It was after sundown when he paused; and then only from absolute physical inability to go farther.  Outraged nature had at last rebelled, and not even fear could suffice longer to stimulate him.  The grass was wet with dew, and prone on his knees he moistened his lips therefrom as drinks many another of the fauna of the prairie.  Then, flat on his back, not sleeping, but very wide awake, very watchful, he lay awaiting the return of strength.  Upon the fringe of hair beneath the brim of his hat the sweat slowly dried; then, as the dew gathered thicker and thicker, dampened afresh.  Far to the east, where during the day had appeared the fringe of green, the sky lightened, almost brightened; until at last, like a curious face, the full moon, peeping above the horizon, lit up the surface of prairie.

At last—­and ere this the moon was well in the sky—­the man arose, stretched his stiffened muscles profanely—­before he had not spoken a syllable—­listened a moment almost involuntarily, sent a swift, searching glance all about; then moved ahead, straight south, at the old relentless pace.

* * * * *

The lone ambassador from the tiny settlement of Sioux Falls vacillated between vexation and solicitude.

“For the last time I tell you; we’re going whether you do or not,” he announced in ultimatum.

Samuel Rowland, large, double-chinned, distinctly florid, folded his arms across his chest with an air of finality.

“And I repeat, I’m not going.  I’m much obliged to you for the warning.  I know your intentions are good, but you people are afraid of your own shadows.  I know as well as you do that there are Indians in this part of the world, some odd thousands of them between here and the Hills, but they were here when I came and when you came, and we knew they were here.  You expect to hear from a Dane when you buy tickets to ‘Hamlet,’ don’t you?”

The other made a motion of annoyance.

“If you imagine this is a time for juggling similes,” he returned swiftly, “you’re making the mistake of your life.  If you were alone, Rowland, I’d leave you here to take your medicine without another word; but I’ve a wife, too, and I thank the Lord she’s down in Sioux City where Mrs. Rowland and the kid should be, and for her sake—­”

“I beg your pardon.”

The visitor started swiftly to leave, then as suddenly turned back.

“Good God, man!” he blazed; “are you plumb daft to stickle for little niceties now?  I tell you I just helped to pick up Judge Amidon and his son, murdered in their own hayfield not three miles from here, the boy as full of arrows as a cushion of pins.  This isn’t ancient history, man, but took place this very day.  It’s Indian massacre, and at our own throats.  The boys are down below the falls getting ready to go right now.  By night there won’t be another white man or woman within twenty-five miles of you.  It’s