AT BAY AGAINST BIG ODDS.

The pursuing redskins were all of a third of a mile from the ridge, when the double-weighted horse disappeared over it.

With a delay of a few minutes, and relieved of his double load, Kit Carey was assured he could force the Indians to give up their chase after the young girl.

A glance showed him that the animal was running well, and then he sprang to the shelter of some rocks and laid the two holster revolvers before him, for they were long range weapons.

"This is for the forlorn hope," he said, grimly as he patted the smaller revolver in his sword-belt.

On up the trail came the redskins at full speed, yelling like demons, and feeling confident of their prey.

As the leaders rushed over the ridge they beheld a sight that was wholly unexpected to them.

There over half a mile away was flying along the trail the horse upon which Emma Foshay was mounted, and right in their path, to bar their way, upright, determined, and at bay, a revolver in each hand, and but his head and shoulders seen above the rocks, stood Kit Carey.

There was a look upon his face that was dangerous—a determination to fight it out right then and there against all odds.

Kit Carey, a soldier of the Seventh, was at bay, and that meant that there would be no weakening on his part.

Still he did not fire. He simply stood with revolvers ready, fingers on trigger, fearless, and not to be beaten back.

The Sioux were unprepared for the fight.

Had one man stopped there to fight them, or were there others ambushed among the rocks?

So quickly had those in advance drawn up their ponies that several went down, and those pressing on behind fell over them, until it became a mass of struggling warriors and mustangs.

Quickly the braves were upon their feet, neither hurt nor bruised by the fall, and many sprang back to cover over the ridge.

But Kit Carey had not pulled trigger, and by one of those strange circumstances wholly unaccountable, not a warrior had fired either.

There was a pony with a broken leg lying upon the trail, a feather head-dress and a Winchester rifle, but that was all.

What the result would have been was hard to tell, had not the young officer quickly taken advantage of the lull to call out in the Sioux tongue, which he spoke perfectly:

"Why are my red brothers seeking to kill one who has been their friend in times of peace, if their foe in times of war?"

His clear ringing voice reached every ear, and there were those now among the band of pursuers who recognized him, and calling him by the name he was known in their tribe, Chief Crow Dog answered the question like a Yankee, by asking another:

"Why did the White War Eagle fly from his red friends?"

"The one with me was not a soldier, but a woman, and the war-cries of the braves against their friends alarmed her. If they were friends, why did they fire upon me? Did I kill the great Chief Crow Dog, and his braves, as I could have done, when they came over the hill?"

"White War Eagle speaks well; but the great medicine chief, Tatanka Yotanke, is near, and must hear his words. If Tatanka Yotanke[1] says it is war, then war it will be; but if he says it is peace, the White War Eagle can go his way."

"I am content, so let the great medicine chief, Sitting Bull, say which it shall be," was the fearless reply of the young soldier.

Chief Crow Dog then turned to one of his braves, and said something in a low tone.

Instantly the warrior rode away at a gallop, and Crow Dog stepped toward Kit Carey, who called out quickly: "Hold! is the Crow Dog a fool that he comes near me when it may be war, not peace between us?"

The chief sprang back to cover with an alacrity that was ludicrous, for he had been anxious to get near the young soldier with some of his braves, so as to spring upon him should Sitting Bull decide that the officer was to be attacked.

Seeing his advantage gained, by his bold front shown, Lieutenant Carey said:

"Why does the great chief, Sitting Bull, go on the war-trail away from his camp, if he is the friend of the pale-faces?"

Crow Dog seemed to feel that he had made a mistake in stating that Sitting Bull was along with the party, so replied with the quick cunning and ready lie of the redskins:

"Sitting Bull has been to see a chief who is ill."

"And did Crow Dog with fifty mounted braves, all in war-paint, go with him?"

"The great chief is here," said Crow Dog, anxious to withdraw from the questioning to which he had been subjected.

And over the ridge rode Tatanka Yotanke, the greatest chief of his tribe, a man with intelligence, courage, viciousness, and implacable hatred toward his foes, the whites.

But his face showed no hatred now, for he dismounted, laid his weapons upon his blanket, and came straight toward Kit Carey, his hands raised, while he said in his low, earnest voice:

"The Crow Dog was wrong to fire upon the good friend of Sitting Bull, the brave War Eagle of the pale-faces. Tatanka Yotanke has not forgotten that many, many moons ago the White War Eagle found his redskin foe wounded and in distress, and helped him as one of his own people. Let the White War Eagle mount one of my braves' ponies and go on his way, for though red clouds obscure the sun, there must be no war to kill off my people."

"The great chief has spoken well, and may his words come from his heart, for a war between his people and mine will but end in death to his braves, the destruction of their homes, the sorrow of their wives and children. The words of Sitting Bull shall be told to the great white chief of my people, and his friendship made known. The great chief has a good memory, and we are friends. The White War Eagle will take him at his word, and may it never be broken."

As he spoke Kit Carey stepped out boldly from his cover, his hand grasped that of the chief, and the brave who had appropriated his saddle and bridle from his dead horse was ordered to bring them forward and place them upon the back of a clean-limbed pony that Sitting Bull pointed to.

And mounting, just as the shadows of night deepened, Lieutenant Carey rode away, with the muttered words:

"A close call that! but is Sitting Bull in earnest in his professions of friendship? I very much fear me not."