 sweep of the club of steel. The next second, 
 casting away his club, and resorting to the oldest 
 
 305 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 weapon of all, his naked hands, like a storm beat- 
 ing against a wall, the big Berserker leaped 
 upon the Half Breed, receiving from him a shot 
 in the breast as he did so. There was not time 
 to press the revolver trigger again. 
 
 The mongrel struck him over the head with 
 a hatchet as he came on, but that leap could no 
 more be stopped than the human hand could stay 
 the avalanche. Winding his great^arms about 
 the Half Breed, crushing him relentlessly 
 against his bloody breast, seizing him in a very 
 death grip, the cattleman fell with his enemy 
 locked in his loving embrace in the midst of a 
 confused heap of Indians. They reeled over 
 and over on the rocks, writhing in a death 
 grapple and agony, while the savages crowded 
 around and strove in desperate hurry and confu- 
 sion to stab the white conqueror. 
 
 In the mouth of the pass, Amy with Mah- 
 wissa watched the scene horror stricken. When 
 Sullivan had leaped outside, Amy, at last break- 
 ing from the Indian woman's detaining grasp, 
 had run to the entrance. She stood there, her 
 right hand clutching the knife, waiting. She 
 saw Sullivan's last mad, splendid rush. She 
 
 306 
 
THE BERSERKER 
 
 saw him clutch the Half Breed. She 
 saw them go down in the midst of the multitude 
 of hurtling, yelling, stabbing, frenzied figures. 
 Then, and not till then, did she raise the knife. 
 With her left hand she tore open her ragged 
 waist, exposing her white bosom to the light. 
 
 "Show me where!" she said to the Indian 
 woman. 
 
 "Here!" answered Mah-wissa, laying her 
 brown fingers over her sister's throbbing heart 
 
 307 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 "OVER THE RANGE" 
 
 one second she stayed her hand; for 
 one blessed second. No one had yet no- 
 ticed her. There would still be time. As she 
 waited, reluctant to drive home he 1 * ^nife, an- 
 other sound broke suddenly on her ear. Cheers ! 
 good, hearty, American cheers! Faint yet dis- 
 tinct she heard them. No angel voices ever 
 sounded sweeter to human hearing than they! 
 
 Reckless of consequences now, she sprang clear 
 of the entrance and looked down the valley. A 
 few hundred yards away horsemen were ap- 
 proaching at a wild gallop. Rifle shots volleyed. 
 The writhing group over the two prostrate 
 figures dissolved as if by magic. Bullets tore 
 through them. Savages shrieked and fell. The 
 surviving Indians turned and fled to their ponies. 
 
 The Half Breed disengaged himself with one 
 final mighty wrench from the failing grasp of 
 the cattleman and struggled to his feet. He was 
 
 308 
 
"OVER THE RANGE" 
 
 the last to arise. Although he was last and 
 therefore nearest to the swift, approaching horse- 
 men, so that his chances of escape were poorest, 
 envenomed with hate, he took time to grind his 
 moccasined heel into the other's bloody face. 
 He had lost every weapon save the revolver that 
 hung at his waist. He drew it with incredible 
 quickness, fired one shot at the two women, now 
 in plain view, and another at the nearest white 
 man. Neither took effect. He could not wait 
 for a second try. He leaped to his pony and 
 raced up the valley after the flying Indians. 
 
 A blue-coated figure, straining forward on a 
 madly galloping horse on the Half Breed's trail, 
 swept by the two women as a lightning flash. 
 A wave of his hand and he was gone. 
 
 The place of battle was at once filled with a 
 tumultuous crowd of cheering, yelling men gal- 
 loping like fiends after the big bay horse on 
 which Kennard far in the lead rode in pursuit 
 of the escaping Indians. There was such joy, 
 such exultation in his heart for he had recog- 
 nized her, she was safe as made him fairly 
 lift the great bay thoroughbred through the 
 air. 
 
 309 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 In their effort to escape, the Indians naturally 
 scattered, hoping thus to divide the chase and 
 increase their chances. The rough riders did 
 the same, each man coolly selecting his particular 
 quarry. They were all aware that there was 
 probably no exit through which a fugitive could 
 gain the upland before being overtaken, and 
 each man, having marked the woman, was fairly 
 drunk with the lust of the fight, to kill those who 
 had brought them to this strait. They ran like 
 hounds at the end of the hunt, eager to be in at 
 the death, all thoughts merged in the mad de- 
 sire to slay, kill! 
 
 If the Half Breed had thought to insure his 
 own safety by his own skill, or the swiftness of 
 his own steed, he was soon undeceived. Well 
 mounted as he was, his horse was not built for 
 such a wild burst of speed as the Captain's 
 blooded animal was exhibiting. In a long chase 
 the Indian pony would have won, but this was 
 to be a short flight, and in such the thorough- 
 bred's pace would serve the purpose better than 
 the other horse's endurance. Indeed, such was 
 the desperate determination of the soldier, thank- 
 ing God as he rode, that if his horse had been 
 
 310 
 
"OVER THE RANGE" 
 
 made of wood, his own energy would have 
 forced it on. 
 
 He was rapidly overtaking the Half Breed. 
 The latter turned in his saddle and surveyed his 
 pursuer, a sickening sense of fear filling his soul, 
 the more terrible because he had thought it so 
 impossible that he could be caught. A half hour 
 before he had been sure that he would dispose of 
 the cattleman easily and at last possess the girl. 
 And he had planned to mete out to her such 
 treatment as he brutally fancied she merited. 
 He would have no pity for her. But the tables 
 were turned in the twinkling of an eye. And he 
 imagined that it would be by torture that his life 
 would now be forfeited. Sweat, cold, clammy, 
 beaded his brow. His beating heart was like 
 to choke him. His cold hand fumbled at his 
 holster. He finally managed to draw from it 
 his revolver. There were still three shots left 
 in it. Facing backward he fired twice in rapid 
 succession. Aiming was difficult, however, and 
 both shots missed. The pursuer was coming up, 
 was almost upon him now. 
 
 Observing that no one eise was pursuing him, 
 he came to a sudden resolution. Swerving to 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 one side, he threw his horse violently back on its 
 haunches, nearly breaking its legs in the process 
 as he did so. He leaped to his feet, and as Ken- 
 nard bore down upon him, he fired his last shot. 
 Kennard, realizing instantly what was toward 
 swung his horse into the air by a lift of his pow- 
 erful arm. The bullet struck the gallant thor- 
 oughbred full in the chest. His race was over. 
 Fully prepared, Kennard plunged to one side, 
 disengaging his feet from the stirrups, and as the 
 horse fell forward, he leaped to the ground. 
 
 The two men confronted each other, the 
 soldier revolver in hand. The Half Breed, sev- 
 eral shades whiter than he had ever been before, 
 stood composedly enough outwardly, awaiting 
 the doom so surely coming. Yet he had not alto- 
 gether given up hope. It is the disadvantage of 
 the gentleman, endowed with all the finer feel- 
 ings, in dealing with the blackguard who has 
 none, that one is susceptible to appeal to that 
 honor which the other does not possess. 
 
 "I Ve got you at last!" gritted out Kennard, 
 raising his revolver, "and now you '11 pay!" 
 
 Instantly the Half Breed widely opened his 
 arms and showed his empty hands. 
 
 312 
 
"OVER THE RANGE" 
 
 "I am unarmed, Monsieur," he courteously 
 remonstrated, singular how he could sometimes 
 look like a gentleman ! "Would you shoot a de- 
 fenseless man?" 
 
 "By God!" cried the Captain, passionately, 
 dropping his revolver to his feet, his face con- 
 vulsed by all the accumulated fury and hate of 
 the week, "I don't need anything but my naked 
 hands for a murderer and an abductor of 
 women!" 
 
 The Half Breed laughed easily. Those mor- 
 dant words did not touch him. His appeal was 
 being met as he would have it. The next mo- 
 ment the soldier was upon him. Kennard was 
 of slight build; his appearance more delicate 
 than his real strength. The Half Breed, who had 
 just sustained the grapple of a giant like Sulli- 
 van, fancied contemptuously, that he could easily 
 dispose of the much less mighty soldier, but hate 
 long entertained, despair long indulged, hope 
 suddenly enjoyed, transformed the white man. 
 And the pure blood, as ever, was to master that 
 which was mixed and debased. That sneering 
 laugh was the last that ever broke from the lips 
 of the mongrel. The two closed instantly, the 
 
 3*3 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 Half Breed biting and snarling like a tiger cat, 
 while the soldier did his fighting silently but 
 terribly. 
 
 Kennard had been a famous wrestler at the 
 Point. Presently he caught the Half Breed, 
 who knew little of the game and had trusted to 
 brute strength and agility, in a desperate and un- 
 breakable lock. Although the latter clung to the 
 American with the tightness of the writhing 
 python to its would-be victim, Kennard, slowly, 
 steadily, irresistibly tore him loose, and by an ef- 
 fort that even the herculean Sullivan could not 
 have bettered, suddenly, with one final mighty 
 wrench lifted him in the air. The bitterness of 
 defeat and death were in the Half Breed's heart 
 for one swift second as the soldier ruthlessly 
 flung him far from him, to fall crushed, bruised, 
 broken, dying on the rocks below. 
 
 The man was still alive, when Kennard, pale, 
 panting for breath, his clothing torn by the vio- 
 lence of the brief struggle, bent over him. He 
 was unconscious, however, his back was broken, 
 his head was crushed ; he would soon die. Ken- 
 nard composed the limbs of his dying antagonist, 
 and stood watching him until one of his men rode 
 
 3H 
 
"OVER THE RANGE" 
 
 up. Shots here and there throughout the valley 
 indicated what was happening elsewhere. 
 
 "Are you all right, Cap'n?" the man ap- 
 proaching cried anxiously. 
 
 "Yes," was the answer, as the officer turned 
 and faced old Johnson. 
 
 "Who have you got there? By God! it 's the 
 Half Breed!" He leaped from his horse as he 
 spoke, and drew his pistol. "I '11 finish him." 
 
 Kennard interposed with a quiet word of 
 command. 
 
 "He is finished now. Don't shoot him. His 
 back is broken and his head crushed." 
 
 "Might as well put him out of his misery 
 then," sneered the other in a mockery in which 
 there was no pity. 
 
 The soldier shook his head. 
 
 "Stay here with him till he dies. You prom- 
 ise me you won't shoot him?" 
 
 "Why, what the hell! " 
 
 "You promise me! Remember you are under 
 orders!" 
 
 "Oh, very well," Johnson answered sulkily. 
 "I '11 nuss him like a sick baby 'til he goes to 
 hell, damn him!" 
 
 315 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "When he is dead, come back and tell me. 
 May I have your horse?" 
 
 Then, with nerves wrung, his heart throbbing 
 from the wild adventure, Kennard unsteadily 
 mounted the other's horse. 
 
 "Be you hurt, Cap'n?" asked Johnson some- 
 what anxiously. 
 
 "No, why?" 
 
 "You look so white and " 
 
 "I had a hard tussle with him." 
 
 "I seen it," said the cowboy; "1 'd just finished 
 my particular buck" he lifted a gory scalp 
 from his belt "an' I noticed you strugglin' with 
 him. I seen you pick him up and throw him 
 from you like a ball. God! It was magnifi- 
 cent! Sullivan, himself, couldn't have done 
 better." 
 
 "Where is he, by the way?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "You saw the women?" 
 
 "Yep, Miss Benham and a squaw." 
 
 "They looked all right?" 
 
 "All right to me." 
 
 The weary Captain started the weary horse 
 back toward the cave. There was a little group 
 
 316 
 
"OVER THE RANGE" 
 
 around it when he drew rein and slipped down. 
 Mah-wissa stood at the foot of a gory, gigantic 
 figure, a mass of blood and rags, save his face, 
 which Amy Benham, with the sleeve torn from 
 her waist, had washed free from blood with the 
 water her Indian sister brought. Kennard 
 recognized his rival at once. There was that in 
 Sullivan's condition which obliterated all 
 rancor, all resentment, all earthly strife of what- 
 soever degree. 
 
 "Thank God!" cried the Captain fervently, 
 stepping near them, "that we have found you!" 
 
 Amy Benham, who was sitting on the ground 
 with Sullivan's head on her knee, looked up, her 
 eyes swimming with tears, an expression on her 
 countenance that no man could mistake. Even 
 the dying Sullivan saw it. 
 
 "You see," he faltered, "your prayers did 
 
 count." 
 
 "Yes," said the woman softly, "my prayers 
 and your fighting." 
 
 "It was a good fight," said the big rancher, 
 "eh, Captain?" 
 
 "Such a fight as I have never heard of," an- 
 swered Kennard heartily. "There were eight 
 
 317 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 dead Indians lying about on the slope! Did 
 you kill them all?" 
 
 "If I 'd had any other weapon than a busted 
 gun I could have done better." 
 
 "You did heroically with what you had! 
 How do you feel?" 
 
 "I 'm done for." 
 
 "As bad as that!" asked the soldier, kneeling 
 down and laying his hand upon the other man's 
 wrist. 
 
 "All in," said the cattleman, faintly. He 
 closed his eyes for a moment. "The Half 
 Breed?" he broke out suddenly. 
 
 "I got him!" answered Kennard concisely. 
 
 "I did my best to kill him. They were too 
 many for me. Is he dead?" 
 
 "Yes," said old Johnson, at this moment dis- 
 mounting from a pony he had caught and 
 upon which he had ridden up unobserved. "He 
 died cursing you all." 
 
 "And you?" asked the Captain. 
 
 "I let him curse on. How is it with you, 
 Pat?" he continued, kneeling by his old friend, 
 his face working with grief he could not re- 
 press. 
 
 318 
 
"OVER THE RANGE" 
 
 "It is well with me, I guess," was the answer. 
 "Kennard," he spoke with sudden sharpness, "I 
 called you a coward. I 'm sorry!" 
 
 "That from as brave a man as you are," said 
 Kennard gently, "is more than enough." 
 
 "Miss Amy," said Sullivan, with a little smile 
 on his lips, "you kissed me before the battle in 
 the pass I 'm going now will you kiss me 
 again? Kennard won't mind." 
 
 "No," said Kennard quickly. 
 
 Amy shifted her position and bent over and 
 kissed him softly on the lips, the tears raining 
 upon his face as she did so. On either side Ken- 
 nard and Johnson knelt. Back of the party 
 Mah-wissa stood with folded arms, the canteen 
 lying at her feet. Around the dying man lay the 
 gory trophies of his prowess. Cattleman, rough 
 riders, seeing the little group, rode up from here 
 and there, dismounted, took off their hats and 
 stood staring in awe-struck grief. The ranch 
 boss noticed them, smiled faintly at them, even 
 lifted his hand toward them in a brave gesture 
 of farewell. 
 
 "Won't some one say a prayer?" faltered 
 Sullivan at last, and from Amy Benham's ! ips 
 
 319 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 slowly fell these solemn yet broken words on the 
 still air the old familiar prayer of commenda- 
 tion for the dying. 
 
 How glad she was that she had been made to 
 learn that and most of the other prayers of her 
 dear Church by heart when she was a child. 
 
 "O Almighty God, with whom do live the spirits of just 
 men made perfect, after they are delivered from their earthly 
 prisons: We humbly commend the soul of this thy servant, 
 our dear brother, into thy hands, as into the hands of a 
 faithful Creator, and most merciful Saviour; most humbly 
 beseeching thee, that it may be precious in thy sight" 
 
 The white-faced woman, the dark, stern visage 
 of Mah-wissa, Kennard's troubled face, John- 
 son's rough countenance working, the rough, 
 awe-struck men grouped about, some of them 
 wet-eyed, the savage dead in their gay apparel, 
 making vivid spots of color on the brown rock. 
 The woman's voice faltered on 
 
 "Wash it, we pray thee, in the blood of that immaculate 
 Lamb, that was slain to take away the sins of the world, 
 that whatsoever defilements it may have contracted in the 
 midst of this miserable and naughty world, through the lusts 
 of the flesh, or the wiles of Satan, being purged and done 
 away, it may be presented pure and without spot before 
 thee; through the merits of Jesus Christ, thine only Son, 
 our i^ord." 
 
 320 
 
"OVER THE RANGE" 
 
 Sullivan opened his eyes at last. He turned 
 his head and gazed fixedly into the face of the 
 woman he loved ; the voice that had gone on so 
 slowly repeating the old prayer graven in her 
 heart, stopped. 
 
 "Amen!" said the big man suddenly, col- 
 lapsing in her arms. 
 
 Amen indeed! What had the girl said to 
 him ere he ventured his life in that last great 
 effort for her in the pass : 
 
 "Greater love hath no man than this; that a man lay 
 down his life for his friends" 
 
 And that was thy epitaph, O Man of the 
 Great West, there in the dying day in that lost 
 valley. 
 
 321 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 BELOVED 
 
 THE day was now far spent. The soul of 
 the cattleman had gone out with the set of 
 the sun. The night would soon be at hand. In 
 the saddle since four in the morning, Kennard's 
 men had had a long and exhausting ride and a 
 hard fight at the end of it. The women were in 
 no condition to travel without food and rest; 
 which they could now take in security for the 
 first time in many days. Their presence con- 
 stituted a problem with which Kennard was not 
 prepared to deal on the spur of the moment. 
 He wanted time for reflection before determin- 
 ing what to do with them and his command. 
 Therefore he decided to make camp for the 
 night where he was in the valley. 
 
 A quick muster of the men disclosed the fact 
 that two of them were not present. Detailing 
 a strong party under Chambers to search the 
 valley and ascertain what had become of them if 
 
 322 
 
BELOVED 
 
 possible, he directed the rest to move down to 
 the river, picket the horses, kindle a fire, cook 
 supper and prepare to pass the night. 
 
 These orders were soon carried out, haver- 
 sacks were opened, and presently the fragrant 
 aroma of boiling coffee and frying bacon indi- 
 cated that the rude frontier meal was being made 
 ready. Under other circumstances Amy Ben- 
 ham would have been so crushed by the death 
 of her friend, that she would have been unable 
 to eat, but her hunger and that of her red sister 
 was positively wolfish. Almost every other 
 emotion was merged and lost in the frantic ani- 
 mal craving for food. 
 
 She had indeed collapsed physically after the 
 farewell of Sullivan. She had gone through 
 so many and such varied emotions in that day 
 and the days preceding. She had looked death 
 so closely in the face in the last hour and these 
 things had come as a culmination to the hard 
 experiences of the past week. She could 
 scarcely contain herself. She was completely 
 unwomaned. Helpless, weak, sick and hungry 
 ' starved I 
 
 Kennard's emotions when he began to take 
 323 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 thought about the present situation were decid- 
 edly mixed. There was great joy in his heart 
 that she had been rescued unharmed. There 
 was an intense satisfaction that he had been per- 
 mitted to execute that vengeance so richly 
 merited on the Half Breed. There was sincere 
 and genuine regret over the loss of the splendid 
 man who had died for the woman he loved, and 
 there was a fierce pang of jealousy lest that same 
 woman's heart would be buried in the grave with 
 the departed hero. 
 
 His manner with her was, nevertheless, as ten- 
 der as that of a woman. She was not a heroine 
 of romance in her appearance at least. Her 
 clothing she had worn a light summer gown 
 on that eventful morning was stained and 
 soiled. It hung in rags about her. Her poor 
 little feet, save for ragged bandages, were bare. 
 She was spattered with blood. She was gaunt 
 and haggard from her exposure and anxiety. 
 Her beautiful hair hung in a matted mass over 
 her brow. She was a pitiable spectacle. Yet, 
 he loved her. He worshiped the ground she 
 trod upon. He would have given the world to 
 take her poor little bruised and bleeding feet 
 
 324 
 
BELOVED 
 
 in his hands and kiss them well again. She 
 was a child to him. She clung to him in her 
 weakness as a child might have done. She suf- 
 fered him to do what he would for her. 
 
 There was no surgeon with the command to 
 care for her. Finally he, himself, with the as- 
 sistance of Mah-wissa, brought from his saddle- 
 bags, woolen socks which he bound around her 
 feet after washing them and applying such sooth- 
 ing compound to her bruises as the medicine 
 chest afforded. From some of the dead Indians 
 they secured moccasins for her. His own 
 blanket he put at her disposal. She could have 
 had the blankets of the whole troop if she had 
 but said the word. 
 
 When the meal was over, he himself fed her 
 sparingly, gradually satisfying her appetite. 
 He did not presume to speak one word of love to 
 her, but she was not so devoid of her usual 
 keenness of .perception as not to see in every ac- 
 tion, in every word, his unbounded and over- 
 whelming devotion, and she was neither so tired 
 nor so wretched as to be insensible to it. In- 
 deed, in spite of her misery, she thrilled to it. 
 To be cared for with such exceeding tenderness 
 
 325 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 filled her soul with satisfaction that was more 
 grateful and helpful to her than rest. 
 
 After the supper, which she thought all too 
 scanty for her needs, but which was as much 
 as he dared to give her, and after drinking a 
 fragrant cup of coffee which had been handed 
 to her, she felt better, and the change mani- 
 fested itself first of all in her anxiety over her 
 appearance. He had a few necessaries in his 
 saddlebags: a pocket comb, a piece of soap, a 
 handkerchief or two. Mah-wissa and she went 
 back to the cave and when she came back into 
 the firelight she looked another woman. The 
 tangled hair was coiled neatly, a handkerchief 
 was bound round her neck. With his housewife 
 she had effected some change in her torn and 
 tattered bodice. She walked with a firmer step, 
 putting out her hand to him frankly and freely 
 where he stood waiting for her between the 
 mountains and the camp. 
 
 There was one duty still to be performed. 
 He feared it would be a hard duty for her, yet 
 it must be done. Chambers' party had returned, 
 bearing with them the bodies of two of the white 
 men, whose hard fortune it had been to meet 
 
 326 
 
BELOVED 
 
 death at the hands of those they pursued. One 
 or two others had been slightly wounded, yet not 
 severely enough to prevent their going on in the 
 morning if necessary. 
 
 So far as the scouting party could tell, few, 
 if any, of the Indians had escaped. The place 
 was full of dead bodies. There must have been 
 two-score of them. They would have to be left 
 where they were. Under the circumstances, it 
 was necessary to bury where they fell the men 
 of their own command who had been killed, and 
 do it without delay. There was no way of carry- 
 ing the dead. The merciless demands of the liv- 
 ing must be thought of first. Sullivan, too, 
 would have to lie with his friends in the valley 
 he had immortalized by his valor. Kennard 
 told her this gently and she said she must see it 
 all. 
 
 Kennard was a Churchman. In his pocket 
 he always carried a little Book of Common 
 Prayer. The camp had been pitched by the side 
 of the river, over a mile from the bluffs, and 
 right in the middle of the amphitheater. The 
 river was a shallow stream ; its sandy bed, almost 
 devoid of water, was about one hundred and 
 
 327 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 fifty yards wide. Near where they camped 
 there was a low island with a tall, magnificent 
 pine tree, solitary, at the upper and higher end. 
 The island was fronted and covered with under- 
 growth. The water, not knee deep, flowed 
 around it on either side. Between the water and 
 the banks were broad expanses of hard, fine sand. 
 
 Kennard would have preferred to bury Sulli- 
 van and his two men under the bluffs, but the 
 country was of rock there, and he finally selected 
 the spot on the island at the foot of the gigantic 
 pine which, standing alone as it did, was a not 
 unworthy indication of the strong, great man 
 destined to lie beneath its evergreen branches. 
 
 It was dark now. With their big hunting 
 knives, their tin pans, coffee cups, whatever they 
 had, the men working hard scraped out three 
 graves, Sullivan's in the middle and the two 
 others who had died in his rescue on either side. 
 When all was ready pine torches were kindled. 
 Kennard took his place under the great tree 
 and read the touching service for the burial of 
 the dead, Amy Benham by his side, Mah-wissa 
 standing back of her, looking, in the flickering 
 uncertain light, like a brown shadow, the torches 
 
 328 
 
BELOVED 
 
 smoking and flaring, illuminating the serious, in- 
 tent faces of the men grouped about. 
 
 They wrapped the bodies in the blankets of 
 the dead Indians and gently laid them away. 
 The woman's tears fell silently as the Captain 
 slowly repeated the solemn words of the ancient 
 ritual. They had put in the big rancher's hands, 
 she noticed before they covered him up, the gun- 
 barrel, blood-stained and dented, with which he 
 had fought his way into eternity, for her. 
 When the graves had been covered, the men 
 working as if they had gone through, in the long 
 day since four o'clock in the morning, nothing 
 but simple play, had brought huge stones and 
 made three long heaps over each body, lest by 
 any chance the wolves would come and dese- 
 crate the graves. 
 
 Then, and not until then, did they leave the 
 low little island, and take up their places upon 
 the grassy banks and compose themselves to 
 sleep. There were plenty of blankets, captured 
 and otherwise, and in a sheltered spot beneath 
 the stars, Kennard had made a place for Amy 
 Benham to lie. He kissed her hand as he 
 bowed low before her and bade her good night. 
 
 329 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 He would have moved away but she detained 
 him. 
 
 Her place was somewhat removed from the 
 main body of the camp and the fires. It was 
 pitch dark now. There was only Mah-wissa to 
 see. The woman came to a sudden resolution. 
 She stepped close to him, her body thrilling, her 
 bosom heaving from his touch, her eyes shining 
 in the faint radiance of the distant fires, like the 
 bright stars in the dark heaven above. He 
 could see her face faintly lovely in the starry 
 night. 
 
 "I kissed him," she said, "because he was dy- 
 ing!" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He spoke gently enough but his own pulses 
 were leaping. 
 
 "I kiss you because you are alive and because 
 you have found me." 
 
 Boldly she suited action to word, and then as 
 he suddenly swept her close to his heart, he 
 strained her to him, giving back kisses for kisses 
 in a perfect flood of love and feeling. 
 
 "Amy! Amy!" he whispered brokenly, "how 
 I love you!" 
 
 330 
 
BELOVED 
 
 She drew her lips away a little after a while 
 and laid her head on his breast, and broke into 
 a passion of weeping. He pressed her head 
 gently, stroked her hair tenderly, and whispered 
 soothing words to her. She clung to him weak 
 and trembling. 
 
 "Oh, thank God!" she faltered at last, "that 
 you came; that you have me now; that I am here 
 with you. You will never let me go, will you? 
 No one shall take me away from you again. I 
 have no one but you now. Sullivan has gone, 
 and my father " 
 
 "To take you for my own has been the one 
 wish of my heart since I first knew you," mur- 
 mured the man passionately, holding her tight 
 as if he would never release her again. "I was 
 on my way to ask you to be my wife that morn- 
 ing when the news came. I could have killed 
 myself in the canon when I had to go back!" 
 
 "Sullivan told me," said the girl, suddenly 
 now become all a woman. "You did right. I 
 am a soldier's daughter. Your duty first." 
 
 "No," exclaimed the man, "you first!" 
 
 After a little while he tore himself away, al- 
 though she would fain have held him with her, 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 reluctant to let him go; but he knew that she 
 must have sleep, and so he bade her lie down, 
 exacting a promise from her that she would do 
 her best to get rest. 
 
 A long time she lay staring in gratitude up at 
 the stars, until by and by she fell into the deep 
 and dreamless slumber of security and content. 
 Kennard seemed made of iron. From a little 
 distance, in the darkness he watched her, draw- 
 ing nearer after a time. Finding she was asleep, 
 he approached her closely, bent over her, listen- 
 ing to her gentle, placid breathing. All was 
 well with her, thank God! 
 
 Colonel Morris, to whom the duty had been 
 committed, had seen that sentries were properly 
 placed. Roman Nose could not have got so far 
 away as to be out of striking distance, and no one 
 knew what other bands of savages there might 
 be roving about. For that reason the camp in 
 the open had been chosen, where they could 
 fight or fly with reasonable prospects of success, 
 if necessary. 
 
 Kennard visited these outposts, chatting a mo- 
 ment informally, observing as he spoke that good 
 watch was kept, leaving each man with a 
 
 332 
 
BELOVED 
 
 friendly word of caution and encouragement, 
 and seeing to it himself that proper reliefs were 
 arranged. Presently he went back, spread his 
 blanket some little distance away from Amy 
 Benham, but at her feet, and with his face turned 
 toward where she lay, dropped instantly into 
 the sound sleep of the tired soldier. 
 
 The dawn was graying in the east when he 
 was suddenly awakened. He rose on his elbow 
 with a sense of having received an alarm. As 
 he did so, he heard a shot, and then a shrill voice 
 crying: 
 
 "Injins! Injins! My God! Look at 'em! n 
 
 He recognized the voice as that of Meekins. 
 The scout was on his feet some distance ahead, 
 near one of the sentries, who had just discharged 
 his rifle. He was pointing off to the right, and 
 as he did so, his arm swept around until it ex- 
 tended straight up the valley. 
 
 Kennard by this time was on his feet, staring 
 at the bluffs, finding them fairly alive with 
 savages, silhouetted against the gray sky. They 
 could be made out quite plainly, although the 
 distance was so great. His eyes followed 
 Meekins' gesture to the northward. A half mile 
 
 333 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 ahead of the camp the river flowed from a thick 
 clump of trees. From these trees great bodies 
 of mounted Indians, seen less distinctly in the 
 dim light, were fast debouching. They were 
 coming down toward the river at a rapid gait. 
 A glance told him there were nonf. off to the 
 left, the westward, apparently. At least, not 
 yet. 
 
 334 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 BELEAGUERED 
 
 WHAT was to be done now? Kennard had 
 to think hard and fast on the instant. 
 "Get the horses," he cried, but as he did so, 
 a hideous commotion arose from the makeshift 
 corral where most of the horses were tied in a 
 long line. There was a wild plunging and rear- 
 ing. One horse tore himself loose, then the line 
 broke and the whole body of horses and pack 
 mules galloped madly in every direction. Two 
 Indians, creeping down the river, had stampeded 
 them. These two daring braves paid for their 
 enterprise. They were shot dead instantly. 
 Had it not been for the main body of warriors 
 in the valley ahead the horses could have been 
 regained easily enough, but it was too risky to 
 attempt such a thing under the circumstances. 
 A few of the horses tethered elsewhere were 
 saved for a little space. 
 
 335 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "The mules with the ammunition!" cried 
 Kennard. "Somebody look out for them I" 
 
 As he spoke, two rifle shots rang out in quick 
 succession. Meekins! The mules had gone 
 with the rest! It so happened that the man 
 whose business it was to pack them, knowing that 
 four o'clock was the appointed hour for break- 
 ing camp, had arisen betimes and had just fin- 
 ished getting the ammunition chests on the three 
 mules and the medicine chest on the fourth. 
 He had left them for a moment, unfortunately, 
 to return to the camp, and they had fled when 
 the other horses stampeded. The precious am- 
 munition would all have been lost, save for what 
 the men carried on their persons, had it not been 
 for the quick thinking of the old scout. Knowing 
 how impossible it would be to catch the mules, 
 he had shot two of the galloping animals, upon 
 whom he could draw a bead as yet, dead in- 
 stantly. The third and fourth got clear away. 
 
 The dead mules lay some distance to the west- 
 ward. 
 
 "Well done, Meekins!" cried Kennard, now 
 thoroughly master of himself and of the situa- 
 tion. "Volunteers to get those ammunition 
 
 336 
 
BELEAGUERED 
 
 boxes, four men to each box and one to com- 
 mand. You, Chambers? Select your eight 
 men. Now, gentlemen, get in ranks. Miss 
 Benham?" 
 
 "I am here," said the girl, standing, with 
 Mah-wissa, by his side. "Are we in any dan- 
 ger?" 
 
 "Not while any of us live. Steady, men! 
 Keep cool! They won't rush us right away! 
 Morris?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Johnson!" 
 
 "Here!" 
 
 "What do you think of it?" 
 
 "There must be six hundred warriors, if there 
 is one!" cried Morris. 
 
 "Right," exclaimed Meekins. 
 
 "Looks bad," said Johnson coolly, "but we 
 are here to do what you say." 
 
 "We will cross the river to the island." 
 
 Kennard looked toward the bluffs, for the mo- 
 ment wondering whether he could make a bet- 
 ter stand with his back to them, and rapidly con- 
 cluded that the island was his best position. 
 Besides, he would have to make a running fight 
 
 337 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 to get to the bluffs, whereas the island was but 
 a few paces away. 
 
 "Johnson !" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Take a dozen men and go over to the other 
 bank and cover those men bringing back the am- 
 munition chests. The rest of you take position 
 on the island around the pine tree. Line the 
 sides, take cover as much as you can. Those 
 that have horses bring them along. When they 
 are killed they will serve as breastworks and if 
 the worst comes to the worst, they will give us 
 food. Now, Miss Benham!" 
 
 He took her by the hand, Mah-wissa follow- 
 ing, and the whole command scrambled down 
 the low bank, tramped through the sand, 
 splashed through the river, and gained the 
 island, those who had horses leading them over. 
 The whole movement took much less time than 
 is required to tell about it. 
 
 They would have been attacked directly had 
 not the dash of Chambers and his men for the 
 ammunition boxes provided a diversion to the 
 island retreat. The Indian Chief detached a 
 heavy force to intercept these men, but Cham- 
 
 338 
 
BELEAGUERED 
 
 bers and the frontiersmen did n't lose any time. 
 They grabbed up the heavy chests and came 
 back toward the island on a dead run. 
 
 Meanwhile Johnson and his detachment 
 gained the bank, deployed and opened fire with 
 their heavy Winchesters as the Indians came 
 in range, knocking some of them off their horses. 
 Under cover of this confusion the whole party 
 finally got back to the others on the island. 
 There was ammunition enough in the rescued 
 chests, in addition to what they carried in their 
 cartridge belts, for all practical purposes, 
 especially if it were husbanded; and the men 
 on that island were not men to throw away any 
 shots, or to waste precious cartridges voluntar- 
 ily. 
 
 They had succeeded in saving perhaps a 
 dozen horses, including those of the officers, 
 which had been tied in a different place from 
 the large corral. They haltered these about in 
 the thick undergrowth around the island, know- 
 ing that the poor beasts would soon be shot, but 
 while they lived they would afford some pro- 
 tection to the troop. 
 
 The soil of the island was sandy. It rose on 
 
 339 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 an average not more than three or four feet 
 above the level of the stream. There was no 
 cover except the big pine where it was highest. 
 Between two of the long piles of stones marking 
 the graves of the three dead, Kennard had 
 placed the woman he loved. Next to her in 
 the corresponding shallow he put Mah-wissa. 
 The Indian woman strongly objected to this, but 
 she succumbed to his stern gestures. Saddles, of 
 which two or three had been brought, were piled 
 in front of these two hollows against the pine 
 tree. The women were told to lie down at the 
 peril of life. So long as they lay down they 
 were comparatively safe, except from a plung- 
 ing fire. A rapid glance at either bank of the 
 stream convinced Kennard's practiced eye that 
 not much shelter would be needed to protect 
 them from that. The safety of the women at- 
 tended to, he looked to his men. 
 
 They had scattered themselves around in a 
 circle, tangent at its upper end to the pine tree. 
 They were hidden somewhat from observation 
 by the bushes, but these afforded no protection 
 from shots. The Indians would undoubtedly 
 line the banks with riflemen and the island 
 
BELEAGUERED 
 
 would be swept by bullets as with a besom with- 
 out delay. 
 
 "Every man," said Kennard, rectifying the 
 line here and there, "will lie down on his face 
 at once and make himself a rifle pit. Scoop the 
 earth out from in front of you with your hands, 
 tin pans, cups, knives, or whatever you Ve got, 
 and pile it up and keep slipping backwards un- 
 til you have made a hole as long as you are. 
 Then creep forward and you will be under cover 
 and sheltered. Quick! They'll be on us in a 
 
 moment." 
 
 He had scarcely spoken before sharp volleys 
 rang out from either bank and a perfect hail of 
 bullets swept over the island. Every horse was 
 shot. Some were only wounded, and their wild 
 screams, most hideous of battle noises, mingled 
 with the rapid rattle of rifle fire and the yells of 
 the Indians. Some of the wounded animals 
 plunged so wildly at their halters that the troop- 
 ers themselves shot them to put them out of 
 their misery. 
 
 The first discharge had not brought any 
 casualty, perhaps on account of the horses; but 
 when they fell, and a clear sweep over the island 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 was thus made, the next volley was marked by 
 a shriek of agony. The scout nearest the Cap- 
 tain had been hit and was terribly wounded. 
 
 "Where 's the medicine chest?" cried Ken- 
 nard. 
 
 "I reckon it fell into the hands of the Injins," 
 answered Johnson. "You see, Noble,, whose 
 business it was to look after it, was killed last 
 night." 
 
 Kennard shook his head. There was no use 
 repining. He bent over the scout. As he did 
 so a bullet ripped across his bended back, 
 tearing his coat, but not otherwise harming 
 him. 
 
 "Lie down, Cap'n Kennard!" cried Johnson. 
 
 "Yep, take cover!" called one of the men. 
 
 "If you don't git down yourself, we '11 all git 
 up," cried a third. 
 
 Kennard had been standing up, encouraging 
 his men. Why he had not already been hit was 
 a marvel. The underbrush, which was falling 
 like grass before a mower, under the sheets of 
 lead the Indians poured upon the island, had 
 perhaps afforded him concealment. 
 
 "Captain Kennard!" cried Amy, sitting up in 
 342 
 
BELEAGUERED 
 
 her recess, "if you don't lie down I will come 
 and stand by your side!" 
 
 Thus adjured, Kennard sank to his knees. 
 
 "Get downl" he cried, surprised, if he had 
 thought of it, at the harshness in his voice, as he 
 looked at Amy Benham. 
 
 He next turned toward the men, who had 
 risen to their knees. 
 
 "Downl" he cried. "By Heavens!" as there 
 seemed to be some hesitation in compliance, "I 
 will have obedience on this island." 
 
 "We only want to git you down, too, Cap'n," 
 protested one of the men. 
 
 "I '11 look out for myself," was the reply. "I 
 am here to look out for all of you. Now, men, 
 when you see an Indian, fire, but don't shoot un- 
 less you do. We must make every shot tell and 
 waste nothing. You will have plenty of chances 
 before we get through with this. Mind! no 
 reckless firing!" 
 
 As he spoke, he went crawling about the little 
 circle, repeating his words. When he came 
 abreast of Meekins, whose rifle had just been 
 discharged, the scout remarked, with grim satis- 
 faction: 
 
 343 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Well, I got one of ' 
 
 "What do you think of it, Meekins?" 
 
 "I ain't had much time to think," was the re- 
 ply. "I guess we won't any of us need our think 
 tanks when we git through with this." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "We won't any of us have any left!" was the 
 foreboding answer. 
 
 "How many of them do you suppose there 
 are?" 
 
 "I calkerlate there are about six hundred, 
 bucks, I mean, an' look at the wimmen an' chil- 
 dern!" 
 
 He turned his head toward the cliffs and 
 foothills, now swarming with squaws and boys 
 and girls. 
 
 "Thank God," said Kennard, quickly, "that 
 they at least are not armed!" 
 
 "They '11 be in at the death all right," said 
 Meekins. 
 
 "Yes; we may have to deal with them by 
 and by. Who are they, do you think?" 
 
 "It '11 be Roman Nose's band, sure. They 're 
 Cheyennes, Sioux, an' Dog Soldiers. They be- 
 long to him. The Half Breed an' them that 
 
 344 
 
BELEAGUERED 
 
 was killed yesterday was a detachment of it. 
 It 's the same crowd we fought back on the river. 
 You see they Ve got their wimmen an' childern 
 an' everything else with 'em!" 
 
 "What do you advise?" 
 
 "You know as well as I, Cap'n." 
 
 "Yes, there is nothing to do but stay here and 
 fight it out to the last God help those women!" 
 
 "The squaw kin look out for herself. It 's the 
 white gal I 'm thinkin' of!" 
 
 "And I ! There 's no way of our getting out!" 
 
 "None on earth!" 
 
 "Men," said Kennard, raising his voice, "we 
 have nothing to do but stay here and fight it out. 
 We are never going to let those Indians get hold 
 of Miss Benham!" 
 
 "You bet your life we ain't, Cap'n!" 
 
 "I will give her a revolver, and if the worst 
 comes to the worst, the last man must save a shot 
 for her." 
 
 "Two shots," exclaimed old Colonel Morris, 
 "one for her and one for himself." 
 
 "We 're not all in yet, Miss Benham," cried a 
 third. "There '11 be some dead Injins before 
 they git you!" 
 
 345 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "We '11 die fer you right here on our bellies 
 on this island," yelled a fourth. 
 
 This conversation was not continuous. It was 
 punctured at frequent and irregular intervals 
 by rapid but harmless discharges from the In- 
 dians, and sharp, sudden cracks from the rifles 
 of the men. The bushes had all been mowed 
 down by this time, or so thinned as to afford no 
 concealment. The island was covered with 
 smoke. In the midst of the commotion the sun 
 shone suddenly and brilliantly up behind the 
 eastern range, filling the valley with golden 
 light. 
 
 By this time, in his crawling inspection tour, 
 Kennard had reached Amy Benham again. 
 
 "Don't move or raise your head," he said 
 softly, laying his hands on her feet. "I will slide 
 this extra Winchester along until you can get 
 hold of it, and at your feet as far as I can push 
 it to you, is a spare revolver. There is one for 
 you, too, Mah-wissa, in case you wish to fight." 
 
 "Me fight for Amee!" answered the squaw, 
 reaching out her hand to clutch the rifle. 
 
 "Will we ever get out of this alive?" asked the 
 white sister. 
 
 346 
 
BELEAGUERED 
 
 "I don't know. I pray God so! It is too 
 terrible to think that you should be rescued last 
 night only for this!" 
 
 "At least we are together!" 
 
 "Yes, and the last cartridge on the island will 
 be for you. We will never let you fall into 
 their hands alive." 
 
 "I will save one myself for that," said the 
 girl resolutely. "Indeed, I had the point of my 
 knife at my heart when you swept by last night." 
 
 "I saw you. I was wild with fear lest we 
 should be a moment too late. Now, I must go to 
 the men. Here is my knife. I want you to dig 
 down and make your place of concealment 
 larger." 
 
 "I am so useless," mourned the girl. 
 
 "Nonsense, you are the inspiration of us all. 
 We would fight to the end in any event, but we 
 will fight harder with you to protect." 
 
 "We '11 fight like hell itself, Miss," said old 
 Johnson, who was near, "an' all on account of 
 you!" 
 
 347 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE LAST RIDE OF THE CHEYENNES 
 
 AS the morning wore on, the battle became 
 faster and more furious on the part of the 
 Indians. Naturally, with their great numeri- 
 cal superiority, they wanted to end things in a 
 hurry. The white men, however, settled down 
 to make a long fight of it. 
 
 During the infrequent intervals of firing they 
 dug the rifle pits deeper and deeper. Gradu- 
 ally there arose around the circle perhaps 
 thirty or forty feet in diameter, a little breast- 
 work, the trench being on the inside, in which 
 the men could lie. Before it was completed, 
 however, a number of rough riders were killed, 
 and several more or less severely wounded. 
 Kennard, himself, was shot in the fleshy part of 
 his left arm, but made little of it, especially 
 after Amy Benham had bound it up. The 
 wounded, some of whom were terribly hurt, suf- 
 fered the most. The canteens of the men had 
 
 348 
 
THE LAST RIDE 
 
 been filled, and water, muddy but drinkable, 
 could be had by digging deep enough in the low 
 parts of the enclosure, so they were not incon- 
 venienced from thirst; but there was no surgeon 
 and even the small remedies that the scantily 
 provided medicine chest would have afforded 
 were impossible since it had been lost. 
 
 Amy Benham, followed by Mah-wissa, who 
 never parted from her for a moment, crawled 
 about among the stricken men, doing what she 
 could for them. Kennard had remonstrated 
 with her, and had begged her not to do it, but 
 she told him that she would die of suspense and 
 inaction unless she were permitted to help, and 
 he realized her influence, not merely upon the 
 wounded men, but upon the others. She was 
 surrounded by forty men who loved her, for 
 there was not a man on that little space of lost 
 ground, which she had most appropriately 
 named "Sullivan's Island," who would not have 
 died a thousand deaths for her. 
 
 Practically the island was far enough from 
 the cliffs to render any rifle firing from such 
 elevation innocuous. The Indians tried it, in- 
 deed, but to little avaiL The wonted bad marks- 
 
 349 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 manship of the savage stood the beleaguered in 
 good stead. If the Cheyennes had been better 
 shots, and had been more composed and care- 
 ful, the Americans would have been picked of! 
 one by one. It brought back remembrances of 
 days of old, of which his father, who also had 
 been a soldier, had told him, when Kennard ob- 
 served that several of his men were being 
 wounded with arrows. The Indians essayed a 
 plunging fire by shooting arrows into the air and 
 dropping them into the island enclosure. So 
 soon as this was resorted to, the men drew their 
 blankets over them, at old Meekins' suggestion, 
 and some protection was afforded in that way. 
 
 Arrows dropping from the skies, bullets 
 sweeping over them like driven rain, wounded 
 men groaning in pain and wild yells resounding 
 from every Indian, completed a scene of de- 
 moniac horror. 
 
 Kennard took his position at the head of the 
 island, which looked northward up the valley 
 down which the Indians had come. It was the 
 best place whence to observe what was going on, 
 and the best place from which to keep the 
 whole of his little command under his eye. Old 
 
 350 
 
THE LAST RIDE 
 
 Colonel Morris took the lower part. Johnson 
 looked after one side and Chambers the other. 
 
 About noon, the fire from either bank, which 
 had been practically continuous, seemed to be 
 slackening a little. Meekins crawled up to the 
 young Captain, who was using his rifle whenever 
 he could do so in spite of his pain-racked arm. 
 
 "Cap'n," he said, "there's somethin' up! 
 They're massin' yonder around that bend!" 
 
 "What are they going to do?" 
 
 "I can't tell. If I could git up that pine," he 
 looked longingly at the great tree, "I could git 
 a view of the hull country. I b'lieve I '11 
 
 He began to rise as he spoke. Kennard in- 
 stantly dragged him down to the earth again. 
 
 "Old man," said he grimly, "you would be 
 shot to pieces as soon as they saw you. Even 
 they could not fail to hit you!" 
 
 "Yep, I s'pose that 's so," admitted Meekins, 
 reluctantly abandoning the idea. "Look 
 there!" he pointed ahead. 
 
 A stalwart figure, naked as on the day he was 
 born, except for a breech clout, and a bright 
 scarlet officer's sash which he had got in some 
 treaty years before, which was drawn tight 
 
 3S 1 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 around his middle, trotted out into the open bed 
 of the river. In his hand he swung lightly 
 above his head a long and heavy rifle. His war 
 bonnet consisted of two buffalo horns, spring- 
 ing from a corona of eagles' feathers, which 
 trailed far behind him in the fresh breeze. He 
 wore moccasins upon his feet and a cartridge 
 belt at his waist. He was riding a splendid 
 white horse, not the ordinary Indian pony, and 
 would have stood full six feet two or three 
 inches on the ground. He would have been a 
 fine match for Big Sullivan, more light, perhaps, 
 and a little more slender, certainly, but beauti- 
 fully, magnificently proportioned. He sat his 
 restive horse easily, just out of rifle range, and 
 intently surveyed the camp. 
 
 "Do you know who that is?" said Kennard. 
 
 "Roman Nose," was the prompt reply. "I Ve 
 seed him often. That's the old man, sure!" 
 
 "What 's he up to, now?" 
 
 "I can't tell yet." 
 
 As they watched him, a great horde of In- 
 dians came crowding down over the low bank 
 and formed up irregularly behind the Chief. 
 There appeared, with the suddenness of a trans- 
 
THE LAST RIDE 
 
 formation-scene in a theater, scores and scores of 
 half-naked, painted, plumed horsemen lined up 
 in the valley. One or two of the frontiersmen 
 lying at the end of the island sent bullets up 
 toward the group, but they evidently fell short, 
 for no attention was paid to the shooting, and 
 Kennard ordered it discontinued. The river 
 made a slight bend, perhaps thirty or forty yards 
 from the pine tree, otherwise it ran straight 
 away to the place where the Indians were con- 
 gregated. 
 
 As the Captain and the scout watched them, 
 Roman Nose turned and seemed to be harangu- 
 ing his warriors. Presently they formed into 
 a sort of an irregularly massed column. 
 
 "Look!" explained the officer, "there must be 
 one hundred and fifty of them in the front rank 
 and God knows how many they are deep." 
 
 Although the river was now but a shallow 
 brook, in the rainy season it was a broad and 
 powerful stream, and its bed would easily admit 
 of that number of horsemen forming in a line 
 abreast. Kennard noticed that they filled it 
 from bank to bank and he could not see how 
 many lines followed the first. 
 
 353 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "What are they going to do, I wonder?" 
 queried old Meekins uncertainly. 
 
 What they were about to attempt was some- 
 thing the like of which neither he nor any one 
 had ever seen before, nor would ever see again 
 in the savage warfare of the plains. 
 
 "If they were white men, soldiers, that is," 
 answered the Captain, "I should think they were 
 preparing to charge." 
 
 "But whoever heerd of a body of Injins charg- 
 in' down on a comp'ny of men like this, all dead 
 shots an' under cover, an' in broad daylight," 
 exclaimed the old trapper. 
 
 "I never did." 
 
 "No more did I, an' I can't believe they're 
 goin* to do it." 
 
 "I don't know. That Roman Nose is a 
 soldier all right. He is brave enough for any- 
 thing." 
 
 "Well, I '11 grant you that," admitted the 
 scout, "but how 's he to git them fellers to come 
 after him?" 
 
 "You know what one brave man can do with 
 even a crowd of ordinary men." 
 
 "Yep, I sure does, an' them fellers yonder 
 
 354 
 
THE LAST RIDE 
 
 must be fairly thirstin' to git at us. You sec, we 
 wiped out the Half Breed's band, and before 
 that we cut Yellow Foot an' his crowd to pieces. 
 There must have been two or three got away 
 though." 
 
 "Of course," said Kennard, "and they brought 
 him down upon us. He is going to try to end 
 it all with one smashing blow." 
 
 "It's like one of them old-fashioned turney- 
 ments I read about when I was a kid, ain't it?" 
 
 "Yes, only no tournament was ever fought 
 with such a prize in view." 
 
 He paused and looked back at Amy Benham 
 lying at full length beside one of the men who 
 was badly wounded. She was carefully bath- 
 ing a jagged arrow wound in his cheek with 
 water from her canteen. 
 
 "You mean the honor of the gal?" 
 
 "I do!" 
 
 "Cap'n Kennard, we Ve all swore, me an' the 
 boys, a solemn oath, that she '11 never fall into 
 the hands of them red devils!" 
 
 "And I have sworn it, too!" said the soldier, 
 extending his hand to the old trapper, who shook 
 it vigorously. "Look," he exclaimed, staring 
 
 355 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 ahead again after a little pause, "there 's an- 
 other one!" 
 
 "Yep, that'll be the medicine man," re- 
 plied the trapper. 
 
 A gaudily bedizened and bedecorated figure 
 had ridden out from the crowd and had taken 
 a position a little to the rear and some twenty 
 yards away from Roman Nose. This medicine 
 man wore a brilliantly painted war shirt. In 
 his gay color he presented a strange contrast to 
 the statuesque bronze Indian Hercules who had 
 command. 
 
 "Them medicine men is the very devil for 
 raisin' hell gener'ly," continued Meekins. "I 
 know his breed. He 's got 'em all persuaded 
 that he an' them bears a charmed life. I '11 look 
 out for him all right, if they 're sich fools as to 
 try to ride us down," he added grimly. 
 
 "And I will take Roman Nose for my par- 
 ticular quarry," returned Kennard, his eyes 
 sparkling. "How many do you think there 
 are?" 
 
 "Well, there must be six or seven hundred of 
 'em," replied the scout, after a long, critical sur- 
 vey. "You say there 'd be about a hundred and 
 
 356 
 
THE LAST RIDE 
 
 fifty in the first rank, an' there must be at least 
 five ranks, I calkerlates." 
 
 "I agree with you." 
 
 "They 'd ought to scatter, it seems to me, an' 
 come at us from all pints of the compass." 
 
 "They can't. The river bed is not wide 
 enough, and besides, they are going to pour a 
 rifle fire on us from the banks and keep us down 
 until these fellows ride over us." 
 
 "We '11 have to chance that, I reckon." 
 
 "Yes," said Kennard. "Men," he raised him- 
 self on his elbow and waited until he got at- 
 tention, "Roman Nose is going to try to ride 
 us down. I think we had better cease firing 
 and every man look to his Winchester. Let 
 every man have his magazine full, and his re- 
 volver likewise. Keep under cover until the 
 word is given and then every man to his knees. 
 Do not fire until I give the word, and then pour 
 it into them without stint, Winchesters first, 
 after that revolvers. Get the rifles and re- 
 volvers of the wounded and dead. The men at 
 this end will have to bear the brunt. Just as 
 soon as the Indians get near enough, the rifle 
 firing from the flanks will stop. They will be 
 
 357 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 so excited on the banks that they cannot hit us, 
 and anyway we will have to take the risk. The 
 charge has got to be beaten off. If they once get 
 on the island, God help us! I suspect they will 
 veer around on either side of us, and if they do, 
 the men to the right and left and in the rear 
 have to be on the alert. Remember, the last 
 shot of the last man is for the woman 1" 
 
 "We '11 remember that," cried old Johnson, 
 amid deep cries of approval from the men. 
 
 "I know you will," said Kennard. "Now, 
 men, no firing until I give the word!" 
 
 There had been a lull in the rifle firing from 
 the banks while he spoke, as the Indians' move- 
 ments and plans were being coordinated, but 
 it suddenly broke out on either hand with re- 
 doubled fury. As it recommenced, Roman 
 Nose, lifting his heavy rifle high in the air, put 
 his horse to a trot. Instantly the whole Indian 
 line followed. At first they rode in silence 
 broken only by a series of wild adjurations from 
 the medicine man. 
 
 "They're comin'!" cried Meekins. "Good 
 God, who ever heerd the like of this! In all 
 my life I never seed no sich charge!" 
 
 358 
 
THE LAST RIDE 
 
 "Nor I. Steady, men ; are you ready?" 
 
 "All ready, sir." 
 
 "Colonel Morris!" 
 
 "Captain Kennard!" 
 
 "Look carefully to the rear!" 
 
 "I shall." 
 
 "Don't let your men get out of hand, John- 
 
 son." 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Chambers?" 
 
 "Here, sir." 
 
 "No firing until I give you the order." 
 
 "We '11 wait." 
 
 The trot had become a canter now. The In- 
 dians were coming faster. Suddenly, high and 
 clear and terrifying, in such a voice as might be 
 expected to come from such a mighty chest, 
 Roman Nose pealed his war song. Among all 
 the blood-curdling sounds that may fall upon 
 the human ear, there are none that equal in ter- 
 rifying power the war cry of these fierce eagles 
 of the plains. 
 
 As the voice of the great Cheyenne swept 
 through the valley, it was caught up by a thou- 
 sand bronze throats until even the women and 
 
 359 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 children on the bluffs repeated it, and such a 
 yell of defiance smote upon the ears of the 
 frontiersmen as would have paralyzed a less ex- 
 perienced body of fighters. But these men had 
 heard Indian warwhoops before. No noise, 
 however appalling to the tenderfoot, was able to 
 shake these veterans of many a desperate ad- 
 venture. 
 
 Kennard looked back at them. He searched 
 their faces carefully, seeing only high resolution, 
 determination, courage, magnificent purpose 
 the light of battle. He did not have time for 
 more than a brief glance, for the next instant 
 the Indians were at the little bend. The yells 
 of the oncoming savages drowned the rifle firing 
 which had been poured in upon them with re- 
 doubled vigor since the advance began. As the 
 Indians approached nearer, however, the vol- 
 leys suddenly died away. The on-rushing 
 horsemen were perhaps fifty yards away and 
 just whirling around the bend, when Kennard 
 cried sharply: 
 
 "Now!" 
 
 360 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 WAR SONG, DEATH SONG, LOVE SONG 
 
 EVERY frontiersman rose to his knees, rifle 
 in hand. 
 
 "Fire!" roared the Captain. 
 
 Forty rifles poured a sheet of steel into the 
 front of the wave of horsemen. The trot had 
 become a gallop. Now it was a mad, over- 
 whelming rush at the highest speed of the 
 horses. 
 
 " Again!" 
 
 The rifles cracked a second time. 
 
 "Once more!" 
 
 The young Captain's powerful voice rose 
 high above the deep roar of the battle, and for 
 the third time the shots of death smote the ad- 
 vancing lines. 
 
 They were nearer now, frightfully near. 
 
 "A fourth time," he cried coolly, his calm- 
 ness belied by his fiery eyes and flushed face but 
 accentuated by his ever steady voice. 
 
 361 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 The white men were fighting with beautiful 
 <oourage that quite matched the marvelous 
 charging spirit of the Cheyennes there were 
 two great leaders of equal merit in that bloody 
 feud! The Indians were taking punishment 
 which might well have made the bravest and 
 most disciplined falter and give way. The 
 medicine man was down. Great gaps were 
 opened in the crowd. Reeling figures pitched 
 forward and fell. Horses sprawled heavily on 
 the white sand. Men in the rear leaped over 
 ramparts and lines of huddled bodies. The 
 pace was slowing, but they still came indomi- 
 tably on, Roman Nose, still untouched, in the 
 lead. Many had marked him, but it seemed 
 that some charm protected him. 
 
 "Once more!" cried Kennard, and for the 
 fifth time the awful rifles sped their leaden death 
 messengers. 
 
 " Again I" 
 
 They were at hand now. In mad excitement 
 ithe frontiersmen stood to their feet, disdaining 
 cover, revolvers in hand, the rapid, splitting 
 crack of their fire marking the different 
 weapon. 
 
 362 
 
WAR SONG, DEATH SONG 
 
 Roman Nose was at the island! Out of the 
 smoke and dust his haughty, handsome face burst 
 on the view. Kennard had fired at the madly 
 galloping figure a half dozen times in vain. 
 He was yet unharmed. While he lived the 
 charge would come on. Such was the indomi- 
 table spirit of the man and his men, that only 
 death could stop him and them. If he fell, 
 the charge, a broken wave, would beat upon the 
 island in vain. If not 1 
 
 Using it with one hand as if it had been a toy 
 pistol, the Cheyenne leveled his long rifle, 
 pointed it fairly at Kennard, and without check- 
 ing his horse, pulled the trigger. He had easily 
 recognized the commanding officer of the white 
 men. As he did so, two rifle shots rang out be- 
 hind the Captain. 
 
 Amy Benham and Mah-wissa had both risem 
 to their feet with the rest. In uncontrollable- 
 excitement the white woman had clutched the- 
 Winchester Kennard had given to her, which 
 she well knew how to use. As the painted but 
 strikingly handsome face of the great Indian 
 Chief, alive with battle fire, broke through the 
 smoke, she saw instantly her lover's peril, and 
 
 363 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 fired point blank at the Cheyenne. Mah-wissa, 
 standing by her side, her lips drawn back from 
 her white teeth, like a snarling animal, had fol- 
 lowed her example. 
 
 The woman had fired a thought too late for 
 his escape, and yet early enough at least to have 
 saved Kennard's life, for the Chief's mushroom- 
 ing bullet had struck him in the left shoulder. 
 Had not the Cheyenne's aim been slightly di- 
 verted by the simultaneous discharge of the two 
 rifles, his own shot would have gone through 
 Kennard's heart. As it was, Roman Nose threw 
 up his arms, opened his mouth as if to cry again 
 that inspiring shriek, and suddenly collapsed 
 and fell into the smoke, his horse, seemingly shot 
 at the same moment, going down with him. He 
 lay with one outstretched hand upon the island 
 toward which he had ridden with such head- 
 long, superb, death-defying courage. 
 
 The next moment the river bed in front was 
 alive with yelling, firing figures. The warriors 
 saw Roman Nose fall, and stopped. The 
 hideous painted faces seemed to writhe in the 
 wavering blue smoke. The oncoming horse- 
 men for the first time drew rein. The delay 
 
 364 
 
WAR SONG, DEATH SONG 
 
 was fatal. The ponies were jerked back, they 
 swerved. The mass was divided, one part rush- 
 ing wildly to the right, another to the left. The 
 white men poured decimating volleys into them 
 as they swept past. Savage endurance and 
 courage had been tested to the utmost. They 
 could stand no more. Madly they broke and 
 fled to the banks on either side. 
 
 Magnificently had that charge been led; gal- 
 lantly had it been followed. It was such a 
 charge as no Indians before had ever made in 
 the whole four hundred years in which white 
 men had been in touch with them. It was such 
 a charge as they would never make again should 
 they live four hundred years longer on this con- 
 tinent. It had only failed because the heroic 
 leader, a veritable War God, an incarnation of 
 the old, old spirit of great fighting, had at last 
 been shot dead in the very moment of success, 
 in the very front of his sweeping horsemen, 
 with his hand outstretched in triumph to grasp 
 his prey. And that he had fallen by a woman's 
 hand was the very irony of fate itself. 
 
 As Amy Benham had fired the shot that saved 
 her lover's life, she had seen Kennard about to 
 
 365 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 fall. The rifle dropped from her hand. She 
 caught him in her arms and eased him to the 
 ground. The cowboy who was nearest caught 
 up her Winchester and emptied it at the fleeing 
 masses. 
 
 Kennard had not lost consciousness. He lay 
 helpless and deathly white in Amy's arms, 
 watching the progress of the battle until the 
 charge had spent itself and then had been re- 
 pulsed, while the broken wave of men and horses 
 dissipated. His own men were still standing. 
 
 "Down!" cried Kennard, putting all the 
 force and power he had left in his voice. 
 "Quick, for God's sake!" 
 
 Amy Benham was kneeling by his side. He 
 caught her with his free right hand and forced 
 her to the ground. The men obeyed his words, 
 but some of them lingered a moment, the one 
 fatal moment, for as the rain of bullets began, 
 they fell. 
 
 "Good God!" exclaimed Meekins, "look at 
 the bed of the river!" 
 
 As far as the eye could see it was covered with 
 dead men and horses; with wounded men and 
 horses. 
 
 366 
 
WAR SONG, DEATH SONG 
 
 "We must have got three hundred of 'em, n 
 Said the scout, surveying the scene long and 
 earnestly. "There ain't been no sich a charge 
 an' a killin' on the continent afore." 
 
 From the hills came wild outbursts of wail- 
 ing, mingled with the screams of the wounded 
 horses. Here and there up the river bed an In- 
 dian would be seen to move. Keen eyes were 
 waiting for such attempts, and those who tried! 
 it found that the slightest evidence of life meant 
 instant death. 
 
 "Colonel Morris, !) cried Amy Benham in one 
 of the pauses of the conflict; "Mr. Johnson, will 
 you crawl up here? Mr. Chambers will look 
 out for things a few moments, please." 
 
 The two men were soon by the side of Ken- 
 nard and the scout. 
 
 "Have you got it bad, Captain Kennard?" 
 asked Colonel Morris. 
 
 "Bad enough, but I 'm worth a dozen dead 
 men, yet, Colonel. Meekins," asked Kennard, 
 faintly, "do you think they can do any better 
 than that?" 
 
 "Nobody on earth can do any better than 
 that," replied the trapper earnestly. "We 're 
 
 367 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 safe enough from another dash like that. 
 Roman Nose is gone, an' the medicine man, an' 
 I take it they ain't got no one else to lead 'em." 
 
 "I guess that's about right," said Johnson, 
 who had enjoyed long experience in Indian 
 lighting. 
 
 "I think so, too," said Morris. "I never saw 
 a finer charge in my whole four years of fight- 
 ing. Why, our Jeb Stuart or your Phil Sheri- 
 dan could n't have come on more gallantly than 
 that fellow did! I'd like to get hold of him 
 and get his sash and gun." 
 
 "He 's lyin' out there not ten feet from the 
 pine tree," said Meekins. 
 
 "It 'd be certain death to try it," said Johnson. 
 
 "Of course," the Captain remarked; "let no 
 man try to leave this enclosure without my per- 
 
 mission." 
 
 "You wish me to assume command because of 
 your wound, Captain Kennard?" asked Colonel 
 Morris, formally. 
 
 "Not yet, sir. I will retain the command as 
 long as I am able. I called you here for words 
 of advice, a council of war, if you please. It is 
 my opinion that having tried to ride us down 
 
 368 
 
WAR SONG, DEATH SONG 
 
 and failed, they will now try to starve us out. 
 We cannot get away; there are too many 
 wounded. We have not a horse left. If we 
 go out in the open they would cut us to pieces 
 in ten minutes. We will have to get word of 
 our plight back to Colonel Wainwright. He 
 ought to be in camp at Tear Lake by this time. 
 Morris, ask for two volunteers to go. It is a 
 desperate risk, but it has to be done, else they 
 will get us all in the end." 
 
 "I understand, Captain; I will see that it is 
 done." 
 
 "Very well ; now get back to your places and 
 keep a constant lookout. Do not let the men 
 waste their cartridges." 
 
 "We hope you '11 be all right, Cap'n," said 
 Johnson, as they crawled away. 
 
 "Never fear," answered Kennard. "We shall 
 escape sooner or later; I am certain of it. God 
 has not permitted us to rescue this lady to give 
 her up again." 
 
 He spoke as loud as he could in order that his 
 words might be heard by the men, who again 
 signified their approval and acquiescence by a 
 hoarse but undaunted cheer. 
 
 369 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "Had it not been for you," he said softly, 
 reaching out for her hand, where she lay by his 
 side in the trench of the shallow rifle pit, "I 
 should have been done for. My revolver was 
 empty. In another second that Indian would 
 have had me." 
 
 Later she would think about that shot of hers 
 with horror. At present she was only conscious 
 that she had saved his life. 
 
 "I am so glad," she murmured, lifting his 
 hand to her lips and kissing it, "that I was 
 there." 
 
 "It was a fearful risk you took. Suppose he 
 had shot you instead of me!" 
 
 "They don't shoot women, you know," 
 answered the girl significantly. "Does your 
 wound hurt you very much?" 
 
 "Not now," said the man softly, "if you love 
 me!" 
 
 And overhead the roar of the battle swept on. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 ON SULLIVAN'S ISLAND 
 
 OOMEHOW or other the day dragged on its 
 ^ weary length. Indians, as a rule, are not 
 fond of night attacks. Had Roman Nose been 
 alive, perhaps he would have overcome the 
 natural prejudice of his followers and have as- 
 saulted the island under cover of darkness, but 
 his bronze body still lay where it had fallen, 
 just where the water divided at the upper end. 
 The medicine man, too, who might have taken 
 his place, was gone, and the Indians had been 
 so terribly punished that Kennard doubted if 
 any of the remaining chiefs would have power 
 to inspire such a hazardous endeavor. A feel- 
 ing, therefore, of comparative security possessed 
 him when the night fell. Nevertheless, the 
 most careful watch was kept by details of men 
 on every side. Intermittent firing was kept up 
 during the night by the Indians, but no damage 
 was done, and the men were so utterly ex- 
 
 371 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 hausted by the frightful strain of the unequal 
 and terrible combat, that those not on watch 
 actually dozed where they lay in the sand, and 
 even the sentries had hard work to keep awake 
 until they were relieved. 
 
 Pain forced Kennard to sleeplessness, and sym- 
 pathy enabled Amy Benham to keep him com- 
 pany, but by and by even these two sank to rest, 
 lying side by side, the woman holding the man's 
 unwounded hand. 
 
 About eleven o'clock at night Meekins and a 
 companion stole silently away from the island. 
 They shook hands with Kennard, and without 
 a sound crawled to the lower end, slipped softly 
 into the river and disappeared into the darkness. 
 So far as the rough riders could tell, they were 
 undiscovered, but morning told another story. 
 On a stunted tree, by the bank of the river, a 
 naked, gory, white body hung. It was that of 
 the cowboy who had accompanied Meekins. 
 He had been frightfully mutilated, and had paid 
 with his life for his hazardous attempt to bring 
 succor to his companions. 
 
 Counting those who had died in the valley two 
 days before, ten of the little band had been shot 
 
 372 
 
ON SULLIVAN'S ISLAND 
 
 dead, or had succumbed to their wounds. Six, 
 including Kennard, were more or less severely 
 wounded; Meekins was absent, and the com- 
 mand which had originally numbered fifty, all 
 told, was reduced to thirty-three effectives, but 
 those still full of fight. 
 
 The day was less eventful than the first period 
 of the siege. The Indians attempted no more 
 charges. They had removed most of their dead 
 from the river bed, and some one, more daring 
 than the rest, had even attempted to get the body 
 of Roman Nose. One of the scouts on the look- 
 out had shot him, and he lay, lariat in hand, at 
 the feet of his leader. Neither did the Indians 
 keep up the volley firing. They appeared to have 
 retired when day broke, and it was not until 
 some one incautiously exposed himself and was 
 shot dead, that the scouts discovered that every 
 cover hid a sharpshooter. The main body had 
 removed to the shelter of the grove of pine trees 
 up the river, to judge from the camp fires, but 
 the banks, and even the bowlders farther away, 
 were lined with Indians. One man, turning 
 over, incautiously lifted his arm and had the 
 bone shattered before he could drop it. On the 
 
 373 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 other hand, whenever an Indian showed himself 
 he got a bullet through him. 
 
 Both sides were exceedingly cautious and 
 casualties were comparatively rare, but the night 
 saw two of the wounded dead, and four more 
 scouts killed, and four more wounded. A few 
 more than a score of the original defenders were 
 left. At this rate, a few days would see them all 
 killed off. 
 
 The day had been a frightful one. Out of 
 a cloudless sky the sun had beaten down upon 
 the unprotected island with all its fury. The 
 water had grown warm and insipid. The 
 wounded suffered terribly. To these Amy Ben- 
 ham was an angel of light. The men stifled 
 their moanings as they saw her crawling to their 
 sides, as they felt the touch of her hand upon 
 their fevered brows. They swore in their rough 
 way that they would hold the island for her un- 
 til hell froze over; that every man should see 
 that no harm came to her and that the last bullet 
 should be at her service. 
 
 Kennard had kept up during the day, but at 
 night inflammation set in, in spite of all that Amy 
 Benham, seconded by some of the frontiersmen 
 
 374 
 
ON SULLIVAN'S ISLAND 
 
 who had some little experience with gunshot 
 wounds, could do, and his condition became pre- 
 carious. Colonel Morris formally assumed the 
 command of those who were left. 
 
 That night, two more volunteers slipped away 
 to search for aid. The next morning, as they 
 looked with sickening apprehension, the first 
 things that greeted their eyes were the scalped 
 bodies of the two hanging on the tree by the first 
 one. The Indians were wildly jubilant, and 
 several of them showed themselves incautiously, 
 but were speedily reminded that there was 
 plenty of fight yet left in the indomitable island- 
 ers. 
 
 The little company of brave defenders was 
 still further reduced, for when daylight enabled 
 the survivors to take the count of one another, it 
 was discovered that Mah-wissa had secretly 
 stolen away. 
 
 "Do you suppose?" asked Colonel Morris, 
 who was now in full charge, Kennard being half 
 delirious with fever, "that the squaw has gone 
 over to her friends and betrayed us?" 
 
 "No," said Amy Benham; "I am sure she has 
 
 not" 
 
 375 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "What's become of her, then?" asked John- 
 son. 
 
 "She has gone for help." 
 
 "Everybody that has tried that is hung over 
 there." 
 
 "Except Meekins," put in Chambers. 
 
 The three were gathered at Kennard's feet, 
 discussing the situation. The Indians' fire had 
 materially slackened since the day before, and 
 yet there was no doubt that they were still there, 
 but the defense of the island had been made more 
 strong. At Kennard's suggestion the men had 
 improved the hours of darkness in both nights, 
 by throwing up more earth, and joining the 
 spaces between the rifle pits so that quite a little 
 entrenchment had been made. In some places 
 near the head of the island, it was high enough 
 to allow people to sit up. 
 
 "What would they do to Mah-wissa if they 
 caught her?" asked Amy. 
 
 Her appearance can be imagined better than 
 described. Outwardly, the refined and beauti- 
 ful white woman had sunk to the degraded, tat- 
 tered, savage level. Inwardly she was all that 
 
 376 
 
ON SULLIVAN'S ISLAND 
 
 she had been and more. Her spirit, her voice, 
 her bearing, indicated what she was. 
 
 "That depends upon what she 'd say to 'em," 
 spoke up Johnson. "She might pretend to be a 
 deserter." 
 
 "But if they found her out?" 
 
 "I guess they 'd treat her worse than they did 
 the white men, for being a traitor to her 
 crowd!" 
 
 "Our hopes, then, depend upon Meekins, and 
 this squaw," said Chambers. 
 
 "That 's about it," answered Morris. 
 
 "Gentlemen," cried Kennard, who had recov- 
 ered temporarily from a stupor and had been 
 listening intently to all that had passed, ".we have 
 been here three days now, and you have fought 
 such a fight as nobody on this continent has ever 
 fought before ; that will be remembered forever! 
 You have done well! I have an idea that the 
 main body of Indians has gone. At any rate, I 
 suggest that you leave me and the other wounded 
 to take our chances here, and that to-night you 
 make a dash for it. They got the others because 
 they went singly, but I believe there are enough 
 
 377 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 of you left alive, after the lesson you have given 
 these red devils, to get away safely 
 
 "That '11 do, Kennard," said Colonel Morris, 
 forgetting the respect due to the rank of captain ; 
 "you are our Captain. We fought with you, 
 and, by God, we '11 die with you!" 
 
 A burst of cracked and hoarse but tumultuous 
 cheers was the answer. The men evidently ap- 
 proved the declaration of the old Confederate. 
 
 "If we tried it, an' got away, Cap'n," said old 
 Johnson, "I 'd never hold up my head again." 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Kennard," was the remark 
 of young Chambers. 
 
 It was all very unmilitary and insubordinate. 
 Kennard laughed feebly, while the tears came 
 into his eyes. 
 
 "You are a royal bunch," he said. "We are 
 going to live or die together, then." 
 
 "And if you went away," said Amy Benham, 
 who had listened quietly, "you would have to 
 leave me. Captain Kennard and I are to be 
 married, if God lets us escape this peril, and if 
 He does not, I stay here and die by his side." 
 
 The third day was like the rest. 
 
 The mornings of the fourth and the fifth day 
 
 378 
 
ON SULLIVAN'S ISLAND 
 
 broke with the situation unchanged. The men 
 were ravenous with hunger by this time. They 
 had saved extra supplies from the two days' ra- 
 tions they had carried for the woman, but she 
 had refused to take more than her share. When 
 they had insisted upon it, to emphasize her feel- 
 ings she had thrown the extra portion into the 
 river. After that they treated her just as one of 
 themselves. She starved with the rest. 
 
 The stench that arose from the dead bodies 
 of the animals was appalling. They strove to 
 eat mule and horse meat, but revolted from the 
 nauseating mess. There was no continuous fir- 
 ing on these days, but when Kennard, on the 
 afternoon of the fifth, asked four of the men 
 to raise him in a blanket as high as their shoul- 
 ders that he might see the surrounding country 
 for himself, there was a sudden volley from a 
 little coppice near by. One of the men fell and 
 dropped the corner of the blanket, and Kennard 
 fell upon his wounded arm. Otherwise the men 
 kept close and remained under cover. The 
 Indians were there. How many of them, or in 
 what force, could not be told, but they were still 
 there. 
 
 379 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 The command was in no condition to travel 
 now. Johnson and some of the others rather 
 thought that the main force of the Indians was 
 in hiding, and that they would be hoping the 
 scouts would be leaving the island and try to get 
 back to the regiment on foot, in which case they 
 could easily massacre them in the open. 
 Whether that could have been tried or not, even 
 had there been no wounded, was a question. 
 They had no horses left. They were exhausted 
 by heat, hard fighting, starvation. There was 
 nothing for them to do but cling like grim death 
 to such shelter as they had, and wait. 
 
 Late in the afternoon of the sixth day, when 
 hope had been almost abandoned, a watcher 
 languidly staring across the foot of the island 
 down toward the clefts in the wall, through 
 which the river flowed, and through which they 
 had entered the valley, detected a flash of light. 
 Not being a soldier he could not understand 
 what it was, but he thought best to report it to 
 Colonel Morris. Together they watched it and 
 the veteran finally decided that it must be a 
 heliograph signal which he could not read. 
 Kennard, who was dozing, was awakened, and 
 
 380 
 
ON SULLIVAN'S ISLAND 
 
 with pain-racked body propped himself up and 
 stared. 
 
 Yes, it was a signal! He could read it with- 
 out difficulty! 
 
 "Hold on till night! Help is coming!" it 
 said. 
 
 As soon as he spelled it out he proclaimed the 
 glad news to the men. 
 
 "Can you signal back something?" asked Colo- 
 nel Morris. 
 
 "I could if I had a mirror," was the reply, but 
 there was no mirror with the command. 
 
 "How would it do to fire a volley, just to let 
 'em know we 're livin'?" asked Johnson. 
 
 "That 's well thought of," said Kennard, and 
 at a given command, twenty rifles blazed out a 
 triumphant discharge. 
 
 Again the heliograph signaled: 
 
 "Keep up your courage!" 
 
 When he had translated this last message, 
 Kennard's nerve gave way in a revulsion of 
 feeling. His wounded shoulder was in fright- 
 ful condition. It was Amy Benham who shel- 
 tered him from the gaze of the men ; it was her 
 hand upon his head, her voice in his ear, that 
 
 381 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 finally calmed him. She saved him in his weak- 
 ness; he would never forget that. 
 
 The hours that intervened between the receipt 
 of that message and the dark were the longest 
 that any of them on the island had ever spent. 
 With what intensity they watched while the day- 
 light lasted, and listened when darkness came, 
 for the sound of their rescuers, and with what 
 joy they welcomed the hoof-beats of the horses, 
 the eager cries of excited men, splashing through 
 the river, bearing food and drink and medicine, 
 and two surgeons, who without further ado, 
 dropped on their knees beside the wounded. 
 
 Hamilton led the party, Kennard's own troop 
 burning to rescue their old commander and get 
 back into his good graces again, and redeem 
 themselves in his eyes for their mutinous conduct 
 in the canon. They had ridden desperately hard 
 since Meekins, after a frightful journey, had 
 notified them the day before, and all that men 
 and horses could do they had done. With the 
 soldiers was the old hunter, his left arm in a ban- 
 dage. 
 
 "Thank God! you got here," said Kennard 
 weakly. 
 
 382 
 
ON SULLIVAN'S ISLAND 
 
 "I had a close call," said the trapper. "They 
 got poor Lang, an' wounded me, but I was lucky 
 enough to git a pony an' got away. It took me 
 four days to make the journey. Thank God! 
 there are some of you alive still. Where 's Miss 
 Benham?" 
 
 "Here." 
 
 "Unharmed?" 
 
 "Unharmed, thank God and these brave men. 
 And Mah-wissa, have you seen her?" 
 
 "No, not a sight of her." 
 
 "What's to be done?" asked Hamilton, who 
 had been busy with the men, looking after the 
 details of feeding and caring for the de- 
 fenders of the island. 
 
 "I think there is a bunch of Indians up there 
 in those pine woods," said Kennard. 
 , "Good! We'll attend to them. Do you 
 know any other way out of this valley than that 
 by which we came in?" 
 
 "No," said Kennard. 
 
 "I do," said Amy Benham. "Over that ridge 
 yonder just where you see that big star. We 
 came in that way." 
 
 "There is no exit at the upper end?/' 
 
 383 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 "There must be, I think," said Kennard, "for 
 Roman Nose must have come in that way." 
 
 "Well, if there are any of his men left, they 
 will have a chance to get out some way if we 
 don't get them ourselves. Come, Bodley, let us 
 get our men and beat up the game." 
 
 Dismounting and leaving their horses, and ac- 
 companied by some of the frontiersmen, the 
 hardiest among them, who wanted to be in at the 
 death, the party on foot advanced toward 
 the supposed camp in the trees. 
 
 The place was empty! Not an Indian to be 
 seen! They paused in uncertainty, not knowing 
 what to do, when, suddenly, they heard a shot 
 fired up in the valley from the direction of the 
 ridge over which Amy and Mah-wissa had come 
 when they had found shelter there. 
 
 "They are escaping that way!" said Hamilton, 
 "Come on!" 
 
 It was easy to see the outline of the cliffs sil- 
 houetted against the sky and stars, and there was 
 no mistaking the direction. Hamilton plunged 
 into the shallow river, and followed by the troop- 
 ers, ran toward the ridge. No effort at conceal- 
 ment was made, and they had gone but a short 
 
 384 
 
ON SULLIVAN'S ISLAND 
 
 distance when the valley blazed with fire, and 
 shots, mostly over their heads, came hurtling 
 that way. 
 
 Not stopping to return the fire, the men ran 
 on. The Indians apparently after that one dis- 
 charge fled madly for the ridge, with the white 
 men in pursuit. 
 
 Just as they reached it, it was topped with 
 black figures, and the next instant a fierce line of 
 flashes ran along the horizon. The escaping 
 savages were at a terrible disadvantage. Again 
 they broke. This time to be met with scathing 
 fire from Hamilton's men, who had been de- 
 ployed on the run, and now almost encircled the 
 Cheyennes. There were not more than a hun- 
 dred of them who had been left to observe the 
 besieged. The rest with the women and chil- 
 dren had gone on. They were practically sur- 
 rounded by a hundred soldiers, for from some 
 source and by some reason, the mouth of the 
 ridge over which they had hoped to escape from 
 the valley had been occupied in force. Only 
 the darkness saved the Indians from absolute ex- 
 termination. As it was, they were cut to pieces. 
 A few of them broke through the encircling line, 
 
 385 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 killing two troopers who endeavored to stop 
 them, and got clean away. 
 
 When the morning came and soldiers scoured 
 the valley, no living Cheyennes were found. At 
 the upper end of the valley they discovered a 
 narrow but practicable trail over which the 
 Indians had come and gone. 
 
 Their extermination was due to Mah-wissa. 
 She had not deserted the woman she loved. She 
 had taken advantage of her knowledge of the 
 country to escape from the valley over the ridge 
 by which they had entered it. After incredible 
 hardships she had descended the mountains until 
 she found a place to cross the river in the canon. 
 She had reached Colonel Wainwright's camp- 
 he was already on the march toward the valley 
 with all the force he had after Meekins had 
 got there and dashed forward with Kennard's 
 troop, in the hope of effecting a rescue more 
 quickly than if they had delayed for the main 
 body. 
 
 Mah-wissa had explained the situation, and 
 told of the ridge, which was a shorter, if harder, 
 trail, and had offered to conduct a troop there. 
 
 386 
 
ON SULLIVAN'S ISLAND 
 
 They had arrived in the very nick of time to be 
 in at the death, as it were. 
 
 The death of Roman Nose, and the awful 
 slaughter among his followers, so disheartened 
 them, that the poor remainder of the Cheyennes 
 fled northward and made no attempt to join 
 Crazy Horse, who, thus deserted, was unable to 
 cope with General Crook. The defense of 
 "Sullivan's Island" was the crucial incident of 
 the campaign, and the settlements of the north- 
 west were saved a long summer of terror by the 
 heroic stand made by the gallant frontiersmen, 
 who had held the red warriors at bay. 
 
 They buried Roman Nose on the island at the 
 feet of the ranchman. Savage though he was, 
 his valor had been not less conspicuous, his con- 
 duct not less intrepid, than that of the white 
 man. 
 
 The dead scouts were also interred on the 
 island they had immortalized by their valor. 
 Those of them who were alive were ordered 
 back to Fort McCullough to recuperate. 
 
 Surgical skill and careful nursing saved Ken- 
 nard's life, which at first, on account of his 
 
 387 
 
THE WEST WIND 
 
 long neglected wound, had been despaired of. 
 When he was on his feet again, and his rough 
 riders had been disbanded on account of the 
 close of the campaign, there was a wedding at 
 Fort McCullough. 
 
 It fell to old Johnson to give the bride away, 
 and every one of the troopers who had survived 
 was honored by attendance upon the groom, 
 now Major Kennard, if you please, with a 
 second medal of honor. 
 
 There were few women on the frontier, and 
 most of them were married, so that Amy Ben- 
 ham, "The West Wind," had no one to attend 
 her save a little Indian woman, Mah-wissa, the 
 Blue Bird, dressed for the occasion with all the 
 barbaric finery that she could compass. She 
 stood by her white sister's side in this happy 
 hour, as she had stood by her side in the days of 
 deadly peril which they had both passed through 
 together. 
 
 As the young couple drove away in the big 
 army ambulance decorated with white, old 
 Johnson, carefully shifting his quid, made this 
 comment: 
 
 "Well, this here wedding would have been 
 388 
 
ON SULLIVAN'S ISLAND 
 
 just about perfect, if old Colonel Benham an' 
 big Pat Sullivan had been here." 
 
 And yet that was not quite true, after all, for 
 there is no doubt that Sullivan was happier in 
 his lonely grave on the island under the tall pine 
 than he would have been watching the woman 
 he loved married to another man. 
 
 THE END 
 
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 Circle, The. By Katherine Cecil Thurston (author of "The Mas- 
 
 querader," "The Gambler.") 
 
 Colonial Free Lance, A. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. 
 Conquest of Canaan, The. By Booth Tarkington. 
 Conspirators, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 
 Cynthia of the Minute. By Louis Joseph Vance. 
 Dan Merrithew. By Lawrence Perry. 
 Day of the Dog, The. By George Barr McCutcheon. 
 Depot Master, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 Derelicts. By William J. Locke. 
 Diamond Master, The. By Jacques Futrelle. 
 Diamonds Cut Paste. By Agnes and Egerton Castle. 
 Divine Fire, The. By May Sinclair. 
 Dixie Hart. By Will N. Harben. 
 Dr. David. By Marjorie Benton Cooke. 
 Early Bird. The. By George Randolph Chester. 
 Eleventh Hour, The. By David Potter. 
 Elizabeth in Rugen. (By the author of "Elizabeth and Her German 
 
 Garden.") 
 
 Elusive Isabel. By Jacques Futrelle. 
 Elusive Pimpernel, The. By Baroness Orczy. 
 Enchanted Hat, The. By Harold McGrath. 
 Excuse Me. By Rupert Hughes. 
 54-40 or Fight. By Emerson Hough. 
 Fighting Chance, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 
 Flamsted Quarries. By Mary E. Waller. 
 Flying Mercury, The. By Eleanor M. Ingram. 
 For a Maiden Brave. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. 
 Four Million, The. By O. Henry. 
 Four Pool's Mystery, The. By Jean Webster. 
 Fruitful Vine, The. By Robert Hichens. 
 Canton & Co. By Arthur J. Eddy. 
 Gentleman of France, A. By Stanley Weyman. 
 Gentleman, The. By Alfred Ollivant. 
 
 Get- Rick-Quick- Wallingford. By George Randolph Chester. 
 Gilbert Neal. By Will N. Harben. 
 Girl and the Bill, The. By Bannister Merwin. 
 Girl from His Town, The. By Marie Van Vorst. 
 Girl Who Won, The. By Beth Ellis. 
 Glory of Clementina, The. By William J. Locke. 
 Glory of the Concruered, The. By Susan Glaspell. 
 God's Good Man. By Marie Corelli. 
 Going Some. By Rex Beach. 
 Golden Web, The. By Anthony Partridge. 
 Green Patch, The. By Bettina von Hutten. 
 Happy Island (sequel to "Uncle William). By Jennette Lee. 
 Hearts and the Highway. By Cyrus Townsend Brady. 
 Held for Orders. By Frank H. Spearman. 
 Hidden Water. By Dane Coolidge. 
 Highway of Fate, The. By Rosa N. Carey. 
 Homesteaders, The. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles. 
 Honor of the Big Snows, The. By James Oliver Curwood. 
 Hopalong Cassidy. By Clarence E. Mulford. 
 Household of Peter, The. By Rosa N. Carey. 
 House of Mystery, The. By Will Irwin. 
 House of the Lost Court, The. By C. N. Williamson. 
 House of the Whispering Pln, The. By Anna Katherine Grea. 
 
D / o i 
 
 M18197 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY