Again was there scene of mad excitement among the Indian villages on the Chasing Water. Again was Red Dog in saddle, exhorting, declaiming, prophesying, but with no such ready result as during the winter days gone by. It was one thing to rally to the standard of a war chief and follow him on a raid against the agent of the Great Father when but a handful of soldiers could back the authorities. It was quite another to rise in revolt when five hundred war-trained blue-coats were aligned to defend him. Within two hours after the exciting scene at the corral the Indians in every band knew that McPhail had launched his ultimatum at the little village of White Wolf. "Send in Chaska, the assailant of my son, and Thunder Hawk, the boaster, or there is war between the Great Father and you and yours."

Already had Chaska and Chaska's mother, with three trusty friends, mounted on swift ponies, been spirited away northward, with instructions to ride all night through the devious trails of the Bad Lands, and never draw rein until they reached the shelter of the Uncapapa lodges beyond the Wakpa Schicha. Already had Red Dog dashed over to the lodge of Thunder Hawk, offering him asylum in the heart of his tribe, and pledging his uttermost brave to his defence. But the old Indian would none of him. Long years before, a fatherless boy, he had been reared and taught by a priest of the Church of Rome,—is there a people they do not know, a peril they do not dare?—and when finally his friend and teacher and protector was gathered to his fathers and laid in the old mission churchyard, the boy drifted back to his tribe, a mature and thoughtful man, to find his kindred among the tents of the Ogallallas,—among, worse luck, the malcontents of Red Cloud. From this time on he had cast his lot with them, marrying, rearing children, yet but slowly gaining influence among them. When his great and cruel chief lured the garrison of a mountain stockade into the neighboring hills and massacred every man, Hawk had refused to take part. His heart was not at war with the whites. When swarms of the warriors left to join the great renegade bands gathering under Crazy Horse and Gall to reinforce Sitting Bull, Hawk had held aloof. "The people of Red Cloud," said he, "have no grounds for war. The Great Father has done everything he promised them and more," and Red Cloud called him dastard and squaw; but when an Indian girl was missing from her lodge, and the gossips told how she had been lured by a white soldier to the distant banks of the Laramie, Hawk rode thither, rode into the presence of the post commander and told her story and his, and found and brought her back to her people. He strove to find the man for whose sake she had abandoned her father's lodge and forfeited her good name. Hawk well knew how futile was her trust that the white chief would ever claim her as his wife, but among so many comrades he was concealed, and Hawk left his message. Sooner or later his people should find the white man who had wrought the wrong and his days were numbered. Every knife in all his band was whetted for that particular scalp. And now again, when Indian blood had been fired by the insult to the son of White Wolf, he stepped forward to interpose between his people and the fury of the Great Father's man. He had repressed, not incited the wrath of his brothers, but the agent in authority ruled otherwise and demanded his surrender. His people would have fought to save him. He would suffer willingly rather than that one drop of blood should be spilt on his account. Refusing Red Dog's clamorous offer, Thunder Hawk mounted his pony and, despite the wails and lamentations of his village, rode forth in calm dignity to meet the coming soldiery, to offer in silent submission his hands to the clinch of the steel.

The recall had sounded at the cantonment, and mounted orderlies had galloped out to bring in such troops as might have trotted too far away for the sound. The infantry battalion, practising skirmish drill, had quickly rallied, re-formed, and was marched within the log walls to exchange blank for ball cartridge and await orders. The four cavalry troops galloped back to their stables and dismounted, while their officers gathered about the major commanding. Cranston to him had briefly recounted the story of the excitement as he had heard it from McPhail's lips. "I am bound to say, sir," said he, "that Mr. Davies did not seem to agree with the agent in either his statements or his conclusions. He considers the agent to have been the aggressor, and if he is required to go to arrest Hawk and White Wolf's boy, it will be with an unwilling hand."

"Yes," said the major, coldly, "the trouble with Davies seems to be that he has displayed similar unwillingness on previous occasions."

The command of the cantonment had been given to this veteran field officer of infantry, a man whose motto had been fight from boyhood on. For ten days had he been hammering away here, hours at a time, to get his own battalion in readiness for what he considered the inevitable summer's work. He had fought every one of the dozen or more tribes of plains Indians, and considered fighting their normal condition as it was his own. He had made it his boast that during the previous summer his battalion, day after day, had outmarched the cavalry, and even while the statement was misleading, the boast was based on facts. The horses of the cavalry, starved and staggering, worn to skin and bone, had to be towed along instead of ridden, and the cavalry were therefore handicapped. Yet there was not a trooper who did not honor the bluff senior major, and none who really disliked him, except perhaps the battalion commander of the cavalry, a gentleman whose gold leaves were as dazzlingly new as the senior's were old and withered, and just about to be changing into silver, the silver of the lieutenant-colonel. The contrast between Major White's spirited handling of his battalion of foot and Major Chrome's listless management of a similar body of horse was vivid in the last degree. The latter and two of his troops belonged to Atherton's fine regiment, the —th, the other two troops, Cranston's and Truman's, were, as we know, of the Eleventh, and here in presence of four officers of the latter's regiment, and a dozen of the Fortieth Foot and of the —th Horse,—here on the broad parade of the cantonment, at high noon and in plain sight and hearing even of three or four enlisted men, orderlies, horse-holders, etc., had the post commander spoken words that meant nothing short of discredit, if not disgrace, to the subaltern who was at that very instant riding away on a perilous as well as thankless mission. Deep, embarrassed silence fell on one and all of the major's hearers for a single instant. Cranston reddened with indignation, little Sanders with wrath. Truman looked quickly and curiously about him. All three were eager and ready to speak, yet by common consent the duty devolved upon Cranston, who took the floor.

"It would be idle, Major White, to feign ignorance of what you refer to, but let me say right here and now that you have been utterly misled as to that young officer's character, and I doubt if you properly estimate that of his detractors."

"I base my opinion on a cavalry report, Captain Cranston,—on Mr. Archer's vindication of Captain Devers."

"As one-sided a report as was ever written, sir, for the other side—Mr. Davies—had never a hearing,—never even heard of the investigation itself until a week ago, and is now bound to silence pending action at department head-quarters; but meantime, sir, as a friend of his, and a man who believes in him, I protest against any such impression as you have received, and I ask you how it is that you can believe such a story of an officer who, single-handed, arrested Red Dog in the face of his followers? There has been an insidious influence at work against him ever since last summer, and we of the Eleventh know just where to place it."

"If I've wronged him, Cranston, you know me well enough to know that I'll make every amend possible. I have heard, I own, much more than Archer's report, so have my brother officers, not only before the recent outbreak in which he seems to have outwrestled Red Dog, but since. Since his recent visit to Scott stories have come to our ears very much to his discredit."

"Not from Leonard, sir, I warrant you," interposed Cranston, hotly.

"No, not from Leonard, for Leonard never talks against anybody, but from officers at Scott who seem to speak by the card. There is general indignation because of his affront to the wife of one of our number. If your friend is so far above suspicion, and did not feel some sense of the sentiment against him, why did he utterly shun the society of every officer at the post-except the chaplain? It reminds me of that English snob who was sent to Coventry for abandoning the Prince Imperial, and then took refuge in the prayers of the Church."

"Major White, there are reasons for Davies's conduct for which I will be answerable, and which you could not fail to respect. The fault, sir, lay on the other side. This is something that can't be discussed here, for a woman's war is mixed up in it, but if I have any place in your esteem, let me urge you to suspend judgment. While the responsibility for the original wrong done Davies must rest in my regiment, there have been later wrongs done him in yours, and I learn it for the first time to-day."

It was an impressive scene, this impromptu gathering at the foot of the flag-staff while anxiously awaiting further tidings from the agency. Over among the quarters the humid eyes of frightened women peered from many a door-way, watching with fluttering hearts for sign of action. Stacking arms in front of their barracks, the infantry had been sent in to a hurried dinner, and the cavalry horses, saddled, still stood at the lines, watched by a few troopers, while the rest were packing saddle-bags and taking a bite on their own account. The sentries to the eastward kept gazing over toward the grim stockade and the clustering groups of Indian lodges far away down-stream. Ten minutes since a party of a dozen troopers had been seen to ride slowly away from the agency in the direction of White Wolf's tepees, a mile beyond; "Davies going to demand the surrender" were the words that passed from mouth to mouth and gave the text for the startling conversation that had just taken place, a topic which was now by common consent dropped as having reached a point where the utmost caution should be observed. Everybody seemed to know in some mysterious way that the circulators of the new and unflattering stories about Davies were not so much the invalid colonel or Messrs. Flight and Darling of the Fortieth as their more voluble, active, and dangerous helpmeets. Indeed, the very day Trooper Brannan arrived, transferred by regimental orders from "A" to "C" troop, he brought one letter from Mrs. Leonard to Mrs. Cranston, and two or three, each, of the missives of Mesdames Stone, Flight, and Darling to ladies at the cantonment. Mrs. Leonard's letter said that her husband, the adjutant, had been summoned by telegraph to General Sheridan's office in Chicago, and he expected to be gone a week. No trace had been found of the papers stolen from his desk, but it was undoubtedly on that business that he had been sent for, and Mrs. Leonard felt confident that when he returned it would be with news that full justice would at last be awarded Mr. Davies for his conduct during the campaign as well as at the agency, and Mrs. Leonard could not control the impulse to add, "If justice could only be meted out to his accuser!—but will that man ever get his deserts?"

It must be owned that Mrs. Leonard had good grounds for being doubtful on that point.

Meantime how fared it with the embassy to White Wolf? Smarting under the injury to his pride and person, McPhail had decided to inflict severe humiliation on the red men prominent in the affair. First, White Wolf's boy should be made to suffer, and then Thunder Hawk, who had dared to oppose his views, should be ironed as an inciter of riot and placed under guard. Knowing the feeling of veneration, almost of awe, with which Davies was regarded by many of the Indians, he desired to avail himself of the fact and send him to make the arrest, and at last Davies asserted himself. Calmly, but positively, he refused. "My orders are simply to protect the agency and the agent and his family from attack," said he, "not to act as the agent's police."

"Do you refuse to obey my orders?" asked McPhail, angrily.

"You are not empowered to give me any orders, Mr. McPhail,—above all, such orders. It is no question of obedience or disobedience."

"Then I'll ask to have you relieved and sent to your regiment, and some man sent here who will do his duty," said McPhail.

"You cannot do it too soon, sir," was the answer. "It has been most unwelcome from the start, and I shall now ask to be relieved in any event."

And so, finding Davies inflexible, Mr. McPhail had no alternative but to go himself. He had sent his demand; it had met with no response. He must attempt the arrest in person or become the laughing-stock of his Indian wards. Here at last Davies had to back him. It might be true that the officer would be sustained in his refusal to go and do his bidding, but if the agent went in person the lieutenant would have to send a detachment as a guard. Davies did more. He calmly informed McPhail that he should place himself at the head of the party and protect him to the extent of his ability; and so with the detachment as it marched away, watched by many an anxious eye, rode McPhail with his agency interpreter.

And when barely half-way to the cluster of tepees among the Cottonwoods at the point, there came to meet them in solitary state old Thunder Hawk himself. He wore no barbaric finery. His pony was destitute of trappings. He, himself, wore not even a revolver. Everything that might speak of war or even self-defence was left behind. When within a hundred yards of the foremost horsemen he reined in his pony and calmly awaited their approach.

Half a mile farther down the valley, clustered in front of their lodges, some of them lashing about on their excited ponies, could be plainly seen the warriors of Red Dog's band, and that that hot-blooded chief was in their midst could hardly be doubted, though he was too far away for personal recognition. All at once the seething group seemed to obey some word of command, for it heaved suddenly forward, and, breasting its way through the scattering outskirts, just as it had advanced on the agency that moonlit winter's night, the centre burst into view, one accurate rank of mounted Indians, and in another moment, wheeling and circling, all the individual horsemen came ranging into line at the flanks, and, reinforced every moment by galloping braves from the villages in the rear, Red Dog's big squadron, like Clan Alpine, came sweeping up the vale. Borne on the breeze like one long wail of foreboding, the weird chant of squaws and stay-behinds was wafted to the ears of the agency party. Another instant and the song was taken up in swelling chorus by the coming foe. McPhail, who had spurred eagerly forward as Thunder Hawk halted, now irresolutely checked his horse and glanced back, as though feeling for the support of the grim and silent guard.

"By God, Mr. Davies, I believe that traitor Red Dog means mischief!"

Making no reply whatever, the lieutenant simply raised his sword arm in signal to his party,—halt! whereat, sniffing the tainted breeze and anxiously eyeing the distant cavalcade, the horses of Davies's party stood nervously pawing and stamping. Evidently they liked the outlook as little as did McPhail. And there, all alone, fifty yards out in their front now, grave and motionless, still sat old Thunder Hawk.

"Do you suppose they will try to rescue if we arrest him here?" asked McPhail.

"Very probably. They regard him as a martyr, and so do I," was the answer.

"Here! gallop to the cantonments for help at once," said McPhail to his interpreter. "Say that Red Dog and his whole gang are coming," he shouted, instantly reining about and looking anxiously back. Behind him, nearly a thousand yards, lay the low, squat buildings of his official station. Beyond that, nearly two thousand more, and but for the flag and staff almost indistinguishable from the dull hues of the prairie, except to Indian eye, lay the low log walls of the cantonment. Already signs of alarm and bustle could be seen about the former. A buckboard was just hurriedly driving off, full gallop, for the distant barracks, scudding for shelter before the storm should break. Evidently Mrs. McPhail didn't mean to stand siege in her cellars this time. Already Lutz, who remained with the reserve, had mounted his men and was trotting out to the support of the advance. Already the long, barbaric array of Red Dog's band had come within rifle-range, and their clamoring chief, all bristling with eagle feathers, rode up and down across their advancing front, brandishing aloft his gleaming rifle. "Watch him as you would a snake," indeed! Here he came once more in open, defiant hostility, bent beyond possibility of doubt on instant attack should the agent attempt to lay hands on Thunder Hawk.

"Come in here, Hawk. I suppose you surrender!" yelled McPhail, nervously. Evidently something had to be done, and done at once.

"Not to you," was the determined answer. "I will surrender to soldiers when they demand, and to them only, and I'll await justice as their prisoner and not as yours."

"My God! Mr. Davies, you've got to do something!" wailed the agent, shrinking still farther back now, as Red Dog's line unmistakably quickened the pace and the earth began to quiver and tremble.

"Take the men and fall back towards the agency, sir," said Davies, quickly, sternly, and then without an instant's hesitation spurred forward. As he rode he whipped off his right gauntlet, and then halting within a horse-length of the silent warrior, held out his bare hand. "Thunder Hawk, this is the hand of a friend. Will you ride with me and turn Red Dog back?"

"I will go with you wherever you say."

Over among the lodges of Thunder Hawk's people the signs of intense excitement were on the increase. Women and young girls had taken up the weird war-song of the advancing array. Young men springing to their ponies and no longer able to restrain their desire to act in his behalf, all forgetful of his injunction, came galloping forth to join the band of Red Dog riding to the rescue. Over at the agency, far to the rear, there was mad flurry and consternation. Women and children of the few employÉs, now that there was a military post within range, were gathering up such valuables as they could carry and scurrying away along the cantonment road. Conscious of his own impotence, McPhail had lost the last vestige of his truculent manner and, eagerly availing himself of Davies's advice, turned nervously to the senior corporal of the little squad of troopers and said, "Fall back! We've got to fall back to the reserve." The corporal glanced first at him, irresolutely, then back at the coming reserve now spurring forward with Lutz at their head, then around at the whirl and turmoil and trouble in the villages, at Red Dog's now "magnificently stern array," and finally at the two figures, calmly, slowly riding straight at the very centre of the advancing line, straight at the heart of Red Dog's chanting battalion; and then, when McPhail nervously repeated his instructions, and, adding example to precept, turned and strove to lead the party in retreat, briefly addressed first his fellows and then the agent.

"Stand fast, men!—You—go to hell!"

A moment later and far out at the front now the two figures had halted, a strange contrast. The man on the right, tall, slender, of athletic and graceful build, clad in trim simple undress uniform of the cavalry, sitting his horse as straight as a young pine; the other, bent, blanket-robed, hunched up on his pony in the peculiarly ungraceful pose of the Indian rider when at rest, but resolute and immovable; both sublimely devoted in the duty now before them. When by the sweeping advance of the Indian line these two, the young officer, the old sub-chief, were brought nearly midway between the little party of blue-coats and the great rank of red warriors, both men as by common impulse threw upward the right hand, signalling "Stand where you are!" to the coming line.

And recognizing their challengers, little by little, gradually reining in, the Indians obeyed. Only Red Dog, followed closely by Elk, sullenly, angrily continued the advance; his fierce eyes, avoiding Davies's calm face, were bent glowering upon his fellow-tribesman.

"Why is Thunder Hawk here?" was his demand in the Ogallalla tongue. "Is he ally or prisoner of the soldiers?"

"Thunder Hawk is their friend and the friend of his people. The white chief came as his friend and brother to protect him from indignity. Now as friends and brothers we stand between Red Dog and the wrong he would do. Only over our bodies shall Red Dog move another lance-length against the Great Father's people."

Davies could not comprehend this talk, but there was no mistaking its import or its effect on the rabid chief. Furiously Red Dog pressed forward, his rifle still clutched in his sinewy hand.

"Thunder Hawk is a traitor and a liar! He has sold himself to the whites! He is their prisoner, and when they have used him they will iron and brand and starve him. Even a sub-chief of the Dakotas shall not live to be their tool. Thunder Hawk rides back with us at once or dies here and now." And around came the ready weapon, muzzle to the front, with Red Dog's hand at the guard.

"Ride back to your men, lieutenant," muttered the old Indian. "You have my word that I will join you as soon as I can, but this man is crazed. He means to force a fight."

"If that be so my place is here with you," was the answer. "What does he demand?" "No parlying with your soldier friends," shouted Red Dog, again in the Sioux tongue. Then, as though losing all control of himself in his hatred of his captor, he dashed furiously at Davies. "Back!" he shouted. "Back!" And he pointed with grand dramatic action up the valley. "Back to your own people! This is Indian land." Then seeing that his words fell on heedless ears and that Davies never relaxed his cool, steadfast gaze into the raging red face, he fell into such English as he knew. "Run or I kill."

And then Lutz and his reserve, just reaching their comrades under Corporal Clanton, saw a sudden flash of sunshine from the silver mountings of the Indian's beautiful Winchester as it was whirled to the brawny shoulder, saw sudden rear and plunge of Davies's spirited horse, a grapple as though in mid-air, and with a mad cry of "My God! They'll murder him!" young trooper Brannan dashed forward from the ranks just as the shot from Red Dog's rifle whirled harmless into space, and horse and man, the pride of the Ogallalla hostiles, were rolling in the dust, overthrown by the officers heavier charger, while the butt of the polished weapon, wrested from the warrior's grasp and wielded by muscular hand, came down with resounding whack on the head of the struggling chief, and for the second time, in the very face of his astonished braves, Red Dog, the redoubtable, went sprawling to earth, downed by the white chief whom he affected to despise.

In the fierce mellay that followed the advantage lay with the first to move. Lutz and his party had not really checked their gait, and so leaped into the charge with a flying start. Sixteen ready troopers had darted forward to the support of their beloved young officer. Thunder Hawk had lashed his pony so as to interpose between him and the rush of the Indian band, but even as those red-skins nearest the centre, where the drums and rattles were keeping up their low, threatening din, with one impulse dashed forward to rescue the chief, those on the flanks, far-seeing, held wisely back, even while around the prostrate chief there raged for a brief, hot, furious moment a wild babel of threat and execration, a mad whirl of brandishing knives and pistols and naked red limbs and brawny arms in dusty blue, Hawk and two other stalwart Sioux had thrown themselves between avenging blows and the young white chief, standing afoot now with pale, set face, over his writhing victim. Lutz and his men, lunging in among the lighter ponies, bore them back by sheer force of weight. 'Only one or two shots were heard; even in that frantic turmoil friend and foe alike seemed to realize that a battle must be avoided so long as each side held possession of its own. And then from the outskirts came loud yells of warning. By fives and tens the mounted warriors melted hurriedly away, and presently all the broad prairie to the eastward, back toward the lodges from which they came, was alive with circling, darting, screaming red-skins, keeping up their shrill appeal to brethren still hot-handed in the struggle for out from behind the curtain of the agency corral swept the long column of galloping horse under its curtaining cloud of dust, and down at full speed came the whole squadron, far more than Red Dog's band dare tackle in heady fight. Out from beneath his struggling pony they dragged him, bleeding and bedaubed with sweat and paint and blood, and when presently as the long skirmish line of Cranston's troop swept over the spot and drove before it all the mounted warriors, only two or three of the faithful remained to share the fortunes of their fallen chief, for like Thunder Hawk, Red Dog was the prisoner, not of the Great Father's agent, who was somewhere far to the rear, but of the soldier chief of the cantonments, who came galloping up in the wake of the cavalry, wrathful, if anything, that the whole thing was over without a fight.

And then, and not until nearly ten minutes after he had downed his man, was it noticed that Mr. Davies had not recovered color, that he was too faint to remount his horse.

"What is it, lad?" murmured Cranston, with keen anxiety in his eyes.

"I'm stabbed, captain. I—think you'd better not let Mrs. Davies know."

But Davies need not have worried on that score. When a little later they bore him, faint, unconscious from loss of blood, to his own roof at the agency, there was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears,—Mira had fled with the McPhails with the first alarm, and was in hiding somewhere up at the cantonment.