“She little brave; she come all ’way ’lone to keep promise, so she not hurt my Wallula.  She make me believe more good in white peoples; so I go to fort,—­I keep friends.”

“You’ve been a friend indeed.  I sha’n’t forget it; we’ll none of us forget it, Washo,” said Captain Elliston; and he put out his hand as he spoke, and grasped the brown hand of the Indian in a warm friendly clasp.

At the fort everything was literally “up in arms,”—­that is, set in order for business, and that meant ready for resistance or attack.  Molly had lived most of her fourteen years at some Western military post, and she recognized at once this “order” as she rode in.

“What did it mean?” she asked again, as the Colonel himself met her and hurried her into the dining-room; and the Colonel himself answered her,—­

“It means, my dear, that Major Molly has saved us from being surprised by the enemy, and that means that she has saved us from a bloody fight.”

“I—­I—­” faltered Molly.  Then like a flash her mind cleared, and she struck her little hand on the table and cried,—­

“It was an Indian, an unfriendly Indian, who followed me, and Washo knew it when I told my story!”

“Yes, Washo knew it, and, more than that, he had known for some days that those particular Indians had been planning a raid upon us, and he didn’t interfere; he didn’t warn us because he had begun to think that we were all bad white traders, and he wouldn’t meddle with these braves who proposed to punish us, though he wouldn’t go on the war-path with them.  But, Major Molly, when he heard your story, when he saw how one of us could be a little white brave in keeping a promise to an Indian, for your sake he relented towards the rest of us.”

“And when he asked me to tell him where I first heard the lariat—­”

“When he asked you that, he was making sure that it was his Sioux friends,—­for he knew they were to send out a scout who would take exactly that direction.”

“But why—­why did the scout chase me?”

“He was after Tam, no doubt,—­for this Sioux band is probably short of ponies, and Tam, you know, is a famous fellow,—­and the moment the scout caught sight of him he would give chase.”

“Did he get Ranger that way?  And where, oh, where is poor Barney?”

“The probability is that the scout visited the corral first, and captured Ranger, who is almost as famous as Tam.”

“But, Barney—­oh, oh, do you think Barney has been killed?”

“We don’t know yet, my dear.  Your father has gone off to the ranch with a squad of men.  He’ll soon find out what’s happened to Barney.  And don’t fret, my dear, about your father,” seeing a new anxiety on Molly’s face.  “The raiders by this time have seen our signals, and have found out we’re up and doing, and more than a match for them; so don’t fret,—­don’t fret, any of you,” turning to his wife and Mrs. Elliston.  “I don’t think there’ll be so much as a skirmish.”